July 2006 Archives

Recently I have realised that I have become a snob and a far from ideal socialist. The reason for this is that we have new neighbours. Our previous neighbour was an old lady who had lived at the address for a very long time, but her declining years and the pressure from her sons forced her to move to sheltered accommodation somewhere else in the district. She didn't want to go. We didn't want her to go - but change comes whether you like it or not.

The house next door is a big, nicely kept two-bedroomed semi-detached (like ours) and I was expecting a young family or similar to be rehoused there by the council. In fact, I was kind of looking forward to it. What we got was a middle-aged gentlemen with a bad leg and his 21-year-old semi-retarded son (a young man so dense that when his father had a spasm in his leg, he went indoor and let his father descend the concrete stairs on his behind - a guy so lethargic that even his father has said to the Missus that he needs a good kick up the arse). I spoke to the father soon after they moved in and he seemed friendly enough, but like all people, I quickly became irritated by their imperfections.

Their first sin was the fact that they brought three cars with them. And these aren't nice shiny cars, but right old bangers, meaning that our spacious little street now looks like a breakers yard...and one of these cars is of very dubious origins. It has been left outside our other property to basically rust - having not been moved - but the tyres have been allowed to deflate and oil to leak over the road. OK - they like cars and you don't - so get over it, you whinging creep. But I hate car owners in general. I even moan at The Missus for having a car that we don't use much, so no-one is safe from my anti-car bias. (Of course, I happily allow myself to be driven to the aquarium shop and to music concerts - the hypocrite).

The next thing I had an issue with was the fact that these fellows didn't seem to have any concept of putting the rubbish out for the weekly refuse collection on a Thursday. Recently, temperatures have been in the 30s and there's nothing better to spoil lunch in my garden than the pungent stench of rotten rubbish to come wafting down our shared alleyway where they've left there rubbish (we leave our bin bags there too, but I put them out every week to be taken away). The smell got so bad that I took matters into my own hands and put their rubbish out for them last week....all four bags of it. No, no, no...don't thank me. I was doing it for myself and my own nostrils. Me and Mr Bluebottle have become firm enemies and I even had to chase one out of our bedroom at midnight last week - such was the pong eminating from the alley. Or maybe he was attracted by the hum from my socks...?

Of course, while this goes on the front and back gardens have been left to overgrow. Now the previous occupant loved her garden and used to employ a gardener to keep it spick and span, despite being a pensioner of limited income. But now the grass is high like the Serengheti plains and I half expect a tigress to come bounding out after a startled wildebeeste. It kind of depresses me that things always seem to change for the worst and never the better.

So why does this bother me? Well the way people treat their homes whether they are council rented or private owned/rented is a good indication of what those people are like. Our example don't seem to care much for the garden, which is a shame and I can see a future when old car engines will litter the front lawn and a broken down Jeep is worked on out the back garden. You might think this a joke, but I've seen this in other council properties in the area. It is the creeping cancer of the underclass - those without any commonsense or pride in their environment.

So there you have it. I am officially a snob and I don't like my unemployed neighbours. I resent them for not keeping their council property clean and tidy while I am asked to fork out £100 a month on council tax to keep them in it. Of course, I just wrote a cheque to the tax man the other day and this has left me feeling a little sensitive too. But I've said to the Missus that this is a drip-drip-drip kind of decline and things will soon get a lot worse. She isn't a big fan of them either as they look at her in a funny way that only women can detect and they officially give her the creeps. (This is unusual as it usually takes a lot to phase out The Missus).

But the line in the sand was drawn tonight when I was talking to Alex the Wonderdog through our kitchen window. I was cooking the dinner and Alex was in the garden being cheeky and I said: "Whooseagoodboy?" or something and he barked back and kicked up some grass and I said "Whooseagoodboy?" and he did it again in canine joy and a little doggy smile on his face. That's the kind of owner-pet relationship we have. From a window next door a loud, uncouth "Shuddduppp!" echoed in our general direction. This was from the son, who ruined a perfectly peaceful Sunday afternoon yesterday by revving a petrol driven engine for a remote control car for 30 minutes until he got bored. No, you shut-up, fuckwit.

No-one bad mouths Alex the Wonderdog and gets away with it...

So tonight was the last night of Top of the Pops. Now while many will be cheering from the sidelines about its demise, it was very sad to see the Sir Jimmy Saville (jangle, jangle) switch off the lights of Studio 3. For me, TOTP was a consistent part of my life and a good barometer of popular culture throughout the decades. I get misty-eyed remembering crashing out in front of the Xmas round-up-of-the-year, stuffed with turky and pudding, and waiting for my favourite artistes to appear.

A lot of people have said that the advent of the multi-channel TV and mobile phones and the Internet have been responsible for the lack of interest in the show, but I think it has more to do with the empty-heads who were left holding the baby. They had a format which they didn't know how to drag forward into the 21st century and it was silly because TOTP was always event television. It was about getting the biggest bands of the day on the screen and having some fun and that spirit was in decline throughout the 90s when pop music decided it wanted to be taken seriously.

Who can remember seeing their first glimpse of a pop video (Bohemian Rhapsody) or Bowie in space alien mode or the very first appearance of gender-bender Boy George (is it a boy or a girl?). Mods, rockers, hippies, punks, new romantics, goths, grunge, baggies, Brit-pop, rap, dance, even folk have had their moment on the TOTP stage and was the platform for getting the teenagers of Britiain growing/cutting/dyeing their hair, adopting a new fashion trend or inspiring them to pick up a musical instrument.

Unfortunately, popular culture in Britain today is no longer based around music. Where are the great musical trends gone? The last one was possibly Brit-pop and now it seems that our youth are more moved by reality TV, mobile phones and MySpace. This means that popular culture is now on the decline. Where are the great individuals that coloured our youth? Where have the Bowies, the Boy Georges, the Pistols and the Dylans gone? The great teen spokespeople have been replaced by the Crazy Frog and Coldplay - what a sick fucked up world we live in. And so it seems that music is no longer the potent force it used to be and the world is a duller place for it. I still remember seeing my first punk in Oxford Street when I was about eight years old. It was my birthday treat to be taken into London by my grandparents and I still remember him with his black spiky mohican. Once there was individualism, now it is follow the flock with our kids wanting to be anonymous and don the hoodie of invisibility.

What does this have to do with TOTP, you say? Well I would say that the programme was a barometer of the time and because there is no youth culture to speak of now - just a series of consumer trends - when the youth culture dries up, so must the programming. With the TOTP brand being so strong and the archive being so far-reaching, it wouldn't surprise me if ITV or Sky bought the licence to the franchise and kick-started the show again on one of their digital channels, especially as last-night's finale got a projected 4 million viewers - not bad for a Sunday night on BBC2, eh?

It is a real shame that they axed the show because it could have still had an audience. But heck, the BBC can spend our money on yet another dull reality TV show and shovel "I Am A Consumer Slut" and "Look At My Fat and Unruly Kids" down our throats for five-nights-a-week. Cheap TV = dull TV. Top of the Pops took effort to make and so it had to die. R.I.P - you will not be forgotten. And I will bet my left testicle that it will rise phoenix-like from the flames before you can say "Doctor Who's Third Series".

Daniel Hoffmann-Gill comments yesterday: "Sorry for not posting what you want me to post, I shall stick to making videos of myself playing guitar..."

Now I feel the need to explain why I make videos of myself playing guitar. It is because music is all I've got. Yes, I really am that shallow. My guitar and my music brings me joy. And I hope that maybe some people who visit this site might see the videos or listen to the tunes and say: "Hey, I kinda like that". I might be pissing in the wind, but at least I know I am pissing in the wind. Commenting on world politics over which I have no control is a an exercise in futility. I'd rather keep an eye on local politics, on the events that actually shape and affect my world - that's why I rail against the BNP becoming local councillors and HG doesn't. Call me selfish, but I know that even after I am worm food that the Arabs and the Jews will still be killing each other, Mr HG. Life is just too damn short for me to worry or care about it. Also, I recently wrote a guide about putting video onto the web for a consumer computing magazine to which I regularly contribute and so I guess I got a little bit inspired by my own advice. Here's the article here - you can see my Ashbory Bass clip in the bottom panel.

On a seperate and more joyful note, I am pleased to announce a second batch of baby mollies in the fishtank. This time they are gold and black mottled mollies. They are still small, but I managed to capture some video footage of them swimming around. They are the orange specks moving in the background.

Direct download: CLICK HERE

At the beginning of the year I made a promise to myself and The Missus that I would somehow pay-off our combined credit card debt. Now I wouldn't say that we are heavy abusers of the plastic, but we had a certain amount shuffled around on those zero-percent interest cards for a while. We are good zero-interest whores and moved our debt around when the going got tough. We realised that this amount had been with us since our wedding way back in 1998 and was just there, hanging over us. It was an average amount of credit card debt, but I knew something had to be done. And so I sold off various nick-nacks and CDs and whatever and after much effort and belt-tightening the final cheque for £1200 heads off to Capital One. We are now debt free (with the exception of the mortgage, naturally).

Of course, things never go to plan and this week I noticed that Soundslive (a rather excellent online music shop) had a number of Boss RC-50 Loop Stations in stock. Now these doo-hickeys are as rare as rocking horse shit in the UK and so I purchased one. Don't worry, most of my music gear I pay for by selling off other instruments. It's survival of the fittest here for the gear at Studio Lock and I am selling my old RC-20XL and some other stuff to cover the amount. The pedalboard arrived on Wednesday, but it was too hot in Studio Lock to have a fiddle, instead I waited until we had a thunderstorm and the cooler weather to arrive.

The RC-50 is a great bit of kit - it allows me to loop in stereo (at last) and its sound playback is superb. You can also record three different loops and let them organically run alongside each other. Anyway, I made my first attempt at a recording today and it isn't like my usual looped material. Enjoy!

Direct download: CLICK HERE

Using the YouTube playlist function, I've created a virtual concert out of the various performances I've recently recorded:

Direct link here.

Enjoy!

Well it managed to hit 33 degrees C in Studio Lock yesterday. I took refuge downstairs and did very little. Even at midnight, the temperature of the top part of the house was 30 degrees C, so we threw the quilt off the bed and slept with a thin sheet. During the night, the weather cooled and I awoke with a stiff neck. Oh well, that's what I get for sleeping in a draught. You have been warned...

So you look backwards to go forwards. One of my own favourite lyrics was a for a song I recorded fourteen years ago when I started messing around with a 4-track recorder. In those days, I wasn't much of a player and it was more about getting ideas down onto tape than anything else. However, I did used to enjoy scribbling lyrics and coming up with these little songs. OK - they weren't very good. I know that, but it was my hobby and I was learning my instrument. Some may say that what I do at the moment isn't very good either, but again, it is more about impressing myself than impressing you. Like all of my creative endeavours, I do it for me and no one else.

So the lyric is written and I really like the spirit of the original recording and when I decided that I was to put together a vocal CD for my new set, I knew I wanted to have another crack at this song. I'd been putting it off for many years mainly because I have a poor memory for my own tunes and once they are recorded I often forget how to play them - because I am not a professional player with no need to remember these follies. But with this tune I had to crack it. For the first time, I actually put down the drums and sang a guide vocal so I knew where to put the rest of the instruments. Then the bass and guitar went on next and then the lead instruments. I'd never recorded like this before and was surprised that it worked. Anyway, here is an early mix of the track for your delectation and below that are the lyrics so you can sing along. There is a deep meaning to it and is supposed to examine the omnipotent idea of maleness and one man being able to experience the feelings of all men, but I don't know if that comes across. Ooooh, to be 21 again and be totally pretentious. :-)

Direct download: CLICK HERE

The Clock Keeps Ticking

And I sit on the bench and watch the cars go past
And the drivers watching me watching them
And life seems so simple and clear cut
Like a door - open and shut

And the monotony of living
Is an excuse to carry on?
Why else should I keep breathing?
Why else should I keep thinking?
Why else should I keep dreaming?
Why else does the clock keep ticking?

For those of you who are regular readers of this, you might remember me blathering on about my dog Alex being attacked by a mastiff in March. Well I've been keeping a regular log of other attacks caused by the dog involved in our attack and last night my mother told me of yet another. One of her customers told her that she was attacked by the dog the previous evening as she walked with her partner. They are friends with Mr G, the owner, and have two greyhounds themselves. They were walking these dogs when they saw Mr G with the mastiff. She went over to say hello and the dog reared up and lunged for her, ripping her cardigan. Luckily, she wasn't bitten, but she said that was only down to her own quick reflexes. As you can imagine, she is pretty annoyed and fears for her own child when he walks the greyhound. She says she will contact the RPSCA, but what will that achieve?

Now I've been saying this from the beginning that it was only a matter of time before the dog attacked a person and with the summer season well and truly upon us, I often see small kids taking the family dog for a walk on the green spaces in the area. My deepest fear is that this mastiff will attack and kill one of these dogs (because a child will not know how to react) or even worse attack a child. If this was an Alsation or a Staff, I wouldn't be so concerned, but because this dog is huge and could easily kill a grown man, I keep writing about it - it's all I can do. My report to the RSPCA got a zero result - did he muzzle his dog, does he keep it in control? No - nothing happened. While we have a Dangerous Dogs Act, what we really need is a Dangerous Dog Owners Act.

No, I fear that my next report about this idiot will be of the fatal kind. I have my fingers crossed while typing this, but I can see the stupid inevitability of it all...

If you are like me and are of the same generational and cultural stock, you might remember programmes such as How! or Play-Away that would show little films of how lightbulbs are made or how they put toothpaste into the tubes. I used to find all that kind of stuff fascinating and while perusing YouTube I found a little film that tickled that particular itch. Currently, I am playing a Godin xtSA guitar and it is probably the best made guitar I've ever owned. Don't get me wrong, I've still got "Blackie" in its case - my 1997 Fender Fat Strat on which I wrote and recorded the majority of my recordings up to the last one - Textures. Since then, I had a Epiphone Black Beauty, which was a nice guitar but a little too anonymous and easy to play for my tastes and the aforementioned Godin. I am still bonding with the Godin and at the beginning I was worried that I'd made a mistake in buying it as I didn't feel it was my guitar. It's hard to describe, but for me to get anywhere with an instrument, I need to have a physical bond to it. My fingers need to feel comfortable on the fretboard and I need to know where all the sweet and dead spots are. With my Fender, it was literally love at first sight, but with the Godin it took time and I am only just cementing our relationship. The great thing about it is that it can be an electric, acoustic or synth in one guitar. Very clever. Anyway, I am again detracting from the starting point of this post. I found this great video of how they make guitars at the Godin factory:

Recently, the Crimson Guitars website announced its signature Robert Fripp instrument. I've never been too keen on signature instruments, but I was interesting to see how they tackled the MIDI guitar aspect of the guitar. Again, they relied on the Roland GK range of pickups and I was surprised by this because the guitar is quite futuristic and I was kind of expecting a rock-solid piezo type MIDI pickup, the same kind they use on the Godin Synth Access models. I like the shape and contouring of the guitar, but not too enamoured on the wood used for the body. I am sure it looks better in the flesh, but I would have preferred an all-black model. And yes, it is too expensive so I'll be sticking to my tried and trusted Godin. :-)

Currently trying to do a re-recorded version of "The Clock Keeps Ticking" for this vocal CD I am pulling together. Now the original version was recorded a long time ago when I thought all I needed was a solid drum track and growling bass line. It's not a song in the conventional sense of the word as it just jumps around four or five notes all the way through - it's more of a sound palette for the poem lyric that runs through the song. I'm trying to get the vocal together, but the hayfever is playing havoc with me tubes and I sound like Malcolm from the Tunes adverts from the 1970s. Anyway, here's the incredibly dull backing track...trust me, you will nod off...

Direct download: CLICK HERE

Noticed in the latest edition of Guitar Buyer that there was an advert for the Drummer Live event at the ExCeL building in the Docklands on 23-24 September. Though I am not a drummer per se, on the listing it said that Bill Bruford would be appearing to do a performance. So I checked out the website and it said that he's appearing at 3pm on the Sunday. Not sure if I'll attend, it's too early to tell. And Sid, yes you can snip this for DGM Live. ;-)

The great thing about YouTube is that I no longer have to make any effort to find any rare King Crimson/Robert Fripp video material as it is all there for me. It the old days, I took great joy in hosting this kind of stuff at that other site that I don't talk about. But now I don't have to bother. Yippee!!! Here's a very grainy clip of Herr Fripp talking about stuff and wandering around Wimbourne.

For my peers, the defining movie of their childhood is probably “Star Wars”. For me, it was the original “Superman – The Movie”. Being taken to see the movie at the ABC fleapit cinema near Baker’s Arms in Leyton (which was subsequently closed in the eighties and turned from B&Q DIY store to a Kwik Save supermarket) was one of the few promises my father managed to keep. He had promised to take me to see the aforementioned “Star Wars” and I was very excited. He worked at British Caledonian as an air steward and so he wasn’t always around – sometimes there were weeks between him flying off around the world and coming home again. That particular summer he made his promise and I had told my schoolfriends, but when we made it to the cinema in Walthamstow, the queue was deemed to long and the wait too much for him and so we turned away, a trip to the local toy shop was to be my treat instead. My heart was broken and I subsequently tried my best to lie about seeing the film and cribbed the plot from the “Star Wars Weekly” comic that was published at the same time. The only problem with that was the comic was based on the first draft of the “Star Wars” shooting script and there were several scenes in the publication that weren’t in the film. I soon learnt never to lie.

But for me, “Superman – The Movie” was special. We missed the first 15 minutes because of lateness, but once my father was asleep, I didn’t rouse him at the end of the movie and so I got to see the whole film again in its entirety. In those days, you could sit in a movie theatre and watch films over and over again without being moved on. The only downside was that it was the seventies and you had to suffer the fug of cigarette smoke that hung over the screen like a blue mist. The good old days, eh? I don’t think so. But seeing the film was a good memory and even though dear old Dad did a runner a couple of years later and there were many other disappointments along the way, seeing that movie together (even though he slept through most of it) is a memory I treasure. It is a “me and my dad” memory. A rose-tinted attempt at portraying him in a good light.

But, as usual, I am detracting from the main thrust of this piece. When “Superman Returns” was announced, I was a little worried that it would be a bit of a muck up. The film had taken over a decade to get to the screen and likes of Nicholas Cage and Jude Law (among others) had been touted for the lead role. Luckily, Bryan Singer got hold of the project and cast an unknown. Brandon Routh is simply superb as the Man of Steel and those who complain that he looks too young are missing the point completely. He manages to retain the same fresh-faced innocence that the late, great Christopher Reeve brought to the role. Kate Bosworth as Lois Lane also surprised me, as I had been prepared for a disappointment, but her chemistry with Routh overcomes the fact that she doesn’t really nail the hard-bitten hack routine so expertly played by her predecessor Margot Kidder.

The plot is simple: Superman returns after being missing for five years after zipping off to explore the ruins of his homeworld, Krypton, in a desperate attempt to find any survivors. In the time, the world has moved on. Lois Lane, the woman he loves, has moved on, had a child and a fiancé and is nominated for a Pulitzer Prize for her piece entitled: Why the World Doesn’t Need Superman. Au contraire, Ms Lane. The whole film is about why the world needs heroes – not just human heroes who pull off amazing feats of courage or determination or blind faith, but those symbols of good to which we can all relate and aspire. The great thing about Superman is that he isn’t human: he lacks the vanity, the greed, the ego, which makes us such poor imperfect specimens – and all that makes his nemesis Lex Luthor so potent. And Kevin Spacey pulls out a majestic performance as the villain and is genuinely frightening in some of the darker scenes.

A lot of people have complained that there isn’t a plot or it is a bit slow, but that’s what I like about this film. It portrays Superman as a real character and there’s bag of character development and despite its 2 ½ hour length, I loved every minute of it. The set action pieces are just breath taking and when Superman takes a Kryptonite-induced kicking, you’ll be grimacing at his pain through clenched teeth. The special effects are just out of this world and the CG stuff is invisible. I just can’t get over how good it all looked on the screen. Of course, it is a quantum leap away from the original movies, but there’s so many ways this film could have gone completely wrong, but Bryan Singer has done a sterling job. I thought that this was a truly brilliant rendering of the character and a magnificent restart to the series.

The final scenes, which I won’t reveal because it will give away the plot, had me choked up. I realise that the Superman movies is essentially a father-and-son piece with Kal-El trying to find his way in a universe without his father and just doing the best he can. This sentiment was echoed in that final scene and was very emotive for me. When the movie was over and the Missus asked me what I thought, I genuinely couldn’t reply as I was literally choked with emotion. It took me a good ten minutes to get over the experience and I know this is sad because it is just a superhero story, but it pulled those emotional strings that run invisibly through us and returned me to that seven-year-old walking out the ABC in Leyton with his father. And sons, even Superman, need their fathers.

I remember when the revitalised Pink Floyd was originally touring to support “A Momentary Lapse of Reason” and I didn’t have enough cash to buy tickets. Several years later nothing had changed and I still couldn’t afford to see them at Earls Court as part of “The Division Bell” tour. Part of me isn’t that bothered because when you see a modern Pink Floyd gig, you know what you are going to get. Strong visuals, music that’s almost identical to the record and a very corporate live experience. You are worshipping at the shrine of Pink Floyd Ltd – now buy a T-shirt, if you know what I mean. This isn't necessarily a bad thing (afterall U2 have refined the experience to an art form now) but it's not for me.

When the original P.U.L.S.E. album and VHS came out, I skipped it. I’d already got the “Delicate Sound of Thunder” album and didn’t need yet another turgid live Floyd experience. I know this sounds harse, but while I love PF on record, their later live performances always leave me a little cold compared to their hey-day in the 1970s - even "The Wall" can grate after a while. So when the P.U.L.S.E. DVD was announced I was a little non-plussed and not exactly clamouring for a copy. I wasn’t even planning on buying it, but it came my way via a treat from the Missus – unbeknownst to her, she got it for me the same day it was announced founder member Syd Barrett had died, so there was a little uneasy synchronicity going on.

The performance is spread over two discs and I must admit, I did enjoy the proceedings. It brought back memories of the PF Venice concert I’ve got on tape, but this time around the band were more relaxed and there seemed to be a little more charisma coming across, which is difficult because David Gilmour doesn't always come across as a great frontman. Consummate guitarist - yes, front man - no.

The first disc opens with “Shine On You Crazy Diamond”, which made for tough viewing after hearing of Syd’s demise – before it was a raise-your-glass-in-fond-memory kind of song, but now it had turned into an elegy. The rest of the disc plods along with a lot of post-Waters material, which is OK – but I only have time for “Learning to Fly” and “Take It Back” – the rest just washes over me in a laser light enhanced fug. It’s only when you get to the second disc when I began to enjoy the performance as the band plays the entire “Dark Side of the Moon” album and it works surprisingly well, despite the lack of Roger Waters. The visuals and stage effects enhance the music and I really began to get into it – even though it still is a rather plodding affair. Even "The Great Gig in the Sky" was a much better executed affair compared to that Venice gig I caught on TV. The last three songs on disc two are “Wish You Were Here” – again turned into a elegy now after the sad news about Syd – “Comfortably Numb” which features some great stage craft towards the end which really caught my attention and “Run Like Hell” which is the standard closer during the Gilmour-era.

OK – so I wasn’t totally impressed by the twelve-year-old concert - it's a little bit anonymous, a little lacking in spontaneity and just a little bit "so what?" in my books, but where P.U.L.S.E. comes into its own is the quality and quantity of material included in the set. Not only has the picture been enhanced so it looks as if the gig was shot yesterday, but the sound is crystal clear – there’s not much in the way of 5.1 Surround Sound juiciness but you do get a lot of the sound effects panned to the rear speakers. All the extra material is split over the two discs, so each one needs to be explored fully. You get all the mini-films that are projected on the screen on the main stage for your perusal (including live sound track), tour material including maps and itinerary, music videos for “Learning to Fly” and “Take It Back” (but not one for High Hopes, funnily enough), album cover art, a performance of “Wish You Were Here” with Billy Corgan from the Smashing Pumpkins and a little tour film made by one of the road crew. In all, for your money, you get four hours of material in the package. For the fan it is a treasure trove to explore, even if like me you don’t like the main feature a great deal. However, I must admit I was a little underwhelmed by the packaging as it is just a standard digipak - I was expecting some kind of pulsing light or laser show as I opened the box to retreive the DVDs!

It’s a no-brainer if you are a Pink Floyd fan – buy this set because it represents great value and is a last chance to see this era of the band in action and maybe float away in a nostalgic haze. I'm just a little bit weary of this type of performance, preferring Gilmour's recent stripped down, acoustic solo outings and compared to last year's fifteen minute Pink Floyd performance at Live8, you'll realise why this DVD isn't really Pink Floyd at all, but a surrogate band.

Oh deep joy. The taxman sent is second yearly bill to be paid ASAP. Oh well, dig deep into the coffers to come with the readies. Good job I sold all those CDs and T-shirts, eh?

My current musical obsession is swinging between Daniel Lanois and the Go! Team. I've seen the Go! Team on a number of festival shows on the TV and they always grab with me their energy and feeling of impending chaos. I also like their upbeat tunes too. So I was delighted to discover that eMusic had the "Bottle Rocket" single for download. I got it and then I ordered the album. Here's the vid for all you passing travellers:

And this is the video to Ladyflash:

My other musical obsession is with Daniel Lanois. Well I absolutely loved last year's "Belladonna" album and again eMusic provided me with the ability to download his 2003 "Shine" album. It is sublime and I really like it. I like it so much, that I waited for my monthly credits to be renewed so I could download his "Rockets" album too. Very chilled.

So yesterday afternoon, The Missus gives me a call to tell me she's heading home. She's been at some business meeting in Soho and has stopped by Virgin Megastore to by yours truly a treat.

"Syd Barrett's died," I tell her solemnly.

"The parrot's died?" she replies confused, the rush hour noise in the background making our conversation almost impossible, "What do you mean the parrot's died?"

I raised my voice a decibel and tried again and this time she understood. In an act of synchronicity, she was phoning to tell me that she'd just bought me the new Pink Floyd DVD "Pulse". We watched it last night and somehow it wasn't the same - songs like "Wish You Were Here" and "Shine On" have taken a new meaning. Before they were a raise your glass, wish you well type of ballad, now they've turned into elegies. I listed to those early Floyd albums yesterday afternoon and felt very nostalgic. They were the records I listened to quite early on - at about 14/15 - and remind me of a time when things weren't so troublesome - or at least the troubles weren't so adult, if you know what I mean.

Well this is upsetting. News has just broken on the BBC website that founder of Pink Floyd and troubled genius, Syd Barrett, has died from complications arising from his diabetes. This is a very sad day. I love that first album. "Piper at the Gates of Dawn" is just an exercise in whimsy that there's nothing else quite like it out there. And his credentials as a guitarist are underlined by the blistering "Interstellar Overdrive".

Here are some viddies, courtesy of YouTube, featuring the guy:

For me, listening to the Floyd is a remnant of my early teenage years and Barrett is a happy memory. I'm off to dig out those old records and give them another listen. Shine on, you crazy diamond, wherever you are.

I got Soundscape Fever and it's catching. But seriously, so inspired and altered by Robert Fripp's recent UK mini-tour that I've thrown my self at my pedals with abandon. I even dug out my old webcam so I could film myself in the act...of making music, you mucky minded pups. I've been uploading a couple to YouTube because they don't take up so much bandwidth and I plan to add the MP3 audio versions of the improvisations to my podcast - details on the left column of the screen. Anyway, here are the videos for your delectation:

Despite the fact that Alex the Wonderdog was attacked a few good months ago, the repercussions of the event still ripple around like a pebble tossed with mindless abandon into a still lily pond. My mother reported to me that Mrs G, the missus of MG, the owner of the mastiff that attacked Alex, had visited her shop again. She was prepared for the worst and Mrs G gave her both barrels - sounding off and complaining about the fact that my mother has been warning every dog owner in the area about them and their beast of a dog.

"How would you like it if your dog had attacked another dog and was being spoken about?" she asked my mother.

This provided us with light relief because my mother's dog is a tiny Yorkshire Terrier called Cappy and the idea of him taking on the mighty Dwarf the Mastiff (for that is the attacking dog's name) is both ridiculous and quite surreal. The mastiff is the largest dog I've ever seen and its back easily comes up above my waist. Meanwhile, Cappy the dog is short than the length of my forearm. Hardly an equal fight is it? And besides, we aren't that daft as to let our dogs off the lead in a public place and let them attack other dogs, but that's by the by.

My mother told Mrs G that she wasn't going to discuss the matter in her place of work and retreated to the stock room, allowing her manager to take over. He saw the horrific damage done to Alex the Wonderdog and asked the lady to leave peacefully. The funny thing is that my mother keeps hearing stories of how this dog has attacked various other canines in the area. One lady told of how her son had been playing with their Doberman in the driveway of the house when Dwarf the mastiff ploughed in and ripped its face. Her son was in shock and the dog clearly in a state, but the lady got in her car and tore after him. When approached, Mr G flipped the blame back her way, accusing her of not having her dog on a lead. Clever bloke, eh? Wonder where he got that gem from?

But the fact of the matter is that Mr G is still letting his dog attack other animals. He won't muzzle his animal and has bugger all control over it. They certainly don't like my mother warning all and sundry about what's happened. And so, I write this entry in the hope that someone whose dog might have been attacked in the area might come this way courtesy of Google - or any other fine search engine.

If you live in the Loughton or Debden area, specifically in the Rectory Lane/Willingale Road/Colebrook Lane area and have had your dog attacked by a large Mastiff - easy to identify because it is probably the biggest dog you'll ever see - drop me a line because I have the name, address and contact details of the owner. If you have been affected by this moron who can't control his dog, you must report him to the local dog warden and RSPCA, because if we keep on doing it, Mr G might just listen and muzzle his dog. While I am not particuarly pleased with him or his animal, I wouldn't want the dog put down because of the owner's stupidity and macho posturing. Now the following words are for the search engines so don't freak out:

large big dog attack attacked debden loughton mastiff fight muzzle kill bite bitten tear torn ear

To commemorate the anniversary of the July 07 2005 London bombing:

Direct download: CLICK HERE

And here is the audio version of that performance:

Direct download: CLICK HERE

My thoughts are with those who lost their loved ones on that day. May liberty, common sense and tolerance overcome the politics of fear and the religion of hate. Peace.

Recently, I've been cutting and pasting the various reviews I've done at "The Site That Cannot Be Named" and included them on this site. You could see this as a sign of the divorce coming through. I've packed my things and left, moving on to a new home. I'm not going back and I shall not waste any more of my time on it. Cast pearls before swine, etc etc etc. And so I am here now. To help people find the things, I've upgraded my filing system so that when you enter the archives you can see the various titles of postings. Clever, eh?

Yesterday was a good day. After much fruitless noodling, I realised that "Sweaty Betty" was good enough for inclusion into Disc 2 of my 4-CD boxset. It acts as a bridge into "Miranda Inspired" and it works very well, even if I do say so myself. Disc 2 is a 41 minute experience of 18 interconnected instrumental tracks. I like it - it has been a labour of love...a horrid laborious labour of love, with love turning to hate and then cold indifference. Of course, I jest.

Look...a shiny disc of wonderment and joy - guaranteed to send you to sleep in 20 minutes - or your money back!

My guinea pig came home from work and so I decided to give The Missus the premiere of the CD. She'd heard bits of it but not the whole thing. Unfortunately, she fell asleep 20 minutes in. I'll take it as a compliment. Oh well, what's the point, eh? So today, I sit down and work out what to call the eighteen songs. That's a challenge, innit?

And so we move onto the endgame. Get yer pen and paper out to scribble some lyrics, fool.

Mr P arrived nice and early to collect his missing wallet. He was a short fellow in his fifties and had a tan better than my own. He waved a ten pound note in my direction as thanks. I smiled gratefully and told him not to be so silly. All I asked was that if he was to find my wallet, he'd return the favour. My reward was the feeling of a job well done. Of course, done think me so honest. If the wallet had no ID, I would have spent the cash in the pub, because I do believe in finders keepers. But if you can trace someone, that's an entirely different matter.

At the moment, it has been hard to record anything. It's too warm. My fingers keep slipping off the fretboard. But despite the heat, I've managed to record a short doodle called "Sweaty Betty" - the intention of this is to use it as a bridging piece to splice onto "Miranda Inspired".

At the pub, we were talking about plans and ideas and I got it into my head that it might be cool if I could so live performances over the web. With broadband being the norm, doing something from the studio and webcasting it is very feasible. I just need some volunteers to watch/listen. Anyone out there? Anyone?

Today is the 8th anniversary of our marriage. Of course, this coming 5 September, me and The Missus have been stepping out together for a phenomenal 18 years. The scary thing is that neither of us can figure out where the time has gone. It still seems like yesterday that we were working together at Woolworths in Bakers Arms behind the record counter. When she got another job at Boots The Chemist up Wathamstow Market, I plucked up the courage to go ask her out. On the way back, I popped into Our Price in the arcade and bought Robbie Robertson's first album. Those were the days.

So we keep any celebrations simple. We enjoy the sun and go to the pub. Sad, but even after all this time we can still go and natter for good three or four hours without getting bored of each other's company. On the way to the pub I found a wallet in the curb. Normally, when I find lost money on the street, I trouser it. But because this was a wallet and there was a credit card inside, it actually belonged to someone and could be traced.

I had no luck in the phone book looking for Mr P, but I had the clever idea of phoning the credit card company and asking them to pass on my phone number onto him. Ten minutes later, Mr P phoned up and was very grateful to hear from me. He had my details and thanked me for being the only honest person in the world.

If you can't do good things, what can you do?

I am not sure if you remember my post about the dead bluetit chicks a while back? Well, I was watching a wildlife documentary on BBC2 tonight and I saw a clip of footage that might just explain what happened. Of course, the following clip is copyright of the BBC.

Actually, I found that footage a bit hard to watch when it came on the screen. Yes, I know it is silly to get emotional about wildlife programmes, but it took me back to opening the nesting box and seeing the dead chicks. At least, I could see a possible reason to how they came to pass. As it says in the documentay, the bluetit was only a small meal, not the difference between life and death. But that's the brutal gnashing maw of nature, I guess. Also, I'll never be able to listen to "Atom Heart Mother" in the same way again...

In the heat of the garden, we picked some of the miniature wild strawberries that had been growing. In previous years, they had been bitter and unpalatable. This year, despite their diminuitive size, they were incredibly tasty. Of course, this might have something to do with Alex the Wonderdog widdling religiously on them. :-)

Hmmm...tiny berries watered by the loins of a jumbo Westie

Booze & Berries

Well something's going on...checking the monthly stats for June, it seems that this little domain pushed out a whopping 57Gb of data. 57 Gigs. Five...Seven...Gigabytes. I can't believe it. There were three days last month where something gobbled up an awful lot of bandwidth by repeatedly download my video podcast - a total of 1617 times, equally 34Gb of traffic. I can't believe that video can be that popular and it seems that something or someone out there is upto something. Whether it is nefarious or innocent, I cannot say. It is all rather odd though. To put it in context, an MP3 like the "Cloistered Space 1" which I posted a couple of weeks ago has had a total of 248 downloads, equalling just over 1Gb of traffic . Now this is reasonable as it is also on my podcast RSS, so you can understand how this could happen. Something smells odd and it ain't my feet in this hot weather.

Last night, something happened that made me very angry, so I decided to take my rage out on my guitar. One thing I am not noted for is my adeptness on the fretboard. I am a more pedestrian player, preferring feel and melody over lightning licks. I used to do that stuff when I was a younger player, because you think it is a sprint, when in fact playing the guitar is a lot like a marathon. You have to pace yourself. Anyhoo, I added an angry guitar solo to the end of "Miranda Inspired" and hopefully it works. It's not particularly fast, but the intention is there. I will listen to it a couple of times over the coming days and decide whether or not it is fit for inclusion, needs reworking or whether to just continue to use the vanilla Miranda. Here it is for your own sonic audit process:

Direct download: CLICK HERE

Meanwhile, my hayfever is making my sinuses hurt. Mornings and late evenings are not pleasant at the moment, but I mustn't grumble. It's not that bad.

Operation Clear-Out sees a number of classic progressive rock T-shirt for sale. Oh yes, all these items have been collected from various gigs I have attended and are unlikely to be worn by yours truly again. Of course, I kept my King Crimson T-shirts as the rules of the clear-out allow me some dispensation. ;-)