I realised that I had enough music together to compile another “Improvisations” album – the most unpopular series in my catalogue of tuneless dribbling. But don’t worry, you can sample the album in the player below and order the CD/Download fresh from here. It’s gotten all clever like that.
Enjoy! (or not)
The album began with the idea to create music that elicited the imagination to conjure up the sweeping vistas of America. Then the word Americana got stuck in my head. Then as I started to create the music, I thought wouldn’t it be nice to tell a story of a man who is in love with the American dream who gets a chance to trade in his life for another.
And so something that was going to be instrumental became a modern-day concept album telling the story of Eddie Pilgrim: The Last of the Electric Horsemen. The music tells a story both thematically and narratively and puts the hero in a very Faustian conundrum, but where would the Devil reside? Why in Las Vegas, of course! And so the gamble is played out on the roulette table and a decision needs to be made.
The music is eclectic: being painted instrumental, guitar driven pop to out-and-out progressive rock featuring a splash of faux mellotron to whet your whistle.
The CD version of the album comes complete with a second disc, which is a DVD that contains a 5.1 surround sound mix in both DTS and Dolby Digital, plus the stereo mix and a commentary track from myself talking about the making of the album. There’s also a discography track that features 60 minutes of music from my back catalogue and two bonus extra videos that didn’t make the final edit. The DVD-ROM section of the disc contains a PDF of the book of the album and a free multimedia eBook that’s compatible with the iPad.
So for your money you get over three hours of original content and the electronic album sleeve that takes you through the story of Eddie Pilgrim and his fight against the things he desires.
So tonight, BBC TV Centre at White City is closing its doors for the last time and bowing out of broadcasting. After fifty-three years of making televisual history, the ming-mongs who call themselves the powers-that-be somehow decided to relocate to Salford in a money-saving exercise. I will never understand this strategy because no-one wants to go to Salford. Three hours from the capital by train, how many celebrities will turn up for an interview? They’ll head to the ITV Studios (the old LWT studios on the South Bank) instead for a chat.
But what do I know? I’m just another Norman No-Nothing, ain’t I?
I have many memories of Television Centre, as I’ve had quite a few interviews there in the past. I remember one, where they actually offered me the job, but I’d have to take a pay cut of £6k, to which I politely withdrew my application during the interview.
The corridors were like a rabbit warren and it’s decor and overall feel was that of a long-gone era and it was hard not to be think back to Blue Peter or Swap Shop or whatever programme had ventured out into those self-same corridors. They had a familiarity about them.
Then there was the time I attended a taping of Top of the Pops on 13 October 1988 with The Missus (but she was still just The Girlfriend back then and hadn’t earnt her promotion). On that show was such delights as PP Arnold and the memory of nearly being knocked out by a camera dolly as I was hypnotised by Sabrina’s heaving bosom.
Ahhh, the memories. The band T’Pau did their thing and their performance was underlined by Carol Decker, obviously reacting to Sabrina being on the show, asking the crowd “Who wants to see my tits?” to which the crowd replied: “No-one”. The story appeared in The Sun the next day and it was that moment I knew that the tabloid press only printed the truth…
So farewell, BBC TV Centre and I predict that the rat’s nest at Salford will never come close to your achievements or your history. And I’ll leave the piece with my favourite photo of Charlie Drake in the atrium of the BBC studios, creating a striking image.
Well it took a while, but here I am on a new webhost. Hopefully, everything works out OK.
I thought I was over all the sickness and woe of 2012 – after spending September through December of the year in the thrall of various coughs, colds, sneezes and bugs. It was scary because for nearly a month, I lost all hearing in my right ear, but thankfully it gradually returned on Christmas day.
But I don’t like being ill. Nobody does. And as I am getting older and look after the kids, I need all the energy I can muster just to make it through the day. Having such a long period of extended illness depressed me, so I was looking forward to a clean bill of health into 2013.
Last Wednesday evening, I noticed a cough develop and then I realised that I was “with bug” again. So I have been sensible, plenty of fluids and juice, paracetamol, lots of sleep, but I feel like the shit has been kicked out of me.
I am the man wheezing along the road with his kids coming home from school. I am the guy who has to stop halfway up the hill to catch his breath, before trudging on. I can’t seem to shift the infection from my chest and I am beginning to sound more like my late mother with every gasp, splutter, cough and retch. I am hoping it will pass.
For about four days, I could barely eat, having lost my sense of taste and everything just seemed repulsive to me. Even a good honest cup of tea made me feel bilious. So the orange juice has been taking a beating.
Yesterday, I thought I was feeling better – big mistake. I went to bed early (as I have been doing) but awoke with the most terrible pain in both my ears. I went downstairs to the Missus in search of even more paracetamol and cried to the Missus before hitting the whiskey. During the night, something must have ruptured because the pain was gone from my right ear, but replaced with a leaking, torrent of clear liquid. My ear continues to leak even as I speak, though the left ear is giving me right gip.
I am beginning to think that I might have to visit the doctor about this. Of course, I have rules about doctors – I only see them if I am wheeled in feet first on a gurney, you know the score.
But the bottom line is that I am sick of being sick.
I’ve been messing around with the various synth plugins I have in my ownership after making some videos about music software. This is the first sonic shit storm to hit your ears in 2013:
So here’s some background to the story: The Missus’s grandmother hasn’t been very well lately, had a fall, broke her arm, spent time in hospital. Unfortunately, my father-in-law didn’t see fit to stay with her over the Christmas period and left her alone in her flat, with carers coming throughout the day to help with her day-to-day care. She has a personal alarm so that if anything happens she can contact us. Our phone number is at the top of the list as we are about a 30-minute drive away from her. She is 88-years-old and increasingly confused.
So at 2:30am the telephone rings and I already know that the panic button has been pressed, even before I pick up the phone. I am actually in the process of turning in for the night after setting my video to upload onto YouTube overnight (something I do all the time). So I answer the phone – it is the police and I dutifully wake The Missus and hand her the phone. The message is that grandmother has had a fall, but she’s OK, but pressed the panic button. They want someone to come over to lock up as they don’t have a key.
OK – says The Missus, give me 30 minutes. Before she sets off, she gives her parents a call to inform them, but they already know. In fact, they know more than we do, because the police have not been entirely truthful with their account. They have smashed their way into the property, all the locks are damaged and they need someone there to mind grandmother. The Missus heads out into the night and calls me later to get her numbers of locksmiths to fix the damage.
I have a terrible night’s sleep – it is disjointed and I wake every hour or so and then rise at 7.50am. My reward shall be a bacon sandwich, a cup of earl grey, but that doesn’t suffice, a small bowl of cereal to finish it. This is not my normal breakfast, but the lack of sleep has made me hungry enough to want to eat a small pit pony between two slices of bread.
Another phone call from The Missus – everything’s fixed for now and father-in-law has arrived to take up care duties. Apparently, someone at social services or what-not had written down our number incorrectly and The Missus’s brother (who was second on the list) completely ignored the phonecall from the police. If they had our number down correctly, or if brother-in-law had answered, it would be likely that the police wouldn’t have smashed their way into the flat with the same vigour they use for those morning raids on cannabis farms and South London drug dens.
The kids are raised from their beds, fed and watered and The Missus returns. Both of us are a little burnt out and it’s not even 10 o’clock.
Welcome to 2013 – I am sure things are going to ease off from now on? Right? Eh?
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