Monday, 7 December 2009

"I never show why I mate Jews" A life without Trombolees.


As Alan Carr would say- "Not My Words!". And I very much doubt that Blur themselves would lay claim to that one, to be honest.


This post is very link intensive.. it's just in case you are unfamiliar with any of the songs I mention.

"I can't make out a word he is saying Ab" Said a not so elderly friend to me recently. I'd sent him some John Martyn to grease the wheels of study, thinking that the melodic quality and instrumental vocal application would be somewhat soothing to him, as he wrote the final chapters of his book. Sadly it was not to be, he found the slidey, imprecise annunciation frustrating rather than soothing. I was perplexed, "but its beautiful" I said, "how could you not love that 16 bar blues structure, altered from the traditional 12. And the way he uses his voice as an instrument? How? Not to mention the WORDS!” I stopped; fully aware I was in danger of geeking out completely. I do that a lot; very few people have the patience for it so I try not to get too carried away. "I like to know what he is singing about, he may as well be singing in the club style for all I know” was the simple response. (Incidentally and somewhat unrelated.. I personally think this is the best song sung in the club style)

I guess if words aren't important to you, or you have a penchant for foreign grooves, then you possibly won't have encountered the issue I am going to talk about. I am aware of at least two people whose approach to music is much more about the whole experience, the words, melody and tempo segue together without a dominant component, you might call it a purists enjoyment. We all listen to music differently, this is true. We all respond to various things when we listen. Some seek a beat they can bust a groove to, others blindly follow a manufactured formula of so-many-bpm's I cannot possibly hope to count in one go. For many though, and I mean this with particular onus on popular music- lyrics are a powerful draw. How many of us attach memory or meaning to a hook or an obscure line they heard once upon a time? I have been writing about music for a long time and have touched upon the topic of lyrists as modern day poets. It is however, FAR too serious a topic for me to talk about here. I wish to talk about the more pressing issue that means people spend large portions of their lives harbouring under the misguided notion that Kate Bush really did mean to sing "Heathcliff- it’s me, I’m a tree, I’m a wombat".

Ahh the misheard song lyric, how many of us have mumbled our way through verse and chorus of various songs only to have our suspicions confirmed that what we thought we were hearing was not the rantings of a questionable lyricist at all. Just recently my friend Neil confessed to spending most of his formative years under the misguided impression that Cornershop were singing about a "Green poodle basher on the M5" when it was in fact a song about Indian music film legend Asha Bhosle (it really is). A quick internet search yielded some pretty amusing misheard lyrics:
Robert Palmer's Addicted To Love becomes: Might as well face it, you're a d**k with a glove. The Oasis anthem Wonderwall also tops the list with "you're gonna be the one that saves me" becoming "you're gonna be the one at Sainsbury's". Fans of Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody may be familiar with "Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me..." being misinterpreted as “The algebra has a devil for a sidekick eeeeeeeeee”.... (not too sure about that one but it is apparently a very common mistake). An oft misheard line amongst a lot of people my age is a line from the Gala song – Freed from Desire- “My lovers got no money, he's got his strong beliefs”. “Beliefs in this instance becomes dungarees.. or more amusing is the totally made up word trombolees. Can I just question what exactly a Trombolee is?. I must admit there was a year or two back along where I thought it was a song about a dungaree wearing lover but to actually INVENT a word? This is not a theory based on one person, several people in my life have independently got "trombolee" from somewhere. The word will be in the Oxford English dictionary before you know it. I am actually going to tag this post trombolee and see what happens. I would love to hear your definitions in the comments please, if you have them.


It is one thing to get the words wrong in the safety of your own home, it is quite another to have the inevitable happen at a mixed gathering, or worse... a gig Where the decibel level is ultimately higher and the likelihood of the ego inflated singer letting the crowd do the work is greatly increased. Many a time I have wanted to turn to the guy or girl warbling along incorrectly (it’s usually guys incidentally, in my experience) and ask them to CEASE! For the love of god CEASE! You are ruining this for all of us! But those of you who read my music stuff regularly will know how I feel about spoiling anyone’s enjoyment of the live music experience, so I just let these things lie and sing louder (and I hope, more accurately).


Of course no one likes to get these things wrong. I like to think I have a pretty practiced ear for words and melody but even I screw up from time to time. I don’t think many people witnessed my spectacular gaffe singing along to Because of You by Kelly Clarkson who I assure you “never strays too far from a Cyborg”, but just know that it happened. I know she is American and so exempt from the Henry Higgins lament “oh why cant the English teach their children how to speak?” but really, she does sing Cyborg! And after reading this post, I hope you will too.


Sunday, 6 December 2009

Wemake London


Hello blogland.

Once again I retreated into the silence, only this time it is a silence dictated by the constraints of geography, time and a flakey internet connection. Which as we all know, are the three challenges facing anyone who hopes to blog with anything remotely approaching regularity.
But hey! I'm back! Since I was last here I found somewhere to live, a house that will take my cat and I (a rare combo at the best of times) and managed to pack up my old life and look ahead.
I am currently staying with my friends Anna and Menno who have kindly taken me in like the stray (I would say "waif" but we all know that would be a total lie). I move for real on the 18th, horribly close to Christmas but near enough to today to feel like things are finally falling into place for me.

But anyway, yesterday I found myself in the nations capital for Wemake London..


Work by Tina Mammoser and Sakura Jewellery
The only downside about attending these things is having no money. I wish I could have bought things from everyone, especially my friends Anna of Sakura Jewellery, the talented artist Tina Mammoser and Su of Quercus Silver, who's fabulous resin rings are even more stunning in real life. I must also mention the very talented Dan Hillier, who's amazing prints are on my art wish list.

Hello to all the people I met yesterday and I hope you all took lots of money!.

(I will be back later with a proper topical blog)

Sunday, 15 November 2009

Uncertainty update.



New T-shirt designed by 1AEON

So, I am a week into starting again, or attempting to. A couple of failed leads on places to live have left me feeling a little deflated and despondent but otherwise OK. I think I may have found somewhere better but, like most things I have to wait to hear, which may take a few days. I think I would feel better if people didn't keep on ASKING me all the time. I know they mean well but the constant repetition of "no, nothing yet" has an effect akin to a cold knife to the chest. A cold knife of panic that hits you in a wave when you realise You don't have a firm plan. I have never been one to have a firm plan, you understand, I have always gone with the flow. Perhaps it is because I am truly going this alone that I feel a little at sea and clinging to the wreckage of "a plan" is some half-assed attempt at security. I know things will fall into place like these things always do, but at this time a plan would be nice. Please.

I know I said I would try to blog again regularly and I will. I think perhaps I underestimated how much time packing up your life and starting again takes. It's a pretty big thing. I'd like to write a long post about the prickle of excitement I felt the other day watching a TV show set in Bristol but I am sorry to say that such a feeling was fleeting, replaced by that swooping sensation of Dread (capital D), the one best reserved for public speaking, first dates and broken curfews.

But don't feel bad for me, it's just uncertainty and this is what it does to you. As I said to a friend the other day, I tipped up to Bristol with nothing but a few boxes some years ago and that turned out to be the best thing I ever did. And if I did it then I can certainly do it again.

Good things to happen: I got my t shirt from 1AEON today. If you don't know about this awesome shop then I think you might need to pay them a visit on Etsy . Lovely indeed.
I also got my phone upgraded.... to a bloody Crackberry. This worries and excites me in equal measure. Those of you who know me well will know I have a love/hate relationship with mobile phones. I think being able to check my emails/tweet on the go may prove to be very, very, bad for me. And you. But mostly me.

I'll be back in this space tomorrow with my weekly 52weeks project update!.

Sunday, 8 November 2009

The best thing to never happen to you.

Tomorrow morning if you wake up
and the sun does not appear
I will be here
If in the dark, we lose sight of love
Hold my hand, and have no fear
'Cause I will be here

I will be here
When you feel like being quiet
When you need to speak your mind
I will listen
And I will be here
When the laughter turns to cryin'
Through the winning, losing and trying
We'll be together
I will be here

Tomorrow morning, if you wake up
And the future is unclear
I will be here
Just as sure as seasons were made for change
Our lifetimes were made for these years
So I will be here

I will be here
And you can cry on my shoulder
When the mirror tells us we're older
I will hold you
And I will be here
To watch you grow in beauty
And tell you all the things you are to me
I will be here

I will be true to the promise I have made
To you and to the One who gave you to me

Tomorrow morning, if you wake up
And the sun does not appear
I will be here
Oh, I will be here.



I sometimes wonder about My Lobster. I often wonder if my pincer will go unlinked and if I am destined to explore lifes aquarium alone. I have, of course no concrete proof of the lobster theory existing. But the romantic in me just won't let it lie. It dawned on me today that I simply don't take enough risk when it comes to relationships. Risk is scary, it leaves you open to failure, hurt, rejection- all of those horrible words that we hope we won't ever experience when we meet somone new. It can, (on those rare occasions when things actually work out) be the best thing that ever happened to you. You may notice I am giving this a somewhat romantic slant, I attended a wedding the other day so it has been at the fore of my mind. Much as these words pertain to boyfriend/girlfriend relationships. They can, of course relate to Platonic love, in its modern popular sense, a non-sexual affectionate relationship.

Of course, with any close relationship that develop quickly and intensely, nothing is clear cut. Wires get crossed and feelings get misinterpereted. We hate to admit we got it wrong, we feel foolish for daring to trust our instincts because to get it wrong is to doubt our convictions and dent our pride. As a functioning adult that is a blow to ones self esteem one can do without. We avoid, avoid, avoid, because the reality might be more than we can handle.

They say you have to kiss a lot of frogs to find your Prince but they rarely tell you about how that person may come into your life, or how fast they will become a fixture. They are also hazy on what to do when faced with the gut wrenching scenario of a frog that is repelled by you. The humiliation! The rejection! Asking someone for something they are not prepared or able to give... Why in Gods name do we put ourselves OUT there like that?. And then it turns inward, like most instances of self doubt often do... it becomes all about
you. You arent pretty/smart/interesting enough for that person. They are so far out of your league that you can't, daren't even entertain the possibility that they might like you because they like you and not because they want something from you.
If you are very unlucky, you may have experienced phase two of this destructive cycle. The one where we push the other person away for reasons invented by us. We tell ourselves we are being used, strung along, played...or some other adjective we substitute to hide how utterly confused we feel. Not knowing where you stand is perhaps the worst thing someone who purports to care about you can make you experience. And 9/10 it happens unintentionally. For some reason its OK to focus on this invented issue, we can control that which we have essentially masterminded.

Of course, those of us who indulge in this behaviour have no one to blame but ourselves. It is with some trepidation and a generous smattering of hope I say
we, because we all like to hope that its not just our problem. It can't be, can it?
It all boils down to choice. We choose to keep people at bay, just as we choose to let them in and take the risk that they may hurt us. After all, Lobster claws can't half pinch too.

Thursday, 5 November 2009

On Starting again.


Don't worry, I don't intend on posting pics of my face here. You can go to my Flickr for that.
Well, things died a bit of a death here didn’t they?. It is a well known fact that when certain areas of your life fall apart, others suffer as a result. There is no more absorbing project than trying to pretend a relationship is not failing when it so clearly is. I am not ashamed to admit that the sheer effort of trying to hold something together affected my ability to find words to put here for a long while. It is difficult to write anything with any real conviction when your energies are being expended elsewhere, it’s draining to say the least and today is the first day in a long while that I have felt able to sit and think, really think, about starting to write again.

I have kept a blog of some description since I was around 16, it has taken many guises over the years, bouncing between self involved rants at 2am, forays into Music journalism, creative writing and musings on Art and Fashion. It has spanned several sites and pseudonyms, and has unwittingly managed to deeply offend certain family members and cause rows with boyfriends along the way. I must admit my sporadic attitude of late really irks me. I used to post daily at the very least, taking a break only on Sunday to cram in the rest of my tasks. It never occurred to me that people would ever want to read what I had to say, let alone follow me as I ricochet around the internet. But follow me they did and I have managed to maintain some sort of a following ever since the days when I would whine on LiveJournal about my unrequited love for THAT UNSUITABLE BOY. I cannot promise that dipping my toe back into familiar territory won’t cause me to panic and disappear again but I can promise that I will pick myself up and start again, just as I always have done. And that is why I am back.