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...