May 16

Music Behind the Lines – Gulf War 1991, Part 2

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blog post, History

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 Music Behind the Lines. Gulf War 1991 part 2

 

Part two, Entertaining the Troops

 

gulf-band

 The Band, all dressed up to play for the troops.

The morning after we had played for the first time I had a phone call in my cabin from the cruise director.  Could I come up and see him.  I rubbed my eyes and dressed quickly and set off to find the office.  When I arrived he was in a good mood, beaming.  He offered me a beer which I declined, I didn’t even know what time it was, but it seemed early.  The staff and troops had loved what we had done, keep that up and everyone would be happy, he said.  There was just one thing.  Swearing.

He referred to a part of the night just after we had started.  We had played two songs to silence, even though the room was full.  It wasn’t that they weren’t listening, more like they didn’t know how to react to these four English lads on stage.  At least that’s what our drummer, Tony, picked up from them.  In order to break the ice he had stood up and screamed at them, holding his pony-tail in the air he said we were all here fighting for freedom, and his right to have long hair among many other things.  I remembered he’d been a bit fruity with his language, but we were playing in front of front-line squaddies and it hadn’t occurred to me that we would upset anyone.

View From The Stage

View From The Stage

It was all very motivational stuff, but his message was basically, “come on, get stuck in and let your hair down because you are doing such a kick ass job up front and we looked like we had already gained the upper hand”.  This fired up the troops like you wouldn’t have believed.  They were now whooping like only US audiences can, and Tony began an improvised rap in which he cleverly tore into “Saddam Hussein” something about him being “insane”, and not being able to fight a war if you “don’t have no brains”.  He then leapt from the stage and started soloing – playing round the room, on soldiers heads, arms, watches, chests – male and female – and along the bar.  It had the desired affect and we never played another song to silence, in fact it was the opposite and we struggled to get off the stage that night.  It was an inspired move by Tony and just the kind of unpredictable action we had come to love him for.  Audiences everywhere loved him.

The cruise director turned to me with a straight face and said “We don’t mind F**k or sh*t, but Motherf***er and C**t are definitely out” – he smiled.  We had hit the spot and they were grateful that we had taken the time to mix with the guys for quite a while after. Just one last thing, could he please stay on the public side of the bar when he does his solo as he had dented the tops of all the fridges and broke 3 glasses and a bottle of gin as well as traumatising the Polish waitress by doing a few paradiddles on her bosom.

tony-gulf

Tony “entertaining” the troops.

As I left the office I made my way to the back of the ship where there was an indoor/outdoor café.  I piled a plate with bacon and eggs and grabbed a coffee and sat at a table.  It was very early, the sun had barely risen, it was damp and had recently rained.  The photo below was taken at this very point in the story.
gulf-morningThis became our morning routine, a meeting point to chat and plan the day to the backdrop of Chinooks loading and unloading missiles and spewing out more troops.  The ships were from all over the place, a Belgian flag flew from a mine hunter, a French ship had a little remote controlled submarine on the back of it . There was a permanently docked factory ship that made just about anything, each deck being a different kind of factory.  Damaged ships and other vehicles were brought to this ship for repairs.  There was often piles of crates that were guarded by marines.  Our little cruise ship looked so pathetic amongst all of this brute force, we had a little pool on the top deck and we often sat in a jacuzzi while helicopters brought stuff to and from the dock.

We had to play a set in the afternoons, at about 3pm and two more sets in the evening from 10pm until midnight.  The rest of the day was ours and we had various trips out which were never without incident.  I was called once again to the cruise directors office after a trip into town with Bernie, our young guitarist who was hardly in his 20′s when we arrived.  Bernie is big, a strapping lad with the loveliest sweet nature and a phenomenally talented guitarist.  He also has quite red hair, which does not bode well in the heat we were in, given the usually related light skin-tone that affects red-heads.

We had nipped into town and had a pleasant walk around the souk.  You could buy anything from rip-off perfume and aftershave scent sold in little bottles of oil that you mixed yourself with alcohol to create the lotion.  You could have a shirt hand-made from just about anywhere and stall after stall sold a multitude of patterned rolls of material.

We did stick out a bit, I had dyed blond hair and as we know, Bernies was (is) red.  Typically for the mid Persian Gulf it was constantly in the high 30ºCs and we had gone out in t-shirts and shorts.  When we got back to the ship and the cruise director had me in the office he told us they had had a phone call from the “Mutawwa’în” or religious police, on the bridge, and asked that, if “the ginger one”, Bernie, went out again, that he wore long trousers as his lanky white legs had caused some distress in the market.  I was in fits of laughter when I had to break the news to him.  For the record, I was also warned about wearing just a vest top and not having my shoulders covered, but my shorts clad stubby brown hairy legs were not of any interest to them.  Strange, I thought, but we were in no position to argue.

Being in town was always a bit fraught with tension.  We didn’t normally travel into town with the troops, they were a real target and were trained in dealing with an attack.  We normally used public transport but had to keep our gas-masks with us and concealed.  One evening, Allan, a bass player from the other band, whom I had befriended, needed to go into town for bass strings and pick up a shirt he had had made.  It was dark and the intention was to nip in and out quick and get back for the 10pm sets.  A mini bus was parked on the dock with a hand full of uniformed troops on board.  Allan talked us on to the bus to save us time walking up for the public bus and waiting for it and then enduring all the stops along the way.

We got close to Manama center and the bus stopped in a crowded street full of shoppers and other troops.  The driver shouted something from the window and a man outside beckoned him so he left the bus, closing the door behind him with a hydraulic hiss.  The troops were ambivalent but we started to get anxious.  We kept looking at our watches and scanning the street for the driver. He was gone, nowhere to be seen.  The engine was still running and the troops just chatted, although one or two were looking about outside now as well.  Eventually Allan looked at me and said “F**k this…..!” and started kicking out the window.  The top window was open and I began to climb out head first after throwing my bag with my gas-mask out first to cushion the inevitable fall. I landed with a thud about the same time that Allan landed next to me.  We stood and moved away from the bus as fast as we could and headed into town on foot.

We didn’t wait to find out what happened but back on the ship we saw some of the guys who had been on the minibus and they said the driver had stopped for a comfort break (a coffee and a pee) and was gone for almost ten minutes.  We just did what was natural at the time and acted.  I was surprised at how the tension had gotten to us, being in a war zone was intense, the daily drills and many real alarms kept us on our toes and being alert for strange situations was now second nature.

gulf-troopsMe and Bernie and some of our audience

Generally the days passed peacefully, with one or two alerts and having to stop where we were and put on our gas masks.  After 15 minutes or so the all clear would sound and we would go about our business.  Occasionally the alarm would go off mid song, and the power would cut and we’d stand on stage putting on our gas masks while the crew shut all external doors and windows and sealed the ship up tight.  A few scuds landed near Bahrain, one dropped into the sea near us and I swear we could feel the boat moving with the disturbance in the water.

Steve and I were coming back from dinner one day and made for the night club to do some work on our gear while Tony and Bernie went off to do something else.  We arranged to meet in the café afterwards and had just plugged in the soldering iron when the alarm went for a gas mask drill.  We duly pulled on our masks and waited for the all clear.  It seemed to take a while and when it was sounded we changed our minds about the gear and went to meet the others in the indoor/outdoor café.  We were there first and had just filled the coffee cups from the pot on the counter when the alarm went off again. “GAS GAS GAS……..THIS IS NOT A DRILL…………..GAS GAS GAS”

This was serious, we had not had this before.  The drill in this situation was to get our masks on and head as far down into the ship as possible.  We were just a couple of flights of stairs from Steves cabin so we threw on our masks and ran.  We passed the PX, a small shop that sold everything, where a guy was flailing around on the ground and another was trying to get a gas mask on him.  The troops were in possession of self administered ampoules of Atropine which they injected into their leg in the case of a gas attack.  They then had a second self administered syringe of something that they needed to take quickly in case the atropine sent them into convulsions.  I may be wrong on this but my memory says the second injection was Valium or similar.  A few had managed to get the first one in, but maybe because adrenaline had kicked their metabolism into hyper activity, had not managed to get the second drug in to themselves.  We didn’t stop, we had no training regarding any of this, our instructions were very clear.  Cover your body as best you can and wait for the all clear.  We got to Steves cabin and pulled on extra layers of clothes, even grabbing stuff from the washing basket.  We then sat on the beds and pulled the covers around us.  The volume of our hard breathing was amplified by the masks, and we looked at each other. This could be it, we said, sounding like scared Geordie versions of Darth Vader.  It was a very tense time and took an age for the all clear to come.  All the time we could hear noises of people running past the cabin and doors slamming shut.

Eventually we were given the all clear and we stripped off all the extra clobber and headed for the café.   The missile had landed in the sea close to where we were docked, our port location obviously now being a major target since the USS Missouri had docked along side.  This ships massive guns were to be made famous by Cher straddling them in the video to  ”Turn Back Time”.   It certainly got the attention of the Iraqis on this day.

We met the other guys and the mood was sombre.  We had gotten used to the extra danger that life on the ship offered but this attack was on a different scale altogether and it scared the hell out of us all.  Normally we would have had a nervous laugh about something like this, even taken the mickey out of it as we did to cope with other difficult situations in the past, but it affected us all that day.

gulf-stageSteve and I about to “shotgun” our Budweisers back on stage after the real GAS GAS GAS alert

Part 3 continues the story

 

 

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May 15

Music Behind The Lines. Gulf War 1991 – Part 1

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History, Performing

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Music Behind The Lines. Gulf War 1991 – Part 1

Leather Trousers and Choc-Chip Camouflage for tonight's set

Leather Trousers and Choc-Chip Camouflage for tonight’s set

 

So, my band and I were playing a gig in Newport, South Wales on the 17th January 1991. It was a prestigious job, in the Hilton hotel, backing all the other artists represented by our agent in a showcase designed to sell his acts and get them signed up for the summer.

On this particular night, there was a big TV set up in the lounge bar and as we took a break during the interval we saw that the first Gulf War had just begun. We were playing a few songs from our own set between the different acts and so we had a good bit of exposure for ourselves and, as we stood open-mouthed staring at the TV, our agent approached us and introduced us to an American guy. Would we like to go out there, he asked, nodding towards the screen as another missile landed and lit up the Baghdad skyline. We would need to have our whole van full of equipment ready with all the weights and serial numbers ready for customs, and tickets would be waiting for us at Heathrow’s Gulf Air Terminal in a few days time.

A bit shocked we had a quick band meeting and all scuttled off to call our parents. Of course, we said yes and the next two days were a whirlwind. We somehow finished the gig and drove back to Devon and first thing the next morning we had emptied the van out on the driveway and began collecting all the serial numbers and information we needed. Next thing I remember we were backing up the van to the doors of the Gulf Air Terminal at Heathrow while heavily armed police looked on nervously, and proceeded to place each item on the x-ray machines, and checked in the entire contents of the van in as excess baggage! I still have the ticket and I can tell you it was NOT cheap, but the US forces were paying for it so we just did as we were instructed.

We boarded the first flight to Muscat, in Oman. We were all very nervous and sat at the back of almost empty plane. The hostesses basically left us alone and we were very kindly left a trolley full of booze, which we felt obliged to make a dent in. We were laughing and joking about what we were doing, who else would head TOWARDS a war zone. It was all so strange, just a few days before we were playing in a comfy hotel, playing “El Cumbanchero” while a guy kept plates in the air while juggling ping-pong balls on a stick in his mouth. Now the Gulf War was all over the news, and we were on our way there.

After landing in Oman we watched our gear being thrown from one plane to another by the baggage handlers. We were helpless, watching like dogs looking through the window when they want to go out, looking out from a café in the airport as the drum box and guitars were dumped onto a conveyor belt that lead up to our connecting flight to Abu Dhabi. We were much more sober of thought on that flight heading up closer to the action, the only memorable moment was the feeling of uncertainty of the protocol required when knocking somebody’s turban off getting my bag from the over-head locker.

The last hop was on to Bahrain, where we were to be based for the next two months. It was at this point the reality of it struck home. A tornado from one of the coalition air-forces seemed to be accompanying our arrival, and we flew over various military installations. The scene had changed, Bahrain was charged and everybody in the airport was checking out the four hair-dyed boys with earrings and jeans and leather jackets contrasting against a sea of pristine white robed men.

We set about the process of collecting our MANY “bags” from the conveyor belt, not too shabby a task given that most of our “bags” were enormous custom-made 18″ ported bass speakers, keyboards, a drum kit and many guitars. We met with a translator who saw us through customs and was also to transport us to our base. They quarantined all the musical gear for further inspection, which would take a couple of days. For our part, we were taken to the port in Manama and, bags X-rayed, led up the gangway of a sparking white cruise ship, the Cunard Princess, that stuck out like a sore thumb along side various grey allied naval ships docked along both sides of the port.

Georges Leygues class destroyer nearby the Cunard Princess, 1991

Photo By TSGT Paul J. Page U.S. Air Force [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

It was dusk by now and I could hear the eerie wailing of a call to prayer in the distance. After being allocated two cabins at opposite ends of the ship we were told to dump our bags and meet the Cruise Director.

gulf-pass

 

He showed us the night club where we would be performing on the way up to the bridge where we were introduced to the Captain and a civilian dressed Major from the US Combined Forces. We were issued ID tags and given various instructions. Ship leave was restricted to 4 hours, the time it would take to ready the ship to leave in an emergency, in which case by the time the ship was ready to leave, all personnel would be back on board. We then spent the rest of the night familiarising ourselves with various drills and the bars and food outlets available to us. There were troops already on the ship, it had arrived in the December previously and there was a great band already in the cabaret room along with a troop of dancing girls and various speciality acts. There was also a couple of comedians, one a rather brusk American guy, who hated everyone and blamed us for all manner of things that “we” the Brits were responsible for throughout history, and the other a charming lady who we were to grow very close to!!  (More on the other personnel in part 3)  We were there to play rock music in the night club.

We were introduced to a great team of Physical Training coaches who were there to keep the troops fit while on their “rest” from the theatre of war, and realised we were a small part of a group of volunteers that had chosen to come over and try to keep up morale for the real heroes, the military who were facing more horror than we could ever imagine.

We eventually found a table and ordered some drinks and sat back to watch the show in the cabaret lounge. A group of feathered dancing girls performed a big, fantastically lit opening number, then not even half way through the first act, all hell broke loose. The power was cut to emergency lighting and sirens went off. People scattered everywhere and the ship was sealed tight. Saddam had sent a scud missile up apparently, and this would happen each time he did because of the unpredictability of where it would land. We were a good few hundred miles from the action but this was real. We sat staring at each other, unsure of what to do next, but after a few nail-biting minutes, the all clear sounded and the atmosphere began to calm. We were in a war, of that there was no doubt.

The next morning, after breakfast, we were taken in a bus to the British Embassy to be fitted with gas masks and register our presence on Bahrain. We were told we had to be given a rank, as we were crew members on a ship in a war zone, and because we were musicians and not regular ship operating crew, we became “wounded officers”, second in line for evacuation after women and children in an emergency, at least that’s what we were told. I never pulled rank, just in case. We had to keep our gas masks with us at all times and were instructed in what to do should we hear the chilling alarm “GAS GAS GAS” that would scream from the ships Tannoy in the event Mr Hussain dropped any chemical weapons on us, as they had done to the Kurds already.

I swapped my leather trousers for this whole uniform, I still have it and wear the cap often

I swapped my leather trousers for this whole uniform, khaki boxers and socks included, I still have it and wear the cap often, the boxers and socks, not so.

Near to the Embassy in Manama, we were taken to – of all things – a bar. It was a kind of British Legion, with a piano at one end of a long serving bar stocked with all familiar branded beers and other liquor. The afternoon was passed in this surreal environment,. Playing the piano with a pint of John Smiths on top, in a bar on an island in the Persian Gulf, in a war zone and with a gas mask in a bag at my feet by the pedals.

Over the two months stay we would see and hear about things that no human should have to go through. Every three days a thousand troops left our ship with a hangover and another thousand arrived, fresh from the front lines. Each new group brought their stories with them, and with the help of a few Budweiser’s, eager to tell us how it really was.

Leaving some of these guys was hard. It was very intense and easy to make good friends

Leaving some of these guys was hard. It was very intense and easy to make good friends

Our gear eventually arrived two days later and we set up and began to play three sets a day, every day for the next 60 days to a total of over twenty-two thousand war-weary allied troops…..

Do you know anybody who may have been with us on the ship? I’d love to hear from you. Use my contact form to get in touch.
Part 2 covers the more of the experience and more photos

 

 

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May 14

Why Am I Here? Lanzarote charm, that’s why!

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blog post, Interest

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I am often asked what brought me to this tiny, little island in the sun.  The honest answer is that I didn’t really have any choice.  By that I don’t mean I was forced here, but the choice was certainly made for me.  I was the youngest in a rock covers band by ten years and the band had played an audition to spend a winter in either Kuala Lumpur or here.  It was decided that Lanzarote, being a good few hours closer to the UK was the best choice for many reasons, but mainly the proximity to our home base was the deciding factor, along with a very persuasive manager from the Los Zocos Hotel  here on the island.

La-voz-tset

I was 20 years old and we couldn’t get a direct flight into Lanzarote, so we flew in to Tenerife and spent the night there before being driven to the other end of the island and put on a local flight in to Lanzarote.    It was my first ever flight.

I wasn’t keen on Tenerife, in fact I hardly ventured out of the hotel. I remember our hotel having a sea filled swimming pool that was lapped by the waves, and I remember the union flags advertising all that a Brit abroad could wish,  English breakfasts, betting, newspapers etc.

I was really hoping Lanzarote would be different and I certainly wasn’t disappointed.  The airport was very small and there were no customs that I could see. In the exit area after collecting our bags I remember lots of tanned ex-pats in what I learned later was called the Thursday Club, gathered around the bar.  Apparently they would drift in and out of the airport on “arrivals day” and pick up discarded newspapers from the arrivees.  In the 80′s very few ‘planes from the UK came in to Lanzarote and those that did came on a Thursday.  UK newspapers for the preceding days also arrived on these flights, to be distributed to the supermarkets.  As a consequence the Sunday Times and the like would not be available until Thursday at the earliest and the news hungry ex-pats,  not having satellite TV, or indeed any TV to watch really, would hang around picking up what they could from the arriving passengers and anxious to touch base in some small way with their brethren from home

This was something I liked, it meant I could be as detached as I wanted.

We left the airport as the sun was going down and I experienced that crazy orange to purple sky for the first time.  I had seen the sky depicted on a video game, driving a Porsche around a sea-side road as the sun set – I loved the surreal colour mix but had assumed there had been some artistic licence. Now I had witnessed it for my self and it was magical.  It still catches me some 26 years on and I still love it.

There were a few really hairy moments on the cab ride from the airport.  People complain about the roads here now, but in the 80′s they were a death trap.  Crossroads with no priority either way were everywhere and one of the junctions that was only recently taken out of service was mind boggling.  Clearly the road system was designed for horse and cart, or donkey and camels, as I later learned.

As we turned off the main road towards our destination it became clear that the town of Costa Teguise was much more modern and designed from the word “go” as a tourist town.  The first buildings had been a swish 5 star hotel, owned at the time by the Sheraton group, and a lovely apartment complex called Los Molinos.

The town had been built by mining company Rio Tinto, who had owned the land and used it for testing explosives to be used in the mining industry, I was told.  When their work was done they were granted a licence to put in all of the roads and infrastructure needed to build a town. We are about half built as I write this.  From the top of a nearby volcano you can see the road layout, with its street lights and power buildings at various intervals and how the building of houses and apartment blocks have been added and where there is still room to add more.  So the size of the town was fixed at its conception, it just needs filing in.

Its only in the last few years have we acquired our own police station and “town hall” – previously we were fully administered from the old capital of Lanzarote, Teguise, and much of the paper work regarding housing is still carried out “up the road”, but we can now do certain things in the town itself.  We also have a couple of schools, recent additions, and a doctor’s surgery, but the paperwork and red-tape nightmare that Spain lives in means half my family are registered here, and the other half in yet another town. But I digress…..

It was dark by the time we arrived in our hotel and it was a typically warm September evening with cicadas chirping.  The unusual architecture of our surroundings was beautifully lit and the hotel was immaculate.  We dumped our cases and headed for the night club that we were to appear in 6 nights a week for the next six months.  We walked back down the pathway towards the main hotel building and climbing cactus had sprouted enormous flowers that hung from the up-lit walls without support of any kind.  It was so different to anything I had seen before compared to the foliage back home.  We stayed out until quite late, not venturing from the hotel at all, but as our equipment was being shipped from the UK separately from us and had yet to arrive, we looked forwards to a couple of days exploring before we had to start work.

Next morning we gathered at the restaurant for some breakfast from the sumptuous buffet.  It was really laid on, anything you could want plus some stranger looking fruits and meats and cheeses that I wouldn’t have dreamt of having for breakfast back home.  These days, the advent of all inclusive holidays and Brit bars, like those in Tenerife have really lowered the quality of what is available generally but back in the 80′s the quality was really high and the town was frequently populated by TV and music stars of the day.  It was exclusive enough that they could wander almost anonymously and they did, even coming in to see us perform when we actually got going.  I remember being introduced to Barbara Windsor, someone from Bucks Fizz, Tom Robinson, Kevin Wheatly, and an older guy from Tomorrows World who I saved from buying squid rings mistaking them for onion rings in the supermarket.  His name escapes me but he was instantly recognisable.

After breakfast we strolled over the road and had a look at the beach that was being built.  Lorry after lorry dumped huge rocks that now serve as breakwaters and the promenade was a treacherous path. It was beautiful – the bright blue sky and matching blue sea was and still is breath taking.  Even in bad weather you get the feeling it’s never going to be as miserable as it can get back in the UK.  It’s no where near as cold for a start and usually it’s gone as quick as it arrived.  There’s never a log period of nagging, depressing, filthy weather.  It just comes over, dumps it’s rain and disappears.  While there are certainly problems for the islands when this happens, it seems to be all cleared up after a week or so and the lovely blue sky is back and the sun heats everything back to operating temperature again.

And that’s the thing that gets some people.  The light is special and the constant wind becomes less of a hindrance and more of a relief.

Taking a dip. That tree behind is now taller than the apartment block it sits in.

Taking a dip. That tree behind is now taller than the apartment block it sits in.

 

We finished our six month stint but before we had even got half way through the winter, as we sat in the tropical sunshine for the very first time on a Christmas day after a Christmas dinner of prawns and turkey, we had signed to return the following year.

This didn’t make leaving any easier for me, I had fallen hook line and sinker for the place and I was in bits as we boarded the taxi for the airport.  The distance had proved no problem, as frequent visits from our families and very good friends had confirmed. I had had a good attempt at the language and found I could communicate quite well, I loved the weather and the food and the way of life. The locals were all charming and accepting and I found myself  still dreaming of coming back even half way through the summer in the UK.

So here I am.  That was 1986 and in 2013 I am still here and still loving it.  The financial crisis has crippled Spain and there is depression and recession all around us, but every day the sun rises in the east, dragging the deep blue sky around with it and it sets in the evening leaving the orange to purple glow lingering in the west.

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Apr 29

Just do it…..or maybe just have a think about it first?

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Interest, music

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stickman Piano

Artwork by the excellent and very talented @GillJeffery13 at www.pinmandesigns.com

 Sacrifice has a price

I was planning an article on getting out whatever it is you have inside of you, be it learning an instrument or writing the book you feel you have inside.  I use the past tense “was” as the rather excellent James Rhodes has beaten me to it, and he’s done a fantastic job of it too.  His article in the (27th April 2013) Guardian newspaper says it far better than I could have.  The article is HERE and I urge you to have a read of it first.  I HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY ABOUT IT that I think is also relevant, though may not be too popular but let me make it clear, I am a big fan of his and I truly admire what he’s been through in the following of his dream, but parts of his journey don’t sit right with me personally.

James reveals something about himself that I didn’t know – he actually took the plunge and dropped out of the rat race to pursue his dream.

This was a very, very brave thing to do and the cost  very high. He destroyed a marriage, had no income for a long period of time, and ended up in a mental institution.  The pull back to the piano was obviously a strong one for him to have to endure such awful life changing situations as these.  I admire him for his dogged determination, he’s doing what he always wanted to do. I don’t like the obsession that caused such traumatic events to occur because of it.

Now here’s the rub.  I have written in these (pages? screens? posts?) about the people who used to play but gave up.  My advice to them is still the same, it’s never too late to reignite the flame.  I wouldn’t advise you enter bankruptcy, divorce or a mental institution in order to do so although James himself says he was an extreme case.

I still know many people who put unimaginable numbers of hours into their practice for such a small return that it has to be being done more for the love than the money.  This creates pressure to take unwanted work (maybe in a different genre of music) in order to pay the bills and not many people can cope with this.

Imagine, you spent seven hours a day playing and practicing the trumpet, developing your breathing technique and tone.  Your fingering and tonguing are perfect despite the innuendo of the terms and you spent your family fortune on an instrument worthy of your ability.  You love jazz and are the best in your town and you get offered the first seat in a fantastic big band.  Great so far, however……… they are booked to spend the summer playing ballroom dancing.  It will make you unhappy and unless you are wealthy to start with, refusal to do the work will put you into financial trouble and this can make life VERY uncomfortable.  You will also start to resent the people around you who are happy to take the money and play the same songs night after night.  You spent seven hours a day for years to get there, some of the band don’t even take their instruments out of the car at the end of the night.

I was also put off the classical music world as a child by the snobbery and cattiness of a few individuals who had spent so much time on their own in a room that they didn’t know how to be nice to anyone who wasn’t at their standard.  I LOVE listening to Bernstein’s ”West Side Story ” – I HATED the video he made of the recording session in which he humiliated enough talent  (yes, people who spend seven hours a day practicing) for me to want to smash the screen. The same thing happens today in the pop world too thanks to the spiteful nature of Simon Cowell and the puppets he employs as judges. You may say that without the fire and passion we wouldn’t have the recordings, that people need to be outcast and singled out in such an ugly way in order for the product to be of such a high standard.  I say RUBBISH to that. How do you know that?   This is music, once it’s in tune and in time the quality of the interpretation becomes subjective, like any art.

For the average musician like myself, we have to find a balance between our jobs, which is what James Rhodes wanted to be doing, and our home life.  Six hours are not available to me to practice every day.  My wife and kids leave for school at eight AM and come home at four PM. They need to be fed, they need their clothes washed and hung out, the house needs keeping clean and I have to make some money – so I do get a few hours in my studio, but that’s working, not practice.

When they come in and the after school activities all taken care of, I have to leave the house every night to go and play the piano again. I have always felt an outsider when I say things like this, but I HATE having to work.  I hate that I HAVE to pay money to live on a planet I was involuntarily placed on.  I will always chose the “work to live” path over “live to work”.  And the reason is simple.  I like most of the people in my life, in fact I love an awful lot of them and spending time with real people with real emotions is far more appealing to me than any kind of musical challenge.  I find driven people selfish, and I’m not keen on that as a trait as it often impacts those around you negatively.

So I realise I am not driven, I prefer people to things.  Would I swap a day on the piano for a day with my wife? No way. I would burn every instrument I own before having to chose between music and my wife. This needs clarification, I’m sure.  I don’t HATE working, I love to play the piano and the bass guitar.  I love to program drums, even singing is pleasurable at times. I enjoy recording new songs, creating sounds.  I love to feel an audience grow to like me, and I love the applause and adulation at the end of a good night.  What I hate is HAVING to work and it will never be a priority over a person, especially my family.

Apart from not having either the time nor the draw to be an amazing concert pianist, obsession takes me in waves that last months rather than years to fade.  I don’t know why I can play, I don’t remember learning, I don’t like to practice very much, and I still make a living entirely from music. I always have, since the age of eleven.

So from the perspective of somebody who has spent over 40 years playing scales alone and learning new pieces it should be no surprise that I find the results of James’  reconversion to musician a bit sad, even though I love that he’s doing what he loves and that he does it so well.  And he is REALLY good.

I’m sad for the wife he is no longer with, marriage may not be the institution it once was, but that little girls special day was for nothing.  I’m sure there were other pressures that contributed to the break up, but ultimately it reads like his piano obsession played a part.

I’m also sad for his realisation and the fact that he’s not as financially rewarded as he should be and even sadder that much lesser talented people are retired by the age of 30 just for having a six pack and being able to put some moves together while miming their latest hit.

There is a quotation at the end of the original Guardian article that I have to take to task. Its by a pop culture icon, so I was never going to like it much.  It says ”find what you love and let it kill you“.  There’s doubt over the name attributed to it, but its one last thing that I’m sad about.  That people should be loving something to that degree.  I get that its figurative and literal, but the gist is obsession above all else. Love SOMEBODY like that by all means, but not a THING.

Sacrifice comes at a price.

Related Posts

I used to play the piano

 

 

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Apr 25

PIANO: PERFECTION -1

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pianos

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PIANO: PERFECTION -1

stickman Piano

Thanks to Gillian Jeffrey for the fantastic stick-man graphic. If you would like to see more go to www.pinmandesigns.com

This is a guest post from my friend, the multi-instrumentalist Patrick Wight from saxaxeman.com

Do I detect a pang of envy that he didn’t start out on the piano??

 

Both my children are coming to an age now where they are staring to show an interest in learning music. I have just recently bought my daughter a Ukulele  This is a wonderful instrument for young children, and has recently experienced a major international revival (More about this soon in a future blog)

Piano

Remember that I’m a multi instrumentalist (Bagpipes, range of saxes and guitars), but there is one instrument that I would recommend to all children who want to learn music. That has to be the piano, as it has to be the one instrument that is closest to perfection.

The piano will teach children a concept and perception of music that very few other instruments can. This will set the children up musically for life. Should they then want to switch instruments, their concept of music is well established..

The most important ability any musician can have, is the ability to hear. My one regret is that I never started out on piano. I started out on guitar. It is very difficult to visualise intervals on guitar. The guitar tends to be a very mechanical instrument. Many guitarists (myself included) tend to have a very mechanical approach and way of playing. The truly gifted guitarists are the ones that from the start, can see the relationship of the notes on the guitar, and hear them.
This is the beauty of piano. It is so intuitively set out that it is almost impossible not to see the visual connection and the way the intervals sound, and the relationship between the notes.

Music consists of three aspects. Melody, harmony and rhythm. It is possible to play all 3 simultaneously on guitar. However this requires quite a level of skill, and is near impossible for the beginner to do. The piano is one of the few instruments that playing all 3 together from the start is pretty easy.

A beginner piano player can produce a good sounding note from the first touch (Unless of course the piano is out of tune) No special technique is required to to produce quality sound. A beginner guitarist always has string buzz. Beginner sax players might not even get a tone out of the sax first time, and then take years to develop a good tone.

I remember the first day I brought the bagpipes home from school. I had been playing the practice chanter for a few months, and had been doing really well. I blew the bag up very confidently, and started playing. My brother and mother stood in the passage way, and they had to hold onto each other, they were laughing so much.

The piano is the perfect instrument -1. The only short fall of the piano is that you cant play a vibrato but it is so perfect in every other way, I’m sure we can overlook this minor point.

 

 

Check out Patricks blog at saxaxeman.com

 

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Apr 15

Bobby McFerrin and the Power of the Pentatonic Scale

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blog post

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I have been doing some research for an article on how music affects the way people feel and the mechanics behind that from a neurological standpoint and I came across this video. It shows the natural ability of an arbitrary audience to play within a pentatonic scale with just the tiniest prompting.

Here the amazing Bobby McFerrin, of “Dont Worry, Be Happy” fame among other things demonstrates this peculiar human trait that we all seem to have.  His Cosby Show theme is this weeks video of the week.


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Apr 04

Give a Piano Some Love

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blog post, Interest, Latest News

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“One of the lessons that we were learned in this process is that instruments like that have to be played,” Terry said.

“Our approach to the piano prior to that was not to play it and to protect it and preserve it. The truth is… it’s built to be played.”

Robin Terry from the Motown Historical Museum

 

Robin Terry was referring to the 1877 Steinway piano that has been recently restored back to a standard that will allow it to be played and even recorded again.  The piano was used by Stevie Wonder and many other Motown greats during the boom years at Motown Records and is worthy of its face-lift for that reason alone. The fact that it’s over one hundred and thirty years old is another reason to applaud the efforts to have it restored.

Steinway

The “Buisness End” of a Concert Steinway

But isn’t it the case that literally thousands of pianos lay untouched by musicians.  They stand, hibernating under crocheted lace coasters.  Their only use now is for supporting ornaments or maybe an urn of ashes sat idle and silent in living rooms (or “parlours”, as we used to call them) all over the world.  This would be the best case scenario for many of them, others will be pushed out into draughty hallways and worse, into barns, sheds or garages exposed to the elements and fauna.

These instruments need playing.  Somebody put 12,000 moving parts together, not in the hope that Dear Old Bob could rest in peace atop it, but that generations of people would take up the lid and poke out a tune.

It is a sad indictment on our society that the piano is considered so low on the musical ladder that so many are abandoned, orphaned and ultimately scrapped.  Yes, they’re bulky items, and yes, they also need care, and not only as a piece of furniture.  But they posses a soul and have a story, each one of them. I wouldn’t have minded being a fly on the wall during some of the sessions recorded on the Motown Steinway, that’s for sure.

 

*You can read the full article that inspired this post at the BBC website Here

More on old pianos

And an earlier piece about piano info

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Apr 01

I Used To Play The Piano

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blog post

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This is a guest post from Sue Almond, creator of the blog Writers End and my writing teacher.  Check out her site if you have always had a wish to write but think you lack the skills or confidence.  She counts many published authors among her friends and her enthusiasm for her “students” is contagious.

I Used To Play The Piano

 

Marc often says that he meets dozens of people who tell him that they used to play the piano but gave it up. For Marc, who cannot imagine or remember a day in his life when he did not play, this is unbelievable and verging on the tragic! So I hardly like to admit that I am yet another ex-pianist.
My parents paid for years of lessons. I took, and passed various exams, theory and practical and was the envy of those friends who also played, when they bought me a second-hand baby grand piano.
I gave up playing for a variety of reasons. Doing my piano practice was a duty, akin to homework. I was never all that enthusiastic, especially when I could see my non-musical friends playing outside, through the window. I hated exams, always have and always will and had to be pushed into taking them by my long-suffering piano-teacher, Miss McFarland, a rather old-fashioned, refined lady. When I left home I did not have a piano, it isn’t a very portable instrument after all and I did not have room for one. As a young mum I was too busy to miss any part of piano playing.
But I am so glad I learned music. I am absolutely convinced that my appreciation of all music has been enhanced by having done so and I do love everything from classics to pop, from jazz to brass.
My grandfather was a violinist and taught piano and my grandmother also played.
My dad played trombone in a works band and when they were North West Area Champions, in the 1970s I went on my first visit to the Royal Albert Hall. If you have seen the marvellous film ‘Brassed Off’ you will be able to picture it. We used to say my dad could get a tune out of practically anything but never played anything well, a little unfair I think, especially in the case of the trombone, but he was a dabbler.

Piano, mouth organ, ukulele, guitar, organ… he played them all, and we had a radiogram and a great collection of shellac 78s, from Fats Waller to George Formby, with a heavy dose of Glen Miller and some Hoagy Carmichael thrown in. These were the sounds I grew up with until I started to buy my own vinyl in the 60s.

 


Marc’s blog has brought back so many musical recollections for me, memories that had drifted into the archives way back in my memory banks. He has reawakened my appreciation of old favourites like Oscar Peterson, the ‘Maharaja of the keyboard’, and Winifred Atwell the Trinidadian ‘Queen of the keyboard’ from the 50s to the 70s who was so enormously popular. He has made me smile, thinking back to Liberace on television and Dudley Moore who so cleverly ‘played badly’ when he was, of course an accomplished pianist.
I have never lost my love of piano music but Marc’s blog has blown away a few cobwebs and I am now giving it a fresh coat of listening to! I love it! Thanks Marc.

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Mar 21

Ear Care – 101 Hearing tips for musicians

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Education, Learning, Performing

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Whether you are a musician or a DJ, or even an avid concert goer, nothing will spoil your enjoyment more than damaged ears.

We have all been to concerts or performances that have left us with ringing ears.  Here’s what happens.

There are tiny hair cells inside of the ear canal that vibrate with sound.  Without these hairs the sound waves would have nothing to bounce off. Clumps of these hairs, called stereo-cilia live in the cochlea, the shell shaped cavity in the inner ear.

As sound waves travel into the ear and reach the hair cells,  the vibrations bounce and deflect off the stereo-cilia, causing them to move.  The motion generates an electrochemical current that in turn sends this information through the auditory nerves, and then on to the brain.

When these hairs are exposed to loud noise, even a short loud burst, the stereo-cilia can keep sending false information to the brain after the noise has abated. Sometimes the tips of the hairs can break off, causing a ringing sensation that can take some time to go away.  The tips do, however, grow back and this is why the noise is only temporary.  If you keep exposing yourself to high sound levels, then whole clumps of cells can be broken off  - and these do not grow back, causing permanent hearing damage.

Normal conversation takes place at about 60dB (the decibel scale (dB) is used to measure sound) – city traffic can measure up to 85dB but car horns and motorbikes can be much higher. If you can restrict the dB level into the ear to a safe 60dB or so then you should come to no harm, but there are not many concert situations that happen at this sedate level. There are a few preventive measures you can take, they are obvious, I realise, but should be thought of as a part of your routine in preparing to play.

 

  1. Turn down the volume if you have control over it.  If you need to shout to be heard over the volume of your music, then it’s probably too loud. Loud music is not only dangerous, but as the volume rises above a certain level, you lose the detail in the sound and the instinct is to turn up again.  This cycle needs to be broken as it will affect the way you play and perform.
  2. Ear plugs.  I know, they’re not cool,  but there are some on the market that cut the volume level without affecting the frequency.  These will in effect “turn down” the volume for you. They are also a lot less obtrusive than they were even just a few years ago and are also almost invisible. check out earpeace.com
  3. In-ear monitors.  For those of us gigging, monitoring with headphones has its advantages as well as disadvantages.  If you are close to a drum kit, noise can be a problem.  I have made a pair of custom moulded ear-phones that block a lot of the ambient noise while allowing me to hear a mix of what the audience is hearing at a safe level at my control. The disadvantage is that there is a slight disconnection to the outside world wearing these and you may have to remove one side on the odd occasion to communicate with another band member or hear the audience. Protection 4 Hearing offer lots of choices of professionally made custom moulded earphones.
  4. Use your common sense.  It’s tempting to get caught up in a moment, especially at a lively gig. Standing close to the speaker stacks at a gig is always going to cause problems so try to get into the middle of the room or stage if you can.

 

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Mar 18

Street Pianos and Pianos Everywhere

Categories:

funny pianos, History, Travel

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Piano’s are everywhere.  Some are cared for passionately and others guarded and displayed in museums and quite rightly so.  The piano is a beautiful instrument and deserves to be revered.  Not all of them live in peace though.  Here is a selection of real and not-so-real situations that end badly for the piano.

 

The piano has been used in many a cartoon normally being played by a cat, chasing a mouse up and down the action – a scene that is recalled by Lang Lang and cited by him as the inspiration for him to play, as can be seen in the following video.

 

Pianos have been used as cartoon weapons almost since cartoons began.  Most have a violent end that only animation can bring to life.  However, the boys at Top Gear have destroyed their fair share in quite inexplicably violent situations. Here’s a clip of one being unloaded onto a Morris Marina.

 

STREET PIANOS

The wonderful STREETPIANOS, however,  are doing an amazing job of preserving or prolonging the shelf life of the humble piano.  Since 2008 they have distributed pianos on to our busy streets and public areas. “Play Me, I’m Yours” is an artwork by British artist Luke Jerram. so the pianos don’t disappoint the eye either – always painted and inviting you to play.  Many of the pianos have been decorated by local artists where they stand and can be found on bridges, railway stations or in parks and shopping areas. I hope I’m not out-of-place posting these photos but I hope you’ll go and have a look round the website as there are many, many more pictures of these wonderful instruments dotted around the world and they actually get played. Street Pianos is a wonderful concept bringing music to where it wouldn’t have been before. 

Street Piano In Barcelona

Piano in Barcelona

Street Piano

Street Piano

Street Piano

Street Piano

I’m all for anything that gets the public interested in the piano, too many of them are locked away in a “parlour” or best room.

 

Blackburn council should also be praised for the initiative in doing a similar thing, though this was also a piano competition.  You register to play at an allotted time and the public vote on your performance. Thanks to my good friend Jim Collins who took the time to photograph the piano for me.  He said

No chopsticks. I think the fact that you had to book a slot deterred the sit down and thrash it brigade. I’ve sat on a couple of occasions and been entertained over a coffee by good players playing appropriate stuff and taking the job seriously.

Blackburn Piano

Blackburn Piano

Well done to Blackburn Market for extending the competition through March.  If you are in the area, get yourself down and book a slot. There’s even a prize!

 

PIANO AT THE TOP OF BEN NEVIS

I also came across a story in the British newspaper, The Guardian about a piano that was found at the top of Ben Nevis, the highest peak of the British Isles.  Nobody knows how it got to the altitude of over 4,000 feet, but it’s thought it was maybe a student stunt or charity stunt that didn’t get the publicity it deserved at the time.  Some food packaging was found under the piano that dated the foods sell-by date at 1986 so this old “joanna” has seen some adverse weather along the way as well.

Piano Ben Nevis

Piano Ben Nevis

The piano was discovered and recovered by members of the John Muir Trust, who also took this photograph and as you can see, the piano has seen better days.  The discovery was made during a clean up of litter and other debris that somehow accumulates around the cairns towards the top of the mountain.  The piano was minus its keyboard, which remains un-found, but the effort required to get a steel piano frame to such a height is quite staggering.  An upright frame can weigh up to 100Kg.

 

UNUSUAL PIANO DESIGNS

I’m not sure what FAZIOLI the world-class piano manufacturers think of these, and I’m also unsure how many of them have been designed with sound quality in mind, but there are some great and funky looking pianos in THIS COLLECTION put together by Curious Photos blog.

Here’s a small taster

Unusual Piano Designs

Unusual Piano Designs

unusual-piano-designs-09

If you have any photos or have stumbled up on any websites with pianos in strange places, please send them on to me. Either use the contact form that sildes out of the side of the page, or subscribe to my blog and I’ll notify you when I have collected enough for another post like this.

 

 

 

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