'Time is a train, makes the future the past...'

'Oi you know 'oo you look like? Vat bloke, oh wattsis name... ver bloke in "Bottom", not ver dead one, ve uvver one...'

The two young ladies that have just sat opposite me are cheery enough but they are a bit, shall we say, rough around the edges. It had clearly been a good Friday night. 'You might want to move' said the taller of the two, smiling as she produced a bottle of vodka, some lime cordial and two cardboard Costa coffee cups. No, no, I'm fine where I am thank you. In fact, I'm rather looking forward to the rest of my journey.
We're on a train travelling from Liverpool Street to Southend. I'm on my way to meet Austin who I'm playing a gig with that evening and up until this point I've only had the latest edition of 'Vive Le Rock' magazine for company. They - well, they're going wherever the action takes them.

'Wassat? Vat fing in the seat next to ya? Are you a musician? I bet you're a right show off aintcha?'

At this point I should say that despite the shorter girl operating at a volume that probably ensured that everybody else in the train could hear her, I was having trouble working out what she was saying. Hay fever has given me bunged up sinuses and ears full of wax, a situation that had conspired against me the previous evening when The Upper Cut had played a short notice gig at The Admiral Nelson in Twickenham. I didn't particularly enjoy the show - nothing to do with the band, it's just that I had real problems hearing what was going on and so missed a few cues. I also couldn't gauge how loud I was playing - from what I'm told I was a bit too loud at the start, too quiet in the middle and more-or-less at the right volume by the end - and it was hard to pitch my vocals. Still people were dancing and everyone that I spoke to after the show said that it had been a good gig so I guess we must have been doing something right. Sadly my ears hadn't improved the next day (they're still bad as I type this, perhaps I'll get some Otex tomorrow) which meant a potentially fraught Saturday night gig in prospect, depping with The Essex Blues Brothers at a 40th birthday party in Maldon. Having spent a fair few years playing in The Chicago Blues Brothers band I was reasonably familiar with the material, but whereas that was generally a full band here the drums, bass and keyboards were on backing tracks with the guitar, horns and vocals being performed live. Austin had sent me the tracks to practice with (I worked with him in his duo Liquid a few years ago, and both he and his fellow Blues Brother Chris both depped with the CBBs) which were a great help, to such an extent that I dread to think what sort of a mess I would have been in if I hadn't heard them first. That said I don't mind admitting that it all gave me the rather odd feeling that I was going back in time. Sort of. A bit. Maybe.
I'd not met Graham (trumpet) or Anita (saxophone) before but they were both very friendly and helpful, going through the music to answer any enquiries that I had, and I hadn't seen Chris (a.k.a. C.J.) for ages so it was good to catch up with him. The gig was in a marquee in a field - we got there to be told that they'd just finished building the stage (!) and that they were ready for us to set up. I was using a Pod rather than an amplifier and so was concerned that I wouldn't be able to hear what I was playing (and given my current plight, whether I would be able to hear anything at all) but by the time we'd run through a couple of songs it all sounded pretty good, even to me. With guests already arriving we retired to our dressing room / portacabin to get changed and to plan the evening - there's a hog roast at 8.15 (there's no vegetarian option so it's a bread roll and some coleslaw for me!) followed by our first set from 9.15 - 10 o'clock and our second from 11 until midnight. I was feeling a bit rough (having hay fever in the middle of a bloody great load of grass is definitely not to be recommended!) so I cowered in Austin's van until showtime, and barring the odd mad moment on guitar our two sets went very well, although how we managed to wind up ending the evening with 'Weather With You' is frankly a bit beyond me. Mind you, it had been that kind of day...  

Ade Edmondson,
earlier today.

Back on the train, the shorter of the two girls won't stop talking. To me.
'You do look like 'im, you really do... so wot sorta music d'you play? We're from Stevenage, it's my birfday, firty five, we're going to Sarfend, d'you know it? 'Ere if 'ee's a musician, 'ee might know where we can get some gear from - 'ere d'you know where we can get some gear from? We done all ours last night...'
No I didn't know where they could get some gear for the weekend, which was a bit of a shame as I was beginning to feel like taking some myself. That said they've now forgotten about me and started on the young lad across the aisle from us, telling him he's got eyes 'like marbles' and that he must 'drive the birds mad' - at which point a burly chap in high-visibility clothing walked through to use the toilet at the end of our carriage. They like him. They like him a lot. He seems to like them too. There are smiles all round, including from me. They're alright really, just out for a good time - and what could be wrong with that? Oh hang on, they've spotted me again...
'You oright vere? Wot? You talk quiet dontcha? Oh yeah you carn't 'ear can ya? Wot you reading? Never 'eard ov it, what's it abaht?'
Well I still couldn't hear her too well but I could certainly hear the shouting and crashing coming from behind the toilet door. 'I'm farking locked in!' roared Mr. Hi-Viz from within, 'I can't farking git aht!' Before anyone else could move the two girls had leapt into action, attempting to open said door by shouting and swearing at it (let's face it, we've all tried that option in this sort of situation haven't we?!?) before kicking at it with all their collective might. 'Oi farking watch it!' bellowed Mr. Hi-Viz - 'we're only tryin' 'oo open it' shrieked the taller girl as a ticket inspector arrived with the words 'Sir? Sir, are you in there sir?'
'Course I'm in 'ere, I'm farking stuck!'
He quietly suggested how the door might be opened - something to do with using the handle correctly if I remember rightly - and a few seconds later Mr. Hi-Viz emerged triumphantly. His phone rang as the shorter girl offered to, shall we say, pleasure him if he could get them some gear for the weekend; meanwhile the inspector and myself smiled at each other as he asked to see my ticket, and normal service was resumed on the 14.35 service from London Liverpool Street to Southend Victoria. 

'It's music based on fear...'

So - I still can't hear very well, but things do seem to be improving. Good! It's definitely a case of 'it gets worse before it gets better', but at least it does seem to be getting easier to hear. It's been a busy week in the shop and at times I've had real difficulty hearing customers but most people have been very understanding - indeed many have their own 'oooh that's horrible isn't it?' story of the times that they've had a similar problem. And I managed to play a rather muffled gig on Saturday night, with Big Al Reed at The Feathers in Staines. It's not the biggest pub in the World and we were a bit cramped to say the least, but the people there were friendly and seemed to enjoy our efforts. It being St. Patrick's Day I'd expected there to be Guinness posters (and indeed drinkers) everywhere but there were none to be seen; there were a few likely lads who thought they could put Al off with a bit of heckling but he was having none of it (he's also a stand-up comedian and as a result is pretty fearless once he's in front of a microphone) and our second set saw Barry joining us once again to play some slide guitar blues and tables being moved to give people more room to dance. A good gig - well, the bits I could hear of it were anyway.

An interesting evening at The Load of Hay last night saw the first public performance in many-a-year from Graham Barnes, and the first public performance ever from a Brunel band led by Michelle De Jong.

I remember Graham from way back in the late '70s when his band I Jog and The Tracksuits (oh yes!) released the 'Red Box' single on the short-lived Tyger Records which was based at the Unit One youth club in Uxbridge. John Peel played it often, and the band got to the stage of playing venues like Dingwalls before it all ended; he went on to take a more folkier path musically, including a stint in The Ministry Of Humour, who I remember seeing at The Load of Hay when it was home to Uxbridge Folk Club in the 1980s. His pre-match nerves were not helped by his electro-acoustic guitar not working ('I haven't plugged it in this century!') which meant him having to sing and play with just a vocal microphone set up in front of him rather than D.I.-ing his guitar and using the microphone solely for vocals; however his times in the folk clubs stood him in good stead, and his 20-odd minute set managed to more-or-less hold the attention of the assembled student multitudes. No sign of 'Red Box' (shame!) and he did make the grave tactical error of including a song by the hopelessly - make that criminally - overrated 'songwriter' Robb Johnson (*who I believe is still pedalling his overwrought, arrogant, self-righteous twaddle to the sheep who are scared to criticise him for fear of being called 'politically incorrect' by the hopeless sycophants that surround him; still, you can't fool all the people all the time...) but he has every reason to feel very pleased with his comeback to showbusiness.

Michelle De Jong introduced her band - an engineering student on cello and two fellow music students on guitar and keyboards - and began her first song, very laid back, very quiet, with vocals that a local wit back at the bar later described as being high enough to shatter the glasses behind the bar. Before the second number an audience member (presumably studying sound engineering) took it upon himself to adjust the P.A. in some way which made no audible difference to my ailing ears (mind you I suppose it wouldn't - maybe they were deafening!) and my fears that their material was sounding 'samey' by the third song were confirmed a few seconds into the fourth. As the keyboard player smugly took the cello from it's owner and played it like a bass guitar in their last number the afore-mentioned local wit groaned the words 'multi-talentless' before gleefully returning to his hobby of confusing the barmaid. He had a point - he usually has - but I've no doubt that their SoundCloud (whatever that is) has infinitely more followers than this blog will ever have, and that they'll all go on to have musical careers that will dwarf mine, so what do I know? Perhaps I should cheer up and leave the overwrought, arrogant, self-righteous twaddle to the Robb Johnson's of this world?

Either way let's finish this missive with some words of wisdom from the legends that are Spinal Tap. Click here for their thoughts on music played quietly - many a true word is spoken in jest, as they (whoever 'they' are) say...

*Sorry about the ranting about Mr. Johnson - I'll tell you where it all stems from one day. He's not that bad really... actually thinking about it, he's probably worse!!

Senses working overtime

So - I just manage to shake off the nasties in my stomach, and then I wake up on Friday morning unable to hear out of my right ear. Not a good situation at the best of times, and definitely not good for somebody attempting to make a living playing music. I know what the problem is - it's earwax, and rather a lot of it. Urgh! Given the abuse I've subjected my hearing to over the years I suppose it's all but inevitable that I get periodic problems of this nature, and this is certainly one of those times. I've bought some of that stuff from the chemist that's supposed to get rid of it, and at the moment it's one of those things that gets worse before it gets better, meaning that I had bad hearing yesterday and I've got really bad hearing today. Rather ironic don't you think?

I've managed to stumble my way through two gigs in this disadvantaged state this weekend, the first of which was depping with The Briefcase Blues Brothers at The Seacombe Theatre in Sutton. As soon as the show began I realised that my ear was making me feel as though I had a bell jar in my head - not that I've spent much time with a bell jar on my head, but you know what I mean. Not only was it was hard for me to hear what I myself was playing (a recipe for breaking strings if ever there was one, as you start hitting them harder than you should) but I could only hear the band as a muffled, rather distant whole as opposed to being able to hear the instruments individually. I was just getting used to watching rather than listening to what people were playing when all the stage lights went out during 'In The Midnight Hour' - at first I wondered if it was an attempt on the part of the lighting man to reflect the idea of it being dark at midnight (I spoke to him afterwards - it wasn't!) but fairly soon realised that not being able to hear or see the band was a particularly perilous situation and one which I was only able to get through by mostly using open chords which can be found by feel. After what felt like ages (but was probably only a few seconds) the lights came back on again to the collective relief of all concerned, and the rest of the show proceeded without to much incident. I hadn't played with The B.B.B.'s since before Christmas, and it was good to catch up with them all again - I had a good chat with keyboard maestro Wayne 'son-of-Albert' Lee afterwards who told me that his dad is doing some shows with James Burton later this year which could be well worth catching for a blitz of country rock guitar.

Sunday night The Rikardo Brothers returned to Uxbridge for a gig at The Load of Hay. As we started our first set there were a grand total of four (count 'em, four) people watching us; by the second set that had risen to eight which I suppose if you look on the bright side means that our audience had increased by 100% during our performance but realistically is at best disappointing and at worst utterly depressing - as Alan put it, it was 'a bit like playing to a furniture exhibition'. Still we played well and I for one thoroughly enjoyed myself although I sadly can't see shows continuing at The Load of Hay if audience numbers don't improve. Shame... but if they do stop and people then moan at me about there being no music on there Sunday evenings then I may not be responsible for what I say next.

Talking of saying things I've just spent the last two days in Balcony Shirts turning my left ear towards customers and asking them to repeat what they'd just said. Incredibly some people still bought things. Good! Now if you excuse me I'm just off to put some more of that stuff in my ear...