Christ, You Know It Ain’t Easy

The main band I play with – Russ Payne and the Shark Dentists - is fortunate. It’s been busy gigging regularly all this year and already has bookings scattered right through 2014. And yet we are still caught in the round of calling the people who book bands and begging them for work.

With a few exceptions, the people who book bands seem incapable of giving straight answers, incapable of calling back when they say they will, incapable of intelligible speech when they do call back, and often capable of double-booking you with someone else or forgetting to put dates in their diary.

When too many of these things happen at once, you begin to question why you are bothering. At these times, the lure of concentrating on recordings and videos rather than live performance becomes extremely attractive.

And we’re among the lucky ones. Goodness knows how many bands must have given up, beaten down by the seeming impossibility of getting a gig.

That Royalty Feeling

Well, I got my first royalty cheque for my novel Like A Flower this week. It's been a long time coming. And it isn't going to change my lifestyle significantly, but it really feels good to get even a little something back for a hell of a lot of work.

There's also been money starting to trickle in from Russ Payne and the Shark Dentists' new all-original album 'In Love With Trouble'. And the feeling is the same.

Words and music may look easy... but they take a lot of hours and a lot of energy. Why do we do it? ... is a good question... I suppose it's what we do and we don't have any choice but to keep on doing it...

Double Take

Rowena J Ronson

There is more to life than words and music... so some of the issues that don't get covered on this blog will now be appearing in a new online magazine called Double Take, which aims to make you think twice about things...

Writing and editing can be a lonely business. It usually has to be, because collaboration is not always easy.

The only writer I've ever been able to collaborate with successfully is Rowena J Ronson, who is co-editing the new magazine with me.

I think we make a good team because we are different and because we challenge each other.

And I think we also bring out the best in each other's writing... give Double Take a read and see if you agree.

Fighting For Life

In a bizarre coincidence, two of my children came close to something dreadful happening to them in two completely separate gas leak incidents in the past few days.

And I also found myself helping to tend to a close friend who had collapsed suddenly and had to be taken to hospital.

Inevitably, such incidents remind us of the fragility of our lives.

It was sad to hear of the death of Pat Pilkington (above), a remarkable woman who, along with Penny Brohn, helped found the Bristol Cancer Help Centre (now Penny Brohn Cancer Care).

Pat, whom I had the privilege to meet and interview, was in a way an "ordinary" woman who did extraordinary things, making so many people take a second look at the ways in which we had been conditioned to deal with cancer.

She was the best kind of revolutionary: quiet, effective, steely, charming, successful and modest.

Kofi Time

I’ve been spending quite a bit of time with Kofi Baker. Not literally, but with his excellent drum tuition book, The Forgotten Foot. 

The drummer’s forgotten foot is, of course, the left foot – unless you’re left-footed (in which case it’ s the right one).

And Kofi is, of course, the son of the legendary Ginger. Whether they are speaking to each other these days, I don’t know. Kofi said a while back that their relationship was “distant”.

But one thing that unites them, apart from that distinct Baker drum sound, is their appreciation of the left foot as time-keeper.

For many of us of the rock persuasion, the left foot just sort of follows on in there with the left hand. But if you come from the jazz direction, the left foot on the hi-hat is the crucial master control – the original click track

Once this fact is grasped, the left foot becomes the linchpin rather than an add-on.

Ginger’s left foot – on hi-hat or second bass drum, or on both of those at the same time (in what is known as pedal-bridging) is a marvel, and I’m beginning to find the joy in having that left foot taking on a life of its own, inspired by watching great jazz drummers and particularly my mentor, the great John Marshall.

I’m also indebted to Kofi for his book and its wonderful exercises for every foot and hand. He comes over as a modest man with a true passion for the drum kit and its infinite possibilities. And he deserves to be remembered for Forgotten.

Opportunity Begs

Some opportunities are just too good to turn down. And some are just too awful to accept.

My main band, Russ Payne and the Shark Dentists, like to play festivals – not that we don’t enjoy playing the usual circuit of pubs, clubs and parties.

Having just finished a string of festival gigs, we were offered another. All we had to do was fill in an online application and pay a $10 fee – and the application form made it clear that if we played the festival, there would be no cash payment for “this opportunity”.

It’s insulting enough to be paid nothing, but even worse to be asked to pay $10 to be paid nothing.

If you want to see a line-up of bands who are so desperate for a gig that they are willing to pay to play, this will be the festival for you.

Musicians are good at selling themselves short. And I was just reminded of that fact by Stevie Freeman at the excellent Union Music in Lewes, East Sussex, one of the independent record stores that is stocking the new Russ Payne and the Shark Dentists album, ‘In Love With Trouble’.

I said we were happy to sell the album for £7. Stevie said it should be £10: “You shouldn’t sell yourselves short.”

She’s right, of course. 

We can all do better...

Country Girl

When my younger daughter was born and we settled on naming her Nevada Rose, I said that sounded like a great name for a country singer.

I couldn’t have forecast that 19 years later she’d be front of stage with her guitar and her beautiful voice... and with me on drums in the band backing her up.

One of the songs she was playing at this one-off performance was “Jolene” – but a much darker reading than Dolly Parton’s - so yes, my country singer prophecy sort of came true.

Except that this particular “country singer” has mastered piano, violin, organ and sax, and also the composing and conducting of classical and choral music.

And all that I definitely couldn’t have forecast... any more than all the rest that is still to come from this remarkable musician.

Greta the Great

Music is emotion incarnate. And sometimes it is almost too much to take in.

Despite the fact that I am no cricket aficionado, I found myself in The Long Room at Lord’s the other night for a Britain-Australia Society/South Australian Cricket Association dinner that marked not only the start of the Ashes matches but also the fact that some of the relics of Sir Don Bradman were on show in the MCC Museum.

I knew enough about The Don – as even we cricket non-aficionados call him – to get a buzz from seeing his bats and his blazer and his mum’s scrapbook of press cuttings.

But that was nothing to what was to come.

For The Don’s grand-daughter, Greta Bradman, was at the dinner. And she was there to sing. Which is something of an understatement. She is an accomplished operatic soprano with a voice whose power is such that one can scarcely believe it comes from her slight body.

The intensity of her voice stopped time in The Long Room, with the backdrop of the great cricket ground behind her, and a portrait of Sir Don looking down upon the scene.

And when she went from the classics to When You Wish Upon A Star without skipping a beat, the feeling that filled her and every one of us listening was electric.

Emotion. Music. Love. Greta Bradman exudes them all.

Friends Electric

I really love Brighton Electric studios.

I often hire a room there for solo drum practice. Because it's reasonably priced. The drum kits are good. And the staff know what they're talking about. It's a warren of studios, with bands of all sorts (but mainly young and loud) coming and going at all times.

The other day I did an early-morning session there before taking the train from Brighton into London for work, leaving my car near the studio.

I didn't get back until really late that night. And as I walked past the Electric, I could hear the sound of drums coming through the windows.

It was a great sound and produced a great feeling...

I'd done the morning shift and now someone was doing the night shift.

This is a music factory, where the music is a constant, and the people who come in for an hour or two hours or a day are the factor that is ever-changing.

A bit like the world...

The Present Day Drummer Refuses To Die

Well, he’s still alive... just.

And at 73, Ginger Baker is still playing with almost cast-iron authority.

Seeing him in concert this week left me reflecting on the first time I saw him play – 46 years ago – and this, perhaps the last time I will see him play.

“You just want to see me die on stage,” said Ginger, coming back on for the encore. “And I’m not joking...”

He’d just finished a resounding Aiko Biaye that had just as much energy as when he played it live with his big band, Airforce, in the 1970s... even though his troops are now down to just three heavyweight musicians: Alec Dankworth on bass, Pee Wee Ellis on sax and Abass Dodoo on percussion.

I think Ginger made the odd mis-hit and certainly dropped a few sticks, but for a man who seemed to have considerable difficulty walking on and off stage, and for whom talking seemed to be a breath-draining ordeal, he was on remarkable form, dictating the play with assuredness, invention and an “I’m in charge” arrogance that you wouldn’t want to argue with.

For once, he seems to be doing what he wants, and with the musicians he wants to do it with. There was even a smile occasionally breaking through that taut grimace beneath the shades.

How much longer will this true legend of drumming be with us? I have learned over the past 40 years that there are other drummers who are as great as Ginger – and possibly more versatile. But you could have said the same about Gene Krupa... 

These real drumming legends are not technicians... they are musicians and magicians... and they are inspirational, heroic and, of course, also flawed and mortal.

There won’t be another Krupa. There won’t be another Baker... 

Another Door Closes

It's sad to hear of the passing of Ray Manzarek.

I first heard The Doors - performing The End - courtesy of a progressive English teacher who played the final track of their debut album to us in a poetry lesson early in 1967. He had an import copy - and as soon as I could, I went out and bought it.

It remains one of the finest records ever made. Not just for The End... but for every darkly brilliant track. And not just for Jim Morrison's remarkable voice, or Manzarek's trademark keyboards, or Robbie Kreiger's unsettling guitar, or John Densmore's incredibly precise yet emotional drumming.

The Doors were (like the Beatles) the sum of their parts - and then some. But the Doors were hipper and bigger and far more dangerous than the Beatles could ever hope to be.

Singing Queen

In 1974 I was writing a record review page on a provincial evening newspaper. The man from Epic Records used to turn up every so often with a box of new releases, and one that came with no information at all was called Waterloo by Abba (which didn't sound like a great name for a band).

I can still remember hearing it for the first time (which is pretty much the same as every time ever since) and writing my one paragraph that said there was no doubt this was a number one hit single.

I always loved Abba. Right from when I had absolutely no idea who they were.

And now Agnetha is back among us. The alleged recluse is suddenly everywhere, promoting her new album.

In one interview she talked in detail about singing The Winner Takes It All, recorded in the midst of the pain of her divorce - and written by Bjorn, the husband she was parting from. She reckons it was Abba's finest moment, and it's hard not to agree. It is heartbreak transformed into music... something that so many songwriters attempt to achieve. But here you had the intensity of the doomed couple between them producing something that no one else could.

There still seem to be tears in Agnetha's voice in the new songs... such as When You Really Loved Someone and I Keep Them On The Floor Beside My Bed.

Tears and a diamond-hard resilience.

She's still got it. And I'll still buy it.

The Gary Clark Experience

The new Hendrix. It's a bit like the new Dylan. Except Dylan always was - and is - the new Dylan.

Jimi has the disadvantage (and advantage) of having been dead for 40 years or so.

The new Hendrix, they say, is Gary Clark Jr. Well, he is and he ain't.

Some are calling him the new Hendrix because he's black. But Jimi was as white as he was black, and, if anything, his shade of white was rainbow-coloured.

The real question is: is Gary Clark Jr any good. And the answer is: yes.

Like Hendrix, he goes beyond the bounds. He takes the guitar off the track. And he manages to play at tangents to where one might expect him to be.

If Jimi were still alive, he probably would not be playing a million laid-back miles from Eric Clapton's (rather lovely) Old Sock album. But if is a big word.

Forget Jimi for a moment. Check out Gary Clark Jr...

Heartless Radio

For my sins, I regularly have to sit listening to a radio station that dispenses aural garbage. 

I hate to generalise but the majority of the songs, melodies, lyrics, arrangements, instrumentation and singing are the most appalling cliches. They have no connection to real life, real feelings or real emotions; nor, to my way of thinking, do they constitute real music. They are heartless.

And if the drumming on any of the songs is played by people, I suspect they are morons plugged in to click tracks. In fact, I hope that they are nothing but click tracks and that no humans were damaged in the production of this stuff. 

This is the true sound of contemporary entertainment. And that is deeply saddening... 

Back To Baker

The recent post on Ginger Baker had so many views that I'm offloading a bit more of my debt to (and blame on) the man...

“Am I to blame if people try to emulate my life and die?” That’s Ginger Baker’s quote. Of course.

I’ve certainly tried, Ginger. And it certainly feels as if it's come close to killing me. 

But it’s been worth it. For the odd flash when the drums roll just as they’re supposed to. When they chase down the triplets on the lead guitar runs. When they kick in hard with the bass - or skip around it to beat it to the punch. And that’s mostly down to you, Ginger.

But at the end of the day, emulating you maybe, I seem to have lost far too many people along the way. And, less importantly, like you, I’ve lost more money than I care to try to count up. 

I shouldn’t have done it. But then we don’t have a choice in these things, do we? 

Are we to blame if you live your life as you’ve lived it and you die in pain and penury?

Don’t worry. There’s more than a few drummers right behind you.

Mr Baker

The real drummer seldom plays the minimum. He seeks to find how far he can go - not for himself but for the sake of the music. 

I got into this game because of Ginger Baker. October 1967. Ginger Baker. At the Saville Theatre, London. In front of the hippest crowd on the planet. With me there too. Ginger Baker. With Cream. Opening with Tales Of Brave Ulysses. Jack Bruce with a voice borrowed from heavy metal angels. Ginger Baker. And Eric Clapton in Hendrix fuzz and granny shades and playing guitar that was not of this earth. Ginger Baker. 

Ginger would tell me to fuck off if I were ever to get close to him. But he changed my life. Fucking Ginger Baker.

On Ginger’s website there’s a video of him playing We’re Going Wrong. When Cream played that song live, Jack Bruce’s vocals went to the limit. And sometimes Clapton’s guitar did the same. But Ginger Baker. Watch that video and you will see how far a drummer can go - for the song. Because he has to. That is real drumming.

Air On A G Harp

Strange things have been happening in the world of harmonicas...

I've been hard at work with Russ Payne and the Shark Dentists recording our second album – the first was more or less a 'live' album, but this one is the full all-original works, featuring guest musos, sort of 'Sgt Pepper's Rocking Blues Club Band'.

It's actually called 'In Love With Trouble' and should be up on iTunes, Amazon etc before too long... as well as appearing in traditional CD form.

Anyway, to start a long story that I may not be able to cut short... the final track was an acoustic number which seemed to be crying out for a violin solo. But as sessions went by and the violinist couldn't make any of the dates... it was decided that the song was actually asking for a blues harp solo.

I play occasional harmonica with the band, but of the six harps I had with me, not one of them was in the right key.

I just had the week between the penultimate session and the final one to buy (and play in) a Marine Band harmonica in the key of G.

Checking by phone to make sure I didn't have a wasted journey to a local music store, I found that they didn't have a G harp in Brighton, they didn't have a G harp in Eastbourne. Or Haywards Heath. Or Lewes. Oh well, it would have to be the Charing Cross Road in London.

I called Macari's, where I usually buy harps, and they didn't have one either. "There's a problem with Hohner sending over harmonicas in the key of G from Germany," I was told. "What kind of problem?" They didn't know.

Days were going by and I was getting desperate. I emailed Hohner in Germany to ask what had happened to the flow of G harps. More days went by and there was no word.

In the midst of this I had to attend my son's graduation ceremony at the Rose Theatre, Kingston. A quick googling revealed a music shop almost next door to the theatre: Hand's Music.

I phoned them, expecting the usual apology. But the man who answered said: "Yes, we've got three of them." "All in G?" "Yes."

Reader, I reserved a G harp and picked it up next day. And shortly after that I was in the studio, playing the last solo on the last track of the album, ready for the last mix. And it came out all right – probably because it had been such a long, hard road to get that damned harmonica there and in front of the microphone.

I still haven't heard from Hohner... But Hand's is my new favourite music shop.

Tales From The Sticks - Two

It's very late, but I did promise more on drum sticks...

That was because I was getting some funny looks on the train on the way into London, when I spent a considerable amount of time winding large, blue rubber bands around the ends of a couple of old sticks.

They were a present, of sorts, for a stickless drummer who needed a pair of beaters which could also be reversed to double as ordinary sticks. I had to pass them on to someone who could then pass them on to him in time for a special performance (which I couldn't get to).

Special, because it was born out of a series of music workshops at Crisis (the charity for the homeless) where I've been doing volunteer work for several months, as part of my training to be a music workshop leader.

And a present, because if I'd passed on a pair of my own beaters/sticks, I might not have seen them again.

Appalled at the number of red rubber bands deposited on the streets by postal workers, I had found a while back that they could be used to create rubber beaters of varying sizes, simply by wrapping them around and around the ends of old or damaged sticks.

Hence my quick manufacture of a pair on the London train. With those regular "If you see anything suspicious..." announcements being made, I became conscious that commuters were eyeing me as a potential security risk. But no one could bring themselves to ask me what the hell I was up to...

On Baker Street

I've been spending some time on Baker Street. And every time I'm there, I hear Gerry Rafferty and that saxophone and some of the most poignant lyrics ever written.

I'm just in the process of sending a copy of Baker Street to someone who hasn't heard it... but needs to... because the song is about them... just as much as it is about most of us...

The reason for this post is that while checking out Baker Street on websites I came across a discussion that was quite amazing... no trolls, no unpleasantness... just post after post of warm emotion for Baker Street and for its significance in people's lives... and for the late Gerry Rafferty.

Baker Street meant so much to so many people, it seems. And what is that meaning? If you don't know, you'd better give it a listen... It was written for you too.

Beardness Weirdness

Policemen have been looking younger for quite some time. In fact, it wasn't long ago that I found myself asking a member of the constabulary who was giving me a severe ticking off for parking inappropriately: "Just how old are you?"

He wouldn't give me his age, but I can tell you that he didn't like the question very much, and brought our conversation to an end with a "Well, make sure you don't do it again".

But I was looking out the train window the other day as we pulled into Clapham Junction and saw a child with a beard. No, seriously, a young boy, about 5ft tall maximum, with a proper black beard.

So are beards – like policemen – getting younger? One thing's for sure... I'm definitely getting old.

And... But...

And... if you're wondering what happened to the extra And... it's gone. I was going to start expanding this blog into other areas apart from words and music. But I'm now going to be able to do that in a new online project, which should be up and running in April.

More news on that nearer the launch.

Words and Music will be sticking to words and music.

Pistorius... Pastorius

I've been away... I'm back.

Whenever I hear the name Pistorius (which I seem to do quite frequently at the moment) I hear it as Pastorius — another remarkable person and troubled soul.

While I find it difficult to warm to the macho, guns and ego story of Pistorius, I still find the tale of Jaco Pastorius a hard one to bear.

Apparently a sufferer from a bipolar disorder (which may in its way have fuelled his genius for playing electric bass), Pastorius ended up on medication, on too much alcohol... and finally on the street.

His work with Weather Report, Herbie Hancock and Joni Mitchell was stunning. His death in 1987 — after an altercation with a bouncer — at the age of 35 must be one of music's greatest tragedies.

And... Capital Punishment

Perhaps I'm getting old. I never thought I'd write this... but I may be in favour of capital punishment.

I think it was Viv Stanshall's Sir Henry Rawlinson who, when asked what he thought of capital punishment, said: "Capital!"

The "Sir Henrys" of the world have always been in favour of stringing them up. But I never have. In any circumstances.

Not until now. The Delhi gang-rape case changed things.

It wasn't a conscious change of mind. I just found myself feeling that the men who committed this unbelievably awful assault on a woman had forfeited their right to live. They deserved to die.

And it isn't even a "rational" change of heart or mind. I'm still against capital punishment — for all the well-rehearsed reasons that any sensible person would be.

But for these men, if it were down to me, I would make an exception.

Vinnie Vidi, Vici

I added an And... to the blog because I was beginning to feel that Words And Music couldn't cover everything there was to write about.

But then along comes drumming legend Vinnie Colaiuta (pictured) and explains how "thought is the enemy of flow".

In answering the question what does he think about when he is playing, he goes beyond philosophy and seems to chime with the teachings of Jiddhu Krishnamurti on the role of thought.

Colaiuta says in the latest issue of Modern Drummer magazine: "The answer is basically: nothing. Thought happens in a completely different way out of flow. Out of flow, it's contemplative and analytical and problem-solving. In flow, it's completely different. It's like a real-time programme running in the background that doesn't interfere with what's going on. The ability to adapt in a given moment is beyond the scope of another type of focused thought process."

Whether Colaiuta is familiar with Krishnamurti's teaching, I don't know. Whether he is or not is irrelevant, since he has got to a similar place (although Colaiuta is talking about drumming, while Krishnamurti is talking about the whole of living): the assignment of thought to its "proper" role — "in flow" rather than dominating, separating, judging, creating images, creating the self, creating pasts and futures...

This truly meditative aspect of playing must apply to other instruments. But was it not the ancient sage Ginger Baker who once said: "Sometimes you're not playing the drums... the drums are playing you."

From Tiny Acorns...

Not only has Like A Flower sold a few copies... but reviews are starting to appear... I smiled in particular at this one...

Gardener's Questing Time 8 Jan 2013

By J. Clarke

Amazon Verified Purchase

A horticultural thriller that comes over as a cross between Amateur Gardening and True Crime magazine, this had me gripped from the very first page. Lots of twists and turns, some superb writing and a plot to (literally) die for. As Raymond Chandler said, "a good story cannot be devised, it has to be distilled". If that's so, this is of the finest vintage.

If you want to check out whether such comments are justified, you can buy the book... and read more reviews... by clicking here.

And... The Economy

I never studied economics. So I'm ignorant about how the economy works on the national, regional and global scale. Mind you, I'm probably not alone in that. And even the people who seem to know don't seem to know that much more.

I may well be wrong... but aren't we in trouble because we've filled our lives and our homes with crappy things that we don't need (at the same time as eating a lot of things that aren't actually food, and drinking a lot of things that are killing us)?

And now we don't have so much money, we're not buying so much crap. But because so many people's lives are bound up with making and selling crap to their fellow human beings, we're kind of stuck...

When we were all buying things that we didn't need like there was no tomorrow... we didn't realise that one day there would be no tomorrow...

And...

Well, the blog has acquired another And...

Mainly because up to now I've been writing — mainly — about the worlds of writing and music...

But it seems time to expand a little... and maybe occasionally to say things less often said... at least, that will be the aim...

But that doesn't mean there won't still be posts devoted to words and music... and both of them at the same time... as well as the odd And...

So whoduggit?

I know a number of people have actually bought - and some have even read - Like A Flower (my tale of life, death, love and gardening - aka the whoduggit).

If you are one of those who have read it, it would be wonderful if you'd put up a one-line (or even one-word) review on one of the websites selling it.

Most of the links are listed on the website... and if you haven't bought it yet...