New Tentative Gig Announcement

I'll keep it short and sweet for once. A new gig is in the offing, in my home town of Bolton, Lancashire, on August 30th. An evening of folk music and other assorted indie-whatnots, the headliner will be my friend and work colleague, Ben.

It will also feature a performance on guitar from my good friend, Daniel Beckett, and joining him on vocals, none other than my own good self. So, if you want to hear me sing, come down to the Blue Boar on Saturday night, entertainment commencing from roughly 8:30pm onwards. Price of admission: no more than a couple of quid I'm sure (or a pint directed my way, or towards my friends of course).

I'm the one on the left, naturally. I will be signing autographs, but not on any body parts...it's a long story.

Mercury Rev - New Albums, New Tour Dates

On Monday, September 29th, Mercury Rev release their new album, Snowflake Midnight, which is accompanied by a second album, downloadable for free, entitled Strange Attractor. We are being treated to a double burst of the Rev's unique brilliance, subtlety and beauty, on the same day, at the same time, in the same dimension of this ever etheral existence of ours.

For full details of the albums, go to either http://www.mercuryrev.com/ or http://www.myspace.com/mercuryrevmusic, where all the details reside, including information about track titles and how to obtain the Strange Attractor download.

Ah, the hell with it, here are the track titles for your viewing pleasure:

Snowflake Midnight

"Snowflake in a Hot World"
"Butterfly's Wings"
"Senses on Fire"
"People are So Unpredictable (There's No Bliss like Home)"
"October Sunshine"
"Runaway Raindrop"
"Dream of a Young Girl as a Flower"
"Faraway for Cars"
"A Squirrel and I (Holding On...and Then Letting Go)"

Strange Attractor

"Love Is Pure"
"Taken Up into Clouds, Changed and Rained Down"
"Pure Joie de la Solitude"
"Persistence and the Apis Mellifera"
"Fable of a Silver Moon"
"Loop Lisse, Loop"
"In My Heart, a Strange Attractor"
"Incident on Abeel Street"
"Af Den Fader Kommer Den Sol"
"Because Because Because"
"Nocturne for Norwood"

What has also been announced, and is just as exciting as two new albums, are Mercury Rev's tour plans, which include twenty-nine concerts, eleven of which are in the UK, one in America, and seventeen in the EU and Switzerland.

Three nights in Northern England are the personal highlight for me, and I will be attending the shows at Manchester, Leeds and Birmingham, bringing to nine, the number of times I will have seen The Rev, with only The Doors at ten surpassing them in terms of my gig attendance. I suspect it is merely a matter of time before The Rev surpass even the mighty mighty Doors in my affections, having been The Doors of my generation, with the same originality, talent, beauty, terrors, and eerie otherworldliness that Jim Morrison and co. brought to the world 43 years ago.

It is so rare to see and hear such great talent, and I have been lucky enough to have met most of the these two sets of musicians who possess it. Thank God one set is still completely alive, active and creating new music and religious and spiritual experiences for those with the minds open enough to get it. Jonathon Donahue, you have been well missed here, as have your compadres of The Rev. Welcome back, my home is your home, always.

The Rev's 2008 Tour Schedule

7 Aug 2008: 22:00: For Noise Festival: Lausanne Pully, Switzerland

9 Aug 2008: 20:00: Beatday 08: Copenhagen, Denmark

12 Aug 2008: 20:00: Kilkenny Arts Festival: Kilkenny, Ireland

14 Aug 2008: 20:00: Pukkelpop 2008: Kempische Steenweg in Kiewit-Hasselt, Belgium

29 Aug 2008: 20:00: Hydro Connect Festival: Inverary Argyll, Scotland

13 Sep 2008: 20:00: End Of The Road Festival: North Dorset, UK

21 Sep 2008: 20:00: ATP New York 2008: Monticello, New York, USA

31 Oct 2008: 20:00: Cyprus Avenue, Cork, Ireland

1 Nov 2008: 20:00: Roisin Dubh, Galway, Ireland
2 Nov 2008: 20:00: Vicar St., Dublin, Ireland

4 Nov 2008: 20:00: Mandela Hall, Belfast, UK
5 Nov 2008: 20:00: Academy, Manchester, UK
6 Nov 2008: 20:00: Academy, Leeds, UK
7 Nov 2008: 20:00: Academy, Birmingham, UK
9 Nov 2008: 20:00: Academy, Newcastle, UK
11 Nov 2008: 20:00: Corn Exchange, Brighton, UK
12 Nov 2008: 20:00: Academy, Bristol, UK
13 Nov 2008: 20:00: Shepherds Bush Empire, London, UK
14 Nov 2008: 20:00: Academy, Oxford, UK

16 Nov 2008: 20:00: Den Atelier, Luxembourg, Luxembourg

17 Nov 2008: 20:00: Luxor, Koln, Germany
21 Nov 2008: 20:00: Lido, Berlin, Germany

22 Nov 2008: 20:00: Paradiso, Amsterdam, Netherlands

24 Nov 2008: 20:00: Ancienne Belgique, Brussels, Belgium

25 Nov 2008: 20:00: Elysee Montmartre, Paris, France
26 Nov 2008: 20:00: La Vapeur, Dijon, France

27 Nov 2008: 20:00: Bikini, Barcelona, Spain
28 Nov 2008: 20:00: Joy, Madrid, Spain

29 Nov 2008: 20:00: Aula Magna, Lisbon, Portugal

Glastonbury Festival Of Performing Arts

Well, it was all last minute, and it was chaos to arrange, but me, my mate Dan and my mate Carl decided to not just go to Glastonbury, but to actually go live and work there for a week, running traffic checkpoints, closing down roads, and generally imposing a truly minimal amount of order for the sake of protecting human (and animal!) life.

Yep, we camped out for a whole week, wearing ridiculously bright orange uniforms, working with the good folks at Avon & Somerset Police (who unlike Greater Manchester Police, actually treat citizens as human beings, considering them innocent until proven guilty and not harassing the law-abiding and trustworthy).

I'll keep it short, because there are a million other blogspot Glasto write-ups out there. Saw and heard a few bands, including The Feeling (ouch they sucked!), Leonard Cohen, Goldfrapp, The Verve and several jazz and indie acts knocking around random stages. The biggest highlight though was working for the good people of the villages and towns around the festival, such as Pilton, Cockmill, Shepton Mallett and of course Glastonbury village itself. Never have I seen a group of people so patient of 150,000 others, keeping a smile on their faces, enjoying the entertainment and not overreacting to the many minor acts of drunken silliness that in many other places would result in complaints and arrests.

Long live Glastonbury, and hopefully next year Michael Eavis will NOT book some dumbass rapper, and instead book a real talent like The Arcade Fire, David Bowie, Lou Reed or Iggy Pop to headline the most glorious festival gathering in the world.

I'll say no more. The happiness of 150,000 other people speaks more to the success of this event than my mere words ever could. Long live Glastonbury.

One Bright Star, A Cup Of Sugar, An 18 Year Old, And An Automobile Accident

The Sugars

Well, I guess I don't blog as much as I used to. I'm never sure anyone is reading it anyway, but also, things happened that I love to talk about, but that I'm not sure I want to write about.

Last night though, shook me out of literary silence. Another Saturday night, another gig (The Sugars at the Night & Day), what's to write about, right?). Well, just when the mundane is imminent, the unusual, the beautiful and the horrible have a 3-way right in front of my face.

The Sugars were a long-standing date in my diary, a band I'd spotted a few months ago whilst watching other musicians farther up the bill. They surprised me, so I agreed to hand out some flyers for them in Manchester before the show, in exchange for a free ticket, which was nice. It was a good day to head out alone and catch some solo me time, whilst approaching complete strangers and thrusting paper into their hands that most of them didn't want, but were too polite to say no to, a) because I'm a big scary guy to those who don't me(!), and b) because I won the award for best-dressed flyer-person, wearing a nice suit for the occasion! The jacket of the suit was to come in handy helping to save someone's life later that night...

To be honest, my entourage and I didn't even watch The Sugars. We saw two support bands, went for a meal in Bella Italia round the corner (lovely pizzas, and great calamaris with a bottle of wine shared, adding up to about 13 quid each). We hit a couple of bars in the Northern Quarter and feeling a little lost for a 'local' type bar, decided to cross town to what is my Mancunian local - The Garrett, on Princess Street. Great boozer as I've said a few times in the past on here.

Princess Street, Manchester, By Day

Was all progressing normally, drinkie-drinkie, etc. etc. and then on the way there my friends dilly-dallied, leaving me to get there a full 20 minutes before they did. Which pissed me off naturally, but well, fuck it I thought, ordered a beer and waited. And it was in the waiting for others that I met a wonderful girl who merely wanted a light from me for her and her friends. And it was illuminated again; the notion that my friends have frankly stopped trying to be either interesting or interested in the world, each other, or me. It seems to take the attention of an 18 year old more and more often to remind me of what is beautiful in this life. Curiosity, passion, optimism, and kindnesses are what is synonymous with beauty, and it's old friend, 'the good.' I'm looking ahead to my life, which is now looking amazingly interesting, with my return to university for an MA programme I could only have dreamed of 6 months ago, with my 20's still alive and kicking against the impending hell of being another bastard career 30-something. Well, anyway, suffice to say, this young lady reminded this old, decrepid 28 year old that he still has something good to offer!

With all this beauty knocking around me, ugly and his good companian horrible decided not to let beauty completely hog the action for the night. At about 1:15am, I stood up to leave the bar and jump on a train home, only to see a man, no different than me, step into the road and get hit at about 25mph by a taxi. And when ugly happens, it really happens. I stepped across to clear the crowd away from this poor guy, fearing that anyone trying to move him could paralyse him. Thankfully the many drunk people were also fairly understanding of that point about paralysis, so not too many problems with controlling the 'mob' of onlookers. Still, it was Princess Street, a hang-out for differently-minded, and generally decent people. I, and a couple other people kind enough to stop and help in a constructive way, took off our jackets to keep this guy warm, and to place under his head. It was weird in a selfish perspective, to see my most aesthetic and non-functional piece of clothing become the most useful item I had in the world for ten minutes. I think the guy was ok, he was breathing and speaking when the ambulance and police arrived, and whoever he is, I wish him well, and a speedy recovery.

The good, the bad and the ugly, back to back to back, in the space of a night out. Typical!

Plotinus, Greek Philosopher

The Kennedy's, King & A Democratic Dream

You know, I've been watching with fascination and hope, and real optimism, the current US Primaries of the Democratic party. For myself, and others, listening to Barack Obama has evoked something we haven't felt in politics in quite some time. A feeling of optimism, hope for the future, that in these dark times of the 'war on terror' the war in Iraq, the war in Afghanistan, the Israel-Palestine conflict, in these dark times of wars in so many places, there is a chance for that most influential of nations and of peoples to empower themselves and subsequently the world, in order that these dark times may have light shone upon them.

It is a light of democracy, a light of truth, a light of freedom and a light of liberty. Somewhere out there, a small piece of light appears. We see a Democrat, a man who can change the world for the better, a man capable of sitting in the seat of the Presidency of the United States, with a fine mind, and a fine heart, who can put together those two great qualities and lead the world in finding peace, in finding solace, away from the cruel and horrible theatre that is war.

One of the wonderful things to have seen, is that we who believe in the message of change from Barack Obama, are not alone. There is a man, recovering from brain surgery today, who knew two of America's finest leaders, John and Robert Kennedy, as his brothers. And even while in recovery, his message to the world is that he wants to be strong enough as soon as possible to continue supporting and rallying for his friend, Barack Obama. Teddy Kennedy is the last of three great brothers, the last of three knights of our own modern-day Camelot, a Camelot where they could send men to the moon, pull back from the brink of nuclear holocaust with the Soviet Union, and work on the streets with black and white people towards a better understanding of who we all are and how we can and must share this precious earth with one another in the cause of peace, love and respect. Teddy Kennedy, I know you can't read this, you're too busy. But hopefully, one or two of your supporters will read this, and join with me, a man not normally religious, a man who is not even American, a man who has never met you and never will, in praying for your health, your happiness, and thanking you and your brothers for trying to make the world a better place.

With your support Senator Kennedy, Obama's dream of the Presidency feels a lot more like the restoration of Camelot in the White House. You see, your Camelot wasn't a monarchy of a family, it was never that. It is a meritocracy, that has sat and waited over 40 years, for the right minds, the right hearts and the right souls to come along, to rise to power and to reclaim what is by right, the noble destiny of the American people. All of the world waits in hopeful anticipation that your vision, the one you've held for so long, that you are bringing back to life with Barack Obama, will survive the cruelties, the brutalities and the political horrors of an ever more modern, an ever more cold, and ever more fascist world.

I watched a beautiful montage of Senator Bobby Kennedy's speech in Indianapolis in 1968, when Martin Luther King was assassinated. His words saved 1 American city in 100 from going up in flames of hatred. For those of you who doubt the significance of 1 city being saved while 100 burn, I ask you to only think of a million families not being as badly affected by violence, not being as badly affected by rioting, and not being destroyed by the misery and pain of finding that a loved one died, in a street, in the night, at the hands of unknown killers in a mob. We hope for Obama's and the Kennedy's vision to finally come to pass, for while even if 100 cities burn, we know that these men have the power, and the desire to start building piece, 1 city, 1 society, 1 country and 1 world at a time. God bless Barack, Obama, JFK, RFK, and Teddy Kennedy, who we hope will be well again very soon.

Video - Bobby Kennedy's Speech In Indianapolis

Tuesday 20th May 2008 - MGMT

Well, much overdue as usual, is my write-up of my attendance at the relatively recent MGMT gig at Manchester Academy 2.

I'm frankly running out of superlatives to describe the music I watch and listen to. I have good taste, I know that. My gig sheet reads like a who's-who of left-field indie nobility. From MGMT to Mercury Rev, from The Doors to Neil Young, from The Arcade Fire to The Shins.

MGMT quite easily have hussled their way into the bracket of great indie outfits. They have the 3 minute usual songs, joyous, explosive, tintillating even, with guitar riffs to make the ears buckle under the pressure of them. But MGMT also have those odd amazing 14-minute rambling spectacular rock odyssey to rely on, so when you think you have them figured out, you don't. They just delight in messing with your head a little.

I guess that's my problem. Music is the primary device via which I allow the world to mess with my head. And last Tuesday, with nothing else outside of music having messed with my head for a long time, I felt almost bored by the pleasure, having felt it all too often, all too often, all too fucking often. There I was, living in this perfect little indie bubble, with my gloriously original music to listen to, my gloriously original TV to watch on my PC, my gloriously original movies to watch, again on the PC and my glorious supportive friends to rely on to be around and experience some little elements of my little world. And I was pretty fucking frustrated, despite everything appearing peachy.

Then a wonderful thing happened to me shortly afterward. When life is going so well that you're bored, you'd better prey somebody rattles your bird cage for you, because if they don't, you will. And if you're anything like me, you'll rattle it so hard, that the door will flip open and the budgie that is your sanity will go flying away, and you'll really fuck your life up. Strained metaphor admittedly, but I think you get what I mean.

Anyway, as a result of the fucked up apple cart/bird cage/end of tranquility, I'm beginning to feel less frustrated, less hemmed in by the happiness. I have a little desire again, to get a fucking move on, to stop arsing around, sniffing the flowers, exclaming the joy of my so-called existence, celebrating the fact that those holding the levers of power are dropping their precious gifts my way, to start actually enjoying great things, like MGMT, like Daniel Johnston to come in July, Neil Young, fuck me The Sugars, Jenny Owen Youngs, The Shins, The Doors, and all the rest of the psychadelic fruitloop musicians I love and adore.

Try canning this experience and you'll only fuck it up. If I'd known this previously, I'd have fucked around with my life way sooner.

Apologies if you're a first time reader, you don't know me, and you don't have a clue what I'm talking about. Any intelligent person only needs his cage rattling once. Rattle it twice and fuck knows what mess will come flying out...lol

Free at last, free at last, thank God almighty, free at last. Martin was right.

Sunday 11th May 2008 - Kimya Dawson

Kimya Dawson. Ah, I get nostalgic at the mere mention of this folk-songstress' name. Seven years ago, yep, count 'em and weep, seven years ago, Kimya was one half of the stunning nutball odyssey that was The Moldy Peaches. They toured with The Strokes in the summer of 2001, my generation's no-bullshit version of the summer of love. The before time (i.e., before 9/11 - when we weren't scared to get out of bed in case Osama bin Laden was hiding underneath it). I remember watching The Moldy Peaches play Manchester's Academy 3, with just 250 people in a hot, sweaty room with The Strokes on the headlines and The Peaches serving as a wonderful appetiser. I remember those times in idealised terms, some people say. But I remember talking to Adam and Kimya after they'd played (they were flogging Strokes merchandise on the landing outside), and there was such peace, such freedom of mind, such freedom of choice in those halcyon days, that nothing was gonna get in the way of our Mancunian/New York youth and beauty (and stunning musical talent of course!).

And that sweet illusion continued into the Leeds festival of that year. By that time, The Strokes had been moved onto the main stage of that event, because 60,000 people were going to try and get into a sub-main-stage tent with a capacity for only 2,000 fans. The police had told the organisers, either get 'em on the main stage, or they'd pull the safety certificate for the whole festival. And it was great. And me and my buddies were sat drinking a beer, watching The Strokes when Kimya Dawson wandered over to borrow a beer. Being sat on the grass next to a grown woman dressed as a cat, while tripping on LSD and amphetamine really summed up the surreality and sheer fun of my life at that point in time - aged 21, a soon-to-be philosophy graduate; my lot was a happy happy one.

Of course, challenges lay ahead. Watching my friends, one by one, become older, more boring, less involved and more concerned with the housing market than the music scene has certainly been a stress. Going bankrupt didn't help me keep the wrinkles at bay either (but keep them at bay I have - god knows how, 'cos I don't use any of those pathetic face creams that that silly cow Andie McDowell or that inane figure of sub-standard acting, yes, Salma Hayek recommend). I've seen the optimism of those around me turn to dust in these last seven years, replaced by cynicism, fear, close-mindedness, selfishness, cruelty and duplicity. But I held on, sometimes alone in my life, sometimes with just one or two folks willing to hold up with me the idea that hope springs eternal, and being loving is worth feeling pain for.

And it's funny. This year, after clearing some of the crap from my life, the hope has started to return not just to me, but to those around me. Those in my community, those who share my little world. In spite of the fear of it all about to go belly-up, whether it's the economy, the war, the abolition of liberalism writ large. Maybe my little group of happy thinkers are doing our best impression of Nietzsche-described pre-empire-collapse naivéty, but we're feeling hopeful, hell, even happy right now. I got a new job starting later in the year where I'm going to be paid to go to University and get a second degree, an M.A. in Social Theory. I have another great Euro-Road-Trip planned and I have gigs coming out of my asshole at the moment, including Neil Young at the Hop Farm Festival in July. And almost to confirm that the goodness of 2001 can rise again, like a phoenix from the flames in this foul year of our Lord, 2008, back comes Kimya Dawson to a Manchester stage, exactly a month after Adam Green kindly did the same.

The Moldy Peaches have returned, one peach at a time. And the second peach was as tasty as the first. Kimya's gotten older, just like me, but she still attracts gig-goers aged 12 to 112, all there for the sweet, tender, fragile tones of her voice, alongside the gentle strings of her humble acoustic guitar. This Kimya, whilst being a mother now, is still singing from the same songsheet of quiet but rebellious youth. It was wonderful to hear, and reassuring to see.

It was also great to see her bring her daughter Panda on the road with her. It takes gumption to work so hard, bringing a child with you on tour, travelling day and night in undersized cars the length and breadth of the country, and the continent of Europe. So it was fitting that whilst Kimya sang a great song about being a mother on the road, that her daughter, with perfect timing between verses, from the backstage, shouted at the top of her lungs "I WANT MY MOMMY!!! I WANT MY MOMMY! WHERE'S MY MOMMY?!" A truly classic Night & Day moment, when we each realise we're in a room with people, all of whom if we met individually someplace else, we'd find that we really like each other. That's the great thing about an artist like Kimya; she brings together people who like one another instinctually, who are at comfort, not in some 'isn't it nice we've got our own home, three cars and a nanny paid for' kind of way, but more in a 'we've got nothing but our love, optimism and kindness' kind of a way.

Panda, at that point when you needed your mommy, we all needed her too, just like you did. She was kind enough to show up, a little older, a little wiser, heck even a little better, and play the oh-so-appropriate role of young single mom to our young, single, but growing indie-folk community.

Come back soon Kimya, we all miss our musical mommy!

Whiskey, Mystics & Men - A Farewall To Albert Hofmann

April 29th, 2008; Professor Albert Hofmann, the man who discovered LSD, died, at the incredible age of 102. I for one am grateful that he lived a long life. Albert Hofmann changed the perception of life for so many people, including me amongst millions of others, through his experiments in his native Switzerland all the way back in the 1940's. Hofmann, without ever planning to, changed the course of western culture. There's loads I could say about him, his discovery of acid, but I'm sure many others have blogged similar thoughts already.

In discovering LSD, Hofmann allowed us all to discover LSD. I did, at 17 years old and it changed my life for the better. It's the old cliche, but it's a true one - LSD opened my doors of perception and roughly 90 trips on, I've never felt healthier in the head. I was listening to The Doors at the time (as I am right now funnily enough), and LSD was the ultimate nutaral complimentary substance to have by my side. I discovered an incredibly peaceful side of my nature that hadn't been aparant to me before I did LSD. That peace is something I carry with me now, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

LSD taught me what a Crystal Ship is, where the Octapus' Garden lies, why it was possible to have Too Much To Dream Last Night and why 7 & 7 Is.

I think as we move further away from the first golden psychadelic age, we'll be more able to look back objectively and judge just what a huge impact Albert Hofmann had on millions of people's way of life. I'm British, and therefore am pretty well exposed to Hofmann's influence, but it nonetheless pales into insignificance when I examine Hofmann's influence on American counter-culture. Albert's accidental discovery made planet Earth a more pleasant rock for a lot of us to live on, and to think on, and to create on. Leary 'turned up, tuned in and dropped out' rather infamously. I think LSD's true lesson is for people to 'turn up, try it, and tune in.' LSD taught me to be an influence in the world, not a passive observer.

Goodbye Albert Hofmann. I hope one day your discovery will be freely available to us all again. Because while it was, there was a brief optimistic moment before that great tragic wave of the illegisation of your 'medicine for the soul,' crashed onto the Pacific shoreline, when the truest revolution of all, the revolution of the human soul, seemed imminent. It was, and still is, your problem child, but LSD will grow up into a beautiful rebellious adult soon enough.

Albert Hofmann - January 11th 1906 - April 29th 2008

Bitter Observations And Instructions For A Post-Gonzonian World

Try it. Go ahead, try it. Try for a moment the simple exercise of re-enacting what Hunter S. Thompson wrote about in The Rum Diary or Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas. Try it here in Britain and I guarantee you, you will not succeed. Not because it's technically illegal, but because on this island (and large swathes of California, Nevada and New York too), because it isn't currently fashionable to the masses, you will not be allowed. You wanna take the trip, do a pile of ether, LSD, cocaine and alcohol, washed down with 40 Marlboro Reds, but everywhere you turn, there is a health official, or worse still, a member of the idiot public, not only telling you their perception of the folly of your's and Hunter's liberational ways, but actively involving the local community support officer (aka bubble-wrapped copper), preventing you from having the slightest slip of fun on the grounds that it is either a) not family friendly, b) not child friendly, c) not lung-friendly or d) in their opinion, just plain not friendly.

Why does everything in this life now have to correspond to the wishes of that wretch of a woman who takes her one incredibly spoiled brat of a daughter to her 'educational' factory of a local academy school in her 4x4 Chelsea Tractor? What has gone wrong here people and when did the balance shift from 'do as you wish as long as you don't actively harm others' to 'do as we say, because the state and the mother knows best?' To those who know me, I warned you all of these days to come, and you all laughed. You said 'Oh c'mon Daniel, they won't stop me having a ciggie with my beer at a concert.' They did it. You said 'Oh c'mon Daniel, they won't fine me half my wage for leaving my bin 1 inch open on bin-emptying days.' They did it. You can now be fined for polluting the earth by farting once too often the day after a good curry. I warned everyone sane enough to listen, but to no avail. This society is the living enactment of the tail that wags the dog. Next on the NHS/Nanny State/Nazi Mother hitlist is alcohol.

You know how you like to nip into your local town centre of a Saturday night, and have a quick 7 or 8 beers between the hours of 8pm and 4:00am? Trust me, that's coming to an end soon enough. Even if you never do any harm to anyone else except your own good self, it won't be a good enough defence for this society. This society is so hell-bent on saving NHS pennies to give to families as yet another 'tax credit' that working single bloke, who hands over a larger proportion of his income in tax than the average millionaire, is going to be fleeced still further. Congratulations, because if you think a 3 quid pint is bad, just wait till they cut your intake from it's natural 8 pints to 4. They won't settle for leaving the pint at 3 quid. They'll double it to keep the tax flowing, so from going from paying 3 quid x 8 to get pissed, you're going to be dropped to a state-enforced 4 pints at 6 quid a go. Think I'm nuts? Cool, no problem. I'll just sit and wait patiently while the silent majority of fun-loving INDIVIDUALS sleep-walk into a pathetically dull, sober existence.

Live the dream. You've read the books and seen the movie. You've gazed into the tantalising dream of living in a world where you're free to explore the corners of your mind through the imbibing of substances known to knacker the body with prolonged exposure. If you want to hold onto that tantalising possibility, than fight for your rights. Drink to excess, take the pills offered to you by 'the bad man' in the corner of the club you're going to this weekend, sleep with the girl (or boy) straight away who you'd like to jump on top of, but are too concerned about your rep to risk it, and for goodness sake, break, bend and shit all over the no-smoking regulations at every opportunity, ok? I fear it's all too late, but I have to scream out at the absence of freedom, especially when I live in a country where the local authorities use anti-terrorist legislation to follow dogs and their owners to see which patch of green Rover the Mutt has just shit on.

Listen to your Samoan lawyer - he's like the cool version of your conscience, and trust him, no matter what that sober wanker who's just taken over your pub with his ugly wife and three screaming brat-kids says. Listen to the sober wanker and you'll be dancing the goose-step, shooting the meek and weak in no time at all. And then you'll wake up sometime later, in the middle of the night, with beads of perspiration dripping down your neck, with the guilt of being an active member of the generation that destroyed personal liberty.

You know what I mean.

Thursday 10th April & Friday 11th April 2008 - Reverend And The Makers & Adam Green

Well, ok. It's been a while. But bless it, life's just been soooooo busy, I couldn't get round to writing anything about my two recent gigs - Reverend & The Makers, from Sheffield, and Adam Green, from the slightly more glamourous New York City.

Reverend & The Makers are quickly becoming a very well known band in the UK, where their back to Madchester sound has been a surprise to hear on a currently left-field dominated indie music scene. Don't get me wrong, I love the 'left-field indie' to bits, I really do, but there is something almost quaint about the Makers sound that leaves quite a Mark on their audiences (Makers...Mark....ged it?).

This one was at Manchester Ritz, the latest in a long line of venues to ban people from smoking outside, let alone inside. They will tell you health and safety, they will say it's 'policy'. Don't believe 'em - they're liars. If you read my blog regularly, you'll know my pro-smoking stance, even in the grip of my latest attempt to quit. Smokers deserve to be able to step outside for a cigarette, but are frequently prevented from doing so by fascist organisations like Manchester City Council, Manchester Apollo, Manchester Ritz and amazingly Manchester Academy 1 (but not Academies, 2, 3 and 4 - weird - but thank you). I'm going to go ahead and say the Academy aren't fascists, because three quarters of their buildings aren't covered by this ridiculous rule. I will settle on a polite 'schizophrenic.'

Back to the music. Rather brief really. Reverend & The Makers were good. Not startling, but good. They entertained, the lead singer show-boated, the band played well and the crowd enjoyed it. That's all though, I'm afraid. Have I come to ask too much of my musicians in the wake of great artists like Neil Young, Ray Manzarek, Robby Krieger, Mercury Rev et. al? Maybe. But if in the pursuit of greatness I abondon the worship of the merely good, that's not too high a price to pay in my opinion.

Well, that was Thursday at the Ritz. Friday at Academy 4 brought back to me an old friend, much missed and much loved - Adam Green. Most of you will know Mr. Green from his strange days as one half of fruit-loop wacko duet group The Moldy Meaches. Adam is nuts. By his own admission, he is in fact one fruit loop short of a fruit loop. But he's also a genius by most sensible people's musical standards. And anyone who's heard Tropical Island from his latest album, Sixes and Sevens, can testify to the geniosity contained therein. Down in the basement of a rockin' Academy 4, Green managed to not only bring back memories of The Moldy Peaches, but hopes that he can continue to prosper, entertain and delight 'thinking man gig goer' (thinking man gig goer is similar to Mondeo Man of the late 90's in his demographic importance, but unlike Mondeo Man, he's not an asshole, unless he's had his regulation three pints of lager and is hitting on all his friends girlfriends, one after the other). Adam Green is here I think to entertain 'thinking man gig goer,' (T.M.G.G. from here on in), in that he strikes me as a similar beast to T.M.G.G.; ever-charming, oft-funny in an unconvential kind of way, but always somewhat at risk of using his powers of intellect for evil, darkness and general absurdity.

Now just where am I going with this? What is the conclusion I hear you ask? Well, it is this. Adam Green was the highlight of April for me, because he is as entertaining as he is frustrating. We all want Green to prosper, become big and fat and famous and so on. But he has a habit of pulling back when faced with popularity and mainstream respect. God bless him for it I guess. It'll mean he'll always be the musical property of us, the minority of people who know the dark and dingy club halls where great musicians come from, as opposed to the majority of morons who think Simon Cowell invents music. Long may it continue Adam. I enjoy having you around.

God speed you all, you crazy beasts.

Tuesday 11th March 2008 - Neil Young

It's taken me 5 days and 500 miles of travelling across England to gather together my thoughts about what was easily the best concert I've seen this year, which was of course the one and only Neil Young, coming back to my home city of Manchester, a place where Young has in the past courted musical controversy with his infamous appearance here in the 70's.

On that night, years before I was even born, Young famously played a then unknown little ditty known as 'Tonight's The Night.' Of course, Mancunians were as notoriously fickle then as they are now and didn't exactly cheer Young on as he introduced this new piece of music to them (they in fact heckled and booed). Upon hearing this, Young said that if they didn't like that song, he'd move on to play one they did know. He then spent 20 minutes more re-playing Tonight's The Night!

The beligerance hasn't left Young, that much is clear. But on Tuesday night, the crowd that greeted Young were as one with myself; there to see a hero, a long-lost friend, an ex-bandmate of local boy cum-good, Graham Nash, a battler, a fighter, an eternal survivor, a soul who refuses to grow old, the best Canadian musician of all time. I love the current Canadian music scene, as previous blogs attest, and I have to state that there cannot be a Canadian alive who isn't influenced by Young's unique vision for his music. He's stamped his standard upon every free-thinking Canadian (and frankly, every free-thinking indie musician in the world) to come for at least the next 100 years. And to see close-up, exactly why this is so, was as much an honour as a serene pleasure. The Neil Young we got was the angry, fired up, committed Young of days gone by and his selection of songs reflected that.

Young is a man with roughly 48 albums to his name. He could play for 7 days and still not cover everything he's put on record. So it was to great delight that he decided to throw songs into the mix that are amongst his most famed and acclaimed. They included Hey Hey, My My, The Needle And The Damage Done and amazingly beautifully, A Man Needs A Maid. His sets spanned over two and a half hours, starting at 8:20 (after Pegi Young's very pleasant supporting set) with an elequent and touching acoustic set, pausing at 9:50, re-emerging at 10:15 and playing full throttle until fully ten to midnight. To be in the room was to be alive for those few hours. And to be 27 years old, watching Young, 48 hours before my 28th, was to show me how old I am in spirits compared to this stalwart, bullwart, manic musician, who shows what being 60+ should really mean. I don't mean this to offend my generation of musicians, some of whom are stunningly talented, but next to Young, they're pretty shit as a rule. This guy sets the standard, not with technical perfection (which he's never had), but with soul, spirit and originality. Every song was a real exploration, both for audience and musician alike. His supporting musicians give their all as well, especially Ralph Molina, his drummer for some 40 years now, still tapping the skins with as much passion as he had in the 60's.

Back when Young first burst onto the scene, the names on people's lips included Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy. Today, the names have changed, to include Barack Obama, a fellow preacher of optimism, idealism and truth. It is in my opinion, no coincidence, that with America at a crossroads now as it was then, that their favourite musical foreign guest with opinions is once again coming to the boil. The Young renaissance is upon us, with the release of Chrome Dreams II and with songs like Spirit Road pointing the way, one cannot fail to be excited by his current catalogue of new music. He thrashed his guitar around during that 15-minute bottleneck odyssey with a wild abandon not seen since Cobain's heights, and to great effect, against a backdrop that was stunning to see. His stage was littered with relics of the past; an organ from the days when Young allowed E-Woks to run his stage, guitars, harmonicas and banjos from 40 years of country leanings, a psychedelic piano that had received the tye-die treatment in yellows, whites and oranges and most intruigingly, a painter who provided full canvas picture representations of each song that was played in the electric set.

Young is possibly the most impressive individual I've ever seen play live. He touched my heart with his music, and for me, attending a gig nearly every week, that's incredibly hard to do nowadays. He also did the same for everyone around, from my friend next to me who was moved to tears of joy at the sound of A Man Needs A Maid, to Manchester indie-rockers, Nine Black Alps, sat two rows in front of me, jumping up and down, taking pictures and acting (quite understandably!) like besotted groupies!

The only complaint I and many others had on this night was Manchester Apollo's inexplicable ban on allowing people to step outside and smoke a cigarette, alongside some typically fascist policing of the concert attendees, which included shining high intensity torches into people's eyes when they stood up to dance, sing along or applaud. These tactics of terror by some of the scumbags they employ to police these events are a disgrace by concert promotion company Live Nation who really need to get their house in order before legal action is taken against them for this regular abuse of their paying customers. Suffice to say, the only way I'm walking back into a Live Nation venue is if Neil is playing again. Live Nation, you have been warned.

I don't know if I'll ever get the chance to see him again. But I'm glad I did. He's amazing, a unique contributor to Western musical culture. Long May You Run Mr. Young, Long May You Run.

***IMPORTANT NEWS - UPDATED: 20th March 2008***

Yep; he's coming back to England. For one very special appearance only, on July 6th, Neil Young will be headlining The Hop Farm Festival. A new festival on the English calendar, it is being organised by a legend in the festival world, Vince Power (most famously associated with the Glastonbury, Benacassim and Leeds Festivals). Vince plans to make Hop Farm's 30,000 capacity one-day event a 'back-to-basics' affair with the welcome removal of advertising and corporate interests, a proposition that has obviously enticed that most principled musician Mr. Young.

Hop Farm Festival is already incredibly attractively priced, at just £49 (£56 with booking fees), especially considering a ticket to see Young by himself cost £65. So that's £49 for 8 acts, which works out at just £6.13p per act (about $12.25 for my American friends or $98 for a whole festival). With a promise of reasonably priced food and drink, and the opportunity to smoke a cigarette while watching this legend play, and drink a pint while I'm at it, this is looking like being THE place to be this summer for the festival classes). Many thanks to Vince Power and Hop Farm for doing this for genuine music fans - fine work guys.

For tickets to Hop Farm on 6th July, go to the delightfully simple and straightforward Seetickets website (this link takes to straight to where you need to be).

And finally (yes, this is the blog that gives!), a bootleg of the final, electric, set of the Manchester show is available right here... LINK! Thanks again to China Pig...

Saturday March 1st 2008 - Tegan & Sara

On another packed out Saturday night, in the great northern light of music, culture and excess that is Manchester, sharing the city with everyone from rock giants The Cult (god bless Ian Astbury) to new but supertalented upstarts, MGMT, we were paid the pleasure of a visit by the twin Canadian songstresses (and sisters) known as Tegan and Sara. From Vancouver and Toronto nowadays, though originally an Alberta-based collaborative affair, Tegan and Sara are as representative of a Canadian indie renaissance that has brought us such pleasures as The Dears, St. Vincent and of course, The Arcade Fire, as they are also representative of a return to listening to musicians who are by no fault of their own, a socio-political representation of a gay community that has not enjoyed such intense media writing on that subject since the halcion days of Jimmy Somerville, Boy George and my personal pet favourites, Erasure.

But, for all of the left-of-centre media gossip surrounding these rather attractive ladies and what they do when they're not playing with their instruments, there is some rather good music to be enjoyed, if indie-pop with something of an emphasis on the pop is your cup of cranberry juice. Performing numbers from their new album, The Con, that are already destined to become favourites for their fans for years to come, such as 'Relief Next To Me,' 'Nineteen' and the simply wonderful 'Back In Your Head,' Tegan and Sara Quin arrived in Manchester to really demonstrate a wide range of musically varied talent with a 22-song-strong set that screamed to Manchester for them to be taken seriously as the next big and popular act to make the short hop across the Atlantean pond.

From all accounts, they're having a thoroughly wonderful time here in Europe, enjoying the freedom of being two youngsters far away from home, but being old and wise enough to not piss the British musical establishment off too much (they're intelligent enough to give the NME a well-deserved slagging off while at the same time expressing their fears about doing so, which is music to my ears at any rate).

Tegan & Sara's main obstacle to obtaining credibility within the musical intelligentsia's world however, might not be any kind of strictly musical challenge, but instead the challenge of them being tagged as the latest gay band on the scene. You see, in a room of several hundred people on Saturday, a friend and I felt like we were in a minority in terms of people who actually turned up to listen to the music. I took the time to look around the room and there was nothing else to call it but a lesbian love-in. Don't get me wrong, I love a good lesbian love-in as much as the next hot-blooded man, but after being grinded into for 20 minutes by a cute young lady, only for her to turn around, realise I had a penis and then recoil in horror, I couldn't help but feel the crowd wanted to see one thing, while the twins wanted to concentrate on something quite different for once. As pretty as they are, the cries of 'get your tits out' coming from a good chunk of the women in the crowd is obviously growing tiresome for them already, as their call for their all-male support musicians to 'get their beefs out'(!) demonstrated. (quick note to all boyfriends whose girlfriends asked them to go to this gig - your relationship is in trouble - big trouble!)

I take them seriously for their music. Other genuinely committed music fans do as well. I only hope that the industry starts to do the same, and most importantly in this day and age, their gig-going ticket-holding fans start to as well. They hold great talent - on their guitars, their keyboards and in their voices. A cheery pair who can make you smile for fullsome musical reasons as well as dirty ones...here's hoping they get real big, real quick.

Tuesday 19th February 2008 - The Von Bondies

After a short break, following my 5 gigs in 5 nights effort, I was feeling thorougly refreshed and ready for more of the live. And what better band to go see than The Von Bondies, who having kept a lower profile than Lord Lucan in recent years, are making a glorious return to the British music scene, sounding tighter, brighter but definately not lighter.

The Von Bondies, in case you haven't heard of them, are a band out of Detroit, Michigan, who initially received some excellent exposure of their mad talents back in the year 2001 (yes, it really was nearly 7 years ago!), when they toured with little known obscure outfit, The White Stripes (who?! lol). Well, the world went Jack and Meg White nuts, and quite rightly so. But in all the hoo-har of those halcion days when The Stripes and The Strokes were conquering all, when freedom reigned, in the before-time, before 9/11, before government by terror, before smoking via hypothermia, before Orwell and Huxley's fancyful tales of tyranny became the pathetic reality we all live through today, in 2008, this foul year or Our Lord, we managed to almost forget about this band. The Von Bondies, if you ever pull your finger out and attend one of their shows (they're playing The Wigan Tavern on 29th February btw, which is in erm...Wigan, funnily enough), will remind of that long-forgotten musical genre known as 'grunge' (see Nirvana, Hole, Neil Young for a brief moment, and er, Nirvana - did I say Nirvana - yeah). But worry not, they all appear to know where to point their shower nozzles and actually smelled quite nice.

All joking and mockery-based humour aside, The Von Bondies are back, with old music, and new music, and it all sounds at least as good as it did back in the summer of 2001. If you wanna remember the days of freedom, of excess, heck, of good old-fashioned FUN, then well, watch 'em while they're hot - The Von Bondies. That's V, O, N, space, B, O, N, D, I, E, S, people. And I must make a special, much deserved mention of Leann Banks, the band's bassist. I was blessed to be 1 inch away from her throughout the show, and in spite of her having the hottest pair of legs I've seen in some time on a stage, I did manage to direct my eyes upwards every so often, to watch her absolutely blow ten bells out of her bass guitar. She is a bassist with immense talent and natural ability who plays those thick metal strings with the finéssé of a flemenco guitarist.

Moving on; there were two support acts as is the norm in The Night & Day Café, where you really get your money's worth on a gig night. Both supports were very cool, but a special mention must really go to a Blackburn (with Darwen of course!) band called The Sugars. Not been around long, but with a voice like Matt Bolton's on lead, a true blue wailer of the old tradition, and the sweet but strong dulcits of the majestically named, majestically talented and majestically beautiful Anna Greenaway, I know I'll be watching them again, and again and again at many fine venues in the future (not to forget their new drummer whose name I don't know yet, but will know shortly, cos anyone who can still pull of playing the drums in a knackerdy old vest like he had on has got to be worth his salt!). And that future includes venues near you, and venues near me - specifically, The Dry Bar (next door to The Night & Day Café on Oldham Street in Manchester) on Thursday, April 17th. Be there or be a manic depressive with no stereo. Also be there because I had the pleasure of talking to Matt Bolton after his set and he's a genuinely nice guy with bags of enthusiasm and a passion for singing his heart out, and you don't get that every week.

Another night of giggery, another write-up of buggeringly long proportions. Thanks for reading, keep on rockin' and if you're a Yank, vote for Obama or fear my wrath forever...just kidding. I think. Vote for him. Do what you want. No, vote for him and then do what you want, but only because I say so. Thankyou.

Thursday 31st January 2008 - Stars

Night Five - Manchester Academy Three - 31st January 2008 - Stars

Well, it ended as quickly as it started, with night number five of five coming to pass quicker than you can say 'You can't spell stalagmite without Jenny Owen Youngs' (which you can't - it's true!).

So, at least I was going to my last gig of the week with an idea of the band I was watching that was positive. And it was to stay so. You see, I've never held up Stars to be the prophets of a post-rock movement. They've been an occasional but welcome intrusion into my ears for a while now, and cosy in my head, so to see them put a lampshade on stage and turn the place into everyone's generic living room only added to the sense of cosy occasion. To top off that living room feeling, Julie Hesmondhalgh was in attendence and it was nice to say hello to her, both as someone who's had the surreal pleasure of serving many Coronation Street cast members their beers and wines in the past and as someone who whilst not being a Corrie fan, has an affection for Hayley (her character on the world's longest running soap-opera) - after all, who hasn't felt like having a sex-change every once in a while, just to show up women?!?!

Back to the business at hand - Stars. They performed, I listened. I enjoyed what I heard and so did a crowd well versed in their music. I also felt the need to drink large quantities of gin, which is no criticism of Stars, but rather a failing of my head to cope with much more music after a week of embracing one band after another. So I can't really tell you too much about Stars, other than to say they were good musical company at the end of a trip that taught me you can never have enough live music once you've fallen in love with the live music scene.

After five nights, all I have left to say is 'gin, gin, gin'; may your shows be blessed with talent and originality as most of mine were, and may the musical gods walk above the skies you walk below. We are stardust kids, and we are what we seek and that is most true in the music that comes to us - it is no more than a reflection of our own abilities to dream, to create and to hope.

Take care.

Wednesday 30th January 2008 - Nine Black Alps

Night Four - Manchester Academy Three - 30th January 2008 - Nine Black Alps

Well, it was time to head out to event number four of five - Nine Black Alps, local boys from a Manchester scene we all knew and loved in it's time. Despite this band's relative newness, given their grunge influence and Mancunian roots, it was impossible not to feel a little like I was strolling into a nostalgic evening.

The opening act whose name I forget were so utterly fucking terrible that I won't bother writing them; instead I will just pray for a disease to strike down their vocal cords, guitars, and drums and whatever other bullshit they were trying and failing to play.

Nine Black Alps lived up to their promise - familiar songs, easy listening, despite volume levels and enthusiasm from a crowd that made me wonder whether the good bar staff at the Academy hadn't spiked the water with musical M.S.G. in order to make otherwise mediocre music sound really good to everyone else. It's the only thing I can think of as I suspect I was the only person in the room not under the influence of alcohol, pot or something stronger still. I say this, because as much I would like to like a band like Nine Black Alps (they are after all, local boys come good), I just don't seem to get it. Their music, whilst being professionally laid on and in good spirit, already feels out of date and out of time. This is maybe why they are playing to Academy 3 in spite of nationwide recognition and why they aren't keeping that recognition despite the best wishes of all around the scene.

I guess this was a surprising low-point of my five days on the Mancunian musical road. I expected more to be honest, than a drunken evening for others of jumping up and down, crowd surfing (which in a venue the size of Academy 3 - I have to say - grow up a bit kids!), and lager chucking. Don't get me wrong, I love crowd-surfing and lager chucking as much as the next Manc, but fuck, it was just so tired in this room.

Best wishes Nine Black Alps, but come on - raise your bar a bit please.

Tuesday 29th January 2008 - Explosions In The Sky

Night Three - Manchester Academy One - 29th January 2008 - Explosions In The Sky

Well, it was night three, and it was time for the highlight of the 5-by-5 spectacular: Explosions In The Sky.

The first pleasant surprise was a virtually sold out Manchester Academy One for a band that when it originally booked to play last year, had been given Academy Three to play in (a fraction of the size of number one). It would appear people have been catching on in serious numbers to the idea of post-rock Texan instrumental outfits.

E.I.T.S. is an unusual evening to attend in that you don't hear a single lyric - not a word spoken in musical anger all night, and frankly, it's refreshing and uplifting. What we're dealing with in E.I.T.S. is a seriously accomplished and highly talented set of musicians who through soaring guitar capabilities allow an individual within their crowd to quietly, silently even, ascend to the level of ether-rock (two nights of ether - it's like a Michael Caine movie about being a doctor on the Eastern Seaboard - answers on a postcard to that sneeky 'name that movie' link!). Reminiscent of the divine Mercury Rev on occasions, similar switches switched that a certain Robby Krieger can switch in me during a good show of his too, Explosions are a band committed to shutting you up and making you listen, not in concentration, but in breathed relief to finally be listening to some music that you know is aimed at grown-ups who know better.

I was massively impressed by these blokes who seem to play for pleasure and the kind of pleasure that comes from picking up a musical instrument and seeing just how far they can prod and poke it into bleeding out something never quite heard by human beings previously.

Come back soon Explosions, I could spend many an hour in a musical foetal position, letting your sounds flow over me.

Monday 28th January 2008 - Robots In Disguise & Daggers

Night Two - The Roadhouse - 27th January 2008 - Robots In Disguise & Daggers

Well, long overdue is this writeup, but I've been playing sickboy for a couple of weeks, and only now feel desperate enough to write further.

The second night of my five night spectacular encompassed a couple of interesting bands in the form of Robots in Disguise (R.I.D.) and Daggers, their rather talented support group. Being in the Roadhouse was a pleasant trip back to the past, a past of mine that has enjoyed seeing bands from The Von Bonies to The Magic Numbers in that tiny little black room. It was a Monday night however, and an early start (7:30 for the first warm-up act and 8pm for Daggers, with R.I.D. taking the stage at rougly 8:50 till 10:15).

Daggers kicked off the night for me (I must confess, I chain-smoked outside during the first act!) and I was pleasently suprised to see a very confident and atmospheric band in play here. Their energy was quite intense, and they took no time in galvanising an already keen crowd into swooning support for a band whose lead singer resembled a medling of that bloke from The Bravery and a little bit of Bowie stardust sprinklings upon him. But the star of Daggers was easily the lovely keyboard player/backing vocalist - Sarah, a very sweet musician with an etheral voice and manner upon the stage, and the charming manners of a lady off-stage, happy to talk to people and share a cigarette. I see a living for these people if they keep doing what they're doing. Fame is a pointless promise to estow upon any band trying to make it in this notoriously fickle music scene of ours, where bullshit ascends and talent is left to whither on the vine all too often. Good luck Daggers - here's hoping you'll be staring at me just like that some time again, very soon.

Robots In Disguise are all they're cracked up to be. Again, energetic would be an apt phrase for them, passionate, talented too. They attract a very young crowd of teenage fans who are sincere in their support and that support isn't misplaced if you're a fan of electronically influenced indie-music, which thankfully I am. I couldn't help but be impressed with a range of uplifting songs that forced you to move with the beat regardless of whether or not you'd spent all day at work!

How far either band will get is anyone's guess, but fingers crossed, at some point soon I hope they'll be playing venues like M/cr Academy 2 and 3. They both appear to have enough in their tanks to take them that far at least.

Sunday 27th January 2008 - Slow Club & Lucy And The Caterpillar

Night One - The Night & Day Café - 27th January 2008 - Slow Club & Lucy & The Caterpillar

And so it began. Taking the car, with my friends, Andy & Irene to Manchester (after dropping their Jim off at home) to the Night & Day Café on a peculiarly mild January evening. I was almost nervous about finally getting to start on this manic six-day mission to see as much music as one idiot can handle. I needn't have worried aout the quality of what was to come on night one though.


I had bought this gig ticket on the strength of Lucy (and her noticably absent caterpillar). I like quirky, folksy, dinky, fairy, lucky doo-rag type musicians and teenage Lucy certainly fits that category. She's from Burnley (or as it is known in Burnley: Buuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrn-li - gawd bless 'em and their delightful Lancashire 'ot-pots). What a sweet cutie this young lady is on a stage. Until she opens her gob between songs and gives the crowd a bit of a bollocking for not shutting the hell up. Which is funny to watch and quite nice frankly. When will people learn to shut the hell up when an artisté is performing their craft? Must I smack everyone in the mouth who won't shut up? (Ed: Generic Blog 34 does not condone or sanction acts of violence in any way, not even against ignorant fuckwits). It later becomes hilariously ironic during Slow Club's later, excellent set when Lucy decamps to the side of the stage next to me and proceeds to waffle to her mates all the way through her friends show!!!

But funnies aside, Lucy has a lot of talent (she can play guitar excellently, sing like an angel and knit owls) and a setlist of songs that bring a smile with their deceptively simple, loving themes about boys and girls, love, walks in the foothills around Burnley and owls once again. Lucy will go a long way. She deserves bigger billing than support at the Night & Day and will doubtless get it soon enough. If she comes to your town, spend a couple of bob on a ticket.

Slow Club. I knew not one lousy jot about them before the show. But, they were excellent, entertaining and full of energy backed up with diverse instrumental talents. Bottle players, guitarists, singers, both of them and possibly from Sheffield (I think that's where she said they come from anyway). I thoroughly enjoyed a fairly high-energy outfit here. Not much more to say; go see these two as well. There is no substitute for experience, that's what I say.

Day One done, no pain so far. One down, five to go.

Six In Six - The Running Story Of Musical-Obsessive Madness

Well, my friends well know, that I, in a fit of minor obsessive madness, purchased 6 gig tickets recently. Nothing unusual in that I hear you say. Of course not. Except that these particular gigs are back-to-back, one day after another. See the list!

Sunday 27th January - Slow Club & Lucy & The Caterpillar
Monday 28th January - Robots In Disguise & Daggers
Tuesday 29th January - Explosions In The Sky
Wednesday 30th January - Nine Black Alps
Thursday 31st January - Stars
Friday 1st February - Robert Young

Ok. For those of you who don't attend concerts and gigs, shut up right now! You don't have a clue just how knackering it is to attend one night. There is something strange in watching live music; in a really nice way, it can suck the energy right out of you.

The more astute readers will notice that I am now two days into this ridiculous and funny marathon which is taking me to Manchester Night & Day Cafe, The Roadhouse, Academy 1, Academy 3, Academy 3 again and the Kings Arms 1st Floor Theatre. So laugh at me, pity me, curse my name in a fit of jealousy, but don't doubt that I'm nuts for music...lol.

Write-ups of the gigs will follow shortly! When all this is over, I plan on lying down. For a very long time. Do not ring me while I am lying down, as it will make me get up and kill you. Thanks!

Victory in South Carolina - now on to Super Tuesday!

It's been a while since I posted, but I was really picked up last night by Barack Obama's stunning victory in South Carolina. With all the votes in from yesterday's Democratic Primary contest in this diverse state, made of loosely of 50% black people and 50% white people, the scale of Senator Obama's victory cannot be underestimated. The raw numbers:

Barack Obama: 295,091 (55%); Delegates Gained = 26.

Hillary Clinton: 141,128 (27%); Delegates Gained = 14.

John Edwards: 93,552 (18%); Delegates Gained = 8.

Yep, Hillary could have had twice as many votes and still lost! 8 of 10 black voters prefer the message of Barack Obama. And he picked up a quarter of all white votes, with Edwards and Clinton sharing the rest. Another amazing fact from this contest is that Obama won a majority of all the votes cast in the age range 18-64. Yep, working Americans believe in this man, young and old alike. It really represents a cross-generational message for change in the USA.

But it is the articulate nature of this desire for change, so ably personified in Barack's message that is frankly shocking and inspiring after watching 8 long years of banjo playing down on the farm idiot politics from the Bush regime. I keep saying it to everyone I know - look at Barack Obama and listen to him. If you can't see the Robert Kennedy in him, or the JFK in him, then I think you're not looking at the same guy I am. It is certainly evident enough to members of the Kennedy family. Last night, he picked up the endorsement of Caroline Kennedy, President Kennedy's daughter.

That endorsement says it all. Part of what is so inspiring about this man's campaign to become the leader of the United States is a very real sense that he could carry the flame of Camelot back into the White House, over 40 years after that flame was so cruelly extinguished in Houston, Texas. This is a chance for Americans to say to themselves and to the wider world that the ideals they voted for in JFK so long ago still stand and mean something important within the psyche of the American Dream. This is a chance for Americans to say, no more lies, no more slash 'n burn politics of the 90's and of this decade. No more Clinton-Bush monarchies, 20 years of two names, two families, running their country is quite enough. No more immoral wars, no more economic mismanagement, no more painful stories of not being able to pay medical bills because you don't earn upwards of $50,000 a year.

South Carolina said it. Barack Obama's saying it. I'm saying it. And a lot of my American friends are saying it: The time for change is now. Barack Obama is an agent of change you can believe in. And all you have to do is hold onto the audacity of hope.

I think and I hope, that America is waking up today to the fierce urgency of now.

For great coverage of this election campaign, I strongly recommend: CNN's Election Center 2008

I Am Not A Number, I'm A Free Man!

Hello people,

24% of you smoke in the UK. I do too. That's one in four of us. In the North of England (where I'm from), that number is even higher. We like a smoke, a cigarrette, a fag, a ciggie, a puff on a cancer stick. We know it isn't good for us health-wise, but we choose to smoke. Alright, for some of us, it is less a choice and more an addiction, but nonetheless, we choose to inhale the fumes of tobacco that we have set on fire.

We live in a country where smoking is banned in public places where basically speaking, there is a roof. It is not great for us, but for the sake of the 3 in 4, most of us choose to abide by this law. In the main, we believe that the law went too far because it didn't allow us ANYWHERE AT ALL to gather without being rained on. But we smokers are a fairly laid back bunch, and said alright, we'll breath in smelly people's b.o. and farts in pubs because non-smokers shouldn't have to contract diseases from second-hand smoke. We said, alright, we'll go outside to smoke when we're having a drink. We are reasonable people after all.

What is the anti-smoking lobby's reaction to this? More pressure, more veiled abuse and more punishment for something that isn't yet technically a crime. They've decided to go after smokers who attend concerts with a vindictiveness I'm truly pissed off to see. If you attend a concert at the Manchester Evening News Arena or at Manchester Apollo, and you decide part-way through that concert that you'd like a cigarette, think about it very carefully. Because once you step outside, the security staff WILL NOT let you back inside again!!! Basically, the organisation who own these venues are telling us to go fuck ourselves and our money that we spend on tickets doesn't mean shit to them.

If you are a smoker who attends concerts at the MEN, the Apollo or Academy 1 (because when they've finished their refurb, they are implemented the same policy), or indeed a non-smoker who doesn't believe in big brother bullying smokers at every turn, then get in touch with these people:

Manchester.Apollo@Livenation.co.uk (for the Apollo naturally)
enquiries@men-arena.com (for the MEN Arena)
http://www.umu.man.ac.uk/locations/contact.shtml - you can fill in Manchester Academy's contact form there.

E-mail them and continually ask them why they have such a draconian policy towards 24% of their customers and continually ask them to chage this fascist perspective at their venues. Keep it polite, keep it civil (we are people of the smoke after all - we're cool enough not to get abusive, unlike the anti-smoking brigade), but do remind them that they are behaving in a fascist manner, without regard for a quarter of their clientele.

If you feel passionate about this, visit Forrest's website. Forrest are a pro-smoking group, and are keeping the flame alight for the rights of a minority. Good people just asking to be allowed to make informed choices.

Only quit smoking if you personally want to. Don't let other people pressure you into not smoking. Do what you enjoy - life is too short anyway not to. And if you think that smoking is the primary reason for lung disease, think again. It has been proven (by scientists with big white coats, glasses and smoke equipment) that walking down Oxford Street in Manchester (a ten-minute walk at most), is the equivalent to smoking 24 cigarettes. God only knows what walking through the middle of London will do for your lungs. This is a far bigger health risk, yet we don't hear of smokers asking (or FORCING for that matter) non-smokers to only drive their cars indoors, do we?!?! No, we realise the risks of others' behaviour and respect their right to keep on behaving that way, because we share this same small planet with them for the same small time and respect their choices, because it makes them happy. And if someone else is happy, we're happy for them.

New Hampshire...did I not make myself clear?!?!

Only kidding N.H. As long as you voted, and you voted for who you belived would be the best leader for the USA, then while I disagree with the 40% of you who voted for Hillary, I would be a arrogant fool to say anything other than well done and good luck.

South Carolina. You really do know what you have to do. It's simple. Vote Barack Obama for a stronger, safer South Carolina and for change and a better nation in the United States of America. Barack Obama is the future. Your future, my future, everyone's better future. Change is coming and change's new name is Barack.

Keep on rockin' the vote.

C'mon New Hampshire!!!

Well, it's Barack fever in my house this week! He won Iowa - beautiful (which I predicted way before it become fashionable to be a Barackista), which is serving as a great springboard for him to get the message out that he is the bright hope for American government and politics.

New Hampshire - the world is watching and hoping you guys will see what we see in Obama - a politician, a leader of the highest calibre and integrity. This is a man who can bring peace and prosperity to both the USA and the wider world. He is also the only politician I know of who I can watch speak for hours at a time. Possibly the finest mind to ever run for the White House.

Good luck Barack - as well as millions of Americans, there are plenty of Brits, Europeans and others around the world who are willing you to victory! From a Labour Party member in England - go kick some ass man!

Jenny Owen Youngs' Mum Roxie

You shouldn't have told me there was a photo out there Roxie!!! lol You know I'll have to put it on here now...

The woman who made Jenny Owen Youngs the genius we know and love. After reading the last blog post, she has kindly owned up to this picture. As many have said I'm sure, we can all now see where Jenny gets her stunning good looks from!

Thanks Roxie! Have a super weekend too.

Jenny Owen Youngs...and her Mum!

I recently decided I'd do a little online shopping. It was Boxing Day (26th Dec.), and I thought - 'I need a t-shirt, a poster and other assorted goodies.' Being Boxing Day, I wasn't going to trawl around the shops with the masses either, so I thought, heck, I'll do it online.

I hit the usual websites - Threadless and so forth, and just wasn't seeing anything that stood out for me. So I thought I'd see if Jenny Owen Youngs, one of my favourite singers had anything worth purchasing, and by crikey, she does indeed have loads of great stuff. I picked up the following t-shirt:

a whole bunch of badges and stickers...and a delightful poster, with Jenny holding a shark on it.

All marvellous apparal and the total selection of stuff, a t-shirt, a poster, 4 badges and two stickers came in at just £13.36. Bargain.

Unremarkable I hear you say? Well, yes I suppose. But here's the good bit. My purchase arrives just 4 days later, all the way from Dingmans Ferry, Pennsylvania, to my home in Bolton, Lancashire and it turns out I've never been so well treated and attended to in my life! When Parcel 1 arrived, it was filled not just with my t-shirt and badges etc., but with a gazillion little miniature fish, some extra stickers and badges, a temporary tattoo (classic!!!) and a personal note of thanks from none other than Jenny Owen Young's mum, Roxie!!! Suffice to say, I was absolutely chuffed and have e-mailed her to say a really big thank you to her for caring about her customers.

Then today, Parcel 2 arrived, containing my poster, some more fishies, a cute little toy shark and another warm and friendly message from Pennsylvania! To top it off, Jenny Owen Youngs has gone to the trouble of signing the poster too!

It is so very nice when people go the extra mile to please you. I feel that Jenny deserves a special mention and especially her mum too, who is obviously working real hard with her daughter. I've said before on this blog just how talented J.O.Y. is; now I can also say that she's a real class act as a person too and I can see she gets that class from her mum Roxie.

There aren't any pic's of Jenny's mum on the old internet, so I will settle for putting another Jenny pic up on here (I'm sure no-one will mind seeing Jenny's pretty face adorning my blogpage!). If you do nothing else musically all year, do this - listen to Jenny Owen Youngs. Go watch her play when she comes to your part of the world and if you can afford it (and it's certainly well priced and high quality!) buy a whole load of her merchandise. The t-shirt is super-comfy and the 'I got knocked up by Jenny Owen Youngs' message on the one I bought drew it's fair share of admirers and questions!

Long Live Jenny & Family!