Beware! The Leopard

So hot

My latin blood is boiling in my veins.  With temperatures of 28 for the last week, I have finally realized that whatever tolerance I had for heat before arriving on this crazy little land mass has left me.  Undoubtedly my ability to cope with cold temperatures has also left, but I won't notice that until I go somewhere cold.

All this heat means that I have spent a lot of time lazing about, and not a lot of time searching for new bands, therefore this week does not have a new band to look forward to.  The heat has caused me to shove my brain to one side and reach for my "default" music.  That music that I listen to when I'm not really in the mood of thinking about music at all.  For me this is Blues.  I'm currently listening to Robert Johnson, THE king of the delta blues singers.  There's something about listening to good southern blues on a hot summer day.  The blues is a form of music that just could not possibly have been developed in a cold climate.  Blues requires heat, stifling summer humidity, crumbling shacks shaking with the sound of stomping feet.  Calloused bare feet walking over hot pavement, towards the veranda where a cool glass of lemonade waits.  Blues is the sound of summer. 

If you want to get into the blues, you can start at the beginning with Robert Johnson, but if you prefer more modern fare, check out Taj Mahal, Keb 'Mo, or Stevie Ray Vaughan. 

Friday, Friday, Friday

Well, some good news today.  If the price of tickets is affordable, it looks like M and I might be spending the last weekend of August in Southern France at my aunt's house.  It's nice to have relatives who have homes in this part of the world.  It will be nice to get away.

Don't get me wrong, I'm having a good time here, but after awhile, the smell, the noise and the speed of life catch up with you.  This city never lets up, which can be a bit difficult for people used to a bit of down time, especially in the summer.  I didn't really miss Canada that much before the summer, but with hotter weather, all I can think about are weekends at someone's cottage, swimming in fresh water surrounded by lush green Canadian forest.  It's an experience that I think is tough to replicate in any other part of the world.

On the music front I'm working on a couple of new tunes and hopefully on Monday I'm going to record a tune that I've had in my head for quite a while, it's more of an acapella number, but I like it. 

We also may have found a drummer for the band.  He's got all the right cred, it's more of a personality thing now, so the four of us are going for a drink on Sunday to suss each other out.  At least it is progress. 

Catch ya next week!

Practice Practice Practice

Not enough can be said about the importance of practicing to both a musician and a songwriter.  It is unfortunate that I normally loathe it so much.  Last night I did my vocal exercises for the first time in a few days because when I went to play one of my tunes my voice just wasn't up to it.  Not because I was straining it, but just because it was out of practice.

So I proceeded to practice for a good twenty minutes, just simple scales, some diaphragm exercises, etc.  When I went back to singing songs, it made an enormous difference. 

So this short post is to all you vocalists out there.  Keep practicing, it makes a world of difference.

Bands to Watch: The Great Sojourn/Jon Brombley

Great Sojourn

Jon Brombley and I met when I started working at the Sound Control on Oxford St.  At first glance, he looks like a typical London indie musician.  Shaggy hair, black plastic specs, and undoubtedly into playing loud noise on a grungy old telecaster copy.  Well, I was completely wrong.  Despite appearances, Jon is one hell of a songwriter.  His outfit, "the Great Sojourn", has produced one self-titled EP, with three great tracks on it.  Although I must admit some of the religious references make the athiest in me cringe, I cannot deny that Jon's skills as a songwriter are worthy of attention.  Particularly great is the track "Chasing Sunsets" with Jon's emotion-laden voice rising above his mellow acoustic guitar.  The instrumental arrangments are sublime on all three tracks, and I'm going to have to ask him how he did it if I hope to turn into a proper songwriter. 

I managed to catch Jon's solo show at a fantastic venue, The Old Queen's Head in Islington, and although the audience had been tuning out the horrible acts that preceded him, Jon managed to capture their attention and bring them around with his quirky self-deprecating banter, his soulful voice, and his guitar playing.  It was particularly amusing when he started using the looper to layer guitar phrases and I think some of the audience thought there was some black magic going on. 

All in all, The Great Sojourn produces very easy to listen to music, but with heart.  Go check him out.

Vandalism and a goodbye

Another late post.  This week has been a week of ups and downs, I suppose all weeks are like that, but this was more so. 

Almost two weeks ago, I purchased a bicycle.  Nothing fancy, but a commuter type bike so that I could ride the three miles to work.  I figured that it's time I get some more exercise, and the fact that I ride to work in half the time it takes the bus is a big plus as well.  So I've been riding, pretty much rain or shine for the last two weeks.  I find the ride clears my head before and after work, plus it feels kind of like a mission riding through London traffic.  The motorists here are pretty used to bicycles being all over the place, and so they treat them pretty well most of the time.  Drunks however do not. 

Last night was a going away party for one of my co-workers.  He's heading back to Australia with his wife after having spent a number of years here.  So in celebration, the cast and crew of Rose Morris went to a nearby pub after work and proceeded to get pretty trashed.  After 5 hours and 6 pints, I was in no shape to ride my bicycle home, so I locked it up near work and tubed it home.  This afternoon on collection, it appears that someone has kicked my front derailleur which makes it hard to change gears.  It's not a hard fix, and the bike shop is going to take care of it tomorrow.  I'm just a bit pissed that somebody would do that to a bike.  It's not like they bent a tire, or tried to steal it.  They just kicked one really important part.  Now that is London for you.  People here tend to drink more than they should and tend to do stupid things when drunk because they don't care about the repercussions.  Hopefully I'll be back on two wheels come Tuesday morning. 

On another note, I'm saying goodbye to my trusted Eden 210XST bass cabinet.  The damn thing takes up too much room, and now that I'm not a gigging bass player, it is hard to justify keeping it around.  The good thing is that once I've sold it, I can use the money to pick up an RC-50 loopstation and work on my live act.  I'm looking forward to kicking it into second gear.  Wish me luck.

Can you hear the forest for the trees?

Arbouretum

This is an oddly depressing record.  Imagine Jack White without all the energy, just a crunchy blues guitar tone laying the foundation for melancholic vocals with a faint taint of Native American chanting and pioneer songs in the melodies.  Arbouretum, hailing from Baltimore, released their 2nd LP, Rites of Uncovering, on Thrill Jockey records, and are not prepared to look back.  This album is raw emotion.  Pale Rider Blues, the third track, is a searing assault on the mind perpetrated by a guitarist who watched Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock and took the sound to heart. 

Being an old bluesman myself, the guitar tones on the record reached right into my heart and pulled on some emotion that has been buried for quite a while now.  This is not blues by any normal format, but blues-drenched rock played at a snail's pace.  If you are not prepared to embrace minute long guitar interludes and simple but effective song structures, this album is not for you.  However, if you think you can commit to an eleven minute song called "The Rise" which is long enough to require a short silent intermission in the middle, than come on down to the Arbouretum, you'll definitely see all the trees.

I am a selling machine!

That's right, I've been outselling my comrades at the new shop almost everyday.  To be honest, I am given a bit of an advantage in that I am normally near a lot of the accessories which is what we sell the most of, but even then, it's a nice feeling to do a good job.  Sometimes I worry about becoming a sleaze ball salesman a la Robin Williams in that stupid movie with Tim Robbins from the 1980s where Robbins violently takes over a car dealership because his girlfriend is cheating on him.  I know it is unlikely, but I also know that I won't be a salesman forever, and that probably makes it easier to bear (bare?). 

Things are going pretty well otherwise.  I'm quite satisfied with the tune I posted on Wednesday.  I know that there are few things that could be improved, and I will work on them in the next tunes that I record, but overall progress is being made, if slowly.  However the band is no further a long as we still lack a drummer.  We've had a few nibbles on ads we've posted, but nothing concrete.  It doesn't help that all three of us have been relatively busy.  It's hard to be a music collective when it is not your primary concern.  That being said, I'm not down about it, because I'm mentally focusing on my own stuff, which I find easier to deal with.

So that's about it for now.  Tomorrow I'm going to check out a friend of mine play a show at the Old Queen's Head in Islington.  He goes by the moniker "The Great Sojourn", and I will write a full review for you in the near future. 

White Coated Wolves

After a short delay, HERE is the first of the true "demo" songs.  I wrote it after coming back from Canada in June of this year, and it was one of those songs where the lyrics just came out.  I'd been fiddling with the main rhythm guitar riff for quite some time, but could never find words to suit it.  The final lyrics are:

Would you hold my hand and walk down the street with me after the fall. 
Or would you turn and run as if my body were a gun?

All that I wanted was another opinion, yours could I have it please baby.
All that I wanted was a different perspective to show that I'm not so crazy.

Would you turn me in to the white-coated wolves that roam the streets at night.
Or would you let me in to some place where I'd hide away under the sun?

All that I wanted was another opinion, yours could I have it please baby.
All that I wanted was a different perspective to show that I'm not so crazy.

Would you lock me outside in the cold morning light to make me face my fears.
Or would you let me in?

Could you let me inside, I'm getting cold feet.
Could you let me inside, I'm getting cold feet.

New instrument - the Cajon!

So a couple of weeks ago I bought a new instrument, a Cajon! (I feel it always needs to have an exclamation point after it, but for the sake of your sanity, I will stop it now).  Essentially it is a box.  A wooden box.  Now those of you with some inkling will realize that the word Cajon! (sorry) is Spanish.  Now just to ensure that no offense is taken, Cajon means box or crate, and is not slang for male testicles.  If you are looking for that other word, it is Cojones, a subtle but important difference.

The cajon originated in Peru as African slaves were forbidden to own musical instruments, thus they used empty crates to form the basis of their rhythm sections.  Use of the Cajon quickly spread to many other parts of Latin America (notably Cuba), before becoming something of a focal point in jazz and Spanish influenced music in North American and Europe.

I noticed the trend towards the Cajon a couple of years ago when I caught a jazz trio using one in Ottawa.  It was then that my desire to get one began.  The reason for the recent purchase (and at 50 quid it was a steal) was that I needed something to provide a basic groove to my recordings, and not being a drummer, I needed something that wouldn't take too long to figure out.  To master the cajon will take years of practice, but I've managed to get it to do what I want it to do, and it records beautifully. 

Here's a picture.  Long live the crate!

Phosphorescent

Phosphorescent

I first heard of Phosphorescent via a newspaper that I picked up at Rough Trade, and I was glad that I did.  These guys have an interesting sound that is taking me more into the realm of country than I would normally like, but so did Johnny Cash, and who can argue with that, although it is a bit surprising that they hail from NYC. 

I'm not too familiar with the particulars of the band, i.e. how many members, history, etc., but I thought they were worth mentioning because of my singer-songwriter kick that I have been on lately.  These guys are kind of like a cross between Bright Eyes, Bon Iver, too many Nashville songwriters to count.  Like Bon Iver there is a kind of front porch feel to their tunes.  The recordings are all very warm and have a lo-fi quality to them which increases this closeness.  If you close your eyes whilst listening to some of their tunes ("Right Now I'm a Roaming" is a good example), you can almost imagine a fair-haired country lass coming out the door with lemonade, and Rover is sleeping in the shade of the old oak tree.  The focus of the group is on melodies, most often carried by a chorus of falsettos, but occasionally by a mandolin or banjo, and this is where their strength lies.  The lyrics are neither here nor there, but the atmposphere that Phosphorescent creates does almost glow. 

I won't recommend this group to everyone, as my wife is probably shaking her head that I included them at all, as she finds the falsetto a bit too much to bear; but if you like country/folk and are interested in finding something new, check 'em out, you just might like them.