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The End is Nigh!

Looking at my traffic stats, I reckon I’ve got 24 hours before my hosts close down this website until the end of the month. This is because I have exceeded my 20Gb traffic limit for June. It turns out that something downloaded a rather large file on my server (my video podcast) a whopping 460 times in one day. I get the feeling that this was a bot of some description because large volume traffic tends to happen over a longer period of time rather than concentrated on one day and one file.
And so this website will disappear for a while, which is a shame because I’d gotten a heck of a lot of traffic thanks to a link to my recent Robert Fripp reviews courtesy of Sid Smith at DGM Live. My traffic almost doubled thanks to Sid and considering that I get three times the traffic compared to a certain cult rock band site that I supposedly run, this is ain’t bad going at all. However, I have emailed my webhost asking if there’s a cheap way to upgrade my service without the site going down. I await their reply. If the site isn’t here the next time you visit, it’s not my fault and will return on 1 July 2006 (fingers crossed).
Seeing as I have been in a loopy kind of mood, here is a gentle piece for your consideration. It’s working title is Digital Sunset 1, but this could change. It’s nothing radical just soothing washes of sound. It ain’t gonna change the world but it made me feel relaxed as I recorded it live. With this track, I have been experimenting with my pedals and all though this starts with me dubbing up on the RC-20XL at the beginning, I kick in a 23-second panned stereo delay midway through courtesy of my DD-20 and so you get this spacy kind of loopy thing going. OK – it’s not a twin Eventide, but I think it sounds good. Still wishing I had the cash for an RC-50…sob…


Direct download: CLICK HERE
Today, I got an email from CDJAPAN saying that the payment for the recent Exposure CD that I bought from them has been denied by my credit card company. This all goes back to my card being cloned. This whole incident has turned into a rather expensive nightmare. I also got a nice email from Scott Stephen from Norfolk who also attended the recent Norwich Cathedral appearance by Robert Fripp. He found the concert by accident on the day of the event and enjoyed himself immensely. He also owns a Boss RC-20XL and likes noodling with loops. You see, all this looping stuff is catching…

Save Me (Again)

At the weekend, I went through a pile of old CDs looking for more songs to retreive for my 4-CD boxset. Again, I am trying to put together a CD of vocal songs and to save time writing new material, I am revisiting old stuff and attempting to breathe new life into it.
One song I wanted to use is called “Save Me” and so I went back to my master CD-R, but alas, laser rot or something caused the disc to be unreadable. I then spent most of Sunday afternoon looking for a solution to retrieve the seemingly lost data, before coming across BadCopyPro, a data retrieval suite. A few minutes with this and I successfully brought back the lost masters with the click of a mouse. What a relief. With the masters back from the dead, I listened to the track and decided to just remix the backing track and re-record the vocals. It works a bit better than the old version and I even did some slight editing on the end of the track to make things fit together better. A second song from the same sessions in 1999 called “You’re Going Down” was also saved, but I don’t think I’ll be re-using this. It wasn’t very good then and it sounds even worse now, even if I did decide to intervene and re-record some parts. Anyway, here is a rough mix of the new “Save Me” track:


Direct download: CLICK HERE
Back in 1999, I did a little CD called “Save Me”. Those were the good old days of www.mp3.com – a website where you could quickly and easily upload your songs and create purchasable CDs with the minimum of effort. We had great fun creating the artwork for that CD as it featured myself in the Missus’s old Vauxhall Nova, running myself over. Some clever trickery in PhotoShop made it all work, but I had to suffer for my art and lay on the cold road for 10 minutes while The Missus took the photographs. Those were the days! Unfortunately, a lot of the original artwork got lost when the backup CD-R went a bit manky and all that’s left is this front cover picture:

Who are those hairy fellows?
In the post: Robert Fripp – Exposure 30th Anniversary Edition. I know, I know. I already have the Japanese edition, but there is a story involved in all this. I had ordered the Japanese edition ages ago – I think it was January/February time and subsequently my credit card was cloned and I thought that my Internet order would not get processed as the card I had used was no longer valid. So in the meantime, I ordered the cheaper EU version from HMV using a voucher I had collected. The Japanese version turned up (my new credit card had been charged) and it was too late to cancel my HMV order as it had been on Special Order. So now I have two copies. Well that’s my story and I am sticking to it. I am sure Sid is having a good chuckle and waggling his finger at the screen at this record collecting shenanigans. Anyways, if you are planning to buy the CD, buy the Japanese version because the packaging is far superior. The EU version is nice, but they just know how to pull the stops out in Japan.

Jaded and cynical

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING ENTRY HAS AN IMPOTENT RAGE RATING OF 9 OUT OF 10
This morning, my mother had very kindly dropped off a copy of The Observer’s Music Monthly magazine through our door. While I had been fairly laid-back about getting a copy, she said that she would slip a spare issue out if they had any left over in the shop. So while I scoffed me cornflakes, I read the main interview with Thom Yorke from Radiohead. As I worked my way through the piece, I realised why I have become so disinfranchised with the whole music “scene.” In the past, I was the kind of guy who you couldn’t take into HMV because I spend a good hour in there pouring over the racks before coming out with cash spent and a little blue plastic bag full of goodies. Last week, I went into HMV and Virgin in Norwich and couldn’t even face looking at the shelves. It all leaves me cold.
So anyway, back to the wonkey-eyed whinger…in the interview, Thom Yorke dribbles on about global warming, Iraq, the government, capitalism and free-trade and the self-same student bollocks he’s been wittering on for years. All the time, we know that he is part of the system already. He is the one who spends vast amounts of money on world tours, using phenomenal amounts of carbon-based fuel to propel him and his band from continent to continent, causing irreversible damage to the environment and climate, to the nuclear power stations that power their events, to the corporates who sponsor the events and sell Coca-ColaTM at £5 a carton. The biggest irony, when it comes to the eco-friendly musicians, is that their product itself is incredibly toxic. You have a CD or LP, which is made from oil, with a silver substrate which won’t degrade, which is housed in either a paper sleeve (with paper made from trees and often bleached, more environmental damaged) or a plastic jewel case, which is made from more oil. The only good thing about digital downloads is that they are the greenest form of music other than live perfomance with an acoustic instrument.
At least, Thom Yorke admits he’s a hypocrite, but he’s still part of the system. He is still part of the capitalistic machine that sells the product. He is the product. You’ve already sold yourself, son, so shut up and take the dollar bill. So you sit there and you read this guy venting, a musician who hasn’t made a decent record since 1997, despite what the fawning critics might say, throwing their hands to heaven and praising skittering dross like “Hail to the Chief” and “Amnesiac” in fits of masturbatory joy, and you think to yourself: “Is it me. Or has the whole fucking world gone mad?” This guy isn’t a genius – his band is just a three chord rock band who managed to find oblique time signatures and Krautrock to pilfer. Why is this guy still here? Why are the music press still writing about them?And why is he still wittering on about problems of which he is part? More importantly, what the fuck am I doing wasting my time reading this?
Moan about the environment = stop travelling and burning valuable fuel to promote your folly.
Moan about slave labour = stop buying imports (even the Fair Trade crap which is just as exploitative) and buy local produce.
Moan about capitalism = withdraw your financial support and basically go live up a tree.
Moan about the government = become active at a local level because that’s how change occurs.
Moan about Iraq = strap explosives to yourself, book that meeting with Blair and press the red button at the appropriate moment. It won’t change anything but at least we’ll have got rid of two knobs at the same time.
Of course, I am just being an extreme reaction to his views because it makes fun reading – this is dark humour, you know. While I totally understand the necessity to be passionate about the things you care about, people like Thom Yorke are in the best position to organise, mobilise and change things. Yet they never seem to be able to deliver. It’s Bob Geldof-syndrome all over again, I guess. While well-meaning, their actions never actually achieve the aim. While Live8 was a great idea, it was poorly executed (no black artists – crap, get Gabriel on the blower and get him to call his coloured chums for a knees-up down his way). What did it actually achieve? Greater awareness? Did the politicians listen? In that instance, the decisions had already been made – so Geldof was really just having a big party.
You cannot achieve global change. No one can – only Mother Nature herself – or a random accidental asteroid in collision course with Earth – or a tiny virus with the capability of killing all human life – or a crazed man with the button and the nuclear warheads ready to go. But you can change the little things, make small incremental changes at a local level and if you are successful, these will move out to other areas, like ripples on a still pond after you’ve just thrown that pebble. I just wish these self-aware, almost saintly, musicians would just get on with what they are paid to do – make music. The Geldofs, Yorkes and (spit) Bonos of this world could change things if they really wanted. They have the money to do it. They could, if they so wished, raise a guerilla army and liberate the oppressed masses in West Africa. But they won’t, because that would actually mean doing something instead of bleating to the newspapers and having a platform to sell more product.
Of course, the reason I get riled when these rock stars open their gob and expect me to stop buying South African bananas goes back to that bloody St Bono and the time when appearing at a charity gala with Pavarotti, he paid something like £1200 to have his favourite trilby hat flown from Ireland to Italy. That must have been a pretty special hat. Think of all the African children the money could have saved?
Another strand of the interview portrayed Thom Yorke as a tortured soul, forever worried about the state of the world. For fuck’s sake, grow up man! Why worry about things you have no control of? Maybe I’ve got it wrong – I tend to worry about whether or not I locked the back door when I take the dog out for a walk – but I think that the environment will take care of itself. Mother Nature will wipe us out and start again when we’ve outlived our usefulness, much like what happened to the dinosaurs. You can’t change the fundamental nature of mankind – modern man is greedy, stupid and selfish with power and wealth being a corrupting influence. While being poor doesn’t automatically make you a saint, it does give you some humility which is greatly lacking in this world.
Anyway, I am not sure exactly what that rant was about. I know it started off about Thom Yorke, but I let my fingers run away from me. Anyway, I’m glad I sold my Radiohead records bar the good one.

In the Loop

The recent visits to see Robert Fripp perform have been very inspirational. Hearing the music in the proper context had a profound impact on me and I still stick to my judgement that performing Soundscapes in a rock context (i.e. in front of a boozed up, jaded and cynical audience expecting balls-out rock and roll) is like throwing your pearls to the swine.
Anyway, I’ve been noodling about with looped music for a quite a while – since about 1994 when I got my first guitar synthesizer, the Roland GR-1. Again, hearing Fripp made me realise just how much one can miss a piece of equipment. In those days, I didn’t have any delay or loop devices to help me get the sound I wanted. A delay pedal is a piece of equipment that basically acts as an electronic echo and duplicates the sound played into it, gradually decaying over time – The Edge from U2 is the biggest exponent of the delay pedal I can think of. A loop pedal is a bit more complicated and just plays back whatever you put into it and you can overdub sounds on top of that.
But I had neither, so I came up with a novel way of achieving my own soundscapes. What I would do is create a sound on my Roland GR-1, usually based on a string pad, and make sure that the decay of the sound was really long, so that when you plucked the string, the sound would continue for ages before dying out. This way I could play long deep notes and try and solo/add melody with the higher pitched strings on my guitar. The earliest example of this was a track called “Angel’s Tears” and actually it used a Yamaha MU-50 as the sound source, so it has a rather unique sound to it. Here it is:


Direct download: CLICK HERE
Over the years, I’ve purchased delay pedals such as the Line 6 DL-4 and the Boss DD-20 digital delay pedals, both of which allow you about 20 seconds of stereo looping time. With equipment like that, you can set down some synth pad noises and solo over the top. They are quite effective and work well despite not really being looping devices. Such examples of the DL-4 and DD-20 can be heard in this next piece, Shard of Indecision:

Direct download: CLICK HERE
Since then, true looping pedals have come to the fore and I’ve been using a Boss RC-20XL. Despite being only a mono device, you have an awful lot of delay time to play with (around 50 minutes, I think) and the sound quality is superb for such a compact device. I’ve been salivating over the new Boss RC-50, which is a stereo looper, but alas, I have neither the space nor the money to purchase one. But I’m not bitter, I am making the most of what I’ve got.
I think looped improvisation is a really interesting musical form and, for me anyway, it gives me the ability to tap into my subconscious creative mind. Once you set things off, you don’t really know where you are going to head and it is both nerve-wracking and extremely liberating at the same time. Seeing Robert Fripp perform with his banks of equipment was a real inspiration and it gave me the metaphorical kick up the rump to go back to my pedals and get playing. This morning I came up with this live improvisation called Cloistered Spaces 1, inspired by my visit to Norwich Cathedral yesterday. It’s not particularly good as I’ve not been ‘scaping for a while, but it is a start:

Direct download: CLICK HERE
The Missus quite enjoys my ambient noodling and reckons I should try and play this kind of stuff live. I always reply that if RF has such a hard time of it whenever he fires up a soundscape, what chance have I got. You’ve got to admire her blind faith, haven’t you?

Victim of Popularity

Awww crap. Being a self-confessed stat slut, I noticed that someone or something had downloaded my video podcast directly from this site. Of course, it is a very popular item – people like to see my pasty Uncle Fester face looming into view and plonking away unconvincingly on that rubber bass doo-hickey. But on 11 June, there were over 460 downloads of that particular file – this means that already I have used 13Gb of my monthly traffic quota and if traffic continues as projected, I am going to shift 37Gb of data this month and have to pay for it. Pay in blood, my friends. Pay in blood and sweat and tears and other bodily fluids. It’s not going to be pleasant. Oh what to do? I’ve already removed a load of unnecessary files from here – but I don’t want to take down the stuff I do – that’s the whole point of this place. I am in a right ol’ quandry and no mistake.
The weekend consisted of more sitting in the garden quaffing vodka. It’s an interesting drink. It’s not the slow descent I get with whiskey or pints of cider or pissy lager – one minute I am fine and the next, when I am least expecting it and usually three or four drinks down the line…whammmo…I can begin to feel worse for wear. Of course, it could be that I am just a big ol’ pansy. Who knows?
I also discovered that trying to squeeze into an old pair of shorts discarded many years previously is not conducive to one’s reproductive health. As I sat on the grass, strumming me geetar and terrifying the neighbours with looped improvisations (heck, it was a free concert and they should be grateful), the strain on my undercarriage was too much. Eventually I exclaimed “ooooh me ballbags” and ran inside to slip into something a little more comfortable. Damn the Missus for washing my favourite and only pair of shorts that actually fit me. The swine!
Today, I am back in the garden trying to get work done in time for the Missus who is having a break from her work over the next few days. We intend to do exciting stuff. Stuff that is so amazing that your brain would crawl out of your nose in sheer apoplectic exultation to escape your cranium and dance around in front of you singing songs of wonderment and joy. Tomorrow we are heading into town for some fun – shudder – and then we’ll be casting our net further afield later in the week. Don’t worry, I’ll take lots of pictures so you won’t feel left out. Of course, I know that’s there is only three regular readers left. I blame that sunshine…making people want to go outside.
Rant and rave, rant and rave. Just going on to make it look as if something is actually happening here. It isn’t. Back to the vodka, the work and the sunshine. 😉

Shoot-Out at the Bathroom Factory

A dream last night:
So me and The Missus were eating out – it might have been a restaurant, it was a dream and so hard to be specific. During the meal, I get up to use the bathroom and on the way back, I notice a fellow diner polishing bullets with his napkin. After the meal, we are outside and I discover a large hold-all containing more bullets and guns – it belongs to the guy inside. I use a mobile to call the police, but as the armed response team arrives, our gunman makes his break for it. He shoots his way out and I am left to dodge bullets alone. The police are outgunned and ineffective and so the gunman escapes the narrow London street. I follow him to a bathroom supplies shop, where he makes his base.
I want to get inside, but can’t go through the front door because he will kill me. It is now dark, but the light from the shop illuminates every in front of it, making it an ideal hide-out for the gunman. I go around the back of the premises and look for a door. I am in luck – in the darkness is an unlocked door. I quietly open it and descend into the gloom.
Immediately, I can hear the splashing sound of a large volume of water and the empty acoustic reverb of liquid on tile. As I walk down the stairs into the darkness, the sound of women’s voices become clearer and more apparent. I turn the corner and there is a large swimming pool. In it, are three young women swimming. They do not notice me as I hide in the shadows and walk past them. One of them sees me and asks me into the pool, but I decline saying that I have no swimming trunks with me. They giggle at me and their laughter continues as I find another staircase leading out of the swimming pool area.
I ascend and as I head upwards, I can see light. At the top of the stairs, I am stopped in my tracks by Peter Sellers in full Dr Strangelove regalia, except he isn’t moving. His head is slumpt forward and he appears lifeless. All of a sudden, he sparks to live reciting lines from the movie and waving his arm around in a sub-Nazi salute. I talk to “Dr Strangelove” but he doesn’t respond. He appears to be some kind of automaton. As I work my way past this obstacle, I see Peter Sellars again as Inspector Clouseau. He asks me if I have a licence for my minkey. Again, he is an automaton. I see Christopher Reeve as Superman and many other Hollywood stars. They pace around the well decorated apartment, reciting their lines, then moving on. Their performance repeating ad infinitum.
Suddenly, I come across an old man. He is the creator of these beings and explains that he loves movies and that they are his only companions. He is very lonely and has spent his life building up his bathroom fittings business – the shop space below us, containing the gunman. I tell him my predicament and he takes me to one side.
“Take this,” he says, handing me a very small fruit knife, “You will need to be armed.”
I look at the knife and even though I know my quarry has many guns, I know that this is all I will need to defend myself. I thank The Creator and he leads me down another set of stairs to the shop floor. The area is huge and well lit – almost too well lit as the light hurts my eyes. There are bathroom sets and shower units and the way each section is laid out is like a maze. It is a small rat run between the various bathroom suites and there is nowhere to hide. It is like a labyrinth and I fear that I will soon become the hunted.
In the distance, I can hear the gunman. He is firing out into the night – shooting at the police who are stationed outside the premises. Suddenly, all hell breaks loose and the police storm the bathroom shop. I duck down as bullets fly from all directions. I worry that I am going to be mistaken for the gunman and that I am going to get shot. I keep down low and scurry through the network of pathways, listening out for the taunts of the gunman and using them to locate his position.
I turn a corner and there he is crouching down, reloading his weapon. I take the fruit knife in my hand and slide it into him, into his back, in the general kidney area. He turns around in shock, drops he weapon and falls to his knees.
“You can’t do that!” he exclaims in complete surprise.
“But I just have,” I reply.
With that the focus of the dream changes and my foe has already been taken away. The Missus return and the shop is suddenly filled with familiar faces, people that I have known, many of them existing work colleagues of The Missus. There are also celebrities in the throng as well as faces that I am not too certain of. I can hear the clink of glasses and smell alcohol. I feel thirsty. This appears to be a party and everyone wants to talk to me about my vanquishing of the gunman.
That was as much as I can remember of the dream. Good one, ain’t it? I like it when they are cinematic.
So what’s been happening lately? Not much, been sitting in the garden in the sun, just chilling and discovering the delights of vodka and soft drinks. Lime cordial is my mixer of the moment. Tasty. Don’t worry, I have been working too – very slowly. Not felt like doing any recording at the moment – not inspired.
Not inspired at all.

New Talent = No Talent

On TV the other day, I saw an advert for the BBC’s New Talent strand and this time around they are looking for budding musicians to write soundtracks for their nature programmes. Of course, I don’t stand a chance with this because I lack the musical talent, but I popped along to the website to see what the deal was. The BBC gives you a short piece of video to download with the idea that you write specifically for it. As I wasn’t taking this seriously, I looked for a suitable piece in my back catalogue that would fit and entered anyway. Nothing will come of this…but here’s the video and my music to accompany it. Of course, the video is copyright of the BBC and I am probably breaking the law showing you this, but heck, let them take me away. The whole point of this is to see how a random piece of music can fit a piece of video footage. I think this track works as the cymbal splashes seemed to match the birds diving into the sea:


Direct download: CLICK HERE
Meanwhile, my Internet is still iffy. Despite numerous calls and exasperation at their incompetence and the fact that the engineers can’t seem to do anything, I am stuck on getting by with 121kbps – remember folks, it’s mean to be around 4500kbps. Now I am no speed willy waving type, but since this ferrago, I’ve got into the habit of checking my download speed to an almost obsessive level. The Missus thinks this whole incident is having a nasty effect on me. No – it’s just if and when BT Bombay phone me up, I need to know the exact crappy download speed for them when they ask.
At the weekend, we took advantage of the good weather to sit around the pub, get slightly toasted in all senses of the word and generally chill. This is only the second time we’ve done that this year – due to the poor weather so far. Later in the day, I spoke to my mother about something that had been troubling me. “You’ve got to forget it,” she said. And so, when the trouble seems complicated and all consuming and eating away at you, the simplest advice is the most obvious. Sometimes you just have to let go.
I am my father’s son and there’s nothing I can do about it. I cannot deny this or rewrite history. I have to be comfortable with who I am and embrace those parts of me I don’t necessarily like. If I can embrace those parts of me, I can understand them and work on them. I have to like myself and that’s the toughest part. I have to learn to ignore the past and continue on my own way. They owe me as much as I owe them: nothing. My father had his chance back in 1993 and he threw me away for the second time. I realise now that should have been the end of it. After a night’s sleep, I am over it once and for all. If my mother can be over it, then so can I. I feel a lot better and 2006 has been an interesting year for making changes and putting things right.

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