Yes Please And Thank You (Demo)

My new song, Yes Please And Thank You, is available on Soundcloud here:

I’ve been pretty quiet on the blog over the last month. I’ve been using an app for Android called EasyBand Studio to plan out some songs, so I’ve been spending my spare moments doing that.

Yes Please And Thank You is about political hypocrisy and the contempt that politicians have for the electorate. It’s aimed especially Westminster politicians. Maybe I’m just getting old but the people in charge at Westminster are two-faced, contemptible, money-grasping liars and I hate them.

Enjoy!

Yes, Please & Thank You

I’m working on a song about politics – Yay! – and this was my first draft of the lyrics. It’s called “Yes, Please & Thank You”. I’ve changed the music significantly so the text below doesn’t scan any more. Thought I’d share it though as I think it’s “no bad”. All comments welcome:

I send to you a message
Political in nature;
I’d like you all to vote for me
Despite the fact I hate yer;
I spend your cash on war machines,
On submarines and tanks;
I sell your children’s futures off
To satisfy the banks;
We’re all in this together now
My wealthy friends and I;
And you will be in debt to us
Until the day you die.

I claim on my expenses
For food, and clothes as well;
But claim like me and soon you’ll see
The inside of a cell;
I know so well what’s best for you
I learned as much at school;
Do as I say not as I do
I’m taking you for fools;
I spin the lie that black is white
And here’s the thing that’s worse:
The only change I’m wanting
Is the money out yer purse.

I got myself elected here
By lying through my teeth;
I told you that I’ll work for you
But here’s my true belief:
I’m here to help you learn your place
Bend over, trousers down;
I’ll plunge my arm in elbow deep
And rummage all around;
I’ll extract a government
Appropriate for you,
And because you chose me
Here’s what I expect you to
Say:

Yes
Please and
Thank
You

Love Is Sair

When The Vinegar Tits ROCK it goes like this!

A song in which the painful side of love is compared with an ingrowing hair, falling off a chair, standing in the sun’s full glare when you’ve got red hair, and being eaten by a bear.

There’s a cheeky wee N.I.B./Cliff Burton homage in the first 20 seconds an all.

Lyrics are available at the Lyrics & Recordings link at the top.

Cludgies

I haven’t always been a no-mark musician; I used to be a no-mark sitcom writerer guy too! If you’ve listened to any of my tunes (stop sniggering, etc.) you’ll hopefully have picked up that I like to inject a wee bit of humour into things. Before I applied music to the equation my hope was to make folk laugh with a tip-top situation comedy. How hard is it to write a sitcom? It’s a skoosh, to be honest with you. How hard is it to write a good one that gets onto the telly? Turns out that this is actually quite tricky.

One of my attempts from 2010, which I share here with you, is called Cludgies. It’s set in a public lavatory, with hilarious consequences. The three main characters are Dougie, the toilet attendant, Felix, a student from Malawi making spare cash as a soap and scent guy, and Marshall, a bloke who never leaves one of the cubicles. Sounds like comedy gold, doesn’t it? Why the BBC rejected this gem I’ll never know. Actually, I do know, as I still have the – laden with constructive feedback – rejection letter. If I get round to scanning it I’ll share it here too.

I’m not asking you to do anything with this. Read it if you like. It’s just gathering metaphorical dust on my hard drive so I may as well bung it on here. Yes it’s self indulgent, but that’s what blogs are for, aye?

Enjoy!

Manufactured Pop Music: Why It Matters

It’s soft, insipid and lacks character for anyone with a mature palate. That’s right: I’m talking about baby food. First up, a baby has milk; then baby rice; then mashed tatties or banana; then fish fingers and broccoli; and finally, as an adult, fillet steak. That fillet steak would be wasted on a toddler: it’s too difficult for them to eat and they wouldn’t appreciate the difference between the steak and a Big Mac anyway. It doesn’t matter, though, because you wouldn’t give your wean fillet steak in the first place: babies need to take small dietary steps before tackling more complex meals.

Right: let’s ditch the food metaphor for the moment. Jake Bugg has criticised One Direction, saying that they can’t “really be considered a band”. For me that’s like saying that a bike can’t really be considered a car: no-one is claiming that it is. Define “band” anyway. I’m guessing that Jake thinks that the only way to make music is to do it like The Beatles did 50 years ago, and a band must match their template: singers, guitars, bass, drums. Where does that leave Kraftwerk? Sparks? NWA? The Pet Shop Boys? White Stripes? Or is it enough that it is a collection of earnest musicians – regardless of instrument – sagely nodding their heads in time with every prodigious chord-change?

The argument is essentially about what constitutes “proper” music. For me, music exists on a sliding scale of complexity, and all of it can be considered “proper”. To return to babies for a moment, the first music most of us hear will be nursery rhymes: simple words and melodies that are designed to stimulate us and engender in us a curiosity about music. This music is as valid as Trout Mask Replica, but the key point is that it is meant for babies. You are meant to move on from this and as you move up the complexity scale you have to consider who the target audience is for the music. Manufactured pop music of the type delivered by One Direction is clearly targeted at under 16s and should therefore be judged on those terms. Based purely on musical content – i.e. ignoring economic and moral arguments for and against the creation of this type of music on an industrial scale – it’s supposed to be fun, not too complicated, and encourages young people to love music. Or, to put it another way, it’s soft, insipid and lacks character but it’s meant for children and encourages them to explore Bowie, The Smiths and Patti Smith – and The Vinegar Tits :-) – when they are ready for it.

Why, then, does manufactured pop music matter? It’s the musical equivalent of baby rice or mashed potato. It’s not particurly stimulating for adults who have developed their tastes beyond boy bands and ballads but it’s a starting point for some children to develop a love for music, a point from which to move away towards the Aphex Twin and Frank Zappa.

Does Jake Bugg need to get his knickers in a twist about One Direction? That’s for his management to tell him, not me.

DIT #7: Aneurysm – Nirvana

Perhaps oddly, the first Nirvana album I bought was Incesticide, the 1992 collection of covers, demos and sessions. I remember holding the cassette case (yes) in WH Smiths (young yins: these were the days when you had to go to a ‘shop’ to ‘buy’ music) on the day Incesticide came out, reading the song titles with feelings of both admiration and bemusement: Mexican Seafood, Hairspray Queen, Aero Zeppelin…where did he get those ideas from? Then at the end of the track list was Aneurysm. “Aneurysm,” I thought, “what the fuck is that?”

Incesticide didn’t disappoint: the songs are by turns simple, visceral and wry. The absolute diamond on the album, though, is Aneurysm. I heard it once and then rewound the tape (I know…) again and again to hear that energising opening riff, the rising whine of the guitar going into the thundering drum rolls of the verse and then the voice, his voice, Cobain’s shredded, barbed-wire voice inviting us over to dance (ok, to take drugs). It immediately became my favourite Nirvana song and remains so to this day.

Imagine how happy I was to find the Smells Like Teen Spirit CD single (you young yins are getting a right lesson here) in Missing in Glesga with Aneurysm on it, and another track, Even In His Youth. Any musician worth his or her salt would give their right plum/booby to have just one of those songs in their back catalogue and of the three I will affirm to my dying breath that Aneurysm is the best (although I can never decide which version I prefer – Incesticide or B-side; it’s the Incesticide version I include here).

And then he shot himself.

Drugs are bad, m’kay.

Line wot I wish I’d wrut: “She keeps a pumpin straight to my heart”

Urban Love Ulcer – Mahatmahabharat

In the same week that the British music industry celebrates the safe, unit-shifting pap that wouldn’t be out of place if it were wrapped in plastic and given away with a Happy Meal, it’s reassuring to affirm that there are artists out there creating exciting, challenging and inspiring music.

Mahatmahabharat by Urban Love Ulcer is the antithesis of the bland, processed, horse’s-arse burgers that were served up at the Brit Awards yesterday, and is all the better for it. It throbs with menacing intent and brings to mind a futuristic Eastern dystopia, as if Bladerunner were set in Kolkota or Mumbai. A growling bass thrums through the malevolent opening segment while the rising/falling sitar riff drives us forward. We pass subtly into a more urgent (although effortlessly so) mid-section of crunching drums and more swirling sitars before breaking through into the relative calm of the final movement. It’s exhilarating, unsettling and assured: everything that good music should be.

If Harrison Ford hunted down Rutger Hauer in the Indian subcontinent, this would be the soundtrack. Listen and enjoy!