Things I have been up to since hearing (in a feedback session) that I was 'too serious' for a job in comedy at the Beeb:
1. Went to an architecture exhibition, where bespoke jelly moulds of famous London buildings were the centre-piece. Loads of little pink jellies of places like St. Paul's cathedral and The Eden project were displayed in front of a camera-phone toting public. By night the jellies had fallen to the floor, and the public danced on them to the coolest MC/DJ pairing I have ever seen. The Swing playing 'Correspondents' featuring DJ Chuckles and MC Ian Bruce (who's adopts the style of a fifties American Preppy) was amazing.
2. Been asked to play drums on my friend Lindsay West's record, and to sing with my friend Noa on a song where I will impersonate Noa as she sings, well, like Noa too.
3. Reworking my book proposal on Theology and Disability for JKP.
4. Entering E4's Radio HaHa competition with my 'Letters From An Absent Father' improv.
5. Looking for places for my sitcom pilot - now finished - to go.
6. Playing more festivals, the last one being Lounge on the Farm. I got a little drunk, slept in a van, enjoyed playing (though Joe is still out of action), and learnt that Kitty, Daisy and Lewis (who were on after us and were great), not only live opposite me, but also own the Hearse I occasionally see parked outside my house. They carry their stuff in it, you see...
7. Thinking about my Radio Four doc.
8. Watching my friend's Edinburgh Preview, entitled 'How to learn the Ukulele in under an hour: How George Fornby saved my life'. It's by Sam Brown and Donal Coonan. If you're at Edinburgh this year, look them up.
Monday, 14 July 2008
Thursday, 10 July 2008
Radio Four
Well the BBC may have rejected me, but Radio Four have just commissioned an idea of mine! It's a half hour doc. about an American singer called Mrs. Miller, and it will go out in May 09 if I can convince Victoria Wood to present it.
Who was Mrs. Miller then? Well, she was a woman with a bizarre, untrained, tuneless, vibrato-laden voice, and a tendency to forget lyrics both in live performances and on recording, She became something of a cult figure in the 1960’s, and beyond.
Her success was phenomenal. In 1965 she was just an ordinary grandmother singing as a hobby in Church at her home in California. In 1966 she released her first LP on Capitol Records, the ironically titled ‘Mrs Miller’s Greatest Hits’, and it sold more than 250,000 copies in its first three weeks of release. By 1967 she had sung for the troops in Vietnam and performed live at the Hollywood Bowl.
But this is not a tale without hurt and sadness. For one thing, it’s not so certain that Mrs. Miller was in on the joke herself. In fact, the singer claimed late in her career that she wasn’t off-key or off-rhythm by nature but that Capitol, keen to cash in on the possibility of a ‘so bad it’s good’ cult, engineered the whole project without her knowledge. She claimed that they would make her wait until she was tired before allowing her to record, and would not allow her to familiarise herself with the words of a song, so that she would appear forgetful and distracted.
I'm excited about the programme, and really hope I can get Wood to present. Should go now, but thought that I'd leave you scattered readers with a little treat of a promise... Soon to come , people, will be a couple of posts on the supremely ridiculous and varied characters that I met at my Cambridge college, Wolfson - the only international college in the University. Watch out, that's all I'll say.
Who was Mrs. Miller then? Well, she was a woman with a bizarre, untrained, tuneless, vibrato-laden voice, and a tendency to forget lyrics both in live performances and on recording, She became something of a cult figure in the 1960’s, and beyond.
Her success was phenomenal. In 1965 she was just an ordinary grandmother singing as a hobby in Church at her home in California. In 1966 she released her first LP on Capitol Records, the ironically titled ‘Mrs Miller’s Greatest Hits’, and it sold more than 250,000 copies in its first three weeks of release. By 1967 she had sung for the troops in Vietnam and performed live at the Hollywood Bowl.
But this is not a tale without hurt and sadness. For one thing, it’s not so certain that Mrs. Miller was in on the joke herself. In fact, the singer claimed late in her career that she wasn’t off-key or off-rhythm by nature but that Capitol, keen to cash in on the possibility of a ‘so bad it’s good’ cult, engineered the whole project without her knowledge. She claimed that they would make her wait until she was tired before allowing her to record, and would not allow her to familiarise herself with the words of a song, so that she would appear forgetful and distracted.
I'm excited about the programme, and really hope I can get Wood to present. Should go now, but thought that I'd leave you scattered readers with a little treat of a promise... Soon to come , people, will be a couple of posts on the supremely ridiculous and varied characters that I met at my Cambridge college, Wolfson - the only international college in the University. Watch out, that's all I'll say.
Wednesday, 2 July 2008
That was the week that was (and the one before that)
Well I haven't blogged for a month or two and thought I'd maybe given up on it, but the last fortnight shouldn't slip away without online documentation, if only because it was so odd. So yes, this is me back on the horse.
Week one of two saw us play three back to back shows; a Kings College Cambridge ball, an intimate Mojo magazine sponsored event at the Enterprise in Camden, and another ball, that of my alma mater Wolfson College, also in Cambridge.
The first show was great, though the ball wasn't as spectacular as the surroundings should demand. The theme seemed to be dress as a burke, and saw silver spandex girls mix with blue face-painted boys. Add to this the ubiquitous dodgems, candy floss and andy c mixing drum and bass, and you can imagine that all in all it was quite fun. But there was no massive pomp and ridiculousness (which the colleges seem to save for once every three years), and nothing spectacular went off to make it a hugely astonishing event. Our gig was packed, however, with hundreds of pissed-up students shouting the words to Eyeless in Holloway making it lots of fun, even if a worse for ware Lilly Flynn will never remember much of what went on.
Back in London on the Thursday for this Mojo gig then, which was an absolute treat. Johnny, Beach and I played a special gig here with Pete and the Pirates and Dennis Driscoll a couple of years ago (my soon-to-be girlfriend watching alongside Jamie T and Adele!), so it was great to be back. There was a real sense of crowd participation and intimacy on the night itself, with our stage banter on top form (even allowing us to excuse the God-awful noise made by Adam's preamp falling on the floor - think an angry rape alarm....). An offhand quip of mine about us sounding like Erasure even got a round of applause, which made me happier than I should have been.
Alas, we didn't get three good'un's in a row. The second Cambridge gig was a bit of a disaster. Going home to my college was brilliant; a lot of mates were there to great me, and the familiar smells and sounds that made me happy. But, even though we were supported by Elvis (...an impersonator from Croyden), the sound on stage was so appalling that we were completely thrown, and we weren't at out best. I was pretty devastated because I wanted the gig to be so good for the people I care about, but it wasn't. Still they seemed to enjoy it, and the night was spiced up a bit when I found out that Jim - a guy i knew from my time there - had become Hazel ,a pre-op Transexual. Like all men who dress as women he seemed to wear quite motherly clothes (why is that?), and seemed very happy in her-self, making everyone feel at ease with thereselves too.
The next week started with a trip to Sweden and a package from the BBC. Off to Stockholm to play the accelerator festival on the Tuesday, coming back on Wednesday night with an interview for a position in radio comedy on the Thursday, they decided to lump me a surprise parcel on the morning of my departure containing a fifty page scrip to analyse and a CD to review. I'd have to do it in fucking Sweden.
The festival went off without a hitch. An indoor thing with Foals, Wild Beasts and Duffy among others. We played our shit quite well, no one really knew the songs but we won the crowd round, and that was good enough. At this stage we thought a lot of Sweden. But the views at night weren't enough to convince us of the charm of the city, when four drugged up nutters attacked us as we walked back to our hotel in the early hours of the morning. It was a pretty scary time. These twats even punched Lilly in the face, chasing us for fifteen minutes, and even shouted at one point 'Welcome to Stockholm', as if they were the terminator, rather than pilled up morons with small penises. Joe's arm became dislocated as he tried to block a punch and had to go to hospital, but apart from that we weren't hurt too bad.
As we got back to the hotel, we were shocked and breathless, and all needed a good night's sleep. I got the key for my room and went up a floor, only to open the door to see a man fully naked at the desk, wanking over his computer. I was obviously shocked, as was he. I turned to Adam and said 'I think there's a naked man in my room, wanking'. Still shocked, i realised I hadn't closed the door fully and heard an accented voice utter gingerly 'Could you close the door, please'. I did, and marched downstairs to sort the whole business out. But the idiot staff couldn't get me a new room for hours. Luckily, by the time Chris and Joe got back from the Hospital we had been given a new room, which did not contain a man wanking.
The next day saw me working for hours on end in a cafe in Stockholm for the next day's interview, which turned out to be a grilling and - as i found out yesterday - was to no avail. I didn't get it. i got down to the last fifteen from 2000 applicants but it wasn't enough. Thankfully my post doesn't finish there though, as I haven't yet said that before that revelation came a weekend at Glastonbury...
Worthy farm hosts the most amazing music festival on earth. I am sure of that having been there for the first time this last Friday, Saturday and Sunday. It just has everything. We were booked to play three gigs, and each of them were special. We started with a stripped down and rocking set at the Green Peace Stage on the Friday. Joe's arm is still in a sling and so there was no cello, but this allowed the punkier side of our music to come out, and I enjoyed that a lot. After the gig we had the rest of the night off, and so took in a bit of Franz Ferdinand (not great), the whole of Dizzee Rascall (AMAZING), and an impromptu show by a sensational African five-piece whose name I'll probably never know.
We had planned to stay in a cottage on the outskirts of the village, but this turned out to be miles away. The walk back at four in the morning then was tough, but worth it, as we felt refreshed and bed-slept for the next day. And what a fucking day it was. A great gig at the Strummerville tent in the Shangri-La was followed by one of the best shows I have ever played, at the Bimble Inn at The Park. People were buzzing, shouting and dancing to our tunes, and even Emmy the Great - who had come along to support Adam - really enjoyed it. Feeling great about life I rushed to the Pyramid stage to watch Amy Winehouse sing Rehab and punch a fan, and then stayed for the full JAY-Z set. It was electrifying. To open, he covered Wonderwall, a sort of fuck you to Oasis' moans about him headlining, and got everyone the chants the words. Having finishing his brit-pop moment, he just said 'I've got one thing to say', and then went straight into '99 Problems'. It was electrifying. The whole show was great, such a spectacle to be amongst 80,000 people watching, and it set me up nicely for the evening. After a bit of partying, Sam and Chris and I set off with the instruments in hand to make the long walk back to our lodgings. It was an incredibly tiring three miles or so, but as we collapsed in the field that lies just before the house, i felt amazing, as if I had earned the beauty that the sun-rise was showing us.
The next day was just purely serene. I walked to the stone-circle as a sort of one-man pilgrimage, and had some excellent thinking time, before getting back to the house just in time to watch the Euro 2008 final. At two am we got home to London, tired and groggy, but sort of full with everything. Oh, but I did walk into my room to find my mate Dave asleep in my bed, which wasn't that nice. He screamed and stuff.
Week one of two saw us play three back to back shows; a Kings College Cambridge ball, an intimate Mojo magazine sponsored event at the Enterprise in Camden, and another ball, that of my alma mater Wolfson College, also in Cambridge.
The first show was great, though the ball wasn't as spectacular as the surroundings should demand. The theme seemed to be dress as a burke, and saw silver spandex girls mix with blue face-painted boys. Add to this the ubiquitous dodgems, candy floss and andy c mixing drum and bass, and you can imagine that all in all it was quite fun. But there was no massive pomp and ridiculousness (which the colleges seem to save for once every three years), and nothing spectacular went off to make it a hugely astonishing event. Our gig was packed, however, with hundreds of pissed-up students shouting the words to Eyeless in Holloway making it lots of fun, even if a worse for ware Lilly Flynn will never remember much of what went on.
Back in London on the Thursday for this Mojo gig then, which was an absolute treat. Johnny, Beach and I played a special gig here with Pete and the Pirates and Dennis Driscoll a couple of years ago (my soon-to-be girlfriend watching alongside Jamie T and Adele!), so it was great to be back. There was a real sense of crowd participation and intimacy on the night itself, with our stage banter on top form (even allowing us to excuse the God-awful noise made by Adam's preamp falling on the floor - think an angry rape alarm....). An offhand quip of mine about us sounding like Erasure even got a round of applause, which made me happier than I should have been.
Alas, we didn't get three good'un's in a row. The second Cambridge gig was a bit of a disaster. Going home to my college was brilliant; a lot of mates were there to great me, and the familiar smells and sounds that made me happy. But, even though we were supported by Elvis (...an impersonator from Croyden), the sound on stage was so appalling that we were completely thrown, and we weren't at out best. I was pretty devastated because I wanted the gig to be so good for the people I care about, but it wasn't. Still they seemed to enjoy it, and the night was spiced up a bit when I found out that Jim - a guy i knew from my time there - had become Hazel ,a pre-op Transexual. Like all men who dress as women he seemed to wear quite motherly clothes (why is that?), and seemed very happy in her-self, making everyone feel at ease with thereselves too.
The next week started with a trip to Sweden and a package from the BBC. Off to Stockholm to play the accelerator festival on the Tuesday, coming back on Wednesday night with an interview for a position in radio comedy on the Thursday, they decided to lump me a surprise parcel on the morning of my departure containing a fifty page scrip to analyse and a CD to review. I'd have to do it in fucking Sweden.
The festival went off without a hitch. An indoor thing with Foals, Wild Beasts and Duffy among others. We played our shit quite well, no one really knew the songs but we won the crowd round, and that was good enough. At this stage we thought a lot of Sweden. But the views at night weren't enough to convince us of the charm of the city, when four drugged up nutters attacked us as we walked back to our hotel in the early hours of the morning. It was a pretty scary time. These twats even punched Lilly in the face, chasing us for fifteen minutes, and even shouted at one point 'Welcome to Stockholm', as if they were the terminator, rather than pilled up morons with small penises. Joe's arm became dislocated as he tried to block a punch and had to go to hospital, but apart from that we weren't hurt too bad.
As we got back to the hotel, we were shocked and breathless, and all needed a good night's sleep. I got the key for my room and went up a floor, only to open the door to see a man fully naked at the desk, wanking over his computer. I was obviously shocked, as was he. I turned to Adam and said 'I think there's a naked man in my room, wanking'. Still shocked, i realised I hadn't closed the door fully and heard an accented voice utter gingerly 'Could you close the door, please'. I did, and marched downstairs to sort the whole business out. But the idiot staff couldn't get me a new room for hours. Luckily, by the time Chris and Joe got back from the Hospital we had been given a new room, which did not contain a man wanking.
The next day saw me working for hours on end in a cafe in Stockholm for the next day's interview, which turned out to be a grilling and - as i found out yesterday - was to no avail. I didn't get it. i got down to the last fifteen from 2000 applicants but it wasn't enough. Thankfully my post doesn't finish there though, as I haven't yet said that before that revelation came a weekend at Glastonbury...
Worthy farm hosts the most amazing music festival on earth. I am sure of that having been there for the first time this last Friday, Saturday and Sunday. It just has everything. We were booked to play three gigs, and each of them were special. We started with a stripped down and rocking set at the Green Peace Stage on the Friday. Joe's arm is still in a sling and so there was no cello, but this allowed the punkier side of our music to come out, and I enjoyed that a lot. After the gig we had the rest of the night off, and so took in a bit of Franz Ferdinand (not great), the whole of Dizzee Rascall (AMAZING), and an impromptu show by a sensational African five-piece whose name I'll probably never know.
We had planned to stay in a cottage on the outskirts of the village, but this turned out to be miles away. The walk back at four in the morning then was tough, but worth it, as we felt refreshed and bed-slept for the next day. And what a fucking day it was. A great gig at the Strummerville tent in the Shangri-La was followed by one of the best shows I have ever played, at the Bimble Inn at The Park. People were buzzing, shouting and dancing to our tunes, and even Emmy the Great - who had come along to support Adam - really enjoyed it. Feeling great about life I rushed to the Pyramid stage to watch Amy Winehouse sing Rehab and punch a fan, and then stayed for the full JAY-Z set. It was electrifying. To open, he covered Wonderwall, a sort of fuck you to Oasis' moans about him headlining, and got everyone the chants the words. Having finishing his brit-pop moment, he just said 'I've got one thing to say', and then went straight into '99 Problems'. It was electrifying. The whole show was great, such a spectacle to be amongst 80,000 people watching, and it set me up nicely for the evening. After a bit of partying, Sam and Chris and I set off with the instruments in hand to make the long walk back to our lodgings. It was an incredibly tiring three miles or so, but as we collapsed in the field that lies just before the house, i felt amazing, as if I had earned the beauty that the sun-rise was showing us.
The next day was just purely serene. I walked to the stone-circle as a sort of one-man pilgrimage, and had some excellent thinking time, before getting back to the house just in time to watch the Euro 2008 final. At two am we got home to London, tired and groggy, but sort of full with everything. Oh, but I did walk into my room to find my mate Dave asleep in my bed, which wasn't that nice. He screamed and stuff.
Wednesday, 9 April 2008
This morning
This morning we were on This Morning. It was hilarious. A nervous johnny had asked the researcher not to talk about his brothers (Jerome and Dan) the night before but when we got there Fern Britain was announcing "It's Oh Brother Wednesday today" and up shot huge stills of the whole Flynn Clan. It was a fun thing to do though, these things always are... I had far too much makeup put on me, ate toast and jam, and got myself ready to mime to the track while Joe slept and Adam drank coffee. We had a rehearsal in front of the cameras and snooped around a bit, going into the production room and looking at the set (the bricks aren't real!). Finally, after a feature on fat babies, skin rashes and liver disease, it was our turn. An interview with Johnny was a little awkward - he was thrown by all the brother questions and Fern's huge bosom - but the miming went really well (unsurprisingly). When the cameras were off, and all was done, Eamon Holmes came over and me and him had a half decent chat about Irish Drums. I called him a true professional, which made him laugh, and that was that.
Normal.
Tuesday, 8 April 2008
Odd Things 2
Well I didn't go to that playboy party in the end but I am appearing on This Morning tomorrow. Philip Schofield and Fern Britten are currently at the helm. I'm excited. Also I started writing a sitcom with my friends Dan and Tim today, and have been doing more radio bits on my own.
Friday, 28 March 2008
South By South West - A Retrospective pt 3
SATURDAY - Day Five
The day started excellently with a trip to the Seattle party down town. Freebies, good food, and familiar faces (Ryan was one of the co-hosts) meant that we were all in high spirits by noon. We watched Ryan's sister's band and then left to find the Johnny Cash themed Bar that we were due to play in as part of the Mojo party. The line up was excellent. The Felice Brothers (who I missed but bought the CD of because all the crowd were raving about it), Dan Le Sac and Scroobius Pip (who remixed the Antiques Road Show theme tune amongst other bits and pieces) and Laura Marling (playing the set that I have now heard a million times but still enjoy) were all playing on the same bill. We started our set well but halfway through the Wrote and the Writ Johnny broke ANOTHER guitar string. We needed saving badly and up to the plate stepped our cellist, Joe Zeitlin, to play the first movement of the First Bach Cello Suite. He was visibly nervous when I announced him over the mic (well coerced him over the mic), but he swallowed his nerves and played. It was amazing, a real South By South West moment, and by the time he finished to captivated applause Johnny had changed his string and we could carry on. I did then offer to beatbox but the crowd weren't up for it. Philistines. Anyway, after we'd finished up, and I'd had a nice chat with my friend's friend Riz MC, our South By South West crew - Laura Marling and her entourage, Peggy Sue and the Pirates, and us lot - went for a big lunch in a nice Mexican place. Unfortunately, I got stuck to the only tag along - someone who had come because he wanted to do business with us in tour managing or something. I nearly cried with boredom till I made my escape.
I did escape though - via a lift from a man named Bill who saw us play at the Mojo party and loved it - and back in town I took in two great shows, Hanne Hukkleberg (who've I wanted to see for ages) and Riz (who I've never seen live before). Tired but reflective, it was nice to then make the huge long walk to join Chris and Johnny who were at the out of town country music club where men are men and women are also possibly men. Together we watched a true hick country band called Sons and Daughters, got a bit drunk, and called it a night.
SUNDAY - Day Six
Sunday is the day of rest, and so it was for us and the rest of Austin. South By had finished, everyone was leaving, and we were up for a chilled one. We met our south by crew at Laura's hotel and played a monumental game of Basketball for a couple of hours. We were joined by a hugely fat taxi driver who called himself 'Jordan....Markus Jordan'. He was immense, schooling us on the court with his skill, panache and those sort of chortles that fat people do. We saw his ass far too many times though because he was so large that he basically couldn't move and when he fell over it took him a long, long time to get his pants back around his waist.
The rest of the day was much less energetic. A long lunch with our new friends (excluding Mr. Jordan) was followed by a great evening in a spacious bar. It seemed like every band in the world was there; Us, Laura Marling, Peggy Sue and The Pirates, Joe Lean and the Jing Jang Jong, The Pan I am, and more. Still, I preferred to talk to Laura Marling's lovely tour manager Steve about his wacky conspiracy theories about Hitler. It's all about the Spear of Destiny, he claimed. Brilliant. This is my last memory of South By....
The night came and went and so did the plane back. We came crashing back to english earth on the monday as we had to do a bloody video for Tickle Me Pink where teenagers danced unconvincingly round our awkward and jet-lagged bodies. It never rains in this business....
The day started excellently with a trip to the Seattle party down town. Freebies, good food, and familiar faces (Ryan was one of the co-hosts) meant that we were all in high spirits by noon. We watched Ryan's sister's band and then left to find the Johnny Cash themed Bar that we were due to play in as part of the Mojo party. The line up was excellent. The Felice Brothers (who I missed but bought the CD of because all the crowd were raving about it), Dan Le Sac and Scroobius Pip (who remixed the Antiques Road Show theme tune amongst other bits and pieces) and Laura Marling (playing the set that I have now heard a million times but still enjoy) were all playing on the same bill. We started our set well but halfway through the Wrote and the Writ Johnny broke ANOTHER guitar string. We needed saving badly and up to the plate stepped our cellist, Joe Zeitlin, to play the first movement of the First Bach Cello Suite. He was visibly nervous when I announced him over the mic (well coerced him over the mic), but he swallowed his nerves and played. It was amazing, a real South By South West moment, and by the time he finished to captivated applause Johnny had changed his string and we could carry on. I did then offer to beatbox but the crowd weren't up for it. Philistines. Anyway, after we'd finished up, and I'd had a nice chat with my friend's friend Riz MC, our South By South West crew - Laura Marling and her entourage, Peggy Sue and the Pirates, and us lot - went for a big lunch in a nice Mexican place. Unfortunately, I got stuck to the only tag along - someone who had come because he wanted to do business with us in tour managing or something. I nearly cried with boredom till I made my escape.
I did escape though - via a lift from a man named Bill who saw us play at the Mojo party and loved it - and back in town I took in two great shows, Hanne Hukkleberg (who've I wanted to see for ages) and Riz (who I've never seen live before). Tired but reflective, it was nice to then make the huge long walk to join Chris and Johnny who were at the out of town country music club where men are men and women are also possibly men. Together we watched a true hick country band called Sons and Daughters, got a bit drunk, and called it a night.
SUNDAY - Day Six
Sunday is the day of rest, and so it was for us and the rest of Austin. South By had finished, everyone was leaving, and we were up for a chilled one. We met our south by crew at Laura's hotel and played a monumental game of Basketball for a couple of hours. We were joined by a hugely fat taxi driver who called himself 'Jordan....Markus Jordan'. He was immense, schooling us on the court with his skill, panache and those sort of chortles that fat people do. We saw his ass far too many times though because he was so large that he basically couldn't move and when he fell over it took him a long, long time to get his pants back around his waist.
The rest of the day was much less energetic. A long lunch with our new friends (excluding Mr. Jordan) was followed by a great evening in a spacious bar. It seemed like every band in the world was there; Us, Laura Marling, Peggy Sue and The Pirates, Joe Lean and the Jing Jang Jong, The Pan I am, and more. Still, I preferred to talk to Laura Marling's lovely tour manager Steve about his wacky conspiracy theories about Hitler. It's all about the Spear of Destiny, he claimed. Brilliant. This is my last memory of South By....
The night came and went and so did the plane back. We came crashing back to english earth on the monday as we had to do a bloody video for Tickle Me Pink where teenagers danced unconvincingly round our awkward and jet-lagged bodies. It never rains in this business....
Thursday, 27 March 2008
South By South West - A Retrospective pt 2
THURSDAY - Day Three
Morning came and the Wit waited in the plush Omri Hotel while Chris and Johnny bought a banjo and mandolin. Another Johnny look-alike - the second in three days - popped nimbly past the lobby. Fear not - I captured the moment on my mobile. As soon as we had all finally met up, we trooped, instruments in hand, to the rooftop of the Wave bar where the NME/Transgressive party we were set to play in the afternoon was being held. The crowd was scenester, the sun was shining, and the free beers were welcome. After a dramatic display by OX.EAGLE.LION.MAN we waited for the noisettes to appear, but they didn't, so we went on early. A good gig was followed by a strange interview with NME.com on an old tour bus. Asked to introduce the band and say where we were, Joe drawled to camera; "Hi I'm Joe, I'm in America". Not really what they wanted - the video is yet to be featured on their website....
The after gig mood was high as we were taken to lunch by Lost Highway (seemingly the entire company). It turns out that they want to put the record out in the states and we all got on really well, so fingers crossed. It would be a huge deal if this happened, we would be the first British artists on their incredibly established books. Oh, and the Lunch cost them $1000 dollars in all. Pleasing.
After a pretty tiring afternoon in the incredible heat we walked to our second gig of the day, again with instruments in tow. This time we were to play at the Latitude 30 club, a bar turned into an English Artists gigging den for the festival week. The walk was an odd one, passing throngs of happy, loved-up musicians, the gossip monger Perez Hilton and a bum carrying a sign saying "trying to get drunk....spare me some change". I found the second show odder, even with the treat of our friend Laura Marling singing with us on a couple of songs. It was just getting too hot for me and I limped home before that odd little feller Son of Dave took to the stage.
FRIDAY - Day Four
Lilly flew in today which was apt because it was Johnny's birthday. We had already got him a present on the Laura Marling tour we had just finished - a polystyrene head which we'd made up to look like our tour manager Chris - but I promised to buy him a pen as well (he loves a good pen). After a lovely lunch with Miriam's sister Sophie and her boyfriend (their fake record label 'Broken Biscuits' allowing me to eat some excellent Cuban fare), I left to meet the band at the home of one 'Hank Sinatra' - the place of our next gig. Hank's home is one of the most amazing I have ever been too. It's a huge Texan farm with a lake, chickens, caravan (where he does the bands' sound and smokes consistantly) and an incredible homemade stage.
The cowboy home-grown weed, kegs of beer, and huge BBQ - all for free - made for one of the best days of my life. The afternoon was leisurly, but after chilling with new friends Peggy Sue and the Pirates, watching a band called The Morning Benders and spying Kate Nash, it was our turn. We played a gig with no on-stage sound and little drum kit but it was amazing. The Sun was contagious and we were all as happy as larry. Finally though the time came to leave, and after a desperate search for taxis, we were taken into town by two cowboy friends of Hank's. They didn't have a pickup.... We got all six of us and our instruments in three seats of the back of the American version of a Morris Minor. It was the most ridiculous ride I have ever taken and I was glad to arrive at our destination.
With music going on for free at south by, it would be rude to have two easy nights in a row though... And so after arriving in town we headed off to catch another amazing Langhorn Slim set, and then went, on Joe and Adam's orders, to see 'Health', an amazing hardcore band. Finally, after all this, Johnny and I headed for home pleased with our day while the others stayed on. It took us ages to get a taxi home and the driver was a complete shit. Oh well, can't have everything.
Morning came and the Wit waited in the plush Omri Hotel while Chris and Johnny bought a banjo and mandolin. Another Johnny look-alike - the second in three days - popped nimbly past the lobby. Fear not - I captured the moment on my mobile. As soon as we had all finally met up, we trooped, instruments in hand, to the rooftop of the Wave bar where the NME/Transgressive party we were set to play in the afternoon was being held. The crowd was scenester, the sun was shining, and the free beers were welcome. After a dramatic display by OX.EAGLE.LION.MAN we waited for the noisettes to appear, but they didn't, so we went on early. A good gig was followed by a strange interview with NME.com on an old tour bus. Asked to introduce the band and say where we were, Joe drawled to camera; "Hi I'm Joe, I'm in America". Not really what they wanted - the video is yet to be featured on their website....
The after gig mood was high as we were taken to lunch by Lost Highway (seemingly the entire company). It turns out that they want to put the record out in the states and we all got on really well, so fingers crossed. It would be a huge deal if this happened, we would be the first British artists on their incredibly established books. Oh, and the Lunch cost them $1000 dollars in all. Pleasing.
After a pretty tiring afternoon in the incredible heat we walked to our second gig of the day, again with instruments in tow. This time we were to play at the Latitude 30 club, a bar turned into an English Artists gigging den for the festival week. The walk was an odd one, passing throngs of happy, loved-up musicians, the gossip monger Perez Hilton and a bum carrying a sign saying "trying to get drunk....spare me some change". I found the second show odder, even with the treat of our friend Laura Marling singing with us on a couple of songs. It was just getting too hot for me and I limped home before that odd little feller Son of Dave took to the stage.
FRIDAY - Day Four
Lilly flew in today which was apt because it was Johnny's birthday. We had already got him a present on the Laura Marling tour we had just finished - a polystyrene head which we'd made up to look like our tour manager Chris - but I promised to buy him a pen as well (he loves a good pen). After a lovely lunch with Miriam's sister Sophie and her boyfriend (their fake record label 'Broken Biscuits' allowing me to eat some excellent Cuban fare), I left to meet the band at the home of one 'Hank Sinatra' - the place of our next gig. Hank's home is one of the most amazing I have ever been too. It's a huge Texan farm with a lake, chickens, caravan (where he does the bands' sound and smokes consistantly) and an incredible homemade stage.
The cowboy home-grown weed, kegs of beer, and huge BBQ - all for free - made for one of the best days of my life. The afternoon was leisurly, but after chilling with new friends Peggy Sue and the Pirates, watching a band called The Morning Benders and spying Kate Nash, it was our turn. We played a gig with no on-stage sound and little drum kit but it was amazing. The Sun was contagious and we were all as happy as larry. Finally though the time came to leave, and after a desperate search for taxis, we were taken into town by two cowboy friends of Hank's. They didn't have a pickup.... We got all six of us and our instruments in three seats of the back of the American version of a Morris Minor. It was the most ridiculous ride I have ever taken and I was glad to arrive at our destination.
With music going on for free at south by, it would be rude to have two easy nights in a row though... And so after arriving in town we headed off to catch another amazing Langhorn Slim set, and then went, on Joe and Adam's orders, to see 'Health', an amazing hardcore band. Finally, after all this, Johnny and I headed for home pleased with our day while the others stayed on. It took us ages to get a taxi home and the driver was a complete shit. Oh well, can't have everything.
Wednesday, 26 March 2008
South By South West - A Retrospective pt 1
Our time in Austin, Texas - the week long home to a whirlwind of musicians, managers, producers, labels, fans and so on - is best summarised by this text I got off Johnny one balmy evening: 'Still driving. Don't know where we are. On the back of a pick-up. Fucking cold.'
To leave it at that though would be a crime. So here for your eyes only is a little verbal taste of our most recent adventures in the US of A.
TUESDAY - Day One
The flight over was a strange one. Anyone on the plane who wasn't hideously fat was obviously in a band and was obviously trying to make it look like they were not in a band, such are the constraints of the United States' Visa System. Still, even OX.EAGLE.LION.MAN who dress like four identical followers of an amateur undertakers got past the toughest immigration system on earth with ease. God Bless America. The air is hot here, sweet and full of bird song, and the moon is rather bizarrely upside down - it looks much like the smile of a cartoon cat. Both Johnny and I laughed when we saw it. Maybe, just maybe, it was because we were too tired to cry. No, actually, probably not.
WEDNESDAY - Day Two
Today saw enrolment in the huge 'convention centre' (two words I associate with Hurricane Katrina and which thus make me nervy), and our first gig. We arrived at the BMI party at the Mohawk by foot, passing Texan men who looked like Johnny Flynn (I have the photos) and a healthy mix of both American and British industry wankers. On stage before us were an odd band who wailed. They resembled one's dad, and have probably put on an ale festival sometime in the last year. Unfortunately they also left the club with their drum kit, leaving us without and in the lurch. To our musical rescue came Ryan Hadlock - the producer of our record who we haven't seen for months. He rounded up the necessaries quickly and with Seattle Panache, allowing us to play. Relieved, we went on, terrible on-stage sound and the breaking of many, many guitar strings not stopping us from playing a rousing set to a good crowd (execs and US fans included). Today's set included an acapella ending of Tickle Me Pink, the guitar had by then refused to play.
After some well earned grub and beer in the VIP area, we went our separate ways - me catching RA RA RIOT (ok), Akron Family (intriguing) and Saul Williams (a green suited poet whose songs were no where near the greatness of his spoken word), before meeting up again, along with Ryan's lot and our Label men, for a dinner bought for us by Universal. Can't complain. Except about the food and the company. I'm kidding.
The day wasn't done. We headed to a car lot and a solar panelled stage to watch Langhorn Slim and then (after failing to get into the REM show) took a cab to the other side of town to see Okerville River play with Roky Erikson. The story was amazing, a cool band playing with a Texan hero, a man who survived the wreckage of drugs and was once again back to his melodic best. But the gig was awful and we left to get drunk.
To leave it at that though would be a crime. So here for your eyes only is a little verbal taste of our most recent adventures in the US of A.
TUESDAY - Day One
The flight over was a strange one. Anyone on the plane who wasn't hideously fat was obviously in a band and was obviously trying to make it look like they were not in a band, such are the constraints of the United States' Visa System. Still, even OX.EAGLE.LION.MAN who dress like four identical followers of an amateur undertakers got past the toughest immigration system on earth with ease. God Bless America. The air is hot here, sweet and full of bird song, and the moon is rather bizarrely upside down - it looks much like the smile of a cartoon cat. Both Johnny and I laughed when we saw it. Maybe, just maybe, it was because we were too tired to cry. No, actually, probably not.
WEDNESDAY - Day Two
Today saw enrolment in the huge 'convention centre' (two words I associate with Hurricane Katrina and which thus make me nervy), and our first gig. We arrived at the BMI party at the Mohawk by foot, passing Texan men who looked like Johnny Flynn (I have the photos) and a healthy mix of both American and British industry wankers. On stage before us were an odd band who wailed. They resembled one's dad, and have probably put on an ale festival sometime in the last year. Unfortunately they also left the club with their drum kit, leaving us without and in the lurch. To our musical rescue came Ryan Hadlock - the producer of our record who we haven't seen for months. He rounded up the necessaries quickly and with Seattle Panache, allowing us to play. Relieved, we went on, terrible on-stage sound and the breaking of many, many guitar strings not stopping us from playing a rousing set to a good crowd (execs and US fans included). Today's set included an acapella ending of Tickle Me Pink, the guitar had by then refused to play.
After some well earned grub and beer in the VIP area, we went our separate ways - me catching RA RA RIOT (ok), Akron Family (intriguing) and Saul Williams (a green suited poet whose songs were no where near the greatness of his spoken word), before meeting up again, along with Ryan's lot and our Label men, for a dinner bought for us by Universal. Can't complain. Except about the food and the company. I'm kidding.
The day wasn't done. We headed to a car lot and a solar panelled stage to watch Langhorn Slim and then (after failing to get into the REM show) took a cab to the other side of town to see Okerville River play with Roky Erikson. The story was amazing, a cool band playing with a Texan hero, a man who survived the wreckage of drugs and was once again back to his melodic best. But the gig was awful and we left to get drunk.
Monday, 10 March 2008
Things Im Currently Doing (For Future Reference)
1. Trying to get my book published.
2. Writing a Comedy Blog entitled 'The Secret Diary of Matthew Edmonds aged 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24' for comedybox.com
3. Playing Drums in Johnny Flynn and The Sussex Wit - album out in May
4. Submitting Radio Ideas for Whistledown to hopefully get made in radio shows
5. Trying to write a post for The Faith and Theology Blog on Theology and Disability
6. Trying to songwrite with my friend Duncan (neither of us ever have the time to get together).
7. Helping my friend Tim (voiceovers mostly) with his sketches for e4.com
8. Trying to read my friend Paul Haworth's essay on Art
9. Trying to keep this Blog going
10. Trying to set up a podcast for the Flynn stuff...
11. Trying to write an interactive game about Religion for Channel Four Learning.
2. Writing a Comedy Blog entitled 'The Secret Diary of Matthew Edmonds aged 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24' for comedybox.com
3. Playing Drums in Johnny Flynn and The Sussex Wit - album out in May
4. Submitting Radio Ideas for Whistledown to hopefully get made in radio shows
5. Trying to write a post for The Faith and Theology Blog on Theology and Disability
6. Trying to songwrite with my friend Duncan (neither of us ever have the time to get together).
7. Helping my friend Tim (voiceovers mostly) with his sketches for e4.com
8. Trying to read my friend Paul Haworth's essay on Art
9. Trying to keep this Blog going
10. Trying to set up a podcast for the Flynn stuff...
11. Trying to write an interactive game about Religion for Channel Four Learning.
Odd Things
Had an amazing gig last night supporting Laura Marling at the Union Chapel (the last of a six day tour). In attendence was Bill Oddie. Now, its off to South By South West in Texas where we shall be playing on a rooftop and going to the playboy party for Johnny's birthday.
Monday, 18 February 2008
Tour again again again
13. Cambridge at the Graduate was always going to be a home coming for me and it turned out to be a really special night. For one thing, the venue is an old bar fly and so the sound and stage were both excellent. To add to this, nearly everyone I have ever met in Cambridge seemed to have come down to watch, and as soon as the gig started everyone was chanting my name and or other embarrassing things. This got the whole crowd going, and despite technical problems, we played a really great set feeding off the affection. The shouting wasn’t hugely original, mind, the chant “keyboard, keyboard” (after I had played the keyboard) didn’t really show off the intellectual capabilities of the people in attendance to the full... but it really was amazing to have such good friends come down and support me doing what I do.
14. The next day, after a poor night’s sleep, we made the huge journey to Belfast. We had driven a couple of hours the night before (where I had had a chocolate donut and the others had had something a little stronger), but we still had to drive to Northern Scotland, get the ferry from there to Belfast, and then get to the gig for a sound check. It took hours, and I felt awful by the end of it, empty and asleep. I tried to conserve energy so as to be able to do justice to the intimacy of the venue, Auntie Annie’s. Our Irish gig’s are very much different to our English one’s - no one knows us here - and that makes for a more interesting event. Despite the trials of the day’s travel, all in all we played a quiet respectful set to a quiet respectful crowd. They laughed at the line in Wayne Rooney “The barman looks like George Best, many of them do” -that was nice.
15. Another long drive took us through the Irish wastelands - areas dotted only by the tracks of horses and the unsettling of wind - and on through to Galway. Feeling tired and slow we arrived at the venue with little time to spare and to a bit of a surprise. The Roisin Dubh, an incredible pub with dust falling from old books and the smell of a fire purveying, was also set to play host to a sold out Richard Hawley gig the very same night (with Vincent Vincent and the Villains in support). We were to play then in the small cove upstairs and, as we were on at the same time as the main act, the promoter had decided to make it free entry. With these constraints provided we decided to take the opportunity to make it a completely different gig experience. We stripped down the drums to a floor, kick and snare only, and played a really intimate almost acoustic set. There were about ten to fifteen people intently listening (including Vincent Vincent and the Villains) and our harmonies were really spot on and electrifying. All who were there really enjoyed it, I reckon, and certainly were really kind to us about it (Vincent Vincent and the boys being really complimentary). After the gig we relaxed into a few Guiness’ with the other band, caught a bit of Richard Hawley’s set and slept well till the morning.
16. Cork at The Cypress Avenue was a return to the norm with a big stage and a big sound. The audience once again modest, however, though the longer we played the more the place filled up. For the second time in a row another gig had been booked for the same venue. This time, The Dykenes - an impossibly loud Scottish haircut outfit - were booked to play the same stage as us at around 12ish. After finishing our set though we fucked off because we weren't too bothered about catching their set.. As for ours, well, it was a real tired performance, even if the people watching seemed to like it. Most notably that day was, in fact, the blessing of having a really excellent fact dinner before the gig, paid for by Sam’s dad (visiting for the day). Memorable for the wrong reasons was the fact that in the evening we stayed in a prison like dorm sleeping all 6 of us. None, of course, got any sleep. Thanks Beach.
17. Our final gig was in Dublin at the Crawdaddy and went well. To be honest we all got so drunk afterwards that I can’t really remember much of what happened. Here though are some highlights of the ensuing chaos: Chris got so drunk he poured a pint of Guinness all over Joe (Adam then poured some of his over Chris, to which Chris tried to retaliate by pouring another pint over Adam but once again hit Joe), Adam licked Joe’s face as he was trying to get it on with a girl (she then disappeared), Adam swallowed a key, Chris called every girl he could see a slag and pushed me into every girl he couldn’t see, Chris shouted “Edamame” and “Tin of Juice” so loudly in the club we were in that it actually hurt people, Johnny sloped off to a palatal environment with a friend, Sam and I nearly let an Irish rebel get in our taxi (the driver of which, Emmanual, told us that his name was also the name of “she of the first porno”), Chris went back to where Johnny was staying and so the next day we nearly missed the ferry, Chris mistakenly left one thousand pounds in cash in the hotel room (which we quite thankfully retrieved).
Final thoughts of the tour: Shiting hell fun, shitting hell tired.
14. The next day, after a poor night’s sleep, we made the huge journey to Belfast. We had driven a couple of hours the night before (where I had had a chocolate donut and the others had had something a little stronger), but we still had to drive to Northern Scotland, get the ferry from there to Belfast, and then get to the gig for a sound check. It took hours, and I felt awful by the end of it, empty and asleep. I tried to conserve energy so as to be able to do justice to the intimacy of the venue, Auntie Annie’s. Our Irish gig’s are very much different to our English one’s - no one knows us here - and that makes for a more interesting event. Despite the trials of the day’s travel, all in all we played a quiet respectful set to a quiet respectful crowd. They laughed at the line in Wayne Rooney “The barman looks like George Best, many of them do” -that was nice.
15. Another long drive took us through the Irish wastelands - areas dotted only by the tracks of horses and the unsettling of wind - and on through to Galway. Feeling tired and slow we arrived at the venue with little time to spare and to a bit of a surprise. The Roisin Dubh, an incredible pub with dust falling from old books and the smell of a fire purveying, was also set to play host to a sold out Richard Hawley gig the very same night (with Vincent Vincent and the Villains in support). We were to play then in the small cove upstairs and, as we were on at the same time as the main act, the promoter had decided to make it free entry. With these constraints provided we decided to take the opportunity to make it a completely different gig experience. We stripped down the drums to a floor, kick and snare only, and played a really intimate almost acoustic set. There were about ten to fifteen people intently listening (including Vincent Vincent and the Villains) and our harmonies were really spot on and electrifying. All who were there really enjoyed it, I reckon, and certainly were really kind to us about it (Vincent Vincent and the boys being really complimentary). After the gig we relaxed into a few Guiness’ with the other band, caught a bit of Richard Hawley’s set and slept well till the morning.
16. Cork at The Cypress Avenue was a return to the norm with a big stage and a big sound. The audience once again modest, however, though the longer we played the more the place filled up. For the second time in a row another gig had been booked for the same venue. This time, The Dykenes - an impossibly loud Scottish haircut outfit - were booked to play the same stage as us at around 12ish. After finishing our set though we fucked off because we weren't too bothered about catching their set.. As for ours, well, it was a real tired performance, even if the people watching seemed to like it. Most notably that day was, in fact, the blessing of having a really excellent fact dinner before the gig, paid for by Sam’s dad (visiting for the day). Memorable for the wrong reasons was the fact that in the evening we stayed in a prison like dorm sleeping all 6 of us. None, of course, got any sleep. Thanks Beach.
17. Our final gig was in Dublin at the Crawdaddy and went well. To be honest we all got so drunk afterwards that I can’t really remember much of what happened. Here though are some highlights of the ensuing chaos: Chris got so drunk he poured a pint of Guinness all over Joe (Adam then poured some of his over Chris, to which Chris tried to retaliate by pouring another pint over Adam but once again hit Joe), Adam licked Joe’s face as he was trying to get it on with a girl (she then disappeared), Adam swallowed a key, Chris called every girl he could see a slag and pushed me into every girl he couldn’t see, Chris shouted “Edamame” and “Tin of Juice” so loudly in the club we were in that it actually hurt people, Johnny sloped off to a palatal environment with a friend, Sam and I nearly let an Irish rebel get in our taxi (the driver of which, Emmanual, told us that his name was also the name of “she of the first porno”), Chris went back to where Johnny was staying and so the next day we nearly missed the ferry, Chris mistakenly left one thousand pounds in cash in the hotel room (which we quite thankfully retrieved).
Final thoughts of the tour: Shiting hell fun, shitting hell tired.
Monday, 11 February 2008
Tour again again
11. Bristol at the Louisiana. The sweatiest gig I have ever played. I dripped tears of the stuff throughout the performance, but it was still great. Both Miriam and her friend Kate came down to watch and that made it special. More noticeable to the fans, however, was the presence of Big Jeff. Known throughout Bristol (http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=2515831194 - for his facebook group), Jeff is a huge lion of a man with bigger hair. He goes to every gig in the area. He dances too much. He doesn't stop dancing. He'd dance at a funeral. He stands at the very front. During 'Sally', Jeff's efforts to conduct Johnny through the medium of arrhythmic mime caused him to forget the words entirely...Memorable...
12. After the hilarity of Bristol, it was all a bit more routine last night in Cardiff at the Club Ifor Bach (which apparently translates as 'little Ivor's club', but is dubbed 'the welsh club' by all the English local to the area). Cardiff is nice, we've been there before to a great reception and this was no different. The place was full to the brim and had a bigger capacity than most of the places we've played on this tour, meaning the reception to our stuff was amazing. Once again a lot of liquid poured from my brow. To be honest, the performance was not as tight as the night before, but we're all pretty tired and due our day off. Give us a break...
12. After the hilarity of Bristol, it was all a bit more routine last night in Cardiff at the Club Ifor Bach (which apparently translates as 'little Ivor's club', but is dubbed 'the welsh club' by all the English local to the area). Cardiff is nice, we've been there before to a great reception and this was no different. The place was full to the brim and had a bigger capacity than most of the places we've played on this tour, meaning the reception to our stuff was amazing. Once again a lot of liquid poured from my brow. To be honest, the performance was not as tight as the night before, but we're all pretty tired and due our day off. Give us a break...
Friday, 8 February 2008
Tour again
7. Oxford at the Jericho. Well it was amazing to be back in the city - every street has a memory for me - and the gig went really well too. Fireworks Night, my old band, were in support and were excellent. It made me miss drumming for them a whole lot. For us, the sound on stage was pretty terrible but the crowd were so appreciative that you could have fallen over on your ass without feeling an idiot. After the gig was well and truly over, Tim (from Fireworks Night) and I drove to his house in Southampton (the site of the next gig) for a sleep in a real bed rather than a travel lodge one, and some excellent bacon butties.
8. Southampton at the Hamptons. Well what can I say.... The monitors didn't work, the cello mic exploded (Joe walking off stage before the last two songs), and the sound was abysmal. But the crowd loved it, and as much as I don't like the city the people in the audience that evening were hearty and kind.
9. Brighton (The Prince Albert). Wow. What a gig. I love Brighton and all who dwell there. After a peaceful day book buying, church visiting and beach strolling, we watched in awe as the support acts did their stuff in front of a packed upstairs at the Prince Albert pub. The local support - Melodica, Melody and Me - were really something. They play a sort of Folkstep (Folk crossed with Dubstep) and the crowd loved it. The guys had said to me that hearing my drumming in JFATSW had made them believe in their own style of music and the possible appreciation of it. This felt great. After them came Mechanical Bride - who I have seen before and loved - they were astonishing too. Lauren's voice is haunting and electric, and their cover of Rhianna's Umbrella (complete with home made Theremin accompaniment) was superb. Our set was rousing and tight - people danced and believed. A really great evening.
10. Back to London... Tired and happy we played the Luminaire. It was packed. It was fun. The crowd was happy (if laced with London calm/cynicism). Supports included the strange and forceful Nic Dawson Kelly, the stranger and less forceful Supertalented (Joe's friend Noa) and Mechanical Bride once more. Our set was tight and we felt like we had earned our day off.
8. Southampton at the Hamptons. Well what can I say.... The monitors didn't work, the cello mic exploded (Joe walking off stage before the last two songs), and the sound was abysmal. But the crowd loved it, and as much as I don't like the city the people in the audience that evening were hearty and kind.
9. Brighton (The Prince Albert). Wow. What a gig. I love Brighton and all who dwell there. After a peaceful day book buying, church visiting and beach strolling, we watched in awe as the support acts did their stuff in front of a packed upstairs at the Prince Albert pub. The local support - Melodica, Melody and Me - were really something. They play a sort of Folkstep (Folk crossed with Dubstep) and the crowd loved it. The guys had said to me that hearing my drumming in JFATSW had made them believe in their own style of music and the possible appreciation of it. This felt great. After them came Mechanical Bride - who I have seen before and loved - they were astonishing too. Lauren's voice is haunting and electric, and their cover of Rhianna's Umbrella (complete with home made Theremin accompaniment) was superb. Our set was rousing and tight - people danced and believed. A really great evening.
10. Back to London... Tired and happy we played the Luminaire. It was packed. It was fun. The crowd was happy (if laced with London calm/cynicism). Supports included the strange and forceful Nic Dawson Kelly, the stranger and less forceful Supertalented (Joe's friend Noa) and Mechanical Bride once more. Our set was tight and we felt like we had earned our day off.
Sunday, 3 February 2008
The Tour So Far...
1. Glasgow's gig was at Nice N' Sleazy's, an intimate venue with appreciate polite crowd who perhaps thought they were in for something quieter. A nice drunk man came up afterwards and talked to me about my drum kit (a 60's Hayman in midnight blue). He had played a similar one thirty years back and mine brought him back memories. Later we went out and a girl called Lola told us that she was writing her autobiography (chapter 1. Catholic Guilt, chapter 2. Virginity, chapter 3. Catholic Guilt, and so on). My final recollection is of a friend of Johnny's, thoroughly nice when sober, becoming utterly pished, chucking irn bru over me by accident, and chanting 'Zubi, Zubi' at an indian man called Zubi.
2. Newcastle at the Cluny. A huge crowd with dancing and shouting to boot. The gig was followed by an over-expensive drink at an over-expensive bar. I called it a night soon after a girl had said to Joe that she and him were wearing the same shoes. Our polite support act, Jay Jay Pistolet, did not, and had quite a time of it at an ensuing house party, complaining to his gravel-voiced manager that "I can't go to sleep because people are in my room talking about taking Coke, and taking Coke."
3. In Birmingham we played the intimate Glee club, with seated audience. A girl cried at the intensity of Brown Trout Blues, which was gratifying (oddly). To us, however, the night was an intense comedy of errors, with missed cue's, wrong endings and equipment fuck-ups. Whiskey and songs in the tour van afterwards (accompanied by Joe's Chilean songstress) was fun.
4. Our best performance of the tour so far was at the Manchester's gig at the Ruby Lounge. Josephine O joined us as a new support, and was brilliant that night (see myspace.com/josephineoniyama for more). Our set was real tight too and really appreciated. Plus, a night in with bread and leftovers left us feeling half decent in the morning as well. And if that wasn't enough entertainment, Beach and I bumped into a gaggle of drunk fat girls at lunchtime who had been refused from the audience of the Jeremy Kyle show.
5. Leeds at the Adelphi. A heaven and hell gig this one. We effectively played to two rooms as the stage was sort of L shaped. The room to my right was quiet and respectful, but the bar area was noisy and annoying. The drummer from Kaiser Chiefs was there, and talked all the way through. What a guy... Once again we had great support though, with Jo O being joined by the amazing Laura Groves, who I've been a big fan of for a fair while now. Then it all got a bit weird. We went to the venue's adjoined club later on, Jo in tow, and were all having a good old time when I turned round to see a guy aim a huge punch at me. As I was sober I moved and he just clipped my chin, but he went for another and Johnny jumped in before it landed. After an ensuing tussle which I didn't see, it all got broken up. Johnny took one in the face for me, essentially. Pleasing. Later on we caught up with the guy outside the club and confronted him asking what the fuck he'd done that for. He started snivelling, almost crying - no joke - and said that he thought that one of us had spilt his drink on him but had realised after the scrap that he'd got it wrong. He started saying "Im such an twat, I'm such a twat" over and over again, blaming it on his upbringing and background, and forced us to take ten of his english pounds (the money kind)! A strange evening then, but as no real damage was done to anyone, it was pretty funny all in all.
6. Nottingham. A packed gig at the Bunker's Hill pub. A real stormer. Miriam came and it was brilliant to have her there. The set went well and the audience were perfect. Afterwards I sped home to Loughborough where I have been ever since. Oxford tomorrow.....
So far its been alright, a lot of laughs and some good gigs. Hopefully it will continue along the same lines.
Matt
2. Newcastle at the Cluny. A huge crowd with dancing and shouting to boot. The gig was followed by an over-expensive drink at an over-expensive bar. I called it a night soon after a girl had said to Joe that she and him were wearing the same shoes. Our polite support act, Jay Jay Pistolet, did not, and had quite a time of it at an ensuing house party, complaining to his gravel-voiced manager that "I can't go to sleep because people are in my room talking about taking Coke, and taking Coke."
3. In Birmingham we played the intimate Glee club, with seated audience. A girl cried at the intensity of Brown Trout Blues, which was gratifying (oddly). To us, however, the night was an intense comedy of errors, with missed cue's, wrong endings and equipment fuck-ups. Whiskey and songs in the tour van afterwards (accompanied by Joe's Chilean songstress) was fun.
4. Our best performance of the tour so far was at the Manchester's gig at the Ruby Lounge. Josephine O joined us as a new support, and was brilliant that night (see myspace.com/josephineoniyama for more). Our set was real tight too and really appreciated. Plus, a night in with bread and leftovers left us feeling half decent in the morning as well. And if that wasn't enough entertainment, Beach and I bumped into a gaggle of drunk fat girls at lunchtime who had been refused from the audience of the Jeremy Kyle show.
5. Leeds at the Adelphi. A heaven and hell gig this one. We effectively played to two rooms as the stage was sort of L shaped. The room to my right was quiet and respectful, but the bar area was noisy and annoying. The drummer from Kaiser Chiefs was there, and talked all the way through. What a guy... Once again we had great support though, with Jo O being joined by the amazing Laura Groves, who I've been a big fan of for a fair while now. Then it all got a bit weird. We went to the venue's adjoined club later on, Jo in tow, and were all having a good old time when I turned round to see a guy aim a huge punch at me. As I was sober I moved and he just clipped my chin, but he went for another and Johnny jumped in before it landed. After an ensuing tussle which I didn't see, it all got broken up. Johnny took one in the face for me, essentially. Pleasing. Later on we caught up with the guy outside the club and confronted him asking what the fuck he'd done that for. He started snivelling, almost crying - no joke - and said that he thought that one of us had spilt his drink on him but had realised after the scrap that he'd got it wrong. He started saying "Im such an twat, I'm such a twat" over and over again, blaming it on his upbringing and background, and forced us to take ten of his english pounds (the money kind)! A strange evening then, but as no real damage was done to anyone, it was pretty funny all in all.
6. Nottingham. A packed gig at the Bunker's Hill pub. A real stormer. Miriam came and it was brilliant to have her there. The set went well and the audience were perfect. Afterwards I sped home to Loughborough where I have been ever since. Oxford tomorrow.....
So far its been alright, a lot of laughs and some good gigs. Hopefully it will continue along the same lines.
Matt
Monday, 28 January 2008
Long Distance
I am writing this from the train, a train riding the unexpected green of the north of England through to my final destination of Glasgow. It is here that my band’s three week tour of England, and the occasional other, will kick off in about four hours time. I am apprehensive, touring is not my bag. My mother’s kindly parting words to me yesterday were “remain strong and calm, Matt“. I’ll try, Mum, I’ll try.
Today’s train ride up hasn’t been the greatest omen for the weeks to come, however. The seemingly endless fuck ups of Virgin Trains have meant that the relatively straightforward journey from my house to the gig in Scotland has in fact been a story of three chapters (London - Birmingham, Birmingham to Stafford, and Stafford through to Glasgow). While the second leg was uneventful, the first and third have provided (and are still providing) much food for thought. In London I set next to a man who was to be condemned. An overheard phone call revealed to all in close attendance that this crammed train ride was to be his last, at least until 2012 (tomorrow’s sentencing, for god knows what, was likely to be four years behind bars, “at best“, he said). The more northerly I travel, however, the lighter things seem to get, and I now seem to be stuck on the same carriage as the set up for a children’s TV show, with cameras and zealously camp presenter included. Perhaps I should be worried about crossing the border.
The reason I am travelling today (the other feller’s having made the trip already) is because yesterday I graduated with an Mphil in Divinity from the University of Cambridge. Two degrees Edmonds, that’s right… The day was brilliant, the weather shining like the faces of all those who have ever attended these unashamedly happy occasions. Specific to Cambridge’s ceremony is the over over-dressing, the processing to the senate house to hold the hand of an old drunk who speaks Latin and doffs his cap to all and sundry, the bizarre spectacle of a sort-of fervent kneeling on behalf of the graduate before a man or woman dressed in Henry 8th’s hunting apparel, and the giving out and receiving of a blessing in the name of the Trinitarian formula with all the trimmings. All this for nine and a half months reading about Ghandi and his Christian friends. Not bad.
I’m getting into my flow now, and while I’m switched on and writing I should and can mention that the band did another Radio One session at the also soon-to-be-condemned Maida Vale studios last week. It was a session for the oily voiced Steve Lamacq (Lamo to his producers) and though this time no one was allowed in to cheer us on, the session went well and was enjoyable. One oddity must be mentioned, however, namely the head engineer’s slightly disturbing small talk. His raison d’etre, it seems, is not in the recording of some of the greatest musicians past and present in one of the greatest studios ever built, but rather in the evangelisation of the perils of milk. He didn‘t stop there, no, he also insisted that as he could accurately guess what blood type each of us were, and as certain blood types should not be drinking milk in any shape or form, he could also accurately tell us whether we were wrong to be going anywhere near the white posion - semi or fully skimmed. My blood type, he opined, HAD to be A - He got this from my mangled responses to his own less than stringent personality test, which consisted of questions like “Are you an extrovert or an introvert” and my answers of “sort of…well, either” - and surprisingly, after his first diagnosing, the second followed: I should stay away from Cow juice. I consider myself warned….
Well the train is coming nearer to its inevitable end, and so I must unplug my computer and get to the taxi rank, but I just wanted to say quickly that I have finally heard the band’s album finished, mastered, polished and all of that stuff. It is really special, not just to me but objectively, I think. It works as a record, and I am really excited about people hearing it. Listening to it was an odd dead of night experience; emotional, joyful, sometimes sour, but never confusing. It is the closing of a chapter, and I am pleased to have perceived that as clearly as I did when I listened to it.
News from tour and some actual proper writing soon.
Over and Out.
Today’s train ride up hasn’t been the greatest omen for the weeks to come, however. The seemingly endless fuck ups of Virgin Trains have meant that the relatively straightforward journey from my house to the gig in Scotland has in fact been a story of three chapters (London - Birmingham, Birmingham to Stafford, and Stafford through to Glasgow). While the second leg was uneventful, the first and third have provided (and are still providing) much food for thought. In London I set next to a man who was to be condemned. An overheard phone call revealed to all in close attendance that this crammed train ride was to be his last, at least until 2012 (tomorrow’s sentencing, for god knows what, was likely to be four years behind bars, “at best“, he said). The more northerly I travel, however, the lighter things seem to get, and I now seem to be stuck on the same carriage as the set up for a children’s TV show, with cameras and zealously camp presenter included. Perhaps I should be worried about crossing the border.
The reason I am travelling today (the other feller’s having made the trip already) is because yesterday I graduated with an Mphil in Divinity from the University of Cambridge. Two degrees Edmonds, that’s right… The day was brilliant, the weather shining like the faces of all those who have ever attended these unashamedly happy occasions. Specific to Cambridge’s ceremony is the over over-dressing, the processing to the senate house to hold the hand of an old drunk who speaks Latin and doffs his cap to all and sundry, the bizarre spectacle of a sort-of fervent kneeling on behalf of the graduate before a man or woman dressed in Henry 8th’s hunting apparel, and the giving out and receiving of a blessing in the name of the Trinitarian formula with all the trimmings. All this for nine and a half months reading about Ghandi and his Christian friends. Not bad.
I’m getting into my flow now, and while I’m switched on and writing I should and can mention that the band did another Radio One session at the also soon-to-be-condemned Maida Vale studios last week. It was a session for the oily voiced Steve Lamacq (Lamo to his producers) and though this time no one was allowed in to cheer us on, the session went well and was enjoyable. One oddity must be mentioned, however, namely the head engineer’s slightly disturbing small talk. His raison d’etre, it seems, is not in the recording of some of the greatest musicians past and present in one of the greatest studios ever built, but rather in the evangelisation of the perils of milk. He didn‘t stop there, no, he also insisted that as he could accurately guess what blood type each of us were, and as certain blood types should not be drinking milk in any shape or form, he could also accurately tell us whether we were wrong to be going anywhere near the white posion - semi or fully skimmed. My blood type, he opined, HAD to be A - He got this from my mangled responses to his own less than stringent personality test, which consisted of questions like “Are you an extrovert or an introvert” and my answers of “sort of…well, either” - and surprisingly, after his first diagnosing, the second followed: I should stay away from Cow juice. I consider myself warned….
Well the train is coming nearer to its inevitable end, and so I must unplug my computer and get to the taxi rank, but I just wanted to say quickly that I have finally heard the band’s album finished, mastered, polished and all of that stuff. It is really special, not just to me but objectively, I think. It works as a record, and I am really excited about people hearing it. Listening to it was an odd dead of night experience; emotional, joyful, sometimes sour, but never confusing. It is the closing of a chapter, and I am pleased to have perceived that as clearly as I did when I listened to it.
News from tour and some actual proper writing soon.
Over and Out.
Thursday, 17 January 2008
Some Of My Favourite Crisps (For Future Reference).
Barbeque Hula Hoops
Salt and Vinegar Discos
Lamb and Mint Walkers Sensations
Ready Salted Walkers
Skips
Salt and Vingar Walkers
Flaming Hot Monster Munch
Kettle Chips (If they count)
Sweet Chilli Walkers Sensations
Quavers
Cheese and Onion Squares
Those ones in Aldi which have far too much salt on.
Space Invaders/Tangy Toms
Salt and Vinegar Discos
Lamb and Mint Walkers Sensations
Ready Salted Walkers
Skips
Salt and Vingar Walkers
Flaming Hot Monster Munch
Kettle Chips (If they count)
Sweet Chilli Walkers Sensations
Quavers
Cheese and Onion Squares
Those ones in Aldi which have far too much salt on.
Space Invaders/Tangy Toms
Sunday, 13 January 2008
The Art Of The Mimic
I went to see 'The Art of Laughter With Jos Houben' at the South Bank Centre today. As my laziness knows no bounds I will, instead of writing it up, quote from http://www2.warwick.ac.uk/fac/cross_fac/capital/about/masterclasses/jos/.
So, Adam Alston, a student present at the Masterclass, describes it thus: It’s difficult to put your finger on precisely what format this wonderful event adopted. I’d venture to propose it was a lecture on the art of slapstick comedy with live performance to inform the content. ‘Inform’ perhaps conjures the wrong essence of the piece: it sounds too constricting or bland. This was anything but. Entertaining, amusing, enlightening and great fun would be terms far more apt. Houben began by analysing, in detail, the human body and its idiosyncrasies. Something common to every performer, spectator and human being is the body: it’s a universal trait. Houben studies how minor adjustments to its structure can produce comic results. An example is the way that the body automatically adjusts to a movement by providing a counter movement to maintain balance. But what happens if the counter movement is eliminated? We fall. And the spectator falls with you. The result: comedy.
I concur. Houben's lecture was brilliant. A lot of what he said was illuminating, and not only for comedy performance. His comments on the body and our obsession with verticality, that is our association of dignity with verticality (of not falling over, of standing up straight, of our use of phrases like 'climbing the social ladder', of building buildings taller the next) was particularly interesting for me in light of my work with people with disabilities. I hope that I will save some headspace in the next few days to think about whether this obsession with uprightness is a core factor in the ubiquity of social prejudice against those whose usual state of being/meeting is sitting down.
Worryingly though, at the same time as thinking this rather preachy piece, I was also acting as an accessory to a rather disturbing case of disability fraud. Donal, my friend and Jos Houben fan, couldn't get a ticket for the event. He looked on the website and it had said it was sold out. However, there were still spaces left for wheelchair users and carers. As no one else had booked them up, Donal, being Donal, strangely took the option of paying to get his leg and arm put in plaster (sum of £40) so that he could pretend to have broken his appendages in a freak skiing accident necessitating the use of a wheelchair (borrowed), thus allowing him into the show. Things went to plan, sort of. You see the electronic ramp at the Southbank Centre didn't work, and so the staff stood face to face with Donal apologetic and guilt ridden, enough to make those of us in the know squirm with similar apology and guilt.... K A R M A..... I personally wanted Donal to stage a miraculous recovery towards the third quarter of Houben's performance, leaving the chair for dead as he tangoed up and down the aisle, but wisely he sat there and kept nervously quiet. Donal enjoyed the talk, he said later, although perhaps not enough to warrant the effort and immorality of the day's rouse.
Finally I thought it would be nice to mention that I saw my friend Tom Ross today and his new girlfriend. She is Italian but as they met in Jordan (where Tom has been living for the past few years), their Lingua Franca is a formal variant of Arabic. Very sweet, if odd.
Oh yes and I am acknowledged for some slight research I did for my friend John Schad's book - Someone called Derrida: An Oxford Mystery. Its my second book acknowledgment, and I am proud and thankful. The book (which I am reading at the moment) is unbelivably good. Non-linear, inventive and worthwhile. Perhaps I'll post on it later.
I go on tour soon for three weeks. I hope it will be fun, fun, fun. Its a headline one, so no excuses.
So, Adam Alston, a student present at the Masterclass, describes it thus: It’s difficult to put your finger on precisely what format this wonderful event adopted. I’d venture to propose it was a lecture on the art of slapstick comedy with live performance to inform the content. ‘Inform’ perhaps conjures the wrong essence of the piece: it sounds too constricting or bland. This was anything but. Entertaining, amusing, enlightening and great fun would be terms far more apt. Houben began by analysing, in detail, the human body and its idiosyncrasies. Something common to every performer, spectator and human being is the body: it’s a universal trait. Houben studies how minor adjustments to its structure can produce comic results. An example is the way that the body automatically adjusts to a movement by providing a counter movement to maintain balance. But what happens if the counter movement is eliminated? We fall. And the spectator falls with you. The result: comedy.
I concur. Houben's lecture was brilliant. A lot of what he said was illuminating, and not only for comedy performance. His comments on the body and our obsession with verticality, that is our association of dignity with verticality (of not falling over, of standing up straight, of our use of phrases like 'climbing the social ladder', of building buildings taller the next) was particularly interesting for me in light of my work with people with disabilities. I hope that I will save some headspace in the next few days to think about whether this obsession with uprightness is a core factor in the ubiquity of social prejudice against those whose usual state of being/meeting is sitting down.
Worryingly though, at the same time as thinking this rather preachy piece, I was also acting as an accessory to a rather disturbing case of disability fraud. Donal, my friend and Jos Houben fan, couldn't get a ticket for the event. He looked on the website and it had said it was sold out. However, there were still spaces left for wheelchair users and carers. As no one else had booked them up, Donal, being Donal, strangely took the option of paying to get his leg and arm put in plaster (sum of £40) so that he could pretend to have broken his appendages in a freak skiing accident necessitating the use of a wheelchair (borrowed), thus allowing him into the show. Things went to plan, sort of. You see the electronic ramp at the Southbank Centre didn't work, and so the staff stood face to face with Donal apologetic and guilt ridden, enough to make those of us in the know squirm with similar apology and guilt.... K A R M A..... I personally wanted Donal to stage a miraculous recovery towards the third quarter of Houben's performance, leaving the chair for dead as he tangoed up and down the aisle, but wisely he sat there and kept nervously quiet. Donal enjoyed the talk, he said later, although perhaps not enough to warrant the effort and immorality of the day's rouse.
Finally I thought it would be nice to mention that I saw my friend Tom Ross today and his new girlfriend. She is Italian but as they met in Jordan (where Tom has been living for the past few years), their Lingua Franca is a formal variant of Arabic. Very sweet, if odd.
Oh yes and I am acknowledged for some slight research I did for my friend John Schad's book - Someone called Derrida: An Oxford Mystery. Its my second book acknowledgment, and I am proud and thankful. The book (which I am reading at the moment) is unbelivably good. Non-linear, inventive and worthwhile. Perhaps I'll post on it later.
I go on tour soon for three weeks. I hope it will be fun, fun, fun. Its a headline one, so no excuses.
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