Blog

Share

Well, I figured it was time I stopped simply using this site as a hub for my music and actually started firing some mind-shards into the soft, warm and yielding life-face of my good readers’ (‘s probably more applicable) eye-monitors.

I’m rather aiming for a Grossmith-esque diary, but less well written, less well or consistently kept, less well-observed and nowhere near as funny. With those lofty aims established, here’s my second effort:

Well, I figured it was time I stopped simply using this site as a hub for my music and actually started firing some mind-shards into the soft, warm and yielding life-face of my good readers’ (‘s probably more applicable) eye-monitors.

I’m rather aiming for a Grossmith-esque diary, but less well written, less well or consistently kept, less well-observed and nowhere near as funny. With those lofty aims established, here’s my second effort:

9/1/14 What a week!

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything, so I’m just going to tell a short story about the last couple of days.

On Tuesday the exhaust fell off my car, so that was £150 to get the AA man to come out (I’m not a member… well, I am now like). As I was sat in the car, my dad called to say I’d been got by a camera for going in a bus lane – I can recall the incident; it was an accident while driving round an unfamiliar city centre.

When the AA man had come and removed my exhaust for me, I drove home. On the way back, a car spun out in front of me over an embankment, and I had to slam on, stopping a couple of feet from his driver side door. Exhaust may have fallen off, but the brakes still work!

After reassuring myself that the driver was ok (he pulled up at the side of the road) I went to drive round him, only to have him fling his door open into the road without looking (this is probably symptomatic of why he crashed) causing me to have to swerve out into the right hand lane. Needless to say I was a bit shook up by this point.

Two-hundred yards down the road, another car pulled out in front of me from a side road without looking, causing me to slam on again! Someone or something really didn’t want me to get home.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, today Steph’s gone over a pot-hole and collapsed the front suspension on her car! What a week! And it’s not over just yet!!


9/1/14 What Makes You Beautiful?

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything, so I’m just going to tell a short story about the last couple of days.

On Tuesday the exhaust fell off my car, so that was £150 to get the AA man to come out (I’m not a member… well, I am now like). As I was sat in the car, my dad called to say I’d been got by a camera for going in a bus lane – I can recall the incident; it was an accident while driving round an unfamiliar city centre.

When the AA man had come and removed my exhaust for me, I drove home. On the way back, a car spun out in front of me over an embankment, and I had to slam on, stopping a couple of feet from his driver side door. Exhaust may have fallen off, but the brakes still work!

After reassuring myself that the driver was ok (he pulled up at the side of the road) I went to drive round him, only to have him fling his door open into the road without looking (this is probably symptomatic of why he crashed) causing me to have to swerve out into the right hand lane. Needless to say I was a bit shook up by this point.

Two-hundred yards down the road, another car pulled out in front of me from a side road without looking, causing me to slam on again! Someone or something really didn’t want me to get home.

As if that wasn’t bad enough, today Steph’s gone over a pot-hole and collapsed the front suspension on her car! What a week! And it’s not over just yet!!


29/8/12 What Makes You Beautiful?

On a long car journey recently, my girlfirend and I decided, out of boredom, to tune into Radio 1 and find out what the unwashed masses have been listening to. Some was ok, most was not.

Anyway, after a while we heard a song by “The One Direction”, called “What Makes You Beautiful”. At first I thought it was dated, early-noughties standard, boy-band bum-water; the kind of thing that A1 might have turned down. But as I listened to the lyrics, I realised that it was actually a cunning lyrical paradox!

It states:
You don’t know you’re beautiful
That’s what makes you beautiful!

But by telling the object of their collective desires that they are indeed beautiful, that means that person now does know that they’re beautiful, thus eliminating the sole reason for their beauty in the first place (that is to say, the lack of knowlege of being beautiful) and making them beautiful no longer!

A very selfish act by The One Direction there you might think, but wait! If we equate “not knowing you’re beautiful” with “knowing you’re not beautiful” (as I’m sure The One Direction have, those sneaky lyrical geniuses) then suddenly they’ve tricked the object of their collective desires into believeing they are not beautiful after all, and have thus rendered them beautiful once more.

Truely therefore, this highlights the predetory and perverse nature of the controlling, manipulating games we play in the name of “love”. The fact that it is five people singing this to (apparently) one person, without reference to gender or preference, helps to highlight the free-spirited nature of modern sexuality without moral judgement.

Touché The One Direction… touché.


12/8/12 Adventures of an unsuccessful musician

So… my first blog concerns the notion of success. I mean; what is it really?

I ask because I had a rather odd experience recently, at a charity gig down at Carpe Diem in sunny Leeds. It was never going to be a world-beating gig and I knew that, but the fella who runs it does a lot for charity and his heart is in the right place, so I thought: “Why the hell not?”

I played it last year too, and it’s made some decent cash for good causes. I’m not trying to go all Smashy and Nicey on you here; I’m just setting the scene for what follows.

Well, I’d also roped my girlfriend Steph into playing and, on occasion, I like to ruin her set by jumping on stage and playing various instruments with her (upon which, I have a varying degree of grasp, shall we say).

After we came off stage, a late-middle-aged chap grabbed Steph and began to question her on her ambition and where she wanted to go (in the metaphorical sense). I wandered over, and he posed much the same questions to me, asking for web addresses and emails and the like.

Steph lost interest and began to watch the next act, but matey clearly wanted a chin-wag with someone and I felt it rude to blank him. As spoke to the guy and, as he posed his questions, I said to him: “I’m happy with what I’m doing; I’ve got a decent job, I’ve got some albums out with OK reviews, I’m playing some festivals this year, I’ve got youtube vids and I get asked to play gigs – yeah, I’m pretty content with what I have.”

In short, he asked me if I wanted to be famous and I said I wasn’t interested. It’s not my bag. I don’t like the general public and I’m a dark and sordid man deep down, so the last thing I need is someone showing an interest in me! I didn’t say that last bit mind.

He asked me if I was really content playing shit charity gigs in bars; I pointed out that that’s not really a fair representation of the situation, but if it came to it, then yeah I was. He said he was only interested in “stars” and handed back our details.

Now that’s not quite end of his involvements – at the end of my set later in the evening, he gave me a slip of paper saying: “You’re her Lennon – make her your Yoko.” I thought that was a bit insulting to Steph, as she’s actually really talented, but I could see what he was driving at.

So this brings me to my point I guess. I’m something of a nihilist or, at least, my own definition of nihilism which constitutes solely what I take from it to serve my own sanity. I accept that all endeavour is intrinsically meaningless (I have heard of entropy after all), especially my own. Yet I feel meaning and value in all kinds of things.

That being the case, it must mean that any value I ascribe to anything comes from within me; it’s all in my head, basically. As such, surely this means that whether or not I’m successful, logically, must be defined and decided upon by me, and no other.

Clearly this is a massively reductionist argument – no-one is an island, and to suggest that our internal definitions of success are not influenced by others is absurd – but I stand by this simple argument: In a hundred years you’ll be dead and, unless you were a world changing legend, no-one will remember you or give a living-shit about anything you ever did. So any success you think you may have is, in the end, a lie. That being the case, enjoy yourself while you’re here and who gives a fuck what anyone else thinks!

At least you wore clean underwear when you got run over by the bus 😉