Still Alive

Disclaimer: have had some beer.

Played at an open mic night tonight. Being young is fun, but (relatively) old people can be fun to be around. They buy you pints without wanting one in return, they compliment your set when you know you sucked....they're just very nice people. You know what? That's all. Sometimes I don't have much to say, especially after a goodly measure of exceptionally fine Hook Norton ale.

No God, but god (yes I mean it to be that way round and the comma is also intentional)

Sometimes I don't feel motivated to write much. Tonight is one of those nights. However, I will say that my exercise regime is going better than expected. Three days gone, one (short) after-work bike ride and one (knackering) game of five-a-side. Oh, and a rest day. On which I ate too much. Still, I did briefly (before a meal) get down to eleven-and-a-half stones, which is half a stone less than my usual weight, and the fruit-eating has been going pretty well. Damn, this has become a boring corner of the internet. On the subject of the internet, my band is now the second-from-top when you Google it, just one place below the site about the god after which it was named. The Beatles once (were erroneously said to have) claimed they were bigger than Jesus, but Ekkeko (that's my band) may soon be bigger than (the relevant, if admittedly minor Incan) god. Without brackets, that sentence reads: 'The Beatles once claimed they were bigger than Jesus, but Ekkeko may soon be bigger than god.' Admittedly, without the brackets, it doesn't make sense unless I write God with a big 'G', but having attended a C of E primary school, I'm too scared that God might exist to risk making such a claim. Incan small-G gods, on the other hand, seem diluted by their numeracy and South America is a long way away, so I feel safe blaspheming against them. I should stop talking before I come full circle and start making sense.

Utopia #1

Sometimes, being right isn't enough. I mean, it's fairly clear to me that organised religion is a fairly dodgy concept, but if I said it should be banned, I would rightly be called a bit of an arse. I also know that Jim Davidson is a racist tit, but to ban his "comedy" would be a bit shaky, freedom-of-speech-wise. When right-wing people discuss their ideology, they believe in freedom, in not being forced to do things even if they are well-meaning, because that choice should be theirs. To me, the fundamental freedom to be greedy is a slightly odd foundation for a philosophy, but whatever, I think I've found a solution that will suit everyone: voluntary dictatorships.
Instead of getting everyone to vote for one government which no-one ever seems happy with because of all the compromises they have to make for the sake of pleasing everyone, let's split the country into, say, three bits. The south is traditionally conservative, so down there we'll have snipers at Calais for the immigrants, compulsory hunting of fluffy animals and tax breaks for the pink-shirted. These measures would be imposed by a permanent, unelected government, as would the differing measures in the north, such as a blanket ban on Pimms, total relaxation of all drinking laws and a re-introduction of smoking in pubs. The third zone, which might end up covering Greater London, would retain democracy, in case anyone couldn't choose between the northern and southern extremes.
A more advanced system might be divided into counties, giving a numerically huge choice of cultures. Leicestershire might be designated the county in which all drugs were legal, while Lancashire might only go as far as turning a blind eye to weed. Warwickshire might choose to operate Sharia law, while Devon could choose to ban all Muslims, and for those looking for a more moderate approach, Gloucestershire wouldn't be bothered either way. If you haven't grasped the genius of this idea yet, let me clarify.
Under our current system of democracy, there are two realistic options when it comes to voting: Labour or Conservative. These two parties are very similar in many ways, and very vague in their ideologies. This, coupled with the fact that it takes far less than 50% of the public vote to get elected, means that most people won't get to live under the government they voted for, not that they felt any particular affinity for them anyway. Under my system, you "vote" by moving to the county that most suits your beliefs and lifestyle. Instead of two choices, you get....fifty? And you can't lose the election! It's like magic. As inventor of this system, I would like to start by naming myself king of Gwynedd, North Wales. Policies will be posted on here as and when I think of them, but rest assured you'll have to salute the cover of OK Computer in the morning.

Training

Being this lazy is difficult. Obviously, I don't mean it's difficult to be this lazy, but rather being this lazy creates difficulties, if you see what I mean. One difficulty is keeping fit: I'm not particularly lazy in the physical sense, and am quite happy when playing football or riding my bike, but because I'm mentally lazy, I struggle to motivate myself to do these things in the first place. This last week, however, I find myself having properly exercised for seven days running. The first four days of this regime consisted of surfing, which wasn't that strenuous for me because I like to mess around in the shallows where the waves are more frequent and hence I don't do much paddling, but I was in the water for a good few hours a day so I think it did some good. Normally, these four days would have been an isolated blip in my imaginary exercise diary, but surfing with a friend who wants to join the Marines and warms up every morning with silly numbers of press-ups has a habit of making one feel a bit guilty for neglecting one's body. Hence, in the days since coming back from Cornwall, I have been cycling and walking. Walking long-ish distances with hills and stuff, that is. It counts.
Coupled with this new promise to myself to get out of breath at least once a day, I have started eating fruit as a snack. Normally I'm a crisp person, or maybe cheese and digestives, but this week I've been getting through a couple of apples and a banana a day, which is impressive when considering that I don't even like fruit - I think of it as medicine to stop me eating nice, bad things. The reason that I started off this post with a mention of my mental laziness, however, is that I'm not sure I can continue this lifestyle. Tomorrow (a.k.a. today, since it's now after midnight), I go back to work after a week off. Work begins just forty minutes after I get up and ends not long before it gets dark, so cycling, my preferred activity, is off the menu unless I make a special effort to get up early. Breaking up a Sunday afternoon of sofa-warming with a leisurely, unhurried cycle through the countryside is one thing; forcing my zombie self to face a frosty October morning ride with a strict deadline is quite another. But...
My life is changing. I have a job for pretty much the first time. I am going travelling alone for the first time. Today I watched a Grand Prix from start to finish for the first time (note to self: don't bother again). If all this is changing, perhaps I can stick to a routine after all? Sod it, here goes, this is my plan for this week:

• MONDAY - No exercise, stayed up too late writing this blog entry to make an early bike ride a sensible option, but that's OK because without this post I wouldn't be doing any exercise anyway.
• TUESDAY - Pre-work bike ride: 30 minutes.
• WEDNESDAY - Same again, but 45 minutes.
• THURSDAY - The big target: an hour.
• FRIDAY - An hour again. Is this too silly?
• WEEKEND - Do some biking if free.
• MISC - Do a few sit-ups throughout the week. Try and manage one press-up after miserable collapse in presence of laughing wannabe Marine mate. Bit of football if opportunity arises.
• FUTURE WEEKS - Buy some weights. Genetics and lack of use have conspired to give me the arms of an eight-year-old girl.
  

Sometimes, this blog is for me more than you, especially since I'm not entirely sure you exist.

Transition

Song-writing is difficult when you don't have anything about which to write songs. I don't think it's rocket science - when you're in love it's probably easier to write a love song and when you're pissed off it's easier to write an angry song. The problem is that right now, my life isn't really suited to writing songs. It's hard to write a song about the mundane chore of going to work unless you want the song itself to sound mundane. I always have this undercurrent of things I believe and want to write songs about, like politics, philosophy, what's wrong with the world, all that stuff, but when your views on the world are pretty constant and your lifestyle isn't much different, it's hard for a spark to come.
Today I cycled to a wood near my house and lay on my back, looking up through the branches, trying to shift my perspective a bit, but I couldn't detach the setting from my everyday life - I knew I'd just cycled there and I knew how to get back, and that stopped me from feeling much different. Was nice anyway, though. I guess I'll have to wait until my travels start before my songs get any good. Until then, maybe I'll learn some new chords.

Back Again

As I've (probably) said before, I don't like to write about the day-to-day dullness of my life on here, but the last few days have been pretty interesting, so I'll compromise and post a few sentences and a photo. In short, I went down to Cornwall with my mate (in a mini - great car) and had a great few days of surfing, in which I steadily got back up to the (admittedly low) standard I had reached a couple of years ago, the last time I did much surfing. I'm a great lover of the UK as a holiday destination, and I think this photo (of me sanding down a repair to my board, in case you're wondering) is proof that I know what I'm on about - peaceful camp site, great waves, beautiful view. Awesome.


There, done that, back to nonsensical rambling. But not now, it's a bit late and I'm tired. Come on England. Hmmm, I use the word 'great' a lot.

Off Again

Ironically (no, that's probably the wrong word, but anyway), just as the post strike ends, my posts stop. For a week. I'm going surfing. It's going to be great. England are in the Rugby World Cup final. Jonny is a hero. Again. Life, in short, is good. Not least because:

Al Gore has won the Nobel Peace Prize. The man who was, by some murky method, denied the presidency of the most powerful country in the world, but didn't let it get him down - instead, he went and made the most important film in history, about the biggest problem in the world. Half of that last statement might be hyperbole (I only just realised that's probably where the word 'hype' comes from - duh). Better go, things to do. The point was: Al Gore = my kinda dude.

Folk

I went to a folk club the other night, meaning I was sat in a room, drinking a pint of Hook Norton Best Bitter, with a variety of musicians and music-lovers, listening to them play songs and playing a few of my own. I worry that I am becoming not just middle-aged but whatever comes next, because I have to say that my evening at the folk club was very agreeable. Pleasant would be a good word. Excuse me if this post doesn't flow too well - I'm listening to In Rainbows for about the fifth time since I got it, and I can't multi-task. Anyway, my point (will that become a catchphrase?). While not all of the music at the folk club was necessarily to my taste, it was certainly emotive. Maybe it's because more tragic things happened back in the days of yore when real folk songs were written, or maybe it's because it's so fashionable to wrap one's lyrics in metaphor upon metaphor out of fear of someone finding out that the meaning really wasn't worth writing a song about in the first place. Either way, I can't think of very much modern music that makes me feel as emotional as 'My Bonnie' or 'Fields Of Athenry'. For pedants, yes, the latter was written in the seventies, but it is a folk song and is set in the nineteenth century so I think it proves my point. My ideal sound for a new album would be to fuse the wonderful production and arrangement ideas of Radiohead with gut-wrenching folk lyrics, but something tells me that I won't be able to move far enough from the insecure metaphor bollocks to write decent folk songs. Still, worth a try. I'll be going to the folk club again next month, and possibly to another different one in between. For the record, my three chosen songs to play on Monday were:
Girl From The North Country by Bob Dylan - went down OK despite me forgetting one or two verses. Warm and friendly applause.
Slide Song by Ekkeko (my band) - a mistake, given that the song's main gimmick is that it is played with a slide (which I didn't have). Stumbled over the lyrics when I attempted to replace a mild swear word that I had just realised was in there. Polite applause.
Cousin Jack by Show Of Hands - as close to a crowd-pleaser as I was going to get. People sung the chorus! I even attempted a breakdown section where I let the chords ring silent and tapped the rhythm on the echoing body of the guitar; if only I hadn't chosen that point to balls up the chords.
For future performances, I think I'll give myself more than 30 minutes' preparation. It's probably not very rock and roll to sit in your room at weekends learning lyrics and chords, but then folk isn't rock and roll. Unless you're Dylan. And I want to be. Arse.

Waiting

My confirmation e-mail has not arrived. Until it does, no Radiohead album for me. Where is it? How do I live on until it arrives? Answers on an e-postcard.

Hype

There was once a time when it was easy to identify the best band in the world, if not in absolute terms then at least the band which would win such a vote from the general public. The Beatles are the obvious example, with Elvis perhaps as a forerunner and maybe Led Zeppelin later, although my knowledge of musical history is not wonderful. Now, however, I'm not sure. Q magazine yesterday awarded the title of 'best band in the world today' to Arctic Monkeys, a slightly silly notion considering the limited global appeal of simplistic (if good) Sheffield indie-rock. Oh dear, I've fallen into the trap of thinking I know everything...but wait! That was the point. I know I'm not necessarily the one person who is "right" about good and bad music, but it's fun to think I am and to align myself with particular bands and movements. Radiohead, for instance, are tentatively (or sometimes bluntly) put forward by various journalists as the best band in the world today, with little hint of irony, and although I'm sure there is no "best band", it's fun to pretend there is. It's fun to believe the hype, because if you don't, Wednesday October 10th is just another day, while for hype-believers, it's the day that the best band in the world release a much-anticipated album. No, that was some lacklustre hype. Try this.
We live in an exciting time. Classical music, folk music, jazz, rock, rap, techno...they've all left their mark, but each of these is either dead or fading. It's been years, perhaps decades since a sustained period of innovation in music, but that shouldn't be cause for mourning; instead, think of this as the calm before the storm, the lull you use to paddle out your surfboard before the big waves come. Radiohead, the one band with the power to combine everything that has come before into something truly beautiful, are releasing a new album. Radiohead, the band who created Britain's best ever album (OK Computer, according to a Channel 4 poll, and I like Channel 4 viewers). Radiohead, the band who are, according to the BBC, "regarded by some music critics as the world's best rock band". Radiohead. Radiohead. Radiohead. This may be the greatest album of all time.
Now that's hype, and though it may be half exaggerated and half plain wrong, that's what is going through my head because when I listen to it, I want to believe I'm listening to something momentous. Like the England football fan I am, I believe hype is good.

So Near

Sometimes I spend a fair while writing a long post, only to discover it makes no sense. Tonight was one of those nights, and this is not that post. It has joined its directionally challenged brothers in computer limbo, saved with the intent of one day being rewritten but never to be read again. RIP, semi-interesting rant against such unrelated phenomena as capitalism, NME and my own bizarre principles; I wish I'd understood you better.

Bad Poem And Worse Title

I had something to say,
But it got lost on the way
To this electronic node
On a lonely sparking road
In the internet.

My train of thought was peaking
At that certain time of evening
When I tend to type my hardest
Forcing words into this tardis
Called the internet.

But now I've hit delete
Tempted by my tempting sheets,
Although counter-intuitively
I'm still here at one thirty
On the internet.

And I've stretched this to four verses
But the rhymes are getting worses,
And the rhythm's drifted to the point where I've forgotten how many
(If any)
Lines are supposed to be in each verse and syllables in each line
But I guess that's fine because at least it's not real it's just another few insignificant kilobytes
Of the internet.

The Gold At The End Of The Rainbow

Deep.......breath. Calm. ADRENALINE! ADRENALINE! No, calm. Come on, now. Calm. EXCITEMENT! ONLY NINE DAYS! No. Caaaaaaaaaalm. Calm. Calm. There, I think that's done it.
The new Radiohead album, 'In Rainbows', will be available to download on October 10th and I can't wait. The songs I have heard so far (on badly recorded YouTube videos of Radiohead gigs) are amazing, and I can't wait to hear the finished product. The only problem I now have is that I had just got myself into a song-writing mindset and was ready to embark upon some Bob Dylan/Leonard Cohen-esque acoustic material, but now the Radiohead album is going to mess with my head. I'm not disciplined enough to be able to listen to a (presumably) ground-breaking new album and not want to copy it. Oh, that reminds me of something.
Whilst on a wild goose chase with the drummer and guitarist from my band, I came up with an idea for the artwork and title of our next album. The cover photograph would feature the four members of the band, standing in a desolate, brown, arid field, each with our instrument slung over our back (or perhaps a pair of drumsticks in the pocket of the drummer). Each of us would be poised with a different tool: a pitchfork, a hoe, a shovel, a pickaxe. The lonely, rural dusk of the setting would be juxtaposed against our arrogant, indie stares as the diminutive, superimposed, hand-scrawled title in the bottom right of the picture read: "GROUNDBREAKING". Needless to say, I was voted down on this one.