Hair of the Sea Dogs

Shelly's birthday celebrations started on Thursday in a civilised enough vein with a preview of Michel Gondry's 'The Science of Sleep', which was followed by a Q & A with the charming Frenchman. I wanted to ask him who was the better drummer between him and Gael Garcia Bernal but the audience was full of film students with far less interesting questions. Anyhoo, the film's well worth seeing, with great performances from Bernal and Charlotte Gainsbourg, though not as good as 'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind', which we watched again on DVD last night in homage to Gondry.
Friday night saw things get more raucous with deformed eggs and copious amounts of red wine being consumed, mostly by me, it would appear. Anyway, cue drunken renditions of Nick Cave and Jacques Brel songs with ham-fisted guitar accompaniment, but much harmless fun was had by all and sundry.

This all meant of course that Saturday morning saw me nursing a particularly ferocious hangover: possibly not the best state in which to be co-presenting a radio show.


Usually our engineer Michael is on hangover duty, but he wasn't in this week, probably due to not having a hangover, so it was clearly my turn.


Fortunately Woodcraft Folk were in session, playing some very soothing music, including a very relaxing version of the Fall's 'English Scheme'.


Captain Blood Blood and the Sea Dogs were noisier but I can forgive them since they were also highly entertaining. If there was any justice in the world these lads would be riding high in the popular music charts instead of the indie schmindie fops polluting the hearts and minds of our young people these days.

Sang douce

Just got back from my six-monthly diabetic MOT at the gloomy obelisk that is Guy's hospital. Been struggling to get my blood sugar readings below double figures since they took a hike over Xmas, so was bracing myself for being told time it was time to go on to insulin: my HbA1c (3 month average) is 8, so a little over the level they'd like it be, and higher than it has been previously.

I see a different doctor every time I'm there, so never know quite what, or who to expect. Fortunately this time it wasn't the clinically depressed Irishman struggling to operate his computer who I saw last year, but a much more personable endocrinologist. She didn't seem too alarmed by the readings and suggested that instead of insulin, I try metformin, which comes in tablet form and helps the body to make better use of the insulin it produces - it's usually prescribed for Type 2 'betics, who are insulin resistant rather than insulin deficient. So that's two more tablets for me to take every day, but at least it means I now qualify for free prescriptions.

The doctor also warned me that the tablets may cause diarrhoea, so instead of injecting needles I could be shitting through the eye of one. Stay tuned for further developments!

Dillon Sticks Bronsteins Bib

Another day of quality music courtesy of Hello Goodbye. Sandy Dillon dropped in to the show for a quick half hour of songs from her excellent new album, accompanied by a wonderful vintage casio keyboard and a small unnamed string instrument possibly of Vietnamese origin. She's a true survivor and spoke cheerfully of death, cancer and the horrific effects of MRSA. Hopefully she'll be back on the show again soon with her whole band. We also had a great session from Brighton duo The Sticks, who went on to give a superb performance at the Betsey Trotwood last night, along with The wondrous Bronsteins, who had to contend with a drunk (no, not me) in the audience testing everyone's tolerance levels of twattery to the limit.

He'd been taken home by his embarrassed girlfriend by the time the mighty Bib took to the stage, which was a shame in a way, as I'm sure Duncan would have had some fun with him. Readers in Australia will be disappointed to learn that '24 Hour Supermarket' no longer features in their set, but they were nonetheless on fire last night, with Duncan's Ian Curtis dancing getting more and more impressive with every show. Add to this the fact that he was clearly in pain, putting out an appeal for some Lockets a couple of songs in, and you realise what a consumate performer the man is. Yes miss!

Blog wars/Corbett-off

To the Gladstone again for another splendid acoustic suicide night with Mathew Sawyer and the phenomenal Men Diamler from Cheltenham who performed an excellent song about a man starving a horse to use as a xylophone and a version of Son House's 'John the Revelator' that was perhaps as near to a religious experience as I've ever had.

Good to catch up with David again - see his blog for superior pictures from the night, the swine. Finished the night off with him and Shelly trying to outdo each other's Ronnie Corbett impressions outside Borough Tube station.

Ghost Teeth

We had a cinematic session from Teeth of the Sea (formerly known as Jaws) yesterday, with a few appreciative nods to John Carpenter and Dario Argento. Horror film makers looking for someone to supply a suitable soundtrack should consider giving these boys a call. Seasoned Hello Goodbye guest Mathew Sawyer, minus his Ghosts, gave good session upstairs with songs from his Blue Birds Blood album (as well as the title track, which doesn't appear on the album itself - is there an adjective for that?) High point of the show, however, came in the form of a performance from Men Diamler beamed live by mobile phone from a Cheltenham conference centre. Extraordinary stuff, it sounded like it was coming from another century, let alone another town. Looking forward to seeing him, as well as Mathew Sawyer again, at the Gladstone in Borough on Thursday night.

Go Cats

This is perhaps the greatest work of art ever created. No matter how pissed off I am, when I look at this picture all my problems fade into insignificance. I'd like to meet the man who painted it.

7 + 66

7 Hertz from Leeds and D66 from Finland via Hamburg and Hackney played live on this week's show, putting in stirling performances. Though in many other ways quite different outfits, they both had epic cross-London journeys in common. 7 Hertz veer from sea shanty to polka in a very pleasing fashion. Lucy, one of their violinists, told us that when they played in Brixton on Friday night her 93 year old grandfather had travelled all the way from Epping Forest on the tube to see them - a journey that many a younger but fainter heart would baulk at. He said that her voice was 'Tender, almost vulgar': an album title if ever I heard one. D66 is a righteous and raucous one man garage band and made the journey from Hackney with all his gear in a Sainsbury's shopping trolley, which you can see in the picture. He swears that he was allowed to take it onto the number 38 bus. You can also see Ean in the picture paying homage and keeping the cymbal stand in place at the same time, such are the lengths we go to in order to ensure the best performances from our guests.

Is this a dagger I see in my filing cabinet?

Yes, it is. A rather fine and ornate one given to me by two of my Georgian* students. Thanks Tato and, er, George. In the bottom drawer of my filing cabinet at work I also keep a bottle of vodka, a load of out of date biscuits and a selection of diabetes testing paraphenalia given to me by another appreciative student. Surely there's the makings of a TV show here - minor celebrities inspect the contents of filing cabinets and assess the mental condition of the owner.

*That's their nationality, not the period of British history that they originate from.

Tate what you do it's the way that you do it

For each day of the year my Harvey's Brewery diary for 2007 provides me with an interesting snippet of information about an event that took place on the corresponding day in a previous year, e.g. on my birthday in 1585* 'English ships in Spanish ports confiscated, war starts', that sort of thing. On 6th January 1928 apparently, the Thames flooded, drowning four people and damaging paintings at the Tate. As far as we know no-one drowned and no paintings were damaged last night but it didn't stop the conservationists at Tate Britain from being horrified at the events in room 9 as we hosted The Electricity Bill, with four top-notch outfits giving it their all. First up were the sublime Jeremy Smoking Jacket, whose singer Rose Kemp is not only the daughter of two members of Steeleye Span but also, and more importantly, in possession of a quite remarkable voice. Their version of Tom Waits's 'No-one Knows I'm Gone' makes what is surely the finest use of coughing in a pop song to date. Sweden's Skull Defekts were up next with a mesmering set of electronic distortion, followed by HG faves James III and the Courtesan armed with strap-on electronics and a very impressive, if slightly disturbing visual display. 21st century renaissance man and all round good egg Momus finished the evening off in style, wearing a rather fetching wig, while Liberation Jumpsuit did a grand job of entertaining the punters in the bar. Top night all round, though unlikely to be repeated as the sight of people enjoying themselves in the vicinity of expensive paintings gave the Tate authorities a serious case of the vapours apparently.

*not the actual year I was born in, but not far off



Momus and the Skull Defekts also came into the studio today for live sessions and bloody marvellous they were too. Not a bad start to the new year all things considered.

Balls to Xmas

Right, that's Xmas over with.

All fairly uneventful: the usual blend of eating and drinking punctuated with being humiliated at scrabble by schoolgirls. And hardly any TV. Got a bit of reading in though: I'm halfway through Cormac McCarthy's 'The Road', a bleak but highly readable account of a father and son travelling across the scrorched earth of a post apocalyptic USA. Mind you, I'm not looking forward to reaching the end - from the first page you know it can't possibly finish anything but badly. Also dipping into Claire Tomalin's 'Thomas Hardy: The Time Torn Man', very readable too, as well as ploughing on with the Brothers Karamazov, which I suspect I'll still be reading this time next year.

Predictably, the festive season has seen a hike in blood sugar readings. Unlike on previous holidays everything stayed under control while we were in Marrakesh - thanks mainly to scarcity of booze, a lot of walking and redistributing any white bread I was offered back to people in the street. In Blighty though things took a rather different turn and I registered a scary 15.7 the day after Boxing Day. That's what comes from sitting about on my arse boozing and feasting, it would seem. So back in London now and back on the bike but still some way to go to get back to base camp 6.0


On a lighter and more peurile note, here's some testicles in Yves Saint Laurent's Majorelle Gardens in Marrakesh that rather amusingly resemble cactuses.

Marrakeshmas

Back from a week in Marrakech - possibly the most extraordinary city I've ever been to. We thought we might struggle to entertain ourselves over 6 days in a comparatively small place but the Medina is a constant source of amazing sights and the main square, Jmaa el Fna (which translates as 'Assembly of the Dead') is full of all sorts of weird and wonderful goings on - often involving music and chickens, but also snake charming, boxing and fishing for large coca cola bottles. The whole haggling for prices thing becomes a tad wearisome after a while as all too late you realise you've become obssessed with trying to buy a lamp for 10p cheaper than in the last place you saw one. The charm of the stall holders speaking English seemingly acquired from repeated viewings of 'Only Fools and Horses' also wears thin rather quickly, and if I never see another tagine again in this life or the next it will be too soon. But despite all that the place still has quite an atmosphere, and you can't help expecting to see Peter Lorre come scuttling around the next corner. In any case it was worth visiting for the chance to take a picture of Shelly with a chicken on her head.



Merry Christmas one and all

Blix and Budo

Last 'Hello Goodbye' show of the year today, and we left 2006 in style with spirited sessions from Hans Blix & The Inspectors as well as Chik Budo, both excellent outfits well worth checking out and very nice chaps to boot. HB does a nice line in sardonic post modern country blues while CB's twin-saxophone, guitarless instrumental jazz punk is very stirring stuff indeed.

Off to Marrakesh on Monday to buy everyone a fez for christmas.

World's tallest man saves dolphins

Fantastic headline.

Three cheers for the lanky Chinaman!

Mule variations

Following Ed's splendid solo session on Saturday's show, Shelly and I sploshed through the rain to the Spitz last night to see the Mules, and it was well worth braving the elements for. I'm a sucker for a band with a singing drummer and these fellows are very very good live - to these ears occasionally reminiscent of the Violent Femmes, Kurt Weil, Nick Cave, Tom Waits, Sparks, Adam and the Ants and, according to Shelly, Devo. That probably says more about our reference points than theirs though. As a tribute to another band they are sometimes compared to they included a storming version of Talking Heads' 'Life During Wartime' in their live set. Their own songs are just as strong though: seek out their excellent 'Save Your Face' album, it's terrific stuff.

Mules, Hinnies and Broccoli

Representatives of 3 of London's finest bands graced the show today. Ed from the excellent Mules played 3 solo songs and donated a copy of their album to the first listener to correctly identify a mule as the offspring of a donkey stallion (called a jack apparently) and a horse mare - the other way round produces a hinny, so he tells me. Melinda of the Bronsteins also played a trio of rather lovely solo songs and deXter Bentley's wayward adopted nephews the Xerox Teens lavished very loud and very live renditions of both sides of their new single upon the airwaves.

My Friday night, by contrast, included a rather banal visit to Tesco where I was served a young male cashier who was unable to identify all of my shopping. At one point he picked up an item and asked me what it was called. It was broccoli.

Merry Cropsmas

To the Garrison for the Crops annual festive works outing on Monday night. After deciding that it would this year be a 'No Wives' affair, David turned up with Steph in tow. She was very nervous about breaking the men only embargo, but Jon reassured her that we didn't really consider her as female, which made her feel much better, no doubt. Much ingestion of booze and poor quality vegetarian food ensued, with cocktails at the Village East. We finished off the night at the Rose, by which point I was on the diet cokes, it being a school night and all. Jon and David more than made up for my abstinence, with David several sheets to the wind and Jon ending up spending the night at her majesty's pleasure after apparently doing a runner from a minicab. Next year we'll invite the wives again.

Milton Arms

Spent Sunday evening at the Milton Arms in Bow, home to Rich of the Xerox Teens. It was closed down after someone was murdered there last year and is now awaiting demolition, but in the mean time they have the run of the place, which is surely every man's dream. Not the bit about living at a murder scene, obviously, but the having a bar for a living room part. Foolishly, I drove there so couldn't take full advantage of the facilities, but they did make us a very nice cup of tea, bless 'em. Not only that, but the deXter Bentley acoustic male menopause show seemed to go down rather well with the young people too.

Lot Lizards

London's finest Italian-Japanese garage punk twosome Lot LIzards played live on the show on Saturday, with Meg and GG keeping the noise and energy levels admirably high for a Saturday lunchtime. Peterborough's favourite daughter Lianne Hall provided a more mellow counterpoint in the control room with us. Spent a very worthwhile hour in the cafe afterwards teaching Chester the underlying principles of the knock knock joke, perhaps the finest art form known to humankind.

Get thee behind me Santa

Forgot to take my camera to the Crops gig at the Windmill last night so here's Shelly's Santa instead - the full extent of our Christmas decorations this year. Ho ho ho. Funny old gig: it was someone's birthday party so no-one was really paying attention to us. Which was a shame, cos we were good.