On the Beach

Chris Rea is, I read today, on the mend. He collapsed in Oxford at the weekend halfway through his set.

It's not the first time Rea has had to ring 999. He's not enjoyed the best of health for some time and very nearly checked out on a couple of occasions in the early noughties.

Since reinventing himself as a serious blues musician, the Middlesbrough born guitarist has found a new audience while still retaining his faithful following. It's been a while since Rea troubled the charts with infectious hits like Road to Hell, Fool if You Think it's Over and, of course, Driving Home for Christmas*, but the quality of his new material has never dipped.

*Of course I haven't chosen his Yuletide smash from 1988. No, today I'm going with On the Beach. I love what Rea did when he turned it from a diamond in the rough album track to a Top Twenty single. And the thing he did? Listen to the electric piano motif (3:37) - it only appears once, and lasts for just four seconds! When he re-recorded the song he replicated the same lick on the guitar - where it became the hook that runs through the whole record from start to finish. Genius.

For what it's worth I think I prefer the album version, but if I was listening to this on a beach I'm sure I wouldn't give a monkey's chuff. Anyway, sit back in your deckchair and enjoy them both.

Chris Rea - On the Beach (album version)

Chris Rea - On the Beach (single version)

Audience participation

It's beginning to look a lot like panto season. This year Cinderella and Beauty and the Beast are both in Nottingham competing for your hard earned ticket money and booking fee. It'll be the usual helpings of festive silliness brought to you by washed up celebs and wannabe hopefuls; the last time I shouted 'Behind you!' would have been when Bob Carolgees and Spit the Dog were in town. It was a riot.

As a kid with a birthday between Christmas and New Year I would often be lured out of my seat and onto the stage to receive a sweetie proffered by a strange man dressed as a woman. Some things never change.

Talking about audience participation, I found this lovely clip of Johnny Flynn (he of the Detectorists theme song) playing a little club in Toronto. When he announces that his next song is The Water (a duet he normally sings with Laura Marling), a rather brave young woman offers to sing it with  him. 'You don't have to' Johnny tells her, probably dreading a car wreck about to unfold before him; he needn't have worried.

Johnny Flynn - The Water

You tell me your secrets, I tell you my lies

Chiggins1 emailed me yesterday. He sends me an annual year end round-up Best Of compilation CD2 every Christmas; has done since Radio 1 could still be found on the medium wave. 'I see you've moved back to the fair city - give me your address and I'll chuck it in the mailbag. P.S. I hope 2017 has been a vintage year for you(?)'

As I was replying I remembered writing a wistful post3 almost exactly a year ago. (Interestingly, since writing that particular piece, it is still being viewed over fifty times a day.)  

December 2016 was a very interesting month, for all sorts of reasons; even then I had a feeling that the early part of 2017 could shape not only the rest of the year, but also a life far beyond. Maybe I was viewing the future through some sort of prophetic kaleidoscope, but I knew this year would be, maybe not vintage, but pivotal. Even a blind man on a galloping horse can see that the tone of Even Monkeys Fall Out Of Trees is more upbeat since I made the move back down to Nottingham earlier in the year.

Here's a song I first played with James when he was living in Leeds. I have posted it up here before, but as I've started dropping it in my set again, I thought I'd share it one more time.4.

1.  Chris Higgins. His passport says he was born in Ashby-de-la Zouch. And he once auditioned for a part in Byker Grove. He may only admit to one of those statements.

2. He knows I'll never ditch my CD player.

3. Did I say wistful? It was certainly one of the shortest pieces I'd ever written. Around that time I was like a man on a desert island waving frantically at the sky. And out to sea. I was writing RESCUE ME! in large letters in the wet sand. Every day.
4. You're the One: it's from two Decembers ago - Dec. 2015.

Slippery Slope

Caution indeed

A short story I am currently knocking into shape has the working title 'Slippery Slope'. However, following my recent Screenwriting course at Broadway Cinema, I may well write it as a screenplay for a short film.

As I often do when I've got an idea on the go, and especially when I'm giving it a title, I'll look up the word/words/phrase in Urban Dictionary to see if there are other, earthier, meanings or definitions accredited to, usually, an innocent/harmless phrase such as, in this case, Slippery Slope. (It's good to cover all bases.)

Ironically, when looking up the definition in the aforementioned alternative online dictionary, my search turned into a slippery slope all of its own. Yes, the first two were as you'd expect, but 3, 4, 6 & 7 were, ahem, new to me.

Whilst we're on the subject of slippery slopes, give this a coat of looking at: it's the new Japanese game show that's sweeping, well, Japan. It's hilarious.

It seemed like such a good idea at the time

It's the early hours of Saturday morning as I write this, so I'll try and keep it brief. I wasn't planning on recording the fact that today (technically yesterday) marks the six month anniversary of moving back to Nottingham; but somebody in the pub tonight said something to me that I can't get out of my head - another reason for wrapping up here and hitting the hay. 

This person, who shall remain nameless, and I were swapping stories and I mentioned the fact that this time last year I was holed up in God's Waiting Room. And so the conversation turned to all the forks in the road, chances, half chances and happenstance that took us where we perhaps never intended to be but ended up all the same. 'So why did you move up there?' I was asked, not for the first time, and probably not the last. 'Well it seemed like such a good idea at the time.'

More beer was drunk, more stories exchanged and then this person said: 'You do know that if we're lucky we've only got 4,000 weeks on this earth. So you best make the most of it.'

Oh, don't worry - I will. Starting tomorrow. Kate and Vaughan are coming back to see us. We're all going to see the Darkness at Rock City; not everyone's cup of tea, I know, but give this a listen. It may just strike a chord.

The Darkness - Seemed Like a Good Idea at the Time

Tempted though I was to title this post 'One Way Ticket to Hell...and Back' (after the Darkness album from which Good Idea is lifted) I decided to be charitable; after all, if I hadn't moved to the arse end of nowhere I would never have met Kate. Or Vaughan.