Block Horror

Impressed by my friend Angela's tweeting (and told by her to just get on and do it), I have at long last signed up to Twitter.

But it's been a whole day now and I still can't really think of anything worth tweeting about. Maybe I'm missing the point.

Or have I got tweeter's block? Perhaps I've got blogger's block. Since I'm now blogging about my inability to tweet...

Freak Show

Take some heavy, heavy riffing, mix in some psychedelic rock and then add some delicate funk.

That's what we got at the studios the other night... not in our room but in the chillout area. We being the Monkey Fingers rhythm section. We had nothing much to do, while we were waiting for the vocalists to finish recording their tracks, but hang out — and listen to the sounds blasting out of three other rooms.

From one: industrial bass, guitar and drums that sounded like the awakening of a monstrous beast. From another: far-out hippie guitar noodling and a crazed voice. From the third: cool keyboards and great grooves.

The strange thing is that although sometimes it was a cacophonous sound storm, for much of the time that we sat and listened it actually meshed together really well: a battle of the bands that ended with everyone playing on the same side. Chaos — and yet somehow a bizarre intelligence at work. It could have been a piece of vintage Frank Zappa.

Bearable Lightness

Last night I picked up a whole drum kit in one go, put it in the back of the car and went to a rehearsal. Then, all I had to do was carry it into the studio, put it down and, after attaching some cymbals, I was ready to go.

The Traps A400 portable kit is remarkable in several ways: it really is portable; most of its drums are shell-less; the snare and bass drums are only an inch or two deep; and the whole thing (including pedals and stands) costs just under £300.

Oh, and it sounds really good and it's far louder than you think it's going to be. The bass drum and snare enable you to produce a powerful groove, and while the shell-less tom toms may not resonate quite as much as you would like, they still produce satisfying, thwacky sounds.

It's perfect for rehearsals and may even work on small, quiet gigs. It has to be played to be believed. There is so much "innovation" in the drum world that has little point apart from selling new product that the arrival of the Traps portable kit has to be hailed as a genuine breakthrough.

Best Of Time, Worst Of Time

I've been away. I'm back. I realise now that you need to feel good to blog. And I didn't feel good last week. I had an important audition for some teaching work and messed it up.

A few days previously, I'd played the best drum solo performance of my life (in the privacy of a studio, and in the midst of some emotional upheaval) and was confident that I was on good form. I wasn't. At the audition, I managed to pull off the worst drum solo performance of my life...

Auditions are always a bit worrying. A few months ago, I had one with a big-money function band, where I came second out of five drummers. Second, of course, isn't that great. Although better than third, fourth and fifth. When I got the call telling me that I hadn't got the work, I was a bit miffed, as I thought I'd done as good a job as anybody could (bearing in mind the fairly basic music involved).

Several months later, I got a call from the same band (or one of the post-split halves of it) telling me that actually they thought I should have been number one (although the other half didn't) and would I still be interested in joining their new re-launch line-up? I had to say that I was much too busy now to get involved. But it was good to know that somebody thought I was up to doing the job...

Site For Sore Eyes

Well, it's up at last... the website. Apart from a few little glitches that are being sorted, www.nigelsummerley.com is alive and reasonably well.

The idea of it is to promote the various strands of work that I do: journalism, writing, music, drum teaching. Now I'll have to see if it was worth all the effort put in by my friend and former colleague Keith, one of the best systems experts in the media business.

There is probably more information on there than anyone needs to know, but I promise that I've done my best to keep it brief and easy on the eye. I can't bear looking at those websites that have so much going on that, however hard you try, you can't find anything that you actually want to know.

Monkey Business

I had the pleasure of playing drums on a recording session by Brighton band The Monkey Fingers last night. It was the usual story of three-and-a-half hours setting everything up, half an hour playing and two hours trying to sort out the recordings.

The Funky Mingers, as they are also known, play mainly rhythm and blues in a Sixties/Seventies, Stones/Beatles kind of way. And the lead guitarist Gary is 18. He wasn't even born when people were born who weren't even born in that era. And yet he totally has the feel for the music and played some great solos.

I recall my father saying that the music we were listening to in the Sixties wouldn't last. Well, he got that wrong...

On The Edge

This was one of the views from Beachy Head, and one of the memorials to the lives lost here. I flippantly said to my friend Don that suicide was the easy way out. He pointed out the contrary: "That water's awful hard when you hit it."

He added that no one chooses to commit suicide. It is something that is "done to them" by others or their environment. As in much else, Don had it right. And I suppose the implication is that "we" did it to them.

Maybe that is why the crosses on Beachy Head are both poignant and accusative. They mark where people got pushed over the edge by the rest of us.

Here are two more slightly gloomy pictures from the Head, followed by another one from the same spot which has more life and light:

Head Shot

Well, I made it there. And this picture is the proof. I promised not to throw myself off Beachy Head. And I didn't. It's a beautiful place, and it's so sad that many choose it as a place to die. For me, it seemed at the time more of a place to reflect on life, rather than death, but then I suppose feeling forced to jump is also a reflection on the life experienced by the suicide. I will write more about Beachy Head before long...

Head Case

Ever since I stopped working in an office, I seem to have been working in an office — at home. And whereas there used to be fixed hours and lunch breaks, the person I'm working for now — myself — doesn't let me have any time off.

So I've promised myself a walk to Beachy Head. Not to throw myself off. Although it's a popular spot for that sort of thing. But to get some fresh air and clear my mind.

I need a break.

Baby, They Wants To Be Loved*

Like writers, like musicians... they're only as good as their last gig. I think I'm a good writer, but there are times when I think I'm never going to get another commission.

I know a leading musician who has more gigs and recording sessions to his name than can be fully remembered, and yet he too has anxieties about whether there will be more work.

It can be tempting sometimes just to chuck it in and apply for a job at Tesco. But the problem — for musicians as well as writers — is not the money (although they need it) but the fact they need someone to approve of them. They want to be loved... and you probably won't get that working on the checkout.

(* With apologies to Muddy Waters)

PS You couldn't make it up... Immediately after finishing this post, I got a new commission.

To Drive Or Not To Drive

I've been thinking about Duster Bennett a lot. For two reasons. One is because Russ Payne and the Shark Dentists have been playing his great song Jumping At Shadows at recent gigs, and I've just about got the playing of harmonica (and drums) on it sorted. (Duster, of course, played harmonica, drums and guitar and sang — all at the same time, as he was the one-man band of the blues.)

The other reason is because he died in March 1976, aged 29, when he is thought to have fallen asleep at the wheel driving home from a gig. He's not the first or last musician to do that. It's an occupational hazard when you spend nights driving long distances, setting up, playing, taking down, and then driving off into the night, often along unfamiliar roads.

I almost nodded off a couple of times on my way back from a gig this week. I should have stayed over but had decided I needed to get back. Arriving home at just after 130am, I found the front door locked and ended up sleeping in the back of the car. The musician's life has more than one occupational hazard...

That's Why The Lady Is A Tree

My colleague Rowena, who is a tree (that's what she says) as well as a homeopath and writer, never ceases to stimulate interesting dialogues.

We began work together many years ago, writing about our opposing views on almost everything, in a series of articles called Double Take. But with the passage of time, we seem to disagree about less and less. ("We always did feel the same... We just saw it from a different from a point of view," as Dylan said.)

But that hasn't dimmed the light of our discussions and it's always an education to sit beneath her spreading branches. We are trying to find a way in which we can turn our ongoing dialogues into a sort-of roadshow... which presupposes that other people are going to be as fascinated by them as we are. But then it's not every day you get a chance to see a man in deep discussions with a tree...

Like A Cover

Well, we're getting there. This is one of the cover designs for the book— produced by a friend who creates wonderful pictures by blending images and mixing photography with painting.


I like this one because it combines the beauty of a flower with something darker. I know I'm always saying this but the book is about life, death, love and gardening... and that's all captured here.

However, I think I like even more the alternative cover, below, because it is so classy. And the cassa lily featured here is a symbol of love, death and sex — a combination that also ties in nicely with the themes of the book.

Anything He Can Do...

In my recent post on rhythm sections, I mentioned the love-hate relationship between Ginger Baker and Jack Bruce. Bruce has been quoted as saying that he and Baker were now living on different continents, but he wasn't sure whether that was far enough way; while Baker has publicly blamed Bruce for his misfortunes, including impaired hearing and financial difficulties.

Can the fact that Baker has now announced he will appear at Ronnie Scott's, London, with his latest band have anything to do with the fact that Bruce recently appeared triumphantly at Ronnie's and is due to return there soon with his new band?

Neither of these truly legendary musicians has anything left to prove... do they?

Selfless Work

The new website... of which this blog will be a part... is coming together. And so is the cover for the novel, Like A Flower. In both cases, creative colleagues/friends are doing all the hard work, and I'm just doing all the "Can we do this?" and "Can we do that?"

It's not dissimilar to playing in a band, where the sum of the parts is so obviously greater than the whole. The look of the website, the feel of the book cover, the power of the music are all enhanced by the input of more than one person, and more readily take on lives of their own... perhaps because any egos involved have been diluted.

Rhythm Twins

Why do some rhythm sections endure? And which is the longest-serving rhythm section in the business? My first thought was of Robbie Shakespeare and Sly Dunbar (above), but they've been together a mere 37 years.

That's nowhere near as long as Mez and I (then-and-now pictures, below), rhythm section with Russ Payne and the Shark Dentists, who have been playing for 44 years — although we have had a few years off here and there.

Jack Bruce and Ginger Baker first played together in 1963 and for the last time in 2008, so that adds up to 45 years. But they've probably had more time apart than Mez and I have — and certainly more fights. I can't even find a picture of just the two of them together.

So I think the rhythm section outstanding achievement award has to go to John McVie and Mick Fleetwood (below) who have clocked up 45 years (and spent most of that time playing together amicably). Unless someone out there knows better...