Shapeless, shameful shadows shifting sporadically in front.
Pushing & shoving & elbowing & diving, pushing, shoving.

Stopping.
Awkwardly. In. Front.
Of. Me.
With. No consideration. Of others. Time & plans.

I’m rushing, tumbling down escalator stairs, pushing & shoving to get there.
To ignorant grunts and obnoxious sighs.

As the turgid, degredation rises from ten hours too long. A Friday. A front. Ten feet from civilisation. Ten hours through organisation.

Pushing. Pushing. Shoving.
Push me, push me, I beg you, push me.
I’ll shove away my civil sighs, & greet the groans with growls.

Umbrellas drip with the freshness of the foggy mist. Most moist with ignorant.
Pushes.

Stand back, stand clear.
We all want to escape here.
Escape the expectation.
And the exasperation.
Stand clear of standing back.

Steer clear, push back.
Tut, & shove, & sigh, & rush.
An eye for an eye, with passers by.

London’s loveless lines, feeding the heartbeat of the city. Clogged arteries of tired tried veins. Testing the tubes that feed the face of change.

One stop from home. stopping. Starting. Stuttering.
Delays & decay surge through the cells of the sighs. Shoving.
Stalling.

London’s loveless. Lines

You give, give, give, never looking for return

You like to talk about candles, and how it feels when they burn

You brought a smile to me, when shadowing in doubt

You sought for some solitude, and ended up letting it all out

Ohh, I never asked for redemption, I never looked for your smile

I always hoped you stay with me girl and just kick back awhile

Thinking of that time I heard Coconut Skins, when we’d been hanging out

Talking of letters and postcards and penapsl, and the ones that go without

La la la la la la la…

When you came to my door, and I invited you in to eat

When we spent three hours and more, cooking vegetables and meat

And talking about the worlds problems and comforting your pain

Repeat, repeat, repeat, falling from refrain

So talk to me my darling, and let the rain fall free

As we sit and watch the world go spinning by, through the echoes of the trees

We hadn’t yet heard Coconut Skins, when we were hanging out

Just warming in bodies shared, and hiding from your doubt

La la la la la la la…

coconut skins, part II is a reply to Damien Rice’s ‘Coconut Skins’; http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vKld_QNKH_U

Wednesday 31st May 2012
plus support from La Bete Blooms & Fossil Collective

Sometimes you don’t realise you’re on a journey until you’re on it.
Sometimes you don’t realise you’re on a journey until you’ve finished it.
There’s no doubt that Josh T Pearson’s journey, over the last decade, has been an intense one. And not in the typical clichéd sense.

This journey, in the hazy heat & warm weather, was one that had seen many tormented twists & turns, but, for the man himself, finally seems to be reaching an end. And, for the farewell leg, we joined him, & guests, in the old familiar surroundings of The New (& newly refurbished) Adelphi.

But, in order to take a journey, you have to start off somewhere. And so it was La Bête Blooms, with a rare acoustic set, to become the chaperons that collected us from our pick up point and lead us on our railroad travels which would culminate in an evening with our weary pastor.

For a band imbedded 4,700+ miles away from their host, LBB provided the perfect guides to escort us from pick-up, via a whistle stop trail, deep into the heart of outer Texas. A delicate introduction to their catalogue for most, the enticing awkwardness of Daniel Mawer & Becki Hopkins , calmly drew us into the rickety creaking carriages, that would start our trip. To hear one of Hull’s best new talents draw back to this exposed nature of performance fully complemented the nights billing, and was duly acknowledged wiith one of the best received opening sets I can remember here for a long time.

Tip toeing through their opening numbers, an expectation & intrigued crowd drew in and fell silent as the set marked travails from the summery sunset outside, to the deeper darker Texan roots that the night promised.  As Becki exited the stage, halfway through, Dan was left to mark the transition into an altogether rawer & rougher sound, culminating in a cover of The Cure’s ‘Lovesong’ ruthlessly wrestling it back from Adele’s recent re-merchandised rendition.

Next up, were Fossil Collective. The West Yorkshire quintet greeting us from the dusty railroad, and leading us along farm tracks to our picturesque venue where we would, inevitably, be greeted by our illusive headliner. But before this, they were to entertain us with their enticing serenades, sound-tracking the metaphorical secluded surroundings around us, and inducing the setting sun into its bed. Sedated by their opening numbers, by the time they reached tracks such as ‘Brother’ & ‘Satellites’ we were already comfortable in their aura. The way that lead singer, Dave Fendick, carried himself & the involvement of a tight band backing, showed why these lads are being widely tipped.

Following on from ‘Anything But You…’ & ‘When Frank Becomes…’ the recently aired cover of Frankie Goes To Hollywood’s ‘Power Of Love’ drew a hush of appreciation for these 6 Music darlings. Culminating in debut single, ‘Let It Go’, FC could leave the stage happy that they had entertained their guests with an ease befitting of a casual bonfire buffet, leaving us hungry enough for the main man himself.

But a journey is not a journey, without a destination. And the laidback entrance of headliner Josh T Pearson, not only instantly established the connection with which the Texan has with the place, but also the enticement to which only such a pure venue can create. Welcoming his rehabilitated return from life’s rawest of low blows; Pearson cowered into the stage lights. Daunted by this intimate reconciliation with ‘Last Of The Country Gentlemen’s material, he stood gazing out on an expectant audience, only able to mutter uneasy words of introduction. But this was what this gig was about, a man dealing with his demons publicly for one of the last times, with the support of well-wishers before him. Eventually his guitar picking & song writing took the lead & dragged him through the opening numbers, including ‘Woman When I Raise Hell’. And in these first fifteen minutes a clear exorcism of the troubles he’d experienced took place in front of us, as his fingers picked the chords like the flickering flames we’d see from our destinations late night fire.

This cautious start was soon broken by blemished banter that eased both performer & audience into the set.  And this conversation, between artist & audience, host & guests was one of easy acceptance. What had started as a tool to get himself geared into this tough performance, soon became a vehicle to move him away from the troubled past and into a confident future. Such raw performances are rare, even more so when the artist is so far from home, and so was special to see in such a special venue.

And this exchange progressed throughout the night, as the chords became clearer and the pain lifted, so did the spirits. It would be difficult to pick highlights from such an intense performance, but especially delicate performances of ‘Honeymoons Great! Wish You Were Her’ and ‘Sweetheart I Ain’t Your Christ, brought such a spine tiggling silence that by the end of each the back of your hand would look like a finely crafted mowhawk. By the time Pearson had reached his encore, including a cover of Springsteens ‘State Trooper’, the darkness that had engulfed us at the start now shone like the orange haze from our fires embers. Maybe redemption wasn’t found fully here, but a man completed a journey that had taken him to darker and deeper places then any railroad or dirt track could ever lead us. And so as the Adelphi front door closed behind us, one opened in front of Pearson, one that let in much needed light and brought the sweetest of hangovers.

In The Bleak Midwinter

I have often found, like many, that my musical choices reguarly reflect the moods I find myself in. Maybe sometimes subconsciously, I often find that looking back at my most listened to in months gone by could be, by those who so desire, pigeon holed to ‘similair sounding categories’.

And so winter, & specifically the build up to Christmas, is always a confusing time. A time for reflection finds me musing over my “albums of the year”; revisiting favourites from January through to March, or classics that fill my most played still. Like surrounding myself by the familiairty of old friends & family, I settle in the warmth & comfort of current classics. Yet, always anticipating the ideal of a time to cast eyes forward as well as back, I tend to delve into bands that are just sowing their seeds for a busy year ahead. Whilst this can offer excitement, it often manifests its frustrations as I trawl through the crumbs of YouTube or soundcloud, & the slim pickings of bandcamp, myspace or other outlets.

Whilst most of the year is spent tripping over roots of new discoveries, the end of year feels like the barren farmers fields, quiet of hibernating dwellers & edible crops. As the newer seedlings struggle to feed through the overgrowth of reissued, repackaged re-releases, our senses are bombarded by the same old faces that MTV and Radio 1 have stocked our shelves with all year.

So my delight of this years vegetation is much like the late arrival (to my ears at least) of Against Me’s 2010 harverst offering;  ‘White Crosses’. A gentle stroll off the beaten track of music channel beauties & radio favourites, however offers much relief and reward with the discovery of Veronica Falls self titled debut.

Repeated recommendations by respected blogs & peers left me tip toeing to this album, but my earlier engagements with album track ‘The Fountain’ gave me a suitable entrance. The echoing vocal arrangements, & strong rifts call to mind earlier sounds of current darlings The Cults et al. A record warm in depth & layered with substance offers audible nutrition in this sparse season. Subtle rifts, & intelligent arrangements drive the record on, & allow peaks of interests throughout.

And yet there’s something extra that lends itself to the festivities of these times. It may just be that I’ve been listening to too much of The Waitresses’ ‘Christmas Wrapping’, or wandered that I’ve too far into this metamorphical wilderness. Maybe my ear drums have excitedly blurred the trembles of the tambourine to that of sleigh bells, but I’m happy to go with it.

I can imagine that I will question these analogies come the spring, when the very same sounds will embody the feeling of fresh summer dew, but, like a new years resolution, for now I’m sticking to it. As I pull on my gloves & venture into the snow covered fields, I’m happy to embrace the sharp winter air its breathes into my lungs.

Screen Burn Out

I forgot to turn off the TV when I left the house,
It was stuck on a news channel & now the screens burn out,
I cannot see past the Sky News logo in the top left corner,
Or maybe it’s the yellow ticker of the Breaking News it’s trying to warn ya.
The weather bar on the right is also quite unpleasant,
As is the fact that the past 8 hours news are now my abstract present.
Furthermore it’ll stay that way, even watching Dragons Den
Indeed all escapist viewing now looks like News At Ten.

I left my paint brush soaking in the that vodka smelling stuff,
But now all it’s 99p bristles have grown obstructing bum fluff,
I refuse to buy a new set, as it’s only for the skirting board,
But these whiskers are ensuring it tickles ‘tash trails along the Walls & floor,
The rollers in the garden, in a bucket of rain water,
And I’ve still not cleaned the roller although I know I orta,
The hallways half decorated with cheap B&Q emulsion,
And the bathrooms ghasty yellow is enough to induce convulsions.

My iTunes isn’t updated, it’s still running on 9.5,
Everytime I try it won’t save to the C: Drive,
It stalls at the installation due to “Administrative properties”,
But I can’t switch user ‘cos the only one who uses it is me!
I should also check my Firewall, cos my virus prog ran out,
But I’d rather just keep risking it, until the thing shuts down.
I’ll just block pop-ups & add-ons & individually scan the things myself,
Rather that then buy one or ask my mate for help.

Though I do need to buy a cheap sewing kit, to try & sort my jeans,
They’re torn at the pocket, & the tear down one of the seams,
My jackets missing four buttons, but I’ve lost all but one,
They came off in the wash & I can still hear them when I put one on,
Good job really; as I wouldn’t know where to start,
I can’t even thread a needle & apparently I stitch too far apart,
Best to just leave them how they are, until they come undone,
Or wait for Sunday dinner & take them round when I visit mum.

‘twas the eleventh hour on the eleventh day,
When my soldier marched away,
Marching toward an early grave,
To join others so bold & brave.

On the eleventh month he disappeared,
So that I could still live here,
Without worry, fright or fear,
And in my heart he’s always near.

You may not know a soldier who
Would have given his life for you,
But wear a Poppy to show you do
Appreciate the sacrifice they all went through.  

There are some artists that have this amazing talent to not only write brilliant music, but albums that have such a melodic magic that it directly takes you to that place.

As I travelled home from work tonight, November 4th, I slipped into one such secondary world soundtracked in it’s entirerity by Bon Ivers second, self titled long playing release.

Anyone familiar with their maginificent debut, ‘For Emma Forever’, will not only know the power of the music but also the sound effects that work within & complement it. So you would forgive me for thinking I’d dropped back to that album when hearing the fireworks sounds & seeing the flash of rockets in the crisp night sky out the smudged bus window.

Whilst their debut LP was sombre & downbeat in it’s message, to the extent that I know many who can’t bring themselves to listen it through with it’s strong emotional strains, this second is more serene & light in it’s approach. Justin Vernons vocals still dance a delicate duet with the very instruments that orchestrate the performance, but it is the subtle, almost eighties melodies & beeps that bring the sun dawning on the trevails of the darkness of the first relase.

Filling my senses with the smokey night air of this Bonfires eve, the comforting haunt of each track is brought softly into my senses; overpowering the rest of life that rolls around it. As the sporadic blasts of speckled light trickle through the black backdrop above me, the gentile guitar chords & streaming snare drum beats echo through my head. The moon is shining bright complianty, illuminating the tranquility of the record.

Stereotypically this would be the part of the piece where I am expected to dissect & disembowel the body of the album; highlighting stand out tracks for you to muse over, through various multi media methods. But to drag these organs out of their whole would be to mutilate the hard work & essence that together make it work.

This is not to say that some, indeed all, of the tracks wouldn’t stand alone as highlights on a Radio 6 playlist but more that I don’t want to be the one responsible for you walking in half way through the first act when the rest of us are enthralled in what we’re experiencing.. Drag & drop these songs at your own selection, but ensure you give yourself time to devour them how they are meant to be; interlinked between their corresponding musical brothers.

And preferably find a quiet garden spot, with a bonfire blazing in the distance & firecrackers snapping above, to do so.

The bus driver is in a rush today, pulling away from the station before the last old lady has barely crawled her brittle bones onto the number thirteen lowrider. Not that I’m complaining; I’m grouchy and I wanna get home pronto, but also the bus is exuding a greater stench then normal. These harsh urban nights arent filled with neon lights and inspiring images but degredation and demoralising hour-long journeys home.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m normally a positive person and so starting my first set of blogs on here in such pessimistic tones is probably not the best way to entice you to my prevails; it’s simply to highlight this exceptional mood I happen to be in. So, hearing ‘Guns of Brixton’ stagger randomly onto my iPod comes as a reassuring hand on the shoulder, a little acknowledging nod. It’s the friendly ‘I know how you feel’ without the need for meaningless conversation. I can sit back and relax as my multimedia playing pal continues his consistent run of good form in this field.

I believe it’s a direct reflection on the amount of time I have spent editing, selecting, re-selecting and dissecting the playlists and music that he has to work with. In effect I have nurtured my iPod to my exact needs; taught it the value of certain tracks, whilst encouraging the randomness of shuffling through others. Furthermore by skipping, actively searching and relistening to certain tracks at specific times I have taught my fruitfully-infused friend the sporadic yet all encompassing relationship I have with music. There is always a song for my situation, a melody for my mood, a beat for my emotion. That my iPod reguarly picks this better then I can, he can be akin to the skill of any half decent DJ as he stumbles half cut into his arena.

The unspoken relationship between myself and this minijukebox is one that is becoming more complex & confusing. In the same way that old people become close to pets in time of isolation, my many sprawling journeys of late have developed my love for the little fella. Not only has he stuck to his task with a more then commendable spirit, but twisted and tricked his way through each of the obstacles I have erected in front of him.

To break this down into such examples of tracks at times would not only subject you to mundane mentions of mediocre music, but also alienate a lot through my array of embarrassing artists that sit on my CD shelves. Needless to say there have been times when I have specifcially desired to hear certain tracks, and he has actively found these amongst his cast of thousands without the request from myself to do so. Other times I have been treated to forgotten favourites, genre jumps and ever evolving track trips.

Of course there are times we have disagreed, fallen and argued. Sometimes I have had to take control and guide us in the right direction or merely seek out new material to give him the tools to work with. But like every good relationship it has stayed fresh, we’ve grown together and have a better understanding of each other for that. There were times when I took all of this for granted but as soon as I did I was presented with a reminder that it is not possible for it to work without the commitment of both. Now I know and acknowledge this we can move and adapt, working with each others suggestions to never let staleness stagnate between us, unlike the stench from this bus.

Throughout our lives we often make connections,
Alot of them inevitably fail, upon reflection,
But the trick is to keep on trying,
Don’t think too much when you’re flying,
And don’t crash too hard when it breeds rejection.

These words are easier to write then to action,
And ur thoughts are things you cannot sanction,
So just roll with the multiple punches,
And leave them there with your hunches,
Because the end goal will be a sum of higher satisfaction.

My friends you’ve shared this rollercoaster ride,
And I’ve been so proud to see you never hide,
It’s been a source of inspiration,
To see such signs of dedication,
That I only hope I can somehow reflect this pride.

Talk to me over wine & beer & song,
And let’s laugh at the world as we travel along,
Never shy from a journey too sore,
Always hope that this one is something more,
And when you find it’s right, I’ll know you’re not wrong.

Until then I will keep my head up & dance,
And make the most of every loving chance,
We’ll arm ourselves with laughter,
With stories to share hereafter,
And let the clouds roll by with just a fleeting glance.