Telling tales

One of these men is innocent

A couple of weeks back, on a social networking site no less, I all but accused one of the people in the above photograph of stealing a guitar. A very expensive guitar at that. And, I thought, he'd done it in a very Robin Hood sort of way. Some thirty years later he now informs me that he'd got an alibi for the night in question.*

This non-story together with, I hope, some real stories may well. one day, form the backbone of the tale of a very loud band who resided in a very quiet town. This is a story that will, If I can get my facts straight, chart the rise and fall (and rise again) of three likely lads who, back in the day, from the moment they turned on their Orange amps, made this young man's pulse positively race.

My research will be meticulous and my questions will be probing. I will leave no stone unturned. I may even have to buy two of the protagonists strong liquor to loosen their tongues. I say two, as nobody knows where the third one lives.

It's a tale that's been left untold for too long.

* Sorry Rocky!

Bloody Terrible

They say that getting a BT engineer appointment is like pushing a wet mattress up a spiral staircase. And they're not wrong: we moved house last Friday and still we have no phone or internet. Broken promises and faceless voices on the sub continent mean that we'll soon be entering week two without a service we were assured would be in place last week. Anyone who reads the Twitter feed on the sidebar to the left of this blog can get a flavour of how BT are handling this.

Pickering Place

  Pickering Place: it's the smallest square in London, you know

Not for the first time in my life, events appear to be moving a tad faster than I would like. Not only is there a house move to fit in before Chr*stm*s, but there's also the small matter of releasing my first EP.

Pickering Place will, all things being equal, be on sale from the second week in December (I signed off the artwork today - hence the cutting guides seen here). Comprising four JM originals & a Slade cover, and priced at a mere Lady, it will make the perfect stocking filler and/or shaving mirror.

If I was a major Hip Hop recording star I would now be thanking everyone from The Lord God Almighty down to the shoe shine guy on the corner of 32nd and Lafayette. However, I would just like to thank James Medd. His guitar playing was so sublime I nearly gave him a co-write. Nearly.

Watch this space in the coming weeks for release details, downloads, tour dates, TV tie-ins, record shop signings, kissing of babies, supermarket openings, etc. I will also be thanking, properly, my producer, Carl, and the other fine musicians who can be heard on this small but perfectly formed Extended Play.

John Medd: When The Sun Comes Up

It was never dull in Hull

 Tickets c/o Pat Nallan

In the 60s & 70s Hull City Hall, as is borne out by the above photo, played host to anyone who was anyone. In 1970 The Who tore the roof off the place - the very night after recording what would become Live At Leeds. Roger Daltrey has always said that Hull was the better night of the two. But, fearing they'd lost John Entwhistle's bass part, the band ditched the recording - leaving The Who Live At Hull languishing forty years before it saw the light of day. Damn you Leeds.

America votes: WWHD (What would Homer do?)