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.

model romance (je t'aime)

Back from snowy Brussels, where I've been involved in some meetings largely conducted in Flemish. I can just about track the main conversation, as long as it is sprinkled with useful keywords.

Then back to the airport, where the plane was missing from the jetway and eventually back to Heathrow where the jetway was missing from the plane.

The last part was a small advantage, because the bus took us straight back to the main T5 instead of the B Terminal, where you have to catch that little shuttle.

Now I'm up to 12 of 14 in the songwriting thing, I feel compelled to write two more to get to the full set. So here's number 13, about a model romance in Paris.

Met you in that nightclub Rue St George
You talking to me of Voltaire
You with all those art school credentials
Made eyes and love as if you really cared

It was a model
It was a model
Romance

So together we took the Fifth Arondissement
Je t'aime, amour, along the Seine
Somehow you worked your magic
Paris together, Sorbonne, fantasy.

It was a model
It was a model
Romance

But one day you started looking different
Gauloises smoke, your head was turned
His plastic form of dressing
Synthetic as he struck the pose

Plastic model
Plastic model
Romance

That's around the last time that I saw you
You quietly melted away
You found your plastic lover
Left bank, left me, misery.

No more model
No more model
Romance

It was a model
It was a model
Romance

some of your stuff ain't normal

It's Tuesday so it must be Brussels.

Yep. Off to Belgium.

Then just before bedtime I thought I'd blast out another track and this one appeared. I think there's quite a fun framework for maybe adjusting the lyrics too, perhaps to increase the perversity. Acknowledgements to a certain kitchen for providing the inspiration and 'bulk' for this one, which is number 12 of 14.

Not saying its the company you keep
Not saying its your moods
Not sayin’ its the way you spike your hair
But some of ya
Some of ya
Some of ya stuff ain’t normal

Not sayin’ its the vodka in the fridge
' those bottles full a' broken glass
Not sayin' its the way you shake your skin
But some of ya
Some of ya
Some of ya stuff aint normal

Not saying its the barbie full of pins
Not sayin’ its your screams
Not sayin’ that revolver shouldn’t be
But some of ya
Some of ya
Some of ya stuff ain’t normal

I c-can’t understand it
I can’t take a lead
Those chains and studs are cool
You gotta a certain attitude whenever
I raise these things
but some of your stuff ain't normal

Im sayin’
Some of your stuff ain’t normal
Yeah some of your stuff
Ain’t normal.

China Tang

After a busy night out, we headed for China Tang. I'd taken the precaution to book a table for 11pm, and we were there just about on time. We headed downstairs into the restaurant instead of across to the cocktail bar - one less Filthy Martini was probably a good thing.

The subterranean entrance is quite evocative of Shanghai with Chinese lanterns low enough to need to duck and then onwards to the main dining area looking more like a restaurant on an art deco cruise liner, with dozens of staff buzzing around the busy tables.

There's a pecking order amongst the uniforms too, with white sailor costumes for the people clearing, a kind of two tone outfit for those taking the orders and a dark suit uniform with loosened ties like the Crazy 88 fighters from Kill Bill for some of the other floor managers.

As we arrived the evening was in full swing. Across from us another already large table was having extra places added as more and more of the evening fabulous arrived. This isn't a place for timid conversation and there's a continued bustle and theatrics as people's food is prepared at the tables.

We enjoyed mixed authentic Chinese dishes, leaving enough room to share toffee apple desserts and to drink endless China tea. Somehow, the Year of the Tiger had arrived.

Jersey Boys at the Prince Edward

With all of the song-writing activity at the moment because of that FAWM (February Album Writing Month) thing, it seemed appropriate to see a show which at least partly featured song writing within it.

Jersey Boys has been in the West End for quite some time, and I think originated in the US and after Broadway was added to the UK list of West End musicals featuring pop.

I'll admit that Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons is before my time, so I didn't really have a clue about their songs, although as the evening proceeded I found that I recognised nearly all of them, chiefly from covers by other singers and bands.

The story is kind-of predictable local boy makes good/form band/become successful/have strife/disintegrate/reform to collect Hall of Fame Awards. Spinal Tap without the big amplifiers.

The setting in Jersey with Italian/gangs/Mafia connotations was interesting and the arrival of Bob Gaudio the songwriter who'd had one previous hit at age 15 with 'we wear short shorts' flipped them from quite good into a viable mainstream pop commodity.

Gaudio's hits with the band included "Big Girls Don't Cry," "Sherry Baby," "Rag Doll," "Walk Like a Man," "Bye Bye Baby," "Silence Is Golden," and "Can't Take My Eyes Off of You."

There's also a gay record producer, various cigar smoking bigwigs, jazzy and seedy clubs, ladies of the road and dozens of songs, mainly played for about a minute instead of the 2mins30 of the era.

Strong staging, it makes for a pleasant evening out, easy to follow, predictable storyline but an upbeat way of telling it. The house was packed - its clearly a hit with the out-of-towners.

We enjoyed it as a piece of simple entertainment. As we left the theatre, everyone was smiling and buzzing from a good evening's show.

gold taps for valentine's day

We found ourselves in the wonderful Dorchester Hotel by way of celebrating the St. Valentine's weekend.

There's a clue about some of the occupants when you approach the Dorchester, because there's usually a Bentley or two parked outside.

Today there was also a Bugatti Veyron($1.7m) and a Lamborghini Reventon ($1.6m) parked side-by-side. The irony is that the outside parking is 'free' whilst the nearby multi storey car park has conventional fees.

As luck would have it, our room was upgraded to the splendid and magical Oliver Messel Suite, with its fanciful decoration and vistas of London.

Oliver Messel was an English artist as well as a stage set designer and the suite in the Dorchester was designed by him as well as featuring his artwork. It is now preserved as a part of national heritage, although still operates as a fully functioning and extensive hotel suite.

Amongst its guests have been Noel Coward, Bob Hope, Barbra Streisand, Marlene Dietrich, the honeymooning Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton, Judy Garland, Brigitte Bardot, Johnny Depp, Britney Spears, Russell Crowe, Nicole Kidman and Michael Jackson.

It was impossible not to be struck by the splendour, but also by touches such as the artwork overpainted onto the mirrors, which could be some of Messel's own handiwork.

And to smile at the golden taps with ornate fish head moulding for the bath or the more or less walk-in minibar with its full bottles of spirits (unpriced but don't ask!)

The friendly Dorchester has always been a favourite venue for a rashbre family celebration but this stay has taken it to a whole new level.

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.