“Us intellectuals keep anti-social hours. It does us good.”
– Sue Townsend, The Secret Diary of Adrian Mole, Aged 13¾ (1982)
Monday
Like most mornings, after I get up and have coffee, I write an article for Marlbank. Monday was no different. You get into habits, don’t you even at the crack of dawn. They are not always useful. It can become drudgery even when it doesn’t seem like that at the time.
Fussing over stats, I wonder why I even read them, numbers are way down I discovered. Not an ideal way to start the week. This year has been hard for the blog. I have been thinking of calling it a day. After all I have given it a good go. But it hasn’t really achieved what I set out for it to do. The objective was to run it like a job with some income and enough to keep me going. That was quite naive. But then again I haven’t changed and used to earn a living doing this sort of thing in print. So I suppose there was a logic to starting Marlbank.
Since I was a teenager, I have been involved in lots of publications, setting up quite a few. Mostly they were just for fun, certainly in the early days. I still get a kick out of conjuring something up – like pulling a rabbit out of a hat when there is nothing there.
I occasionally bump into old school friends who remember Eye Private, a satirical paper I wrote and edited in sixth form, based of course on Private Eye. It was far more fun than editing the school magazine, or later at university editing the literature society publication, or Industrial Horizon, a magazine I helped a mate with. I enjoyed writing film reviews for the official student union paper more, and dabbled in angst-ridden poetry, wanting to be the next Beckett (still a ludicrous aspiration and pipe dream of mine—I need to work on my miserabilist chops again, note to self—and learn to speak in lofty tones. I’m currently sucking on a marble and looking across distant waters as a start).
And I don’t want to forget’ sings Etta James
Tuesday
Only in it for the money
I did my usual podcast and wrote the piece above on Tuesday. I wondered if it would get any reaction. Am I hung up? Nope. Are we just in it for the money? Royal we, eh, ain’t that grand. I just gentrified the sentence. Arise Sir Blogshite. But also neggatore, buster. But see Friday’s entry for more on the big reveal. Yay, again a sign of arrested development – I’ll be going whoop, whoop next – one response. Better than none. Sob. But what an interesting first time caller.
I didn’t mean to be negative or gloomy in the piece above, I was just trying to be honest and muse on what’s happening. I’m sure I’m not alone as AI starts to make our lives topsy turvy. If I do decide to stop the blog, I’ll be happy with that decision, but I really need something or someone else to write for to fill the void. Otherwise, I’ll: a) be bored, b) get distracted, or c) start writing novels again. What’s the prize? First prize: I’ll write a novel for you. Second prize I’ll write two.
Danced at the Fillmore
I’m completely stoned
I’m hippy and I’m trippy, I’m a gypsy on my own
I’ll stay a week and get the crabs and take a bus back home
I’m really just a phony but forgive me ’cause I’m stoned
From Frank Zappa’s ‘Who Needs The Peace Corps?’ from The Mothers of Invention’s We’re Only In It For The Money (Verve, 1968)
Like most writers, I write not out of noble inspiration but because an inner despot keeps tapping his watch and clearing his throat. I paused to listen to a Frank Zappa classic – always useful when you need reminding not to take yourself too seriously. I didn’t make it to Frisco, but yes – straight up – during my trip to London this week, my old stomping ground for more than 25 years (and still my adopted home), I did indeed “pass a wig store” over in… Finsbury Park.
Wednesday
I was dog tired when I caught the plane in the afternoon. But luckily I revived later and went over to the Vortex to review Oltremare. It was a pretty decent gig. I had heard several of the players before and truth be told went over because Ivo Neame was the piano player in the band. However I came away with a new found admiration for the writing ability of bassist Andrea Di Biase. He’s on one of my favourite albums of the year Bruno Heinen The W album Mikrokosmos which is very different.
Thursday
There was a tube strike affecting travelling a bit later when I was returning from attending a gig led by Marvin Muoneké [pronounced a bit like “Monica” I discovered] and Mark Lockheart at Cadogan Hall. It was a bit too early in the day for me. The Cadogan Hall foyer room where the event took place is pretty plush. But it wasn’t too stuffy an occasion and the sound quality was fine even stood lurking at the back.
Friday
My last gig of the week was a folk flavoured turn down the lamp affair led by singer Immy Churchill. She’s excellent and the best new singer I have heard in at least a few years. I wonder what the EP will be like when it is released, there was a glimpse of it among the Joni Mitchell, James Taylor and Elliott Smith songs.
“The food must be good – 3,000 flies can’t be wrong”
Earlier I was about to have lunch in an old haunt, a place I hadn’t been in for years. The ownership had changed. But on the face of it the joint still looked and felt the same. Just as grotty as ever. And not even lovably but I was happy enough to sit there, gaze around and hope I didn’t get food poisoning. What was that great Ronnie Scott’s joke? “The food must be good – 3,000 flies can’t be wrong.”
My phone pinged as I sat munching the obligatory burger and sipping flat but not unpleasant Guinness. And I read an email from a reader called Wayne (I changed his name as I don’t think his email as attributed was meant for publication). The reader had obviously taken a bit of trouble to get in touch. It was so nice of him. He, hopefully it wasn’t a bot, mentioned his appreciation of the reviews and my frustration referred to in Tuesday’s post that numbers are down. He also said he uses an RSS reader to check on what’s new on the site, something that I didn’t realise people did any more so that was insightful. He said he was a long time tech person and that “I really hate the direction tech has taken over the years, walled gardens, gamified attention, egregious advertising tech and surveillance. Now with AI summaries and AI scraping bots we’re ruining another facet of the open web. So I can sympathise with your position.”
What he went on to say which I totally agree with is [well I would do, obviously given self-interest in not becoming completely and irredemably obsolescent] that he feels “we need human curators for music (or culture in general)” and as a jazz novice he needs guidance.
I must say I feel the same when it comes to certain genres and my solution is often to read music journalism preferably accompanied by listening examples as I get fed up reading reviews without having the audio to follow along the gist of the writing.
Saturday
I always feel like this when I return from a burst of gig reviewing. I just want to keep doing it. There is so much out there and it certainly feeds into album reviewing when that resumes as the music has come alive. I am often puzzled by the approach of some reviewers who rarely venture out to venues to hear the music live. I know it isn’t always possible but listening to records only without hearing jazz live is like going to a restaurant and not being able to smell or taste the food.
Cliché alert I know, it’s scratching that creative itch day in day out and cheaper than therapy. Oliver Burkeman writing about How To Write A Lot in 2011 says the process is dull. “But that’s exactly as it should be: it makes creativity non-intimidating, and thus it makes creativity actually happen. Resistance slinks away, bored by your down-to-earth persistence, baffled by its unbruised buttocks”. So: onwards, beyond all begrudgery is the motto. Never mind the bloggers: cut us a bit of slack it’s a harmless pursuit is the plea. Give us a “p” Bob in the pursuit of the next blockbuster.
