The Ken Dodd Of The Acoustic Scene

Bloody hell.

  Has it really been so long since I sat here and wrote at you?  I seem to remember having a good old waffle about smartphones dominating any meeting place and sucking all of our attention out of our bodies.  Since then I have walked into two signposts and a bus shelter whilst looking into the ether, but I have made slightly more effort to not stare at my phone every two seconds.  (As I said before, just knowing that everything is right there! to look at and catch up on is far too tempting, isn't it?)

  But anyway, that was two months ago, and I've been a busy bee.  I have a new guitar, named Lola by Bryony (who is helping with social media duties, and doing a cracking job of it, too), and I now have two beautiful-sounding acoustic guitars, instead of one good one and one naff one.  Gigs have taken me hither and yon (mostly the Old Brown Jug, with still another two sets there to come), and have loosened me up - most notably a gig on The Sugarmill's rooftop for Stoke Sounds Sessions 2012.  That was a big deal and a lot of fun, I'm looking forward to hearing it back (I am told there is a recording...).  I went on holiday, which loosened me up yet further, and shook three workable songs out of my head.

  There's a lot to be said for unwinding and getting out of the daily routine, because you don't realise you're in one until you stop, and then for about a day you're completely disoriented, exhausted, and (if it's exceptionally good) spending the first half a day asleep.  I went with my family to Center Parcs, and almost everyone had a headache on the first day there because we were shell-shocked.

  What else can I rabbit at you about?  See, on Twitter the other week, I asked for topic suggestions to blog about, and my friend Phil came up with such a good, involved one that I've not known where to start with it.  I could have written it on holiday, but I forgot my computer.  Even now I'm mulling it over, knowing that I will have to do some research into aspects of culture from between 200 and 40 years ago (it will all become clear when I've actually written and posted it, but Lord knows when that will be.)  I have concluded that this is why I haven't blogged for two months, because if I just sit here and waffle on a load of old nonsense, then I'll be slighting him by not writing writing what he asked me to.  However, enough is enough and I'm here now, so there's not a lot we can do about it, is there?

  I'm a fool to myself, really, because if there's one thing I'm never short on, it's ideas.  If I let myself relax, and idea pops in, then crystallises when I can do nothing about it (ie, navigating busy roads, having a shower, trying to mend my curtain rail, etc), so that it then becomes a frantic race for the pen & paper (stop me if you've heard me go on about this before, oh wait - YOU CAN'T!  HAHAHAHAHA etc).  The odd thing these last few months has been the influx of ideas concerning music releases.  I made yet another list this weekend, of songs that I want to put on recordings and this one looks fairly final and definitive.  I've done all the songwriting I feel I can do for now, and it is time to start putting things together.  (If you want me to be pernickety, it was time to do that months ago, but I never did.)  I have an EP's worth, followed by an LP's worth, and eight songs that haven't made the potential cut.  I'd like to record those eight at some point anyway, and see if they end up fitting anywhere, but for now: six for the EP, twelve for the LP.

  "It's all well and good being an ideas man," I hear you bellow from your comfy chairs as you read this on your iPads, laptops and mobile phones, presumably spitting Krispy Kreme krumbs crumbs from your indignant mouths, "but how does that relate to actually making stuff to go down my ears and tickle my brain?!"  Well, calm down, dab your face with a tissue and wipe the grease from your touchscreens while I tell you.

  I have hit a point where there's only so much I can do on my own.  (Which is why my aforementioned friend, Bryony, is helping my with thing internetular.)  It is time I start collaborating with people to help make things a bit more concrete.  I'm preparing to meet folks to discuss things in relation to making recordings of a quality that is above "This is definitely a home demo, innit?" and more akin to something you'd buy from a shop.  With assistance.  At gunpoint.

  This is not to say I am not proud of my demos up to now, but my ideas are getting larger than my capacity to realise them, and sharing the load lightens it, so if I communicate my ideas to someone who can help me turn them into actual sounds for you to digest, then it has to be done, or I'm selling myself short.  As I say, there will be more news as it arrives as something more definite, but I hope to have good news for you soon.

  To this end, I have spent today practising all the songs that I wish to record (eighteen, not counting the eight cast to limbo, if you were doing your maths right earlier - if not, I advise practise), which was an edifying experience, because I pretty much remember them!  With a little extra lyric-learning, I could bore you out of your chairs for about an hour and a half with a show comprising all of them, and that's not taking into account all the talking (then you're probably looking at two hours!).  It's just as well that all my sets have time restrictions, otherwise I fear I could become the Ken Dodd of the acoustic scene.

  Speaking of which, how does he get away with it?  His shows are now renowned for their interminable endlessness.  My family, in 2004, took me and someone I was, at the time, working with to see Ken Dodd at the Victoria Hall in Stoke, and do you know, I've been to some horrific theatre events in my time (a production of MacBeth at the Crewe Lyceum springs to mind - you've not lived until you've heard a PA system blurt "MacBeth, MacBe... oh damn!" during the interval, then seen a messenger walk on in the second half and freeze up as he forgets his lines), but this took the biscuit.  Ken Dodd's show was interspersed with tributes to variety theatre, including one nightmarish sequence in which about twenty small children danced on stage whilst wearing masks of Laurel & Hardy, Charlie Chaplin and Max Miller etc.  TERRIFYING.  Aside from that, everything "Doddy" said seemed to bypass us.  I have found Ken Dodd hysterical when appearing on television.  He's amazing with a crowd, and actually very funny, but his tours are more like feats of endurance, and his delivery was mumbled on this occasion (perhaps because of the PA?  Who knows!), and all of us started to look at each other as if we were about to burst into tears (this was by around midnight), at which point my parents mouthed "Shall we go?"  And we mouthed "YES!"

  The most we laughed that night was when we got out of the theatre and onto the car park, and a sort of "survivor's hysteria" kicked in, and we couldn't stop laughing.  (Oddly enough, that night turned out to be my friend's and my first date, of sorts.)  We heard later that the show had gone on a further two hours, and there were also stories of people getting taken out of the auditorium by St. John's Ambulance workers.  (I believe this is a cunning ploy by people who don't want to be rude and just leave the auditorium - far more dignified to feign a medical emergency - which leads me to wonder how many Ken Dodd-related deaths might occur per annum?  Do send me any statistics you can find on the matter.)

  I have no idea why I thought it would be a good idea to write - at punishing length - about Ken Dodd, but I'm not deleting it now because it makes for a healthy word count (or an unhealthy word count, depending on your perspective).  I shall sign off, but not before mentioning that this year (and in the last couple of months particularly), I have met some brilliant bands and musicians, so I'm going to be all selfless and nice and point you to some people I've been hearing about for a while, but only now begun hearing them and seeing them.

First, Faux Feet.  I have been lucky enough to share a billing with them twice within three days back in August.  They are lovely people, with great songs, and you can buy their first three-track EP from Bandcamp here: http://fauxfeet.bandcamp.com/.  Make sure you see them live, there are songs in their set that will not leave you.

Second, Marc O'Reilly.  A superb guitarist and songwriter.  You can check out a stop-motion animation based on his record cover, and buy his debut album (which is also brilliant) here: http://www.marcoreillymusic.com/

Third, and lastly, Aaron Mobberley.  I also shared the billing with him at the same gigs as Faux Feet, and he's fantastic.  He and Marc O'Reilly co-headlined The Sugarmill last night, as Aaron debuted his new music video and gave his first performance with his new band.  You can find him here: https://www.facebook.com/aaronmobberleymusic

And so I leave you.  I will not leave it another two months before I blog again, and in the meantime, here is Aaron Mobberley's new music video, 'Unison Harmonies':

Take care, until next we meet, bloglets.
Love,
John xx

The Smartphone Zombie Apocalypse Is Nigh

  Back in the heady days of the year 2000, these as-yet unkissed lips belonged to an eager 20 year-old, who fell in love, became a fiancee, spent a further year finishing a university degree in Drama & Creative Writing to get a 2:2 (which I occasionally wear to parties), and went out into the big wide world to work libraries (six months) and a shop (five years). Partway into this retailistic sojourn, the lad got a promotion to management staff, and the engagement sadly evaporated. Never having experienced this sort of emotional trauma before, it was undoubtedly a bad time to be plunged headlong into a retail-based Christmas Nightmare at shop-management level. If you're reeling from the dissolution of a four-year relationship, you don't want to be running a late-shift in a shopping centre, with 30 boxes of stock deliveries, three members of staff, and an army of moronic shoppers asking for refunds and trying to buy non-existent DVDs featuring the Churchill Insurance dog.

  Nevertheless, this was the situation in which I found myself, age 24, surrounded by stock with no hope of getting it all done before the centre shut, queries coming from all sides, Muse on the shop stereo, and Bing Crosby being piped in through the rear corridors (audible from our stock/staff room). Borderline madness. Then I knocked a pile of DVDs over, and my fuse blew.

  I do make it a rule not to lose my temper with people. If I have ever done this to anyone reading, it was a rare incident, and I would have apologised to you at the time. So, in my frustration and anguish (not to mention eagerness to not bellow at the staff in my charge), I did what any rational human being would do. I abandoned any pretence of booking on deliveries, and proceeded to welly the plastic boxes of stock with a broom handle (I even removed the brush-head so that it wouldn't fly off and hurt anyone). Those on the tills, serving customers, would have heard "SPINK! SPINK! SPINK! SPENK! SPERNK! SKENK! SCHENCHK!" until eventually, the broom handle broke. (I imagine the stereo was turned up a little at this point.) After I achieved this feat of strength, I took a permanent marker and wrote "FUCK CHRISTMAS TO FUCK!" on the side of a cupboard.

  The following day, my manager and I had a little chat about my feelings.

  This incident was affectionately referred to as "John's little breakdown", and the cupboard bearing my Festive inscription was henceforth used as a place to blu-tac newspaper articles of note, photos or posters. Pretty much anything that covered up the evidence of my blip, really.

  And it has to be said, in this age of mobile communications via multimedia, photos of the evidence from my outburst would have gone down a storm on Facebook & Twitter. Equally, though, they would almost certainly have scored me the sack. Had I a smartphone back in those days, utterance after utterance (either by customer or by colleague - both hilarious, but the former unintentionally so) would have been turned into social media comedy gold. I took photographs prolifically back in those days, and the sort of stuff that fills up that photo album would have been crammed onto Twitter in the blink of an eye, courtesy of a handheld link to the interwebs.

  I find it amazing the way social media is so accessible these days. My phone is not just a lifeline to my friends and family as it was in those days (my aunt once called my mobile to congratulate me on my aforementioned promotion while I was on the work toilet), it is also a window on everything. I talk often about how media such as Twitter, Facebook, Bandcamp, and more besides, have revolutionised the way I conduct my music affairs. The other thing I mention alongside it is the sheer number of people (and this is primarily via Twitter) that have been brought into my life via series of 140-character vignettes. People that I have, over the last sixteen months, come to care about a great deal.

  Now, sometimes, the question I have to ask myself is "Is this a problem?" I present unto you this small quote from an interview with Conor Oberst, of the band Bright Eyes:
"To walk into a room and it's a bunch of people going like this [pretends to type on a cell phone] it's so depressing. I do it too, so I'm not pointing fingers. But when you project into the future and you think, 'Well, this is eventually going to be archaic. We're not going to need the keyboard anymore. We're just going to be connected.' It'll all just be information-ideas space."


  Now, you know what this is like, and so do I. Like Oberst, I do not point the finger because I do this all the time, when time allows. My weekends are like marathons for my phone's battery, because I am catching up with Twitter, and sharing my life with it. I want to communicate with people, I want to know that Claire is okay! How did Max's meeting go? Is Kai having a better day today? I just heard/saw/thought of something funny that I bet will get a laugh!


The other weekend I went to my parents' house, and we watched the Wimbledon final. I was livetweeting it. It made me laugh, perhaps it got a few chuckles in Internetland as well, but I was in company. Part of me is a little bit sorry that I did it. But it is exciting to be so connected to everything, and the capacity to see something clever or funny and show them to your friends is overwhelming, which is why we do it. You don't want to miss your moment to catch someone's attention (especially if you follow someone who makes work you love) for that magic re-tweet or 'like'. And I play that game. I want to be noticed by people for being a witty and nice chap, because the chap that you see in that smiley avatar is the same chap that's sitting in a chair, in a music room full of fading sunlight, typing this.

  But sometimes I need to know when to put the smartphone down and look at the world with my eyes open. Last night I went to town to use a cash machine, and as I walked back along my street, I visibly and audibly jumped because someone two doors down from my house was standing in his front doorway, smoking a cigarette. I didn't see him from the far end of my road, because I was staring at my phone. That, to me, says "John, they will be okay if you don't look at them for half an hour or so. Put the phone down for a bit."

  But that doesn't mean I don't love you, okay? You get me through the quiet nights when there's no one in the vicinity but me and two bonking neighbours. You make me laugh when I'm having a down moment. When I make a thing, you're there straight away to tell me whether or not you like it, and the fact that you pay any attention at all (right down to reading this) means everything to me. And egotism aside, I am glad that I can be there for people who aren't having a great time themselves. It always makes me happy to know that I've cheered someone up or made them feel better.

  I'd say that overall, by and large, if you're having a hard time, it's better to reach for a smartphone than a metal broom handle.

Lots of love, speak soon.
John xxx

P.S: I know I called this "The Smartphone Zombie Apocalypse Is Nigh" - I don't even think it is, but if scaremongering works for the Daily Mail, what the hell!

I WANT TO PLAY SONGS FOR YOU

My bathroom always feels rather small.  This morning I closed the door and it seemed much larger, and I realised that I rarely did that and as such, the door acted as a kind of partition.


  That may seem an odd thing to start a blog entry with, but then it's been that long since I have written one of the blessed things that I should just go with the first thing that came into my head, so here we are.  It's mid-evening Saturday, the sun has shown its face once or twice, and there is a surreal piece of radio happening on Radio 4 Extra, in a collection of documentaries and pieces created by the BBC Radiophonic Workshop.  Currently, it's a lengthy piece called 'The Dream', which attempts to recreate the feeling of dreaming.  The workshop sampled descriptions by different people talking about their dreams, and edited different abstract parts of their descriptions together, with synthesised sounds reflecting the moods and feel of their recollections.  It is a piece that can render one quite soporific in a matter of seconds, and it currently feels as if I am typing with weights tied to my wrists and face.  I am going to make a cup of tea before carrying on.


Do please talk amongst yourselves.


  I'm back.  The sun has reappeared for the third time this afternoon, and now an episode of The Goon Show is getting an airing to demonstrate the Radiophonic Workshop's oeuvre.  Of course, having just gotten stuck on the next sentence, the Goons have finished, and an audio representation of Einstein's Theory of Relativity has just started, which frankly so unlistenable, I have turned the radio off altogether.


That's better.


  Of course, I didn't expect this to be a blog entry about writing a blog entry.  I had been getting rather good at it in May, having had what I can only refer to as a blog-splurge (for the only reason that I can't think of a better, not to mention less messy, term).  I have had some rather nice gigs since May, playing once again in Leeds, and also The Old Brown Jug.  August promises to be a fun month, with a gig in my hometown for a local event, Oatcake Day, which Stoke DJ Terry Bossons has been doing since 2010.  I am not, sadly, taking part in the actual Oatcake Day shenanigans, but another related event the day after.  Two days later I am proud to say I'll be playing at The Sugarmill for local music group Stoke Sounds.  Stoke Sounds run a blog and host at least one radio show in the area, promoting and reviewing the bands and musicians from around these parts.  I have done a session on their 6 Towns radio show recently, and am very glad to get the chance to not only play at The Sugarmill, but to represent Stoke's musical side, and support Stoke Sounds themselves.  It goes without saying that if you can come to this event (Saturday, August 11th, 4pm onwards), you really, really must.


  That brings me on to something I would actually like to blog about.  Gigs.  To be more specific, attendance of gigs.  This could get quite involved, so I promise I will put a video at the end of this post, that you will enjoy.  Right - I am going to quote from my friend Andrew Tranter, who writes songs and sings in acoustic duo Headsticks.  I had the pleasure of playing at one of his Song club evenings last week.  The following day, he wrote on Facebook:


  "After around 13 years of gigging, probably nearing 1000 gigs with Jugopunch, The Clay Faces and now Headsticks, I can honestly say that last nights Song Club at The The Old Brown Jug was one of, if not THE most enjoyable event I have been a part of! I don't know what it was about the night....but I'm still buzzing! Elly Kingdon was as ever a delight, John MacLeod his usual loveable self, Giro Junkie Rich Bloor was, I don't know how to explain, but he was so true to his music and delivered it with such passion... and I can't find words for how good Shaun and the Special Sauce were...and as for Headsticks, well we were alright for a couple of miserable duffers.....


 Only disappointment was a very average turn out for the show and this is a worry....how to get people off their backsides and down to a venue these days! Soon venues will start to question the viability of these events (if they are not already doing so), and the fact is that they don't add up and business is business....so gigs get pulled and maybe venues get shut and what then for local music,for local bands? It is really important that the local music scene receives your support....many acts deserve to be playing on a bigger stage to bigger audiences and are actually at least as good as the acts being played mainstream, many are better but just need exposure.....that's where you lot come in!!!! Please support the local venues/bands/events before it is too late!!!! If you have never been to see a local gig give it a try...you may just enjoy it!"


  There's not a great deal extra I can add to that.  I will be the first to admit that I am not out every night seeing bands, but when I can - I do.  Often, I am writing or working on new material, and because I am holding down a full-time job at the same time as making music work, sometimes I just need to stop and make sure that I'm not burning the candle at both ends - I have been there, and as a consequence didn't play for two years.

  But the point is that folk like myself need your support.  The concert that Andy's talking about in that post was a wonderful evening.  It even started early enough for people to see the whole thing, but as the night crept on, by the time the headlining act were playing, the audience were somewhat diminished,  and one or two pockets of the people there were noisy enough for the whole bar.

  So - my plea to you is threefold.

1:  If your friend is a support act and you come to watch, don't just disappear after their set - stay for the whole night.  You could suddenly discover your new favourite band in the space of an evening.  And just think - the headlining band have been seeing how many people are in the crowd and actively looking forward to playing to you.  Yes, YOU!

2:  If you're a support act, or playing in a lineup of several acts in a showcase, don't just turn up for your set and sod off after it unless you have a darned good reason!  The only excuse for this, in my opinion, is transport.  I recently played in Stafford for an evening of music in celebration of the Olympic torch having passed through town.  Not only did I get caught in standstill traffic on the way there (forcing me to miss my first set), but I had a stupidly early last bus out of town, and so couldn't stay for the whole night.  You can bet your life I did a circuit of the bar and apologised to everyone for that, though.

3:  If you're going to a music event, try and listen.  Trust me, I know what pubs are generally for.  They are for meeting up with your friends (that perhaps you don't see as often as you'd like to), and catching up, being funny, making each other laugh, maybe even talking through things that are troubling you.  And, at an outside guess, getting a bit pissed and falling off your chair.  I know this.  Sometimes, though, I find it hard to reconcile when a pub is putting a gig on.  At my very core, on those nights, I am a music appreciator.  I can concentrate on little else when someone is playing, because I want to see them play.  Similarly, when I am performing, there's a level of ambient noise over which I can easily play, but there's also a level of ambient noise which grates on my nerves.

  If you're reading this, I WANT TO PLAY SONGS FOR YOU.  So does pretty much every musician I know (and so do the ones I don't know, if I really think about it).  Be a good egg and come to some gigs.  You will be welcomed with cuddles, songs, and, one day, some high quality merchandise.

  In the meantime, as promised, here is a nice song from a musician I have just started listening to.  I hope you enjoy it.

Thank you for reading,
Love,
John xx

Return Of the Fat Ankle

  I would like you to imagine that I am typing this in the most obscene opulence.  I am in a palatial gazebo, reclining upon a chaise longue, while being wafted by giant feather, er, wafters in this oppressive heat (honestly, it's like Duncan Goodhew here - airless).  Whatever you do, don't picture the reality - which is me sitting in a hot lounge, having just eaten a Chinese takeaway, and listening to the radio on the internet. 

  Life is full of mysteries, folks.  Why do electricians finally turn up just at the exact moment you sat on the toilet?  How can mobile phone signal just disappear when you haven't moved, leaving you waving the damned thing in the air like a tricorder?  How on Earth is it possible to only have a bit of chocolate & leave the rest of the slab in the fridge?  There is one prevalent mystery in my life, Blogwatchers, and now it is the most perfect of timings to introduce you to my Fat Ankle.

  It was Summer, 2006.  One week in July, I got a small pain in my ankle, which felt like a bruise.  Within a couple of days, my ankle-bone was rather hard to discern among the swelling.  What was worse was being unable to put any weight on it.  On my way to work one Sunday (which at that point involved a train journey), my foot gave way and I fell over.  This, coupled with my already-slow pace, meant that I missed my train, and when I finally did get to work, I spent most of the day sweating profusely in an un-air-conditioned shop, lying down with my foot atop a box.

  Naturally (and this is another of life's mysteries), the pain had subsided by the time I went to see a doctor with it, the following day.  She was baffled, and said the only thing my ankle put her in mind of (apart from a grapefruit) was gout.  Seeing as I don't drink much alcohol, and do drink a pretty good amount of water, and I don't eat a massive amount of rich food, it was hard to know what could be causing it.  Blood tests didn't show much to help either.  (As an aside, I informed a manager about the falling-over-with-swollen-ankle that caused me to be late, and when I then told her that my doctor reckoned it might be gout, she said "You can't get gout from falling over!", which is true, but reversing that logic for a moment, you can fall over from gout.)

  Now it's 2012, and it has reoccurred about twice, missing out a year or two, which makes me forget that it happened, until now.  You can now picture me sitting at my computer if you wish, but now imagine me putting my foot up on a drumstool.  The pain bit has started, and I'm hoping it doesn't go to drastic swelling, otherwise I will be hauling myself to my gigs this week with a walking stick (a rather nice deep blue wooden stick, if you're curious).

  So, Blogwatchers, this is where I am.  Elevated and listening to the radio.  If any of you have a feathery wafting thing, make your way here post-haste!

Ta-ta,

John xx

Presenting...Yesterday I Was

Hello Blogwatchers.


I've managed to keep my blogsplurging to minimum, but now that work has started on my next EP of songs, I am rather proud of my results this weekend, as some of you may have noticed by way of my throwing it at almost every internet portal I can think of - this blog is no exception.  Of course, it would be rather sad if I just bunged it on this blog and left it at that, so I thought I would share with you one or two observations based on my experience of recording this particular song.

• It only takes my setting up of recording equipment, and the opening of some windows (as it is currently very hot & I would rather not suffocate while unravelling cables - more on that shortly), for my neighbourhood to spring into life.  I started work at about 3pm, and within seconds of my 8-track being laid out, a couple four gardens away decided to have a blazing row, and next door started, well, doing what they apparently do best.  At least I wasn't doing vocals at that point (forever my biggest worry about recording at home).
• I still hate wires & leads.  The best way to get me into a sullen & grumpy silence is to put me in a room filled with the darned things.
• I have indestructible fingers.  The lead break you hear in the below track was an accidental piece of marvellousness, and I am not terribly confident in the electric guitar department.  If we were in a studio and you asked me to "riff a bit" or something that involved improvised guitar-soloing, I would be tremendously stuck and play you one note in a rhythmic manner.  I have to work these things out, find something that fits, and that hopefully doesn't sound like a six year old wiping his nose on the strings.  (That said, it's possible that there are six year olds that can play better lead guitar than me.  Please don't find any on Youtube & show me, I'll cry.)  In any case, I happened upon the idea for this lead break, practised for an hour, and then took at least ten attempts to record it.  Twice I thought I'd done it right, but deleted them and had another go an hour later.
• I also now understand why drummers often go without shirts.  Dave Grohl and Joey Castillo must be superhuman, and how they can do an entire gig's worth of drumming is utterly beyond me.

So there it is.  I present to you, my newborn friend, 'Yesterday I Was'.  I hope you enjoy it.

 Yesterday I Was by mrjohnmacleod

Love,
John xxx

"A funny thing happened on the way here tonight..."

"So much pleasure," said Vic and Bob, during their brief stint advertising yoghurt, "but where's the pain?"


  For some reason, this question has lingered in my mind ever since those adverts were on the telly.  I am not, strictly speaking, an astrologically minded fellow, but every so often I wonder whether my Libran roots are at the centre of my tendency to sit on the fence, see both sides of an argument, and not be too hasty to pass judgement. I have heard it said that we live in a dualistic universe and I rather believe it, and so during moments of supreme happiness & contentment, I am often waiting for the other shoe to drop.


  So it was with the weather today.  OHMYSWEETLORDTHERE'SSUNANDWARMTHANDEVERYTHING! is pretty much what my brain has been doing this week.  Especially after the weekend, where I went to Manchester to see Gemma Hayes play at St. Ann's Church.  For the time I wandered the streets of Manchester, carrying an umbrella just in case it chucked it down (much as it had been doing the entire previous week), a sharp wind and general chill dogged my every waking movement, and it felt more akin to March than May.  It's as if someone has been blindly slapping their hand across the wall and finally found the light switch.


  With all this loveliness abound in the atmosphere, there has to be a downside somewhere, right?


  Right.


  Admittedly, it was brief, but the effect on my retina will be some time in healing.  I was walking home from the day-job today, laden with two carrier-bags of shopping & my rucksack, earphones in & playing some Gemma Hayes, and I was enjoying the warmth and the sunshine, the way you do when you've got music on and are unencumbered by coats, gloves & scarves.  (Those moments can be more life-affirming than being kissed, sometimes, can't they?  I think because you aren't huddling & praying not to be rendered too cold, nor are you battling fierce, numbing winds, or hiding from the rain, it's a very freeing experience, walking in a bright, warm sun.  Even if your arms are dropping off with shopping bags.)  "What," I thought, "could possibly spoil this perfect afternoon?" 


  Then I rounded a corner to walk the footpath under a bridge, and was treated to the spectacle of a giggling, tipsy woman, um, relieving herself against the bridge wall, while her equally tipsy boyfriend looked on, supping from a can of beer and also laughing.  I walked past, looking fixedly at the opposite wall, when the bloke said to me (I made this out through my earphones) "Nothin' you've not seen before, eh?"  I was determined to keep walking, so uncomfortably exhaled in the style of a "laugh", and then really motored on as soon as I was past them.  (For those of you who like  appropriate songs, the Gemma Hayes track that was playing in my ears during this was 'Easy On The Eye'.)


  So there is our prime example of cosmic balance - I enjoy the sun and warmth, life presents me with a grim tableau of public urination and voyeurism.  So much pleasure, and there's the pain.


  It was a similar state of affairs just before this weekend when I went to see Miss Hayes, (albeit the other way around with pain followed by pleasure) when I had a slump in self-belief and lost my ability to find a way forwards.  (If you haven't read, I had a big confidence lapse on Friday and wrote a blog about how I was feeling, whereupon lots of lovely readers, tweeters and friends got in touch and bucked my spirits up.)  What your responses and support made me think was that all I needed to do was keep going.  That sounds terribly simple, and in some ways maybe it is, but the main thing I wasn't doing was playing.  I have a stock six songs that I know awfully well, and anything else I have to run through a few times before a gig, so as soon as I got back from Manchester, I went to my list of songs and drafted out four short(ish) setlists, and I have spent every night so far this week practising each one in turn.  It is going nicely so far, only fumbling a couple of chords or dropping one or two lyrics here and there, but it's turning out that I know these songs better than I thought I did.  And once I've gone through these sets a few times each, I will know them intimately, and feel confident & happy enough in the material to pick a setlist and run with it.  I reckon that will improve my musical state of mind no end, don't you?  Never underestimate self-discipline.


  Also, if you see me slacking, just remind me of what happened on the way home this afternoon.  That should scare me into any form of distracting activity.


  Speak soon folks,
John xxx

Ode to a long, hot shower (and THANK YOU)

Hello again!


  I know, I'm barely giving you chance to keep up with my head (nor am I, if it comes to it), but I just wanted to spout forth some praise about a nice hot shower.  They are amazing and beautiful things, aren't they?  On the slowest of slow mornings, as soon as I clamber, blank-eyed into the shower, I start to wake up.  (You would think, after thirty-two years on this blessed planet, I would learn to crawl out of bed on a weekend morning, early, and have a shower, and, y'know, wake up.  Sadly, this is not always the case, and so many a weekend has seen me ludicrously recumbent.  Last week, when staying with my sister & her family, I had more early nights & mornings than I generally have when I'm not on holiday.)


  The other odd thing about showers is that they get my imagination going (not like that).  I could point to songs on my list and tell you how many of them have been finished there.  I tend to zone out a bit once the jets kick in, and while my practical brain de-focuses and starts thinking about "Ooh, this is warm," my creative brain starts to mull over that missing line in the third verse, or it will hum a bass-line at me, and then whisper an opening lyric.  (So far, thankfully, I have not reached the point where I get so stuck on a song that I have to dash into the bathroom at 11:30pm and dunk my head under the shower to finish off a pesky middle-eight.)  While I often enjoy the way that this seems to work, I can't help but feel it slightly unfair that of all the ways of loosening my brain up enough to write things down on paper, or play them on guitar, I seem to have chosen one that involves hot running water.


  Anyway.  The real reason I am writing this is to say THANK YOU.  Those of you who responded to my previous blog entry via Twitter (plus a text message and an attempt to leave a comment on the entry itself but couldn't, thanks to a pesky internet blip), you are lovely, lovely people (I do use the word 'lovely' a lot, but no other word does it, really) and you all cheered me up and popped a bit of fight back into me.  It's a funny old game, wanting to be a musician and songwriter, and to be able to reach people with your songs, there are peaks and troughs where your confidence can just let in a few doubts and worries.  Before you know it, you're wandering the house at midnight, trying to think of a "game-plan" that seems feasible without having to be a millionaire.  (I don't have to be a millionaire of course, I just need my guitar and my hands and some time, but then the thoughts you have at midnight aren't always the most lucid, are they?)  But it's so good to know that you are out there, being supportive and telling me to keep going.  It makes me happy and it means everything.  And of course, I shall obey.


So, thank you.


I am off for the weekend now, to watch Gemma Hayes, so I bid you adieu and have a jolly weekend.


Lots of love,
J xxxx