Wow, that was the most frustrating game of football I've seen in a while, but it was sort of worth the 90 minutes of annoyance for the release after the last gasp winner that Cambridge eventually put past Lewes' bunch of snivelling fallers-over-clutching-their-untouched-faces.
It's been a really good few days. On Saturday I played golf (came last, though I still maintain I'd have only been joint last if I hadn't been told I was a shot behind with 2 holes left when I was actually 2, and I'm definitely getting better technically. Slowly), had a pub lunch, played snooker (I'm happy if I do just one really impressive pot when I play snooker, no matter how lucky, and I did a couple) then, in the nick of time, did a gig that went really well.
I was supporting Jane Taylor at the Boat House, scene of my near death experience last week and the place was packed. I was expecting to go down badly because she's quite a lot more, er, refined, than me, but right from the off everyone was cheering. I'm much better at saying funny things when I feel like people are on my side and I think I did this time. I accidentally only took 6 CDs along (which is usually more than ample to be fair), and they'd all gone by the time I'd put my guitar away. I don't know whether to be pleased or irritated. And there were girls who wanted to talk to me at the end! No, seriously, there actually were. Not for long obviously.
Setlist: Alabaster, Watertight, You won't Break My Heart, This Place Is Dead Anyway (I moved it down from G to F, and really liked actually being able to sing it, but I have plans for a harmonica and it's crossed the boundary of where harmonicas go up an octave and sound weird so I'm undecided. I can play nicer guitar stuff in G too), So Finally a Love Song, Shelf Life (another new song, not sure about it), Edinburgh (someone I didn't know requested it, so I felt I should - don't go getting ideas though McGowan if you're out there), Soaked to the Skin
Dan cunningly showed up when I was halfway through my last song and we watched some of Jane Taylor then went off to watch The Pony Collaboration at The Globe, who were excellent as ever, then went back to mine and tried to watch telly but my cable broke so we played Streetfighter II (gratifyingly, I'm still unbeatable with Chun Li after all this time) until that too broke, and then we watched Swingers. I'm not sure if the day could've been improved upon really.
On Sunday we got McDonald's for breakfast (but not McDonald's breakfast) and I spotted a 15 number plate, then did a bit of recording with Dan, which sounds ace, before going to Nando's (via Cromwell Road, where I knew there was a 16 number plate) and bowling. I bowled really well for once. Keep it slow and follow through. I must remember for next time. Dan was filming a video blog the whole time which I tried hard to stay out of, but suspect I didn't quite manage to unfortunately.
Yesterday I (and everyone else in Cambridge I think) went to see Elbow at the Corn Exchange. It was really, really excellent. The sound was great, the songs are incredible and Guy Garvey is such a lovable front man. I guess if it takes you as long to get where they are as it has taken them, you're going to be pretty humble and grateful for it, but it's so nice to see. There was a great bit where he shot the world's biggest party popper into the crowd. I was about 3/4 of the way back and it was quite a sight watching streamers slowly approaching. I'm not quite so keen on the new album as the others, so I could have lived with two or three fewer songs from it and "Switching Off" and "Red" instead, but it's fair enough, and they played "Great Expectations" and "Scattered Black and Whites" so I can't really complain. Great Expectations has got to be one of the best songs there is. Their audience seems to have aged about 15 years in the last 6 months mind you. I blame the Mercury Prize. I'm dead pleased for them that they won it and all, but I'm worried it'll lead to bad things - it doesn't seem to have done anyone else any good.
I realised today that every email sent to me through my website for about half a year has gone into my spam filter and been deleted. Which raises the possibility that people have actually been emailing me after all and I never found out about it. Is it more annoying to believe that, or that nobody has emailed me at all? I've made it so that no emails to that address get junked, which seems to be the best that gmail will let you do (seriously Google - everything else you do is so clever, why can't the spam filter be adjusted?) but that's just leading to loads of spam in my inbox. There have been some class subjects though. In particular "The Paris Hilton gets inducted into comedy hall of fame" and "Brtiney Spears installs fanny magnet to attract paparazzi". You couldn't make it up.
I went to The Emirates Stadium on Tuesday to watch Arsenal vs Porto. It's bloody impressive - way better than Wembley. We were sitting about as far from the pitch as you can go and still be in there but the view was still great and so was the atmosphere. I do think it's a bit crazy that they lie outrageously about the attendance by counting season ticket holders who didn't show up (by my reckoning about a quarter of the seats were empty, and it was sold out) - what are they trying to achieve? The game was great too - Arsenal won 4-0, but it could've been 10 if Adebayor wasn't such a useless offside lump.
Of course, as impressive as The Emirates is, it's not as good as going to United, where you're close enough to actually be able to recognise opposition players after a bit. The only Porto player I could name is Hulk. For obvious reasons. Here's a picture of The Abbey I found on my phone while downloading the Emirates one. Crazy sky eh?
Another thing I found while I was clearing out my phone was this picture of the menu at Charlie Chan's in Cambridge. It's blurry, but spot the deliberate mistake in the first line of the vegetable section...
So. The little jaunt with Small Town Boredom...
I arrived at the Wee Red Bar in Edinburgh, which is in the middle of an art college (I went through a massive hall full of classical sculptures to get in - I'm not sure I was meant to) sweating like a pig. I had to either carry or wear all my stuff and it seemed easier to wear as much as possible. I'd bought a new shirt for the occasion, but it was just too wet, so I changed in the loo (attempts to dry my back with the hand drier were not a huge success). It was good to see everyone again. Here's a blurry picture of Fraser from Small Town Boredom wearing possibly the best T shirt in the world.
It became apparent fairly early on in their respective soundchecks that both Small Town Boredom and eagleowl are brilliant. Small Town Boredom (Fraser, Colin, Rich and Bart) had a slightly different line up to both the other times I'd played with them (though their old members showed up for the gig, and it was great to see them too) and a bigger sound. And an amazing organ - an electric pump blew air through accordion/harmonium reeds - it sounded lovely. eagleowl (Bart (again), Clarissa and someone else in Edinburgh whose name I never found out) I'd not seen before but, for this gig, were double bass, guitar and a beautiful harmonium with two of them singing.
Hannah and I had an al fresco practice while all this was going on as a refresher, and then soundchecked. When we were done everyone else went to Sainsbury's, but I was feeling nervous and slightly jittery, so I went to the pub and finally came out ahead after an encounter with a quiz machine. I didn't cover my pint though. Our set went pretty well I think. I probably said some stupid stuff - it was a moderately big room and everyone was a bit far away and I'd not played for ages, but the sound was good.
Setlist: Take it All, You Won't Break My Heart, So Finally a Love Song, A Folly or a Fortress, Losing Out To Bullethead, Closure, Watertight.
Hannah sang on the last four and I thought she sounded amazing. I've never really sung live with anyone and it's a nice feeling doing your bit like normal, but having someone else stand next to you making it beautiful without you having to do anything. It's a real shame she's moved away just as I've discovered this. If it does look like I'll be doing a reasonable number of gigs in the future maybe I'll try and find a singer.
As the other sets progressed I noticed that I was getting ill. Perfect timing, but presumably due to me thinking "Oh God, I hope I don't get ill" earlier in the day. Or the bird poo on the sausage. Here are some photos from the night that someone took. The ones that aren't of me look great.
When it was all over (early, because there was an extremely arty club after - mattresses everywhere) we drove to Fraser's in Glasgow and after he and Colin compromised on a 7am start the next day and we watched a slightly substandard episode of "Cheaters" (apparently the proper presenter got stabbed one time and now won't leave the studio) I crawled off to a patch of floor and fell asleep, knowing full well that the next day was not going to be pleasant - a 7 hour car ride while feeling like shit.
Actually, I didn't mind the journey down to Cambridge in the end because I could snooze in the back seat while Fraser and Bart put good music on the stereo. It was nice seeing the sunrise too
As an added bonus, I spotted a 13 number plate in the second service station, while Colin was checking the pressure in all of his tyres. I then saw a load of 15s, which was annoying because I only saw a 14 on Sunday, and I've not seen another 15 yet. There's definitely a 16 on Cromwell Road though and I know the location of at least 2 18s,
We made it to mine at about 2, and I went almost straight to bed for a bit until pretty much time to leave. The gig at the Boat House was ok I guess, but felt weird because it was mostly people I knew (which I really appreciate, but I always feel a bit stupid when I know I'm being indulged - I'm old enough now that it's pretty pathetic) and because I felt like I was close to death.
Setlist (maybe): Take it All, You Won't Break My Heart, Watertight, Grace Cathedral Hill, So Finally a Love Song, This Place is Dead Anyway (new song! I couldn't sing it at all), Closure.
Small Town Boredom were ace again (I had to miss the last song to go and sneeze 17 or 18 times), if a bit less confident seeming, but I think quite a lot of people didn't get it. Those that did, really did though. I feel a bit bad because I was rude to one of the sound guys at the end about thinking X and Y by Coldplay was an acceptable thing to own. I was ill, in my defense. And, seriously, a small child could come up with more meaningful lyrics by puking in a rhyming dictionary. I went straight to bed when we got back. Rock and roll.
The next day we had a Tesco run, which wasn't terribly well coordinated in truth - I've ended up with 15 eggs and several gallons of milk. It's times like this I wish I was better at making omelettes. The guys went off to London at about midday and I went back to bed to listen to the Liverpool game and get the train later. I'm not sure about Stoke Newington. It seems awfully hard to get to, and as I was walking to the venue from Finsbury Park station I saw a 10 man fight spill out of what appeared to be a tanning salon. Remind me not to go anywhere near there that actually looks dodgy. Or to tanning salons actually.
The venue, when I reached it, was really nice though. A charmingly run down looking upstairs room of a pub full of Arsenal fans (with one small table of Hull City fans in the corner - they had the last laugh). There were twinkling lights behind the stage, though they had to be turned off because they interefered with Bart's guitar. I was worried my voice wouldn't work, because I felt bad still and kept coughing, but after a few pints it seemed ok, if a bit gravelly.
Setlist: Take it All, Watertight, Phosphorus Burn (I forgot the last verse, and some of how the guitar went. Rubbish!), Grace Cathedral Hill, So Finally a Love Song, Radio Silence, You Won't Break my Heart, Soaked to the Skin.
I ended up kind of drunk due to a two pints turning up at the same time incident(and, as is well documented already, got stuck in London) but I thought Small Town Boredom and eagleowl (with their full line up of mandolin/violin/ukulele and an extra singer) were magical. It's a proper honour to get to play with bands like that. And you get the added bonus that when people have come to see good bands, there's half a chance they'll be music fans so might give you the benefit of the doubt. I've been thinking about this kind of thing a lot recently. I'm pretty unlikely to be able to express it properly and I'll probably sound like an arrogant prat but it seems to me like a lot of people, especially in the last few years or so, write songs as exercises and for an excuse to be up on stage and play at being a singer. Maybe they have a good voice or a pretty face or easily impressed mates or want to appear clever or even just get out of the house. Which is all fine, but it ends up being karaoke except with less good material. Which is also fine, but it looks stupid when put next to people who actually have some passion about it and depth to what they're doing. And yet the hobbyists and their cheering mates never seem to realise that. Take the open mic I went to (but didn't play at) in Edinburgh - I was talking to a bunch of guys there who went round all the open mics in town - literally playing every night and telling each other how great they all are. Which is nice and sociable and all, but one guy had been doing it week in week out for 3 years, and nobody had ever given him a better gig, yet he never questioned why that might be. And if he's happy like that, all well and good I suppose, but he's never going to write anything that anyone could actually like. I'm not sure where I stand in the whole thing. I've certainly never managed to break out of playing at that level (well, not often anyway), but at least I'm constantly questioning and worrying about whether I think what I'm doing is any good/worthwhile/expressing what I'm trying to express rather than thinking, 'oh it'll do, it rhymes and my mates will cheer anyway'.
Did that make any sense? Not sure. Maybe I'll just stick with saying that it was really great to be playing with people that it was possible to watch and think "oh wow, that's brilliant" and I wish it had happened to me more over the years than it has. So loads of thanks to Small Town Boredom and eagleowl for letting me tag along.
Watching traffic on a hillside (Edinburgh Part II)
Last Wednesday was probably the most decadent day I can remember. I had another lie in, then went for a wander up the Royal Mile,
a look round St Giles' Cathedral (no photography allowed inside! Meanies)
and then a nice steak for lunch while reading the paper. It's a bit touristy round there I guess, but when it leads to things like this:
this
and this
I reckon it can be excused. I know the S has just come off that last sign (it was correct on the other side) but it tickled me to think that that was how to pluralise haggis.
There was some kind of demonstration going on as I went up the hill, but I don't think they really cared, as they were all in the pub by 2pm
I also wandered along this road
which is what I think of first if I think of Edinburgh. I bought The Wallflowers "One Headlight" single in a little record shop there (which now seems to be an internet cafe) when I spent a whole day traipsing round there on my own about 10 years ago, and the version of "6th Avenue Heartache" on that was what made me want an accordion. I wanted to recreate the cover of my ep with that picture, but the place where I'd have had to stand is a building site at the moment.
Some bloke in the pub the night before had told me that the thing I had to do was go up Calton Hill. So I dutifully did, via a pub and the graveyard which has that big needle you can see from Arthur's Seat in it. Do you think I'm more interested in graveyards than is healthy?
Calton Hill is a big park with some random Greek influenced buildings on it, half finished because the money ran out. Which is nicer somehow than if they were finished. Especially on days like this, when the weather was behaving as it's meant to in Scotland.
That thing in the background is a tribute to Nelson. It's meant to be shaped like a telescope. You can normally go in and look round, but the half hearted demonstration I'd seen earlier on was tied in with a strike (the sign on the door said something about the Auld Alliance...) which meant that all the tourist attractions were shut. Still, the views from the hill are quite something (you can see my hotel in the second)
I went back via some rickety steps called Jacob's Ladder that take you under the train line
and another graveyard.
That little headstone makes me sad.
I then sat in the bath for a full 90 minutes drinking a half bottle of wine from the minibar and getting within 2 of finishing The Times crossword (Where Spooner's rabbit is accomodated for free - U_ _ _ T _ H and Fuel - several litres needed when touring part of London - G _ S _ _ _ L). Actually, looking again, that second one is GASOHOL. I reckon the other must be something to do with hutches. Anyway, I felt refreshed and awake for the first time in months when I eventually got out into my complimentary bathrobe. I'd seen what looked like my perfect restaurant earlier on in the day. The Mussels and Steak Bar. I was a bit annoyed I'd had steak for lunch, but it did mean that I tried some scallops to start with, had mussels for the main course and still had room for chocolate mousse. I can't get over how brilliant a concept for a restaurant it is. They should open one here. I popped into a few pubs on the way back, broke even for ages but eventually lost some more money in a series of difficult but not impossible Trivia for Dummies machines, and saw some reasonable covers bands being roundly ignored by students on their Freshers' Week.
I didn't have too much of a lie in on Thursday because I wanted to fit in another swim and sauna before it was time to check out, even though I knew full well it would involve carrying around some wet swimming shorts for the next 2 days. Once I'd done with that I thought it'd be nice to have breakfast outside a cafe. Which it was. Until there was a sickening splatting noise and the guy on the next table and his shiny new laptop were suddenly covered in bird shit. It was like the gunge tank in the early Comic Reliefs. I can't imagine it was a pigeon because there must've been at least half a litre of it, but I dont see how you could've got an ostrich onto a small ledge on the 4th story of a building. Suspiciously, the cafe owner didn't seem very surprised. A small amount had ended up on my plate but believing it to be fairly localised in the beans and pancake area, I ate the sausage anyway. It had a slightly funny taste. "I hope this doesn't make me ill" I thought. Little did I know... The cafe guy got me another breakfast when he saw what had happened - it's like they say, it is good luck having a bird shit on you.
When I'd finished my second breakfast I walked up The Mound and had a look round the HBoS museum, resisting the urge to point and laugh. It was actually quite interesting. When they first started, their deadly rivals the Royal Bank of Scotland, tried to shut the Bank of Scotland down by presenting loads of notes and asking for their value in coin. They must've been really irked when they managed to raise it. There were interesting stories of forgers, original carvings of £1 coins, and £1,000,000 in (cancelled) notes.
Another place I wanted to see was Greyfriars Kirkyard because I remember going there as a child but haven't come across it any other time I've been. In case you don't know the story there was a dog who became known as Greyfriars Bobby who sat on his owner's grave for 14 years. I'm not sure if it's a happy story or a sad one. Faithful dogs aside, Greyfriars seems to have been quite an important church anyway.
Many notable people have been buried there, including William McGonagall, widely regarded as the worst poet in the English language, he went to his (unmarked, paupers) grave believing himself to be a genius. I know a few people like that.
My last little bit of real sightseeing was to look round Holyrood Palace. It is pretty spectacular, though a lot of that is due to the setting and the ruined abbey round the back. There was an interesting bit about Mary Queen of Scots, and I was impressed by the size of The Royal Dinner Service (several thousand pieces). They don't let you take pictures inside, so here's one of the towers
And here's the ruined abbey
Seriously though, look at this view
I then had a quick juice and muffin in the Scottish Parliament building and a poke about in their gift shop (if I go to Edinburgh again I'm going to spend the whole time trying to find a tourist attraction that doesn't sell little bottles of whisky in its gift shop), before getting my stuff from the concierge at the hotel and walking off to the venue for that night's gig. Getting incredibly sweaty in the process.
I got stuck in London last night like a fool. I'll admit mistakes were made (staying for that last drink, waiting at a bus stop that had a big sign on it saying "THIS BUS STOP IS NOT IN USE") but still, it's one thing missing the last train to Cambridge, it's another missing the last train to central London - what's the tube doing stopping at just gone midnight? And why does a taxi from 10 minutes' walk away from Finsbury Park station to Finsbury Park Station cost the same as a minicab from Walthamstow to Barkingside? The journey back today was a pain in the arse as well. I wanted to get to the Cambridge game (they won 1-0 with a 93rd minute penalty, entirely due to Pete, who sometimes comes with us, has been about 20 times now and has only ever seen Cambridge victories) and thought that leaving at half 11 would be easily alright. Little did I know they were going to have precision "planned engineering work" strikes on every route I could possibly take. One thing I've never got about rail replacement bus services is why when 95% of the people on them want to go the entire distance of the gap they're filling, they insist on visiting every intermediate station. Surely it would make more sense to have about 1 in 5 do all the stations and the others be direct. And surely it would make sense to not plan your route to take in every set of roadworks in a 5 mile radius. And surely it would make sense to not have tannoy announcements at Stratford getting my hopes up of a direct train to Cambridge when no such thing exists. I did a quick calculation, and reckon my last pint last night cost me £55.
Anyway, I went to Edinburgh for a few days last week before my little stint with Small Town Boredom and had a really, really good time. I was a bit worried I'd have trouble being on my own for that long, but thankfully, as presumably that's what holidays are going to be like from now on, I did ok. It got off to a good start when the taxi driver who was taking me to the station came and rang my doorbell rather than giving me an automated callback on my phone. And kept calling me sir. There was a dog on the railway line, which provided some amusement while I was waiting for the train, as none of the rail people could figure out what to do about it.
It wandered off in the end so stopped being their problem. It's quite a long journey (5 1/2 hours) but I had a good book and got into the holiday spirit by buying myself an incredibly expensive sandwich and glass of wine. No prices hold any fear for you once you've bought something on a train.
My hotel was quite near the station (about 100 yards from the unimpressive new Scottish Parliament building) and the short walk there reminded me that Edinburgh is a ridiculously beautiful place. I don't know if I could ever get tired of looking at those massive hills. The first thing I did once I'd dropped my bags off at the hotel, which was pretty fancy by my standards
(they must have called me Mr Goodwin 8 times while I was checking in - it was like talking to a Virgin Media call centre operative, except I actually acheived what I wanted to) was to walk up to the top of Arthur's seat, which I did get pretty tired of about 3/4 of the way there, but it was worth it.
I find it incredible that something like that can be so close to a city centre.
The weather was absolutely amazing. It was like I wasn't in Scotland at all.
After cleaning myself up and having a quick KFC I met up with Hannah, who's recently moved to Edinburgh. So recently that she doesn't really know the way around either, which made the actual meeting up something of a challenge. We managed it though and went to the cinema with some friends of hers. I've not been for a couple of years, mostly out of lack of anyone to go with, but I do like it, even when the film isn't great, or, as it was in this case, (The Duchess) pretty harrowing. On my way home I popped into The Legendary Whistle Binkie's Open Mic to see what it was like, and to try and find some others for the other nights I was there (I'd not played for a while and wanted some match practice ready for the shows later in the week). It was busy, but really noisy and the standard was mostly pretty dire, though I had a few entertaining conversations, in particular with one guy from Kent who appeared to be being stalked by a very drunk Russian. It is also worth noting that the Trivia for Dummies machine was extremely hard.
The next day I had a nice long lie in and then went for a swim and a sauna (oh yes!) before spending an hour and a half doing a small amount of email checking in the world's slowest internet cafe. The weather was worse, so my decision to go up the big hill the previous day was a good one. I did a bit of shopping, then went up the Scott Memorial, which I hadn't realised you could do before. It's pretty high and the staircases are pretty cramped, but the views are good.
After having a practice with Hannah ready for Thursday night's gig, I went off to an open mic, where I played Watertight, You Can't Spend Your Whole Life Hanging Round with Arseholes and So Finally a Love Song to predictable apathy, but did manage to have no less than four decent conversations with people. I popped in to another pub (The Royal Oak maybe? It's tiny but had some impressive acts playing at its folk club) on the way back where there were some random people playing cajun music, and managed to have another two decent conversations. Maybe I'll be alright at this going on holiday alone malarkey after all.
I have to stop there for now because I've caught up with where my photos have uploaded up to. If you want to look at them all (I got carried away again, but lots of them are pretty nice) they're slowly appearing here.
It’s unnatural (ooh) you belong to me (ooh) I belong to you
I watched some of the Ryder Cup last night. There was not a lot of love for Americans in that room. Their team are a particularly gormless looking bunch though and the crowds are particularly dumb. It also felt like the holes had some kind of anti-European golf ball field surrounding them.
The end of the End of the Road then. The first thing we saw on Sunday morning was The Wave Pictures, who I also saw in Barcelona and really enjoyed. Again, I loved it (8/10 for argument's sake). Most of the songs are great and the singer is really good at the guitar (probably nearly up to a guy from a below average American bar band). There's this one called "Now you are pregnant" which is lovely - it's on their myspace but doesn't sound as good recorded. However, despite all that, they don't come out well using my new reviewing system, due to some fairly basic errors involving instrumentals:
Level 6 smugness (singer only): -4
Stupidest line of the decade (the one about marmalade and sculptures which they seem oddly proud of): -3
Drum solo: -1
Announcing a drum solo: -2
Bass solo: -1
Announcing a bass solo: -2
Announcing a guitar solo: -1
Having a band member that looks like a teddy bear: +1
Having a band member who looks a bit like the guy from Dive Dive who looks a bit like Jurgen Klinsmann: +2
Total Adjustments: -11
Which gives them a totakl of -3.
Kimya Dawson was next and was just dreadful. I don't know what she thought she was doing. Jason Molina followed her and was great - lovely voice, haunting songs, but we missed the end to go and see Bob Log III because everyone in the programme had said how good he was. He was certainly unique, being a one man band in an Elvis costume with a massive (we're talking Rick Moranis in Spaceballs proportions) crash helmet on which contained a telephone he was singing comedy blues through.
We went back to the tent for a snooze and some wine from our plastic champagne flutes
until it was time for the guys from Hefner to play. Chris had seen them in Barcelona and said it was great, and I loved it. Touching songs and the guy was very funny and took the piss out of the Low chucking the guitar into the crowd incident quite a lot. They had the Wave Pictures' rhythm section backing them up, and were joined by the singer at the end, who further demonstrated his smugness by having his guitar louder than the rest of the band put together which meant that during the three way guitar duel (is that a triel?) they tried to do at the end all you could hear was him.
Jeffrey Lewis was really good, but he didn't play Williamsburg Will Oldham Horror (another -1 not playing your best song penalty - why do people keep falling foul of that?), and the singer from the Wave Pictures was there yet again, this time on ukuleke (the festival was a bit flooded with ukuleles because there was a stall selling them cheaply - if I go again my first job will be to buy all of their stock and hide it somewhere).
The Mountain Goats would've been lots better if you could've heard the guitar and singing I think, and he lost the audience a bit when he broke a string on the very first strum of the set and didn't have a spare guitar. Brakes were predictably shit. We were fairly musiced out by the time Calexico came on and so Ciaran and I went for a moonlight walk round the gardens, being careful not to tread on the various couples who were taking advantage of the romantic surroundings to enjoy each other's company. Calexico sounded good from a distance though. Here are some pictures I took
The last 'proper' thing we saw was a Canadian band called Constantines who I knew nothing about, but were absolutely brilliant. Loud, energetic, passionate. Exactly what was required. I might get their album too.
When the music finished on all the bigger stages, lots of the acts went to the little pub tent and played cover sets. We only really made it there on the last night but it was a really good atmosphere. They were playing Beatles records and they actually made sense with people dancing to them (admittedly they were early ones - Mr Postman for example, which I've always found less offensive). Woodpigeon, whose set we missed (I was informed it was pretty boring), came on and did some Motown stuff which was great fun too. That bit of the night was most notable however for the fact that we found Kevin in there, with an empty half litre bottle of Raki that had been full a couple of hours earlier, unable to go more than a couple of minutes without falling into someone. We got talking to a guy at the bar who said "do you know him then?" and found it very funny when we said, "yeah he's driving us home tomorrow". In retrospect we should have probably forced him to leave. And I probably shouldn't have bought him another pint. Ho hum.
When he eventually woke up the next day (several hours after us) he had that "I'm so hungover it's a little bit funny" look on his face that I know well and wandered off muttering something about coffee and a lost hat. 2 hours later he returned and had another little snooze. The half formed plan that Ciaran and I had for a game of golf when we got back was abandoned... We've all been there though. There weren't very many people left when we finally made a move, took our stuff to the site entrance and sent Kevin off to get the car.
After 30 minutes or so there was still no sign of him, so I went to investigate, and found him resting his eyes on the steering wheel. We decided it might be better if Ciaran drove. He recovered all of a sudden just before Fleet services.
All in all it was a brilliant weekend. I had a lot of laughs, saw some great bands I knew, made some promising discoveries, ate some excellent food (I don't think I mentioned the food enough - it was all extremely nice, even though, bizarrely, it was impossible to get chips) and bought a yellow T-shirt with a whale wearing headphones on it. It gets my vote as best UK music festival I've been to. Glastonbury is great because there are just so many people, but this had much higher quality acts. It did make me realise that Americans seem to be better at writing music than the British as well as better at playing. British Sea Power, Brakes, Noah and the Whale, Laura Marling et al are made to look like clueless amateurs when put next to Bon Iver, Shearwater, Sun Kil Moon, American Music Club, or even a past his best Conor Oberst. I wonder if it's something to do with my suspicion that everything over here is controlled by a back slapping mates network based in London. Maybe it's just because there are more people in America.
As if I'd not seen enough stuff at the weekend, on Wednesday I went to see Sun Kil Moon again at The Scala. I thought it might be overkill but it was definitely the right thing to do. They played for 2 hours and I spent most of it stuck at the back behind people who were taller than me, but for once it didn't bother me and I spent almost the whole time thinking how incredible it sounded. The one RHP song we got, "Mistress", was simply amazing and they played "Glen Tipton" and "Moorestown" which were both missing at the festival. Again the rockier bits weren't as good (and some of the instrumentals got a bit indulgent), but they were still great. I'm starting to think it might be good fun being a bass player in a quietish band. The guy they had didn't do very much but had a really big influence on the sound. There were also some more Mark Kozelek diva incidents. Specifically, he fired the support act at 4.30 because they had too many band members, which meant that Emily Barker got to play. We missed her unfortunately, but it was nice to say hello and catch up a bit after. Kozelek kept going on about how the people who go and see him in Britain are mostly fat guys with no girlfriends and backpacks. I'm glad I hadn't brought a backpack.
I'm off to Edinburgh tomorrow for a few days before doing 3 gigs with Small Town Boredom (Edinburgh on Thursday, Cambridge on Friday and London on Saturday (I've been trying to get someone to let me play in London for about a year now and it takes a band from Glasgow to sort it out for me...) - do come if you're in the area. Small Town Boredom are ace and I'm not sure that either they or I are going to be doing all that many more gigs after these ones. With any luck I'll have Hannah singing with me in Edinburgh). I'm hoping that a few days on my own in a nice city with a nice big hill to walk up in a nice hotel with a sauna and swimming pool and limited access to the internet will give me some proper thinking/writing time and I'll come back feeling refreshed, enthusiatic, a bit surer about what's important to me and with some kind of plan. I've got a feeling that what'll actually happen is I'll go a bit crazy and turn up at the venue on Thursday unable to speak properly.
I'm now looking for a 13 in the number plate game. I saw one on Cromwell Road last week, but it's not been there since I've needed it.
On with the festival then. I awoke bright and early last Saturday and stepped over the small pile of bright pink vomit that had suspiciously materialised outside the entrance to our tent and sat reading the programme for a bit. Mercury Rev were headlining the main stage that night, so Chris and I spent a little time trying to decide what would be on an album called Dessert Songs ("Any closer and ice cream" was my favourite). Then realised I was incredibly tired and went back to sleep until it was time for Absentee. I'd seen them supporting Micah P. Hinson at the Junction the week before but, bizarrely, the sound was better at the festival. They're ok. Certainly more interesting to watch than Bowerbirds who were on next and prompted another wander around the site.
Here's Ciaran in a big hat.
Chris and I have an idea for a music review site in which every record gets 0/10 unless it's really good, on the grounds that it would be a much better world if people didn't go round releasing things they think are just alright. If it does ever come about, Devon Sproule will go down in its history because she prompted the way that live shows will be reviewed. You'll get a score for being good/enjoyable/whatever, then there'll be an I-Spy style section where bonuses and penalties (mostly penalties, let's be honest) are awarded for certain criteria (the list of which will evolve over time I guess). Devon Sproule would have probably got 2/10 for how good the set was (had a couple of ok moments, mostly due to the bass player being precisely what you want in a bass player - not many notes, all played at *exactly* the right time. And it was sunny), with the following adjustments
Having an annoying hat: -1
Level 3 kookiness: -2
Not saying anything that remotely made sense at any point: -2
Use of the word "vibe": -3
Total adjustments: -8
Which gives her set a total of -6.
Next up were Noah and the Whale, who weren't nearly as annoying as I was expecting, but weren't very good either. I have very similar feelings about them and Laura Marling, though the shittiness of their lyrics was more obvious than that of hers for some reason. Maybe he enunciates better - he seemed very posh, maybe pater paid for elocution lessons. The girl they have singing backing vocals is incapable of playing a shaker in time. It is deceptively hard though.
When they finished we popped to the little pub tent to have some eggy real ale and watch the brilliantly named Thingumajig*saw. I don't know if there was a problem with the PA or they just decided to play completely acoustic, but it was very quiet. Everyone was loving it though.
Next up on the main stage were Bon Iver, who I saw in Barcelona in May, and thought were brilliant, so we made our way down to the front, fully expecting to be a bit disappointed. Thankfully they were jaw-dropping again. They've gained another member which I was a bit worried about, but he just added to everything. The album is great, but the live thing is so, so much better. Four guys singing together absolutely perfectly and only playing things that are the right thing to play. They put everything into it. It's spine tingling. The only criticisms I have are that they played a Talk Talk song instead of Blindsided (that's a -1 not playing your best song penalty), used the word vibe, and some guy in a hat was stood in front of me, determined to move to block my view whenever I moved to try and see round him (that's a -1 also). Any penalties are more than made up for by the +2 "having a bass player that looks like Earl's brother in My Name is Earl" and the +5 "being the best band at the festival by about a mile" bonus.
If anyone knows what keyboard that is, I want one
We watched the start of British Sea Power from the back, but there didn't seem to be anything good about them at all.
Low followed them and I really enjoyed it, despite not knowing many of the songs. They were also responsible for the most rock and roll thing I've ever seen. The singer guy didn't really speak much, and when he did it was to say "I'm having a really crappy day. I know you guys have had a good time, but everyone I love told me they hated me today". The drummer, his wife, said rather pointedly "not everyone". Then at the end of the set there was a big instrumental bit and you could tell he was working himself up into a bit of a rage. At the end of it he took his (heavy looking) guitar off and hit the floor with it, and I thought "wow he's going to smash it up - that's pretty rock and roll if a bit cliched". What he actually did was spin around a couple of times like a hammer thrower and fling it as hard as he could into the crowd. It must've gone 50 metres. Someone could have died. Fortunately the only casualty was the guitar.
Sun Kil Moon were on next in the big tent thing. I'm a massive fan of Mark Kozelek, and have only ever seen the solo thing. I reckon it's even better with a band (when they don't try and rock out too much) and got totally lost in it again. We were quite near the front, so the sound was good. I'm told it was a bit mushy towards the back. Which I can well believe, because that's how it was for Two Gallants straight after, so once you'd got over the fact that the drummer looks like Animal from The Muppets it got a bit boring. We went to watch Shearwater after a bit instead. I didn't know anything about them really, other than a vague idea of some Okkervil River connection, so wasn't hoping for anything in particular, but was blown away. I'm struggling slightly to remember too much about it other than that brilliant feeling you get when you've found something good and that the drummer/clarinet/dulcimer thing player looked like he should've been in Poison. I'm definitely getting an album.
I'll have to stop there for now because I've got a million things to do. I'll get back up to the present day tomorrow. Thankfully the stuff that's been keeping me busy this week is mostly not interesting enough to write about
What a busy and music filled week. For once I've not written on here because I've not had a spare hour rather than because nothing has happened. I was going to prolong it by going to see American Music Club at The Junction tonight, but I've only just got back from a whole weekend of watching bands (including American Music Club) so I think I'm going to have a well needed shower and an earlyish night.
Last Tuesday I went to see Micah P. Hinson at The Junction, even though I knew full well he was playing at the festival I knew full well I was going to. An odd decision, made easier by the proximity of Nando's to The Junction. I'm really glad I did though because it was excellent. The gig wasn't bad either. He's got a great voice (despite protestations of illness) nice songs, excellent guitar sound, engaging drummer (it's amazing how much difference having a drummer who's really into it makes to things) who also doubled as a fancy banjo player, and his attractive wife sitting onstage for the whole time to play a couple of chords on a keyboard on about 3 songs. Not that anyone was complaining. And the keyboard did sound great - I wish I knew what it was because I'd think about getting one. It was red, makes a filthy racket, and Bon Iver had one too on Saturday. Anyone know?
Wednesday I very half-arsedly participated in a game of cricket before watching the England game (what happened there?). My "At least I'm not Paul Goodwin" T-shirts came too. They look pretty good actually. I might make them available on my website. Or, more likely, put them in a box in my hallway and forget about them.
On Thursday my friend Ciaran (who, for convoluted reasons had driven up from London to get a lift to Dorset the next day) and I went to see Eileen Rose at the Portland. The Pony Collaboration were supporting and, even though I've seen them loads now and say this every time, I loved them. This time there was a stylophone duet, which sounds awful in theory, but was absolutely beautiful. The combination of viola (I think... small or far away?) and melodica was surprisingly nice too. I did a gig with Eileen Rose about 3 years ago, and thought she was alright, but with a band she's pretty rocking. Not least because her guitar/pedal steel player is ridiculously good at it. He did this thing with a beer bottle at the end that was just insane. I found a video of it on Youtube (this isn't with Eileen Rose I don't think)
The fact that this guy was playing at the Portland made me think again about something I've be wondering about for a long time now - why are Americans always so much better at playing than us? He was showing off with the bottle thing for a laugh, but the rest of the time he played pretty tastefully, and the whole band sounded and just looked more natural and at home than British ones ever do. The more I think about it the more I blame the fact that country music, which generally involves a great deal of feeling and musicianship is more popular and celebrated over there, and Oasis, which involved neither of the above, were so popular over here. Actually to be fair, the other support act, The Whybirds, who also play country/rock, are pretty accomplished too (it's the second time I'd seen them in a week, and I enjoyed both). There's something a bit weird about a band from Bedford declaring "this is a song about all the fakers we meet doing what we do" before bursting into song in a (pretty good, to my ears at least) Texan accent though.
We got up nice and early on Friday morning and gathered up our rucksacks and Obligatory Festival Supplies (packet of monkey nuts, box of wine, crate of beer, bag of easy peelers, my Famous Grouse promotional hip flask which is inscribed with a Rdbert Bums (sic) quotation full of whisky) to go to Kevin's house to get a lift to the End of the Road Festival. I didn't know Kevin was even going until he was at the Morning People gig last Saturday (that was quite good fun by the way - the Rhodes wasn't all I'd hoped, though some people were digging it (geddit?) but the headline act, Vile Bodies, were fantastic) and it luckily came out during a chat that he was driving down. Here he is. Note the excellent T shirt.
We made good time and got there about 1, driving through lots of short but worryingly heavy showers. I developed a new navigation technique that involved not looking where we were going and then being surprised when we missed turnings. It did mean we got to see Stonehenge mind you. It was mostly down to this game that I've started playing, in another, doubtless doomed, attempt to give my life some kind of purpose, which involves spotting each number between 1 and 999 on a number plate in consecutive order. Richard Herring invented it and apparently it took him a year and a half to complete and made him a bit crazy for a while. It's only getting harder too with the new style plates. Ciaran is playing it as well. I'm currently looking for a 12 and he's currently looking for an 11 (unless he spotted one on the way back today). I believe Chris (who was also at the festival) is on 10, but again, he's been driving a lot recently so it depends if he's remembered. I think I'll be pretty on the ball as I don't really have anything else to think about.
Anyway, in another piece of luck, the whole group of us that were descending on the festival independently and from different directions turned up in the space of 10 minutes, so we all went off to find a camping spot. The End of the Road is unique among UK festivals I've been to in that the people who organise it are doing so because they actually like music, rather than to make money/sell Carling/become minor celebrities/piss off the neighbours/wear fancy dress and take drugs with other aristocrats/book Lightspeed Champion. Consequently, the line up is great (funny how people who actually like music seem to actually like good music) and they only sell 5000 tickets, which means that there's plenty of room. I was sharing Ciaran's tent which, although it might be hard to tell from these photos, can be seen from space. Even in its bag.
Here are Emily and Dave with another of Dave's tiny guitars
We (all) sheltered in the porch bit from the rain for a while, getting started on the cans and reading the programme (which had some interesting interviews and was very nicely presented, even if some of the band descriptions were ever so slightly wanky in places) then when it eased off a bit went to watch some music. The first thing I saw was a bit of the Young Republic, who were good for a song or two, then tailed off. Then we found the main stage and A Hawk and a Hacksaw, who were really very good at playing their instruments, and great for a while, but eastern European folk isn't my thing really if I'm honest. We went for a wander round the site, noting possible food outlets for the future, until Micah P. Hinson was on again. Here is my favourite name for a food outlet since Abrakebabra (though, thinking about it, Kebabracadabra would have been even better, or even Kebabrakebabra).
We watch about half of Micah P. but it was less amazing than Tuesday on account of being on a massive stage outdoors rather than a small theatre, and tipping it down with rain (there was a funny moment when he couldn't work out why people were shouting for a song called "Umbrellas Down" and then cheered halfway through a song when a guy put his umbrella down) so we went to the last few songs of Laura Marling, to see if I could see what the fuss is about. I still can't really. It's an ok sound I guess, but I still think the songs are really weak. She is very young I suppose. Next up, after another wander round (the site is beautiful, even if it was already really muddy by this point - they have peacocks and parrots roaming free and lots of odd things dotted around, which someone said were from the Great Exhibition)
was the last little bit of Dirty Three, which was about the right amount. I've got a lot of time for them because of what they do with Nick Cave, and it was good for 10 minutes but I suspect there's only so much wailing violin over noise that I can take. We then saw the first few songs of American Music Club, which I thought were brilliant.
Mark Eitzel is a genius. How many people from San Francisco would think to write about how much of a hole Southend is? I'd have watched more but Conor Oberst was on the main stage doing his new thing.
It made me really wsh I'd seen Bright Eyes when he was younger. It was good and all, and I'd have probably loved it if it'd been anyone else, but... I dunno, a lot of the anger seems to have gone out of him. Maybe it was better nearer the front (a lesson I learn eventually at every festival but always forget by the next one). The songs off the new album sounded alright (the quieter ones sounded really quite good actually, especially Cape Canaveral) if a bit too safe but the random blues covers when he could've been playing "Haligh, Haligh, a Lie, Haligh" were a bit annoying. I can totally understand why they didn't do any Bright Eyes songs (especially with everyone at the front calling for them), but it's still a shame.
The sarcastic comments are still there at least. "Hi we're The Decemberists", "We've been Death Cab for Cutie". Nothing on the scale of calling John Peel a supercilious cokehead while headlining the John Peel Stage at Glastonbury on the day Richard Whitely died, then having a random woman in a fur coat force her way on stage, take it off and be completely naked underneath mind you. I'm absolutely sure that happened. Until Saturday it was the most rock and roll thing I've seen at a gig.
Here's a picture of Dave and Chris towards the end
Right - I really must go and clean my teeth - it's been too long. I read that back and it sounds like I thought less of everything than I really did. Just being at festivals is brilliant, especially ones like this where it's really focussed on the music. It was just that all the real highlights were on the other two days. Maybe I'll have time to write about those tomorrow.
People have been telling me that I sound depressed on here, so I'm going to try really hard not to. Let me know how I do. I've spent the morning lying in bed wondering how many times Radio 5 can say "holding Andy Murray's semi against Rafael Nadal" without anyone laughing.
I went to the Folk Club open stage last night with the intention of playing a new song for the first time (it's called "This Place is Dead Anyway", I can't decide if it's really good or a bit stupid, but I do keep listening to my demo of it over and over again). In the event I noticed about 15 minutes before I was meant to go on that I really didn't want to, and there were more people wanting to play than there was really time for, so I pulled out. The evening was a classic of the genre though. It was in a different place to where the Folk Club normally is, in the corner of a big room filled with people straight from the building site (it was like Phoenix Nights or something) which made it a bit surreal to start with, but then it got so much better. Highlights included one guy going to great lengths to play a song over some rain sounds that he'd recorded in Norfolk, only for it to start raining incredibly heavily halfway through, so it made no difference when he turned it off, a spontaneous chant of "Fuck off Histon" with associated pointing, my new favourite line in a serious murder ballad ("your long hair won't be long for long"), a raffle draw where the winning number being read out changed at least 3 times and then nobody had any of them anyway, and my favourite introduction to an act for a while ("I thought I'd seen this man play before, but then I realised he just said hello to me when he came in"). The standard was lower than usual, but there were some highlights - in particular the featured act, Gren Bartley, was very impressive - he plays the guitar incredibly well, but, unlike most people in that position, uses it for the forces of good. I had a long discussion with him about how far away Milton Keynes is. I was closer to right than him. And he'd just driven from there. I love the Folk Club.
My T-shirts are ready - Interlink have them at their depot in the North Pole. Interlink must be the worst company in the world - they make out like it's some massive favour that they deign to bring you your goods at some point in the mid afternoon, for only twice the price of Royal Mail, who inconsiderately bring stuff in the morning when there's half a chance you might be at home to be disturbed by it. And then when you're not in Interlink make you specify a whole day when you'll sit in your house too scared to even go to the loolest they come then and then take your parcel away and destroy it. Anyway I've looked at the design again and I'm pretty sure I made the "At least I'm not" too small. I'll see how they look and maybe try again next week if it's not right, and put these ones in a series of charity shops. Actually that'd be cool anyway because people who don't understand that I'm joking might end up wearing them. It would be genius seeing a tramp wearing a T shirt that said "At least I'm not Paul Goodwin".
Right, off to play golf, then watch United, then do a Morning People gig (without Dave - bit of a worry, but the practice sounded surprisingly good). I'm hopefully getting to play a Rhodes, which will be brilliant, but I'm quite concerned it won't fit behind the pillar...
I finally won at bowling! I still ache quite badly. A huge group of us went down to Bloomsbury Bowling in London on Saturday for a birthday party, and I managed to get my eye in about halfway through the first game by slowing my approach down and remembering to follow through. Following through is generally a key to success in life I've noticed. Approaching slowly less so. Bloomsbury Bowling is really cool - the counters are all made from bowling lanes, their coke tastes like coke floats, and they have every possible form of entertainment you could want, apart from Trivia for Dummies. By which I mean bowling, pool and table football. And karaoke. I didn't take part in the karaoke because I am a "miserable sod". And I vowed I never would after the SingStar incident.
The day was also notable becase I ate a tiny bit of a phall. I've always wondered what they taste like, but I've not been in the same place as someone stupid enough to order one since I was about 18 and lots of people felt the need to prove how big a man they were, before spending the rest of the night rocking back and forth with steam coming off their heads. The tiny bit I had stopped me tasting the first half of my curry. It's another thing to tick off The List though.
Look at this poster for a gig I'm doing in Edinburgh at the end of the month. It made me laugh.
It's the first of 3 gigs in a row with Small Town Boredom (Edinburgh, Cambridge, London in 3 days), which should be a lot of fun. I was going to try and organise a few dates up north the week before, but, being the way I am lately, I just didn't. I'm full of good intentions that I'm too scared to follow through with. I have ordered some T shirts though, simply because if, as I'm beginning to suspect, I'm going to stop playing music in the near future, it'll have been cool to have had T shirts at some point. And I thought it'd be funny. They're going to say "At least I'm not Paul Goodwin" on the front. Anyone want one? They're very limited edition. Anyway, instead of doing gigs up north, I'm going to go to a relatively nice hotel in Edinburgh and sit in the sauna for 3 days then, when I'm a couple of stone lighter, go up that big hill and try to write a mediocre song that people like more than it merits.
Last week was both very hard work and surprisingly good fun, though probably not very interesting to write about. We put in round about 60 man hours between two of us on Thursday and Friday making the Best Mobile Broadband Comparison Website in the World Ever in time for an unrealistic arbitrary deadline brought on by Ciaron going on holiday again. It was really quite satisfying to get there. It made me think it must be pretty nice to not care about anything apart from your job. Something to aspire to maybe.
Wow - both Cambridge and Liverpool are top of their respective divisons (for an hour or so at least), Cambridge having won four games out of four. What's going on? Am I dreaming?
Speaking of dreaming, this week I've been havind a weird recurring one where I'll be watching a band I really like play an amazing song, when the guy from the Hothouse Flowers who supported The Swell Season the other month (it doesn't look like him, but I know it's him in that way that happens in dreams) comes on and starts singing in Swahili or Aborigine or Martian. In one of them the crowd got so angry they started throwing mud at him and the festival got stopped. Which was a relief. I wonder what it all means.
Real life gave me a warning the other day - one of those moments where you wonder if it's scripted. I was feeling a bit rubbish after a long overdue night out with Peter Chilvers (he has his own wikipedia entry I found out! See the elevated circles I mix with...) so I thought I'd treat myself to some chips from ABC BBQ at lunchtime. The guy in front of me dropped his change and was too fat to pick it up so I had to get it. I seriously thought about going and getting a salad. But I didn't.
Seeing as how it now looks like, after all that, I'll not be putting my album on sale for the foreseeable future I've decided to try and forget about it (as if I can with all those boxes in my hallway) and concentrate on making some more eps. Which presumably I'll not put on sale either. I have three in mind at the minute. One will feature songs that didn't make the album but I'm fond enough of to want them to be done as well as I can manage (Nothing to Say, Closure, Portobello in the Afternoon, Grateful Smile, Ball and Chain and the like). One will feature some new songs that I'm writing at the moment, which seem to *all* be about how pointless I feel at the minute and/or how you seem to stop actually existing when you get a real job. I definitely prefer writing about girls - the details are easier to find, but that doesn't seem like something that's going to happen again. The last one might be a silly idea, but I was pissing about last night playing acoustic versions of Skid Row songs and they sounded surprisingly alright, so I thought I might attempt to do for them what Mark Kozelek did for AC/DC. Except less well I should imagine.
Anyway, I made a good start on all this today, by staying in bed until 4pm watching the Olympics/Animal Park (there was this really sad bit where they had to separate a baby giraffe from its mother beause she was hurting it by being overly affectionate)/some dubious detective show with Caroline in the City in it. Now I'm going to have a microwave meal and then go back to bed again. Times.
