Phew…that was a tiring week. And now I have reverse jetlag and now I feel awake when I should feel tired (instead of feeling tired when I should be awake). Aha!
Managed to get my booty through the green customs channel. That’s one in the eye for the little guy, right? And so I am now the proud owner of a second-hand Fender Stratacoustic which I bought for a bargain price of $129 (which is about £70). The same guitar I saw in a shop in the UK for £270 – you go and do the math. My other purchase was for an FX pedal…the Boss RC-20XL which is a looping device that can hold up to 16 minutes of musical soup. This isn’t currently available in the UK and was again bought for a bargain price thanks to the generous exchange rate. I haven’t quite got to grips with it yet but it should be a fun toy to play with.
While I was away even more CDs have been flying off the shelves at CDBABY with “Sows’ Ears” being a particular favourite. While it isn’t enough for me to buy a Bentley (you can’t even drive, you fool) it is heartening to know that complete strangers are giving my music a home and a chance. Hurrah! If only I could perform this stuff live…that particular bugbear keeps nagging me at the back of my mind. Live…live…live…if only I could.
Anyway, my very first independant review of “Sows’ Ears & Silk Purses” goes like this.
Brian of Oregon says:
“At 4+ hours for $10, this thing is the ultimate bargain for enthusiasts of tasteful, intelligent electric guitar playing. It’s all over the map stylistically, of varying but never terrible recording quality, and all quite pleasantly listenable with moments of brilliance.”
This truly makes it all worthwhile. And, of course, you can grab your copy by paying a visit to…
http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/darrenlock3
Each copy of this has been lovingly rubbed against my codlings before they were sealed into the box.
Shameless self-promoting son-of-a-bitch, ain’t I?
Category: Diary
At the moment, I am typing this using the hotel room’s “Internet TV” service – so please excuse typos. Yesterday, I spent fifteen minutes writing a diary entry only for it to disappear into the ether courtesy of this service. Oh well…cheap ‘n’ cheerful, I guess.
Last week, left for USA. Hardest part of the journey was getting stuck in traffic for 30 minutes on the M25 as soon as we entered it from our locale. Not good. The flight was a breeze – though I was shocked by the amount of babies travelling on the flight. When the plane began its descent, they all started bawling as their little ears popped. Poor little mites….their parents should be strung up by their codlings for making them suffer so.
Arrived in the afteroon. The Missus advised me to keep going rather than nap. So I kept going and we mooched around and got something to eat. Went over 24 hours without sleep. When I slept I woke at 5am in the morning (jetlag rules OK). This pattern continued for the next three days.
Hired a car, made the Missus drive immediately onto the freeway in order to conquer her fear of driving on the wrong side of the road. It worked (almost). Had little gas and so we pulled off in some run down part of LA. Nice hispanic man at the gas station showed us how to use the pump. Different from the UK. He was helpful and laughed with us at our British incompentence.
Carried on driving. Got to Irvine. Checked in, went out. Headed for the South Coast Plaza for shopping and snacks. Good fun. Bought Talking Heads CD. Went back to the hotel. The Missus had a nap while I tried to remain cold, stone awake. Went down for the concert. Arrived at the desk but there was no record of me on the computer and so I used my English accent to convince the guy that I had travelled all the way from England for this show. Got a pair of entry bands. Thanks, BarryK. Checked out the “art”.
“Like shooting fish in a barrel,” says cynical me. Though we did chortle at the paper mache dog complete with postman’s hand in its mouth. It reminded us of Rumpus Meridius Maximus who is probably rumping on the sofa 5000+ miles away in Blighty.
Watched gigs. Went back to room. Slept. Left early. Headed to Fashion Island near Newport. Mooched around here for a couple of hours. Headed off again along the Pacific Coast Highway – stopping off here and there. Sat on a bench overlooking Rendondo Beach for 45 minutes – doing our thing, people watching. Do we dare join the good-looking, tanned locals? No, who wants to see our pale flesh exposed? So we shuffled back to the car and continued our journey.
Parked near Santa Monica Beach and had some grub. The turkey and coleslaw sandwich sounded nice on the menu. Went it arrived it was deep fried! Jeez, I felt like Elvis. Afterwards, a walk along the sea front up to Marina del Ray (though not all the way there, I am afraid) was enough to get the greasy sandwich through my digestive system. Walked there and back – stopping to sit and enjoy the evening sunshine and the sand. Back to hotel for deep sleep and waking at five in the morning.
Sunday began with us walking to the Guitar Centre on Sunset. Nice to look around but the staff are just a little too keen to introduce themselves. Let me browse in peace, dagnammit!
Walked back to the hotel in the mid-day heat and went out driving to the Santa Monica shopping complex on Third St. Good mooching. Had tea and a scone in one of the “English” tea rooms around there. The tea was good but the scone was a bit floury for my pallette.
Walking down to the coast and down to the pier. To the end of the pier for photos and staring out to see. Naturally more impressive than Clacton Pier which I had visited in July, but what do you expect. Walked slowly back to the car. Hotel and bed.
Monday morning was my first morning without waking at five am. No more jetlag, hurrah! Went out driving stopped here and there. Visited my favourite Sam Ash music store and bought some musical goodies. Drove around Beverly Hills and the Palisades. Good driving. The Missus made a motoring faux pas and we nearly got squished by a very big juggernaut. Not bad going. One honk the whole weeked. Well done, The Missus.
Stopped by the beach again and walked around before sitting in the sun for 45 minutes. People watching. Police arresting bums. Dogs in the heat. The odd British accent. Had to return early as the Missus begins her professional life for the next couple of days. She spent the night out at some DVD awards (I declined to go, preferring to stay in the room and play with my new musical toys). Watched my first proper evening of American TV and then to bed.
And that brings me up to this moment. Tuesday morning. The Missus is working and I’ve got to figure out what I am doing with myself. Might take in a movie or just mooch around the locale. Some drummer is playing in a musical at a theatre that is part of my hotel complex. Everywhere I go Val Kilmer is staring at me. I don’t likes it.
Not much doing.
Been spending time with The Missus. Getting drunk and generally being naughty.
Decided to retire my bass of 12 years and buy a new one. Went to the Guitar Centre in E1 and bought a lovely red Fender Precision Bass Special Deluxe. When I got it home, I took the router and hammer drill to it and made loads of holes in the body to accommodate an internal MIDI pickup. Now I have a wonderfully playable MIDI bass…yum.
To pay for such doings, my old bass, an acoustic guitar and some other crap I no longer need will be going up on eBay. It is good to binge and purge, binge and purge…
It’s cold, it’s dark, it’s raining and I want SUMMER. I want SUMMER right now. I know worldwide the gag is that we live in a constant shroud of cloud and rain, but usually, at this time of year, even us poor, pale, pasty-faced Brits have a little bit of sun and warmth. Not this year, it seems.
At the moment, I am without work. The situation is one step away from being critical and with one opportunity closing, I need to find some more work. Unfortunately, I am the worst freelance writer…ever! No, it is true. Trust me on this. I’ve done my darndest to network, to make contacts, but I am just not breaking through anymore. It is a concern. Take the following reply I received from an editor this very morning:
An editor with an arse for a head wrote:
Unfortunately you seem to be writing for our competition. I’m afraid we can’t use the same writers that they do.
Thanks,
Graham
Well, excuse me. I didn’t realise that I was working in such an exclusive industry. This has happened to me before and if an editor sees that you write for another competitor, they won’t hire you. This means that even if you haven’t written for that magazine for a couple of years (like in my case) you are stonewalled out. Does this happen in other professions?
Imagine the scene. A young fellow goes for an interview at Burger King.
Employer: I see that you’ve worked for McDonalds, Mr Smith?
Potentential Employee: Yes, I can explain. It was a Saturday job when I was at school.
Employer: Sorry. We can’t hire you. You’ve worked for our competitor.
Potential Employee: Nooooooooooo!
And so my patience is wearing thin with the whole media industry. It is so facile and shallow and nasty that even a little underacheiving sprout like me finds it hard to continue.
Adopting David Brent demeanour:
Today’s weather is the worst for 150 years…FACT! In fact, the last time the summer weather was this bad they cancelled the D-Day landings…FACT!
So I am snuggled here in my wooly jumper with the central heating on. Me and Alex are fed-up because it is far too wet and windy
Recent eBay madness has secured me with enough funds to purchase some musical goodies for my next project. The Missus should just wrestle me to the ground and remove my credit card from me before I do anymore damage. But she is a sucker for me when I do the big blue eye routine and stick out my bottom lip…
“But all the other boys have internal MIDI pickups in their bass…PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE”
Pester power works!
Thinking of getting more stuff up on eBay but I spent TWO HOURS inputting stuff the other afternoon just for only half of the stuff to sell. Here’s a word of advice: books do not sell. Some do, mainly rock books and popular classics, but the more obscure stuff doesn’t and so those books will be heading to the local charity shop. Yes, I do my bit being a left-wing goodie, goodie socialist scum-bag.
Ooooh drum solo…
Now I am REALLY bored… I have a pile of work lined up but I am waiting for confirmation from all the editors, so I am stuck in Limbo.
So…
ROO-NEY! ROO-NEY!
Yes, last night’s football match was most invigorating. I am a closet fan, only coming out when International matches are played. As a child, my local team was Leyton Orient and so this didn’t endear me much to the sport of football. There’s only so much degradation a boy can face.
More TV was watched and I saw a programme that actually made me feel bilious. I normally have a strong stomach for things and I have watched all manner of TV shows depicting the unseemly side of life, such as all manner of operations and a live autopsy, which was very educational. But last night, I watched a show that threatened to make me upchuck the guffstuff.
It was called Animal Passions and dealt with the subject of Zoophilia. Now you might think that this was about people who enjoy visiting the zoo, but it isn’t. It’s about those folks who get their kicks from being intimate with our furry friends. So the usual suspects are brought out: white American, bloated trailer-trash, sub-Springer scum, extoling their love for horses, ponies and dogs. It was the description from one young woman of how her virginity was taken by the neighbour’s dog at the age of 12 that caused my mouth to go moist in that pre-vomit stage and start to heave.
I’m still not sure what the message was. I think it was something about tolerance. Or maybe it was that the animals really like it. Or maybe it was that bestiality is legal in the state of Missourri. One expert said something like: “People don’t get upset when we kill animals for food, so why should we get upset when people have sex with animals?” Oh well, it takes all sorts I guess.
Again, I’m just boring. Sometimes I think I should actively develop some kind of sexual deviance just to fill out my character somewhat.
Recently:
Been plugging away, trying to finish a piece of work from the Editor-From-Hell. Nearly there. But his phone-calls are the writing equivalent of standing at a urinal in a public toilet, trying to pee, when a stranger walks up and occupies the urinal directly next door to you. Yup – I can’t pee with an audience and I can’t write when the editor is yapping at my heels for no good reason. Ho hum.
On Friday, my old recording chum Andrew O sent me an email after almost a year of silence. He has a new job. Well done, I congratulate. He wants to hear the music I am currently working on. I oblige and send him some stuff. He returns the favour. His ideas are roughly recorded and, as usual, I suggest that he should really invest in some guitar effect units to smooth his guitar sound out instead of just recording his guitar directly into his PC. He says he isn’t interested in the final product, only the ideas that are recorded. He ripostes saying he likes some of the new stuff but prefers my “less-guitary” material. This leaves me non-plussed as I use the guitar primarily. He ends the statement with a non-committal “no offence”. Well that makes it OK, I guess.
At the weekend, patchy sunshine, booze, Internet poker and more booze.
I also received a vinyl copy of Islands courtesy of my good friends at eBay. This was the first time I had heard this LP in its natural format. It was very interesting to hear. It sounded a lot more closed that Lizard and seemed quite claustrophobic. On occasions I could hear some weird strange bass frequencies that whooshed around like the wind. I can’t imagine what KC fans must have made of it this after hearing Lizard and ITWOP.