Trees

Anyone familiar with the Archers will be aware that Jill’s new gentleman caller, Leonard (played by Paul Copley - better known to younger listeners on Radio 4 as Tom Wrigglesworth’s dad*), can’t paint trees for toffee. Not even if his life depended on it; he recently passed off a picture he acquired from a gallery as one of his own. Charlatan.

These are for you Lenny.

* As opposed to older Radio 4 listeners who will remember him as Mr. Long in King St. Junior which ran from 1985-1998.

You Can't be too Strong

Phonogram RIP

Unlike other stand alone record labels, Phonogram was never a label per se, but an umbrella company with a host of catch all labels in its stable including Philips, Mercury, and Vertigo. As with so many other labels and imprints it was subsumed by Universal Music; any identity these labels retain today is purely nostalgic. Which is probably why I paint them.



One of Vertigo's star players from the seventies was the maverick Graham Parker. His silky skills provided the perfect counterpoint to the emerging punk and new wave. I love this song.

Graham Parker - You Can't be too Strong (1979)

...0...

Postscript 12.11.19

I've been meaning to post this for a while - it's just Parker and his acoustic guitar recreating the same song 40 years later (he replicated the whole album that way as an anniversary type thang).

Sunburst Finish

Sunburst Finish (Acrylic on Canvas)

The Woodlands Gallery (about to enter its fifth year, and now located in Nottingham) has recently acquired two new paintings. Yep, the brushes came out for the first time in ages yesterday and here they both are.

Sunburst Finish, I think it's safe to say, owes very little to the 1976 Be-Bop Deluxe* album of the same name, but the colours and texture cried out Sun as I was working on it yesterday - despite the fading afternoon light on the canvas.

Wood Embers (Acrylic on Canvas)

Wood Embers on the other hand is, excuse the pun, something of a slow burner. I wasn't jazzed with it at all while I was painting it. It's only when it began to dry that the colours bled through. The title, meanwhile, came a little while later...

* Be-Bop Deluxe really did try and set the world alight, but always seemed to be punching above their weight. Being neither Glam nor Prog in the mid seventies, and with one eye on the impending new wave, they somehow got left behind in a world that loved the idea of a band like Be-Bop Deluxe, but didn't necessarily want to buy their records or foot their ladder as they tried to climb it. Shame, really, as Bill Nelson - Mr. Deluxe - knew how to write good songs. Like this:

Be-Bop Deluxe - Sleep That Burns (1976)

Still playing at 45

45 ('Red') Acrylic on Canvas

I was playing around with my brushes this afternoon; not sure Bubbles or Kandinsky would have approved, but, hey, it's just a bit of fun.

45 ('Not Red') Acrylic on Canvas

Mockney

(Not) all my own work

That splash

The first canvas of the year

The brushes came out for the first time this year. But feeling lazy, and a little mischievous, I had a go at copying one of my heroes.



As I said a couple of weeks ago, David Hockney is a unique British artist. His Bigger Splash has been copied and parodied many times; not least by John Myatt. In the world of fakes, Myatt is the real deal. He did four years bird for conning the art world. These days he teaches fellow artists the tricks of the trade. And like all the best teachers (well, those who've done time) he's part mentor, part bully. I love the series he did for Sky Arts a few years back - this is the Hockney episode:

Atlantic Crossing

'Atlantic' (Acrylic on canvas 12" x 9")

When we first took the Number One Son across the pond to New York City we did all the usual touristy stuff - Times Square, Central Park, the Chrysler Building, Empire State, Greenwich Village and, of course, Liberty Island.

As a Beatles nut (like his old man), James was keen to recreate John Lennon's iconic photo shoot in front of the Statue of Liberty. Who was I to deny him?

It's like being abroad

Don't leave your sunglasses on the dashboard

The roads are melting, you can fry an egg on the pavement and Asda have sold out of BBQ stuff. And if you’ve left your Aviators on the dash, expect to severely brand the bridge of your nose when you return to the car later and put them back on. Yep, it’s summer.

My favourite sister-in-law

Megan is Jenny’s half-sister. They are linked by their father's indiscretion in the early 1960s (I’m sure, with Jenny’s permission, I will tell the full story here one day).
But they only met for the first time five years ago. However, in that time Megan has enriched Jenny’s life more than she’ll ever know. She’s also become my favourite sister in law – we’ve shared stories, shared holidays and shared good times. And she’s talked me down off the ledge a couple of times when times haven’t been so good.

Round Ireland with no money

My brother-in-law, aka The Prof, is planning a bike ride for the summer: a bike ride with a twist. He's planning to leave his wallet at home, cycle off the Pembroke to Rosslare ferry penniless, and circumnavigate his way around the Irish coastline. His plan, to throw himself at the mercy of the good folk of Ireland, will see him 'pay his way' by telling stories, a few jokes and any casual work he can get such as pot washing in bars or restaurants that can see there way clear to giving him a meal for the night.

Having heard David's material, there's a strong possibility he'll be coming back a Size Zero.

Signing off

Rocket Records in Redwood City first opened its doors in 1964 at the height of Beatlemania. And, after Amoeba (twenty-four miles up the Interstate in San Francisco), was the second biggest record outlet in the state of California. However, news has just come in that, a couple of months shy of its fifty first birthday, they've shut up shop for the last time.
One of the many things that set Rocket apart from its competitors was its visitors' book: everyone who walked through their bright red front door (irrespective of whether they'd made a purchase or not) was encouraged to sign their book. I say book, when the receivers came in last week they took control of fifty A4 bound volumes - one for every year. Rumour has it that the Frank Zappa and Jim Morrison signatures in there are for real; though probably not the Mick Jagger or (several) John Lennons.

Slackers

Despite reports to the contrary, I did not pull Steve's first born from a burning building: one more thing we have in common. However, we did share a few festive flagons of frothing ale earlier in the week. Our evening was rounded off in a hipsters bar where the beers were long on price and the staff short on common courtesy: our beards and/or turn-ups obviously didn't meet with current hipster regulations.
If I make but one New Year's Resolution it will be to make sure Steve and I see more of each other next year than we did this. Maybe a return trip to New York could be on the cards - twenty one years since we were last there together. And maybe, if the planets align, we could catch resident New Yorker Vic Ruggiero at The Knitting Factory. Or some other hipster venue. I think I'll start growing my beard now.

Vic Ruggiero: Always Something In My Blindspot

Five things I've discovered in 2015

I always like to learn at least one new fact each day: something I didn't know the day before. That and counting three good things that have happened to me each day before I go to sleep. Some days that's easier than others.

But discovering new things that you know will enrich your life forever is something that doesn't happen every day. And if you think I mean discovering inner peace or lining up my chakras then you obviously don't know me very well. No, I mean things that have blindsided me out of nowhere. You may call them trivial, but I would argue otherwise. So here are five things that I discovered this year.

Frozen Grapes

I recently ordered the cheeseboard in a newly opened pub in Leeds and was taken immediately with the bunches of frozen grapes that accompanied the cheese, crackers, cucumber and pickle. Each bite was like an instant sorbet rush that, to many, may well set their teeth on edge. Not me. Rest assured this delicacy will be coming to a menu near my dining table soon. And often.

Black & Tan

I like beer. Who doesn't? And I like real ales. Again, what's not to like? I'm even, for my sins, a card carrying member of CAMRA. I go to beer festivals and everything. But, at the end of the day, I like the taste of beer. And as a result I'm not precious about where it comes from or, indeed, whether it calls itself cask or keg. Or Craft. And trust me on this one, many many people do. And will debate for hours about how they will only drink a particular style of beer that is brewed in a particular way and kept a particular way.
So when a friend of mine said to me recently he's rather partial to half a pint of stout and half a pint of bitter in the same pint glass, I was intrigued. So intrigued that since this recent discovery I've drunk nothing else since. The purists probably hate it. Their loss.

Art

Now obviously I didn't discover art in 2015. But what I did discover is that I like doing it. And other people quite like it too: I even exhibited my work for the first time. Nothing has pleased me more this year than doing paintings for friends, especially my Penguin range, and creating unique pieces of art I know they will treasure. My friends Adele and Darren being two that spring to mind.
I've got some great ideas for 2016 and hope to show some of them here in the not too distant.

Guitar solos make all the difference

Ben Watt writes some great songs. You've only got to take one look at his output with Everything But The Girl to appreciate that. But last year he made a delightful album with Bernard Butler. And it was Butler's deft guitar work that transformed many of those tunes. Not least, this live version of Never Forget.
James Medd did something similar for me only last month. My song, What Are You Waiting For, had been languishing in the long grass for ages before James brought his magic to it.

Dad

I know I said this list was going to be trivial. But I can't put this year to bed without mentioning the most seismic thing that happened to me this year. After mum passed away in the summer my dad could so easily have hit the buffers and given up. In fact, if dad had gone first that's precisely what would have happened to mum. But he didn't. Yes, he mourned her loss (and still does, obviously) and yes he continues to live in the same house they shared for the last forty odd years. But dad is slowly coming out the other side. And, what I've discovered, certainly, is a new version of my dad. I've touched upon it before so won't dwell on it here. Suffice to say he'll be back again in a couple of weeks and will spend Christmas (and my birthday) with us and that's the only present I want this year.

Reasonable

Green sleeves (and blue & red)

The Woodlands Gallery is fast approaching its first anniversary. It may not be have the same kudos as that afforded to The Tate or, indeed, The Metropolitan, but it works for me.

And it's not too late for a Christmas commission. You can get in touch via all the usual outlets. I think you'll find me very reasonable. I hope so, anyway; I'd be offended if you didn't.

That's right, Vision On's Gallery music

Play time

'Let's Play' - acrylic on canvas (12" x 9")

I can honestly say that if it The Play Inn hadn't existed, I would probably not have embarked on a life of record collecting - had it not been for this quite excellent record emporium then, back in the seventies, money would not have burned holes in so many of my pockets. It wasn't just a record shop either - they had amusements and a snack bar too. And a most adorable curvy creature working behind the counter who could get any young boy to part with their hard earned pocket money just by gazing into their eyes.

However kids get hold of their music today, it can never be as exciting as walking through the doors of The Play Inn in 1973 and asking if they'd got a copy of Hell Raiser by The Sweet. It can't possibly be.

The bags, which I still keep, are a portal back to those days. When I painted the canvas (above) yesterday, I must have had a bit of grit in my eye; nobody sheds tears for the demise of shops. Do they?

A Bloomin' Book

When my cousin Raymond Murray was asked way back in 1975 by John K**** (our tearaway, black sheep of a cousin) who his favourite cousin was, he told him. And he told him straight: 'Adrianne'.

Roscommon July 2015. L-R, John M, Adrianne, Suzie, Raymond

K**** was crestfallen: 'Adri-fackin'-anne? She's a fackin' girl.' Indeed she is. I, however, was never asked this question as a boy. If I had, I would have said Raymond. Though Adrianne would certainly have been on the podium too. Anyway, it's all immaterial now. I'm in my fifties and love Raymond, Suzie and Adrianne in equal measure. I probably told them as much last weekend. As for K****, he was a wrong 'un. He fell off the radar many moons ago and these days will either be inside or underground.

In 1975, Raymond kept a book. And in this book he transcribed every Top 40 singles chart rundown as broadcast by Johnnie Walker on Radio 1. This would have been on a Tuesday lunchtime when chart positions were everything and Radio 1 was still broadcasting on 247 meters on the medium wave.

I saw this book for only the second time last weekend and it was spellbinding. The level of detail that has gone into it is quite staggering. There's even a (very early) cloud showing every group, every artist, every novelty act who made the chart between 1 January & 31 December. It is indeed an historical document.

Or, depending on your standpoint, just a bloomin' book.

Pick up a Penguin

That's six now. I may take a Penguin vacation and revisit them later. In the meantime, a couple of them are for sale over at Artfinder.

And if you can't see what you like there, feel free to get in touch via the comments box below.

Sweetie

Adele has the honour of being my fifth Penguin and also my first mixed medium: acrylic and water colour. And unlike the previous four (Ian Fleming, Paul McCartney, Jenny Medd and Jane Friend), I've painted her edges.

Although Adele isn't really a posh bird, she is a baker. And a sweetie.

They should call it the Humber Delta

I was born in Kingston-upon-Hull. That's what it says on my passport. You'll know it as Hull. And if you're a true local you'll drop the H. If you ever pitch up there, the chances are you're not passing through; it's not on the way to anywhere (except Rotterdam) and, despite its City of Culture status it's still better known for white phone boxes than William Wilberforce. And, of course, tenfoots.

The McNamaras are coming (back)

'Roscommon' acrylic on canvas

Later this year I shall be making an emotional return to Roscommon. From being a babe in arms to a stroppy teenager, I and the rest of the Medds went on an annual pilgrimage across The Irish Sea to my maternal grandmother's year after year after year. And for the first fifteen of those summers I had a blast. But by 1977 I'd had enough. So much so that two days into the vacation and I baled: a quick 'phone call to my favourite Auntie north of the border and I was travelling, alone, on a bus through 'the troubles' and spent the rest of the fortnight in Lurgan, Co. Armagh. Happy days.
  But now, I want to go back. See the old place again. Will it have changed? Probably. Will I recognise the place? Definitely. Will I be able to take a walk down to Hessions and grab myself an ice cream wafer. Alas, no: Cyril Hession, like the lone Texaco petrol pump on his forecourt, is long gone.
  My cousin Raymond, who will be joining us on our quest, sent an email to the local rag ahead of the trip. I'm not expecting a ticker-tape reception, but a pint of the black stuff with their reporter & toggy would be nice. Here's what Ray had to say.


I am Raymond Murray, son of Aidan Murray (born 1934, Ballyleague) and Carmel McNamara (born 1936, Strokestown). My mother’s family moved to Ard-na-Greine in Roscommon town around 1940. My grandfather was Sergeant Joe McNamara, my grandmother, Mary (Maxie), nee Lynch from Donegal. They produced 14 children, Sean, Phyllis, Gerry, Joe, Myra, all deceased, and Mabel, Olive, Dolores, Carmel, Paddy, Adrian, Noel, Bernie and Stella. 

My granny may well be remembered by many still living in the town. She was a renowned golfer and a tremendous consumer of a product called Jameson’s Whiskey. You may have heard of it! My aunt Stella (Finnerty) has lived locally in Knockcroghery for 40+ years, a couple of doors down from the great Jamesie Murray’s pub. As you know, in the 1950s work was hard to come by in rural Ireland, with many having to go overseas to support themselves. 

My parents moved to London in 1953, returning to marry on 5th August 1957, before returning to England until 1968. We now live in Lurgan in County Armagh. Several of my mother’s sisters also moved and settled in England and live there to this day. As separate families, the various McNamaras travelled from parts of England to visit Ard-na-Greine each summer, but often our paths would cross as we squeezed into granny’s three bedroom house. As is normal, you veer towards those of your own age. So John Medd (born 1960. son of Dolores), Adrianne Stone (born 1959, daughter of Mabel), Susan Medhurst (born 1959, daughter of Olive) and myself (born 1959) formed special bonds. 

Memories of ice-cream from Cyril Hession’s shop opposite the county hospital; what seemed like very hot summers spent at Portrunny on the Shannon in the pre-sunscreen days of old; and the occasional night out to Con Moran’s pub or the Kon-Tiki near Rooskey to hear the soon to be famous Brendan Shine. Then life took over…..we grew up, we married, had children, did what people do….and drifted apart. John, Adrianne and Susan remain in England, but let’s not penalise them for that. We did, after all, thump them at rugby quite recently. But with many of our domestic commitments now fulfilled, and with luck having smiled on us, we have recently rekindled our friendships. We had a wonderful gathering in Lurgan in 2013, but always felt that a visit to Roscommon town would be a fitting way to seal our reunion. It is now 40 years since we spent a summer together in your town……and it’s been too long. Flights are booked, cars are hired and the four of us are staying in Gleeson’s on Saturday 4th July along with our wives and husbands. The girls have husbands, the boys have wives. (It’s not something you would have thought necessary to mention in the 1960’s but the times they are a changing). We hope to visit some of the afore-mentioned places and perhaps pay a tribute to Jameson’s, which killed my poor granny at the age of 93. Legal proceedings are ongoing. I hope this story is of interest to you.

Warner brothers

'Warner Brothers' acrylic on canvas

Harry (1881-1958), Albert (1884-1967), Sam (1888-1927) and Jack (1892-1978): the Warner brothers. By 1923 they already owned a string of movie theatres and, operating out of Hollywood, had moved into film distribution. In 1927, within a couple of years of establishing Warner Brothers Pictures Inc., they released The Jazz Singer - the first film to have synchronised music and dialogue.

Nearly fifty years later they released this. We can only speculate what Al Jolson would have made of it.