3 years for 41 minutes. Who has the time?

It’s a curious state of affairs when we finish an album. You’ve done the best you can. You’ve ironed out as many of the niggles as your wallet will allow. You’re fidgeting with the artwork, tweaking this and that. You’ve settled on your running order and you’re wondering if you’ve held onto your musical integrity. Was Ed right to have convinced me to change my choice of opening track?

So the deed is finally done. You’ve sent the 41 minutes of what you currently think is the best music you’ve ever made away and now you’re waiting for the mastering people to send you that all important “audition copy” of your final product. Will they get the gaps between the songs timed exactly right? Will they leave that intake of breath you want there? Will they understand what you mean when you ask them to see if they can do something about the slightly abrupt fade on track 7?

It’s not over even when you’ve all heard your proof copy, though. Then you start the anticipation of audience reaction. What should we release as a single? Should you release one track before the album and then another one alongside its release? Should you go with the obvious pop song that has a ridiculously catchy and feel-good flavour to it, but that starts just a little...averagely? Should you choose the initially quiet, introspective, quirky but frankly beautiful slow-burning but ultimately rousing one? Is there one song that really represents your sound well enough? If you choose You Rock My World, do you potentially isolate those people who may’ve appreciated and / or much preferred Hey Look That’s Me? Regardless of any decision about which songs to use as “singles”, have you got the order right across the whole twelve tracks? Do you go the route of putting the safest pop first or do you stick to your guns and have a running order that keeps the light and shade running perfectly throughout?

I have welcomed what the iPod has brought to us, but I come from that generation that still cares about an album as a whole. All I have ever wanted is for people to listen to all our songs and want to come back for more. It disheartens me so much to think about what will happen in reality. Now that we have made our choice of running order, we’ve sealed our fate. There are so few people around these days that are prepared to give 41 minutes of their time to make a full assessment of what I believe is, to be honest, my heart and soul laid bare. What percentage of people who know me will ever make it to track 12? Track 12 may not be the most immediate song in the world, but I look forward to it every time – and it’s the best song of the lot.

The twelve songs we’ve dished up for Keep Going On are a very varied selection. If anyone reading this ever listened to our fifth album Make It Better, they may’ve thought it was a little...um...constant. This album is not constant. It’s noisy then it’s peaceful, it’s happy then it’s lamenting. It might wallow on occasion before picking itself up and being optimistic again. It’s familiar for a bit, then it almost goes off the rails. After that it becomes urgent and desperate before becoming resigned and easy-going. It’s totally us, basically.

I have never been more proud of any of our albums (although I do worry I say this every time we release one, and in retrospect, I have not always been right). There are those, I know, who will say we have never reached the dizzy heights of our debut – there is, I would have to admit, a certain naive and irreverent freshness to Never Wonder Off, but it’s not as beautiful, as varied or as ambitious as this record. Usually, by the time we release an album, I already despise most of it. You can trick yourself by not listening to your own stuff for a long time, but this time, it is fair to say, I have not had to do that. In fact, if anything, this is where the power of the MP3 has worked its magic. I have caught myself turning songs up when my iPod is on shuffle – and it turns out to be tracks from Keep Going On.

I am tremendously grateful to those select few of you who really do take an interest, I really am, but I cannot pretend that it doesn’t bother me that so few people give a monkeys. I have four friends who are authors and I am eager to read and feed back on their work for two reasons. Firstly, I know them and I know how hard they have worked and I feel a certain “struggling artist” affinity. But, secondly, it’s because I genuinely know that they are talented people and the work they produce is every bit as good and arguably better than work that is actually published. Interestingly, of those four authors, three of them, I have to tell you, know a lot of the words to my songs, so I know they listen to our stuff. I am confident enough within myself to know that they are not doing it just because they like me either.

It is a shame, though, because there are a fair few other people who like me but just do not care about my music. I get it – we can’t all like the same stuff...and, indeed, many of my closest friends are into genres more to the left of where we sit – and this can’t be helped, so I’ve made my peace with it to a certain extent. I think my feelings can be pretty well summed up by the words of one of my Year 10 students. I won’t lie...I’ve been relentlessly touting [a] Naked Season in lessons and occasionally using the staff bullet-in too. When you consider I teach about 200 students and have 100+ colleagues who regularly interact with me, it is very disheartening when the only feedback you get is one Year 10 who has been to SoundCloud and says to you “It’s actually quite good”!

This is the thing. One of my immediate colleagues is an opera singer of outstanding quality. If she were to go on Britain’s Got Talent (which she won’t, for which I respect her) she would make finals night I am sure. I have seen her perform and on both occasions it has been spine-tingling. Opera is not my thing, but I can’t help but be in awe of the proper talent on display. Us struggling artists live in a world where, because we are not “signed” or “published” (or whatever the stage equivalent is) we are ignored.

How anyone can ignore [a] Naked Season is totally beyond me. I don’t have the best voice in the world and I don’t profess to be anything more than a solid (yet inventive) guitarist, but John and myself do make a brilliant song-writing partnership. I know this sounds arrogant, but it is true. We write good pop songs. You’d like some of them of you listened. If you’ve given up on the pop charts and are looking for something with integrity and melody, choose us! We tag a lot of our stuff with our influences (Crowded House, Del Amitri, BareNaked Ladies, Ben Folds, Deacon Blue, Trashcan Sinatras, R.E.M. et al) and still no traffic!

But what am I saying? I have a hit counter on this blog. I know that, of my alleged 250 odd FaceBook friends and the 300 ish “fans” of [a] Naked Season, only about 9 or so people read this blog. We put up songs, animated videos, the occasional download...and...we are met with a staggering lack of response.

I know I am fast approaching 40 and that, to many, I am a sad act who should move aside and let the young-uns have their day. I don’t need to move aside. I’m not in anyone’s way. I don’t, for even a split second, consider myself to be competition for anyone. I am not trying to cling on to my youth here – I like being older. When I see young-uns plugging their bands and their “money-on-the-door” gigs in back rooms, it brings back some good memories and a pang of jealousy because I am no longer young, but I genuinely wish these kids every success. We hardly play live these days. For one thing, my back can’t cope with lifting all that stuff and, for another, I’m too comfortable in my own skin now to have to deal with that “You’re very tight, mate, but I didn’t recognise any of your songs” stuff you inevitably get around these parts. I am not interested in being signed. I do not want a record deal. I wouldn’t mind some interest from some publishers though, I’d have to admit. Our tunes could easily appear on soundtracks to heaps of stuff, with our lyrics or no lyrics.

But, even sadder (in a way) than the knowledge that literally hardly anyone cares, is that now that the artistic process is finally out of my hands, this set of songs is obsolete. It’s old news. And I want people to hear the brilliant song that John and I started on last week. And those others that only didn’t make it onto Keep Going On because they didn’t fit. And that song I wrote in the February half term. The next album has started. Keep Going On has gone off.

It really hasn’t – it’s a great record!

Folks, I’m not asking you to drive to a craft sale miles from where you live to look at my wares in which you have no interest. I’m not asking you to commit to 300 pages of a novel you might not like. I am, however, for starters, asking you to listen to the full 3 ½ minutes of our first and second singles – the videos will be up soon. I am asking you to spend at least 79p on one of those singles. And I am asking you to click on the 30 second previews of the other tracks via iTunes or Amazon, to see if maybe you think the album is worth a punt.

And, please, tell your friends.

Does being a barnacle suck?

I have these moments in life when I think I am making a difference. I occasionally get to drive home from work feeling like I’ve had a genuinely positive effect on someone else’s life. But on my more maudlin days I remember I am one of approximately 7,000,000,000,000 people (If I have used the correct billion) which is 0.000000000000142 as a decimal, or 0.0000000000142% of the population and I am stunned by the (figurative, at least) pointlessness of my existence. You can round me as a percentage of the population to 10 decimal places and I still come up as nothing, so any difference I make effectively rounds to nothing.

So what do I do when I get in a funk like this? I start to think of things that help me adjust my perception of my social standing upwards, that’s what. Consider the barnacle. I don’t know how many there are and I don’t even care to google it. Does a barnacle have a stream of conscious thought like I do? Does it feel proud of its achievement(s)? Does it think it has really made it in the world if it has attached itself to a blue whale, say? Is its dream of retirement a nice rock in a harbour somewhere? Is there a class system in the barnacle world? Imagine the conversation. How was your day, Shelly? Wet, thanks. Tide’s out. Yup. Does a barnacle understand its position in the ecosystem? Does a barnacle have an accurate understanding of its own pathetically insignificant percentage of the barnacle population? Does a barnacle get mawkish? Maybe barnacles are happy little things, full of the joys of life and they appreciate every lap of every wave.

I feel better already. The tide has turned.

Keep Going On (keeping with the theme).

I am having a bit of a retro phase recently. I have been tracking down a lot of songs I used to like but haven’t heard for years. By and large, I am quite impressed by my tastes of old. I think I had to make a few mistakes along the way, but that’s the best way to learn, as I tell my students.

My wife bought tickets for us to go and see A-Ha. Not cool, you may think. Maybe not. But the evening was, and I was treated to a great nostalgia night. I don’t like the well known A-Ha songs really. I am more of a fan of their lesson known and infinitely better (albeit less poppy) music from their less successful days. I’d have to add that there were some quality tunes in the set from (presumably) more recent albums about which we know nothing.

I briefly found myself feeling sorry for them, thinking they had been a victim of being too attractive and that they maybe deserved to have been more successful and recognised as more credible artists. Then I took in my surroundings – a jam-packed Bournemouth International Centre singing the roof off to songs many of us had on cassette and vinyl 25 years ago. And then I remembered how “doing the Bond theme tune” used to be the pinnacle of “massive”.

My attitude to music and musicians has changed so much recently. As the band spoke between songs, I really did get a feel of sadness coming across, as if they knew this really was the last time they were going to do this. I could be wrong, of course. They might do another critically acclaimed album and tour in six years time.

I have mocked bands like The Rolling Stones for years. In fact, I once wrote a song called “Has-Been” about musos who still played the same circuits we did in their forties. I am thirty-nine now.

I guess the only difference between the kinds of people I was mocking in that song and myself is that I am absolutely under no delusion that I might become famous now. In fact, I can honestly say it isn’t even my intention anymore. But the thing that really hit me last night – and it’s really shaken me actually – is the notion of what it must feel like to know you are about to play your self-penned songs to an audience for the last ever time. The damned things only take three and a half minutes each as it is! I don’t think I’d ever want to stop.

We’ve just finished our 6th album and it’s “due for release” in early 2011 and, of course, I know my feelings will change, but right now I feel it is our most accomplished album ever. We have been going for 18 years. I was impressed with A-Ha’s 27 years, but it dawned on me that our 7th album (which, make no mistake, has now started formulating in my head – I am sooooo happy to be able to move on!) will punctuate our 20th, if not 21st year as [a] Naked Season.

Gigs, rehearsals or just jam sessions...I know we don’t do any of these thing that often these days. We don’t want to do it that often. We should do it more often that we do, but we all have other commitments. But, right now, I think I’d be pretty devastated if we ever had one of those “this will be our last gig” discussions. John and Ed are two of my best friends and...well...when we get together we can be pretty awesome – whether it’s behind our instruments or at a table with three plates of curry on it. I was asked the other day if there was any other band I wish I had been in and I realised there is only one band for me and I’m in it already.

Here’s to still playing and singing and writing some class tunes when I’m fifty. And then we’ll see about sixty.

That Sinking Feeling

I hate shaving. I absolutely abhore it. I also HATE arty bathroom sinks like the one in the picture. This is the sink in the Crown Towers hotel in Melbourne. It is a 5 star hotel. I am honestly not saying this to let everyone know I stayed in a 5 star hotel, I am saying it to make a point that even at the allegedly highest level, bathroom sinks can be utterly stupid.

I do not use an electric razor – I “like” to have a wet shave. The process starts with me filling the sink, then I wet my face by cupping water with my hands and bringing it up to my face. My bog standard sink at home looks like exhibit A – the genius “two taps” classic. Note how there is a cold tap on one side and a hot tap on the other, and notice the gap between the taps that makes it extremely easy for me to bow my head down towards the sink to allow me to splash water onto my face without any drips ending up on the floor around the sink. So let’s consider the practicality of exhibit B, a beautiful and modern five star sink. Notice the beautiful mixer tap that is fixed in its central position making it impossible for me to get my head anywhere near the sink for any splashing-on-face purposes.

Let’s continue. I don’t know if you can tell from the picture, but my bog standard budget two tap sink is concave. This helps enormously because the majority of my removed facial hair will go down the plug hole without any encouragement. My budget sink also has a rubber plug on a chain so I can pull the chain to empty the sink and I can pop the chain around the tap on the right to keep it out of the way and to avoid having to reach into the sink to empty it. The beautiful modern five star sink is totally flat and is requires emptying by reaching in and pressing the ceramic “plug” down. This results in removed facial hair getting all over the dipped hand and then, to add insult to injury, the flat bottom collects a lot more facial hair, increasing the time it takes to clean the sink exponentially.

Oh – and can you see a shaving mirror anywhere in the five star sink picture? You have to lean across the sink to use the mirror in the far wall behind the sink – and – oh – there’s that gorgeous immovable mixer tap to make that job impossible too. I hate shaving. Even when it’s made easy it is tedious and annoying. When it is made impractical by moronic modern “beauty”, it becomes aggravating and very bad for your back and shoulders as well.

I cannae' shake 'em cap'ain!

“You’re not really a huggy type of person are you?”

I get this a lot. No, I’m not. I didn’t used to have to be – this is my point. I don’t know how all this has crept in and I am NOT happy with it. There are a very select few people I would (and do) hug. My wife can have a hug whenever she requests it and the poor thing has to put up with quite a few she doesn’t want from me as well. I would hug my mum and my Dad also but I know he would decline. I would hug my bromance and song-writing partner John and I would hug my university chums but only if I hadn’t seen them for ages (which is usually the case actually). I am also pleased to say that if I asked any of these people would hug me if I asked for it – but these days I only ask my wife.

But what is this thing now where it is necessary to shake hands with male friends and hug and kiss female friends you only saw a few weeks ago? About ten years ago I guess this kind of idiocy was reserved for night club lads peacocking, but alas, it seems to have permeated my social circles now.

I am NOT a”huggy person” because I never used to have to be, so why should I start? To make my friends happy? Nah, I think they are happy enough mocking me for not being “huggy” and smooching me anyway, for their own gratification and amusement. Don’t go thinking because I don’t really want to hug you that it means I don’t like you. Trust me, if I didn’t like you, I wouldn’t be choosing to meet with you, would I?

Ironically, yes, I would shake hands with people I haven’t met before, because that, as far as I can tell, is the done thing. So long as our meeting is planned, that is. I wouldn’t go proffering handshakes and hugs to random strangers.

Time for Change

Several of my friends have made derogatory comments about how I handle money on a day to day basis. I don’t mean as in banks and bills etc, I mean in terms of how I literally handle cash i.e. how I carry money. You see, I wear jeans at weekends. Jeans have pockets and they are not that big and not that deep. When I sit down, if it weren’t for my genius idea of carrying all my small change around in one of those transparent money bags you put 2p coins in, any coins I had would spill out everywhere. By carrying them all in a tatty see-through money bag, I can instantly pull all the change I have out of my pocket in one movement and I can instantly see which coins I have and therefore which amounts I can make.

Friends of mine recently bought me what they called a “man purse”. I am grateful for the thought, but they have missed the point – a “man purse” takes up too much space.

Now John (my esteemed yet goonsome song-writing partner from [a] Naked Season) is just the kind of person who would take (and probably has taken) the mickey out of my money habits. The photograph labelled Exhibit A is his wallet. I asked him how he fit it in his pocket and he admitted it did dig into his backside when he drove places. Look at it! Look at that section on the top. John was carrying £18+ in change in that stupid zip section – and a considerable amount of the weight was made up of coppers and 5p coins – see Exhibit B. Who carries change like that? Who doesn’t just put it in a pot?! John, that’s who.

Exhibit C shows my wallet and transparent money bag alongside John’s gargantuan monstrosity. On the left we have a thin wallet you barely feel in your pocket accompanied by a compact, cheap and efficient way of transporting coins. You can’t see in the picture, but I can assure you there are no coppers or 5p coins in that money bag. On the right you see what might as well be a handbag for a man’s back jeans pocket. The piles of change are what I found in the zipped section whilst we were mixing in the studio today.

Which of us has the better financial solution? My money is on me.

Aren’t village clocks that go “bong” charming? On a lovely summer afternoon, if you lived in a village like Botley you’d feel all quaint and middle class when your town hall clock chimed, wouldn’t you? I came out of a Botley pub the other evening to be greeted by the 11pm chimes. 11pm?! That would surely be annoying, right? Anyway, I got to thinking...wouldn’t it be awesome if instead of a quaint “bong”, Botley’s village clock went “bip bip bip bip” repeatedly like a cheap £3.99 alarm clock? And wouldn’t it be joyous if it just carried on like said bed-side alarm clock until some poor sap climbed up and smacked the button to make it stop? And how cool would it be if that poor sap forgot to actually switch the alarm off and found out he’d only hit the snooze button? I’d love to watch that poor bleary-eyed guy have to shimmy all the way up the tower again to hit the right button 4 minutes later. And every time the clocks went back...the same guy could keep on pressing the hour button (or hold it down continuously) until – oops – he went an hour too far and had to cycle all the way around again. These, I believe, would be good times.