i've got an ap for that

I decided to abandon the February Album Writing Month this year; I'm getting a backlog of half finished toons and novels which could take years to clear. Then a phone call today goaded me to one last entry.

What rhymes with 'anthropomorphic'?
I've got an ap for that
I've got an ap for that

How to hear Lykke Li's new one?
I've got an ap for that
I've got an ap for that

Where's a bar that gives away chestnuts?
I've got an ap for that
I've got an ap for that

Let's make it all kind of fuzzy
Using an ap for that
And a cracked cone speaker

Forget about fingers, fumbs can push it
You don't need books if there's a three-gee signal
If you can't find it, wave that smartphone
Cos there's an ap for that
Yeah there's an ap for that

Breakdown
Bbb-bbb-bbb
Ppp-ppp-ppp
Please press reset.

FAWM : He brought a riot to the bar

Did I mention its February Album Writing Month again?

I did it last year and we cranked out a few more Christina Nott tracks. There's enough for an album now, so watch this space.

I didn't plan to do FAWM again this year at all, but couldn't help but have a few more lyrics fall out of my head. I seem to be on track 6 by now, which is in its raw form below.

Don't panic, I won't post them all here this time.

He brought a riot to the bar

No questions in Malloy's, it ain't cool
Black walls, neon beer, shoot pool
Patch eyed bar man slowly chews tobacco
Keeps the glass for those he really knows.

Hippy dude, shadow in the corner
Watch the girl, tight in skinny jeans
And the slicked hair priest with all the tattoos
Flash a smile at leather biker sittin' mean.

At nine there's always a razor stillness
Before the real night-time kicks off
Beer slop, floor mop up with sawdust
Chinese eyes look out for the cop

Lazy eyed vixen in the see through skirt
Moves in on the soldier eating mix
Soon they're dancing a wolf kinda tango
While the band scrubs a Mexican lick.

Red tie stranger swills another tequila
Slides a drink to the girl in Cuban heels
The snare does double hit
Slo-mo, glass, it really kicks.

He brought a riot to the bar
He bought a riot to the bar
He brought a riot to the bar

For the folk that ask no questions,
And the bar that's always night,
A sudden move is all it takes
To choose the side for a fight.

He brought a riot to the bar
He bought a riot to the bar
He bought a riot in the bar

Someone want to have a go at playing it?

New York Love Song

Half an hour of further songwriting today, as I tried to make a New York song to round out FAWM.

I listed a few places on a sheet of paper and have linked them together with a bit of a story. Instead of trying to do the whole city in three or four verses, I've decided its better to hang around in one area and ground the lyrics from that point.

Its probably still the transatlantic equivalent of 'Mary Poppins does London Town', but its something to knock into shape later and maybe add some Velvet Underground style guitar licks.

Its on the FAWM Page here.



Worryingly thats number 19 of 14.

Although my last song's New York Chelsea girl reminded me of Nico. So now I'm thinking a techno 20 would be a good way to round it off, perhaps with female vocals and a slightly German accent. So here it is....the bonkers last track

Thursday Thirteen (V49) FAWM

I know its not 13, eighteen is a trifle excessive, but its difficult to cut them back down. I've somehow managed to keep on with the February Album Writing Month where the official target was 14, but I've kept on going.

I should think there will be a few to salvage from with the set, although I'm not sure that "Motorway Adventures in Wales" is going to make the final cut, with its chorus of:

"alone again in this hotel room
squish the teabag with a spoon"

Oh dear.

A few made it to being accompanied or mixed and I've decided to put some links to those with music here too. Of course they are all hastily assembled demos:

- no more moonbase alpha - that's the where the nearest available instrument was a banjo, and the song is designed to be an artifact from the near future. I'd prefer it to have clicks and scratches actually.
- la dama puliendo el paso, por todo la calle real- the one based upon a number 3 card (la dama) from the Mexican Loteria, with a nod to Dylan. This is a slightly different mix from the version on FAWM but still has my dodgy faux American accent. I chopped out some of the accompaniment and turned up the rhythm guitar.
- i'm your hit man, babe- a punk guitar tune about a bad lifestyle that I wrote and then played without learning any of the words. A one take disaster, which I kinda like.
* prophesy- short haunting Christina track, in an attempt to re-establish some musical credentials.
* remember me- dance track with a bit of synth and guitar. Somewhat over compressed but they are only demos. Couldn't resist some stabbing synthy bits and some outlandish autotuned vocals.
* your body all over mine- lets do some slinky jazz - quite pleased with this one which is also a bit off normal genre and which really does shake the floor with the bass.
* temazepam bunker - a 2:30 orchestral piece about life in a bullied workplace. The sleeve notes for this one are a bit warped.

I keeping with the FAWM convention, I've starred a few that are probably slightly better produced. The ones without stars are demos with my own vocal accompaniment. I don't recommend starting with those. Despite how it may sound, I've rather enjoyed doing this little project.

I also still really want to do a song about New York. Maybe this weekend.

punch and judy bullying allegations denied

The discussions about whether or not the Prime Minister displays temper tantrums has appeared a few weeks before the election.

There's straight-faced denials from Peter Mandelson saying nothing untoward has been happening, yet there seems to have been an undercurrent of questions for at least the last nine months. Ever since a little question about throwing mobile phones was raised in Prime Minister's Questions.

"This is not an account I recognise" being part of the subsequent mandarin response.

It's quite difficult to unpick this kind of thing. I know someone wants to sell books, and there's around two months countdown to the elections, so it seems predictable that the truth is being smeared by anyone within reach of the trough.

For starters there's the jolly poster japes of mydavidcameron.com although the equivalent domains for gordon and nick have already been bought in a pre-emptive strike.

We have to treat the next period as a Punch and Judy show, with accusations and denials in equal measure. Are we looking at a pussy cat, or a crocodile? as Mr Punch would need to decide.

Presumably the same sausages of disdain will be used to parade the current alleged achievements of leadership and the similarly aspirational plans for the future.

Unfortunately, these accounts are something I recognise all too well.



And here's my short orchestral piece inspired by some of this, entitled temazepam bunker and described at FAWM

temazepam bunker (rashbre and the unexpected musicians)

feel your body over mine

I received some comments after the last posting because I appear to have frittered spent some time on the music.

How could I find the time and so forth.

Well, this evening we've just enjoyed a late dinner and some wine, but also managed to jam a jazzy Latin track which wouldn't be out of place in Madrid.

So this one is for anyone alone at the moment.

Jazz of the type you might hear in the Plaza de Santa Ana. But in this case it's here and made on a Mac.

With a little help from my friends.


feel your body over mine (rashbre feat. Christina Nott)

full of java beans, bloops and bleeps

It would be a lazy Sunday ahead, except that I've been drinking freshly ground java bean coffee, which has increased my state of alertness and forced me out of the house.

After a week on the run and then Saturday to restock the larder, the logic suggested a day to read a few newspapers and maybe watch some television. In practice, early this morning I was reviewing a work document, despite my broken disk scrambler. All finished now.

So what next?

Well, the rashbre and Christina Nott collaboration is back since yesterday's 'prophesy' mix and today's track is called 'remember me'. A good excuse to dust off some synthesizer bloops and bleeps.

Somehow we will get an album's worth of content.

remember me (rashbre feat. Christina Nott)

Reminds me I always thought "feat" would be a good name for a recording artist.

prophesy

This is the first chance I've had to actually record anything from those little songs I created last week.

Yesterday evening I had a bash at a couple, which were rather 'one take wonders'. Live triumphs over quality. Still, someone else can pick up the vocals when we eventually arrange the music weekend we've been talking about for a year.

It wouldn't be right to leave out the rashbre and Christina Nott collaborations from this little experiment though, so there's a new track from us, which is the only one that's been through any proper mixing.

It's quite good. And it is here. Prophesy.

prophesy (rashbre feat. Christina Nott)

Empire State of Mind (Part II) deconstructed

I did a sort of experiment today, based upon my recent sideline in boshing out lyrics for this FAWM thing. I tuned into Radio 1 whilst in the car and listened to half a dozen tracks, to find one that stood out as a good song.

Not very scientific, but I just wanted to hear one that was a recent tune and radio worthy. I decided to go mainstream in the interests of deconstruction.

After hearing Lady Gaga the one I alighted on was Alicia Keys, "Empire State of Mind (Part II)", which is a song about New York. Haunting choral type start, some affectionate words about an iconic city, hope and positivity plus an inspirational hook.

A short stop at the nearby Tescos and I had a copy in my hand. Not very digital, but I wanted the little booklet to check the lyrics and the writing.

Very clever. The track credits were at the back of the booklet in italic 8pt. It showed that the song was indeed written by Alicia Keys.

Oh, and Al Shuckburgh.

Not forgetting Sean Carter and Jane't "Jnay" Sewell-Ulepic.
And Angela Hunte and Bert Keyes.
And finally, Sylvia Robinson.

I estimate there's 200 words, including a couple of lines from "New York, New York", so that would average almost 30 words per songwriter (including the Ooohs). Not forgetting the original Jay-Z version with slightly more NYC references in it.

Of course, its worked in that the album is at number two in the Tesco rack and actually the whole album is quite listenable mainstream R and B type music. Many would put Alicia into the superstar category, and her delivery is pleasantly un-diva-esque compared with the Reality X clones.

Comparison with my own efforts, which are for fun, are somewhat minimal. No teams of writers or special production in a different studio to get the right commercial sound. Just ten minutes of tapping. But of course Alicia will sell millions of copies.

It raises a broader question though, about ultimate economics. How few records get bought in full now, compared with track downloads, and how many ways does the 69 pence need to be split? The full list of people on the track in question amounts to 7 writers, 9 record publishers, 2 producers, plus musicians and a considerable production crew. With the occasional million seller, this still works.

For the rest of us, its still just for fun.

I think I need an early night

New security software on my work PC today.

One of those disk scrambler things. My old PC had it, but the new one arrived without it installed so I dropped it in to the technicians to have the software added.

When I picked it up, it was working fine. The trouble was, when I got home and restarted the PC, it didn't work.

Similar to the memory stick with built in fingerprint recognition that jams with a software fault every time I try to use it.

At least the banjo and guitar works.

Thursday Thirteen (V48)

Thirteen song titles and a bonus track. My handiwork was to write 14 songs in February.

Next part of the plan will be to spend a weekend recording them.

Where's the banjo?

cos I'm your hit man

Today's Milan visit didn't quite go to plan, but I've recovered my composure and the concurrent short term headache has subsided. When I used to visit Milan regularly I would often have a sense of calm as I returned to Linate to catch the flight home.

I think its because Milan can be quite an intense city and I suspect those little shots of expresso build up in the course of a day.

Daniel made some remark about one of my last songs and suggested that my random trips could be concealing a less straightforward occupation. Just because there was a revolver on the draining board next to the vodka and explosive fuses.

Oddly enough, some of my family muse about what I do as well.

So, to put things straight, I thought I'd use Daniel's comment as the inspiration for today's little song.

hit man

don’t promise me no promises
and its the same from me to you
on the run from love after all this time
we both knew just what to do

pack my bags, go around the world
sleep anywhere I please
you stayed, but didn’t wait, in this Chelsea flat
when I returned at the end of a mission

'cos I’m your hit man, hit man
always on the run
yeah I’m your hit man, babe
always got a diff’rent gun

last time in Jakarta when the rain was hot
I’d been running for the Java Sea
they came after me with that Mata Hari girl
but my mind was able to break free

and before that, together in St Petersburg
when we were hiding in that Literaturnoye Cafe
I’d done the deed, we were holding hands
that time when we both looked happy

'cos I’m your hit man, hit man
always on the run
yeah, I’m your hit man, babe
always got a diff’rent gun

even then I could tell that our war was over
your warmth told more than lies
a silencer moment of instant truth
a burst of sun from your deep blue eyes

never promise me your promises
we both knew just what to do
still running from love after all this time
and this time its without you.

cos I’m your hit man, hit man
always on the run
yeah I’m your hit man, babe
always got a diff’rent gun

yeah I’m your hit man, hit man
always on the run

That'll be number 14 of 14 then. Now I can resume a normal blogging service.

FAWMing over Vlad

The problem with this February Album Writing Month thing is it becomes stealthily addictive.

When I started I thought I'd just do one tune for a giggle.

Then I logged into it again the next day and found I'd received a comment.

What's the harm in doing another one I thought?

By day three I was worrying as I found myself composing a song in bed on my iPhone.

I didn't notice the little dial on the web site for a few days and then I realised it was tracking my progress towards 14 songs. And it even changed colour at the halfway point.

Now I'm at ten.

I'm slightly embarrassed about the latest one. I've left it over on the FAWM site but won't also post it here.

It's a sort of love song. But it's to someone else's love.

Vlad.

He's Debra's. And had to go away for a while.

Let's not get into gender politics here. I might have a slight variation on the name (with an 'ett', perhaps?) if I was really serious. And I know that Vlad is fully devoted to Debra in any case. In only the way that a real film camera can be.

But for those of you less versed in the seductive ways of photography, I thought I'd also reference the new work from Kim Boekbinder, who wrote 31 songs in a month last year and has just sprung a nice little live set from Zebulon.

Played on the sixth. Up as an album today.

more tales from the road

I spent several hours driving again today and whilst looking at the cars in front I couldn't help spotting some of the types that have been in the news recently.

It got me thinking about today's FAWM entry, which has a reference to the current bother being experienced by a couple of the global car firms.

My song takes a view on American cars, but of course in the UK we don't really get American cars in any quantity, the Fords and such like are made in Europe with corresponding styling.

I gather that there's routinely around 150 recall notices for cars issued in the UK every year and I must admit that I've had a few of them myself. Usually along the lines of "get the gimbal-splatchet-cogs checked at the next service".

So time for another composition.

Gotta get an american automobile
I just know how it will make me feel
those little “made in America” stickers
almost enough to wet my knickers
gotta get an American automobile

Not for me a car made in Japan
wobbly brakes and airbags bang
time to legislate to make a ban
Foreign cars should go to hang
gotta get an american automobile

gotta get an american automobile
something simple made of steel
lump of engine, no stick shift
gasoline powered, auto trunk lift
gotta get an american automobile

On second thoughts an SUV
or pickup truck with two TVs
Steel gun box and lights that flash
steel bull bars to survive a crash
gotta get an american automobile

Bring me cup holders, leatherette trim
Stark eurostyling just looks grim
gotta get an American automoblie
We need to ban those electro cars
We don’t need something made for mars
gotta get an American automobile.

you can be my vampire, if I can be your werewolf

Work is filling most of my available time at the moment, so the attempts to create tunes might need to take a back seat.

I'd wanted to get at least some of them with a splash of music, but events are conspiring against me, with the next two days on the road and next week already building into something with quite a lot of travel along the 'its Tuesday so it must be Brussels' kind of flavour.

So this punk tune is something of a rush job.

Y-Y-You can be my vampire
If I can be your werewolf
We can try to love each other
Till we both find out the truth.

I don’t understand the pecking order
I don’t understand your needs
Your lust for me ain’t human
Through everything it bleeds

Your otherworld attraction
is sucking at my heart

I see you in my mirror
I see your full moon stare
My instincts make me animal
Whilst for me you never care.

I can’t stake much on pleasure
My brains been locked away
You only think of punctures
Sharp teeth games you will play

My otherworld attraction
is gnawing at your heart

You got no feelings for me
Just for what will run inside
The wooden stake I’m holding
Will only make you hide

So I’ll scream and howl this evening
Its what makes me who I am
Don’t sucker me lost angel
Cos we’re both part of the damned.

La dama puliendo el paso, por todo la calle real

A sort of ballad today, after being enticed by the Halfpenny Orchestra’s Mexican Loteria Challenge.

They dealt me the 3: La Dama - The lady.

So I'm finding myself in Mexico.

La dama

Sitting here in this Mexican dustbowl
Where every breath tastes of sand
A wild dog barks at nothing
Small bottle of cerveza in my hand.

She walks across the main street
Tight clothes and dark tanned skin
Small flash from her brown eyes
Feel the warm gaze reel me in.

Theres a rattle in the distance
Leather boots jump a broken wheel
I see him walking towards her
Desert cape and the click of steel

She’s walked across that main street
Puliendo el paso, por todo la calle real
She’s seen me with those brown eyes
la Dama tries to show me how she feels

He’s got a switchblade out his pocket
His eyes cut through the glare
His boot’s pace quickens
On la Dama he’s locked his stare

She’s running now on that main street
Heels crack and kick up dust
Her hair flows free behind her
As towards me her die is cast

My empty cerveza bottle
I grip tightly in my hand
No match for steely violence
No grace in this scorpion land

She’s run across behind me
Perfumed musk as her skin brushes past
A crash as he reaches the cantina
Then time slows down as he moves fast

La Dama has crossed that main street
First elegance then speed
Her lover is back in Durango
Full “Te quiero mucho” need

Sipping coffee here in this dustbowl
Where every breath tastes of sand
Another wild dog barks at nothing
Before I ride out of this desert land.

I suppose some Spanish guitar could work here.

Update : warning, I tried a mix for this one, complete with one-take faux American vocals. here. Oh dear.

Special Offer : collaborate : here's the tune and you have the lyrics - so sing the vocals - it can't be that difficult to do better than me...

EST

I need to break this habit.

Bad songwriting.

This is day three.

I'm getting jitters. Yesterday, I wrote the song on my iPhone, whilst in bed after an oval-tabled dinner with a few colleagues.

Tonight I was supposed to be at another dinner, but it was cancelled, so I headed home and watched a couple of episodes of the excellent and twisty supernatural 'Being Human'.

I was doing fine for two episodes, but to avoid getting sucked into the next one I had to resist the brilliant trailer. The storyline had a gothic edge and plenty of hospital scenes.

Before I could stop myself, my next ten-minute cascade of ill formed words were dripping from my fingers.

You’ve always been high-voltage
You know how to rock the room
When you shimmy or eat sashimi
The boys around will swoon

We were a lot together
Your pink hair and green eyes
The clothes you wore you’d make your own
made every fashion a surprise.

Don’t turn yourself low voltage
Don’t let those bright lights dim
You’re better as conductor
Make new sparks not with him.

How he drove you to those aspirins
Doesn’t make me feel so strong
Gotta try to understand you now
What has happened, what went wrong?

So the ambulance attended
Paramedics did their thing
Could clean you but not fix you
Couldn’t fix a broken wing

So they’ve put you in this place now
With its white and wipe clean walls
They’re gonna put you thru high voltage
They say they’ll stop your anguished fall.

So you’ve always been high voltage
Know how to rock the place
I wanna see you be conductor now
Again your smiling face.

(EST = Electric Shock Therapy)
(when you shimmy or eat sashimi ...what was I thinking?)
A, D, E.

no more moonbase alpha

I was going to write a post about Obama cancelling investment in the Space Station on the Moon, but I wanted to have a go at that FAWM February Album Writing Month write a song a day thing as well and realised I didn't have time for both.

So I've combined them.

Useful chords for this are C, F and G.

No more moonbase alpha
No visits to the stars
No more walks on the milky way
No parking lots on Mars

I see twinkles in your eyes, babe
And the moonbeams in your hair
As you ride the sky to infinity
Make the universe so fair

But the bankers took the money
Politicians took the rope
They wrapped it up in a message
But it couldn’t give us hope

So the twinkles in your eyes, babe
And the starlight in your face
As you jet on to tomorrow
Fill the universe with grace.

Now I’m stranded here on Earthside
SInce they made that final call
No more rocket ships to outer space
Program terminated, fail.

P-P-P-P-Program
T-T-T-Terminated
Fail.

So the twinkles in your eyes, babe
You still speed across the sky
Make trails of silver star dust
Whilst I’m here unable to fly.

So the twinkles in your eyes, babe
And the moonbeams in your hair
You ride the sky to infinity
Make the heavens, oh so fair.


Perchance too much moonshine in the production of this?