Mid-Life Bassist

A Whiter Shade Of Pale

2011-12-06T22:11:00.001Z

Yesterday morning, while waiting for a bus home from the delights of family grocery shopping, I found myself standing beside a large poster promoting the seasonal rom-com-schmaltz-fest, "New Year's Eve". Immediately I was struck by two things - the relatively large number of 'featured' cast members, and the fact that only 2 of the 18 cheery, highly-expensive-dental-plan weel-kent faces on display were black. In New York. At the tail end of 2011...

Garry Marshall's New York - a touch light, perhaps?

Now, I'd like to point out that I'm a Mr. McSkinny-white-ass, living in a McWorryingly-obese-white-ass country, (until the latest census data appears in 2012, best estimate we have is that c.3-4% of the Scottish population are from "visible ethnic minorities"), but this comparative absence of non-white folk even struck me as being odd. I mean, this piece of lightweight sappy hokum is set in New York, supposedly one of the most ethnically diverse cities in the world, right? Still, I thought, best check the statistics before rushing to make any judgements.

So I did.

Fortunately, the US Census Bureau have a very handy website, with all sorts of fascinating information available to those who thirst for demographic enlightenment.

For instance, did you know that in 2010, "Black" & "Asian" people made up 38.2% of the city's 8,175,133 residents?

That "White persons not Hispanic" were only 33.3% ?

And that between 2005 and 2009, 47.1% of the over-5s spoke a language other than English at home?

Ok, so the film isn't remotely representative, but they could, of course, use what might be termed the "Friends" defence - that this particular group of people occupy a small social niche where they just happen not to encounter/know/work with/etc many people from non-white ethnic groups. (I never said it was a good defence, but it has to be allowed as a possibility, however miniscule).

In this case, however, the film's own production notes (available online here) stress the diverse range of characters & locations within New York, which leaves us with the thorny question - is there some unspoken "difficulty" in the film industry with a portrayal that's a bit closer to the demographics?

Racial/ethnic invisibility in the media is a serious issue - why aren't we seeing more non-white faces on the screen (beyond the usual litany of "Guns, Drugs & Ho's" stereotypes)? Can "the audience" really have a problem with the idea that in this sort of syrupy, no-mental-effort-required pabulum, 4 (or, really pushing the boat out here, maybe even 5) of the cast could be black? (With a token Asian as "comedy sidekick", of course, otherwise it'd never sell...).

I'm the last person who'd argue that introducing box-ticking quotas ever solved anything - "Hey, Carla, for this next scene we're going to need the Native American, the Thai ladyboy and the half-Hungarian albino lesbian, ok..?" - but seriously, if this big-budget, big-star, mush-fest is anything to go by, perhaps it's time to introduce busing to Hollywood.

It can work.

Just a thought.

Little Black Heart

2011-10-29T21:07:00.001+01:00

A bearded bloke wearing glasses & a cheap haircut walks into a music shop, plugs in a guitar, and plays really badly for about half an hour. When he's done embarrassing himself, he tidies up the cables, carefully wipes down the strings, says cheerfully,"Thanks, that was really great", to the shop assistant, and heads off, thoroughly pleased with the whole experience.

Alright, possibly not the finest joke you've heard in the last 20 seconds, but please, bear with me...I'll try to make it worth your while - not necessarily any more amusing, mind. Can't expect miracles on this budget.

So, there I was in Kenny's Music, (it was pretty obvious who the hirsute chap with the malfunctioning fingers was going to turn out to be, wasn't it?), sitting in front of a rather cute Blackheart "Little Giant" 5w/3w (switchable) amp head & 1x12" cabinet, clasping a good-quality-but-not-stupidly-expensive Godin LG HB guitar (ideal for doing an amp test with - twin humbuckers with a 5-position selector switch for single-coil tones, although the feel of the beast was slightly spoiled by its crappy tuning pegs), ready to inflict some terrible playing on the shop staff.

You see, quite apart from any technical deficiencies (many) I may possess, on the rare occasions I've played an electric guitar in the last few months, it's only been through a digital amp simulator. Now, these cunning little boxes are absolutely fantastic for indulging yourself in screaming-distortion-metal sessions at volume levels appropriate for maintaining sleeping children & convivial neighbours. What they are also very good at, however, is cheating, lying, and altogether deceiving us into believing our playing is faster - and more accurate - than is actually the case (A/D & D/A converters, my friends. Wonderful things, but oh, the fraudulences they do commit. That's my main excuse, anyway, and dammit, I'm sticking to it. Fortunately for me, being shred-tastically dexterous - or anywhere approaching it - is far from essential when checking-out an amp. I still ought to apologise to the staff, though).


"Little Giant" - big fun.

The "Little Giant" isn't like that. Not at all. Oh, no. When it comes to replicating what your fingers are doing, it's direct and honest to the point of brutality - which is, of course, precisely what you'd hope for in an all-valve amplifier. Unlike a drunk, long-unseen & deeply-embittered cousin at a wedding, though, this truthfulness results in noises you'll want to listen to long past the point of forced sociability.

So what can it do? Well, it took all of about 15 seconds to set-up a reasonable impression of Deep Purple-era Ritchie Blackmore (one of my first guitar heroes, 30 years ago or so), then straight on to a fat, smooth jazz tone, the classic "just breaking up" blues sound, followed by some proper, old-fashioned, no-nonsense 'eavy rock. A very pleasing tonal palette, albeit one with a distinct "Marshall" tinge to it (nothing wrong with that in my book). And loud enough, even at only the 3w setting, to hurt my ears when I dialled the treble up a fair bit (but then, I'm a bit of a delicate flower when it comes to volume. If you've spent years getting used to multiple 100w stacks & double-bass-drum kits you'd probably not feel a thing. I SAID, "YOU'D PROBABLY NOT FEEL A THING", OK? I'LL GET BACK TO THE REVIEW NOW...YES...YOU GO & STAND BESIDE THAT RUNNING JET ENGINE FOR A WHILE, IT'LL BE NICE & RELAXING FOR YOU...GREAT.)

Add to that the previously-alluded-to excellent responsiveness to picking intensity, volume-and-tone-pot rolling-off, pickup selection, etc, plus the fact that the amp has been designed to make third-party modifications incredibly easy, and you'd be forgiven for thinking this whole piece is really just one big letter to Santa. Ah - and did I mention that if you go & talk to them, Kenny's could most likely do you an amp-and-cabinet deal for something in the region of a tiny bit over £200 or thereabouts? (I believe that separately, it was Amp head £129, 1x12" £89 when I wrote this... Don't quote me).

Only I wouldn't want one of these for Christmas - thanks, though, (in the extremely unlikely event you were considering it). For what I do, the "Little Giant" could be a brilliant recording amp, but for playing live there's too little 'clean' headroom, it lacks a post-eq/power stage input for multi-fx/rack gear users, and there's no line out socket, so it can't be used as a super-valve-distortion/pre-amp (although I'm sure, with modification, that could be done. Just not straight out of the box). Oh, and nae reverb either - a wee touch of which can be nice, now & again.

But don't get me wrong - it's still a great piece of kit. Made in Korea, rather than China, so the valves are (much) nicer, and in ethical-consumer-terms should mean improved factory working conditions, environmental standards, etc, (although stuff like the Cort guitars controversy highlights just how much worse those conditions can be than what we judge to be acceptable in our own countries). Limited budgets, equipment choices, global trade...hmm. Difficult decisions all round.

Still, if anyone is desperate to buy me a new guitar amp, I'd be absolutely delighted if this particular item from the Blackheart product range showed up...

great value, but "handsome"..?

...it's a "Handsome Devil" 15w/7w, 1x12" combo - with separate "Master" & "Level" controls, 3-band eq plus "Presence"...and currently available to pre-order for only £199 (!)

I'm convinced that given a couple of months playing through one, I'd be...a great deal better than I am now. Huge improvements. For sure.

I'd better go now, I'm drooling too much. Still no reverb (or post-eq input) of course, but at that price, I'm complaining..?

"Sleigh bells ring, are you listening..."

p.s. A wee addition - I try to find (cheesily) appropriate song titles for my posts, so I reckon that since I'm nicking their words, it's only fair I link to the original artists concerned. So here are Norwegian pop-gods "a-ha", with a live performance of "Little Black Heart":

"I Am The Music Man"

2011-04-20T23:32:00.021+01:00

Or perhaps, more accurately, "I am a music man. Of a sort. Domestic necessities permitting". But then this isn't about me at all...except it will be a bit, but only tangentially. Really it concerns that mighty sorcerer of low-end noises, Mr. Tony Levin (as per the pic on t'right)...well, strictly speaking, more precisely his Music Man bass & the sound(s) that he makes with it. You know what? This hasn't been a good opening at all, has it? Far too much floundering around. Probably for the best if I simply start again. Sorry. This time it'll work beautifully...maybe.

In the aeons since I last scribbled anything here, many vast, traumatic events have swept across the world. Since, however, there are a great many folk who are far more experienced, educated in such matters & have much more spare time than me, I'm going to do this instead...

(with many apologies to William Topaz McGonagall, and indeed anyone else who has ever engaged in poetical endeavours)

"Oh, 'twas several months previously in the year of two-thousand-and-eleven,
When I finally touched what, for some, might well be bass guitar heaven.
For in the musical instrument establishment known by the sign of a dog that is red,
There hung a fine bass with five strings, as used by Tony Levin (who can be recognised very easily by his moustache and bald head).

Nor was that all, for when to plug-in this deep-toned beast did I beg,
Directly underneath lay its ideal amplificatory partner, from Ampeg.
In less time than to brew a decent cup o' coffee it would take,
I had dialled-in "that sound", and oh! Far too many were the poor-quality Tony Levin impressions I did make.

And yet there came a fractious thought, a clichéd fly in music's ointment,
Could it be that with the range of other tones there grew a sense of disappointment?
My treacherous eye did glance awa', its goal the price-tag's brief perusal,
Therein it did uncover a further reason for refusal.
The sum required may well have been entirely reasonable,
Quality control, transportation, the costs of weather most unseasonable.

Alas! On repetitiousness's tempests blown I felt compelled, an old theme to return to,
For any off-the-peg creation, such an amount I would not pay - nay, not were I you.
Instead, your bawbees clutching, hie thee to a luthier o' uncommon skill,
Your heart's desire to build, for a couple o' grand,in the current economic climate I'm sure they will."

Sorry about that. I'll try to make sure it doesn't happen again.

Probably ought to make it clear at this point that I'm a huge fan of Tony Levin, both for his incredible musicianship, and the fact that he was enormously polite when answering inane questions from a certain daft Scottish bassist at a King Crimson/DGM event in London back in 1997 (or thereabouts).

(grainy pre-digital snapshot of this momentous occasion by Martin Lennon)

He was then, and still is, The Man.

A Woman's Work

2011-03-28T20:02:00.028+01:00

With the imminent arrival of "Mother's Day", and another chance to cast our ballots in a Scottish parliamentary election coming up in a little over a month's time, I thought I could link these events in an extremely tenuous manner with a look at the current political gender balance here in Scotland.

(For those expecting music-related postings on what's ostensibly a music-related blog, and beginning to feel pangs of disgruntlement, don't worry - it's an interesting topic, I promise to be brief for a change, and there's a fun interactive graphical thing to play with further down. Honest, there really is. But don't scroll straight to it, there's some good stuff coming up...possibly)

First of all, the essential numbers - women make up 52% of the population (and almost exactly the same proportion of our 3.99m electorate), but in the last parliament only held 43 of the 129 seats (33.3% - sadly down from 39.5% in 2003). Which isn't likely to improve this time around...

For one thing, there are simply far fewer women than men standing for election - e.g. counting all the Glasgow constituency & regional list candidates from each party, there are 77 men compared with 37 women. Folk may be astonished to learn that such a progressive, forward-thinking party as the BNP has a male-only line-up on offer. I couldn't possibly comment. (Anyone who has the time & willpower to repeat this exercise for the whole of Scotland is very welcome to - the full list of would-be power-hungry egomaniacs can be found here.)

Why so few women candidates? Well, Labour's abandonment of "twinning" constituencies meant that local parties have been free of any gender selection criteria, and whereas back in the 1970s heyday of Winnie Ewing & Margo MacDonald the SNP may have been tagged "a woman's party" (a typically charming insult in ultra-macho Scottish politics, naturally) by Tam Dalyell & co, the current reality is that women make up less than a third of the party membership. (They do, to be fair, at least still have some prominent senior female figures - deputy First Minister Nicola Sturgeon [pictured], Fiona Hyslop, and Roseanna Cunningham spring immediately to mind. Conversely the departure of Wendy Alexander from politics this year has exposed a significant dearth, arguably of women & ability both, in the Scottish Labour hierarchy).

Of course, factors such as a candidate's rank on the regional list or the "safeness" of their constituency will also affect how many women are elected, but on those criteria it doesn't look promising for greater female representation come May 5th either.

Casting around for the faintest glimmer of a brighter side to all this, we can still say "we're not as bad as Westminster". In 2010 the UK House of Commons hit an all-time record high of... 143 female MPs. Out of 650 seats. Which is a massive 22%. And if we choose to look a little further afield, say, the world's second-largest 'democracy', perhaps? Well, the "land of the free & home of a large number of people who don't believe in scientific evidence" scores a frankly pathetic 16.78%.

In fact, since you've been exceptionally patient so far, here (all praise the mighty Google & their works) is the cool bar-chart toy I mentioned earlier:

(dragging the slider across shows changes over time, clicking on "explore data" lets you select different countries to highlight...ach, it's ridiculously clever.)

Just watch Kyrgyzstan go, eh? Ireland doesn't come out looking so good, mind...

It should always be the case, obviously, that we seek to be governed by the best possible representatives available - irrespective of gender, race, age, sexual preference, superstition of choice or even daft football obsession (for "Auld Firm" fans see "superstition of choice"). But the briefest of glances at the numpties who've filled some of the Holyrood seats thus far does beg the question - could a truly representative Scottish Parliament really be any worse?

Right, that's quite enough politics for now - back to the musical nonsense next time.

p.s. For any Scots considering not exercising their (extremely hard-won) right to vote in May for whatever reason, here's one I wrote earlier that should put you straight. Cheers.

Sources: (NB. Wikimpedimentia was not consulted in the creation of this blog post. If I wanted unreliable 'facts' & unsupportable conclusions I'd take the quick route & rely on my own memory).

http://www.ukpolitical.info/FemaleMPs.htm

http://www.scrol.gov.uk/scrol/browser/profile.jsp

http://www.scottishaffairs.org/backiss/pdfs/sa60/Sa60_Mackay_and_Kenny.pdf

http://www.scottish.parliament.uk/business/research/briefings-07/SB07-21.pdf

http://www.psa.ac.uk/journals/pdf/5/2009/Mitchell.pdf

http://unstats.un.org/unsd/demographic/products/Worldswomen/WSD_PR3_A4.pdf

http://www.pbs.org/wnet/wideangle/episodes/ladies-first/map-global-gender-balance/200/

Interstellar Overdrive

2011-01-31T14:19:00.015Z

As the latest orgy of music technology pornography that is the NAMM* show fades slowly into a distant memory of smug postings/tweets/other annoyances from people who were in attendance to ogle and fondle its diverse splendours, and the next "International Day Of Kitsch Tat And Misery" looms hard on the horizon, perhaps this is the ideal moment to consider what you might proffer the bass player in your life as a token of your everlasting affection.

Well, given the plethora of the noisy little beasties that keep appearing on the market, what better than an overdrive/distortion pedal?

There are, (as an hour spent trawling Google & assorted music shop websites revealed), at least 46 different models to choose from that are designed specifically for bass - and that's a conservative estimate, given that I didn't count the various pre-amps which have a "drive" knob, purely "fuzz" pedals, or any multi-effects units, most of which contain several distortion options (usually stuck in amongst the digital amp simulators - which, it should go without saying, are the first thing you should turn off when using such units).

And if being spoilt for choice wasn't enough, they also come at prices to suit almost every budget - pre-Government spending/welfare cuts in the UK, that is. Once those really kick-in, the only affordable equipment for many people will be whatever they can obtain by employing their skills with a brick and Parkour. You can pay less than £30 for, say, a Behringer BOD400, all the way up to a wallet-jarring £240 for a Zvex "Woolly Mammoth". This might, however, even be topped by the Daring Audio "Laser Cannon" (pictured above), whose $349 US price tag could well translate into a retail price of £250+ once shipping, import duties and the inevitable inexplicable extra mark-up (because it's "not from round here"..?) have been taken into account.

At this point, we could (but in all probability won't) spare a grain of sympathy for guitarists, who, in their never-ending (and almost always pointless) quest for their absolute, ultimate, no-expense-spared-or-thought-applied "tone of utter perfection-ness", could easily hand over £330 for a "Tonebone Radial Plexitube" pedal. Much good that it'll do them, but still...a lot of money.

But (and you might have sensed this was where we were all headed), I really don't think you should buy any of these - assuming anyone out there could actually love a bass player enough to want to shell out hard cash on us in the first place..but that's a different issue.

No, the problem here, as I see it, is that all this huge array of distortion boxes demonstrates is an enormous failure of imagination. Maybe there are so damn many because the basic circuits are relatively simple to design. Or perhaps the companies look at bass players and say to themselves - "I'll bet they're all frustrated guitarists, and guitarists want distortion - so we'll give it to 'em...again and again and again and again...!".

A few more of them on the market and we may even be facing the "Distortion Pedal Event Horizon"**, where so much money is being spent on mediocre distortion pedals (as we search for the aforementioned "tone of utter perfection-ness"), they become the only type of pedal that it's economic to produce...eventually leading to the collapse of civilisation as we know it. Or something like that. Worst case scenario. The asteroid'll probably have wiped us out by then anyway, so I wouldn't worry too much about it.

Seriously though, please don't purchase one. There are so many far more interesting "boxes o' noise" out there - how about the joyous hours of neighbour-tormenting an Electro-Harmonix POG2 ('polyphonic octave generator' - as demonstrated with fretless bass [and a few other effects] on this track here) could bring? And of course, in all probability they've already got several overdrive pedals kicking around - none of which they're satisfied with.

Best alternative? Give the bass-playing object of your desire a hug, a big smacky kiss, and possibly a small-yet-considerate gift voucher for their favourite music shop...?

Just a thought.

* NAMM = National Association of Music Merchants, in case anyone cared.

** Blatantly copied from the late, great Douglas Adams' idea of the "Shoe Event Horizo n" in "The Hitch-Hiker's Guide To The Galaxy".

Lazy

2010-12-31T17:00:00.006Z

As we tumble into 2011 I realise I've barely managed to update this page more than once a month over the last year - because I, like so many of my fellow human beings, am ridiculously lazy. Always have been, even when my life has seemed full-to-overflowing with diverse activities. Given the opportunity I will prevaricate, procrastinate and waste my time in a manner so profligate I might as well be a domestic cat - although without the concomitant unfathomable attraction said felines apparently hold for vast swathes of the female population. In all honesty, I'm a Russian baritone of under-achievement accompanied by a chorus of poor excuses - "I'm a single parent", "the weather wasn't so great", "I'd have had to spend 10 minutes tidying stuff up & plugging cables in so I never quite got round to recording that symphony".

This is particularly unhelpful behaviour since I'm probably already at (or past) the half-way point in life, and definitely not getting faster, cleverer or indeed, prettier (which isn't good unless you're starting out as a freakish combination of Usain Bolt, Archimedes & Brad Pitt). Which doesn't help my pathetic need to try to create music that people might find slightly interesting. As I decline, and my mini-primates grow up, time (not to mention space) in which to "achieve" anything becomes more and more precious, and prioritising is vital. For instance, I'd love to own a digital SLR camera (if I had the money for one), but couldn't justify devoting the time and attention necessary to learn to use the thing properly.

This collision of personal idleness, increasingly-desperate desire to be taken seriously as a musician (yes, I know, that's the best gag I've done in ages), and relative time poverty means that I've developed a strict daily routine in order to get any practice done.

Once the kids are in bed, the kitchen has regained some semblance of tidiness, and a load of washing is on the go (usually about 8.30pm, if I'm lucky), I pick up an instrument. Then I turn on the TV in search of practice material for the next hour or so. I find films are best - if the music's especially interesting (& varied), then it's play-along time, which is usually easier with a fretless bass, where you can compensate for any painfully 'odd' tuning in the studio orchestra. Otherwise I just click on the subtitles and compose an alternative soundtrack - maybe take a single phrase and try modifying it to suit different moods, play in a set key or time signature, or (if I'm fully brain-dead from child-wrangling) work through assorted scales & arpeggios, right-hand techniques, etc,etc. When the washing machine beeps, that's it, time's up...clean off the strings and back to domestic meniality.

This year I've been doing this while watching a lot of "Wallander", (melancholic Swedish crime drama with plenty of snow - what's not to like? Prefer the Krister Henriksson ones, but Rolf Lassgård's infinitely better than Kenneth Branagh - the BBC-made ones are best avoided), which has the added benefit of forcing me to play without looking at what my left hand's doing - my (very) lazy and sporadic study of Norwegian means I can only understand about 1 word in every 5, so staring at the subtitles is essential.

It may well also have influenced some of the music I recorded & released earlier this month - although much of that probably comes from somewhere a fair bit further north-west (ish) of Ystad. Certainly I must thank Bar Bien (apologies, their website's only in Norwegian) for allowing me to take photographs for some of the artwork. Perhaps I'm quite lazy musically, too, since I usually rely heavily on improvisation around a simple harmonic structure, rather than writing everything out with more care, detail and precision. Maybe that's a reaction against all the years I spent playing classical music, following assiduously some long-dead genius' dots and instructions? Or it could simply be it's a quick way of working that allows me to beg indulgence for unpolished moments by claiming they're "part of the authentic performance experience", or some such self-justifying flannel?

I couldn't possibly comment.

Sport's pretty good for this sort of practice, too - rugby more so than football, since there are more changes in the pace of the game, slow crescendos of intensity, and individual moments of immense physicality within wider patterns of movement that lend themselves perfectly to expressive instantaneous soundtrack creation. Of course, if it's a dull slog of a game, there's always mindless two-handed-tapping (or clichéd "whiteboy funk" thumb-slapping, whichever you prefer) available as a musical version of a "Mexican Wave".

Anyway, although this method doesn't entail concentrating fully on the instrument to the exclusion of all else (as we all know, deep down, we really, really should when practising), it does mean I've been able to catch up on a few great films I'd otherwise never have got around to, such as "Offside", "Looking For Eric", "A Serious Man" and "Gran Torino" (not even spoiled by Jamie Cullum's warbling). Which just about makes up for not being able to play "Donna Lee"...

Which pretty much wraps things up for 2010. Inevitable summary of the year? Well, internationally, many parts of the world still hate other parts of the world, professionally, although I released two collections of noises, I'm flat-lining, and personally, the year went from "crap" to "wonderful" and back to "crap" again. Initial indicators suggest that 2011 is most likely to be very much more of the same - except probably without the "wonderful" part.

Ho hum.

Merry 2011, folks. Hope y'all have a good one, and that eventually we can start bombing each other with food and kindness for a change.

Cheers,
Andy

Batteries Not Included

2010-12-30T21:47:00.004Z

Sorry about this. I had intended to ignore the "festive season" entirely, and instead inflict an exciting account of my music practice routines on everyone, but my constantly-disappearing internet connection is in full-on "thwart" mode, so...

This is just a quick note to say "Merry Thing", "Happy New Thing", and maybe I'll get the opportunity to delight you all with music-related stuff soon.

Anyway, in the meantime, here's some early C16th seasonal music, Finnish Symphonic Metal style - Marco Hietala singing "Enkeli Taivaan".

All the best, Andy

Three Of A Perfect Pair

2010-11-20T21:08:00.009Z

Here we have a trio of brand-new, highly-desirable 5-string electric bass guitars with a shared heritage. One of them originally designed by Leo Fender and made in the USA by the company that still bears his name, another a Japanese-built Sadowsky copy of that instrument, and the third manufactured in Indonesia by G & L - a company founded by Mr. Fender in the late 1970s, where he created "the finest instruments I ever built".

The most expensive of the basses in our little collection is three times the price of the cheapest. Which, having given examples of all them a workout in the last year, I can't even begin to understand. Allow me to explain...

Starting at the bottom of the scale, (yes, that was a dire attempt to make a very weak bass-playing-low-notes-reference pun. I apologise profusely. If it happens again, well, I'm sure I'm not that hard to track down, should anyone feel they've suffered sufficiently), we've got the un-snappily titled G & L L2500. £645 gets you an Indonesian instrument equipped with G & L's American-made hardware, and I must admit it sounds absolutely excellent. The enclosed, "saddle lock" bridge, combined with the strings-through-body design mean it'll sustain until the drummer's final 'big rock ending' crash hit is but a dim & distant memory. Plus, with all the passive/active/active with treble boost, series/parallel pick-up switching options, there's enough tonal variation on offer to satisfy almost anyone.

I thoroughly enjoyed playing this bass - it gave off an overall feeling of solidity, was extremely responsive, the neck & fingerboard were excellent - but...on this particular example, there were some serious issues on the middle three strings at the 15th fret. Probably easily fixable with a slight bridge saddle height adjustment, certainly, maybe a little attention to the fret itself, but...it shouldn't have been like that, you know? The action definitely didn't need to be cranked down to a "how low can you go?" level for this to be a great bass. Unfortunately I didn't have time to compare it with others of its breed, but if anyone with greater experience can shed light on their overall quality control standards, then please feel free to get in touch.

Anyway, let's move on now to the Fender American Standard Jazz Bass V.

At this point I feel it's only fair to make a small confession. I don't really like Fender basses (as I've mentioned on this blog before, but then, who in the world ever reads this, huh?). Never have done, most likely never will. So I suppose all I can honestly say is that what we have here is very much a Fender. With 5 strings attached. Again, it feels solid enough, sounds exactly as you'd expect, and if you want a Fender, well, yup, fair enough, you won't go wrong with one of these. A large portion of the £1299 price tag can be accounted for simply by the presence of the word "Fender" on the headstock, of course, but that's personal choice for you...

...speaking of which, you could forget all pretence to rationality, and spend £1999 (no, that's not a mistake - one thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine pounds, folks) on a carefully-wrought clone of the same instrument from Japan. Give it up, ladies and gentlemen, for the Sadowsky Metroline MV5.

Don't get me wrong, in many ways this is a very nice bass. Thanks to the same pick-ups, bridge, etc as their American range, a wider range of tones available than the Fender (although still significantly inferior in this department to the 'whole-price-of-the-Fender-less' G & L). The neck's great, construction is excellent, etc,etc. But for that price it should, surely, be so much more than just another good quality - yet nothing spectacular - instrument? Also worth noting, perhaps, that if you want a lefty or fretless model, then you're going to have to pay full Sadowsky NYC whack.

The Metroline MV5 I tried was fine (I could say "if you're unimaginative and looking for an expensive Fender", but that might be marginally unfair), perfectly decent and 'professional', but...but...

Why, oh why, oh why would anyone willingly, deliberately, "being of sound mind and body" choose to purchase such a thing?

With that sort of budget available, how much better to be deep in conversation with a few local luthiers, to see what they could come up with instead? Something custom-built & crafted to our precise specifications, that would live & breathe under our fingers - and in our current economic situation, I'm sure they'd be extremely glad to see us.

If I had to choose one of these three Leo Fender-related basses to gig with, then quite honestly I'd go with the G & L L2500 - compared with the other two it represents stunning value for money. But then, if I had £645 to spend in the second-hand market, well...a quick glance at Ebay produced an interesting bunch of 5-strings that sold recently for less: Shecter Stiletto, Status Shark 5, Warwick Thumb,Streamer & Corvette, Yamaha BB615 & TRB1005, Musicman Stingray, MTD Grendel, Lakland Skyline, Ibanez SR605 & SR1015, to name but quite a few...

Caveat emptor!

p.s. Thanks to GuitarGuitar in Edinburgh for letting me plonk around on their valuable stock. All prices from their website, and correct as of 20/11/2010.

Time After Time

2010-11-07T15:28:00.012Z

I trimmed my beard this morning. Not the exactly the pinnacle of human achievement, I grant you. Nothing added to our collective understanding, no great secrets of the cosmos unveiled - quite possibly an activity of such extreme insignificance as to rank alongside knowing how to open a cereal packet without tearing the cardboard top, recalling how hard you laughed when Margaret Thatcher resigned, or being able to name any of the contestants on Strictly-Come-X-Factor-Idol-So You Think You Can Pick Your Nose?...

It was, however, significant to me, because I was starting to resemble the mutant offspring of Brian Blessed & a border collie...
...and finally felt I could allow myself the time to do the job (the electric-clipping bit's fast enough - it's the cleaning-up afterwards that takes so long...the tough little hairs seem to fly off everywhere, then cling determinedly to the damn basin. And then there are all those tricky bloodstains...).

You see, this whole single parent/musician lark seems to be placing more & more pressure on my time management lately. Some days simply to consist of a litany of mundane and menial domestic chores, half-an-hour plonking around (quietly) on something stringed (but only after I've got the kids in bed & dealt with the washing), finished off by cramming in as many of the on-line social & self-promotional obligations that are concomitant with the modern music business model as possible. (But infinitely preferable to scratching a bare existence out of infertile soil, without the comforts of electricity or running water, certainly. This is not intended, I hope, to be an exercise in self-pity).

Which is why the shaving just wasn't happening. Inessential, takes too long, so it can wait. As can, for instance, television. Not to mention the vast heap of literature, films, music, philosophy, politics, sport, blogs, twits, etc that I might have some passing curiosity in, the accumulated cultural detritus of the 'every artefact can be preserved forever' digital age.

Heck, I probably shouldn't even be writing this blog entry - do I really need to be doing this? Does anybody out there really want to be reading it? (Think I know the answer to that one already, cheers).

Seriously, though, I originally wanted to write stuff that might prove worthwhile-yet-amusing, that sometimes involved proper research - magazine-feature style, rather than occasional drips of solipsistic snivelling.

So here's the crux of the matter. For musicians (especially the annoyingly young ones - without families, mortgages, hearing loss, colostomy bags, etc), the temptation to waste whole screeds of time is enormous - after all, rehearsing/recording/gigging/touring often involve a great deal of waiting around, so why shouldn't we spend more of the rest of our time on stuff we want to do, huh? No reason at all...except we never have as much time as we fool ourselves into thinking.

You genuinely want to take your music seriously? (rather than simply use it as an excuse for ingesting recreational chemicals and magnifying your putative sex appeal)

Turn off the TV, (still the world's greatest black hole of time wastage, in spite of the challenge from social networking sites and YouTube), accept that "going down the pub" instead of re-stringing your guitar won't help you achieve your goals, and concentrate your efforts on making the most of the opportunities that come your way. You'll catch up on all those books & films eventually, when that arthritic hip has crimped your gigging style a touch...

Finally, speaking as someone who suffers sporadic bouts of insomnia (and occasionally has it forced upon him), I can't recommend trying to make the day last longer as a solution. Agreed, it's an obvious route to go down in an effort to fit everything in, but sleep deprivation only makes us (more) stupid and fat. Ok, that's maybe a slight simplification of the medical evidence (see below for details), but insufficient sleep does us no favours, even if it's only short-term. And don't get me started on trying to combat the effects with caffeine and/or cigarettes...or anything else...

Oh, and don't become a single parent. Trust me, that doesn't work out so well with the music thing either.

More grumpy-old-man witterings coming soon. Ish. If I have the time.

A few brief slices of sleep research:

"Less effective executive functioning after one night's sleep deprivation"
(Journal of Sleep Research, full article)

"Sleep deprivation doubles risks of obesity in children & adults"
(Warwick Medical School, press release & podcast)

"Can You Catch Up On Sleep?"
(NHS inform, research & article on its misrepresentation in media)

"Neurocognitive Consequences of Sleep Deprivation"
(Semin Neurol, abstract)

Relative effects on performance of sleep deprivation & alcohol
(Occupational & Environmental Medicine, abstract)

Have A Cigar

2010-10-10T12:47:00.002+01:00

Afternoon.

Since it's been a whole year since I launched my website on an unsuspecting (and mostly indifferent) world, I thought it only proper to provide anyone who might be interested in my musical endeavours with an 'annual report', to show how the whole thing's been meandering along - oh, and prove once and for all that I am not, in any conceivable way, like U2 (just in case there was any lingering confusion).

I won't be moving my assets to Holland to avoid tax.

I will never insult my fans' intelligence by suggesting the only reason they didn't go out and buy 20 million copies of my last album was because I had "made a work that is a bit challenging for people who have grown up on a diet of pop stars".

I am taller, and have considerably more hair than Bono.

Right, now that's taken care of, here are some extremely exciting statistics:

Site visits: 4,792

Track plays: 666

Downloads: 31

Sales: 22

Gross Revenue (ie pre-Bandcamp & PayPal fees): £110.47

So, not exactly setting the heather alight...or even warming a small patch of it just a little. Still, nae mind, eh? Insane fiscal benefits were never a serious consideration - although I must confess that being able to afford new strings was handy. Additionally, if I was a pop kid on a typical record company deal I might have seen about £10 of that revenue, if I was (very) lucky.

Thanks to everyone who has listened to my noises, immense gratitude to those who downloaded them, and who knows what the next 12 months may bring...?

p.s. As a wee comparison, over the same period 1,413 people visited this blog a total of 1,890 times, generating 2,456 page views. The most 'popular' page being December 2009's "State of Independence" (offering some better alternatives to the 'Simon Cowell vs. RATM' nonsense that was going on). My favourite search engine enquiries that (somehow) led people here: "why the fuss over heroes of Telemark?", "strompebukse fetish" (it's a Scandinavian thing, it would seem), and "braw neeps" (that'll teach me to suggest it as a comedy band name).

May all your turnips, indeed, be fine.

I Belong To Glasgow

2010-09-05T22:45:00.012+01:00

Ah, dear old Glasgow – that unique Scottish metropolitan experience, where the average life expectancy is the shortest in the country, you can treat yourself to “authentic Indian tapas” (instead of that fake Indian tapas that's so prevalent everywhere else), and the road signs become increasingly-didactic the closer you get to its concrete-and-despair-clad outskirts: “Please use your seatbelt”, “Be a courteous driver”, “Dinnae pick yer nose or we’ll chib ye”.

[To be fair to the "tapas" - which apparently means "heat" in Sanskrit - folk, they might just be referring to the "essential energies" of the yogic tradition, a sense of deliberate self-discipline & austerity related to a higher purpose in life. Or not.]

Still, today I come to praise Glasgow (for once), rather than bury it - even if that does seem like the most merciful option from time to time. For one thing, the city certainly possesses some fine architecture:

and for another, it's home to the small-but-perfectly-formed "Strung Out Guitars":

tucked away in the railway arches of King's Court, in the south-easternmost corner of Glasgow's central 'Merchant City' area, Strung Out is a delightful haven of independent instrument expertise & fascinating second-hand gear...some of which was pleasantly familiar from my dim & ever-more-distant past hanging around the old Live Music shop in Edinburgh back in the mid-1980s.

A few Sundays ago (yes, I work on a geological time-scale), I happened to be in the vicinity with a couple of hours to use up, so after I'd wandered around taking photographs (occasionally endangering residents by standing on bins & other assorted street furniture to get a better view), and enjoying the sunshine (an incredibly rare commodity in those parts), I headed over to see what they were all about...

...and ended-up being handed a not-yet-on-display 1965 Martin D-18 acoustic to plonk around on - currently could be yours for £2399 (correct as of 20/09/10). Which was far too nice for me, but hey, I wasn't about to start complaining.

Anyway, suffice to say, with its fine assortment of noise-making equipment, and friendly (& extremely knowledgeable) staff - oh, and did I mention they're top-notch specialist instrument repairers, too? - Strung Out is all the reason you need to make the effort and drag yourself over to Glasgow sometime soon...just remember your potential lifespan, and obey the road signs, eh?

One White Duck / 0^{10} = Nothing At All

2010-09-01T14:39:00.005+01:00

Afternoon.

After virtually no deliberation whatsoever I have decided that, in honour of the current state of my bank account - and the level of political genius swilling around our delightful Lib-Con government - September shall henceforth be known as "Vacuity Month".

[ vacuity: noun (vacuities) 1 the state or quality of being vacuous. 2 a foolish thought or idea. 3 formal an empty space.
(from the Chambers on-line dictionary) ]

So let me invite you most cordially to celebrate the next 30 days of glorious emptiness by posting superficially-meaningful-yet-utterly vacuous statements, (i.e. precisely the kind of stuff that seems to get the most attention on Twitter, advertisements for mobile phones/cars/the latest gratuitous Apple iCack, and 'motivational' posters*), wherever and whenever seems appropriate.

Vacuity, after all, does have a long and noble history - for instance, in Wu Ch'eng-en's C16th Chinese classic "Monkey", the Monkey King is given the name "Aware-of-Vacuity" when he is accepted as a pupil by the Taoist immortal Patriarch Subodhi (chapter 1, page 18 in my copy).

Here then, without further ado, is my first 'Vacuity Of The Day':

"Inspiration can come at any moment, yet the leaf cannot drift upstream"

cheer up, there are only 29 more to go...

*when it comes to "motivation", I much prefer these.

Kiss Me, Honey, Honey, Kiss Me

2010-08-04T22:02:00.005+01:00

Evening. Time to delve into my ancient history again, thanks to a ceilidh-related request from a fiddler friend. You see, many centuries ago, when I was wandering around various bits of the country with the WildGeese Ceilidh Band, playing the bass and waffling instructions (along with bad impressions & odd 'humour') into a microphone in an attempt to prevent any major injuries on the dance floor, there was one particular dance I used to call that seemed to offer all the participants (band included) more...amusement...than any other.

Now my good friend Jon asked if I could pass on the instructions, but I'd completely forgotten a couple of important things - firstly, which dark recess of a cupboard I'd "tidied" the book it originally came from into, and secondly, how I'd modified it (slightly) to allow for the level of both technical ability and alcoholic impairment found in your average ceilidh dancer.

You see, the "average" ceilidh is a very special thing. It will, almost inevitably, be a wedding. In a marquee. That's on a slope. And it shall bring together a wider range of experience, age, lack of willingness to participate (especially the blokes), and quantity of booze required to sufficiently overcome that aforementioned lack (again, blokes), than at any other species of public performance. I have no statistics to prove this, of course, but seeing as how I've done hundreds of wedding ceilidhs, I'm a self-proclaimed internet expert on the matter - so if you don't agree with me, then you're just like Hitler. Or Stalin. Whichever you prefer. Possibly Robert Mugabe if you're feeling a little more creative.

Anyway, at these events the caller has to cope with incredibly reluctant folk who've driven all the way up from East Grinstead, (had several rows over directions, arrived late, and are still angry because one of them got the drinks in damn quickly so they wouldn't have to drive back even though the other thought they'd agreed....), and have no clue what all this "Scotch dancing" nonsense is about, being thrown together with smug eejits from the Royal Scottish Country Prance (sic) Society, who find ceilidh dances so dreadfully simple and beneath them, so why, oh why can't the band just start because everyone will be able to follow what they're doing easily...and why has their request for the "Reel of the Auchterfistin Fish-manglers" (sets of 11 couples, arranged diagonally at the points of a decihedron, with only the spare ones in the middle dancing while the rest look on with artificial, synchronised-swimmer smiles and clap along) not been played yet?

Fortunately another delving session produced the goods - "Back In Step" (the dances) by 'The Occasionals', which if you click on the link, can, I believe, be obtained in exchange for money (hopefully that should prevent any potential unpleasantness surrounding copyright).

So here it is, for anyone wishing to partake - "The Russian Ballet". Better known (to the band), as "The Russian Snogging Dance" (for reasons which shall become obvious).

Music - anything with a heavy 2-big-beats-in't-bar feel that can start slow & speed up. Russian, if you've got it, but there's no point being too bothered about it. They'll be too drunk to care.
Sets of 3 - (1 man & 2 women, 2 women & 1 man, 3 men, 2 wolverines & George Osborne, whatever. A mixture, ideally)

Each set of 3 stands in a line, "odd-one-out" in the middle of the trio, facing anti-clockwise ("widdershins", if you will), and holding hands. Which is nice.

First 4 bars: Starting on the left foot (not that it really matters), march forward for 3 steps, and kick the right foot out in front while shouting "Hoi!" loudly, in as guttural a cod-East European manner as possible. Then march backwards for another 3 steps and kick/"Hoi!" again. We used to start the dance at "Soviet State Funeral" pace, (the ones where the guy's secretly been dead for months, but the corpse had finally become so tatty they couldn't keep propping it up at military parades any longer), which seemed to work pretty well.

Next 8 bars: An intricate little manoeuvre officially known as "Double Arches" - aka "going under the sweaty armpits". (8 bars should allow plenty of time for this, but once the dance speeds up, it can get...interesting). The middle person raises their left arm, thus making an arch (with their left-hand partner's right arm). The right-hand partner now heads over to & through this arch, followed by the middle person - who turns underneath their own left arm - and back to their original position. The key to this is to keep holding hands - although if the middle person uses too tight a grip they can end up in what closely resembles a very painful Jiu Jitsu restraint position. Not nice at all.

Fairly obviously, the middle person now raises their right arm, allowing the left-hand partner to scoot through that arch & back to their place. Hopefully people haven't neglected their personal hygiene on the day.

Last 4 bars: Middle person turns & snogs (at last - here's the gravy) the person on their left, turns and snogs the person on their right, then walks forward to join a different pair of 'outside' partners - calling something like "Kiss! Kiss! Forward, two, three, aaand..." helps to prevent over-lingerers slowing the whole thing down with too much tongue-entangling at this point. All of which means, if you've done your job properly & you've got a fair mixture of trios on the floor to start with...oh yes. The slow dawning of realisation on the part of those who may, perhaps, not be entirely secure in their sexuality is priceless. Oddly enough, this discomfiture is almost always confined to the blokes...

....and there you have it. Not earth-shattering, not ground-breaking, but a simple wee bit o' fun. Repeat until they can't keep up with the band, or something of that order.

Sometimes I miss it. I really do. Ach, well.

Bastille Day

2010-07-16T22:35:00.004+01:00

Sometimes I feel like the White Rabbit from Alice in Wonderland, I'm running so late for almost everything. Still, after more than 2 years of very sporadic recording, I've finally got something that just about passes for an album of music available on-line for the world to embrace - or, quite possibly ignore, but hey, ya gotta stay optimistic.

Yes, that's right, competitively priced at only £3 - well, George Osborne's already started spreading the pain around all those with less than a quarter of the average income of his personal friends, and the market for 'instrumental music that doesn't fit into any easily-defined genre' isn't exactly buoyant (bouzoukis haven't quite captured the public imagination...yet) - "the mourning tree" was released into the wild this week. (On the 14th, to be exact, which happens to be my mother's birthday. Oh, and something happened in France a while back...probably involved bicycles).

Of course, this means that I'm now into the unpleasant and self-esteem-devouring next phase - trying to persuade people that paying for music is, (in this case anyway), an excellent idea, and that my particular offerings merit both their attention & a little credit card action, too. Sadly, this can feel as if I'm primarily tapping-up my friends for cash, although at least they'd be getting 11 tracks of "landscapes and portraits of longed-for places and much-missed people" in return. (I know, I know, but how would you describe it? Alternative suggestions welcomed).

Striking the right balance is especially tricky. I could take a 'complete honesty' approach, and let folk know that without some small financial encouragement, continuing with the pleasant fiction that I'm still a "serious" musician (rather than simply a full-time single parent who's just trying to stay sane) won't be possible, what with the price of bass strings and other such minor necessities.

That might come across as ever-so-slightly desperate, however, which never goes down well. It's a fine line.

Anyway. There it is, "the mourning tree" is done and hoping to find some friendly ears. All I can do is invite y'all to come over, give it a listen, and see what you think...

Cheers,

Andy

Into The Lens

2010-06-05T23:21:00.002+01:00

Afternoon. Well, I've finally got some new music out there - "the older we get" is a fretless bass-driven, (heavily ECM-influenced..?), track that's intended to follow-on from my earlier "the more like ourselves we become". Apologies if using the first part of the aphorism as a title seems a little back-to-front - it just came out that way. Possibly this reveals something deep & meaningful about the state of my parenthood-addled mind. Or not.

Oh, and if that wasn't enticing enough already (!), it also features some occasional tinkly noises courtesy of my fancy new Roland SRX-11 "Complete Piano" board (big thanks to Dave & Will at Red Dog in Edinburgh for invaluable assistance & incredible customer service).

Anyway, even if no-one thinks much of the music, hopefully at least folk might like what I was trying to do with the artwork, aka "mucking about with some photographs what I took" - and I'll be inflicting a description of the whole D.I.Y., no-budget process on the world right here later this week...child-free time permitting, naturally.

Cheers.

There's No Way Out Of Here

2010-04-15T23:41:00.003+01:00

This is a small, inadequate apology for the lack of posting in these parts in a very long while.

Sorry.

There won't, I'm afraid, be anything appearing until well after the Easter 'holidays', when my schedule returns to something akin to normality, and I might get enough of my brain back to allow rational thought to begin again.

Currently, my tedious single-parenthood means I only have the space after both monkeys have gone to bed in which to do...everything. Typing nonsense about subjects that aren't going to change anybody's life doesn't exactly figure too high on the list of stuff that needs to be done, either.

There are, of course, so many things going on presently which are extremely noteworthy - Papal obfuscations & evasions, the UK general election (aka grand lying & airbrushing contest), giant clouds of Icelandic volcanic ash - but there are far more interesting & informed folk than I producing vast screeds of information on such matters already. Trying to add to it would simply be superfluous.

Anyway, apologies again for the long unexplained silence. Some service may resume eventually.

In the meantime, here's a photograph of myself from 1995, which looks (& feels) like a very long time ago indeed, and proves conclusively that I've never had any sense of style whatsoever...

Don't Bring Me Down

2010-02-13T20:50:00.005Z

Since tomorrow (at the time of writing, Sunday, the 14th of February, 2010. When you happen to be reading this, who knows? Not that it'll make much difference - like so many of us, it doesn't improve with age), happens to be the annual "International Day Of Kitsch Tat And Misery", and with my current singleton status unlikely to change any time soon, I thought I'd take a wee stab at cheering myself up by focussing on some of the simple things in life that I like, enjoy, appreciate, etc.

Following on from last week's "positive negative" campaign for non-voters, I came up with a small personal challenge, which I can thoroughly recommend if you're particularly bored, or just trying to avoid work...the latter being something I find far too easy to do (I should be bouzouki-ing my fingers to the bone right now, for instance, rather than write this ephemera).

Give yourself one minute (nae cheating) to write down/type out a list of "things you like" (and nae cheating by selective editing after you've finished to make yourself look better, like some politician appearing on Desert Island Discs, either). Then, if you're like me (oh dear) be surprised at all the stuff that didn't make it onto the list as the final seconds rushed away.

Oh, and there were a couple of other rules, too - no vague, woolly abstracts like "committing yourself to the cause of world peace" (or indeed, "world low-intensity conflict" if you're an arms dealer..unlikely, admittedly, but...). That's all great and lovely (not so much if it's the 'arms dealer' scenario), but could you be a little bit more specific, please? Name your favourite pro-peace (or war) organisation(s) instead, ok? And I consciously avoided anything to do with "lurve", since however much I may enjoy "snuggling" (a lot, since you didn't ask), there isn't any going-on around here, and this was meant to be about 'happiness'. No specific musicians, bands, or genres of music either, because thinking about that topic would have sabotaged my already-limited brain and prevented it from considering anything else.

Anyway, here's my 'honest & genuine' little list, in exactly the (dis)order in which it issued forth:

My kids, Bergen, rowing boats, hills, trees, flowers, Edinburgh, running, lifting, bouzoukis, bass guitars, chocolate, Puddledub Pork, castles, Norse sagas, history!, David Hume, John Muir, Richard Dawkins, my friends, red wine, Port Ellen, whisky, rugby, dogs, Keswick.

No idea why I typed an exclamation mark after "history", and yes, starting with "my kids" might seem a little contrived, but that's just what came out. Surprising, maybe, after the way the little beggars had been behaving today...

A few brief, but possibly necessary, explanations: "Puddledub Pork" are producers of delicious bacon and the fantastic "Auchtertool Originals" sausages; "running" is probably a reaction to my knee cartilage injury/surgery last year (I don't run up hills these days, just after my kids, but it's a great feeling - trying to do some "lifting" again though, albeit very carefully, and with a lot lighter weights than in years past); I'd been discussing John Muir and what an incredible life he'd had with my older monkey earlier; "Port Ellen" is, for me, the finest malt whisky ever produced; "Bergen" is a wonderful place, albeit expensive; finally, sorry, but I haven't a clue how "flowers" got in there, but "bicycles" didn't. Or "photography", for that matter, which is something I really enjoy (however mediocre the results may be).

Like I said, give it a try yourself - hopefully your results will make as little sense as mine.

Still, for what it's worth, thought I might as well finish by entering into the St. Valentine's Day spirit...

For Sale: Scottish bloke, medium-size, 1969 version. Single parent, reasonable condition for age (although some visible deterioration). Fully domesticated, comes with 2 "boisterous & energetic" children. 7 previous owners (some more careful than others). Might suit lady of similar vintage capable of tolerating fondness for hills, prog rock, & alleged sense of humour. Offers in the region of "Will work for food".

Power To The People

2010-02-07T10:51:00.005Z

Every time we have an election in this country, I do the same tiresome, irritating thing - urge people to go out and VOTE. Participate. Stand up, shuffle off down to the nearest primary school (or wherever the voting station happens to be), and be counted - unless you're using a postal ballot, where past evidence suggests you may already have been counted several times, or not at all (it's electoral roulette, without quite so much misplaced optimism, excitement, or slim chance of any financial gain...unless someone offers you hard cash for your ballot paper). Even if you're in the safest of safe seats for a party whose policies you despise but you have no realistic chance of removing - please, please, vote. I know, the election itself is still up to three months away, but I thought I'd give myself plenty of time to get the message out this year.

It's not that I particularly mind who you vote for (ok, honestly, I'd much rather you didn't support any flagrant bigots, or the Conservatives, or...), and it's not as if there isn't a wider choice than ever before. There are parties for almost everyone these days - from the religious "we adore our supernatural invisible friend who loves and knows what's best for everyone, but homosexuality is bad", to the xenophobic "we love our country - or how it was in a mythical 1950's that never actually existed, but foreigners (and homosexuals, come to think of it) are bad", via the ridiculous George Galloway-esque "We are all Hamas now! Even though they say both certain foreigners and homosexuals are bad, oh, and violently repress anyone who disagrees with them...but..errr...they hate America, and they're being oppressed too, so..err.." crowd.

[Perhaps one day there'll even be a post-modernist party who regard all political views as equally valid, so espouse everything (and nothing) simultaneously - yes, you're right, Tony Blair came perilously close, and Obama is sailing in the same direction - and regard elections in a reflexive manner, with the voters 'meta-reactions' towards policy decisions being interpreted through the medium of a shin-kicking contest....?]

It's undeniable that, under the UK's shamefully unrepresentative current system, in most parliamentary seats only a couple of parties stand a genuine chance of winning, so a vote for a 'minority' party might seem to be a waste of time - although that's not necessarily the whole story, since even if voter support is not translated directly into seats, it can mean increased media coverage, membership, financial support,etc,etc which would benefit your cause of choice (lost or otherwise) in the future. Plus a vote for the "Rainbow Unity Old Folks' Legalise Guinea-Pig Eating, Ban Nude Cricket Coalition" is at least standing up for something you believe in, so you can feel good about yourself in a slightly smug way.

Usually by this point, too many people I know will have trotted out the old (and demonstrably false)"don't vote - it only encourages them", or "it doesn't matter who you vote for, all politicians are the same" clichés, or variations on those themes. These arguments are, I'm afraid to have to say, a load of bollocks.

Not realising that there are significant differences between the (three or four, depending on where you live) major parties in the UK, is simply an admission of personal ignorance. If, for instance, you haven't spotted yet that David Cameron and chums are, underneath the overly-smoothed exterior, really only a twinset-and-pearls away from Thatcherism (and all that that entails), then you haven't been paying any attention. There's an election campaign heading our way rapidly, and a host of easily-accessible sources of reasonably reliable information (not Wikimpedimentia, please) available. Who knows, there's the remote possibility that a substantive argument might even be put forward in one of the televised debates...but don't get your hopes up, it's pretty unlikely. So not acknowledging/understanding the variations between the species is not a reasonable position. The variations might not be as great as you personally would prefer, but that's not the same thing, and as previously mentioned, there are lots of other choices on the electoral menu.

Deciding not to vote at all isn't an especially clever choice either. All that "not voting" achieves is to make it easier for politicians to ignore you, and for bigots like Nick Griffin to gain power. In the European Parliament elections, the BNP didn't increase its vote, but a large number of (predominantly) Labour voters went off in a huff, and by not bothering to vote at all, allowed the bigots to take the victory. If these disaffected-but-lazy Labourites had gone out and registered a 'protest vote' for *any* other party, the BNP wouldn't have had a sufficient share of the votes cast to be elected. Some achievement. Hope the "non voters" in the north of England are properly proud of themselves.

After centuries of struggle for representation, where people suffered enormously for the right to vote, I find it depressing that so many people today simply don't bother, even though there are so many options to vote positively for, and voting is so easy to do. We no longer have the spectacle of women chained to railings, desperately fighting against legal prejudice, suffering forcible feeding in prisons - merely for the right to have their say. Here in Dunfermline, admittedly, at certain hours of the weekend, you can witness women leaning on railings, struggling not to vomit while shouting incoherently into the mobile phones that they're too drunk to operate...but that's another issue - possibly they're just canvassing on behalf of the "Too stoshious tae stand fer onyhing..'cept maybe that Brad Pitt, ye ken? He's gorgeous!" party? Who knows...

What "not voting" also fails to do at all is "send them a message", which is something else folk have used to justify their idleness/apathy. (Rain affecting turnout is, frankly, pathetic).

So here's an idea. A little challenge to the apathetic...

If you don't think voting does any good, if you don't like any of the myriad political views on offer - start your own campaign.

Launch a group with a simple aim - to encourage people to make a minimal effort on election day, head over to their local polling stations, and write NO in nice, clear capital letters on the ballot paper.

It would be extremely easy (and cost nothing) to organise this on a massive scale, thanks to the internet - set-up the Facebook Group, Bebo, MySpace, etc. Twitter away merrily. Blog your progress. Co-ordinate your efforts and send press releases via email. The media are always hungry for stories - remember what happened with the Simon Cowell/Rage Against The Machine business at Christmas? Well, that could be you saying NO on the BBC Breakfast sofa this time...what more incentive do you need?

If you gathered enough support, if the number of NO papers was in, say, only in the tens of thousands, then you might just get the politicians' attention. Plenty of them are sitting on small enough majorities to be nervous, and an orchestrated campaign like that could make all the difference...

I did mention you could achieve all that for free, didn't I? Good. Just checking.

So please, in this next election, whoever, whatever you support, exercise the right your great-great-great-great grandparents most likely were denied...and vote. It's a hard-won privilege, which too many of us forget all too easily.

Left Of Centre

2010-01-23T21:25:00.006Z

...and in favour of Scottish independence, as it happens, but that's quite enough about my personal political persuasions. Instead let's have a wee look at the question of where exactly should you place instruments in a stereo mix...? (Non-musicians may be feeling their eyes glaze over at this point - but hang on in there, because it might almost be interesting. Give it a couple of paragraphs, anyway, before you decide to go and watch yet more videos of people falling off all manner of bizarre things in simply hilarious ways on YouTube...)

'Panning' has become something of a minor obsession of mine, recently - it all started with the last track I recorded, "magnetic north", featuring 3 separate bass parts (1 electric upright, 2 fretless bass guitars - shaken, not stirred). No matter how many subtle (and not-so-subtle) eq adjustments I applied, the E.U.B. wasn't coming through clearly. Then an article on stereo placement I'd read years before stumbled helpfully back into my brain. It suggested drawing a stage layout diagram, showing where each player should stand/sit/mooch around looking bored during other people's solos, exactly as you wanted to hear them in the mix.

This really helped - my original plan was to have the E.U.B. in the middle, with a fretless bass off to each side. Picturing that nightmarish trio on stage, though, it made much more sense to have the E.U.B. on one side, with the main fretless part (basic melody and chordal bits) taking the centre. The version of me that was just doing little filling-in, fancy-dan stuff could stand well off to the left-hand side, and just be grateful he was on stage at all.

Now I don't claim there's anything particularly clever or unique about all that, but after a few conversations on the topic with Mr. Martin Lennon (who's currently recording an album of his fine songs, and gets mentioned on this blog far too regularly), I started paying a lot more attention to the panning on albums I personally know and would bite yer fingers off if you tried to steal from me, to see if any of them had unusual set-ups that might prove educational...

There can be, in these days of widely-available stereo enhancers, auto-spatial-expanders, and multi-dimensional-sonic-whiffle-diffusionators, quite a temptation to stretch everything as massively wide as possible - after all, you've paid good money for that 40gigabyte piano sample, and you want your listeners to hear every bloody note as if it were a foot (30cm) wide. Or by judicious mic placements, you've created a multi-channel vastness-of-a-drumkit that encompasses so much of the stereo spectrum the drummer would require a taxi to get from one end of a tom roll to the other. And I'm sure that in its place, that's lovely, fantastic, and entirely appropriate.

But not so helpful when you're trying to maintain some kind of clarity for the listener - if all your instruments are competing for the same space, then inevitably, some of them are going to lose. And start complaining about their level in the mix, and demanding you turn the sax player down instead, because their part's not so important to the vibe, and anyway, they were out of tune for half of it - yeah, shut up, you know you were...yeah? is that right? aye, yer maw an a'! Stick yer reed up yer...! Etc,etc.

So, anyhoo, after sliding through plenty of examples of HUGE production (massive flying keyboards on all sides, ranks of backing vocals attacking from wide left and right simultaneously, how many sodding guitar parts did you need...?) from the last few decades, I finally listened to one of my favourite albums for the first time through headphones...and was very surprised.

(Quick "by the way" - I'm not an enormously-walleted 'audiophile', so don't possess an acoustically-perfect 'listening room', equipped with multiple speaker arrays and gleaming, platinum-knobbed hi-fi gear. There's a 10+ year old technics cd player & cambridge amp in the sitting room which enable music to come out, and that's fine, ta. That's my excuse for not noticing certain things sooner...it's not a good excuse, but still...)

On the 1967 Cream [who invented "heavy rock", not the Kinks] classic, "Disraeli Gears", Ginger Baker's drums are almost entirely on the right (unless my headphone wires are somehow connected back-to-front). Jack Bruce is playing bass & singing in the middle (the vocals move slightly when he and Clapton are both singing), and Clapton's main guitar (mostly rhythm) is away to the left. And that's how they sit for the whole album. Which makes a lot of sense, given the complexity of Baker's drumming (the intensity of "We're Going Wrong", for instance) and what folk were listening to the album on at the time. It does, though, seem quite odd - he certainly sat in the middle of the trio when they played live, which is where most of us would expect the kit to be. Just not on that record - and it works (I reckon). If anyone wants rather more detail than they might have expected about the recording of Disraeli Gears, there's an excellent article (with photos) here.

There are, of course, plenty of examples of classic albums where there is "a place for everything, and everything in its place" - the late, great John Martyn's "Solid Air" offers wonderful clarity, even when he's "echoplex-ing" away at full blast. Placing the electric piano wide left, and keeping it in quite a narrow space over there, certainly helps. And in terms of keeping keyboards under control, even when Joe Zawinul, on Weather Report's "Heavy Weather", is using several different sounds simultaneously, each one seems carefully positioned in such a way that it doesn't overlap too much with anything else. Mind you, I'm guessing that Wayne Shorter wasn't taking any chances in his "Assistant Producer" role, and panned his saxophone far right to ensure it stayed well clear of the marauding synths.

And, well, that's about it, really. No great revelations, merely a humble suggestion that just because you can spread every instrument all over the stereo mix, it doesn't mean you should. And why not try sticking the drums off to one side for a change? You never know, you might like it...

If I Had A Million Dollars

2010-01-05T00:43:00.001Z

Merry 2010. Hope you all had a great start to the new year, and that everything you could possibly desire for the next twelve months is going to turn out just peachy. Of course, statistically, that's incredibly unlikely, but hey, misplaced optimism, it's a positive lifestyle choice for the 21st century. And when the inevitable depression sets in after you realise that your life is, in fact, rapidly crumbling around you, there are the always widely-available alcohol, narcotics or spank-that-overdraft comfort-spending as alternative options to help get you through the most desperate times. Like I said, "Happy New Year".

Anyway, when I bang on about musical equipment here it's usually the value-for-money slice of the market I'm looking at - good quality bargains on a budget. But for once, my folk-blues-acoustic-songwritery chum Mr. Martin Lennon suggested I pick a "money-no-object", fantasy bass rig.

Which has proved surprisingly tricky to decide on.

Back in the mists of time, (some point in my mid-20's, when I was progging away with Citizen Cain), I'd likely have plumped for some mega-stack of ridiculous size & power. A mighty 1000 watts (or thereabouts) of thundering low-end disturbance, probably with at least two of the massive custom cabinets Trace Elliot built for Tony Levin (20"+ speakers, I seem to recall?). But I was young and foolish then.

Now I'm almost 41 (dammit), and still equally foolish...but a little more aware of my limitations and frailties (mental and physical). Plus I don't own a car (I don't drive at all), and haven't done any proper weight training in about 4 years.

Also, I'm not very likely to be indulging in any arena tours...ever, so that sort of set-up would be utterly pointless. To be a little controversial, I'd suggest a great many bass players have amplification that is far more powerful, space-consuming, and injuriously heavy than they really need. I know, there are plenty of drummers out there who seem to be acting-out their repressed rage on their kits, but still...

Recently I've been aiming for a set-up that's completely modular, adaptable for a variety of gigging circumstances, but predicated on two notions -

1) A large PA offers the best set of bass speakers this side of a hefty physiotherapy/osteopathy bill; and

2) You shouldn't own any piece of performance gear that's too heavy to lift (from the floor) above your head, comfortably - unless you happen to own some roadies as well. Thus, if you're a huge, strongman-type, an 8x10" cabinet is fine. Otherwise, we mere average-size folk should try to take as little as possible that'll do the job.

(a handy, simplified, visual guide follows for any guitarists who think that a full Marshall stack is appropriate for pub gigs, and that they somehow deserve assistance with carrying the bloody thing)

In truth, the Ashdown amplifier I'm modelling in the left-hand picture only weighs 27kg - a relatively easy overhead lift - but I still wouldn't enjoy having to heft it up a few flights of stairs (e.g. Teviot Row - remember those stairs, Martin?), especially if I had both basses and a rucksack full of 'gig essentials' slung over my shoulders at the same time. My Tech 21 VT-Bass pre-amp pedal in t'other photo, however, is lighter than a very small kitten, and makes much better noises than the Ashdown...so long as there's something to plug it into.

Which is where my indecision starts. All I'd need, strictly, would be a decent wee power amp and a speaker...but really I'm after rackmount-gear performance, only without having to lug around the inevitable big injection-moulded rack-carry-case (this also rules-out Tech 21's rather cool SansAmp RBI, unfortunately). The amp has to be as fully-functional as possible, yet small enough to fit tidily in a rucksack, and the speaker light enough to be one-hand-portable over fairly long distances.

A little research proves that, as in the rest of life, if the budget is big enough, you'll always have a choice. There's quite a wide range of lightweight-yet-powerful amp heads available - Markbass, Eden, Gallien-Krueger, Aguilar, even the wee Ampeg Micro-VR I wrote about a while ago (and I'm sure there's many more besides). No idea which to choose - all/any of them could do a very good job, especially with the VT-Bass in front of them to provide sonic variety. Or for upright players, how about a Phil Jones 'Briefcase' combo? So many great options - again, assuming you've got the cash.

And when it comes to speaker cabinets, they're getting lighter all the time - I haven't tested them, so can't vouch for their quality, but if the Barefaced compact's spec sheet is moderately accurate, it should be a cracker. Definitely seems slimline & portable...until I found the Schroeder website. Their "Mini 12+" full-range cab looks impressive - but if even that's too large - how about a "Mini 10+"...? 300w RMS, 45hz bottom end, and less than 8kg! Alas, I don't live anywhere near a retailer that stocks such wonders to see how their claims stand up, but since I'm picking 'fantasy' gear, and could send them back if they were rubbish...

ummm...I don't know...er...how about...the Tech 21 VT-Bass pedal, into a Markbass Little Mark III, going through a Schroeder 'Mini 12+ light' (< 9kg). Not outrageous (whole lot could be had for £1200-ish), and eminently practical - total weight of 12kg. So, if any of my friends happen to win the lottery, I've a birthday coming up, and now you know just what to buy me - that'd be really nice of you, ta.

Back to some sort of reality with a dull, painful thud next time. Promise.

You Learn

2009-12-29T20:17:00.004Z

So, that's Christmas over-and-done with, the traditional feast of televisual WWII nostalgia has finished (at least the "Heroes of Telemark" has plenty of snow in it, so it feels a bit more 'seasonal'), and we've almost reached the end of the year, eh? Hell, end of the decade (assuming we're counting from zero, naturally - some folk get very pedantic about that sort of thing) - not that it matters, it's just a date, as arbitrary as any other. Of course, what media columnists/ bloggers/ random drunks hanging-around bus shelters typically feel the urge to do at this point is offer us some sort of round-up of the year gone by - or decade, if they're feeling ambitious, and want to properly bore everyone with their oh-so-intriguing and salient personal insights into the major world events we all lived through already, thanks very much.

As an antidote to those 8-page-special-features-with-pointless-quiz-attached reminders of our general lack of progress as a species, here's the Mid-Life Bassist "one very deep breath (don't forget your inhaler)", no chronological order, and possibly a little jaded-and-cynical summary of the last 12 months...

Greedy politicians, greedy bankers, greedy celebrities, greedy libel tourists, "isn't it cold? wow, it's hot! where did summer go? gosh, what a shock, it's cold again!", "bang! bang! we're all dead!" (because I'm a zealot with a head full of hatred & religious fantasies), a rich guy with dubious attitudes towards children "Beat It", come visit England's Lake-in-the-middle-of-your-high-street District, You've been kettled!, real pirates don't say "arrr", Tiger tiger strayed at night, MacAskill does the right thing for the wrong reasons, dense cloud of hot air suffocates Copenhagen, English voter apathy gave the bigots their tickets to ride the Euro-gravy-train, Homecoming Scotland didn't, mass RAGE boosts the Cowell/Sony Benevolent Fund, the remarkable aerodynamics of Italian souvenirs, and Molly still may yet trip up Trump...

(apologies if I left out many events of great personal or international significance for anyone out there, and also for switching between present and past tenses with wilful disregard for grammatical regulations. I'm just lazy)

For me, 2009 saw the exciting launch of my very own music website - which, in the space of a couple of months has seen over 2,000 visits (most of them probably by mistake - just like this blog - "Braw Neeps" is the oddest recent search term that's landed someone here. Ah, the great mystery of life that is Google) ...and a grand total of 8 downloads, even though they're "pay as little as 'absolutely free' if that's what you want". This may well reveal something about the quality and/or desirability of my 'tinged with a sense of longing' instrumental offerings. I couldn't possibly comment.

Still, I have learned a few things this year, at least...

I now can pretend to be a bouzouki player (of sorts), which may actually turn out to be more useful and artistically rewarding than memorising PI to 100 decimal places. You never can tell...

In spite of being 40, I (hopefully) still have half of a lifetime in which to 'achieve'...something (or anything, really). Although this is the half where I can only get slower, more decrepit, and my mental powers (such as they may be) will dwindle away inexorably. Mind you, I am a bass player, so this last difficulty shouldn't affect my music to any great extent.

Next, Virgil was talking twaddle when he stated "Love conquers all things". No, as I've discovered to my cost, choices/decisions we made years previously can continue to control our lives for far longer than we ever would have thought possible. Dammit.
The same "load of old tosh" concept applies to any offerings of the "Where there's a will, there's a way" and "If you want something bad enough..." schools of trite non-thought. People who respond to your woes in life with mindless regurgitations of anything approaching these adages should be [this section redacted to protect the impressionable].

And finally, thanks to a christmas present I opened yesterday, I've realised my writing style is far-too-often uncannily similar to Armando Iannucci's, except that he's a deity of modern satirical comedy rather than a single-parent 'hus-been' & musical obscurity.

He's also hilariously clever. And since his written work has been published worldwide, it'll look like I'm simply copying him - which is very annoying, because if I were, this site would be much, much funnier. Ah, well.

As for the decade as a whole, well, to rip-off Oscar Wilde both clumsily and shamelessly:

"To lose one long-term relationship may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose two looks like carelessness."

Ho hum.

It's all a bit "2 steps forward, 3 steps back" at the moment.

Best wishes to everyone for the year (and decade, if you're not right up yourself mathematically) to come. Hope you have a great one.

All the best,
Andy

Let It Snow

2009-12-22T18:11:00.007Z

"Oh the weather outside is frightful...."

According to our glorious news media, you'd certainly think it was. In their narrative, we're locked in the icy grip of vast blizzards which have caught us completely unaware (in December, of all months!), sweeping across the countryside, turning every living thing in their path into highly-decorative-but-fatal ice-sculptures in an instant - while thousands of well-insulated illegal immigrants sneak in under the cover of the endless white-outs, and the enormous drifts of snow which threaten the very fabric of our British way of life (and ability to drive to Tesco) will undoubtedly also further weaken house prices. Although some of that might have been mildly exaggerated, one thing is clear - it's a disaster. And one that's almost certainly not been seen for...oooh...ages.

Or is it?

Well, there's certainly some snow blowing about the place, and we've seen some impressive disruptions on various forms of transport, but frankly, I don't see what the current media fuss over the 'not-half-as-abnormal-as-you'd-be-led-to-believe' winter weather is all about. Yes, Basingstoke, for example, was a bit of a mess, and the Eurostar train failures - the 'wrong kind of snow' (ie. stuff that was a little colder and more plentiful than they'd bothered to engineer their trains for to save money, or, if you prefer the company's view "unprecedented") proved yet again that electrical systems and water don't mix very well, would you believe? - screwed-up quite a lot of people's travel plans, but these are, in the grander scheme of things, pretty minor, short-term difficulties.

Of course, more people die in very cold weather, which means every spell like this brings its litany of personal tragedies - and my own enjoyment of some of the wintry delights on offer - and let's be honest, the kids are currently having a bloody great time (as my older monkey ably demonstrates in the local park) - comes with the unhappy knowledge that our next heating bill is going to be budget-worryingly high - a delight that's shared by over 5 million households living in fuel poverty.

But the overall apocalyptic tone of the coverage is ridiculous. For instance, here are a few pictures of what the BBC website headlines "More snow chaos". Errrr...nope. Not unless they've managed to convince the OED to publish a brand-new definition of 'chaos', that is. Which is possible - I've been pretty busy, so might not have been paying sufficient attention to the latest lexicographical trends. If that's the case, mea culpa, ok?

Anyway, quite apart from the hyperbole floating about, the news media seem to have very short collective memories of winters past - especially if you have a glance at this chart of "British Winter Snowfall Events" (Dave O'Hara, Ferryhill Weather Station)

According to Mr. O'Hara's list, we've had 7 "snowy" or "very snowy" winters since I was born - and that's excluding areas that have had localised heavy falls in otherwise "average" years.

And perhaps we should cast our minds as far back as...oh, February this year, when it was reported that:
"South-east England has been hit by the heaviest snow in 18 years, causing trains and buses to be cancelled, and airports and schools to be closed.

Snow is now moving north, with the Pennines, north-east England and the Scottish Borders at risk of seeing up to 12 inches (30cm) of snowfall."

You see, what I fail to understand is...well, people's failure to understand that this sort of weather can and does happen in Britain. Why are so many of the drivers on our roads apparently ignorant of how basic things they should do to cope with/prepare for these conditions?

Perhaps part of the problem is the way we see ourselves, how a bizarre image of these islands somehow being an as-yet-internationally-unrecognised adjunct of the Mediterranean (the tabloids' typical summer frothings over fruity young urban women in bikinis with the old "phwoar! what a scorcher!" headlines help twist our minds to building this delusion of Southern European geographical kinship) has taken hold.

Ultimately, whatever we may wish for in terms of culture and diet, we cannot escape the fact that physically we live in what is very much a northern country. And to help out the more cartographically-challenged folk, here's something you might (!) find interesting...

Scotland's capital, Edinburgh, sits at a latitude of N 55deg 58'. So if you start heading east from that point, you find it's further north than Copenhagen (Denmark), Malmo (Sweden), all of Poland, Vilnius (Lithuania), Minsk (Belarus), Moscow & Omsk (Russia), Grand Prairie & Edmonton (Canada).

But perhaps that's too easy - so let's use London (N 51deg 30') instead...that's still north of Brussels & Antwerp (Belgium), Eindhoven (The Netherlands), Leipzig (Germany), Warsaw (Poland), Kiev (Ukraine), Orsk (Russian Fed.), Astana (Kazakhstan), Ulaanbaatar (Mongolia), Vancouver, Calgary and most other places of any size in Canada.

Now, a particular number of degrees north or south is hardly the sole determinant of any country's weather patterns, I know - we're small islands, stuck slap-bang next to the Atlantic, with variable topography in close proximity, Gulf Stream, blah blah blah. Sure. It's complicated, but it is a significant factor.

And by way of a final illustration of exactly where we sit, I'll leave you with this - here in Dunfermline, according to Google Earth I live almost exactly 724 miles due south from the Arctic Circle.

Britain (using the same system, and measuring as the crow flies from the Shetlands to the tip of Cornwall - France can have the Channel Islands if they want) is 769 miles in length.

Maybe if more folk took a good look at a map, and worked out where they were standing on the planet, they'd be a bit less surprised the next time some snow drops on their heads.

Snow and ice - in winter! Shocking, eh?

State Of Independence

2009-12-17T13:05:00.011Z

So, who really, honestly, dredging the innermost recesses of their psyche gives a monkey's which song happens to be top of the increasingly-irrelevant "hit parade" here in the UK this Christmas?

Not, I'm sure you've already guessed by now, me.

Yes, let's all run out and buy an 'oh so rebellious and transgressive' Rage Against The Machine song, because giving Sony (through it's wholly-owned subsidiary, Epic) somewhere in the region of 85% of the fee will properly wipe the smug, narcissistic grin off Simon Cowell's face. Or not. Definitely not, in fact.

Of course, it's just a 'bit of fun', but what better marketing strategy could he have hoped for? Whoever it was (I pride myself on my ignorance of this) won the X-factor will sell even more copies of whatever execrable super-karaoke ditty Cowell has alloted them, as the (manufactured by Sony..? I know, 'conspiracy theory ahoy', but why shouldn't social-network-marketing be so cunning as to feed into an honestly-created original group, hmm? perhaps...) 'race for no.1' theme is regularly repeated on television, in print, and online...um, a bit like I'm doing here, unfortunately. Oops.

It also serves merely to cosset Simon Cowell's overweening ego, his desperate desire for fame, and that's one thing we can deny him if we choose to ignore the charts, and simply let him wallow in his mediocre pop-ordure along with the likes of Westlife, Pixie Lott, Robbie Williams, Lady GaGa and that famous mime artist Cheryl Cole.

Anyway, I've got nothing against RATM (while perfectly genuine in their social-inequality,etc campaigning concerns, they're surely more accurately titled "Quite Miffed At Some Aspects Of The Market System Which Has Successfully Made The Band Very Wealthy" these days?), or the people involved in this anti-X-factor effort, but if you want to make a more effective, Sony-free, direct contribution to charity, why not simply head over to Tracy Morter's "rage against the x-factor" JustGiving.com page?

And when you've done that, why not do something positive to promote some of the thousands of wonderful, immensely-talented, genuinely 'independent' musicians out there, who aren't tied to record company deals, haven't got the fickle support of conscience-free marketing departments, definitely aren't chasing a "celebrity lifestyle", and whose music can offer a more rewarding, more 'personal' listening experience?

(or there are mediocre obscurities like myself, who probably should never be encouraged to inflict their so-called 'music' on an unsuspecting and fragile world, but the less said about that, the better....all donations extremely welcome, naturally)

So, I thought I'd try to start a list of folk that might deserve your attention and their very own financial stimulus package. (This is a very brief selection from my facebook and myspace 'friends' lists - apologies to the many great people I've left out, you're all fantastic, I honestly don't have the time...sorry). Please feel free to add indignant comments suggesting anyone you can't believe I didn't mention/copy this list and post it elsewhere/go and listen to what these artists can do to make your life a little bit more interesting.

I was going to start with the tremendous folk-blues-acoustic-whatsit of my very good friend Martin Lennon, incredible Norwegian folk/jazz vocal trio Eplemøya Songlag and the most impressive solo bass of Danny Fox, but none of them have got actual stuff for sale online yet. Still, I'm sure if you got in touch with them, something could be arranged via PayPal. Certainly well worth a listen, at the very least.

Now, in no particular order...

The ridiculously young-but-talented latin-jazz guitar of Daniel Volovets.

Do you like King Crimson? Clever time-signatures? O5Ric on drums and bass is your man.

Jazz-fusion keyboard awesomeness, courtesy of Alex Argento.

For a female singer/songwriter who isn't a no-life-experience warbly teenager, here's Ms. Hannah O'Reilly.

Persons of a punk persuasion will probably enjoy South Queensferry's "The Static".

Finally (for the moment), solo-bassist (and internet-ideas-guru) supreme Steve Lawson...

...and the list he compiled of fellow users of excellent music-distribution site Bandcamp (can't vouch for the quality of all the folk on it, but there'll be some good stuff on it for sure)

There. Now it's up to you - the 'Cowell/RATM Sony Benevolent Fund', or something far more interesting instead?

Cheers.

What Is And What Should Never Be

2009-12-03T23:19:00.012Z

Hey, good evening folks, and welcome, welcome to the show, big old down-home Dunfermline welcome to each and every one of you, oh yes - and we've got a really special edition of the show for you tonight, folks - in fact, we're going to be mixing things up a little around here. Yes, indeed, that we are. Keeping it real, keeping it fresh, throwing out the stale bits of breakfast cereal that somehow escaped from the inner plastic bag and got stuck down at the bottom of the packet for the last 3 weeks, yet you still just couldn't resist having an exploratory nibble on 'em, could ya?

(cue pathetic audience laughter at the host's terrible scripted 'spontaneous wit')

Yes, tonight we've got a really special guest for all you "pro-gear-at-bargain-prices" fans out there... All the way from China, its got almost NO tonal depth, absolutely NO sustain, but hey, who cares when it looks this funky, am I right, or is that just a feeble sales pitch? Good people of internetville, let me hear you give it up for Mid-Life Bassist's new king of "whatever you do, don't buy this!" - the Danelectro '58 "Dead On" Longhorn Bass!

This is a truly terrible attempt at a musical instrument. It really is. It's so bad I hardly know where to start...and yet, from a distance, its got fantastic out-there funk/crazed improvisational prog-a-thon styling. Hanging on the music shop wall, the retro-futuristic looks provide welcome relief from the tedious crowd of unimaginative-yet-often-hugely-expensive Fender-clones (did someone mention "Lakland"...? Couldn't have been me, I'd never be so rude).

But that's exactly where it should stay, stuck firmly to the wall, resembling nothing so much as a reproduction prop from 'A Clockwork Orange', 'Barbarella' or any one of oh-so-many 50's 'B' movies, depending on your age/pop culture frame of reference.

As soon as you touch it, there's an immediate 'red flag' - it's incredibly light, mostly because it's made from the mysterious-sounding substance 'masonite', although sadly this isn't some fantastical "super-molecular-polymer-based-compound" found only in the core of meteorites, it's a type of hardboard. And it shows. (At least it doesn't require you to play the bass with one trouser-leg rolled-up, and using very peculiar hand-positions - apologies to any foreign readers who aren't familiar with the Scottish 'masonic' traditions being mocked in this aside). This is the main reason for the previously-mentioned absence of sustain and tone (or, to be more specific, the predominance of thin, treble-and-high-mid frequencies only). The rest can be ascribed to the fact that the (non-adjustable, wooden) bridge doesn't even sit directly on the body, but 'balances' instead on three screws. I'd speculate that this design was originally chosen because otherwise the body would shake to pieces whenever a low 'E' was hit, but that would be mocking the afflicted, and needlessly cruel.

What else?

The control knobs are flimsily made from the cheapest plastic known to mass-production, and the 'exciting' arrow-pointers have finger-laceratingly sharp edges...although since there's no depth of tone anyway, you wouldn't be bothering with one of them at all, so that's 50% less chance of losing a fingertip on stage straight away. The aluminium nut is equally sharp, so woe betide anyone fancying a dramatic slide down the neck on the higher strings - that'll be a couple of stitches, and about 4 & 1/2 hours in A&E. Oh, and the whole body is bound/trimmed in tolex (I think...?) that looks just like the kind of embossed vinyl wallpaper even my parents wouldn't have had in the house. Which apparently regularly suffers from adhesion 'issues'. So it's a bad design, poorly manufactured.

Ok, now I'm going to try (through gritted teeth) to be "fair and balanced" - in the Danelectro's defence (that should be a chess strategy), it is only a short-scale bass (29 + 3/4"), so it's always going to have difficulty reproducing a big bottom end. And, back in 1965 (for about 5 minutes), the incredibly brilliant John Entwistle of The Who used one of its ancestors (but he kept breaking the strings, and back then he had to buy a new bass every time it happened because he couldn't get replacement strings, so after 3 of them he gave up - info courtesy of www.thewho.net)

It also can't be denied that people who own them, and have taken the time to post reviews over at Harmony Central seem to love these beasts. Of course, that's quite a self-selecting little sample, and let's face it - there are guys out there who enjoy having women in stiletto heels goose-step around on their scrotums, and I'm sure that afterwards they'd rate that particular experience 9/10 too. (Suffice to say I'll be sticking to testing equipment of a strictly musical nature...)

But why, you might be asking, did I bother excoriating this guitar? Why am I so angry, genuinely angry with it, and its makers?

Because, depending on where you go, it'll cost you between £250 and £300, that's why.

Which is scandalous.

If it was a bargain-basement, no-brand model you'd bought off eBay for under £100, then I would care not a jot. Caveat would have been Emptor-ed, good luck to you, ach, well, nae mind, so it doesn't play so great, or sound so good, but bizarrely brilliant looks for the money, etc, etc...

For the same price as the gimmicky, 'toy' Longhorn, you could have a Yamaha RBX374, (which is a really good bass for the money), or a Cort GB34A, Peavey Millenium 4 AC BXP, a mad Traben Array Attack 4, lots of solid options from Aria, assorted Ibanez's, Schecter's, ESP's...the list of alternatives is a very long one indeed.

So, sorry for dwelling on the negative side of things. Sometimes banging-on about gear's a dirty job, but someone's got to do it...and since I've accumulated plenty of practice unblocking outside drains and changing nappies over the years, you could say I'm ideally qualified.

Perfect Skin

2009-11-28T22:09:00.007Z

As we age, there are certain uncomfortable physical realities that, however hard we may try, we cannot manage to avoid. That apparently superabundant energy of our youth sadly diminishes (so that staying-out on the town till 3am loses much of its previous gaudy allure, especially when the kids decide to wake up and be demanding an hour earlier than usual), mysterious aches and pains occur in unusual bodily locations with irritatingly increasing regularity, and it's time for this blog to address the important (but often neglected by we "bad-ass" bass players...not that I'm personally in any way "bad-ass", but I'm assured there are many of my fellow low-frequency muso's who fit that description) issue of dermatological care.

This is not, I must stress, to say that I've gone all "David Beckham", and am now an avid peruser of GQ magazine for essential styling and "product" (aka greasy chemical sludge to slap on your hair because you've nothing better to do with your time or money) advice. No, I'm still a proud alumnus of the "Billy-Bob Thornton International Academy of Grooming and Deportment". Additionally, an amusing little bout of impetigo, which decided to do the rare thing and mutate into full-on lymphadenitis left me looking like an extra from a no-budget zombie film for a couple of weeks. Which was nice. (The artist's impression - by a terrible artist, no prizes for guessing who - on the left gives a reasonable idea of the general effect). So I'm the last person who'd want to discuss the relative merits of assorted facial scrubs/balms/lotions/gels/loads of expensive cack for foolish people who believe glossy advertising pseudo-science.

No, this is all about the skin on your hands. Something it's extremely easy to neglect, but what with the seasonal weather bringing that delightful combination of cold, wind & rain, and the "musicians' lifestyle" often not being conducive to getting plenty of rest & recuperation, dry, cracked skin on the knuckles and around the fingernails can be painful - affecting practice and performance. (This is even more of a problem for those of us with small children, who find themselves washing their hands so often we start to wonder if we're developing OCD).

Ok, so the first step is obvious - wear gloves to keep your hands all snug 'n' warm, even when nobody else is so you might look a bit odd. Heck, you're a musician, buy black leather ones, they're always cool, so who cares what other people think? Or you could choose to wear only one glove, with lots of bright, shiny...errr...maybe not.

Anyway, in the past, I've hated using moisturising creams because they've always left my hands feeling far too greasy - hardly ideal just before a gig (then you're left trying to wipe the excess off on your jeans, and when that doesn't work you've got to nip off and wash your hands again, only now you have odd white stains down your jeans, which, depending precisely where you wiped your moisturiser-laden fingers could be deeply embarrassing...). But now I've found something that seems to do the trick, but doesn't affect my carefully-cultivated fingertip callouses, and manages not to smear itself all over the woodwork and strings...

So what is this wonder product that receives the "Mid-Life Bassist Seal of Approval"?
Step forward, Neutrogena "fast-absorbing hand cream (light texture)". (Yeah, ok, so most folk out there probably already knew about this stuff and use it on a regular basis - cut me some slack, huh? It's taken me a ridiculous number of years to finally come across something that works). It's great, and quite cheap, too, thankfully.

And I'm not just saying this because, by a bizarre and freakish coincidence, there happens to be a "senior scientist" at Neutrogena called "Andy Gilmour" (no relation whatsoever - plus I'm sure that, unlike myself, he's got a string of useful qualifications and, unless he's unfathomably profligate, a far greater degree of fiscal security). Nor do I receive any form of payment for anything recommended here...not that I wouldn't mind being a corporate whore, though. I have no objections to buying myself a more comfortable unhappiness, so in my current situation if they offered, I'd be stupid not to...any takers? no? Ah well.

Which just about wraps it up for this time. Except to say that in Edinburgh today I tried-out what is unquestionably the "Worst Bass Guitar Ever Made", but I'm not saying what it is yet...that's for next week.

And there'll be more regular posting now that I don't look as if half my neck had been replaced by Brian Blessed's.

You have been warned...

Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap

2009-11-14T00:15:00.000Z

At the end of last month Liberal Conspiracy put up an interesting post on file-sharing and the current economics of the music industry, which was all well and good, except some fellow called John Band then came along and made a few silly statements in the subsequent comments. He claimed that since the means of distribution were as near to free as made no odds these days, then it's entirely defensible to adopt a "utilitarian" position, and say that music should therefore also be free, since "writing a song, a poem, an article or a story simply *is* cost-free" and "Recording music on your computer and putting it on myspace is free. The only cost is people’s time".

I pointed-out to Mr. B that there might be certain costs he was conveniently omitting (instruments, perhaps? years of bloody training, maybe?), and someone else demonstrated how the investment in a home studio set-up could easily reach £5,000. His reply? "Aye, and gbp5k is hobby money".

Now that vexed me sorely, since £5,000 is almost 40% of my gross annual income. "Hobby money"?? My hairy backside! It's one of our inalienable rights to parade our ignorance in public, but the casual, patronising dismissiveness of those two words... As I said, ensuing vexation of a high degree of soreness.

But it is, of course, possible to achieve decent results for a great deal less than five grand. Which set me wondering as to exactly how much the gear I've been using actually cost. So I did some digging through my old PayPal accounts...

The actual recording equipment itself certainly isn't exactly expensive. I do everything on a 6-year-old Korg D1200, (including wave editing to get rid of creaky chair noises during gaps in bouzouki parts - which isn't fun on a tiny LCD screen. Note to self - tighten chair before session next time), which cost me £148 on eBay about 18 months ago, and I daresay could be had for a chunk less now. At the most basic level it'll do 6 tracks of 24-bit, CD-quality audio, has a few useful effects - in amongst the reams of instantly rejectable ones - and is a damn sight better than what most of the 'greats' were using back in the 1960's, so I'm certainly not complaining. If what I do sounds terrible, I've only got myself to blame.

Alongside that is another eBay bargain - a Behringer Composer Pro XL compressor, £34.50 of assorted dials and buttons, some of which I know how to use in a more-or-less effective manner. All in a shiny, metal rackmount-able case. Nice.

My 'currently-borrowed from the generous & charming Martin Lennon' microphone is a 'SE Electronics se2000', available for under £80 online. Sounds ok to me, although it's easy to get expensive very quickly with mics, especially if you're trying to be clever and have several different types placed in a variety of positions, so that you can really 'sculpt' the sound of the instrument. Well, you can if you're not me, but someone who knows about proper sound engineering. And has plenty of money to spend on gear. Otherwise just the one is fine for now...

And that's about it for the "high-tech" side. Oh, the only music software I use is the excellent freeware version of WavePad, and even that's almost entirely as a file format converter to meet the needs of various internet sites (even though it does offer lots of other features which I'm sure are of the highest quality. I just can't say, because...er...I don't use them.Sorry. Please go and buy the full WavePad Master's Edition, it's great. Probably).

So now we can turn to the instrument side of things...and this is where the costs are perhaps most open to question, since the differences between what a player might actually have, desperately want, and truthfully need can be vast.

I could, for example, quite easily play bouzouki parts with something a little cheaper than a Fylde Longscale Archtop (retailing at just over the £1000 mark...ouch. At this point I feel I should make it clear it was a gift - there's no way I could have afforded this myself). Although it has to be said, its low, comfortable action and solid intonation do make playing some things physically possible - compared with my old, £99 Ozark bouzouki, anyway. That's not to say that the same couldn't be achieved for a touch less, mind you.

My Hohner Pro Jack Bass Custom V (snappy name), however, is a fantastic example of value-for-money. Bought in 1993 for £300 (equivalent to £458 today, according to this handy comparison calculator), it has served long and loyally, taking in a great deal of abuse and a de-fretting along the way.

I've also got an old prototype Bassix Electric Upright Bass, which would cost the best part of a thousand pounds to replace from their current models, but there's a wider range of cheaper E.U.B.'s on the market now, so it might well be the case that a fair whack of money could be saved for a relatively insignificant drop in quality.

There's also a nice Seagull S6 cedar-topped 'folk' acoustic guitar that I'm rapidly forgetting how to play (bouzouki and bass chords and tunings are warping my fragile little mind). That was £190 second-hand back in the mid-1990's (about £280-ish now), but with the Chinese now dominating the cheaper end of the market, similarly-priced 'decent' acoustic guitars aren't hard to find.

Finally, I can't leave out the Legacy SP40 digital piano that's hiding in the corner behind the sofa. It's got a fairly dire sound chip, (aggressive use of eq takes away a little of the worst elements, but only a little - and straying away from "piano 1" is *not* a good idea), but makes up for this with wooden, fully-weighted, hammer-action keys. All for £140 from a classified ad. The kids love it...

Anyway, all told, the equipment I used on, say, "The Mourning Tree", cost me £1,562 to assemble. Over the course of 16 years or so. Which could be worse.

"Hobby money", you might even say.

I'd still be vexed.

p.s. I know, I left out all sorts of sundries like strings, cables, etc...well, I'm a ~~tight git~~ oops, 'hard-up single parent', who changes strings only when I really have to, and I don't use flash cables, just HotLine ones, which are pretty robust and seem to do the job. You can, if you so desire, spend ridiculous sums on cables with all sorts of fancy claims attached to them. A simple wee article suggesting why you shouldn't bother can be found here.

Changes

2009-10-19T00:29:00.002+01:00

Hello, and welcome to an entirely redesigned Mid-Life Bassist blog (well, not if you're reading this over at MySpace - I'll get round to tidying some of that up in another month or so. Sorry). Still not entirely sure of the seemingly-'egotistical' header - I had the sort of Scottish Presbyterian upbringing where you were taught not just to hide your light under a bushel, ideally you would seek out 2 or 3 more bushels to keep the first one company, and assist in its illumination-suppressing duties. My internalising of the notion of anything that hinted of self-promotion being only marginally less wicked than battering old ladies, has proved something of an obstacle from time to time, (especially when trying to carve out anything that could almost be mistaken for a career in music/comedy/what have you).

So the idea of having a close-up of a slice of my fizzog adorning the top of the page, along with the name of the guilty party in stark black letters, is one I'm having difficulty getting used to. Daft, I know, but...

And the reason for this sharper, 'cleaner' layout?

Well, I've finally taken the big plunge online. That's right, for the extravagant sum of £6.86 (less than the cost of a cheap day return ticket from here to Edinburgh, plus a decent cup of coffee), for the next 12 months I now hold the exclusive rights to www.andygilmour.com.

Not so exciting of and by itself, I grant you, but when that's combined with signing-up to the wonderful (and entirely *free*) music distribution site that is www.Bandcamp.com, (yet another excellent suggestion from the far-too-plugged in and talented Steve Lawson)....now we're talking cool, groovy, and possibly even a little funkadelic, no?

Ok, you're not quite with me yet on this one. This may help - today (Sunday, for those who are reading this in the future, and may have become slightly temporally dislocated by the reference. Oh, the 18th of October, if it's already next week before you see it. 2009, for those who are really late, or have solved the problems surrounding time travel), for the first time (ever...in the history of me, ever), someone actually paid money (that real digital money via Paypal, oh yes), to download some musical meanderings of my very own creation. No, seriously, they did.

I was pathetically thrilled by that - not that I'm under any delusions of garnering accountant-delighting riches, or funding a ridiculous 'celebrity (snort, snort, dab nose, oops, where's my nasal septum gone?) lifestyle' [small hint to the Lily Allens of the entertainment world - less par-tays and 'bling', more actual work - and perhaps some talent? - you wouldn't need to make yourself look stupid when you talk about copyright], but being able to offset some of the basic costs of being an obscure musician would be fantastic.

HUGE thanks to the far-too-generous KJB for that. Anyone else who'd like to have a go, there's only 3 tracks online so far, and the pricing scheme isn't going to render anyone destitute, so please, feel free to follow their fine example...somewhere in the region of 50 downloads or so and I'll be able to afford a new microwave oven - again, for the 'more than a couple of months in the future' people, I expect that's already had to be purchased. But please, still go and buy my music, I'm sure I'll have other domestic appliances that require replacement by whatever decade it is you're in - and as you can see, I'm not too shy to almost resort to begging.

What with all this online activity, a new solo bass piece (for the lovely, wonderful, and still far, far away Anne), a video of me recording it, and having sorted-out a vast hoard of personal paperwork stretching back to the mid-1990's, it's a good thing the kids have been over at their mother's for the last 4 days. I'd never have got a quarter of any of it done otherwise.

The unruly piles of potential recycled toilet roll included a bunch of over 50 old payslips from the BBC for the freelance comedy stuff I did over a decade ago ('future people', that's...oh, forget it. Close to the year 1263. Thereabouts.). Glad I found them, because I can show them to my children and prove that daddy wasn't lying about being paid to inflict my verbal nonsense on the poor listeners of Radio Scotland (mostly on Friday mornings). But it was also an odd discovery, because I can't recall having done anything like that number of appearances. Perhaps 20 or so, sure, but they were actually foolish enough to have me back on almost fortnightly? I simply can't recall...but then I'm getting older, so my mind isn't quite what it once was. Assuming it ever was...er..what it was. Or could have been. Maybe.

Ok, now I've officially confused myself, I'm clearly far too tired to continue this nonsense, and it's time for bed (alright, probably not where you are, but I'm beyond caring at this point).

Goodnight, folks - and again, please indulge your cravings for meandering instrumental music by downloading from www.andygilmour.com. Or make a donation via PayPal. Or you could just send me cash, I'm really not that fussy...

Sweets For My Sweet

2009-10-09T00:51:00.002+01:00

A question - why do otherwise outwardly sane, sensible, and almost-rational people willingly and consciously choose to be musicians? Perhaps they are overflowing with creativity, hearing soaring melodies that they feel an overwhelming compulsion to bring forth into the world? Maybe they are following in long-standing family traditions, carrying on the disciplines and culture of previous ages, that otherwise might be lost? Is it the desperate need to ease their adolescent emotional sufferings through cathartic screaming-angst and digitally-simulated-distortion driven ballads? Or are they simply rejecting the numbing strictures of conventional employment, seeking instead the bohemian existence of a modern-day wandering minstrel (albeit one who belts out dire cover versions to placate the scurrying high-street shopperati) ?

What, though, if the soiled and clammy truth is that for many who tread the noisy path, underlying their efforts is that great popular misconception - that all musicians regularly get to have a great deal of amazing sex with a large number of spectacularly beautiful people of their choosing? (All at the same time, if they should feel the urge).

Of course, there are plenty of autobiographies out there that would suggest that *if* you manage to become inordinately famous (fabulous wealth a handy extra), this can indeed be the case. If, on the other hand, you're chugging around the country in a clapped-out Mercedes van for years, prostituting your meagre talents to anyone that'll pay £40 a head as part of a ceilidh/function/pub/covers/"plastic paddy"/folk rock/whatever band....then not so much. Certainly not if you're me, anyway. But then, we were always above such base concerns, we were in it for the sake of...'artistry'. And, er, cultural heritage. The greater good. Peace, love and understanding. All that sort of thing, naturally...you understand.

Particular genres of music don't lend themselves so readily to these carnal pursuits, either. In prog rock, for example, many bands have found their audiences primarily to consist of "earnest young men, often with spectacles and facial hair" (Robert Fripp), which is great if that's your personal fetish, but if not, well... "Free jazz" (and its environs) is another sub-culture where post-gig 'relaxation' with fans is probably more likely to take the form of being quizzed by slightly agitated, logorrheic and unusually determined middle-aged men about obscure chord voicings and the significance of a twice-repeated dis-harmonic interval that first occurred seventeen-minutes-and-twenty-three-seconds into the first set. Again, if that's what you're after, cool. For the rest of us, though...

It also doesn't help if, like me, you're not exactly a looker. (I'm pretty much the guy in Jethro Tull's "Seal Driver"..except I don't have a boat. But apart from that minor quibble, it's me). Also, my strongly held - and highly detailed - opinions on socio-economic and political matters have never sufficiently compensated for a personal lack of anything approaching 'small talk', you'll be astonished to hear.

Anyway, help is at hand, since - by a popular request (and I do mean "a", as in "just the one") - I'm going to offer up another route to possible (but still very, very unlikely - and yes, this *is* a disclaimer) dating success.

Cookies.

But not just any coookies.

Just over a year ago, I posted my recipe for "Satan's Own Cookies", a double-chocolate combination that melted in the mouth and left a bitter-sweet after taste of Type 2 Diabetes. Now, after months of painstaking cookie research (in collaboration with my lovely & wonderful Norwegian partner), what follows is a cunningly-remastered version, "Spelt-and-Oatmeal Chocolate Chip Cookies", which has so far proved irresistable to all who have been exposed to its sugary-yet-wholemeal power.

[Right about now I'd just like to point out that I'm not really trying to reduce all human behaviour to a long, drawn-out mating ritual. These cookies are also excellent for keeping the kids quiet while you desperately catch up with all those tedious-but-essential domestic tasks that are impossible while the delightful little munchkins are dashing about, engaging in entertaining new ways to inflict pain on each other.]

Ingredients:

100g butter (trans-fats are *not* sexy, nor do they taste as good)
85g demerara sugar (as 'wholemeal' as possible, adds to the texture)
45ml (3 tbsp) maple syrup (the cheap "Clarks Original" maple & carob fruit stuff from Asda works well - higher viscosity than 'pure' maple syrup)
125g Wholemeal Spelt Flour (yeah, I know, expensive - it's the best, use it, ok?)
50g Oatmeal (porage oats are fine - again, texture)
100g Plain (dark) chocolate chips
45ml (3 tbsp) milk
15ml (1 tbsp) baking powder

Method: (copied from my old post, 'cos it's late & I'm knackered, with acknowledgements to the venerable 'Be-Ro Book')

1. Heat oven to 180C, 350F, 'Gas Mark 4' - in other words, keep the mini-primates out of the sodding way. Oh, and you're going to need an oven mitt, unless you're particularly partial to the smell of your own flesh charring. Grease 2 baking trays. Or just one, if that's all you have. (Don't worry, nobody round here's judging you. Well...maybe only a few of them. You know, the ones who host dinner parties for more than 6 people, and know how to make 3 different types of pastry...them.)

2. "Beat the butter until soft" (much easier if it's been sitting out a while beforehand - if you've only just hoiked it out of the fridge, then a brief low-power blast in the microwave (NB Kitchen numpties - not still in its wrapper) will work wonders. Add the sugar and "cream together until light and fluffy". I'm sorry, but I made these entirely by hand, and "light and fluffy" was never on the agenda. School Home Economics teachers must have had the power of cement mixers in their forearms, because there's no way me and a wooden spoon are going to achieve "fluffiness". I'd settle for what looks like "thoroughly mixed"...they still came out ok...

3. "Stir in the syrup, flour, chocolate chips and milk and mix well". Not forgetting the baking powder, of course. And as for the stirring and mixing, yeah, it's likely to induce hand pain & sweating (as per step 2). But don't give up now - you've almost made it to the eating stage, just a brief interlude of applied heat to go.

4. "Place spoonfuls of the mixture on the prepared trays and bake for 8-10 minutes". Hmmm. Originally I was using the wee fan-assisted top oven, and 8 minutes was absolutely all they needed. Any longer and they burn on t'bottom, which is never recommended. Erring on the side of caution, (and sensible usage of the appropriate protection), is always advisable...and also gives you a greater-than-98% chance of avoiding pregnancy - always a bonus. In the main oven, however, 10 minutes seems spot-on - golden-brown colour, with no burning. "Remove from the tray immediately and place on a wire rack to cool".

Oh, yeah, should have said - get one of those wire cooling rack things ready before you start, because if, (like me), you completely forget about it, you might end up scrabbling around in a cupboard for one, while trying to hold a (hot) tray of still-slightly-soft cookies perfectly flat in the other hand. Add to this state of unpreparedness and minor panic a very saggy, almost grip-free oven glove, and you just know there are going to be cookie casualties. Which is extremely vexatious after all the effort you went to in steps 1 to 3.

And that's it. Let them cool, solidify, and then you can impress people (even if it's only your children) with fantastic, home-made, so-wholemeal-they're-almost-healthy cookies. Oh, and you should get somewhere around twenty cookies out of that recipe. Depends how vast you want them to be.

If you want the 'double-chocolate' variation, just add 25g Green & Black's cocoa powder and only use 100g of the spelt flour. I must warn you, however, that extensive experimentation involving one of the toddler groups I'm part of suggests that a lot of people don't go for the 'double-chocolate' cookies, but will happily devour equally sugar-filled 'choc-chip' varieties. A sad indictment of our media-waif-obsessed, under-physical-exercised and over-fad-dieting times?

Perhaps. Further research is vital, so enjoy your cookies. You've earned them, especially if you're a musician who, like me, is down near the bottom end...

Living in the Past

2009-09-20T22:34:00.005+01:00

If you should ever find yourself in the centre of dear old Edinburgh on a wet Saturday (or Wednesday afternoon), maybe at a bit of a loose end - you've read half a book without paying for it in Blackwell's, and it's not been long enough since your last coffee-and-cake (what's the one without the other?) stop to justify downing some more quite so soon, then here's a wee suggestion.

Head over to the Cowgate, and just by the end of Niddry Street (perhaps the ugliest street in the Old Town?), you'll come across the cavern of historical wonder and delight that is St. Cecilia's Hall. Quite apart from being the oldest concert hall in Scotland (the fascinating oval auditorium dates from 1763, making it the second oldest in Britain - well, that's what the brochure says, and who am I to doubt Edinburgh University's veracity? I mean, I worked for them for 9 years, and they only lied to me a few times, so there's a strong probability they've got their facts straight. Hey, at least it isn't Wikimpedimentia [sic] I'm relying on here - credit me with some 'journalistic integrity', please), the building houses an incredible collection of "harpsichords, virginals, spinets, organs and fortepianos from 1586 to 1840". Including one that Mozart messed-about on for a bit - although it isn't recorded whether he also hollered "Hoo-eee baby!" while playing the upper register with his (elegantly be-slippered) right foot. Of course, nowhere does it state he didn't do either (or both) of those things, so it is within the bounds of possibility for us to speculate...such is the occasionally elusive nature of historical fact.

And that's not all. Oh no. Far from it...

For any twanger, strummer or plucker (all at once, if you think you can get away with it), there is a small, but mightily impressive collection of lutes, citterns, "English Guitars" (intended for the ladies, apparently, including one with keys - so that C18th gentlewomen should not damage their fingernails. The mechanics of it are breathtaking, frankly), and so forth. Living in an industrial age, where the construction and basic form of the guitar has become widely standardised, the array of instruments here provide a fascinating insight into the diversity of styles and shapes that were once more commonplace. Intricate bone-inlaid fingerboards, capos that fitted into peg holes that were pre-drilled between the strings, frets directly mounted on the body beyond the end of the neck. All that sort of thing.

They've also got one that's signed by Fernando Sor, for any classical guitar groupies out there...?

This, though, has to be my personal favourite - a sensational, 300-year old, 14-string Archlute. Alas, this particular beast can't take full string tension any more, but - after a 10-string bouzouki, naturally, oh, and some talent. A lot more talent, to be honest. More time with which to explore that talent could come in handy, too. Oh, then there's that old "world peace" concept, isn't there? well, alright, that too - I really, really want one of these! The crackly, low-quality, musically-dubious videos I could unleash on YouTube with my very own Archlute...! (Apologies for my poor photography - I dragged Martin Lennon - and his delightful partner, Susie - along, and he'd happened to bring his very nice camera, so there might be some better pictures soon. *update 27th Sept. Some of Mr.Lennon's snaps are now at the foot of the post. Very pretty, especially for hand-held in low light with nae flash*).

If you've still got any energy left after all that historically-induced excitement, there's a whole other museum-full of (mostly wind & brass) instruments a short, yet decently cake-excusing, walk away at the Reid Concert Hall ,in the corner of Bristo Square. Ah, hang on though - pausing to think for a moment, if it's a Saturday, go to the Reid Hall first, since it's open 10am - 1pm, while St. C's is 2pm - 5pm. If visiting on a Wednesday afternoon, do the opposite. Yes, they're quite limited opening hours, but did I mention that these museums are free? I didn't? Oops. Well, just in case you'd been wondering, they are.

Yes, the "world's oldest purpose-built museum of musical instruments" (brochure again) doesn't cost a single penny to access. It's a beautifully-preserved, world-class resource, subsidised heavily by the taxpayer, and a damned good thing, too. If offering people the chance to see a 'Contrabass serpent ("The Anaconda")' without charging an admission fee offends anyone's libertarian or fiscally-conservative sensibilities, then all I can do is extend my pity to such mentally-stunted individuals. Either that, or refer them to Stephen Fry's famously pithy response to the question of 'offence' at the 2005 Hay-on-Wye literary festival...which I'm not going to reproduce here. Depends what kind of a mood I'm in, I suppose.

On which mildly-confrontational note it's time to end this instalment - oh, except for this one thing...

Back in late August, it seems that some (deeply frustrated) internet-searcher from Halden, in the Oestfold area of Norway, was washed-up on these shores by accident. What they were actually after, apparently, was "strømpebukse porno". Mmmm-hmm. Riiiight. Well.

I hate to think that 'Mid-Life Bassist' could ever be a complete disappointment to its readers (annoying, tedious, unfunny - certainly, but disappointing? oh dear).

So, only this once, mind - you poor, lost Nordic soul - this is just for you:

Oh yes. Not just strømpebukse, but strømpebukse and kitchen implements. Enjoy...!

I Ain't Ever Satisfied

2009-09-12T23:42:00.001+01:00

I'm a bouzouki fetishist. Ever since I got my hands on a cheap Roumanian model earlier this year, I've been utterly hooked. There's just something different about the feel, the sound - the 660mm scale length (longer than most electric and acoustic guitars) seems to fit my bass-stretched fingers, I love the 'not-quite-the-same-as-a-12-string' effect of the lower two pairs of strings, where the plectrum typically strikes the 'octave up' string first - don't know exactly what's going on, but I can't help myself. I'm addicted, and "Bouzoukiholics Anonymous" aren't going to be getting a call any time soon. You get the picture...

Anyhow, I'm already looking to replace my current instrument with something...well, better, frankly. And that's where the difficulties start, because the supply of bouzoukis around here isn't exactly bounteous. There aren't several different, widely-available models to choose from at each price point - let's not forget, this is primarily an acoustic instrument, with arguably greater variation between individual examples than when you're after a slab of mahogany, maple, and rosewood with some lumps of metal and plastic screwed onto it. So buying on-line is, arguably, even less of a good idea - although that having been said, there's a guy been trying to sell a 10-string Freshwater example on Ebay that if I had the cash, I'd buy in an instant. Hey, my 'reason' is a slave of my passions - and if it was good enough for the great philosopher and historian David Hume, then that's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it.

All this does, as usual, omit the key problem with my purchasing budget - I don't have one. But still, it was a perfect day to trek round the music shops in Edinburgh, to see what the top end of the market was like - just for comparative purposes, you understand. Careful research when considering such matters is always very, very important - not to mention a lot of fun.

Now, I know, bouzoukis don't generate a significant proportion of any of the local retailers' profits. They probably barely pay for their slice of the de-humidifying and heating bills, frankly, but of the three properly expensive ones I got my hands on, precisely none were fit for immediate sale. Which, at the prices they were asking, simply isn't acceptable.

The cheapest of the trio, a £950 Fylde, should, if it had arrived from the maker in such poor condition, (rather than it resulting from poor storage, handling, and neglect while languishing in the shop), have been sent back without delay. There were some serious intonation issues (nae adjustable bridge saddles here - count yourselves truly fortunate, electric guitar and bass owners), and the overall 'dead' sound and feel of the instrument were beyond the quick "slap on a new set of strings" fix. It was honestly worse than my £99 Ozark beast at home (although admittedly I tried several cheapies, and was very lucky to find a satisfactory one). When you consider you could buy a decent 3/4-sized double-bass for that kind of money, well...

It's bigger, £1050 brother was ok (nothing inspiring though), if in need of some general care and attention, but just like the £1500 (hey, we're in fantasy unaffordable land, why not?) Steve Agnew model in another shop, urgently required a new set of strings. That said, if the Agnew one had been re-strung properly, it would have been absolutely lovely, and far and away the best of the three for tone and playability. As it was, I didn't want to give it back...which is saying quite a lot, given the listless, lifeless nature of what it was equipped with.

Trouble is, bouzoukis aren't, as I said before, what you might call 'volume sellers', and inevitably they come way down the list of priorities for busy music shops - just below banjos, I reckon, but possibly ahead of beginner accordians - so are likely not to be checked and maintained very often. Except these weren't the low-end, 'budget' range examples - these were instruments that represented a major financial outlay for most folk, so you'd have to feel very confident about them before committing to buying. So failing to maintain them properly is unimpressive, to say the least.

But then I would say that - I'm a bouzouki fetishist, after all.

Breaking The Law

2009-09-02T22:46:00.021+01:00

I've got a confession to make - I've been a very naughty boy. Nothing on the scale of robbing a bank using electric guitars and early 80's British metal as weapons, I grant you, but still, 'the law' has most definitely been 'broken' (although very carefully, so that the pieces can be re-assembled without too much fuss - possibly with a small dab of superglue).

Illegal downloading of copyright musical material is the issue at hand. Normally something I'm not in favour of, no matter how great a bunch of low-tax pursuing, corporate-whore multi-millionaires the likes of U2 (just one example out of so many possible candidates) might be. Flouting creative copyright is not, no matter how restricted some people's thinking may be, simply a matter of "sticking it to The Man". But that's beside the point right now.

This is about personal weakness in the face of temptation.

As some poor folk who've endured this blog of mine for a while will already know, I used to be a member of a minor prog rock band - Edinburgh's very own "Citizen Cain". It was all a (very) long time ago, and I only played on one album ("Somewhere But Yesterday", 1994, bought by a few people in Poland and Quebec, as far as I can recall), but thanks to this connection I come into the "obscure" category of musician, rather than merely "non-existent, except in their own imaginations" - although the gap between those definitions can often seem exceptionally slender.

My only copy of the CD, however, is out on loan to a friend - currently languishing in a big box somewhere near Kelso, as far as I'm aware. So when challenged about my musical past by my oh-so-delightful mini-primates, I had nothing to show them, no proof that their father used to be almost-quite-good at something, way back in the Pleistocene epoch.

And that's what broke me, in the end. The pathetic spasms of my tiny-but-still-defiant ego.

In my defence, the album itself had long been deleted, re-released, and deleted again, and was supposed to have been re-issued by Festival Music, but the scheduled date had been and gone with no sign of its re-emergence, soooo...

I searched for a file-sharing site that didn't want to ask too many questions, but also looked like it wasn't necessarily going to hijack my machine for nefarious botnet purposes. That's right, I had no idea, it was a complete guess, but my computer hasn't gone screwy, or slowed right down (yet), so fingers crossed, eh? Downloading was straightforward, and, even if whoever created the archive had cut one of the tracks in two for no particular reason (and no, it wasn't the 25-minute one, which could have made some sort of practical sense), listening to the music again brought back lots of good memories.

The kids even liked some of it, and seemed minutely impressed that their incompetent, decrepit father had been involved.

It does pose a small ethical question, though - the act was illegal, and the CD is currently licensed to a record company (although I've never made anything out of it), but since I've essentially ripped-off myself, exactly how naughty have I been?

I expect I'll be receiving my letter-of-stern-rebuke soon - I'll consider myself suitably chastened.

p.s. hope folk don't mind all the extra widget-gadget stuff I've stuck on the blog page (YouTube, Facebook, Twit-ter). Trying to keep up even a basic level of shameless self-promotion, while simultaneously providing full domestic services to two small boys gets very tiring at my age, so I thought if I could centralise matters it might make life a little easier. Or not.

Reet Petite

2009-07-29T21:10:00.023+01:00

I'm afraid it's time for this blog to undergo a major philosophical shift, to alter some of the preconceptions and assumptions about reality that have underpinned it from its first sprouting of vaguely-music-related nonsense, back in 2007. In short, the moment has come to confess "I was wrong" about so very, very much.

Today, in fact, this blog will experience what I can only describe as a "Top Gear" moment. Although without any of the enormous success, viewing figures, awards, salaries, etc,etc that Top Gear has garnered. Obviously. Or indeed Jeremy Clarkson's supreme displays of "wit" and "wisdom". Nae mind, eh?
(Still lashings of prejudice against 'hugely-overpriced and over-rated for what they offer' Fender basses, though. Got to maintain some scraps of continuity and good sense, after all - but even I have to admit the Japanese-built 'Marcus Miller' model is really nice, ok?)

Anyway, what I've tried to do, sporadically, in the past, is take a look at 'reasonably-priced' musical equipment that, however unfashionable or untroubled by a big-name 'badge', delivers great value for money - semi-pro (or more) quality on a restricted budget. That sort of idea.

But I've fallen in love.

And love can do strange things to a man. But more on that later. First, I'd set myself a challenge...

In the middle of last month, I said I was going to try out a bunch of small, lightweight 'practice' amps for the purposes of low-volume personal monitoring at acoustic gigs. Finding myself in that rare and joyous state of being child-free during daylight hours, I hastened across the Forth Bridge to annoy the lovely folk at Red Dog Music in Edinburgh (yet again), where a fair array of wee bass beasts could be put to the test.

But who cares?

Seriously, there's no point in going into any great detail. Almost anything 15w-20w will do the job perfectly, as long as you're not being ridiculous and expecting an astounding tone or the ability to reproduce a colon-shaking low 'B' with perfect sonic clarity. Sure, Line6 have finally made something that sounds quite good, has - as you might expect - lots of features, and might actually be worth buying, but it's a little bulky for the bassist who wants to amble gigwards. The Peavey 158 is smaller, lighter, and passable in "vintage" mode, but don't flip it into "modern" unless you truly detest the people you're gigging with. If you like bright colours, why not buy an Orange? It simply doesn't matter - cheap and cheerful, so long as the speaker doesn't start farting when you turn the volume past '3', is absolutely fine. But who really cares? There's so little to choose between them. These are the Kia Picantos, if you will, the Nissan Micras, the useful, economical, yet characterless urban anonymobiles of the amplifier world. They're low-powered, tidy, unspectacular - and start to rattle in an unpleasant and worrying manner if you drive them slightly too hard.

For those with the patience to seek out something a little different, I personally reckon the coolest thing you could possibly turn up with would be one of these - a good old Marshall Bass 12 from the 80's...assuming you can find one in decent working order. Looks brilliant, sounds...pretty good,actually, and so much better than most of the stuff Marshall have been knocking-out since. It's like a classic Mini Cooper S, only without the rust issues. Well, some of them.

To anyone feeling smug at this point about being wealthy enough to afford the impeccable pedigree, incredible lightness (4.2kg!), and immense price (over £400) of the tiny MarkBass Micromark, let me say three things: Small 'acoustic' gigs are often in the sort of venue where beer seems unfathomably spillable, and it's 6" speaker won't handle a bottom 'B' significantly better than something you could find for under £40 second-hand. I would also love to have one, dammit.

Forget all that, though. Imagine, having chugged around in a Toyota 'Yawnis' with a couple of over-tired children in the back for several hours, you could climb straight into an amazing blend of the best Ferrari, Aston Martin & Lamborghini supercars and head off down one of those impossibly perfect roads that only exist in car adverts - you know, the completely empty ones, where the weather's always perfect, and the perfectly-coiffed-and-attired driver is guaranteed perfect sex with their perfect choice of perfect partner as soon as they arrive - at their perfect shared home in a perfectly dramatic-yet-safe-yet-romantic perfect location, and the planet stays perfectly un-warmed. Oh yes.

In a far more prosaic, not to mention ugly and entirely-non-sexual bass-playing manner, that's precisely what I did next.

One of the staff beguiled me (ok, pointed at the thing) into trying a nearby Ampeg SVT3Pro. And lo! it was, unsurprisingly, absolutely incredible. So it bloody should be, too, at the price (anything from £620 - £1000+ online, £699 in Red Dog). All the features and "POW-ERRR" you could want, and more tone than...anything I'd ever plugged-into before, frankly. So much fun I can't adequately describe it, yet this is not the object of the passionate desire I declared earlier. Oh no.

You see, nestling snugly atop the next speaker cabinet was a much quieter, less flashy, entirely valveless cousin of the roaring, snorting, rack-mountable SVT3.

Allow me to introduce the small, but exquisitely-formed Ampeg Micro-VR: 200 watts, a (mere) 3-band EQ, limiter, FX loop, pre/post eq line out, and could easily snuggle down in my rucksack any time it wants to.

The tone was fantastic - hardly had to shift the controls from "12 o'clock" to make the mediocre Cort 5-string (decent neck, a few minor fret niggles, only £279 so fair enough, really) I was using sound wonderful - full chords, harmonics, fingers or plectrum, the works. Cue lots of bad Tony Levin impressions (mostly "US" period Peter Gabriel) from me...I even dared to apply my thumb in public (a mercifully rare event). The quality and range of sound was a delight - even after messing-around with the "Murcielampeg" SVT.

Then there's the look of this delightful little box - I'm usually a 'form-follows-function' kinda guy, relatively unmoved by aesthetic considerations, but this thing's so danged cute - I mean, take a look at this line-up:

Can hardly spot the Ampeg, can you? Hell, it's almost up there with one of these little fellas:

(ok, so nothing's ever going to be quite as cute as a Red Panda, but c'mon, the Micro-VR comes bloody close. No? Really? Ach, yer a hard-hearted lot, so ye are).

At this point, I handed it over to a (disgustingly) young pro who was up on tour from Druggy-Guardianista-London-by-the-Sea, (aka Brighton). I won't begin to pretend he was dressed from head-to-toe in all-white motor-racing kit, but for now we might as well call him 'Jaco Stigtorious'. He was, I'm afraid, playing a Fender Precision through it, but the Ampeg was sounding so exceptionally good I'll let him off with it - this time.

There is, admittedly, one major stumbling-block that's threatening to destroy our budding relationship - it costs £329, which is at least £300 more than I could justify spending on...anything right now. And yes, at that price, there are plenty of other powerful, high-quality compact amps available (e.g. Ashdown, Hartke, etc, etc). But all the ones I've tried simply can't begin to match the Ampeg for tone and clarity. It's supercar-intensity fun in an incredibly attractive, bit cheaper and more practical form - like a Jaguar XK, maybe?

Anyway, I suppose what I'm trying to say is this - sod the sensible low-end stuff, I adore brilliant Ampeg gear which I can't possibly afford, and I want it really, really badly. What can I do? I'm in love.

And on that bombshell, it's time to end this blog post - goodnight!

p.s. A wee update - just over a week later, I've been back to visit my little object of passionate desire again, only this time I was very rude to it. I asked the guys in the shop (how many plugs can I give them in one post?) for the cheapest bass they had - a no-frills Yamaha RBX, as it turned out. Nothing wrong with that, Yamaha's are always solid enough, although this one was one of the worse examples I've encountered (quite a few minor fret niggles, thin and harshly-trebly neck pick-up, that sort of thing) - and powered up the Micro-VR. Could the super-amp make this built-late-on-a-Friday-afternoon Toyota Yaris of an instrument sound like an AC Cobra at full throttle?

Oh yes.

In fact, it did it so successfully that a couple of customers came over and started asking about the Ampeg...which I tried to demo to the best of my almost-no-retail-experience abilities. They seemed to like it - I certainly hope they bought one, after the amount of aural punishment I meted-out to the rest of the shop in the process. Sorry about that. Got a bit carried away...can't think why.

Video Killed The Radio Star...

2009-06-18T18:06:00.012+01:00

...except it clearly didn't, if the latest figures from RAJAR (Radio Joint Audience Research, apparently), and articles like this one are anything to go by (I know, it's the Daily Mirror, but occasionally they do come across a fact by accident). Then there's the strength and diversity of internet radio stations, improvements in D.A.B. (digital audio broadcasting), radio-via-digital-television...

But that's beside the point.

Tonight, I'm delighted to announce the Official Global Launch of my very own, personal, YouTube Video Channel!

[cue confetti cannons, wild cheering, awe-inspiring laser display, and vast-waste-of-money fireworks. Or not. More likely the latter]

I'll understand if this may all seem a little underwhelming at first. There are, after all, currently only two videos on the channel that are actually of/by me - one of them a bit of improvised fun plinking away on a cheap bouzouki, the other a montage of my own photographs of the Lake District Hills around Derwent Water, (over-adorned with 'Ken Burns'-style 'pan-and-zoom' effects, naturally), accompanied by 'Wood, Water, Stone', a meandering piece of music I wrote and recorded over a year ago. 'WWS' is, though, available in three - yes folks, that's three! - different viewing resolutions, to cater for lower-quality internet connections. Here at WWW.YOUTUBE.COM/ANDYHGILMOUR (that's just not a snappy name, is it?), we care about our viewers, we really do!

Then there's the small, but unavoidable fact that I am an utterly insignificant speck in the glittering firmament of creative endeavour, thus quite possibly indulging in hubris on a ridiculous scale. I'm fully aware of my relative unimportance in the musical universe, but why the hell not? Embrace the opportunities presented by the new technologies, say I, especially if they're available at no extra cost - and when the necessities of parenthood impose severe restrictions on your 'real-world' lifestyle, too.

I was tempted to take the silliness a lot further, by sending-out press releases trumpeting the birth of my video channel to the world's media (easy and cheap these days), but...well. Maybe next time.

Still, I'd like to think that I've got something, however small, to offer - and if you don't like my stuff, maybe you'll find music you do enjoy tucked-away in the 'playlists'. There's quite a range of material, from the glorious, overblown, symphonic metal-covers-of-80's-songs of Northern Kings, to live performances by master saxophonist Jan Garbarek, bass legend Tony Levin, and the jovial brilliance of Jethro Tull. There's even a spot or two of Hardingfele (Hardanger Fiddle), for all the traditional Norwegian folk music aficionados amongst you. Ok, so that might be only me...ah, well, nae mind, eh? It's available if you feel the urge.

And that's about it, I suppose. No great expectations, which seems pretty sensible to me.

I hope that people at least take the time to come on over and have a look. If they decide they like what they see and hear, well, that'd be fantastic.

You never know, I might even add some more of my own creations (please, try to contain your excitement). Judging by the speed I work, that'll be some time next year...

Exposure (live at the Leith Isobar)

2009-06-13T21:16:00.006+01:00

Monday night was fun. A most enjoyable gig with Mr. Lennon (I plug this guy so often I should be charging a percentage), albeit it felt quite strange to haul my bass (and accoutrements) down to the station, and catch a train over to Edinburgh just to do a 45-minute set, in an "intimate" (pretty full, but that's only about 30 or so folk) wee venue. Years of psychological conditioning to expect 4-hour ceilidh-insanity marathons have clearly taken their toll.

It went very well, too, and provided the unexpected personal bonus of catching-up with old friends - although our 4-star (out of 5, he hastens to add, even though he knows full well you should never pay much attention to crits, good or bad) review in the Edi nburgh Evening News was more than a touch over-fulsome in its praise of our efforts. Yet more evidence that you can't believe anything you read in the press these days. I mean to say, all those reports of our hard-working, decent, upstanding, honourable Members of Parliament playing fast and loose with their expense allowances? Poppycock! Next thing journalists'll be putting it about that Lady GaGa (oh, the appropriateness of that stage name) isn't just a Christina Aguilera clone peddling sub-Britney Spears p-p-p-pop retreads. Or that Michael Mcintyre is more than a self-regarding, bobble-head-doll of vacuously mediocre 'observational' comedy. Absolutely ridiculous, so it is. And don't get me started on how they're saying that charming President Ahmaholocaustdenier might have rigged the Iranian elections. Shameless, our modern media, so they are...

Alas, I haven't got any photographic record of the event, so this archive shot of the pair of us from a decade or so ago will have to do instead. The hair's changed a bit (a lot shorter and greyer), and I don't jump around quite so much (or at all, depending on the relative level of pre-existing, children-induced fatigue) any more, but I was using the same, trusty Hohner Jack V headless bass (originally bought to play on Citizen Cain's "Somewhere But Yesterday" album back in 1993 - how pathetic was that plug for my dim-and-distant past?), albeit de-fretted now - so the picture has a hint of authenticity to it.

Also, I learnt an important lesson that night.

Never, ever, if it's in any way within your power to determine it, do a gig without some kind of amplifier.

I've been pondering the question of ideal gigging set-ups for a while, and I never thought it made much sense to own more than one bass amplifier. Have a small pre-amp, sure, for carting-along to gigs such as this one - I always carry a Hartke Bass Attack (micro-review of this handy item buried in an earlier blog posting here) and a Behringer D.I. box (in case the Hartke inexplicably fails) anyway, but what the hell's the point of owning a "practice" amp, too? Don't people know how to use a volume knob/headphone socket, huh?

Well, I was wrong.

Except I'd argue there's still no real point to having one for, well, practicing. Rather, they're an essential for small (drummer-free) gigs where everyone else has instruments that make a fair bit of acoustic noise - especially if you're going fretless, as I was that night. There were several points in the gig where I was stuck playing-by-numbers, hoping that my too-easily-wandering intonation didn't intrude. The sound guy wasn't keen on putting much bass through the monitor, which was fair enough - it was primarily a vocal rig, the singers/guitarists were the key focus of the night, I hadn't brought a compressor (naughty bass player!), and it wasn't 'my' gig. Although having said that, the monitor in question was a very solid powered unit with a nice big speaker which could have handled it no bother, but that's both whingeing and a digression... Allegedly I got away with it, no audibly cacophonous finger-mispositioning occurred as a result, but it would have been nice to feel a little more definite about it at the time.

All entirely preventable, for the sake of a bit of hunting around on Ebay, and spending about £40 (according to what was available on there today, anyway). That should be enough to purchase a solid wee Marshall B25, say? Or something similarly around the 20w mark (because that's all that's required) by Trace, Laney, Kustom, Carlsbro - whoever. Who cares? Brand name doesn't matter - the key factors for me are size and weight, i.e. it must be under 10kg, otherwise what's the bloody point? Sound doesn't really matter (it's only there to give definition and clarity after all), as long as you can either run a parallel output of some sort from your pre-amp into it, or it has its own D.I. out for connecting to the main desk, then that's fine. This does, of course, give me a perfectly good excuse to go around testing all sorts of tiny bass combos just to see which ones do sound better, examine relative build quality, and generally have a right old laugh in music shops. Again.

Back in the real world, having any money to spare at all is a moot point in my (and many other people's) houses, but come what may, for the next gig I'm going to be better equipped. I doubt I'll be turning up with one of these little beauties (warning - this link is micro bass porn: viewing may lead to excessive drooling, which could damage your keyboard and/or stain your trousers), but a bassist can dream, eh?

Exposure

2009-06-05T17:26:00.004+01:00

For the first time this year (first time in bloody ages), I've got a gig. A proper one, too, where people will be required to part with money in order to bathe themselves in the proffered aural delights. And, also for the first time in a very long time, I must confess to being more than a little nervous about the prospect. At the age of 40, having done many hundreds of gigs with no qualms whatsoever about potentially making a grand arse of myself, I started wondering why...

Maybe part of the reason is it's going to be a duo gig - small, intimate. Just my good friend Mr. Martin Lennon on finger-lickin'-good-bluesy-folk-pickin' acoustic guitar and singing-related activities, with me sliding around on a fretless bass, mostly somewhere near a note that could - in the right circumstances (possibly free jazz) - be considered appropriate. Playing his songs, too. None of that stuff that people 'already know and are heartily sick to death of, but will get up on tables and dance/sing/grunt along to once sufficient alcohol has been consumed'. Not that any of Martin's songs are 12-and-a-half minute prog-folk epics, packed with time/key/underwear changes either (although given half the chance...). No, these are relatively 'simple' tunes, the majority of them medium-to-slow pace, with 4 chords or fewer - which probably provides the rest of the explanation for the onset of nerviness.

This isn't some faceless, play-by-numbers, (apologies for admitting it, but let's be honest, in the world of 'function-band' musical-whoredom, the band are often a great deal less than entirely engaged with the process,even if they successfully keep up the pretense - not to mention the rictus grins - and the audience remains ignorant), done-it-all-many-times-before corporate event - this is me promising to perform to the absolute best of my abilities, promoting the musical aspirations of a close friend, while playing music where mistakes/lapses of concentration/disharmonic note selections are going to stand out like a humorous-yet-non-clichéd-simile I haven't got the time to think of right now. But I might edit one in later.

There's absolutely nowhere to hide with this one. Performing fast, complex music in a band is far easier, once you've acquired sufficient technique to not be struggling physically. Bum notes can fly past and disappear, perhaps simply be obscured by everyone else's noise - or there's the old adage that if you make a mistake, "repeat it three times and they'll think you're a genius" (couldn't find a source for this - anyone? usually ascribed to Chuck Berry, I think??).

But when you switch to a more gentle, 'contemplative' mood, your part is 'exposed', (a swift "Titter ye not!" is, I believe, required to be inserted at this point - for anyone who doesn't understand that reference, click here, and a brief introduction to the world of Frankie Howerd shall be yours - a comedian who could render an audience helpless with laughter for half-an-hour without telling a single 'proper' joke. But I digress...), and you aren't trying to over-compensate for something with pointless 'note-cramming'; that is, in fact, a far trickier situation. Much more opportunity to do something unpleasant (however accidental) to spoil somebody else's carefully-crafted material, so it's not just my (supposed/alleged/pathetically craved?) musical reputation/self-image that would take a severe dunt.

Still, I'm really looking forward to this one. The nerves should prevent any latent complacency from manifesting itself. Well, that's the plan, anyway. Should be fine, as long as I'm not clenching too hard during the gig. 'Elegant simplicity'(!) is, I hope, what can be achieved, even after a long day of small-child-wrangling, then a mad dash by public transport which might get me to the venue with half-an-hour to spare. Which would be nice.

Life is always better with a soundcheck.

Cheers!

p.s. complete non-sequitur, but - what you get when you discuss ways of improving the dialogue in the first three 'Star Wars' films with your friends:

(from part III, "Revenge Of The Sith"
ANAKIN: I've just learned a terrible truth. I think Chancellor Palpatine is a Sith Lord.

MACE WINDU: A Sith Lord?

ANAKIN: Yes. The one we have been looking for.

MACE WINDU: How do you know this?

ANAKIN: He knows the ways of the Force. He has been trained to use the dark side.

MACE WINDU: Are you sure?

ANAKIN: Absolutely.

MACE WINDU: Enough is enough. I have had it with these motherf@@king Sith on this motherf@@king planet!

well, it made us laugh...

Accentuate The Positive

2009-04-06T21:17:00.044+01:00

In tonight's edition of my sporadic blurblings - pleasures of the flesh, glorifying historical violence, mutilated animal carcases, and exquisite handmade guitars. (If anyone's offended by the notion of 'French polishing', it'd probably be best to quit now). But first, by way of introduction, a little self-pity...

A couple of weeks ago I returned from Bergen in quite a depressed state. It's a fantastic, exciting city full of creative opportunities. Where I live...isn't. In spite of the 220 days a year (on average) on which it rains, Bergen is colourful and, if you know where to look, vibrant. Dunfermline...ah. My 'lovely and wonderful' Norwegian partner is still both mest 'vakre og vidunderlig' (I have a dictionary rather than linguistic ability, just in case anyone was wondering), but she's over there...and it's particularly selfish and unfair of me to even consider asking her to give up the delights of what was once Norway's capital (back in the days of King Sverri and his offspring, before the Hansa came in and made a mess of the place), and put up with such a poor alternative.

Then of course the news has been a whirligig of troubles around the world - deepening global economic recession, various forms of religiously-inspired cruelty and oppression, Somali pirates back in action, the earthquake in Italy (and Silvio Berlusconi proving himself to be a world-class arsehole. Again), etc, etc.

But rather than respond in the obvious fashion, by ranting (with plenty of supporting statistics, possibly even graphs) about all the bad events and feelings, I decided to concentrate on some of the small, solid, good (and also mostly relatively cheap) things - although I've inevitably omitted far more worthy candidates, my choices can be dismissed as mere expressions of my soft, liberal Western lifestyle, and largely confined to the tiny corner of the world that I inhabit. Here, then, are some of the 'happy things'...enjoy.

Afternoons and coffeespoons

As I noted back in December, Bergen has an impressive array of cafés at which to squander your money at an alarming rate. Edinburgh can more than hold its own in this department, however - a couple of my favourites being Patisserie Florentin in Stockbridge, and The Bakehouse on Broughton Street. In fact, if you could combine the two you'd probably have café perfection, since while The Bakehouse's coffee is slightly better, (and served in cups that could double as swimming pools for small kittens), Florentin's "Herrison" is arguably the most deadly variation-on-a-theme-of-chocolate-cake in the city. If it's simply the coffee you're after, though, the mere act of sitting in The Bakehouse (especially with small children) does have the additional advantage of seeming to really annoy some of its upper-middle-class, mostly Edinburgh New Town clientele. Which is always highly entertaining.

Pigs on the wing
My budget is tighter than an obvious-ageing-rock-star-reference's inadvisable leather trousers, so if you're looking for a quick, filling, 'nae-MacDonald's-because-it-gies-ye-ra-boak' just thinking about it, lunch in the centre of town, then my first suggestion would be Oink, which you'll find about halfway down Victoria Street. A brown roll stuffed (very) full of delicious, freshly-carved roast hog (from their farm in the Borders), complete with stuffing and apple sauce, can currently be had for just £4! Don't go there expecting to 'eat in', though - they've only got space for about 8 adult-size bottoms (that's 6-and-a-half standard Americans), and since Edinburgh's 'tourist season' runs from approximately March to December, finding a convenient local park bench is a more likely option. And why not, when just around the corner you can merrily fill your face with tasty deceased piggy while enjoying this view of St. Giles' ? (the "other" 'Sir Walter Scott', 5th Duke of Buccleuch, is the subject of the impressive statue in the foreground. Although whether he ever truly merited it is another question altogether...I mean, Granton harbour - not exactly a work of art, now is it?). And since I appear to be slowly metamorphosing into a cut-price, poorly informed impression of Jonathan Meades...

Ramblin' on my mind
Simply wandering around the city of Edinburgh in a state of mild awe at the bewildering array of neo-classical statuary and architecture - if you avoid the dogs' breakfast known to the world as Princes' Street...oh, and the St. James Centre at its eastern end...and the stunningly ugly "Princes Mall" (the shopping centre formerly known as Waverley Market)...and, well, I'm sure you'll work out pretty quickly that 98% of the "new" building isn't up to much - can be a grand way to spend an idle afternoon. Wonderful views are to be had throughout the city centre:

How pleasant, too, if it's possible to stop and salivate over some completely unaffordable 'kitchen porn'...mmmm, hand-crafted, oiled, solid wood surfaces...so smooth to the touch, yet simultaneously firm, conveying a sense of inner strength...built with a suppressed passion...*cough*. Yes, well, anyway. There's no harm in just looking, now is there?

Speaking of which ("looking", I mean), if you're in the vicinity, the Nation al Museum Of Scotland is still partially open, and definitely well worth a visit - where else, for instance, can you see how, in a time long before the invention of the motor car, Scottish clan chiefs attempted to "over-compensate" for certain...'personal inadequacies', shall we say? I think the picture pretty much speaks for itself...

After all that walking (and drooling), you're bound to be in need of some more sustenance, and with that in mind, let's head back towards the Royal Mile, then turn off it slightly, with my final food choice for today - the affable, child-friendly and altogether excellent Viva Mexico on Coburn Street. Everything tastes good, the prices are nowhere near what you'd expect in the middle of town, and if at all possible - try the home-made chocolate chilli cheesecake. I know, it's an extra £5 on the meal, but trust me - it's worth it. Mouthfuls of rich chocolate are counterbalanced by perfect micro-blasts of habanero chilli...any further attempts at description would fail to do it justice. Buy a piece to share (with a complete stranger at a nearby table if necessary), whatever it takes, just go there and eat some, ok?

Bits and pieces
So many minor entries on my list that I could be enthusiastically tedious about, but probably shouldn't try everyone's patience with: my obsolete and discontinued-but-I love it Canon Powershot A80, which stretches 4 megapixels to their absolute limit; the Trailwise Rambler walking poles that got me up here, 3 + 1/2 weeks after knee cartilage surgery; the Norwegian wonder-food Lefse - and sticking with Norway, there's my current favourite newsreader, Christian Borch. He has the greatest "editorialising eyebrows" I've ever seen, and he's not afraid to use 'em. (The in-vision continuity announcer that followed the news was a bit worrying, though - she gave the impression she derived enormous physical pleasure from reading out details of the upcoming programmes. Either that, or she was wearing a butterfly. Impossible to tell which. Weird, and slightly off-putting, to say the least). Oh, I could go on about insignificant little items for weeks, but that would be far too inhumane, so, finally...

Norwegian wood (again)
Stroll along Kong Oscars Gate in Bergen, ('Kong' is Norwegian for 'King', which could lead to a very tortuous -and unfunny - routine about Norse confusion regarding the title of the classic 1933 'big ape up a tall building' movie. But it isn't going to on this occasion), and you could easily miss Hanno Kiehl's small guitar (work)shop. That would be a serious mistake, because this charming, unassuming guy (he's a bass player, so naturally...) builds beautiful instruments, in a variety of styles. Now, I could never be confused with any sort of "gypsy jazz", Django-inspired player, so I couldn't fully appreciate absolutely all the subtleties of the 'D-shaped' soundhole model I was abusing first, but it was still obvious that it was a fine guitar indeed (very fast action, perfect intonation all the way up the extended fretboard, lovely French-polished finish, etc). Then things became a notch more impressive, when he handed me a small-bodied 'parlour'-style guitar. Oh, wow. Full, deep tone, and more volume than anything of that size had a right to produce. Joy, delight, rapture, etc,etc...(it had to be prised away from me just a little).

Of course, such wonders don't come cheap. The 'parlour guitar' was 30,000 Norwegian krone (about £3,000 when I was there, add another £250 or so onto that currently, and most likely rocketing upwards - I was damned careful handing it back, believe me), but then, this is a custom-made instrument, from an individual luthier, not an off-the-peg, one-size-fits-all-hands purchase. Buying a unique guitar from someone like Hanno Kiehl is to enter into a close relationship with its maker - potentially a lifetime of maintenance and repairs, small modifications to suit the individual player, possibly upgrading to a newer model along the way (sounds a lot like some marriages...?).

I'll probably never be able to afford the luxury of owning one, but I'll always have a small memory of how pleasurable it was to play those guitars, and for that, I'm very grateful indeed.

p.s. Regarding some of the "bad stuff" - the Taleban (and the rest of their woman-hating chums) are clearly a bunch of bastards, the Pope is either "stupid or wicked" (as Prof. Dawkins actually put it) for lying about HIV and condoms, and our great-great-great-great granchildren are still going to be paying for the global banking mess...but for now, at least there's coffee. And possibly cake - I'll dig down the back of the sofa to see if I can find some extra loose change, then we'll see...

Careful With That Axe, Eugene

2009-03-05T17:20:00.026Z

There's nothing like having part of your body hacked-open while you're asleep (albeit extremely professionally) to make you appreciate just how fortunate you are to live in a technologically-advanced 21st century society with socialised medical care. Arthroscopy may have been part of the surgical toolkit for over 80 years, but taking my kids to the park less than 24 hours after having some duff cartilage excised - almost exactly as per the illustration, except with a wee side order of chondromalacia in my case - is a (minuscule) tribute to modern techniques, not to mention an 'interesting' experience. Not exactly part of the official rehab programme, admittedly, but then who ever followed those things to the letter?

That's not to say I wasn't extremely glad to leave hospital in one slightly-smaller piece...

"Between February 2006 and January 2007, the NPSA received over 24,000 reports of patients being wrongly identified and mismatched with their care." (National Patient Safety Agency)

...and with the correct limb heavily bandaged. Wrong-side/site surgery has been reduced in recent years, largely thanks to the introduction of a checklist...

"This includes advice for surgical teams on where, how and when the patient should be marked to show where an operation should take place, who should mark the patient and the people who should be actively involved in the process." (NPSA)

...but I still heartily recommend that when asked,"..and which leg is it again?", by the person standing at the end of the bed (hopefully one of the hospital staff, not just a random surgical procedure obsessive), you emphasise it's your left/right/whatever, not theirs. I know, incredibly unlikely that anyone would ever make that error, but the potential consequences surely make the effort worth your while?

Ok, so far so nothing really to do with music (apart from an excuse to use a great Pink Floyd title. I nearly went with "The first cut is the deepest" instead...), but indulge me, please, it's coming up next.

For all that the surgery has apparently been great, for the first week or so afterwards I found it extremely difficult to practice - stiffness and pain in the knee joint meant it was hard to find a comfortable position to play a guitar (of any description), and using my electric upright bass was completely out of the question. Playing duration was also an issue, partially due to bruising around the I.V. site on my left hand. Good thing that these days I'm only a 'not-very-nearly-was', with delusions of recapturing a fragment or two of my previous obscurity, rather than a full-time professional with important gigs scheduled. This got me thinking about some of the often-lesser-regarded risks to which musicians expose themselves, and what medical assistance might be available.

Aside from the bleedin' obvious, (and entirely avoidable with even half a brain - yes, it's 'personal responsibility' time, ooh, how very un-rock-'n'-roll...so sue me), dangers of booze, drugs, and playing 'tag' with hippopotamuses, and the occasional unfortunate demonstrations of the havoc excess electrical energy can cause, a lot of musicians' aches and pains are caused by:

a) Playing the wrong instrument
b) Playing in ways that damage ourselves
c) Bloody ageing. Dammit.

The first one isn't always as straightforward as you might think. Yes, there are famous examples like Paderewski suffering terribly because of the action on the Steinway pianos he was contracted to use, but let's talk about me a bit more instead. Regrettably, a couple of years ago I had to sell a perfectly decent DeArmond, 35"-scale length 6-string bass (that I'd acquired very cheaply indeed), because it was damaging my left wrist. My current, identical string-spacing, 34"-s.l. TobyPro VI is absolutely fine. At a fret-by-fret level, those are very small differences we're talking about - and insufficient to cause pain during/after a check-it-out-in-the-shop session. Even one of mine, which always go on far too long if I like something (although never too loud - that's just rude).

A frie nd in York developed tendonitis principally from changing to an Epiphone Thunderbird, simply because it was necessary for the professional tribute band he was in at the time. [That's Big Rich on the left, 'rocking out' with the offending bass]. We finally worked out what the problem was by comparing his stance, grip, shoulder/elbow/wrist angles, overall playing movements, etc, with those employed when using his other (pain-free) basses. (Oh, if you're experiencing similar issues, a small thing that a lot of 'therapists' overlook - 'dynamic' and 'contextual' posture are probably more important than the traditionally-addressed 'static' version - see the extended footnote quoting from the late Dr. Mel Siff for more details).

As to what we're playing, and how we go about it, well, this is the kind of patently-ridiculous thing I used to find highly entertaining to inflict on audiences:

An "unpleasantly difficult" G7 (b5 #9) with a little finger barre. Mmmm....

That was when I was a foolish, seemingly-invulnerable youth back in 1990...since then I've developed a far healthier dislike of "extreme barre chord madness". Too much of this sort of thing, for long periods can cause all sorts of cramping (and more serious, long-term agonies), if proper warm-ups (not shredding up and down a bunch of scales, however much fun that might be), regular breaks, and sensible self-monitoring are not applied.

Some of that, of course, might be ascribed to creeping decrepitude - as could less of an inclination to jump up and down on stage quite so regularly and vigorously, perhaps - muscular recovery times have lengthened somewhat over the years. Certainly the body can become a lot less tolerant of a 'heavy' instrument, no matter how efficient the player's posture and technique. Fortunately, help is at hand...

Music (and "Performing Arts") medicine is quite the growth area these days, and as you might expect, there's some handy stuff easily available online. For instance, SHAPE in Canada provide a useful PDF document outlining a whole range of musculoskeletal injury symptoms associated with different instruments - strangely fascinating, and perfect for any hypochondriacs in the band, too.

And for more direct assistance, well, keeping things relatively local, Musicians' Health Scotland looks like a good place to start. A brief bit of googling should turn up something similarly useful in other locales. As long as it isn't one of the quacking, back-cracking fraternity you toddle along to, naturally...

Finally, if all else fails, we can always turn to 'appliances' to assist us where our bodies seem to have failed. They may not be 'cool', but I'm seriously considering either a Y-strap, a Dual Shoulder Strap or something similar (suggestions?) for bass playing. And for those amongst us who prefer to do it sitting down, but are having problems 'keeping it up', this could be the perfect technological solution...?

The most radical idea I came across, though, was one that, as an ex-flautist, I found truly astonishing - simple, yet with an incredible "what the...?" factor. Laydeez and Gentlemen, I give you...the Flutelab vertical flute headjoint:

Check out the picture of someone playing one on their website. It just looks....wonderfully wrong. Not exactly cheap, either, at 1800 euros (probably worth about £27,356 by the time you read this), but if you want pain-free music, and you've got the cash, it's priceless.

Hope a tiny morsel of all that was of some practical use to somebody. All being well I'm off to Bergen again next week, so there'll just be the usual delay before anything new appears in this vicinity.

Cheers.

Footnote on 'posture' for anyone interested:

"A few things always concern me about the whole "postural
correction" or "realignment" concept:

1. Structural or observed symmetry all too often is regarded as the
optimal and safest end state for all humans. The body very typically
is an asymmetric system which displays a level of plasticity and
adaptability that is not always as homeostatically "perfect" as seems
to be implied by many posture police.

2. Posture often is regarded as something that is invariant and
should not vary to any noticeable degree from some hypothetical ideal
or universal model, despite the fact that any given motor problem may
have more than one unique solution.

3. Assessment of posture is far too often based upon static
measurements; very rarely is the topic of "situational"
or "contextual" posture raised, nor is dynamic posture ever measured
under a wide range of conditions. Just as some people display rather
unaesthetic speaking voices, they may sing exquisitely. Similarly,
someone may display unaesthetic static posture, but exceptional grace
while in motion.

4. Sometimes individual posture is regarded as pathological, yet it
has never been established exactly which is the optimal postural
reference model for all static and dynamic situations.

5. It is too frequently proclaimed that the human body left to its
own devices will simply perpetuate "imbalances" or "imperfections" --
only special therapeutic interventions will ever restore the body to
its hypothetical ideal state. Yet, it is not uncommon for the body to
spontaneously rectify so-called imbalances.

6. The concept of long lasting static posture runs contrary to how
the body functions. Speeded up video studies have shown that our
bodies are always indulging in subtle or gross movements to ensure
that one precise posture is NOT held for prolonged periods, thereby
ensuring that stresses are not imposed upon the same physical
structures in exactly the same way. Even in sporting and other
complex movement situations, the same external movement pattern may
be produced by different musculoskeletal and neuromuscular
strategies, so that the idea of an invariant, highly stable single
posture is misleading.

7. It can be very misleading to assess the validity of postural
correction on the basis of changes in perception of pain, because
absence of pain does not necessarily imply the absence of pathology
and vice versa.

8. A given postural intervention may not be the direct effector of
change; it might simply serve as the "last straw" in a long sequence
of automatic and therapeutically mediated changes, especially since
many processes in biological systems appear to be nonlinear in
nature." (Dr. Mel Siff, originally posted on his 'Supertraining' website)

The Older We Get...

2009-02-22T23:51:00.002Z

"...The further we see" - or so said the Hothouse Flowers, anyway. Not a good idea to take them too literally, of course, because that would be flying in the face of the (slightly worrying) evidence:

"The light adapted eye of a 20 year old receives six times more light than that of an 80 year old. In dark adapted conditions, the 20 year old eye receives about 16 times more light. In comparison to younger people, it is as though older persons were wearing medium-density sunglasses in bright light and extremely dark glasses in dim light." (The Eye Digest, University of Illinois)

I'm not even going to think about "vitreous gel liquefaction"...there ought to be a law to prevent that sort of thing. Really, there should. Complain to your MP. It'll give them something other than their expense accounts, questionable sources of campaign contributions, and how many more members of their immediate family they can get on the payroll to think about.

Still, at least the dimming vision business means that sometime soon Bono will have to stop wearing those ridiculous sunglasses, or else risk walking into things. Which is never 'cool' for famous pop personages, whether or not pharmaceutical ingestion has occurred.

Anyhow, my personal experiences of getting older have generally involved various parts of me working rather less efficiently, effectively, or indeed, not at all - and don't bother asking whether I've learned from these experiences. I'm far too ruined and knackered by childcare duties to have significant cognitive functioning any more - hence I'm very fortunate to be having my left knee hacked open tomorrow (or today, or last week, or a completely unrelated time-frame, depending on how you came to be staring at this page, if you suffer from chronic unpunctuality to the same extent as me, etc) after only three months on the waiting list.

All being well, the surgeon will have a good guddle around inside the joint, tear out some of the stuff that's too frayed at the edges, pack the rest back into the space where it's meant to be, pluck a merry little tune on my cruciate ligaments (using knee angle to change the tension/note pitch), and sew it all up without leaving any surgical equipment, lunch leftovers or loose change behind.

I'm sure it'll all be fine, but as ever with such things, if the bizarrely-improbable, freakish-chain-of-coincidences worst should happen...well, huge thanks to all the special folks (you know who you are), it's been quite a ride.

Cheers.

Some People Are Crazy

2009-01-17T22:21:00.003Z

Yesterday I came across one of the stupidest (yet entirely serious and heavily-funded) ideas I'd ever heard of, and in spite of the fact that I'm undoubtedly way behind the times, naturally felt compelled to share it with the...ummm...5 or so people who read this, 2 of whom might not have been aware of it already. But first, a quiz!

I'm currently trying (for "trying", read "struggling pathetically") to learn Norwegian - for the only reason that could possibly matter. So, in the spirit of idly leafing through a dictionary searching for vaguely 'amusing-because-they-look-odd-to-non-Norsk-speakers' words, let's see who can guess the correct definitions of:

1) Hatteforretning
is it...?
a) irritation caused by forgetfulness
b) a forestry plantation
c) a hat shop

2) Pengeanbringelse
a) a suede briefcase
b) investment
c) harvesting penguins

3) Strømpebukse
a) erotic literature
b) marching bands
c) tights

(answers at the very bottom of the page. Yeah, that's right - grab that scroll bar and skip over whatever twaddle's coming next - you probably knew about it already, anyway. And made wittier comments on it at the time, too.)

Oh, and also must give a huge plug to the incredible talents of Dave Grant, guitar physician extraordinaire at Stringz here in Dunfermline...when presented with my apparently-desperately ailing old acoustic, he virtually waved his hands over it briefly and muttered a few, arcane incantations (either that or he probed, plucked and tweaked it, while saying "aye, well, it cannae be the neck, so that's alright"), and lo! it did arise as if anew! and verily it soundeth great and playeth dead well, even unto the horrible disharmonious cacophonies I usually elicit from it...

Thanks to the hugely-talented Dave, my mangling of innocent Norwegian traditional folk tunes can resume. But please, don't blame him, for he kneweth not what he did...

Right, anyway, here's the thing. Back in September last year, I made a fleeting gag at the expense of PETA ("People for zealously imposing their dogmatic views on others"...oh, no, hang on, might not have that exactly right. Oops. Umm.."People who once had ostensibly laudible aims but have since become ideologues..." nope, that's not it either...? I'll google them - ah, of course! "People For the Ethical Treatment of Animals". The holier-than-thou, attention-seeking advocates of putting healthy animals to death - references here and here for anyone interested).

I can't believe I'm about to do this. This is tragically, pathetically narcissistic, but what the hell, I'm going to quote me! Laughingly trying to create a ludicrous example of a "conspiracy theory", I wrote:

"All the books that feature cutesy, fluffy-wuffy animals - animals that can talk, wear clothes, live in semi-detached houses and have affairs with the next-door-neighbour's baby-sitter, with names like "Mifflesey", that sort of thing - are written by authors who are funded by PETA, so that when kids find out where their meat really comes from they'll recoil in horror ("But Daddy, we're eating Bella the ballet-dancing moo-moo cow!!"), and become strict vegans as a result. This is just one, especially cunning, strand of the International Vegetarian Conspiracy (IVC)."

(oh, wasn't I just so hilarious? No, you're right...)

Well, shaft me sideways with a wooden spoon (actually, please don't. Really, don't. Thanks for the offer, but, y'know...it's an experience I think I can live without), but what have these "Veganistas" gone and done, but try to dissuade us from catching/eating/"wearing as smelly-but-unusual jewellery" fish by making them "cute". And how do they intend to achieve this, precisely? By renaming "fish" as..."Sea Kittens".

Now, I thought this couldn't be real, it had to be a brilliant, Chris Morris-style parody...but no. They've even got "Sea Kitten Stories", according to their website. "You can learn a lot about a culture from its bedtime stories. Find out what keeps the sea kittens up at night." it says. Hmmm...almost certainly marauding predatory "sea kittens", I'd venture...? Ah! not so! In PETA's hideously anthropomorphic dystopian fantasies, it's stress-related mental instability brought on by human "sea kitten abuse".

Now, PETA have, in the past, engaged in many worthwhile campaigns against animal cruelty. This, however, is so ridiculous, manipulative, and frankly downright pathetic - go on, say "Sea Kittens" out loud. No, loud enough so that someone might hear you if they were at a greater distance than 5 millimetres from your lips. That's better. Try saying it again...doesn't improve at all, does it? Pathetic - oh, and incredibly selective in its use of scientific data, but then that's only to be expected I suppose...

PETA seem to be strangely ignorant of a couple of things (well, a great many to be brutally honest, but let's try to keep this in some sort of focus):

Humans are animals. Human children are small, (often smelly) extremely vulnerable animals, who rely on us for their welfare and education.

Lying to children is deeply unethical.

They also forgot to mention something else about "Sea Kittens" - a lot of them are extremely tasty, and an excellent source of dietary protein.

Can't think why...?

Finally:

Norwegian Language (sub)Standard Grade Test answers:
Hatteforretning is (c) a hat shop, Pengeanbringelse is, disappointingly, (b) investment, and the glorious Strømpebukse is, alas, (c) tights.

More soon. Maybe.

Norwegian Wood

2008-12-28T21:33:00.005Z

Since I didn't bother posting this at the appropriate time, might as well get it out of the way now - Merry Solstice! (Christmas, Jul, Hanukkah, [late] Eid, Saturnalia, Shab-e Yaldaa, Lenaea, Kwanzaaaa, 'Foodmas', 'Great Festival of Washing-Up', etc, etc).

Ok, enough of that. Now for the old and fascinating city of Bergen!

(N.B. This blog was originally supposed to be about 'music', or at least always have a passing, tangential concern with matters in some small way vaguely music-related. I'd just like to reassure anyone who might be becoming concerned that it's turned into a sick parody of an entirely self-absorbed travelogue that music will be rearing its three [non-ugly] heads shortly. But you will have to wade through my solipsistic ramblings about Bergen first. Sorry.)

My pre-christmas present to myself was a far-too-brief trip to a place I've wanted to visit for more than 20 years...there also happened to be the great incentive of an extremely wonderful and lovely woman of my close personal acquaintance living there, so not going would have been utter folly and madness, (although possibly far more financially astute), but anyway...

It's bloody fantastic.

Now to be fair, I'm undoubtedly horribly prejudiced in Bergen's favour, so I've come up with a handy quick questionnaire you can use to assess how much you might like it too...

Q.1: Do you like "old stuff" - castles, churches, museums (possibly with a hint of the 'viking' about them)?

Q.2: Do you like the sea, boats, fjords, that sort of thing, conveniently situated right in the heart of the city?

Q.3: Do you like mountains, forests, hiking about, etc, within extremely short walking distance of the city centre, and easily accessible by convenient funicular railways and cable cars in case you've got small children, have slightly disfunctional joints, or are simply bloody lazy but still want to admire the view?

Q.4: Do you like your holiday destinations to have lots of little coffee shops (many with excellent cakes), modern art galleries, music venues, boutique shops, and a wide variety of restaurants to suit practically any taste?

If you answered "yes" to at least 2 of the above - what are you waiting for? (well, ok, possibly warmer weather, but if it's not raining, then it can be wonderful even in the chilly months - some more of my poor attempts at 'artistic' photography of Bergen here).

Seriously though, Bergen was a revelation, with its higgledy-piggledy, winding, narrow side streets, colourful wooden houses (often with a bizarre - but surely effective? - chimney-cap design consisting of a slab of what looked like slate resting on 4 small pillars of stones rising up from the chimney, with one dirty great stone plonked on top of the whole lot, presumably to stop it all blowing away in one of the region's not-so-infrequent storms), impressive (and again, colourful) C18th stone buildings, and mountain backdrops in just about every direction. Oh, and they're very tourist-friendly - almost everyone speaks far, far better English than my pathetically tiny smattering of Norsk.

Of course, in spite of my glorious 4-and-a-half days of getting in touch with my Northern European cultural heritage (and drinking coffee, eating cakes, playing in the snow up Fløyen, etc), I'll be the first to admit that Bergen has its drawbacks, too. Firstly, there's a definite problem with graffiti - I don't mean the 'artistic', maybe-making-a-political-statement, sometimes almost graphically interesting (I'm such a grumpy old man), type of graffiti. Oh, no.

What you seem to get in Bergen is the moronic (I refer you to the "grumpy old man" statement above) and incessant "tagging" - in other words, hastily, and only semi-legibly, scrawled/sprayed versions of intellectually-unchallenging nicknames - all over the place. Obviously, everywhere is going to have its fair share of bored teenagers, but come on - if you're going to vandalise something, put some bloody effort into it! Make some kind of point, don't just spray a half-cocked version of "Svenno" on an antique street lamp or the side of a 200-year old house! Idle little Scandinavian scrotes that they are...! Catch 'em and whip 'em with birch twigs, it's the only language these hooligans understand! If I had my way...

*Ahem*

More seriously, Bergen is expensive. (I was heavily subsidised and spoiled rotten while I was there, you see...I mentioned the cakes already, didn't I? Ohhhh, yesssss...if it had been entirely down to my budget, there definitely wouldn't have been cakes!). Everything (except petrol) is roughly twice "Edinburgh prices" - to use a comparison that'll only make sense if you live in Scotland.

To put it another, more easily quantifiable way, if you wanted to have a (very) comfortable time of it - nice lunch, maybe a trip up the funicular, entry fee for a museum, coffee and cake(s), then a pleasant dinner with a glass of wine (or two), then an individual could easily spend £50 a day - on top of accommodation costs. Mind you, the way the pound is going right now, that could soon be £60 or more...so go now, before our currency collapses entirely under the collective weight of christmas debt!

Still, if you'd like to sample some modern-yet-traditional Norwegian culture before you make up your mind, (finally! the "music" bit!) I can heartily recommend having a listen to the 3 women who make up "Eplemøya Songlag" (translates roughly as "Apple maidens song team"). I heard them perform a brilliant, acapella (and un-amplified) set at the Bergen folk club, which was thoroughly enjoyable and entertaining in spite of the fact that I only understood about 5 words they said during the whole evening. (This was a little awkward when they were introducing the songs, because I felt somewhat exposed as the only person in the audience failing to chuckle copiously at the appropriate moments...any performers reading this will know exactly what I mean - "Hey, have you clocked that miserable beardie guy with the glasses in the 2nd row? The grumpy sod hasn't laughed at a single gag all bloody night...!").

If you feel in need of a twang (pluck, clink, or even 'ka-whump') while you're there, Bergen does have at least three guitar/keyboard/"rock instrument" shops (that I came across on my wanderings, but had insufficient time to investigate), as well as a marching band/orchestral retailer, and at least a couple of (well-hidden, but my 'wonderful and lovely' friend assures me she stumbled across one of them tucked-away in a back street, just the other day) luthiers. So the wandering musician is well catered for.

And remember - in that city, you're never more than 3 minutes walk from something interesting, a nice view, or a good cup of coffee (sometimes all 3 at once). Possibly 5 minutes away from a truly excellent cake, but if you're not outrageously fussy...

All I'll say is I've finally found somewhere that could challenge Edinburgh in my affections as a city...and I accept that I'm biased (for all the right reasons), but I felt a lot more "at home" than I ever expected to. Take a trip, and see how you feel - I think you'll like it.

I absolutely have to go back there - if only I could just win the damn lottery first...

As Time Goes By

2008-12-10T22:35:00.004Z

So much to do, so little time...has it really almost been two MONTHS since I last posted scribbled some nonsense here?

Bloody hell...that's quite a while. Ooops. I've been a little busy, you see. Not really focussed on this sort of thing. But before I go any further, I have to make an official statement of apology to a surprisingly large number of people.

I'm genuinely sorry I titled a couple of previous posts "Rockin' around the christmas tree", and "Santa Claus is coming to town", because they seem to have attracted every search for lyrics, midi files, or even "sexy xmas gift santa is coming to town gift pack"...no idea what that might contain, but a big festive hello to someone gettin' a little seasonally frisky in Newark, New York!

Now, I have a couple of small problems here - I haven't got the time to write much (oh, you lucky, lucky reader, you), and what I do churn out is going to be disgustingly solipsistic, which is something I generally shun if at all possible, but still...

Here, in no particular chronological order, is the potted version of "why I haven't bothered with my blog", some or none (probably better) of which might be expanded upon in future, when I have more than ten minutes spare:

I took a week-long trip to Leamington Spa, where amongst other wonders I experienced the delights of Sardinian hospitality ("What can I do to help?" "Sit down and drink that wine" "Oh, ok..."), saw the rather cool "Green Man" sculpture pictured above in Birmingham, learned a tiny little bit about flamenco music/dancing, and spent some extremely agreeable time in Richard's Guitars (right), which is simply a brilliant wee guitar shop with some very nice toys in it!

I severely injured some of the muscles in my back - by blowing my nose too hard at the tail-end of yet another bout of child-donated sinusitis. Oh yes. Mr. "I used to do lots of sport and be dead fit and healthy" managed to hurt himself in a ridiculous manner. Must be getting old, or something unpleasantly similar. Only felt a slight twinge at the time, thought nothing of it, then two mornings later woke up in complete agony, couldn't breathe, etc,etc. So after dropping older mini-primate off at school, me and the littl'un took a bus up to A & E. Which was a laugh. Still, the extra-strength anti-inflammatories seem to be working nicely...

Which is handy, because (barring further stupid accidents - I'm anxiously scanning the skies for signs of falling anvils/grand pianos) I'm flying off to Bergen very soon...to visit an incredibly wonderful and lovely woman I first met at a WildGeese Ceilidh Band gig thirteen-and-a-bit years ago, and who was over here (for a crash immersion course in "the daily domestic life of a single parent") in November. The amount of stuff I've had to do preparing for the journey feels vastly out-of-proportion to the length of time I'll actually be in Norway, but in the circumstances, unquestionably worth every scrap of effort (did I mention just how lovely & wonderful she is? I did? ok...just checking).

Finally, there is, of course, the small matter of christmas looming on the childcare horizon - but we survived the (insane) "multiple toddler group hallowe'en parties" season without incurring any lasting damage, so this can't be much worse...??

Right, stuff to do...I've got a hole in my jeans to sew up, must double-check the flight timetable, charge up the camera batteries, make sure I've got a wee travel toothpaste so they don't think I'm going to try to blow the plane up with fluoride, find out where I left....

It's a Man's, Man's, Man's World

2008-10-09T20:08:00.010+01:00

Whether it's being convinced we're about to expire as soon as we get a bad case of the sniffles, throwing the world's financial structures into chaos by not thinking beyond the size of our end-of-year bonuses (in case anyone wants to attempt childish, right-wing "Fanny & Freddie were socialistic enterprises that distorted the market so it was really the fault of government interference" excuses - just because the lid is left off the cookie jar, it does not mean you and your mates have to eat until you're sick, then sit around blaming each other for the mess while demanding the rest of us pay for more cookies. 'Personal responsibility'...I remember when 'conservatives' were big on that sort of thing...but maybe that was only for the rest of us, not their chums in the banks?), or prancing around on a stage making highly-distorted screeching noises with a 'leccy guitar (pulling very odd faces into the bargain), there are some aspects of life that have always seemed to be predominantly the domain of we blokes.

There have, of course, been great strides towards 'equality' over the last 40 years or so - apart from the obvious changes in employment and pay (still got some way to go on the latter, surprise, surprise), here in the UK, women now smoke almost as much as men do, which means they're close to achieving parity in deaths from lung cancer (although when it comes to booze-related deaths, the ladies are still lagging behind - they are quicker to develop liver damage through 'heavy drinking' than us, though, so they might catch us up before too long).

Anyway, hauling this back to something close to what was originally intended to be the topic, my pondering of the "rock guitar gender gap" was precipitated by a friend's 8-year old daughter, who grandly announced she wanted to be a guitarist a couple of weeks back (my thought processes ain't exactly fast these days...). Now, just to be perfectly clear, she doesn't mean "guitarist" in a strum-a-long, singer-songwriter-y sense. No, her desire is to be a lead guitarist - and a seriously metal one at that - her favourite band is Metallica, and she's already showing enough musicality to be able to sing their guitar solos...which isn't exactly a bad start!
So I was asked if I'd help to find her a decent (and inexpensive!) guitar (since I allegedly have some passing knowledge in that area). It sounded like an interesting project, although made a tiny bit trickier when she answered my question, "What kind of guitar would you like?" (me thinking: a pointy headstock? whammy bar? like Kirk Hammett's?), with the brilliantly descriptive, "A red one".

While considering the annoying preponderance (it's a 'big-words-starting-with-P-day) of black guitars in the 'metal' market, I started wondering about possible female role models, too, and whether there were more around than when I were a lad (which there surely had to be). Compiling a list proved oddly difficult - there are more female singers, these days, certainly (Nightwish, Amberian Dawn, Lacuna Coil, Epica, Within Temptation, etc,etc), but even with the long-distance help of Rich Hind (a veritable 'metal guru', and 'minor rock deity' in the environs of York), I couldn't get beyond the 'usual suspects' (Girlschool, Lita Ford, Jennifer Batten, Vixen, and that shy, retiring soul, "The Gre at Kat"). Sorry, but Joan Jett, ultimate queen of garage rock as she definitely is, sadly doesn't count because she's not a lead player - she does have a very nice Gibson Melody Maker signature model, though.

Time to go a-Googling, then...but this was also less productive than I'd hoped. I started to worry...why should this be? Do girls not like metal? Are they all into less-technical-but-bouncy-fun poppy/punky stuff instead? Can they really want to be just like Avril Lavigne?? And why does this create an image in my mind of that 'sicklier than a truckload of aspartame, and even worse for your brain' Japanese nightmare, "Hello Kitty" wearing a Top Shop 'rock-chick-lite' t-shirt and a studded belt from Dorothy Perkins?

Are we still 'persuading' girls into what we regard as 'nicer' (softer, more filled with kittens) forms of music? Give them violins while handing guitars out to the lads? (But then, classical music - and the technical training involved - is a key component of a great deal of metal...)

At this point my head started to explode a bit (not helped by rampant sinusitis), so I was very glad to come across this list of all-female rock tribute bands. (Favourite names - "AC/DShe", "Lez Zeppelin", and "The Iron Maidens"). Great! Some serious guitar talent in amongst that lot, for sure.

But what kind of guitar to recommend? Now, I know that "Daisy Rock" (can't bring myself to add the link...google them yerself, then hike on over to their "artists" page, and see who's endorsing them), make perfectly decent instruments, designed for women...but why do they have to be so damned 'girly'? I know, I know, the marketing department will have conducted focus groups amongst fans of 'Hannah (Billy Ray Cyrus now owns the world) Montana', 'High School (where were the goth/emo kids?)Musical', and the completely misnamed "Camp Rock" (oh, come on, the Jonas Brothers are so damned 'wet' they almost make 'McFly' look like genuine rockers), and I'm sure they sell by the shedload...but...but...but...

And then I found the kind of guitarist I'd been looking for all along - a woman who plays lead in a bloke-led metal band. Ok, I'm probably being ignorant, there may be thousands of 'em out there toiling away in obscurity, but I'm just glad I found one!

Three cheers for melodic-metal-woman Lori Linstruth ('Warbride', 'Stream of Passion'). And her "Play Like A Girl!" blog. And, indeed, the great-looking Luna Guitars she now endorses.

What's possibly most impressive about these beasts is that you can buy exactly the same model that Ms. Linstruth uses for under $300 in the U.S.A. That does mean that if you could find one over here it'd probably be pound-for-dollar, regardless of the exchange rate, but even at that price it looks like a major bargain (haven't played one, so can't be certain - but the list of people who use 'em is encouraging). Still a bit pricey for my fellow primary-school-parent, however, so if her hands/arms/weight-bearing capacity are big enough to warrant a full-size guitar, I'm currently leaning towards an Epiphone Les Paul Special in wine red...a hell of an improvement on the nameless East German 'cheesegrater' strat copy I learned on, and there's a nice one in Live Music in Edinburgh currently for £99, which isn't too bad.

Mind you, it's a shame Luna don't do this one in red...

Chocolate Cake...

2008-09-27T22:38:00.012+01:00

...or, to be more accurate, chocolate chip cookies.

"Satan's Own Cookies", in fact, to give them their proper title - named by one of the "Friday toddler group" members, clutching what was probably her third - ah, come on, we weren't going to waste them on the kids, now were we? That'd be daft)

So, since they seemed to be well received, and nobody ended-up in hospital, I thought I'd go for a complete departure from this blog's usual fare, and post the recipe (complete with small annotations for those who are clueless about baking -like me!) for these cocoa-laden dollops of anti-dieting evil.

Now, before we go any further, I'd better make a couple of things very clear. Firstly, this is a highly-modified version of the basic chocolate-chip cookie recipe from that publication of unrivalled splendour, "The Be-Ro Book" - no "kitchen numptie" (again, like me) should be without one. Secondly, all the cookies pictured are the genuine finished article. Whether the also-pictured "Gods of Rock" are actually eating them or not, I'll leave up to your critical faculties to determine. (If you are, however, quite that gullible, you'd best steer well clear of the Cruisefarians and their little "make you feel like a complete failure", so-called "personality assessment" sessions).

Ingredients:

150g (6 oz) Butter (not margarine. Nae trans-fats here!)
112g (4+1/2 oz) "Soft light brown sugar" (except I only had really dark sugar, so I used a 2-parts dark stuff-to-one part granulated, which worked fine. Fairtrade "wholemeal" sugar, too, ideally. Mine was, but telling you that makes me look horribly self-righteous, doesn't it?)
3 tablespoons (45 ml) Maple Syrup (I use Canadian - sorry Vermonters, but them's the breaks...and yes, it does taste slightly different)
220g (er...8 oz?? sorry, but I'm going by the book's slightly 'odd' conversions) Wholemeal Flour
45g (2 oz) 'Green & Black's' Cocoa Powder (in other words, "power cocoa". These have to be "none more chocolate", as Nigel Tufnell might have put it if he'd been eating them in 'Spinal Tap'...which, er, he wasn't.)
100g (4 oz) Plain Chocolate Chips (you could always put in a few more if you want...and again, the darker the better)
3 tablespoons (45ml) Milk
3 teaspoons (15 ml) Baking Powder (apparently size does matter)

Method:

1. Heat oven to 180C, 350F, 'Gas Mark 4' - in other words, keep the mini-primates out of the sodding way. Oh, and you're going to need an oven mitt, unless you're particularly partial to the smell of your own flesh charring. Grease 2 baking trays. Or just one, if that's all you have. (Don't worry, nobody round here's judging you. Well...maybe only a few of them. You know, the ones who host dinner parties for more than 6 people, and know how to make 3 different types of pastry...them.)

2. "Beat the butter until soft" (much easier if it's been sitting out a while beforehand - if you've only just hoiked it out of the fridge, then a brief low-power blast in the microwave (NB Kitchen numpties - not still in its wrapper!) will work wonders. Add the sugar and "cream together until light and fluffy". I'm sorry, but I made these entirely by hand, and "light and fluffy" was never on the agenda. School Home Economics teachers must have had the power of cement mixers in their forearms, because there's no way me and a wooden spoon are going to achieve "fluffiness". I'd settle for what looks like "thoroughly mixed"...they still came out ok...

3. "Stir in the syrup, flour, chocolate chips and milk and mix well". Not forgetting the cocoa powder & baking powder, of course. And as for the stirring and mixing, yeah, it's likely to induce hand pain & sweating (as per step 2). But don't give up now - you've almost made it to the eating stage! Just a brief interlude of applied heat to go!

4. "Place spoonfuls of the mixture on the prepared trays and bake for 8-10 minutes". Hmmm. I was using a wee fan-assisted oven, and 8 minutes was absolutely all they needed. Any longer and they burn on t'bottom, which is never recommended. Erring on the side of caution, (and sensible usage of the appropriate protection), is always advisable...and also gives you a greater-than-98% chance of avoiding pregnancy - always a bonus. "Remove from the tray immediately and place on a wire rack to cool".

Oh, yeah, should have said - get one of those wire cooling rack things ready before you start, because if, (like me), you completely forget about it, you might end up scrabbling around in a cupboard for one, while trying to hold a (hot) tray of still-slightly-soft cookies perfectly flat in the other hand. Add to this state of unpreparedness and minor panic a very saggy, almost grip-free oven glove, and you just know there are going to be cookie casualties. Which is extremely vexatious after all the effort you went to in steps 1 to 3.

(Mr. Blackmore here is giving a fine demonstration of precisely how annoying dropping freshly-made cookies on the floor can be, even though somebody's given him a clean one to nibble. There's no pleasing some folk...)

And that's it! Let them cool sufficiently to 'solidify' fully, of course, and then...well...they're all yours. All yours. Nobody else's. Yours! Mwahahahahahahahahahha!!!

Hope that works - oh, and one final thing, since there's no eggs in the recipe, mini-primates can happily indulge in a vicious battle for the "scrapings".

"Vaguely music-related ramblings" will return next week. Possibly. Unless global capitalism has collapsed in on itself by then, and I'm too busy looting.

I Think I'll Disappear Now

2008-09-10T21:41:00.014+01:00

I must admit, I've been having quietly seductive thoughts about 'disappearing' lately, and frankly, it's been so long since my last blog entry I might as well have done...a lamentable lapse for which I can only, as too many times before, humbly apologise - to the three (or fewer) people reading this who might be slightly interested.

I am, of course, about to dive into a plethora of pathetic excuses and not-at-all-mitigating circumstances, none of which, however, sound particularly convincing...even to me. Worse still, that's really all there's going to be this week - no tenuously-linked, topical cultural references welded clumsily onto a chassis of music-related mumblings, no gratuitous insults aimed at highly successful artists to whom I'm less than a dab of wash-hand basin soap on the underside of their coke spoon. Not even a personally prejudiced/under-researched/almost certainly wrong review of some instrument, or lump of musical gadgetry...

No, this week it's all about me! (Exactly like every other post, in other words. Just this time, the desperate egomania won't be skulking about in the depths of the verbal foliage).

Trouble is, for a variety of reasons, I've been having serious motivational issues. (Oh, in case you were wondering, there's something that you might find humorous at the end of the post - if I were you, I'd give all this solipsism a miss and head on down there). Part of the problem has been the inevitable single-parent-two-energetic-small-boys childcare exhaustion. That, and jazz. Actually, I blame the jazz far more...

...one of my "projects I have no real time for" is to learn, finally, to play the piano 'properly'. That, of course, means knuckling down and practising loads of 2-octave scales, learning how to shift hand/finger positions, and plonking my way (oooohhhh ssssoooo sssssloooooooooowwllllyyy) through (simplified!) versions of t'Moonlight Sonata and its ilk. Which is far too much like hard work - so it's been out with the jazz books instead! Loads more fun, yes, but I've found that after 40 minutes of trying to twist my unwilling digits around some demented chord sequence I wrote on a guitar nearly 2 decades ago - and man, is it easier to jump from hand-mashers like "Gbm9 [flat 5th, sus4, carry the 3rd and subtract the number you first thought of]" to...anything...when it's strings and frets that are involved - my brain has scrambled itself, and it's all I can do to remember how to unplug the piano and slump on the sofa without falling off.

Then there's the "sympathetic teething". Oh yes - timed perfectly to coincide with smaller mini-primate suffering from the "hot-swollen-cheek blues", I've got a long-dormant wisdom tooth which has, after an interval of about 15 years or so, decided it's time to have a growth spurt. Didn't expect that one. Nor did it engender thoughts of a spontaneuosly comedic nature. Still, it's a pity that "wisdom teeth" fail to live up to their name - it would have been nice to think "hey, I'm teetering on the brink of life's scrapheap, but I'm about to get less stupider! Cool!". Ah well...

Finally, there's the stress. I know, we've almost all got it - but right now, my financials are creaking almost as ominously as an American investment banker's, I'm stuck facilitating my 'to-be-ex' wife's "sex and the city" lifestyle, and I appear to be a completely unattractive prospect to women...this is worse than it sounds, since I can't even afford to put any cash aside for my cunning solution to the latter problem - radical genetic surgery to turn me into a bass-playing version of George Clooney. Now you've got to admit, judging by the (highly realistic) photo - this idea's a winner!

Fine, so "Human Clooney-ing" upsets some (anachronostic) faith groups and bio-ethicists, the scientific techniques behind it are, shall we say, "untested" ("non-existant", "piffle", and "oh dear, he's finally gone over the edge, hasn't he?" may be a little closer to the mark), and it's been specifically prohibited by the governments of 217 countries...yes, that's right, countries that don't even exist yet have banned the Clooney-ing of human beings. But think of the potential benefits - especially for women:

"If you, too, want to save the future by banishing unattractiveness in men, just reach for your credit card and send lots of money to my PayPal account today.
Human Clooney-ing - a chance for a better world. The more you give, the better it might get."

Anyway, after all that, I'll leave you with an upstanding example of accidental honesty from the Freshman Guitars' "Cedar Creek" series catalogue, (page 9):

Right...time for some bad jazz piano...unless I fall asleep first...

Ring Of Fire

2008-08-31T21:47:00.004+01:00

Dear Johnny Cash fans who've been directed here by the obscure digital machinations of a search engine...sorry, but there's no 'Man in Black'-themed content on this page. I have the pernicious (& clichéd) habit of using vaguely 'relevant' song titles for my posts, and since I promised a few weeks back to tell the tale of my (surplus to requirements) wedding ring, well...again, my apologies. Still, you're in good company, since the poor folk who went looking for "Billy Ray Cyrus pro union?" (no idea), "Katie Melua nip slip" (that's what they want to see more of in Odem, Texas, apparently), "bungle valve" (say what now?), "how to make a buscuit [sic] tin banjo" (even less of an idea), and "pre-preparing pasta for a crowd" (the final evidence that Google might be broken) all washed-up on these shores. Poor sods.

Anyway, as I said, it's finally time for "the wedding ring story". Hardly worth the wait, frankly...but hey ho, a promise is a promise...

...which is a notion often overlooked in favour of expediency and/or lust-and-greed-fuelled notions of personal gain in the Volsunga Saga, my favourite version of the myth of Sigurd/Siegfried/"Ziggy....dude!" the dragon-slayer - how he came to possess Andvari's cursed ring, went through fire for Brynhild only to be tricked into marrying the wrong woman, was murdered treacherously by her brothers, and the all-round carnage that ensues for everyone concerned when his widow finally has her revenge...

There. That's saved you having to sit through Wagner's entire "Ring Cycle" (60 deg. C, extremely long wash, followed by several hours in the tumble dryer), that has. And there was you thinking today might be a total loss, eh?

(Just to give an idea of the tone of the piece for anyone who's unfamiliar with it, one of the chapter headings in the German version of the legend, the Nibelungenlied, is "How they threw the corpses from the hall" - yes, it's C13th poetry that makes Chuck Norris look like a pacifist, and brilliant bed-time story material for the littl'uns).

Returning to the more immediate past, my own version of the Andvaranautr had been kicking around the house for far too long, (ever since I was traded-in for a younger model back in November last year, in fact - clearly that ring hadn't done me much good ), but I wasn't entirely sure what to do with it. I knew it wasn't worth much in it's 'slightly battered and tarnished' condition, (just like it's owner), but prices on Ebay were so low as to not make that worth the effort. Eventually, I determined to sell it to a jeweller's in Edinburgh that I remembered dealt in 2nd-hand gold items, because whatever I got for it - £10, £20?? - would be more useful than hanging-on to the damned thing.

Naturally, when I got the opportunity to jump on a train and head southwards over the Forth Bridge, I found that the shop had long since gone - hell, more stuff from my youth in Edinburgh seems to have vanished, changed ownership, or met a flying wrecking ball every time I visit the place - but there were a couple more jewellery shops just down the road, so I went to try them instead. "Nothing ventured...", as the foolishly optimistic might say...

Now, I know I wasn't exactly dressed in top-to-toe Armani, but the initial reaction of the shop assistant to my "hey, I had a gig last night - can you tell?" appearance wasn't promising...and they were very quick to express no interest whatsoever in the ring itself. The second place was a repeat performance, complete with anxious glances (and grimaced smiles) over my shoulder towards the other customers - the poor dears were clearly worried my presence might cause people with actual purchasing power to leave...

Well, there's only so much condescension and dismissiveness I can take in one morning, I'm afraid (c'mon now - I'd showered earlier, my underwear was fresh on - I was clean, dammit! It's not my fault that I have childcare-related-lack-of-sleep haggardness etched onto my face, or that I'd have to shave 3 times a day to avoid hairy chin issues..). Muttering imprecations under my breath, (which probably just served to confirm their opinion of me as some oddball social inadequate trying to sell them a worthless ring he found under a park bench), I strode out of the shop - I say 'strode', but the Medial Collateral ligament in my left knee's damaged, so any 'striding' must have been quite lop-sided...aaand we're right back to "oddball social inadequate"... - in a foul mood, rounded the corner...

...and dropped the 'cursed' ring into the outstretched hat of an old derelict guy who was sitting, begging, at the foot of a flight of stairs, and looked like he needed whatever paltry sum it might bring a damn sight more than I did.

Almost instantly, the world felt a tiny bit lighter on my shoulders...and who believes in such foolish nonsense as 'curses' these days, anyhow?

China In Your Hand

2008-08-20T20:56:00.011+01:00

(Aka: "Nine And A Half Guitars II: The Ethics Strike Back")

Thanks to the incredible avalanche of a whole email (cheers, George) I received in response to my original article extolling the many virtues - especially price - of the Freshman FA1ACD electro-acoustic guitar, I felt it appropriate to revisit the subject - partly to double-check whether my original conclusions were valid (of course they bloody were), but also to include the serious questions raised when trying to add an "ethical dimension" to purchasing musical equipment.

Before I get bogged-down in all that far-too-obviously-trying-to-be-topical, Beijing Olympics tie-in business, however, I must first insult Sandi Thom. I know, cheap target, but it won't take long, and anyway, it was George who brought up the subject of her endorsement of Freshman guitars, so it's entirely his fault.

Personally, I would say that I am to "jazz drumming", what Ms. Thom is to the notion of "playing the guitar". I have heard/seen/'held a bass and tried to follow what was going on while stood next to' a fair few jazz drummers in action, and have a more-than-passing familiarity with the musical genre. I have read articles about the role of various styles of rhythm in jazz, and even perused books such as "Buddy Rich's Modern Interpretation of Snare Drum Rudiments" (I have no life, honestly...) to gain further scraps of enlightenment. So I've got a reasonable appreciation for what's involved...

Never, never, if you have any respect for musicality, should I be allowed to attempt a practical demonstration of any of this theoretical 'knowledge'...and I'm sure you can fill in the rest regarding Sandi Thom's guitar-mangling. There. Right. Done. Onwards to the guitars..

Firstly, was I 'fair and balanced' (or anywhere in the vicinity thereof) in the original post? To test this, I went back to RedDogMusic and Scayles Music in Edinburgh, where both shops' staff were incredibly tolerant in letting me abuse a wide range of acoustics in my quest for the truth...

Well, one thing I discovered was that in order to find something obviously superior in sound quality, you'd have to spend almost twice as much money. Amongst many others, the Takamine EG460sc at £399 was a perfectly good guitar, and the Gitane DG-250M (£560) was very nice to play indeed - although the latter does come with a "you must perform at least 2 pieces of gypsy jazz every half-hour" stipulation that would scupper me. Sticking with Freshman, the FA350D (£399) acoustic was a thing of tonal joy and excellent construction/playability, and for only £499-ish (possibly less if you asked really nicely), you could have it's electrified single-cutaway cousin, the FA350DCE. All of them, though, a good stretch up from the £229 you could have the folk-body, single-cutaway, cedar-topped FA1ACD for, so I stand by my verdict - buy one!

On the other hand, if you have entirely more money than sense, please feel free to chuck it away on a Martin DX1 KeCe (that's what it said on the guitar, but I've struggled to find a link to that exact model online) - a slice of dodgy quality-control, Mexican-built "brand devaluing". A snip at only £639. To be fair, I tried two of these beasts, and one was...perfectly average, but not worth anything like the money. The other was shamefully poor - gaps around the neck joint, and there was a discernible drop in (un-amplified) volume when playing on the top two strings. A limón total, for sure.

Unfortunately, however, for the musician-on-a-budget, many apparent bargains like the Freshman come with an ethically-difficult label attached next to the price tag - "made in China".

Assuming, (and it's asking a lot), that we can ignore human rights issues like Tibet (campaigning for Tibetan freedom, great - but a return to the oppressive Buddhist theocracy that ran the place pre-Chinese occupation, not such a good idea), the way citizens are forcibly 'relocated' to make way for economic developments, the extreme animal cruelty that forms part of their "traditional medicine", the environmental/food supply disaster of creeping desertification caused largely by deforestation...(you can pause for breath now)...

...their reliance on massive coal-fired power stations to run the factories in which they make our shiny electrical toys (if they ever felt the need to reduce their carbon emissions/pollution/reliance on oil, maybe they could take advantage of their enormous - and still largely peasant -population, and organise them into vast, thousands-of-exercise-bikes-pedalling-at-once human generators? Just a thought...), their financial/military support for other oppressive regimes, the use of torture on prison inmates...etc,etc

Then, if we're talking specifically about acoustic guitars, there's (yet) another issue to be addressed. One which doesn't quite grab the media headlines as often or as prominently as those listed above. According to information from sources such as Illegal Logging.info,GlobalTimber.org,and Mongabay.com, China is the biggest single consumer of illegally cut timber in the world - on a scale which I, for one, find hard to comprehend:

"In 2004, more than 1 million cubic meters of timber, about 95% of Burma's total timber exports to China were illegally exported from northern Burma to Yunnan Province. This trade, amounting to a $250 million loss for the Burmese people, every year, takes place with the full knowledge of the Burmese regime, the government in Beijing and the rest of the international community. Chinese companies, local Chinese authorities, regional Tatmadaw and ethnic ceasefire groups are all directly involved.

"On average, one log truck, carrying about 15 tonnes of timber, logged illegally in Burma, crosses an official Chinese checkpoint every seven minutes, 24 hours a day, 365 days a year; yet they do nothing." Said Jon Buckrell of Global Witness." (from the Mongabay link above)

Now, Freshman are very keen to emphasise that their timber sourcing is done from their UK base, and thus governed by EU legislation - but what about other Chinese-built brands which are not? (e.g. Blueridge)

Are we most likely to improve their business practices through trade & engagement (but if they get our money, why should they bother changing? And while the majority of their people seem happy as long as they're getting "bread and [5-ring Olympic] circuses", what should their government care?), or by boycotting the products - if we can afford to? (and if our individual actions will have any significance in a global marketplace?)

I don't have an answer to that one, I'm afraid, and I make no sanctimonious claims to ethical 'purity', either. I have never owned a Chinese-built guitar or bass (and don't intend to), but a cursory glance at the back panel of most of my hi-tech gear reveals that a lot of it was made there - especially the small, cheap, stuff - things I've recommended on this blog, like the Hartke Bass Attack, or Behringer D.I. box. The (Ebay bargain) Legacy digital piano in the corner of the sitting-room is 100% Chinese. Even my Ashdown bass amp, for all it was "Manufactured in England", relies on circuit boards of Chinese origin. Oh, and I've completely failed to boycott the Beijing Olympics, because, well, I love sport (I used to waste vast chunks of my life doing it), and the spectacle of so many incredible athletes inflicting so much pain on themselves in a multiplicity of bizarre ways is one I find irresistible. Plus the display of physical achievements is a great encouragement for my boys, of course - except the BBC's coverage of the weightlifting was nothing short of abysmal...

Being serious again, at present it seems that avoiding any of this 'ethical contamination' would take an inordinate amount of time and effort in locating products that were entirely free from taint, and a considerably higher budget than that of your average, often-struggling, musician. Naturally, if you are lucky enough to have both the time and the money to keep all your musical equipment ethically 'clean', then I wish you well, and can only hope to emulate you at some time in the future. I promise I won't mention the carbon footprint involved in importing American-made instruments, etc...

Still, at the very least, if anyone who's made it this far is considering buying any merbau flooring for their house - please, take the time to read this pdf report on China's activities in Papua, Indonesia - and then choose to buy something else instead.

It's not much, but it might help. Maybe.

Saturday Night's Alright (For Fighting)

2008-08-11T22:17:00.008+01:00

I'd better kick off by reassuring everyone that there's no actual violence depicted anywhere in this blog posting. Some harm may come to the English language, but even that will most probably be of a cartoon-like and highly unrealistic nature. Ok, so, disclaimer over, this week I'm asking "What better place to become completely lost in a crowd than the very heart of Edinburgh during the world's biggest performing arts festival?" (Yeah, I know, I can think of quite a few, too, but my travel budget won't stretch that far...so this'll just have to do for now, ok?).

Or,to put it another way, where better to feel a sense of total disconnection and dislocation from teeming hordes of your fellow human beings?

(Quick apology for the intensely musically-minded: I was originally going to bang on about mediocre acoustic guitars, yet again, but something made me think about Saturday nights in general, then 2 Saturdays ago in particular - probably having to queue in a packed Asda while trying to keep the kids from destroying everything within their collective grasp).

Now, I'll admit that this lack of late-night (it was after 11pm - oooh, the hedonism) joie-de-vivre on my part can partially be explained by the absence of any alcohol in my bloodstream, something which definitely set me apart from the bulk of my fellow wanderers. That, and my dismal failure to achieve the objective I had set myself. Well, the primary objective, at any rate. The secondary objective* was never going to happen, although I did actually succeed at one point in making a very attractive lady I'd never met before laugh in a loud and immoderate manner, (which is supposedly a good start**). Not, I must confess, through the sheer charm and brilliance of my debonair wit and repartee, but by walking (stupidly and painfully) into a temporary road sign - and not with the slapstick genius of Buster Keaton, alas, but rather the lackwitted clumsiness of the execrable Mr. Bean. Ho hum.

No, what I'd set out to smother myself in that Saturday was a bracingly nostalgic dash of "true spirit of the Fringe" body-lotion...those slightly 'downmarket' (aka "cheap"), 'experimental' ("The Life And Death of Salvador Allende", in mime, set to a soundtrack of tree frog mating calls), 'minimalist' ("We couldn't afford a set. Or props. Or costumes. But we do have a wig.") productions that used to be stuck on in tiny halfway-down-the-pee-stained-close*** venues at bizarre times of day and night. And why the hell not? I was free from child-related responsibilities, was master of my own fortune, and had bugger-all money with which to pay to see a semi-decent show.

Sadly, my search was entirely in vain. Rents, competition for spaces, the price of getting even a single-line entry in the Fringe Guide (£289 - £385, for those too lazy to follow the link - which does contain a fascinating breakdown of all the costs involved), and my not-having consulted a copy of that guide beforehand (apparently there was quite a lot of free stuff going-on in various pubs - but by that hour almost all 'comedy', not quite the "wonderfully-terrible" drama I had in mind, but still...) meant that I was condemned to wander the streets, surrounded by a strange combination of meandering tourists, festival goers striding between the comedy behemoths at the Pleasance, Assembly Rooms and Gilded Buffoon (sic), and the usual weekend drink-yer-face-aff Edinburgh pub-and-clubberati.

One of the latter I really out to thank, as it happens, since her sudden appearance (rounding the corner of West College Street, this barely-legal, tiny party-pink-outfit and over-used tanning-bed-glow princess carried on a high-pitched argument with some altogether invisible disputants, while remaining completely oblivious to physical obstacles of any nature), sparked off some strange song-writing notions buried deep in my head, and by the time I'd skirted the immense queues of people waiting in the spitting rain to get into... anywhere, frankly, and was heading back over Bruntsfield Links to my designated sofa-bed, I'd got about 90% of a song swirling around in my head.

Which is most unusual, because I'm one of those people who can't - absolutely can't - write songs. Oh, bits of music, sure - riffs, chord sequences, odd snatches of tunes - they come and go pretty much as they please from time to time. Whether they're any 'good' or not, well, that's another issue entirely. When it comes to lyrics, however, I've never been able to write anything that hasn't made me cringe almost immediately, and recoil from the page in a fit of abject literary worthlessness. Now, some cruel folk might go so far as to suggest that the world would be a far better place if only certain famous recording artists had had the same reaction towards their own efforts, (I was so sorely tempted to include a vast list of obvious offenders at this point, but for the sake of brevity...Oasis), but then if I ever get round to recording this rare beast, I'm sure that it'll offend a great many people's linguistic sensibilities, so I couldn't possibly comment.

Ah well. So much for Saturday night. One or two of you might have expected the "wedding ring" story from last week to be revealed, but that happened on the next Monday morning, so including it here just wouldn't be appropriate. And that would never do.

*"The secondary objective" - I'm a reasonably average male, not entirely dead (yet), and have been enduring involuntary singularity since the end of last October. Work it out...

**"supposedly a good start" - When you have such an ideal face for radio as myself, amusing the ladies is, so I have been informed by many a "women's interest" magazine left in doctors' and dentists' waiting rooms (that's my story, and you can't prove otherwise), a good way to install yourself in their affections. I am, unfortunately, utterly without flirting skills, (as many of my friends will confirm with amusing anecdotes of my ineptitude in that department), so am serially incapable of progressing from that stage to the mythical goal that many of the great historical chroniclers describe as "closing the deal". How I ever got married is still one of the great unsolved mysteries of modern science. ('Why' I got married, and why it took 9 years to fall apart are different - yet equally mysterious - questions altogether.)

***"close" - a 'close' is an Edinburgh term for an alleyway, most of which run north or south from the old High Street - the historic spine of the city that drops steadily from the castle promontory at its western end, down to the Palace of Holyroodhouse (just past the crass expression of architectural ineptitude that is the Scottish Parliament building) to the east. Some of the 'closes' are over 400 years old, and seem to provide excellent outdoor toilet facilities (primarily for males, it must be said, although on occasion...!) late at night - especially during large public events. A bit too public for pursuing "the secondary objective" for most, not that that deters some people - who shall, for the purposes of libel suits, remain nameless...

Shut Up 'N' Play Yer Guitar Some More

2008-08-05T22:25:00.005+01:00

Ok, well, this is going to be something of a rarity for me - a relatively short blog posting. Let's face it, my sporadic, feature-length rambles through almost-coherent verbiage just don't fit with the low-attention-span, channel-flipping, "see it, want it, need it, buy it, love it, begin to realise it's not going to replace the mercilessly festering hole at the centre of your existence and move on swiftly to the next bright shiny toy" modern lifestyle. So here I am, attempting to adapt. A bit. Grudgingly. Clinging ridiculously to my adjectival addiction and 'tangential sub-clause' dependency. But still, it's a start. And it might make this blog more of a regular occurrence, too - wouldn't that be such a thrill for the world?

To maintain the general "rarity" theme, on Sunday I actually escaped from my "mundane domestic crises" duties long enough to wrap my fingers round a bass guitar in public for the first time in...er....a very long while. (Either that, or the Alzheimer's has kicked-in damned early. Oh, fair enough, not that early, not exactly New England Journal of Medicine 'research paper of the month' early, I grant you...but c'mon, give a man who's otherwise abiding on life's scrapheap a break, huh?).

It was, admittedly, what could be safely termed a "low-key" gig, (any "lower" and - insert a topical-political-satire comparison of your own choosing here - if I add one, then by the time anyone reads this whoever I've had a go at will be more popular than - insert name of local bland-but-successful entertainer with a bad toupé), and trying to play songs I knew rather less than perfectly (!) on a fretless instrument without any monitoring made for some "interesting" note choices at inconvenient moments (aka: "I've wandered inadvisedly above the 14th fret and I'm at least a quarter-tone sharp, but a quick slide down to somewhere in the general vicinity of the pitch I was originally aiming for and the audience'll be none the wiser") added to the sweatiness of an already-sticky Edinburgh night.

Still, it was indeed an excellent laugh. Playing some of my mate Martin Lennon's "nothing like as miserable as you first might think (or they might sound)" songs was most enjoyable, as well as pounding out an energetic rendition of that old WildGeese wedding favourite, "Psycho Killer".

In fact it would have been worth turning up just to hear main attraction Hannah O'Reilly's great songs, brilliant singing, and determinedly difficult-to-follow-at-a-glance, created-mostly-out-of-naive-cunning chord voicings. Go listen. She's bloody good!

Quite apart from that event, the weekend yielded a few sadly "unexpectedly poor and badly over-priced" guitars and basses, some very pleasant food that I didn't have to cook, and a slightly unusual fate for a wedding ring.

Oh, and that rarest of all things happened - I wrote a song! (Not saying it's any bloody good, mind...)

But that's all best kept for another day...

Nine And A Half Guitars

2008-07-08T21:23:00.006+01:00

My beloved companion is sick. Very sick indeed. Potentially a terminal condition, in fact. This unfortunate state of affairs has, alas, rendered it completely unplayable (oh, sorry, should have said - it's my acoustic guitar I'm talking about...). This is more than mildly annoying, because I had a few d.i.y. recording ideas I wanted to try out with my almost-but-not-really-acoustic "me, myself & I" trio, which just won't work without the poor old beast. It also meant that my original plan, of wittering more about why Keswick is so damn great, it's jazz festival, and consequently the excellent bass-looping wholesome jazz goodness that is the music of Mr. Danny Fox, went completely out of the window. Which, since I've managed to squeeze Danny's promo link in anyway, (solo album due out...umm...soon. Ish. I'll let you know), is possibly no bad thing.

A brief visit to the (extremely handy) buzz diagnosis pages quickly revealed that it was definitely truss-rod related, and quite possibly easily fixable...or absolutely not. Since I lack almost all of the requisite skills, or the spare cash to pay for someone else's expertise, my trusty 15-year old Seagull is currently languishing, severely wounded, in the guitar cupboard.

Of course, this meant that an investigation of the current state of the acoustic guitar market would be an eminently sensible way to spend a Saturday morning amidst the seething fleshpots of old Edinburgh toun - just in case mine turned out to be beyond repair, (oh, and the miraculous magical money fairy appeared, and waved her wand over my bank account too, naturally...).

So, off it was to Red Dog Music, (used to be Sound Control, but is now trading as an independent store following the financial collapse of what had been the UK's largest musical instrument retail chain - a cautionary tale about over-expansion and the power of the internet...), in the latest part of my (cue music - Nightwish, "Ghost Love Score", swelling under continuing narration), "epic quest to discover pro-quality gear at very reasonable prices."

Wandering through to the back of the store, (where they hide the poor, bedraggled 'acoustic' folk away from the cruel gaze of mocking humanity), I was immediately drawn towards a wall of Freshman guitars - in particular the rather attractive, (but horribly utilitarian-ly named), folk-bodied "FA1ACD". Solid cedar top, (for those who can't be bothered clicking the link. Everyone else, sorry, but you've got to make allowances...), mahogany back & sides, 4-band eq, blah blah blah. While the shop assistant was getting it down for me to abuse, (I'm not really what I'd call a 'genuine' acoustic player...to be honest, I treat an acoustic guitar more like an electric guitar than anyone else I know...which probably isn't a good thing. No fancy flat-pickin' round here, I'm afraid. Oh well...), I had a quick look at their product catalogue, which had more than its fair share of impressive review quotes from reputable magazines...and "Total Guitar" (but more on that later). The list of endorsees was, however, a lot more questionable, including as it did such guitar luminaries as Jason Donovan, Kelly Clarkson, and...Steven Seagal!! Still, I was determined to be fair (possibly harsh, but definitely fair), and it was time to see what this instrument could do...

At this point, I was going to bang on about the build quality; the depth of tone; the smooth, easy action of the neck; the fact that in spite of the price, the electronics were perfectly acceptable - I got a very decent sound through a (tonally-neutered) amp within a couple of minutes...but I won't.

To save your time (and mine), all I'll say is this - have you got £229 handy? Want/Need/Burn with unquenchable desire for an acoustic guitar?

Buy one. Don't hesitate, don't sit and consider all the other possible options, don't make yourself a cup of coffee and wonder about heading over to the shop tomorrow, or possibly Thursday, hmmm, depends if it's raining.... get over to your local retailer, (have a quick, 5 minute plonk on one to satisfy yourself I'm not an incorrigible liar and scoundrel), then hand over the money. You will not regret it. Even if your spouse/partner/occasional chum dumps you because that was the money you were saving up for your big holiday in (insert cheap, low-quality destination joke most appropriate to your geographical location). That simply won't matter any more.

This is a fantastic guitar. Absolutely unbelievable value for the money. I didn't want to put the damn thing down (certainly didn't want to hang it back up on the bleedin' wall). If you're a pro, then this is exactly what you want for those gigs where you'd think twice before turning-up with your treasured Taylor/Martin/whatever. You know what I mean...you'd be looking at paying over £500 for any measurable improvement from this little baby.

You could say I liked it.

At this point, though, I'd like to offer a small word of caution. If you're on a budget, but serious about your sound/music, I'd urge you to buy this Freshman guitar, even if it means stretching a little. But I really do mean this particular model.

You see, after I'd had my wicked way with the "FA1ACD", I thought I'd have a quick look at the lower-priced (£199), solid spruce top, same electronics "FA1AN", which had received a 5-star "Best Buy" rating, (and gushing review), from the aforementioned "Total Guitar" magazine. Should be pretty good, I thought.

Oh dear, oh dear.....oh dear.

For the sake of saving £30, I now found myself playing what might as well have been a cardboard box with some wires attached to it. It felt so entirely "wrong", I'd have been barely worse off grabbing a sub-£60 'bargain basement' effort from Ebay. It was so bad...ach, no, I haven't got the energy for that line in weak gags tonight. Suffice to say, it was so damned horrible that it almost spoiled my earlier guitar-testing experience. Almost.

Being marginally reasonable, I'm perfectly prepared to consider that I happened to get my mitts on the only 'lemon' in the batch, or that "Total Guitar" were handed the finest example Freshman had ever made, but seriously, if you can bring yourself to pay what is roughly the cost of a mere 11 pints of Guinness (maybe 12?? I wouldn't know for sure - can't stand the stuff) , extra, the improvement in quality is staggering.

Now, if you'll just excuse me, I'm off to write a begging letter to the money fairy. If anyone could tell me her postcode, I'd be very, very grateful...??

Running Up That Hill

2008-06-03T22:58:00.004+01:00

Well, not exactly running, as such. Far too old and semi-decrepit for that sort of nonsense these days. Although there was, alas, some inadvisably-rapid, near-vertical descending of a repetitively joint-jarring nature - in order to catch a bus, to catch a (different) bus, to catch a train - the consequences of which are still causing minor niggles in the vicinity of my left knee - I curse the biological inevitability of the ageing process.

You see, about three weeks ago, I managed to escape for a couple of responsibility-free days to my favourite place in the whole country of Englandshire, Keswick. This involved a minor frenzy of walking-up-hills, serious digital camera abuse, and dealing with unseasonably-hot-sunshine-induced blisters - but then, that's what Compeed and ibuprofen were invented for, right?

The trip itself was great, if a little rushed, and mostly served its purpose, which was to let my mind try to sort out where I might be heading, and how I might get there, without the constant mundane domestic crises of single parenthood, (oh, right, I see, you've managed to bang your head on the table - again. Dearie me...), getting in the way. Hell, I even started humming some musical ideas to myself while tramping through the delightful scenery of Borrowdale, some of which probably leaked into the first bit of recording I've done in nearly 7 years (!) - currently available as a *free* download here.

It did, however, also lead to many enticing thoughts of unethically-selfish behaviour on my part. Hauling myself onto the bus back to Penrith was harder than I'd expected - and not just because of the previously-mentioned muscle-crunching exercise. No, this was more of a reaction to the lingering, "Without prior consultation, someone decided to take a unilateral decision regarding my future, confounding all/any plans and expectations I might have had - so why shouldn't I behave exactly the same way?" thoughts that were meandering around inside my head. I am, of course, far too boringly responsible to act on any of them...which brings me, (quite smoothly, I reckon), onto the question of "Happiness?" I posed in my last (yeah, I know, almost been a month, ho hum) blog entry - and I'd just like to thank everyone who responded via email & ArseBook, (I didn't seriously expect any comments here, to be honest!), especially for the depth and sincerity with which they addressed the issue. You're all lovely, brilliant & perfectly wonderful in every way.

What I found most interesting is that no concensus whatsoever emerged. Indeed, people who, (according to the type of social statistics I used to bury myself in at university), might be expected to be very similar, were diametrically opposed in their responses. It was quite sad, in fact, to discover that while one of my friends felt that it would take one specific thing to make them happy, it was an absence of (and no desire for) that very same thing that contributed directly to another friend's enjoyment of life. On a less serious note, there was a fairly even split between folk who saw themselves as generally "contented", with sporadic outbreaks of "happiness", and those who said they were "happy", but not "contented" - the latter either because they were still having fun while making the best of a 'less-than-ideal-but-improvable' situation, or they felt that "contentment" would mean they had lost the drive to develop/challenge themselves sufficiently.

Being aware of what changes to make, how to bring them about, and having sufficient control over these factors certainly seemed to increase most respondents' optimism, however happy they thought they were presently. (Yep, what a surprise, "uncertainty" is a b@st@rd...I'll be mentioning 'the defecatory habits of ursine mammals with regards to thick collections of growing trees', next...)

Coincidentally, the May 24th edition of "New Scientist" had some interesting snippets on the topic of "happiness", including a nice graph illustrating the finding that, in spite of differences in income and era, the proportion of people who self-identify as "very happy" remains virtually constant (about 30%). Personally, I reckon they've asked the wrong question when it comes to money - if they'd looked at who was "(very) unhappy" instead, then I think they'd have easily proved the old (yesterday lunchtime) dictum: "Money can't buy you happiness, but it sure makes misery a damn sight more comfortable. Now pass me the 21-year old Springbank and the cigars...".

(Some articles supporting this assertion can be found here. I know they're from the New York Times, but they are still capable of being right once in a while...)

Trouble is, obviously, there's no easy definition of "happiness" that we'll all agree on, nor is there really a satisfactory method for measuring it. Which possibly defeats my original purpose in asking the questions, (not to mention rendering all this even more meaningless than usual)...?

As for me, well, to be brutally honest, apart from brief happy interludes (playing with the kids, music, etc), I'm pretty miserable - not that I'm letting-on to the kids, naturally. It's a modestly comfortable kind of miserable by western standards, sure - sitting here in a nice wee broadband-enabled flat, with plenty of food in the cupboards, hot and cold running electricity, and two great-when-they-want-to-be healthy children. My essential problem is that I'm very much a hard-wired team player. I like sharing the good stuff - which made the Keswick trip, great as it was, ultimately unsatisfying - musically I'm more of an accompanist (with occasional flashy bits), than a screaming lead egomaniac. That sort of thing. I'm also, unfortunately, stuck in a horse-and-a-half town with no real opportunities to change my current singularity, and no forseeable escape route.

Ho hum.

Still, could be a hell of a lot worse. I'm not a woman, born into an authoritarian, theocratic culture. And for that I'm unbelievably grateful.

A Question Of Balance

2008-05-11T00:14:00.001+01:00

A conversation earlier today with my good friend, Martin Lennon, sparked my brain momentarily out of its current sleep-deprived state (who the hell was it said that 18-month-olds' sleeping patterns improve with age?), and set me pondering (as I'm unfortunately prone to do, especially when something needs to be done).

So I'd like to ask anyone who's reading this a couple of serious questions:

1) Are you happy?

2) If so, why? Alternatively, if not, what are you doing/what do you think you personally can/need to do, in order to become happy?

All comments, anonymous or otherwise, gratefully received.

I hope this doesn't sound overly-personal and intrusive - I'm genuinely trying to come to a better understanding of how other people view the notion of being 'happy', or how that can be achieved. One of the things Martin & I touched on was the problem of distinguishing the subtle boundaries between factors affecting us that are entirely outwith our personal control; those that may have arisen unwittingly, or unforeseeably, from decisions or actions we took in the past (which seemed like the best possible at the time); and those where an opportunity for 'happiness' is within an individual's grasp, if only they were prepared to suffer the necessary short-term consequences in order to attain it.

We also spouted a fair bit of blather and nonsense, it must be said, but then that's probably what we do best...it's a survival strategy born of many years of "function-band-stress" necessity.

For myself, I can't honestly give any answers right now. Too much uncertainty, too many variables, and, as mentioned above, currently nowhere near enough processing power available...dab hand with the old quick-sidestep-plausible-excuse, me.

Seriously though, if people could take the time to respond, that'd be great - even those who've been sadly misdirected by the all-powerful Google and its ilk. My current favourite search entry that's found it's way here: "how to make a biscuit tin banjo", from someone based in Luton, England. (In fact, adding 'England' there was entirely superfluous, since there's only one "Luton" in the whole world - quite possibly one more than the world actually needs, but that's another debate entirely.)

Hopefully there'll be something more amusing next time round...

Santa Claus Is Coming To Town

2008-05-03T16:08:00.004+01:00

Been a while, hasn't it? Still, I thought I'd make up for my posting inconsistencies by having a shot at the "earliest gratuitous mention of Christmas in a supposedly music-orientated blog" record. But more on that later...

Recently, I decided to spread my online self even thinner by creating an "Andy Gilmour - Musician" (I've tried saying it to myself in a sonorous, deeply dramatic voice, but it still fails to sound remotely cool) page over at BumTome...oops, I mean ArsePamphlet... no, hang on, oh that's right, FaceBook. The stuff I've put on it is practically identical, I'm afraid, to that on my MySpace offering (sorry, nothing shiny and new as yet...yes, I'm ridiculously slow & useless, yes, I should get up off my arse and try harder, yes,yes, I know...sheesh!), but I have to say, although a lot of the features available are practically identical, ButtScroll still isn't as easy to modify and generally make spiffy for the budding on-line musical phenomenon as MyArse.

There's also a bit of a difference in the audience/membership of the sites, judging by which artists are most popular (in terms of 'fans') on each. Here's a "Top 20" comparison chart - (rounded) 'fan' numbers will have changed by the time anyone reads this, but the rankings should be pretty much the same:

FaceBook................................ MySpace
1 Daft Punk (167,000) .....................Tila Tequila (3.053million)
2 Linkin Park (155k).........................T.I. (1.989m)
3 Justin Timberlake (149k).............Fall Out Boy (1.823m)
4 Dave Matthews Band (148k)........Kate Voegele (1.493m)
5 Chris Brown (143k)........................Panic At The Disco (1.398m)
6 Pink Floyd (134k)...........................Rihanna (1.344m)
7 Avril Lavigne (124k)......................50 cent (1.150m)
8 Radiohead (122k)............................Avril Lavigne (1.117m)
9 Amy Winehouse (116k).................Sherwood (1.113m)
10 Coldplay (108k)............................Linkin Park (1.108m)
11 Foo Fighters (106k).....................Chris Brown (1.105m)
12 Jonas Brothers (106k).................Justin Timberlake (1.052m)
13 Evanescence (104k).....................Diddy (1.041m)
14 Red Hot Chili Peppers (96k).......Fergie (1.040m)
15 Miley Cyrus (85k)........................My Chemical Romance (1.037m)
16 Jack Johnson (82k).......................Eminem (1.008m)
17 Bob Marley (82k)..........................AFI (968k)
18 Beyoncé (79k)................................Beyoncé (932k)
19 Madonna (75k)..............................Metallica (844k)
20 Pearl Jam (74k).............................Paramore (799k)

(apologies for my lack of clever html table-coding abilities - the original tabulation worked fine on the MySpace blog)

Apart from Beyoncé's weirdly identical chart placing, even a cursory glance at the names on each list suggests two things: AssVolume members are, on average, slightly older, but no less susceptible to trite pop pap. Also, if you want to become popular on either site, having perky breasts and/or a hefty marketing budget clearly doesn't hurt.

Personally, I have no bleedin' idea what people see in Justin Timberlake - thin reedy voice, mediocre beat-boxing, he's been trained since infancy to be as bland as (in)humanly possible (Disney, 'N Sync), and with the peachfuzz 'beard' he resembles nothing so much as a 12-year old in a bad nativity play - or, indeed, the whiny, angst-lite (tm), genetically-modified Bratz-doll that is Avril Lavigne, but that's just me... (Oh, and don't get me started on the likes of Linkin Park...)

Anyway, dragging myself away from a futile rant about the nature of the music marketplace, and back to the original topic (sort of).

Wondering what to get the bass player in your life next Christmas? Looking for that special gift, the one that says "I love your bottom-end" like no other? Well, I might just have the solution...

Once upon a time, I'd have simply said "Buy them a Behringer DI100". In fact, I'd still recommend that every - seriously, every - musician should have one of these little life-savers in their gig bags. Singers - want to gain infinite kudos from your fellow band members, the ones who are oh-so-envious because all you usually have to do is cart around a microphone, an oh-so-heavy collapsible stand and (maybe) an XLR cable? (See, you don't just get all the attention during the gig, you also have the least to pack up afterwards, meaning more schmoozing time. We're jealous - and that's not good for band morale. Really not).

Next time someone's treasured piece of vital stage gear fails dramatically in the middle of a song, just whip out your freshly-purchased Behringer box-o'-wonders, and they'll love you. No, they will. There's been a few times my trusty little (and very cheap!) D.I. has saved collective backsides when (very expensive) amplifiers and/or multi-effects processors have died at extremely awkward moments. Yes, it won't sound exactly the same, but if it's a case of the show not going on... oh, and you can never rely on the P.A. guy/venue having sufficient/spare D.I. boxes. That's making an assumption, that is.

For a bass player, however, I've finally found something even better. Save up your pennies, and treat them to a Hartke Bass Attack pre-amp! (Assuming they don't have one already, that is. If they do, well, you're stuffed. Sorry.)

I finally got my hands on one of these fantastic stomp-boxes about a month ago (I know, they've been on the market for years - I'm a bit behind the times), and I can't begin to describe adequately just how bloody good it is. So I won't. All I'll say is that if you own a medium-quality, reasonably cheap bass, and you've been wondering about spending a significant wodge of cash on an upgrade, then don't. Save yourself the financial agony, buy the Hartke unit instead - you'll be amazed. This clever piece of kit (did I mention it can be phantom powered?) can take an average bass, and make it sound like the high-end, unattainable lust-instrument of your dreams!

No, seriously, I thought that, (after 18 years of playing), I'd got a reasonably decent bass sound from my gear, but within half-an-hour of plugging into the Bass Attack I realised just how wrong I had been.

"Ok", you might say, "It's a really cool item, but it's a bit more than I really want to spend. Tell me, Andy, how might I afford one, so as to make my beloved bass player happier than John McCain watching the Democrats' nomination struggle?"

Ah, 'tis a hard path, but a simple one, I'm afraid. Abstemiousness. Self-denial. Giving up something you like, in order to get something you really want. We've almost all got obvious little fripperies, luxuries, sources of not-strictly-necesary expenditure we could cut back on if we try hard enough. It could be smoking less, or choosing not to use the car for short journeys that we could easily make on foot instead (any Americans reading this?)...for me, it was chocolate. I like the good stuff, which means, unfortunately, also the more expensive stuff. But to help my personal budget along, it's had to go. I wouldn't say it hasn't been hard, at times...like right now, where I've got a severe dose of the 'Man-Flu', and the mental image of biting into a bar of Green & Black's finest just fills my...oh, sorry. Went off a bit there. Sorry. Won't happen again.

Being, again, quite serious, something as small (and sickly, frankly) as a "Mars Bar" can cost anything from about 36p upwards a time. If you bought one such sugary snack a day, then you'd have paid the price of the Bass Attack pre-amp in 167 days! (Based on the lowest price I could find on-line, including delivery, but you might be able to get it for less - I only paid £50 for mine - ex-demo, no box or instructions, but including power supply.) And there are, at time of writing, 235 days still to go until Christmas '08 is upon us! So you'd have enough change for wrapping-paper and a card.

Bass Attack VXL pre-amp from Hartke - because we're worth it.

Send In The Clowns

2008-04-09T23:00:00.002+01:00

Bit of a diversion tonight, albeit it a brief one, into the realm of the personal. I know, it’s the kind of self-indulgent, solipsistic non-content that I usually wouldn’t choose to strew across this page like so much disgusting, half-eaten McDonald’s almost-food cast aside on Dunfermline High Street late of a Saturday afternoon...but I feel the need to explain the current lengthy gaps between postings.

Life can be a strange learning experience. Sometimes it takes a severe shock to make you realise that, over the course of the last 15 to 20 years, and in a variety of contexts, you’ve slowly subsumed yourself so much into other people’s patterns of behaving and thinking (because it seemed like the best thing to do at the time, or what the assorted ’significant others’ wanted/expected/’needed’ from you, etc) that you’ve pretty much forgotten who ’you’ are. Or, indeed, once were - assuming that you’d ever begun to work it out in the first place.

Now, I appreciate that this is definitely the kind of issue that, (a bit like cancer, if we’re brutally honest - only in an infinitely more trivial and self-pityingly whingeing way, of course) - fits the tag, "Rich Countries’ Disease", perfectly. If you’re having to do a 5-mile round-trip to get to the nearest water supply that’s only partially contaminated with gastric parasites, then, frankly, you’ve got a lot more pressing things to deal with, and we, who sit warm and comfortable in front of our computer screens, moaning about our service provider’s paucity of service provision can’t even begin to imagine what such a life must be like.

Still, being possessed of a cosy modern existence, it’s the reason I’ve been far too self-absorbed, and anywhere-but-in-the-mood to come up with a dollop of vaguely-music-related ’humour’ so far this week.

Sometimes, again, it takes a severe shock to make you fully aware that the person you thought for nearly a decade was going to be your future, has decided instead that you have become part of their past - and did so some time ago.

I received that sort of shock last week. I was probably still partly in denial, trying to protect myself from the full implications of my marriage ending late last year. Now, that’s simply not an option. The disorientation from having a well-worn identity suddenly stripped-away has largely gone, but has left me having to confront my self-concept head-on.

I know who I was. It’s precisely who I am now, and who I might be that are proving more difficult to pin down.

So, sorry for not keeping-up any semblance of blogging regularity. Or gags. Promise I’ll try harder next time.

Bad Moon Rising

2008-04-01T00:59:00.004+01:00

[This blog is currently being brought to you in conjunction with pseudo-ephedrine - something I wouldn’t have touched back in the days when I was a competitive sporty type, but is now fully available for my personal use, and is doing an excellent job of keeping me upright.]

No gags today, for a change. If you’re ok with that, then we’ll begin...

Back in February, the Secretary-General of the United Nations, Ban Ki-moon issued a rather disturbing statement regarding freedom of expression:

"The Secretary-General strongly believes that freedom of expression should be exercised responsibly and in a way that respects all religious beliefs."

Now, this in itself wasn’t the most earth-shattering of news. His predecessor, Kofi Annan, had peddled an almost identical line, "...the freedom of the press should always be exercised in a way that fully respects the religious beliefs and tenets of all religions." So the current Sec-Gen. was just continuing with the party line, even if it was an utterly nonsensical and wholly impractical one in the first place. (I hope that no-one reading this would fail to understand the impossibility of complying with either statement? Quite apart from the inherent problem of deciding the order of precedence when faced with an enormous range of competing - often mutually exclusive - religious beliefs, it suggests that these beliefs belong to a unique category of ideas: ideas which should not be subjected to ’disrespect’, simply because they claim derivation from a supposedly ’divine’ source. Possibly more on this later, depends where this ends up going, and how much time I have).

Now, it could be argued in his defence that he was merely trying to make soothing noises to smooth down the feathers of various Islamic states, who were at the time in the grip of "Mo-toon fever" part 2. (And here, here, and here.) That, however, doesn’t address the already-detailed issues arising from the wording of the statement, or the question of to what extent any of us have an immediate right to be ’offended’. Things, unfortunately, have just become a bit worse...

The United Nations Human Rights Council have succumbed to pressure from the usual suspects to pass a (non-binding, thankfully) resolution regarding "Combating defamation of religions" (scroll down till that heading comes up). Part of the rigmarole contains this wonderful piece of utter cant from the Saudi Arabian representative (my italics throughout):

"ABDULWAHAB ABDULSALAM ATTAR (Saudi Arabia) said last year had witnessed a series of immoral practices targeting beliefs and cultures... It was regrettable that there were false interpretations of freedom of religion and expression. This must not lead to any hatred by touching on sacred teachings. There were teachings which had called for tolerance and acceptance. International instruments had guaranteed the right to expression, but had also placed obligations on everybody to exercise this right. This did not mean to ignore any prejudices against Muslims, as seen in the Western media. Saudi Arabia called for tolerance of all religions and called on the international community to respect Muslims and their feelings in accordance with all monotheistic religions. The draft resolution recalled the preservation of this respect."

Ah yes, that bastion of religious tolerance, Saudi Arabia, gets to decide what constitutes "immorality", "false interpretation of freedom of religion and expression", and the definition of "sacred teachings" - presumably including incontrovertible proof of their ’sacred’ nature. Nice. Glad to see such important concepts are in safe hands...

But what, you might ask, exactly does this have to do with musicians or the music industry (ostensibly the main subject of this blog)? Bear with me. We’ll get there...

Now, that might be yet another U.N. resolution we can all happily ignore, but then they also went and stuck the "Special Rapporteur" in charge of promoting / supporting freedom of expression with having "To report on instances in which the abuse of the right of freedom of expression constitutes an act of racial or religious discrimination …". Now that is binding, and some of the consequences are spelled-out here.

Again, we might not be too bothered if it was an isolated incident of U.N. internal political shenanigans - after all, the "Religious Defamation" resolution, for instance, would violate the U.S. constitution, so couldn’t possibly be applied over there. Except that (here in the UK, anyway), it’s just another part of what should be a rather worrying trend - especially for those of us in the creative arts.

We’ve seen the dear old Church of England do a u-turn on the repeal of the blasphemy laws (they suddenly decided they wanted something more specific installed in their place, something that would protect them from "disrespect"), and the Vatican joining up with Islam (yes, you read that correctly - two deeply antithetical belief systems working together) to fight "offences against religion", saying that freedom of expression should "not be taken as a pretext for offending religions, convictions, religious symbols and everything that is considered sacred." (Whether they now intend to retrospectively burn effigies of David Hume and stage widespread riots against his teachings is presently unknown. Ah. Sorry, that was a gag, which makes me a liar. Ah well, fires of hell for me, then...)

Then we have that lovely man, Cardinal Cormac Murphy O’Connor, calling for greater ’liberty of conscience’ for those of a religious bent, while at the same time seeking to impose his peculiar brand of ’ethics’ upon doctors. (Let’s not forget, whenever we’re considering the latest moral pronouncements of Cardinal O’Conman (sic), that he personally protected known paedophile priests while he was the Bishop of Arundel & Brighton. As I said, charming fellow).

Personally speaking, I have no truck with supernaturalisms of any sort (you’d probably guessed that much by this point). I do, however, support anyone’s right to believe whatever they want in private, even holocaust deniers (by their failed libel cases shall ye counter them). The difficulties start, inevitably, when someone takes it into their heads they have the right to tell everyone else how to live their lives, right down to the smallest detail, because their all-powerful, invisible deity (or deities, of course) - or, more usually, the book that has allegedly been written at that deity’s behest - has told them to...with a sliding-scale of prescribed punishments for heretics and non-adherents - ranging from mild social ostracism to death, depending on the deity / book in question. (e.g. The last person to be hanged for blasphemy in Scotland was Thomas Aikenhead, in 1697).

In which case, I reserve the right to subject their beliefs to the most rigorous scrutiny, and mock them roundly when they are patently absurd (e.g. ’Young Earth Creationism’, Scientology), or oppressive (e.g. Islamists, the Baptist "gays are an abomination" crowd, Ultra-Orthodox Jews who assault women on buses, etc,etc..there are far too many to mention in this category, though almost all of them seem to have it in for women to some degree). It would seem, though, that the assorted religions are starting to work together (against the evil secularists) so that they can have their cake and shovel it in like they’re genetically immune to obesity and heart disease.

And this is where it could affect we musicians (sorry it took so long to get here)...it’s clear they want a situation where it’s fine for them to preach whatever they wish from their beloved "sacred" texts, while stifling any criticism that they deem "disrespectful" of their beliefs. Ok, this isn’t going to be the greatest issue for your wee teeny-pop bands singing "Lovely, lovely lurve" songs, sure, but there are plenty of ’serious’ / ’political’ songwriters out there, and if the religionists continue to push this "demand for respect" agenda hard enough, we could well see artists being taken to court simply for telling the truth. And while it can be fantastic publicity (and a bit of a giggle) to have a few fundies standing outside a gig protesting, the threat of serious legal bills will scare a lot of record companies into censoring their output (c.f. Janet Jackson’s ’superbowl nipple’).

Quite aside from that, and the (very real) possibility of death threats from the extreme end of the spectrum, it’s worth remembering that no matter where you live, your material is almost certainly available in territories with very different beliefs & laws, which could also affect touring considerations, particularly when it comes to the cost of public liability insurance, or venue security - and not just along the obvious lines of "avoid religious states", either. Who could forget the ’fun’ the Birmingham Rep. Theatre had a few years back, when some Sikhs decided they were "offended" by the play, "Behzti" ?

Yes, I know it hasn’t happened yet, but there’s a very real threat to our freedom of expression looming on the horizon. To (badly) rehash a famous (and apparently highly variable) poem:

"First they came for the Cartoonists, but I was not a Cartoonist, so I said nothing...."

Name Of The Game

2008-03-27T21:54:00.002Z

My dear friend Martin has been a very busy chap with his songwriting recently, and is in the process of putting a band together with which to inflict them upon the good citizens of Edinburgh (for starters - next stop Auchterarder!). Alas, he has been struck by the eternal quandary - what to call the damned thing?

My first response (being one of those conscripted for the project) was that, since he’s the front man, and has written all the material, maybe we should just go out under his name? This has, it must be said, worked perfectly well for a great many highly successful artists and their audiences. As a punter, you pretty much know what brand you’re getting (even if it is that inadvisable mid-career shift into Balinese folk-orientated yodelling that’s been the downfall of so many...), and I’ve not heard too many people complaining that Peter Gabriel’s / John Martyn’s / K.T. tunstall’s / even Katie Melua’s (the ultimate example of "The bland leading the band"...? oh yes, madam, had to work hard to get a gag that bad in, but always worth the effort) etc,etc backing musicians’ names and fizzogs weren’t plastered all over the gig poster/album cover/etc.

We ’backing musicians’ (c’mon, I’m a bass player, and don’t suffer from delusions of grandeur - I know my place! ) also tend not to be quite as ’pretty’ or otherwise appealing / ’interesting’ as the star attraction (i.e. we can nip off to the loo without being followed by photographers trying to catch a glimpse of us with our kecks round our ankles, busily snorting the rim-block...not that I’ve ever been involved in anything of that nature, goodness me, no ), so can have a long-term musical existence without the attendent loss of personal privacy. (Of course in my case, this is achieved by an almost complete absence of commercial ’success’. Or, in fact, any current recording/gigging profile at all. Me own fault for spawning progeny, I reckons...).

Another reasonable naming option would be to follow the jazz example, and go down the "Martin Lennon Trio / Quartet / Stonking Great Massively Expensive Band" route, although it’s not really appropriate for the rootsy / bluesy / dirt-under-yer-collar style of music. Which is a shame, because I had such high hopes for "The Martin Lennon Jolly Minstrel Three", I really did.

The trouble is, since he’s going to insist upon subsuming his identity within a group (which isn’t necessarily a bad thing - I like the first Tin Machine album, I really do! ), I’m not going to be much use to him when it comes to the name-calling - anything serious I try to come up with sounds either incredibly portentously idiotic, or simply totally genre-inappropriate...usually both. As a result, my ideas always collapse, rapidly, into the realms of unfit-for-purpose daftness and inanity - as you’re (inevitably - you probably guessed where this post was heading a while back, didn’t you?) about to find out.

Here, (in best Blue Peter tradition), are a few I made earlier that have been callously spurned and rejected (often by me, the instant after they leapt, unbidden, into my head ). In most cases it should be fairly obvious as to why:

"Age Before Beauty", "All Our Own Hair", "The Prostrate Prostates", "Sanatogen Supermen", "Moobs Alert", "Early-Bird Buffet Gigolos", "One Big Slipper" (in case there’s still somebody, somewhere in the world, who doesn’t know this gag, it’s a Billy Connolly routine which I’m sadly unable to provide a YouTube link for), "Shouting At The Radio", "Applied Gerontology Unit"...all disqualified for possibly being accurate descriptions of the physically ’mature’ nature of the band members...

Of course, it’s just going to be massively downhill from there...let’s start the next lot by going a little bit ’metal’ (although let’s be honest, it’s almost an un-parody-able genre, so one small addition to the canon should suffice):

"Demon Whores of the 13th Circle", "Slightly Soiled", "Your Cousin’s Old Enough" (a little too ’Country’..? ), "Braw Neeps" (a Scottish "Smashing Pumpkins" tribute band), "Spam Tackle" (as in the nearly-meat-like foodstuff, rather than vexatious junk email), "Portaloo Sunrise", "Fiddler At The Doors of Dusk", "Too Much Tongue (for your Mama)", "Accidental Mouthful of Frogspawn", "Koala Rampage"...I’ll stop there - it’s for the best.

N.B. All these names are, as far as I’ve been able to ascertain, free and available for anyone who wants ’em. Although you know that does mean you’re probably borderline certifiable, ok? I wonder what Martin will think of the great album title I’ve got for him - "The Sheep Stands Up On Leith Walk" ? Sounds like a winner to me...

Somewhere But Yesterday

2008-03-18T00:51:00.004Z

*WARNING*

The following post contains material that could be described as "prog-tastic", "prog-errific", and even "prog-tabulous". This may cause distress to small children, domestic animals, and anyone with a known risk of anaphylactic shock upon hearing the words "25-minute track", "concept album", or "if you like early Genesis, you’ll love this". The author shall not be held responsible for any ill effects brought on by the further reading of this post (including headaches, nausea, dizziness, flatulence, sudden growth of improbable facial hair, ’air-drumming’ in 7/4, believing that Jon Andersons’s lyrics actually make sense, becoming strangely unattractive to 99.53% of the population, failing to realise that "Thick As A Brick" was Ian Anderson taking the piss [brilliantly, it has to be said], and feeling strangely cheated when a song only has two (or fewer) oblique references to:
a) semi-apocryphal figures from ancient history
b) ’astral projection’ [or any other equally-unproven ’supernatural’ phenomenon]
c) ’The Lord of The Rings’.)

Right then - not my fault from here on in, so don’t try blaming me if you develop an overwhelming urge to buy the entire Gentle Giant back catalogue.

14 years (you have no idea how much it hurt writing that) after the release of Citizen Cain’s album "Somewhere But Yesterday" (no, not a clue, I had no responsibility for the titles, song lyrics, etc), I was cheerfully searching away for something entirely unrelated when I stumbled upon one of my fellow ’ex-Citizens’ - Alistair MacGregor, guitarist extraordinaire, who emigrated to Ozland soon after the album was done, and is now a full-time function band muso - and doing very well, too by the looks of it...

This, of course, brought back all sorts of memories - completely knackering, thrice-weekly band rehearsals in (drummer) Nick’s basement, down in the ’peeling-and-fading-Victorian-seaside-resort charms’ of Portobello; sometimes struggling with the 85% of the basslines (’where the feck’s it going next? aaarggh!’) that were written by Stewart, the (musically hyperactive) keyboard player; and above all else, the great month we spent out at Splitlevel Studios recording the damned thing.

Admittedly, this did involve a lot of sitting around, listening intently for tiny variations between mixes...which, when one of the tracks does, indeed, run for over 25 minutes - there’s a lesson in there, maybe - can feel as if entire years of your life have ebbed away through the control-room floor...but then for that same track, there was the childish fun of building an unfeasibly large and (dangerously) unstable pile of everything unbreakable I could lay my hands on in the studio, just so that we could create as ’authentic’ a sound of a garden wall being demolished as possible. Being a musician can be *such* hard work, sometimes.

[Would you believe that the last copy of this album I saw on Amazon UK was going for over £60??
Nice to see someone making some money out of it at last]

Then there was the night we finished-up just in time to spend half-an-hour standing around outside, completely oblivious to the cold, gazing up in awe at the Leonids meteor shower (Splitlevel is outside Edinburgh, and round one side of the cottages you can be almost entirely shielded from light pollution, so the effect was pretty spectacular). Appropriately for a prog band, our sense of timing was "most bonus", as Neil, (producer, and owner of Splitlevel) was wont to say.

It was also the only occasion my flute tootling has been recorded for posteriority - all 20 seconds or so of it. Mind you, it is the only real bit of flute on the album - the rest was all done by Stewart using samples - not that any of the reviews it’s had over the years spotted the difference, which says a lot about...er..something. Either the reviewers’ ears, my playing, or the quality of synthetic woodwind in the early 90’s. And since it couldn’t possibly be my playing, well...

I’m still slightly bemused by some of the (often bizarrely over-the-top positive) things people have said about it (yeah, I’ve ’googled’ it - a bit sad & needy, yes, but then it’s the only "proper" CD I've made), and I hate the lazy Mike Rutherford comparisons (I’ve never been much of a fan of his, to be honest) some folk have made when it came to the bass playing (doesn’t sound anything like him...well, except for those bits where it sort of does...but I didn’t write those bits), but my personal favourite comment I’ve come across thus far is:

"WOOOORGH! This is it! - Utter utter prog - on toast! - In progginess terms this is drinking undiluted Ribena from the bottle!"

Is it entirely surprising they’re from Holland?

Still, maybe there’s more to this ’ex-proggers-in-function bands’ business than meets the eye...Alistair’s doing the business in Ultra Violet, both Nick & I were in WildGeese...

If you ever find yourself on a cruise ship, and come across a wee (slightly podgy, with a receding hairline) keyboard player, who occasionally slips bits of Marillion in to alleviate his boredom, well...you never know...? And if he’s working in a duo with a guy who sings ’60’s standards’ in the style of early Peter Gabriel...

p.s. I love prog. Give me great steaming wodges of it, church organs, complex time signature-changes, massive pretensions and all. Sorry, just felt that needing saying, in case I’d given the wrong impression above. I even still enjoy listening to "Somewhere But Yesterday" - even the bit where I got my part right, while Stewart’s playing was slightly off, but it ends-up sounding like I’m the one who cocked up. Not at all annoyed about that, even after (sigh) 14 years.

What's Going On?

2008-03-09T01:17:00.001Z

Evening all, (and perhaps even sundry). Been a while, hasn't it? This blog nonsense of mine is becoming almost as rare as Scotland beating England at rugby - oh, but hang on, that's exactly what happened today - and far more comprehensively than the scoreline suggested, too. Anyway, I'm writing this at the behest of my mate Martin, (who finally has some of his great new songs on-line!), although I must say he seems to be in something of a 'minority of one' where my blogging's concerned - I've hacked-out 39 posts, about 600-odd (very odd) individual folk have visited from over 20 countries (only 19 States of America to date though, but I have had contact from Aruba!), and nobody (except him) bothered to have a stab at the "Classic Soul Quiz Question"...

Ah well. I'm secretly working on some vague musical ideas of my own, which might eventually wend their way myspace-wards, and since I only have very limited time - after the kids are in bed and the flat is showing a passing acquaintance with the concept of tidiness, but before my eyes start closing involuntarily - something has to give way. 'Something' most likely being these witterings - but then, the viewing stats suggest that won't be the greatest loss the world has ever suffered...

Ok, then. Well, before I offer up the answer (that has precisely zero people in a hystrionic frenzy of antici...............pation!), a quick mention of something else that's largely Martin's fault.

Apparently, I'm in a King Crimson-related video on YouTube. Not, unfortunately, in any kind of impressive-performing-of-difficult-music sense, rather footage of a 1973/74 line-up King Crimson reunion-cum-Discipline Global Mobile album launch in London back in 1997. Martin (who had been fab and secured the tickets) and I traipsed down there on the night bus from Edinburgh, an unusually unpleasant, (not to mention almost entirely sleep-free) experience, complete with a 'Night Of The Living Dead' stop-off halfway-down the M6. (Not the most exciting zombie flick ever made - a bus-load of brain-dead semi-humans shuffles across a motorway bridge in search of the service station café, where they consume cups of an unidentifiable brown sludgy liquid in complete silence, before re-tracing their steps, and vanishing southwards into the night. About as interesting as an Andy Warhol movie, only with better dialogue and acting.)

Anyway, for anyone who's daft enough to want to see it (and to be fair, there are some snatches of Mr. Fripp being humourous, Tony Levin playing a Ned Steinberger EUB, John Whetton playing acoustic guitar and singing "Book of Saturday" in a most impressive manner, which are worth a gander), click here! I make several appearances in the last 30 seconds (starting at about 9'30"), chatting with Tony Geballe (who's a great guitarist, and a very nice man!), and asking Tony Levin a question of such spectacular banality, it's a good thing the audio track fails to pick it up. In case there's any confusion, I'm wearing a light reddish-brown 'ethnic' collarless shirt (my favourite shirt for over a decade!), and have severely short hair (I'd just had my shoulder-length ponytail chopped-off, and remember still being very aware of its absence - it's surprising just how much heat insulation hair can provide). Oh, to be 11 years younger again...

That'll do with the procrastination, onwards to the Great Answer!! What was it that all those incredible soul/funk artists had (still have, at time of writing) in common?

None of them ever had a 'number one' hit record in the UK.

Yes, yes, less than earth-shattering, but at least slightly surprising, I hope you'll agree? And yes, I know - they were much bigger stars in the USA, but still...

It all started when another (I've got a couple of spares locked away in the attic) mate of mine, Neil, and I were idly browsing around on the ChartStats website, and he thought he'd find out exactly how big a hit Aretha Franklin's "Chain of Fools" had been. Imagine our shock (and a little bit of awe), when it transpired that this all-time classic had scaled the dizzy heights of...number 37!! This spurred us on to further investigation into the record-buying habits of the British public - "Respect" only made number 10, "Think" got to 26, and "Spanish Harlem" up to 14. (Now, it could be claimed that she did, in fact, make the top spot - but only thanks to 1987's [terrible] George Michael vehicle "I Knew You Were Waiting (For Me)", and that's almost as far from 'classic soul' as it gets, so it was disqualified...)

I decided that this was a topic worth pursuing (there was nothing on telly the next evening), and the more I looked for details of 'classic' songs, the stranger it got - the original release of "My Girl" by The Temptations spent a single week in the chart, stalling at number 43. (It did, however, finally get them up to no.2 in 1992, thanks to Dan Ackroyd's cloyingly dreadful film of the same name...sorry, but I think I'm actually physically allergic to Macaulay Culkin). Their 1973 version (arguably the best-known?) of "Papa Was A Rolling Stone" bailed out at no.14. "Soul Man" couldn't get Sam and Dave higher than no. 24 in 1967. That oft-requested-at-gigs ode to utter despair, "Sitting On the Dock of The Bay" came closer, reaching no.3, a position equalled in 1970 when Edwin Starr questioned the utility of "War". "Dancing in the Streets" needed two bites of the cherry (no.28 in 1964) to climb to no.4 for Martha & the Vandellas in 1969. Still, that's better than the "Godfather of Soul" ever managed.

Unbelievably (to me, anyway), James Brown's biggest hit was "Living In America", which peaked at no.5 in 1986. This was a feat that Brummie comedian Jasper Carrott had achieved 11 years previously with "Funky Moped". In fact, 1975 was a fine year for 'funky'-themed comedy songs, because The Goodies got one place higher singing "Funky Gibbon" (a true classic in its own right, it has to be said!). 1966's "I Got You" fizzled out at a pretty miserable no. 29, and "Get Up (I Feel Like Being A Sex Machine)" - not the world's greatest song title, really - collapsed at a distinctly unsexy no. 32, four years later.

And then we can turn to the artists that only hit the top spot once, in spite of many classic songs to their names - The Supremes, for instance, with "Baby Love" (first time around, in 1964), Smokey Robinson ("Tears of a Clown"), or Marvin Gaye (it should be obvious which song it was in his case). Sticking with the sublime Mr. Gaye, "(Sexual) Healing" may have (briefly) touched no.4, but how come "Let's Get It On" only made it as high as no.31? And as for the great song that's the title of this post...an incredible number 80...!?! Even Stevie Wonder, for all his earlier brilliance, had to wait until 1984's (frankly, musically quite tedious with anodyne lyrics) "I Just Called To Say I Love You" before he got an actual chart-topper.

It's made all the worse when you realise that back in the "classic soul" era, (1971 to be precise), "Chirpy Chirpy Cheep Cheep" by Middle of The Road, (where's a lorry with failed brakes when you need one?), spent five whole weeks at no. 1 (and more than 8 bloody months in the chart, finally dropping-out at no. 48).

What the hell were my parents' generation thinking?

Still, we did redeem ourselves slightly when, in 1984, the nightmarish combination of Janet Jackson and Cliff Richard teamed up to offer us the sheer unmitigated horror of "Two To The Power". How did it fare?

Three weeks in the charts, with a high point of no. 83.

So we aren't completely devoid of taste, after all...

Before I go, I've always wanted to start an internet rumour (the more ridiculous the better), and since controversial politics seems to be the only way to draw attention to oneself these days, I offer you this (please feel free to pass it on to anyone you think might be half-way gullible enough):

There was a YouTube video that was uploaded on Feb 29th, that featured Barack Obama, tied to an office chair, being spanked, whipped and generally dominated by a leather-clad Hillary Clinton, while a third person, whose physique appeared identical that of John McCain (wearing only a gimp mask and a pair of powder-blue socks) watched. (Always include little details like the colour of the socks - the conspiracy nuts love that sort of thing). The video was only online for a matter of minutes before it got pulled, and neither YouTube, nor any of the alleged participants, have been willing to answer questions about it. Three of the major US networks are 'known' (a favourite 'woo'-believers word) to have copies of the footage, but since they're part of the 'mainstream media keep-us-in-the-dark, protect-the-establishment' conspiracy, they're denying all knowledge of its existence. All links, etc, to the video have, naturally, been deleted by those who are 'in control' of the web...

Now, who can prove it didn't happen?

All the best, for the time being, from this small corner of sub-standard reality.

Sleepless

2008-02-28T00:21:00.002Z

Dear folks who read these blurblings from time to time, (or stumble across them by accident, and stare at the fish-bass-wielding author's picture with a mixture of bewilderment and disappointment, thinking "huh? This isn't 'the difference between bflat and double bflat tuba'. Man, [insert your most detested search engine here] sucks!" - a genuine search query, by the way, that saw some poor Parisian thrown in the direction of my nonsense), I'm afraid that if you were expecting this to be the usual, insomnia-conquering mountain of prose, then I'm going to disappoint you. (cue sound f.x. of crowd cheering wildly, 21-gun salute, fireworks, etc.)

Owing to 'mini-primate no.2' failing to sleep for more than 3 hours at a time (that being an absolute maximum ) for the last couple of weeks, I'm currently experiencing a complete absence of energy, creativity, and motivation - especially when both the kids are finally in bed, and I've got time to sit down and inflict this nonsense on the world. I had a relatively interesting (I thought) topic all researched and raring to go, along with a couple of other bits and pieces that might have been mildly amusing, but every time I've sat down...ahhhh..what was the point? Why bother? Have some mental vegetating time instead...which is desperately self-indulgent, self-pitying, and highly indisciplined (apparently there are 'specialist practitioners' who can provide 'stern correction' for the latter problem, but I'm not a great fan of pain, and they can be, so I am told, quite expensive...personal trainers, I mean. Who else could you possibly have been thinking of? ).

While we're on the subject of mini-primates, I got a bit of a shock a couple of days ago...you see, I assumed (never a good start) that, after all the nappy-changing experience I've had, nothing that burst forth from a baby's bum could mount a serious assault on my olfactory senses. "Surely", I (foolishly) thought, "Surely I must be innured to the smell of poo by now, yea even that which is most noisomely pungent, and in its noxiousness can be likened only to a rotting marmoset, or some other such creature of low habits and base uncleanliness". (Apologies for possibly besmirching the reputation of all marmosets, who may well be most fastidious in their habits regarding hygiene - it just sounded like a good 'comedy animal' name...). Well, tiny man proved me oh-so-very-very-wrong - several times over the course of the day, in fact - with offerings that smelled so acrid I almost lost all of my appetite for chocolate (! )...along with the remnants of my last couple of meals. Quite incredible what chemicals these kids can synthesise in their guts...and a little worrying, considering he eats exactly what I do - so I haven't exactly got anyone else (or their food) to blame.

Now, before anyone accuses me of exaggeration (perish the thought!), I've dealt with some very pungent odours in my time - clearing-out a blocked drain at the back of a tenement block in Edinburgh, elbow-deep in a mixture of other people's chip-pan grease and hair, springs to mind (partly because I did it more than once - well, it was either that, or pay inordinate sums of cash to a plumber), as does having to replace a toilet outflow pipe that had slowly become fully 'backed-up' over the course of several days. A period, alas, when no-one in the house was suffering from constipation... Yet even that was no match for a toddler's nappy...!

Right, going to end this small slice of irrelevance with a literal 'pop' quiz:

What do Aretha Franklin, Sly & The Family Stone, Edwin Starr, The Temptations, Al Green, Sam & Dave, Gladys Knight (with all, any, or even none of her 'Pips'), Wilson Pickett, The Isley Brothers, Otis Redding, Martha & The Vandellas, and James Brown all have in common ? (apart from the bleedin' obvious, naturally )

All shall be revealed (although most of you probably know the answer already, in which case it'll be a huge anticlimax - mind you, that might be compensated-for by your feelings of vast smugness at being a know-it-all smarty-pants - who can say? ) in my next post, which should appear (everything standing as it does, currently)...ohh..I don't know?..sometime before christmas?

All Lovers Are Deranged

2008-02-15T00:43:00.003Z

"Roses are red, violets are blue,
I'm 'romantically-challenged', how about you?"

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. Yes, the horrendous trial-by-greetings card that is the 14th of February has reared its ugly little head, and half the world seems swathed in pink and red. Sales of helium-filled balloon hearts, nauseatingly-cutesy teddy bears, anatomically-suggestive chocolates and (environmentally damaging? a couple of reports on supplies from Colombia and India) roses have had their annual peak, and, thanks also to that amazing invention, 'booze', some people (who on any other day stood no chance whatsoever) will tonight actually achieve their lifelong (so far) ambition of a "pity shag" from the otherwise entirely unobtainable object of their affections.

I always hated St. Valentine's Day when I was a teenager - when everyone around me would enquire "how many did you get?", while clutching an improbably large stack of envelopes, to which I'd (truthfully, but with sinking self-esteem) answer "Well, I got one"...but all the time I'd know, secretly, that it had been posted by my mum...and I've never really changed my mind about the whole concept. (For anyone wishing to recreate this 'hormones-and-acne' feeling for themselves by way of an experiment, I recommend listening to the "Dark Side of the Moon", for a general air of melancholy, while reading something like "A History of the Indians of the United States", by Angie Debo, for intermittent troughs of deeper gloom. But always keep a Billy Connolly cd at the ready, in case you take it just a little too far...).

So, in keeping with the spirit of the occasion, I thought I'd compile yet another song list, this time of tunes which are steadfastly opposed to the plastic schmaltz we're being bombarded with. What follows are ten of my (entirely personal) favourite "Dear retail outlet marketing department, yes, I'm a bit of a sad loser, kindly stop rubbing my face in it" tracks, ranging from 'mild yearning' through to 'downright scary', hopefully with a small stop-off at 'slightly wistful' along the way.

[Disclaimer: The author does not, at any time, claim that this is a 'definitive' list, or that these songs are, in any way,shape or form, somehow 'better' than alternative songs the reader may prefer (however lacking in musical taste the reader thusly may appear to be). He also denies any responsibility for the faint odour of 'cheese' that might surround one (or more) of his selections. He has a blocked-up nose, and anyway, was on holiday at the time when it didn't happen, so it must be all your fault instead. Glad we could clear that up so easily..]

1. WHY - Annie Lennox
Beautiful voice, beautiful song (co-written by ex-Jethro Tull keyboard player, Peter-John Vitesse in case anyone cared), wonderful words, and all very sad. A perfect start!

2. FOOL FOR YOUR LOVING - Whitesnake
Complete shuddering change of genre for this 1980 hit (it got to no.13) for David Coverdale's half-ex-Deep Purple, heavy-blues-rockers. Twin guitars, and Jon Lord's organ to boot - a rifftastic declaration of personal growth!

3. GUTE NACHT (video) - from 'Winterreise' (translation) by Franz Schubert
Ah, the cold!, the snow! - our poor hero has been cast out of his girlfriend's house, and is left to wander the icy paths in the darkness, wondering what the feck went wrong. Or something like that, anyway - maybe a trifle more nuanced, perhaps? This was my party piece (in days of yore), and I always loved that it had an opera's worth of emotion packed into less than 6 minutes. I still annoy the kids with a (now very poor) rendition from time to time...

4. I WANT YOU - Elvis Costello
This song seems quite pleasant at first, but slowly drags you into a deranged world of obsession and violent desire. The appropriately off-kilter (and out-of-tune) guitar solo perfectly fits the mood. Visceral and more than a little disturbing.

5. ANGELINE - John Martyn
A gentler tone here, the singer pleading with (mysterious? manipulative? plain annoying?) Angeline, imploring that whatever she chooses to do in the immediate future, "it really won't matter" as long as he can spend some precious time with her now. No matter the outcome, you just know it's going to end messily...

6. LOVE ON THE ROCKS WITH NO ICE - The Darkness
Forget the body-hugging spandex catsuits, make the effort to look beyond the double-entendres and jokiness of many of his songs, and you'll find that Justin Hawkins has a very fine (if quirky - and what's wrong with that?) way with lyrics. Here, he combines depressingly honest domestic detail with old-school rock- a damn hard trick to pull off, but one he manages with aplomb.

7. WE'RE GOING WRONG - Cream
The title pretty much says it all for this one! Not a great deal going-on lyrically, but Ginger Baker's slightly ominous, muted tom rolls build the musical tension expertly. Brilliantly claustrophobic.

8. HALLELUJAH JORDAN - Hothouse Flowers
A bouncy, rollicking, dance-yer-arse-off Irish-soul-band rendition of that age-old story: boy meets girl, girl decides to go off with flash git, boy drinks himself to death.

9. ONE OF MY TURNS - Pink Floyd
Now this was a tough choice. Soooo many Pink Floyd songs to choose from that could have made it into the list...but this (well, the first half, anyway, before it gets loud & psychotic) is probably Roger Waters at his bleakest. "Day after day, love turns grey, Like the skin of a dying man". Yep...if it's miserable you're after, that'll pretty much do it every time.

10. WASHING OF THE WATER - PETER GABRIEL
There are very few songs which have ever moved me to tears. This continues to be one of them. (YouTube video here)

Well. That's probably enough jollity and romantification to be getting-on with until next February 14th. Not that I've got anything against all the folk who are happily paired (or tripled? quadrupled? I'm not judging) off, and adore the whole "hearts 'n' flowers" thing. Oh no. It's a wonderful country to be in...I just seem to have left my passport in the pocket of my other jacket...

p.s. 10 'muso' points to anyone who recognises the source for this post's title without using Google!

p.p.s. In the spirit of 'always wanting to go back and tinker some more with the effects settings' that I'm hopelessly prone to, I've been picking-over this list for the last couple of days. Trouble is, there are so many great 'love going wrong', 'love gone wrong', and 'love gone wrong, come back again and man, was that a mistake!' songs that I couldn't help wondering whether these were properly representative of...umm...me, I suppose. Here, then, are a few alternative takes, any one of which might have made its way onto the album:

11. PIBROCH (CAP IN HAND) - Jethro Tull
One of Ian Anderson's many fine stories where, to quote the man himself, "he never quite gets the girl". In this instance, our simple hero, having finally summoned-up the courage to declare his hand, tragically discovers that he's too late...

12. SHE'S LEAVING ME BECAUSE SHE REALLY WANTS TO - Lyle Lovett
Again, a very hard choice to make. It could have been the cool cynicism of "M-O-N-E-Y", or something sad, yet hard, like "Black and Blue"...but in the end, it just had to be this one. This guy (who is, to my over-tired and malfunctioning mind, anyway, the country equivalent of Elvis Costello) always writes cleverly, elegantly, and honestly.

13. WATER OF LOVE - Dire Straits
Forget the world-straddling stadium tours, the hordes of 'Princess Di'-lookalike fans, the mounds of discarded sweatbands - when they first emerged, blinking, into the cold light of the UK music scene, Dire Straits played stripped-down, 'who cares if it's cool?' guitar music with what might be termed 'mild case of urban depression' lyrics. Although quite what the lines "Took a stone from my soul, when I was lame, Just so you could make me tame" (in 'Six-Blade Knife') mean, I haven't a bleedin' clue. If anyone out there can shed some light on this...please?? anyone??

14. HERE'S A QUARTER (CALL SOMEONE WHO CARES) - Travis Tritt
We all have different ways of responding when a relationship falls apart....

15. CHICKS DIG JERKS - Marblehead Johnson (aka the late, great, Bill Hicks)
Just thought I'd finish off with something to make us blokes feel better...sort of. (You can listen to this track here.) For anyone unfortunate enough not to be aware of the brilliance of Bill Hicks, this is a good place to start. Enjoy!