"If there were no music

Then I would not get through

I don't know why

I know these things, but I do" 

The cynic in me wants to view these lines from Shawn Colvin's I Don't Know Why as a bit melodramatic, but sometimes the cynic in me really needs to just sit down and be quiet. 

Yes, this could easily be another Reasons To Be Cheerful post, in which I extoll the virtues of the fabulous Ms. Colvin. But, since she has previously won Grammy awards, I suspect that most of us already realise just how special a singer, writer and performer she is, so I'll refrain from too much ungainly gushing. Instead, I want to consider the power and truth inherent in the above-quoted lyric (gulp).

I mean, is music really that important to some of us? 

I'm beginning to think that it might be. I've often heard performers make comments along the lines that the only time they feel really comfortable is when they're on-stage or in the studio creating music. So often, it strikes me as a little self-aggrandizing; almost like they're furthering some over-romanticized notion of the struggling artist. You know, a misunderstood, tortured soul lurking outside of the zeitgeist, who can only find redemption and self-expression through his art.

In the days of my youth, this kind of airy-fairy behaviour would have been ill-advised, at best. A grimy council-estate in a decaying northern English steeltown in the 1970s (think US government housing, but with rougher accents and uglier carpets),  was hardly the time or place for such arty posturing. That is, unless of course, you were partial to scorn, ridicule and the occasional outbreak of physical violence. (I once heard Big Country frontman, Stuart Adamson, remark that as a kid growing up in Dundee, Scotland, he kept his guitar playing a secret for fear that he'd be beaten up if his sissy musical proclivities were to be made public. I fear he wasn't exaggerating.)

Of course, at this point I'm no longer in northern England, nor am I living in days remotely resembling those of my youth, having long ago left the cold and damp of Lincolnshire for the hot and damp of Florida. As far as I can tell, the threat of schoolyard bullies has retreated somewhat, so maybe it's safe to own up to the fact that I too, have occasionally (ok, often) been prone to seeking comfort in that skulking, pained and struggling artist territory that makes me so queasy. 

You know, it's a sobering thought, but on paper at least,  I now qualify as a mature, middle-aged man (Please, no laughing at the back!), and so all manner of male menopause symptoms abound. Night sweats? I have them during the day too. Mood swings? Yeah. (No.) Overly nostalgic and  sentimental? Please. I get teary-eyed watching Laurel & Hardy silents.

Yes, those crushing feelings of existential angst commonly associated with middle age have been having their wicked way with me for a good couple of years now. Fears, regrets, frustration and the occasional outbreak of despair may work well as a title for an imaginary Morrissey compilation album, but in reality such dastardly emotions can put a real damper on your social life.  Apparently, they often herald the arrival of the much-ballyhooed "midlife crisis", often involving a tawdry affair with a young girlfriend, or a reckless trip to the local sports car dealership. Not for me though. I've never liked sports cars, anyway. They strike me as rather sad and desperate, and I would never want to be seen in one. Or a young girlfriend, for that matter ...

So, a couple of weeks ago, there I was, having a bit of an episode, as they say. I'd been feeling totally out-of-sorts for a couple of days, and a rather fitful night's sleep had intensified my rather dour mood for most of the following day. By evening, I was feeling emotionally frazzled, without really knowing why. That night, I sat down at the piano, turned on my trusty Korg recorder and managed to finish writing, and then record, a demo of a new song. I was lucky enough to have a few hours to myself, and boy did I take advantage. As I'm prone to do, I totally lost myself in the music,  and all else (including my sense of time) melted away into the periphery. If my wife hadn't returned home and asked me why I hadn't turned on the lights, picked up the mail, or even eaten dinner, I might still be sitting there. 

Now, I don't really know how good the song is, or whether people will like it (although I may soon find out, since it seems destined for inclusion on the upcoming Steve Robinson/Ed Woltil collaboration.) It hardly seems important, though. Getting into that zen-like state where you are right in the moment and are able to focus entirely on the task at hand, especially doing something that you love,  should be reward enough. I mean, it's a beautiful thing even when it's fleeting; when you're fortunate enough to experience it for several hours, it's like a bloody miracle. As an added bonus,  I slept like a baby that night. A really content baby. 

I suppose music really is that important to me.  Like it or not, music is where I've often retreated to in times of duress. I feel like a pretentious prat saying it, and writing it down here is certainly making me squirm a little, but writing songs and singing them is the most liberating and cathartic process I know of. I really don't know how else to work through stuff. Therapists are so damn expensive, and if word got back to the UK, I fear that a schoolyard bully or two may come out of retirement.

So what if there really was no music? Well, I suppose Shawn Colvin would have to find a different way to get by, as would I. I have no idea what Shawn would do, but as for me -  well, ideally, I'd like to think that I would invest my time and creative energy into perhaps making something a little more practical and useful than songs. Maybe I'd take up carpentry and learn how to make coffee tables, or something useful like that. Come to think of it, making furniture would be a lot more beneficial to the household than making music, wouldn't it? It would certainly make my wife a lot happier. 

I don't know how I know these things, but I do.

I'm the best singer ever.

I know this because my daughter, Emma, told me so after witnessing The Headlights' appearance at the 30th Anniversary extravaganza at Skipper's Smokehouse, this past Saturday night.

It's important to note that Emma is now thirteen, and that if she's ever within earshot of any of her peers, my very presence is usually cause for alarm (or merely embarrassment, if I'm lucky). I get the feeling that if I were to actually engage in conversation with any of her friends, it would cause severe emotional scarring from which she might never recover. On this day though, I was "cool" to her (or as close to "cool" as I'll ever get) and my goodness, was it ever fun while it lasted.

Throughout the set, she stood close to the stage, snapping pictures on her phone and beaming from ear to ear (of course, she may or may not have been taking pictures of me, I don't know, but let's not spoil the illusion). After the set, she came up and gave me a big hug and we posed for a photo or two together in the backstage area. All in all, a lovely time.

On Sunday night, I was on my way to bed when I noticed Emma's light was still on. I was slightly irked, since it was quite late and she knew full well that she had to get up early for school the next day. I went in to her room intending to voice my displeasure, but before I had a chance to speak, she intercepted me with the zinger: "You're the best singer ever, dad!"

Was she buttering me up, safe in the knowledge that I'd become all jellyfish-like in the face of such flattery? Maybe. Not only that, I'd doubt that she thinks I'm the best singer out there, and that I pale in comparison to any of the Jonas Brothers (and maybe even their distant cousins) but it still might have been my finest hour.

Either way though, I think I may have the best daughter ever.

Reasons To Be Cheerful (Part 5)

I've wanted to be in a band with Ed Woltil since the mid-1980s, when he and his band Mad For Electra regularly shared local stages with my old band, The Headlights. Being a three-piece, they didn't have an overly powerful sound that knocked you over with its bombast. Theirs was more of a sound that quietly sat you down and gave you a serious talking to. Every show was a little clinic on how to execute smartly crafted, punchy pop songs with wittily literate lyrics and fabulously catchy melodies of the sort that would have done Elvis Costello or Glenn Tillbrook proud. It might been irritating if they hadn't been such a likable bunch.

It was always obvious that Ed had something special about him, and even after our respective bands folded, and though our paths wouldn't cross for another 20 years, I still held out hope that we might work together in some capacity. Of course, we never did end up in a band together, but here we are, a quarter-century later, finally collaborating on an album to be released on Sunshine Drenchy Records sometime this ...er, century.

As far as progress goes, well, we're making it. Oh, there's a way to go yet, of course, but the songs are all written, and recording is underway, with several of them closing in on completion. As far as the songs go, it's a real mixed bag of goodies. There's a love song or two, a little goofy pop, and a dollop of snarky social commentary for balance. Looks like there'll even be a pretentious instrumental snippet or two thrown in for good measure (Hey, if it's good enough for REM...)

One of the best things about collaborating with Ed, is that if you give him a song to work on, he always manages to add something thrilling to it; something that's so appropriate, that it almost feels instantly familiar. Like it's the embodiment of a fleeting idea that you once had, but were never quite sure how to finish. I'll be sitting with headphones on, listening to his parts for the first time, and I'll find myself grinning and nodding my approval, thinking, "Yeah, that's just what I was thinking should go there". Only I'd probably never really thought it at all. Some people always seem to say the right thing; Ed always seems to play the right thing.

Yes, aside from an occasional lapse in judgement when choosing collaborators (ahem), the man has impeccable musical taste. But more than that, he also has an almost childlike sense of adventure, of the sort that can have him scavenging about for strangely wonderful sounds to paint the song up with. So often, he'll come up with something that instantly sets a song apart, without it losing its way. It can be a delicate balance sometimes, but he seems so sure-footed, I'll trust him every time. He can tell me that he's found an old sample of a medieval percussion instrument that sounds suspiciously like a metal chain clanging against a rusty portcullis, and I'm totally on-board with it. I feel pretty confident that when he flies it into the song, it's going to make a competent track sound bloody amazing.

I really feel privileged to be working with the lad, and although I've no idea what the reception is going to be for this record, once it's done, I do know that I've never enjoyed the process of creating music more than this. It's exhilarating enough that I sometimes feel compelled to smack a rusty portcullis with a metal chain just for the joy of it.

I'd like to announce the simultaneous release of the new Ditchflowers CD, and the Steve Robinson & Ed Woltil collaboration, on the Sunshine Drenchy Record label. I mean, I'd REALLY like to announce it, but of course, neither project is close to being finished, so I'd better hold off on that.

Fear not though, fellow folky poppers and poppy folkers, there is indeed a brand new addition to the fledgling Sunshine Drenchy Records catalogue. Namely, the long-awaited solo release from my old friend and Headlights' guitarist extraordinaire, Steve Connelly.

Unless you've been laying low in Luxembourg for the past decade or so, you'll probably know that Steve has long been the go-to sideman and workaholic engineer/producer for anybody who's anybody in the bay area's Folk-Rock/Rootsy-Americana music scene. Consequently, he never seemed to get around to recording and releasing any music of his own. Thankfully though, he's taken a break from working on his studio tan, and has made things right with the release of "Every Monster", a rather stellar collection of originals both young and old, thank you very much.

Released under the moniker "Steve Connelly and the Lesser Gods", the record sees several Headlights chestnuts and older Connelly nuggets that had never seen the light of day, duly resurrected and nestling ever so nicely against some splendid new compositions. The whole sumptuous affair is testament to Steve's abilities outside of the guitar-slinger role that he's often saddled with. It's a little ironic, I suppose, that my favourite track on the entire album, the soul-baring "Inside Today", is actually a piano-based song with nary a lead guitar in sight. Have a listen to it and tell me that it doesn't raise your arm hairs, and I'll put a call in to the nearest medical facility on your behalf.

CDs will soon be available at the usual outlets: CD Baby, iTunes, Rhapsody etc, but if you'd like to cut out the middle man, you can get one directly from the Sunshine Drenchy cupboard, er ... offices, by responding to this email. Domestic orders will be immediately dispatched upon receipt of a paltry $13 (shipping included), while international orders are $15 - a steal in any currency, I'm sure you'll agree. As far as payment goes - Paypal, personal cheques, cash, money orders or even a fine Belgian ale (bottle fermented, please) will work fine.

For those of you in Florida, Steve's official CD Release party is on Saturday, June 5th at Skipper's Smokehouse in Tampa, so you can pick one up there if you'd rather. Further info can be found here and at the official Steve Connelly website (designed by the nauseatingly multi-talented Ed Woltil)

Now about that pesky Robinson/Woltil CD ... well, the recording is going well, if a little slow, but the track listing has more or less been finalised and several tracks are close to completion. Stylistically and thematically, we're all over the bloody show and proud of it, really. There's a little goofy pop, some good old middle-aged self-resignation-type angst, and even a little politically tinged finger-pointing thrown in for good measure. Add to this a couple of loving odes to our children, a dash of sunny (and rainy) nostalgia, and a couple of instrumentals attempting to tie the whole bustling bag together, and on paper, it all starts to sound unnervingly like a bloody concept album doesn't it? You might want to make your escape plans now. I hear that Luxembourg is nice this time of year...

So, that was Christmas... 

... the season of the iPod touch, "Doorbuster Sales" (what a sad term that is) and must-have video games where you can do all sorts of things without actually having to do them. Wonder if there's a Christmas Shopping video game?

Anyway, a new year is upon us, and I'd like to announce the release date of the new CD that I've been working on with my friend, label-mate, and head-Ditchflower, Ed Woltil. I'm not going to, of course; that would be foolhardy, especially since it's not even close to completion. Ahem... 

Speaking of the Ditchflowers , they're hard at work in the studio on the highly anticipated follow-up to their rightly acclaimed debut, "Carried Away" (by rights, anyone who doesn't already own this nugget should be heartily scolded and humiliated in public, by the way) and the tracks I've heard so far are as brilliant as you might imagine. I was actually brazen enough to send over some harmony vocals for a couple of the tracks, and although I'm not sure whether they'll be used in the final mixes, I am the head of this label, so I think that there's a really good chance. Release details will be announced as soon as we announce them...

Elsewhere in Sunshine Drenchy-land, my old partner in The Headlights, Steve Connelly, has somehow found the time to complete his first solo project, which will, I'm proud to announce, be released on Sunshine Drenchy Records in early 2010. 

As you probably know, Steve is the resident engineer/handholder/guru/workaholic at  Zen Recording here in St.Petersburg, and is routinely called upon to assist regional faves like Have Gun Will Travel, Rebekkah Pulley, Ronny Elliott and Will Quinlan in their rootsy Americana-tinged recording endeavours. In between, he somehow finds the time to play guitar with The Ditchflowers and 41 other bands; it's quite the balancing act. 

So how did he find the time to record a solo CD? I'm not sure, but I'm a little peeved about it; he's really making me look quite lazy.

Everything is broken...

I'm the last person to point fingers at handymen. After all, I'm so inept around the house, that in my eyes, replacing a blown lightbulb with a new one, and having it actually work when the switch is flipped, warrants a jubilant victory lap around the garden. Having said that, I have to wonder if the standard of hired professional help is gradually declining. It could be the luck of the draw, of course, but several incidents of late, involving supposed tradesmen, has left me wondering.

A plumber (I call him a plumber because that's what it said on the side of his van) called to my humble abode to give me a quote on fixing two leaky faucets, seemed so disinterested in doing the work that I almost felt guilty asking him for a price. One of the faulty faucets was on the bathroom pedestal sink, and he appeared to be troubled by the fact that the sink was very close to the wall. (If I'd known that in advance, I suppose I could have had it installed in the middle of the room to spare him the hurt, but never mind.)

Add to this, his consternation at the fact that the shut-off valves appeared to be original to this 1941 house, and it began to appear that he wished he'd never been consulted. His response to the sight of the dripping shower faucet was a sullen aside along the lines of - "Yeah, they do that sometimes...how long as it been like that?".

The implication seemed to be that I needed to give it time to stop dripping, but even after I told him that it'd been that way for about two months, he seemed disinclined to tackle the project, and he was sighing so heavily that I actually felt sorry for him, and set him free to go and disappoint other potential customers.

The next "professional" to let me down was a bit of an all-rounder. He informed me in advance that he could tackle any and all home improvement jobs, and this was good news because my mother-in-law apartment out back had some rotten wood siding panels in need of replacement, and a shower stall that required serious attention.

The siding repair job went quite well, but when it came time to survey the shower stall, his mood turned rather more sombre. The raised step into the shower was tiled, but the tiles had seen better days; several were cracked and loose, and old, crumbling grout had obviously contributed to some water damage of the step and the shower stall both. Obviously, I was concerned that repairs would be costly, and prepared myself for a pricy estimate.

After the requisite stroking of the chin and the raised eyebrow, the alleged handyman stunned me with his off-hand comment - "I don't know if I'd mess with that." Unbelievable. He obviously wanted nothing to do with the job at hand; confirming it with a little shake of the head, and then the clincher - " I don't know if I'd open that can of worms...you just don't know what you're gonna find under there." Well, obviously, I didn't know what I'd find under there! That's why I called a "professional" in: to have someone open cans of worms for me.

Apparently, his concern appeared to be that the more repairs he tried to do, the greater the possibility of finding more damage would be. His answer seemed to be to simply leave well alone and tread lightly in the shower.

Brilliant. I went from being concerned that I'd have a huge repair bill, to wondering what kind of evil worm creatures might be residing under my shower stall, and how long it would be before the building collapsed, forcing me to replace the entire structure. The upshot of this is that I still have a dysfunctional shower, and since I'm not currently on first name terms with any plumbers in the mood to actually do any work, I suppose I'll have to live with it.

Anyway, I have other things in need of repair that take precedence. My trusty old Takamine acoustic/electric guitar has dodgy electrics and is in need of some serious fret work. Since I am supposed to be working on a new album, this is a bit of a hindrance. The thing is, I think I'm scared of asking local luthiers for assistance, in the event that they steer me clear of fixing old problems for fear of exposing new ones.

Ideally, I'd like to avoid the whole thing and simply ask my wife if I could just buy a new guitar instead, but I don't think I want to open that can of worms.

Reasons To Be Cheerful (Part Four)



Revisiting old records that influenced you during your formative years can sometimes be a bit of a letdown. Songs that you remember as exhilarating during your youth often sound a little pedestrian when you listen with the somewhat jaded ears of middle age. Many of them suffer from being saddled with the overblown production techniques of their era, and so sound gimmicky to the point of distraction. Records released by Free back in the early 1970s are not among them.

When I was a young lad trying to feel my way around my first electric guitar, most of what I learned to play was gleaned from listening to Rolling Stones and Free albums. For rhythm playing I'd look to Keith Richards; for lead playing it was always Free's Paul Kossoff. Looking back on it, even though I'm sure I sounded horrible trying to emulate them with my cheap Les Paul copy and gnarly Carlsboro fuzz box, I had good instincts.

Listening to their records today, I can't help but think that despite being the unadulterated fan that I was, I had no grasp of how great they really were. There's such a self-assured yet understated power in their playing; like they knew how good they were, and so never felt the need to show off. They could rock pretty hard, but they reeked of soul, and rather than overplay, they seemed to leave spaces in all the right places. It's ridiculous to think that these guys were so incredibly young (bass playing phenom Andy Fraser was barely 16 on the first album, I believe), yet they had the maturity and restraint to simply settle into the groove and make every note truly count like they did.

Of course, it doesn't hurt when you have a voice like Paul Rogers' out front. No matter how simple the lyric (and theirs usually were of the tried and tested blues rock variety) his voice sounded absolutely brilliant singing it. Actually, it barely mattered what he was singing; his voice was just another great sounding instrument along with Kossoff's guitar, Andy Fraser's bass and Simon Kirke's drums.

Listening to Fire and Water now is so thrilling for me, I have to wonder if there was ever a better rock band than this. It makes it almost impossible to refrain from retreating into old fogey-dom and uttering old chestnuts like "They don't make them like this anymore".

They don't make them like this anymore.

I've got blisters on my fingers...

I don't play the guitar. Not really. What I mean is, I don't practice. The only time I pick up the guitar is to either work on a song or to record one. It's shameful, and I often entertain the thought that this might be the year that I finally get it together and start working on my playing. Oh well; it's the thought that counts.

It's sad because whenever I do pick up the guitar to record a part and begin the usual 'fumble around blindly in search of something that sticks' routine, I get to a point where, if something finally clicks, I admonish myself with a stern talking to. A sort of "See what you can do if you put your mind to it?" finger wagging, that's usually followed up with a guilt-inducing "Just think how good you could be if you practiced every day for about the next, oh... 35 years or so".

I recently had one of these episodes. I had a song that I originally thought might sound great with a fiddle playing the solo, but budgetary concerns prompted me to have a bash with electric guitar, just in case it worked. I took out the guitar from the closet, dusted it off, and played around for a good hour or so before it started to sound remotely musical, and although I knew I wanted to work on it a little more later, I recorded a take so I could do a quick mix to listen to in the car, just to see if I was on the right track.

Now, I play electric guitar even less than I do the acoustic, and boy did my finger tips make me pay. I ended up nursing two ridiculously raw finger blisters that left me unable to play either guitar for about a week, and to add insult to injury, I was still undecided about the suitability of the guitar part. So I gave the CD to a mate of mine and requested a little honest feedback.

He took the CD with him and when he returned it a while later, I plied him with the query,"Do you think that this is a good approach for the song?" After a brief hesitation, he sidestepped me with a query of his own. "I thought you were going to have fiddle on this one?"

Like I said, I need to practice, and I will. As soon as these blisters fully heal...

Reasons To Be Cheerful (Part Three)

Ian Dury may have arrived commercially via the Punk and New Wave explosion of the late 70s, but his music always felt gloriously old to me.

What a wonderfully odd star he was. He may have been physically compromised by a childhood bout with polio, but he was a vibrant and commanding presence, both on stage, and off. His records would share bin space with bands made up of snotty-nosed punks with their practised sneers and three-chord workouts, yet he was already as old as some of their dads.

He came across as more vaudeville than punk rock, yet he was afforded much respect from punky punters and performers alike. Rather than speedy, anger-fueled faux-anarchy tales, though, Ian came armed with crafty songs that were ripe with bawdy humour and a sort of cheeky old-time music hall sensibility.

The colourful characters in Dury's vignettes — Plaistow Patricia, Clever Trevor, Billericay Dickie et al — were rough around the edges to be sure, but even with his gruff, often half-spoken and occasionally profane vocal delivery, there was always the sense that he was singing with affection, and it all had this sort of positive, life-affirming quality about it; a gentle naughtiness that warms the cockles to this day.

"Reasons To Be Cheerful (Part Three)" came hot on the heels of his UK chart-topper "Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick", and it's basically a jumbled list of ...well, reasons to be cheerful. Hard to argue with that, really. Hard to argue with the musical delivery either, as it happens. Dury recites (some might say, raps) over a stellar, funky (some might even say disco) backing, courtesy of his always brilliant band, The Blockheads, and although it's not really even my favourite song of his — that honour most likely goes to the lovely "You'll See Glimpses" — but it's still a little gem. Like most of Ian's music, it still makes me smile whenever it floats by. I really wish we still had him around.

Apparently, Ian Dury once declined an invitation from Andrew Lloyd Webber to write the lyrics for "Cats", ostensibly turning down a small fortune in the process. His response when asked for a reason, was simple and brutally honest — "I hate Andrew Lloyd Webber. He's a wanker, isn't he?".

That just might be more "punk" than anything Johnny Rotten ever did.

Listen Here


Why don't you get back into bed?
Reasons to be cheerful part 3

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Summer, Buddy Holly, the working folly
Good golly Miss Molly and boats
Hammersmith Palais, the Bolshoi Ballet
Jump back in the alley and nanny goats

18-wheeler Scammels, Domenecker camels
All other mammals plus equal votes
Seeing Piccadilly, Fanny Smith and Willy
Being rather silly, and porridge oats

A bit of grin and bear it, a bit of come and share it
You're welcome, we can spare it - yellow socks
Too short to be haughty, too nutty to be naughty
Going on 40 - no electric shocks

The juice of the carrot, the smile of the parrot
A little drop of claret - anything that rocks
Elvis and Scotty, days when I ain't spotty,
Sitting on the potty - curing smallpox

Reasons to be cheerful part 3
Reasons to be cheerful part 3
Reasons to be cheerful part 3
Reasons to be cheerful part 3

1 2 3

Reasons to be cheerful part 3

Health service glasses
Gigolos and brasses
round or skinny bottoms

Take your mum to paris
lighting up the chalice
wee willy harris

Bantu Stephen Biko, listening to Rico
Harpo, Groucho, Chico

Cheddar cheese and pickle, the Vincent motorsickle
Slap and tickle
Woody Allen, Dali, Dimitri and Pasquale
balabalabala and Volare

Something nice to study, phoning up a buddy
Being in my nuddy
Saying hokey-dokey, singalonga Smokey
Coming out of chokey

John Coltrane's soprano, Adi Celentano
Bonar Colleano

Reasons to be cheerful part 3
Reasons to be cheerful part 3
Reasons to be cheerful part 3
Reasons to be cheerful part 3

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Yes yes
dear dear
perhaps next year
or maybe even never

in which case...

Tales from the podcasting couch...

When Ditchflower Brian Merrill approached me with the idea of doing a podcast to showcase our little record label, Sunshine Drenchy Records, I was a little relieved. I was beginning to think that I was destined to be the only person around not involved in podcasting. I mean, I've had considerable airplay from other podcasters over the past couple of years, but my limited technical expertise has left me watching from the sidelines, unable to join the fray.

No longer! Fortuitously, Brian is a self-described geek when it comes to technology, and along with the requisite array of software about his person, also has intimidating piles of hardware audio devices populating his home, studio, kitchen and water closet. They tend to have lots of flashing lights on them, and occasionally make strange beeping noises. The thing is, I think he actually understands what they're saying to him. It's quite amazing. The upshot, of course, is that he not only has the knowledge to put a podcast together, but he also knows the magic spells necessary to make it available for people to listen to.

So, why do a podcast? Well, why the hell not? It can't hurt can it? Besides, I'm between records right now, as are the Ditchflowers, so it might be a good way to promote the label a little bit; a chance to offer free downloads of previously unreleased tracks and live in the studio performances, as well as an excuse to get together at Brian's Studio Bee and have a bit of a natter over a fine ale or three. Why not indeed?

As will no doubt be apparent to listeners all, there was no script for "Bed Of Ales"- episode 1 of the Sunshine Drenchy Radio Podcast. Hell, there was no real plan or outline, other than for us to talk a little about the label and to play a couple of album cuts along with a song or two live in the studio. There was to be no rehearsal of the songs either. It would be matter of deciding which songs I would do, and Ed simply joining in after Brian hit the record button.

So, armed with several quality yeasty beverages, and a capo (no guitar— Brian said I could use his; it's much shinier than mine, and it doesn't rattle and hum every time you even glance at it), I traipsed over to Studio Bee and happened upon a podcast in progress. Yes, Brian and Ed had started without me. A decidedly unprofessional start to this Podcasting series, I'm sure you'll agree. It's a path we'll no doubt continue on as we go forward.

Click here to go to iTunes for the Podcast...Sunshine Drenchy Radio. Feel free to subscribe; it'll not cost you a penny, but it will make us feel quite loved.

If iTunes isn't your cup of iTea, you can also listen here.

Enjoying the ride...

I've struggled a bit, in the past - as I suspect many of us do as we get a little older - with the whole idea of enjoying the journey, rather than simply focusing on the destination.

In these early stages of recording my next collection of songs, I've been doing a lot better with it. Granted, there are still moments where my mind races forward and I find myself wondering when it'll be finished; where I'm going to find the time to actually play and sing all the parts, or even obsessing about the final running order of songs that have yet to even be recorded. More often, though, I've found myself feeling exhilarated by the fuzzy frenzy of the creative process. I've tried to exult in those little victorious moments that bring a song a little closer to fruition. It's silly not to, really, isn't it? It'd be a bit like catching a train and missing the scenery by pulling down the blinds until you get to where you're going.


Just yesterday, I began scribbling on a notepad, in search of words for the bridge section of a song I've been working on for a while. Suitable lyrics for this bit had been eluding me for weeks, and I still couldn't stumble on anything that thrilled me. So, I did what I often do -- instead of waiting for inspiration to strike, I had a beer instead.

It didn't really help with the lyrics, though. In fact, it distracted me a little, as a silly stream of beer-infused, pun-filled song titles like " Boozing, My Religion", " This Old Harp Of Mine" and "What's Bud Got To Do With It?" barged around my brain. By the time I found myself audibly groaning at "Labbatts, The Way I Like It", I knew that it was time to get to work, and I decided to record a quick demo of the song, in the hope that hearing it on playback might spur something.

Invariably, when recording the vocal for a song with missing lyrics, I tend to sing a little impromptu gibberish in the section in question, with the intent of replacing it later. You never know what's going to spill out when you do this, and that's half the fun. It can be totally dull, unintentionally funny, puzzling, and occasionally even frightening to hear yourself spew out words without premeditation.(I know there are those who think that much of what I write sounds like impromptu gibberish, but that's by the by.)

Although in the early days of writing this song, the idea was to go with the old early Dylan approach --single acoustic guitar, solo vocal and a bit of harmonica thrown in just to annoy the neighbours -- as I started to record it, discipline went flying out the window and the kitchen sink came rushing in. I upped the tempo, added a drum track that completely transformed the whole mood of it, doubled the lead vocal and layered some harmony vocals behind them.

The thing is, the recording, as hurried and off-handed as it was, took on a bit of a life of its own, taking me completely by surprise and giving me a bit of a kick in the pants in the process. I got all giddy and excited by the feel of the track, and all manner of ideas came flooding in. In particular, the words I was searching for showed up unannounced, and I promptly scribbled them down.

I think part of this new-found, er... maturity (ahem) stems from feelings of gratitude and thankfulness that, for better or worse, these songs continue to arrive. It's probably a common fear of people who like to put pen to paper, that the well will one day run dry, and I routinely have that "Well, that's probably the last song I've got in me" feeling. (Don't get your hopes up, though.)

Now, whether these songs are actually any good or not, and whether or not this song in particular delivers on the promise that I was feeling, hardly seems the point, really. The fact is, it felt really bloody joyful at the time, and I savoured it. The very idea that what can start off as a couple of phrases and a sliver of a melody occasionally ends up resembling an actual song is something I still find amazing, and I'm having a ball with it. The neighbours, I'm not so sure about -- tonight I'm recording harmonica parts...

Reasons To Be Cheerful (Part Two)...



I first heard The Innocence Mission back in the 80s when a friend passed me a cassette tape that had their debut CD coupled with the first Sundays album. It was actually a sweet pairing — The Sundays' Harriet Wheeler has a vocal delivery that's not a million miles away from that of Innocence Mission singer, Karen Peris, and both albums had an attractive shade of melancholy lingering beneath the pop sheen.

To be honest, the 80's production of The Innocence Mission's self-titled release hasn't aged anywhere near as well as the songs themselves. It often sounds a little too glossy, especially in light of the beautiful pure-of-heart songs being played and sung. It hardly matters though. For some reason, it's an album of songs that regularly call me back for another listen every couple of years. When I do, I always end up immersed in its beauty; totally captivated by Peris's pristine voice and the sentiments she effortlessly expresses, and I nearly always get choked up to the point of embarrassment.

These days, the albums crafted by this husband and wife team of Don and Karen Perris are more stripped-down affairs. The production and instrumentation is sparse, largely acoustic, and totally appropriate. Their little celebrations of life's beauty, sadness, faith and hope are all understatedly delivered with an easy style and grace that is so refreshing, especially amid much of the clatter that passes for entertainment these days.

When I first saw this clip, I watched transfixed for its duration. I'm not sure I even blinked. The simplicity of the visual; the starkness of the two-guitar accompaniment and the fragile beauty of the vocal just totally reaffirms the power of music to me. Exquisite.

Anyone have a hankie?

Website?... What website?

So where the hell is steverobinsonmusic.com? Well, the official reason is the old standby -"technical difficulties". Of course, the real reason is gross ineptitude on my part. It is, of course, inexcusable, and I should be duly punished. Unfortunately, my hairshirt is at the cleaners.

Speaking of old standbys...Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible. Thank you for your patience.

Swedish envy...

It's that time of year again-- the dawning of another dreaded Florida summer, where the constant dreary hum of the air conditioner serves as a brutal reminder that unless you're partial to third-degree burns and heatstroke, you're going to spend the next six months or so indoors.

I may not have solar panels on my roof; I don't drive a hybrid car, and despite my best intentions I'm still not composting in my garden, but I've most definitely gone "green" in one respect: I'm jealous as hell of anyone who gets to spend their summers in more civilised climate.

One such lucky sod would be English-born, Swedish resident Malcolm Carter. Malcolm is the kindly gent who recently wrote the generous review of Undercurrent for the Scottish-based Penny Black Music website, and he recently interviewed me for the same publication. Among other things, The Headlights, mushy peas, and Peter Noone all came up in the discussion. You can read the whole thing here.

Apparently, he resides in Sventorp, which I found humourous, since Sven would be the Scandanavian equivalent to Steve, and Torp must be where Thorpe comes from. My hometown is, of course, Scunthorpe (stop sniggering at the back!), and many of the towns and villages in the surrounding area take their names from nordic words (take a bow, Viking invaders). Funny old world innit?

At the time of the interview I had no idea he lived in Sweden. If I had, I might have been tempted to ask him a few questions of my own, like: "Is it difficult to get a work visa?"

Oh well, back to the swamp...

Catch a wave...to Colorado?

Well, the dream of relocating from Florida to Colorado may have been put on hold for a while (housing market take a bow), but at least I'm getting a little Rocky Mountain airplay.

DJ Carmen Allgood has been bravely promoting independent artists for donkey's years now --she was the first in the nation to produce a local radio show, apparently-- and continues to do so via her Colorado Wave radio programme.

This not-so-little-anymore syndicated radio show (over 100 affiliates and counting) has, over the years, assisted over 12,000 stylistically varied independents in gaining a little radio exposure, and I'm pleased to be part of that group. Volume 537 of the show features "Forget About Love" and can be heard here.

Stamp of approval...

Getting your Indie CD reviewed, whether in print or online, can be quite a challenge. You have to be aware that your CD and its accompanying press kit will be arriving along with countless others, and that the odds are largely against you. There's no guarantee that anyone will actually listen to it, let alone assign it for review.

When I send out a package, I know that there's a certain amount of luck involved. I'm fully cognizant of the fact that there's every chance that my album might be doomed to sit unopened in an anonymous pile of similar submissions, or be unceremoniously tossed into an already overflowing waste paper basket, after a perfunctory audition. I also know and accept that an editor may well indeed give it a fair and open-minded listen, and decide that it's crap, and pass on it. It might be that you caught him on a bad day; it could be that he picked the wrong track, and that the previous one would have knocked his socks off. Or... it really might just be crap.

Either way, you have to accept it, move on to the next victim, and not take the rejection personally. Conversely, you have to really enjoy and appreciate it when you actually do land a review. I certainly made sure that I took the time to savour the following review from the Scottish-based website Penny Black Music . I caught him on a good day, apparently.

Reasons To Be Cheerful (Part 1)...



Ok, so maybe "cheerful" and "Gilbert O'Sullivan" might appear to be a little oxymoronic, especially in light of the fact that one of his biggest hits on both sides of the Atlantic was the desperately sad "Alone Again (Naturally)", and to be honest, this earlier UK hit from 1970 was hardly a knees-up either.

Like several of O'Sullivan's records, this one has that sort of distinctly English, sepia-tinged sense of melancholy about it, but despite its rather solemn subject matter, I don't find it a dour affair at all. In fact, when I hear it I usually find myself beaming. I suppose that part of the reason is that it brings back such vibrant and mostly pleasant memories of the early 70s. It was, after all, a time when my mother was still with us; our family well and truly intact.

My mum loved Gilbert, and had a stack of his 45s that she'd play relentlessly. "He's lovely"- she'd always inform us, and it seems that she was onto something. At the time, of course, I'd be rolling my eyes in adolescent disgust. I was far too obsessed with glittery and sartorially resplendent superstars, like T.Rex and Slade, to be able to relate to this corny, street urchin-looking throwback with a cloth cap and pudding bowl haircut.

Listening to it now, I'm totally knocked out by the sheer musicality of it. A brilliant song, beautifully arranged and played; truly lovely. Always listen to your mother.

Sunshine Drenchy newsbrief...

Hello poppy folk,

Just a quick update for you on the upcoming Headlights/Ditchflowers show at the Largo Cultural Center on Saturday, Feb 9th.

There has been a time change --the show is now scheduled to begin at 8:00 pm, rather than the previously advertised start time of 7:00 pm. I'm not sure how this will affect my scheduled solo spot at this point. It will probably be a bit of a squeeze (no "Up The Junction" jokes, please) but there may be time for a shortened mini-set. If not, I'll just have to relinquish the solo spotlight this time around and save my newly-penned, Australian-themed Folk-Rock Opera, "Pommie" for a future date. Not quite so disappointed now, are you?

Tickets for the show ($18 advance/$21 day of show) are available in person at the Box Office, or by calling 727-587-6793. More details about the venue/map/directions etc. are available on the website

There has been a lot of gossip surrounding this particular Headlights get-together. Some are touting it as the final show (some may even be praying, I don't know); others have suggested that it might be time to record some new material. I have to admit that I've long felt that as a band we never really managed to hit our stride in the studio. We certainly managed to conjure up a little magic on stage on occasion, but considering how long we played together, I think that we're woefully under-represented by our recorded output. I personally wouldn't mind the idea of bolstering the old back catalogue a bit. I know I have a couple of songs that I've not recorded as of yet, probably because they felt more like Headlights songs to me. There's a part of me that likes to think that schedules permitting, and pending suitable alignment of the stars, that I might be able to have a bash at them with the lads. Who knows?

Speaking of having a bash, there's a bit of a "do" at Dave's Aqua Lounge this coming Saturday, Feb 2nd featuring The Ditchflowers, Lorna Bracewell, Ronny Elliott & Rebekah Pulley, and Have Gun Will Travel. It's all for a good cause too. I'll leave the spilling of the details to Ditchflower, Ed Woltil -- everyone's favourite local, rather tall, uber-talented musical all-rounder, who despite the fact that the closest he ever gets to the Netherlands is when his wife picks up some imported Edam cheese from the deli, nevertheless has a really cool Dutch-sounding name.

What follows is an exerpt from a recent Ditchflowers bulletin. Take it away Ed...

"All our local fans are, of course, familiar with WMNF 88.5 Community Radio, the staunchest supporters of Bay Area musicians on the airwaves. Many of you, however, may not know about BAAMO (Bay Area Arts & Music Organization), a not-for-profit outfit that exists for the sole purpose of helping to promote Tampa artists. Gotta love ‘em — great people.

BAAMO’s major annual event is the Florida Bandango, a showcase of Tampa Bay music and musicians at the world famous South by Southwest (SXSW) Music Conference in Austin, Texas. The incorporators of BAAMO have hosted this event since 2003. The purpose of the Florida Bandango is to bring exposure to local musicians from the music industry and music press attendees of SXSW. Over 500 individuals attended the 2007 Florida Bandango. WMNF is another staunch supporter in helping to make this event a success.

This year, The Ditchflowers are proud to be one of the five Tampa acts participating in the 2008 Florida Bandango. Along with Ronnie Elliott & Rebekah Pulley (performing as a duo), Lorna Bracewell, Giddy-Up Helicopter, and Sarasota’s Have Gun Will Travel, we’ll be headed off to Austin to perform on March 12.

Another great thing BAAMO does is release a CD compilation of great local original music. The latest, Cheatin’ Heart: Tales of Lies & Love, features the above artists and more, and is hot off the press and available soon. Next week, for instance, you can pick up a copy at Dave’s Aqua Lounge when you drop in to check out all the above artists (except Giddy-Up Helicopter, who are unable to attend) performing in a special fundraising concert. That’s Saturday, February 2, at Dave’s Aqua Lounge. A suggested $10 donation will help us starving artists pay our way to the musical promised land of Austin, Texas (hey, travel’s expensive). Hope to see you there if you can make it-- all of these musicians are exceptionally talented, and this promises to be a night of great music, fun and camaraderie (show details below).


Gotta run...thanks again for your support.

Luv,

Ed

One For The Road 3
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Doors @ 8:00 pm, Music @ 9:00 pm
Dave’s Aqua Lounge on Gandy Boulevard in St. Petersburg
(10820 Gandy Boulevard)

It's like riding a bike...

Of course, you can still fall off.

I recently joined with my old mates in the Headlights at a rehearsal for our upcoming reunion show at the Largo Cultural Center on Saturday, Feb 9th, and although it was great to play with them again, it became apparent that I'm a little out of fighting shape.

There were a few chord changes going awry, and the occasional lyric that eluded me, which I suppose is understandable since it's been a couple of years since I sang the songs. More jarring though, was the physical side of it. After a couple of hours, my left hand began to cramp up on me and I had trouble gripping the fretboard. By the end of the evening the hand looked like something from Curse Of The Black Claw.

Then there's the vocal cords issue. I mean, I knew it'd be a bit of a strain -- singing hard and trying to make yourself heard over a plugged-in band is, after all, a far different thing that sitting by yourself in front of a microphone in the relative hush of your home studio -- but it was perhaps a little worse than I expected. Although I didn't quite sing myself hoarse, there was enough strain to ensure that when I awoke the next morning, my speaking voice sounded a little like a cross between Tom Waits and Barry White.

I'm hopeful that another rehearsal will help me toughen up a bit, so I can be in fine voice for the show. If not, at least there'll be an opportunity to do that "Downtown Train/Can't Get Enough Of Your Love, Babe" medley that I've always wanted a crack at.

Monk's the word...

Well, we're approaching the middle of January -- everyone's Christmas decorations have been safely packed away in the attic for a couple of weeks now; resolutions lay scattered about in tatters, and the last few pine needles from the Christmas trees have been vacuumed away. It takes a while to get them all, doesn't it? Every couple of days or so, you'll see a couple of them taunting you from beneath the edge of an area rug, or nestling unnoticed against a seldom-used door jamb. The bastards. I wouldn't mind so much, but for the past four years, we've had an artificial tree.

Speaking of resolutions, I usually make them only half-heartedly, and so the inevitable breaking of them doesn't seem so monumental. Either that, or I make them too easy to keep. Last year, I vowed not to set fire to any important Government buildings, and it worked out quite well for me.

I also make sure that they never involve me limiting the amount of food I eat. I have no interest in such silliness. I want to eat like a king. A gluttonous king. I adore food, and refuse to deprive myself of one of the great joys of life, in order to be in step with the latest health diet du jour. If I start to look a little pudgy or lumpy in certain areas, I just see it as a sign that I need to move around a little more and at greater speeds. So, I increase the old running schedule; it's a simple enough equation, I think.

Nor do I have any desire to stop drinking. Don't get me wrong, I don't consume like I used to back in my gigging days with the band; that would be daft. Back then, I'd knock back any mass-produced swill that was even rumoured to have hops, barley and malt somehow involved in the brewing process. Now, of course, I limit myself to quality micro-brews and the occasional Belgian abbey ale brewed by Trappist monks (just keeping it Holy, you know).

No, my New Year's resolution wasn't even made before the new year began; it just sort of dawned on me during the past week, and it involves MORE enjoyment, rather than less. Simply put, I'd like to try to actually enjoy the music-making process, from now on. It might sound like a foregone conclusion to some, but so often for me, the creative process tends to be a bit of a painful exercise, fraught with uncertainty, insecurity and self-doubt. I get anxious and jittery; my palms sweat, and I lose focus as my mind races ahead and tries to envision how a song will sound when recorded, sometimes before I've even finished writing the bloody thing. There is often much gnashing of teeth and plaintive wailing during the small hours.

This needs to stop. For one thing, it frightens the neighbours, and it really throws a damper on the far more desirable feelings of joy and wonderment that can arise when you realise that you somehow just created something that rather resembles a song, out of a bunch of hastily scribbled phrases and a jumble of guitar chords.

A couple of days ago, I picked up the guitar and turned on the machine that I use to record with (a Korg D1600 for the anoraks among us), with the intention of capturing a couple of sketches of song ideas that I'd had buzzing around my brain for a while. With the red recording light flashing in wait, I began reacquainting myself with these assorted song snippets and prepared to capture them for future study. Somehow, I got sidetracked, forgot what I was doing, and out of nowhere, found myself playing something completely new. It was only a couple of chords, but they felt good, and before I knew it they were suggesting, nay, insisting upon a nifty little melody that infected me and wouldn't let go. Before I knew it, I found myself grinning all Cheshire Cat-like and reaching for the record button.

I've yet to expand upon that little germ; I have no idea whether it'll turn into a fully realised song any time soon, years down the road, or even at all. It hardly matters really. The fact is, that for a few minutes I was buzzing with excitement about it. It excited me; invigorated me and made me want to get to work. That's the sort of moment I want to learn to savour. To try not to worry about whether or not I'll be able to conjure up a suitable chorus or bridge section; whether it'll all pan out into a decent song, or even wondering if my vocal on it will end up sounding anything like Peter Noone, but to try and have the mindfulness to be able to enjoy grabbing hold of a little gift like that, wherever it may lead -- to enjoy the journey, as they say.

I mention Peter Noone, because I've been hearing comparisons to the eternally youthful Herman's Hermits' singer for a couple of years now. I don't really hear it myself, but I'm wondering if it's a hint of my northern accent poking through. I've heard several comparisons to Graham Nash too, and his northern tones are still occasionally audible, so it could be an accent thing. Either way, I take it as a compliment. He was a bit of a trendsetter in a way; I mean, he was singing in a Mancunian accent while Morrissey was still in diapers wasn't he? I know one thing-- If I look as good as he does when I'm his age, I'll be an 'appy camper.

So, as I contemplate enlightenment, and continue to work on my quest to try to live more in the moment, feel free to read the latest comparison to the luvly Mr Noone in the latest review of "Undercurrent", courtesy of babysue/LMNOP . If you need me, I'll just be enjoying the journey...to the fridge, where a fine Belgian brown ale awaits. Something tells me I'm into something good.

Hearsay, there and everywhere...

Although it's still up and running quite nicely thank you very much, steverobinsonmusic.com is currently undergoing a little refurbishment. As a result, the Reviews section of the site hasn't been updated in some time. This situation will be remedied shortly and links to recent reviews should soon be posted.

In the meantime I thought I'd share a few recent quotes of note:


"Every cut is a crystalline gem" --Luke Torn, Uncut

"One of the better discs of 2007 that I've heard" --Stephen Ferra, Absolute Powerpop

"'Undercurrent' is often gorgeously melodic - the ballad 'Love Is Real' borders on majestic - and Robinson's clear, controlled tenor is the perfect conduit" --Eric Snider, Creative Loafing

"Great guitars, great harmonies and awesome lyrics" --Johanna Bodde, Insurgent Country (The Netherlands)

"Elegantly crafted Beatlesque folk-rock of the highest calibre" --Rob Lincoln, CD reviewsonline.com

"His songwriting and guitar playing are, as his label suggests, drenched in sunshine" --David Cowling, Americana UK

"Can I please put my Hannah Montana CD on now, dad?" --Emma Robinson

Blessed are the Meeks...

On the heels of his rather glowing Indie Launchpad review, Colin Meeks kindly featured my nostalgia-tripping school playground singalong "The Best Days Of Your Life" alongside tracks by The Weakerthans , Jane Taylor and Chris Brown on Episode #74 of his Indie Launchpad Podcast .

Colin's love for his family, and his unabashed enthusiasm for Indie music that moves him, are on full display during his podcasts, and it's quite endearing. It's also quite contagious--after listening to him positively gush over every one of his selections, I felt compelled to investigate them all further.

Quality stuff, as it turned out. Chris Brown, in particular, impressed me. His track All My Rivals made me think of The Beach Boys' underappreciated "Holland" album. See if you don't agree.

If not, it's detention for the lot of you.

Is that an Irish lilt, or do you always stand like that?...

I'm pleased to announce that the smart online retailer Miles Of Music has added "Undercurrent" to their catalogue. They passed on my last release, so I was quite pleased that they saw fit to take this one on board. They're even selling it with a money-back guarantee, apparently.

Miles Of Music reviewer Jeff Weiss writes -- "Robinson...creates pop gems teeming with mandolin, harmony, touches of English folk, Irish lilt and baroque pop."

Let's not argue with the man; let's all click here, or on the logo above to read more, and to listen to audio samples of "Wooden Hill" and "Wasted And Waiting", shall we?

If you don't do it for the mandolin or the harmony, at least do it for the Irish lilt.

Absolute Power Pop...sort of...
Living as I do, in that grey area between Folk and Pop music, I'm quite accustomed to occasional rejection notices from Folk radio stations for being too poppy, and from AAA radio stations for being a little too folk. Without being a mind reader it's impossible to know exactly where you may have crossed the line and moved into an undesirable genre. My guess is that to the ears of many a AAA programmer it could be something as simple as the abundant use of mandolins or harmonicas, whereas electric guitar riffs and programmed instruments may well cause folkie Music Directors to reach for the Tylenol.

I think it can often be a very fine line though. I recently heard from a AAA station in Colorado that they were declining to add my album to their playlist because it was a little too folky for their pop/Adult Alternative format, yet later that day, the same record was the recipient of a rather glowing review on the Absolute Power Pop website. Conversely, a certain folk show programmer politely informed me that he'd passed my CD on to another, more pop-orientated dj at his station, just the day before I discovered that three songs from it had been added to the playlist of the excellent Online Folk Festival Radio.

To cloud matters even further, the Dutch review site Insurgent Country not only posted a review of "Undercurrent", but also asked me to write a few words about my previous ...er, country album, "Away For The Day". (Interested parties can click on the"Reviews" tab to access both articles)

Identity crises aside, you have to embrace this don't you? People are always going to label your music, and there seems to be so many genres and sub-genres out there, that there's bound to be some overlap. I try to look at it as a positive; a way to scamper under the various descriptive umbrellas out there and sneak a radio spin wherever possible. Being labelled a stylistic imposter once in a while is a small price to pay, really.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go and brush up on my stand-up bass skills--there are several Bluegrass radio stations out there that are ripe for the plucking.

Can you dig it?...
Yes you jolly well can, dear friends. Individual tracks from the new album are now available for download at Digstation . Of course, you can also download the whole thing, liner notes and cover art and all, if you're so inclined.

For the more traditional-minded among you; those who still prefer to have an actual hard copy release, CDs are now available for purchase at CD Baby.
While you're there, have a listen to lo-fi clips of the songs, and then, if you're sufficiently impressed, you can always spring for the full, er...mid-fi experience.

If not, I'll totally understand. We'll part friends, and you can trot off and tell everyone how Robinson has lost it, and has not only written a song (Road To Ruin) that veers awfully close to anti-war/protest song territory (something I've long claimed I would never do) and hired a young and gifted fiddle player (Victor Gagnon of Seven Nations/Rathkeltair fame) in an attempt to enliven and add a little Celtic flavour to an otherwise lumpen, drunken "Wasted And Waiting" tale (something I've long wanted to do), but has also resorted to adorning the knees-up nostalgia-fest known as "The Best Days Of Your Life" with a (gasp!) tuba solo (something I may well do again).

I can live with that; fair's fair, I suppose. Do me a favour though--don't mention the bodhran, ok?

Plans for the release of the new CD, "Undercurrent" are going swimmingly...

It's been over two years since the release of "Away For The Day", and one would think that I've had ample time to leisurely work on this follow-up record. One would be bloody well mistaken.

For various reasons (most of them my fault) the CD pressing deadline I had, turned out to be a rather concrete one, so the last couple of months have been an insane, mad dash to the finish line. The reasons why aren't really important; what IS important is that I publicly acknowledge the Herculean efforts of my friends and co-producers, Ed Woltil and Brian Merrill, without whom this posting would be an apology for an unfinished project rather than a release date announcement.

Yes, for want of a better term, Ed and Brian saved my sorry arse. What started as a casual, good-natured invitation to embellish my half-finished home-recorded tracks at Brian's studio B, quickly became a succession of hastily scheduled, late-night recording and mixing sessions that proved to be essential in ensuring that "Undercurrent" was released as an LP rather than an EP.

Fueled by Ed and Brian's boundless energy, enthusiasm (and the occasional Belgian Trappist ale), drum tracks, electric guitars and bass tracks were somehow miraculously recorded in time to meet the rapidly approaching deadline. In between sessions, Ed continued to somehow find the time to add his always sympathetic (and at times telepathic) touch to my songs, even co-writing one of them ("Class Clown"), as well as programming additional parts at his own home studio. Yes, schedules were interrupted and sleep was sacrificed; there was even rumours of Brian being seen mixing in his pyjamas. Be that as it may, the bottom line is that the two of these fine gentlemen went so far above and beyond the call of duty, that it verges on the embarrassing. I remain in awe of their tenacity and talent, and I thank them from the heart of my bottom.

So, who's on it? Well... unlike the last DIY effort, this one is a more collaborative affair. Aside from the aforementioned input from Mr Woltil, "Undercurrent" also features veteran drummer Chuck Darling(Nineveh Project); a guest spot from young Celtic fiddler Victor Gagnon(Seven Nations, Rathkeltair), as well as some harmony vocal help from my ten year-old daughter,Emma, who managed to nail her parts in two takes (her dad could learn a thing or two).

As far as the songs go...there's an unapologetically Beatle-ish pop song of love and commitment (Love Is Real); a Celtic-tinged folk-rock expression of awe at the bond between a parent and a child (Please Emmalene); a nursery rhyme-infused homage to a dearly departed mother (Wooden Hill), and an old-timey, music hall-influenced singalong remembrance of schooldays past (The Best Days Of Your Life).

Lest this all sounds a little too much like an exercise in ever-sentimental, rose-tinted nostalgia, I also tossed in a rather disquieting strangled-folk rumination on global religious conflict (Road To Ruin); a tale of drunken excess, emotional disconnect and failed ambition(Wasted And Waiting) and an apologetic lament on the pervasive celebrity worship culture that we humans seem content to wallow in (Boring God). A little undercurrent, you might say.

And where might one purchase said confection? Well, I'm expecting to have CDs in hand by May 24th; retail outlets like CDBaby,Kool Kat Musik,Woven Wheat Whispers, and Not Lame etc., should have them a few days after. I'll post details as soon as I have them. If you prefer, you could always e-mail me via the website, and for the paltry sum of $12, I'll send one directly to you. No messing. I'll not even charge you for shipping and mishandling. Of course, it will be arriving via carrier pigeon, but you know what they say about looking a gift horse in the beak...

Get Carried Away...every home should have one, you know.

I speak, of course, of the latest Sunshine Drenchy Records release, Carried Away by The Ditchflowers

When you think about it, it's preposterous that I even have to mention this. If exposure were directly proportionate to raw talent, we'd probably all be quite sick of them by now. Several of these tracks would be in heavy Clear Channel rotation; CD artwork and oversized promo displays would be beckoning to patrons in Best Buy outlets nationwide, and nationally-syndicated TV shows would be serenading us with Ditchflowery soundtracks all over the bloody place. Of course, some of us would be falling over ourselves to reminisce aloud about how we used to go and see Ed Woltil's "Mad For Electra" and Brian Merrill's "Barely Pink" in the clubs and bars back in the day, and how they were so much better back then, before they sold out.

As we all know, however, talent seems to have fallen way down on the list of prerequisites for commercial success these days. Generally speaking, you have to scavenge and forage about the outskirts of the pop landscape in order to find the true gems. No, it's not what you'd call fair, I suppose, but there is a special kind of satisfaction to be had in such discoveries.
It's not my intention to review this stellar album, track-by-track for you; I'd rather you enjoy unearthing the little beauties for yourself. So, off you go-- have a Listen and tell me that these Ditchflower lads aren't making some of the tastiest pop music you've heard in donkey's years, and I'll meet you at dawn, rapier at the ready.

Will they sell out? They will if there's any justice.

Getting away for the day? Make sure you're properly dressed and accessorized for the occasion. Pop over to Closet-Folkie's Closet and have a look at some spiffing T-Shirts and sensible Tea Mugs.

There are several designs to choose from. Among them, is the Emma Robinson/Don Moore-designed Sunshine Drenchy Logo; the Away For The Day CD artwork, and the tasty retro-looking design above.

Thanks are due, again, to my long-suffering graphic artist friend, Don Moore, who has worked tirelessly to help me bring all these website and CD ideas to fruition. The man is a saint, and I couldn't have done any of it without him. Now you know who to blame.

Is that your vinyl answer? ... I'm hesitant to enter the fray and lament the passing of the vinyl record album. For one thing, it doesn't appear to have totally gone away yet. Witness the recent upsurge in bands pressing Limited Edition vinyl versions of both albums and singles.

I'm wondering how many of the fans purchasing these releases actually own turntables, but I suppose it really doesn't matter. They certainly have appeal as a curio-type collectible for a die-hard fan, and even if you can't actually play the thing, they still look considerably cooler than a CD or an MP3 title flickering on an iPod screen.

Speaking of iPods, one such monster will be winging its merry way into the Robinson household this Yuletide season. My 9-year old daughter informs me that she'll be distraught, nay, inconsolable should one not be in her stocking this year. Can't have that, can we?

I have to give the girl credit though--she may be enamoured with all things MP3 and USB, but she can still appreciate the aesthetic beauty of a good old LP. So taken, is she, with my collection of Beatles albums that she now has three of them mounted and framed on her bedroom wall. The thing is, I don't think she really associates these striking 12x12 images of the fab ones crossing leafy London streets, or all dressed up in their Peppery finery, with the songs contained within; they're simply like cool little posters to her. It's amazing to think that even though she loves all things Beatle, she's only ever heard their music on CD. If my trusty old turntable hadn't bitten the dust years ago, I'd dearly love to be able to actually play some of these records for her. It would be a great opportunity for me to do my best middle-aged-father knows-best routine; rocking back on my heels and imparting pearls of wisdom like -" There...that's how this music was meant to sound", or "That's bloody analog that is; can't beat it. None of your namby-pamby sterile digital shrillness there, love. Ah, just listen to that..."
Of course, she'd probably spoil it with a "What's that crackling sound, dad?" Fair's fair, I suppose.

With this particular bee in my bonnet, though, I've taken to leafing through musical equipment catalogues, of late. They all seem to offer several turntables for sale. Many have USB connections for easy computer hook-up, presumably so that we can take these vintage aural masterpieces of the analogue domain and compress the life out of them as we import them into our vast, squashed digital libraries (I know, I know--it's progress).

"Do you know what a turntable is, Emma?" I'd casually inquired of my little Beatle fan-in-training, over the weekend.
"No" she replied, off-handedly.
So, reaching for a nearby catalogue, I showed her a photograph of one of the turntables on offer.
"Oh-that's a disco machine, dad" she scolded.

Trying to ignore her allusion to DJs, and hoping against all odds that I could somehow make her aware that these beautiful devices were once the primary way of delicately delivering music to the ears of a generation of music fans, I prompted her with a rather hopeful -"Yes, but you know what you put on them, right?"
" Yeah--your hands", she offered, as she reached out and mimed a circular motion with both palms, redolent of a DJ scratching. Despite being crestfallen, I howled with laughter, and by the time she'd delivered an onomatopoeic "Whizzy-whizzy" for further comic effect ( with the flair and ease of a veteran comedian, I might add), I was in convulsions.

So, of course, the catch-phrase of the week in the Robinson household is "Whizzy- whizzy!", and it gets a laugh every time. Enjoy it while you can, little Miss Robinson, because when I finally get around to ordering that brand new Technics Disco Machine, you're going to be in for some serious listening.

Oh Darlington...
Off The Beaten Track is a delightful Podcast; a series of audio/video travelogues that focus on some of the more difficult to reach places(and people) of interest in the UK.

The recently aired episode Darlington Railway Centre and Museum featured my song "The Golden Age Of Steam", which pleased me greatly, since I'm quite the softie when it comes to steam trains, and feel oddly compelled to write songs about them at every opportunity.

Apparently, Darlington's North Road Station is said to be haunted. Quite appropriate then, that they picked a song in which I was attempting to face a few ghosts of my own.

American Idle?...

Ok I admit it. I upoaded a song to the American Idol Underground website. Since CDBaby members were given the opportunity to enter a song without paying the standard fee, I thought that it couldn't hurt.

I was wrong. The song appears to have won March's Folk Song competition, and part of the prize is a CD pressing/printing package courtesy of Discmakers. This means, of course, that there will definitely be a follow-up CD. You have been warned!

I must confess that I do feel a little guilty about not participating on the aforementioned site. It was a while back that I submitted the song, and to be honest It'd slipped my mind. Until I received the e-mail notifying me that "How The Mighty Have Fallen" had won (placed first out of 475 entries), I never gave it a second thought. Now, of course, I seem to be thinking of it quite often.

Actually, there seems to be a host of competitions on the site, some of which run concurrently, and it would appear that I'm still in contention in a couple of categories. I'm not suggesting that you go to my profile page
and rate my song there, because I'd hate to jinx things by campaigning for votes (besides, you really should be voting for Danny Schmidt
--he's quite brilliant).

I do believe though, that the Grand Prize in each genre is something approaching 200 billion dollars in cash and ownership of a Carribean island, so if you really must...

It appears that "How The Mighty Have Fallen" is still hanging around and making a nuisance of itself over at Garageband.com. The last I checked it was parked at #11 in the Folk-Rock chart, and on the strength of recent reviews it'll be featured as Folk Track Of The Week starting March 20th.

Speaking of Garageband, I continue to be impressed by some of the musical talent on display there. If it's intelligent well-crafted pop craft that you're after, you could do worse than pay Edinburgh's own David William a visit.

As far as the songwriting goes, this guy certainly wears the Neil Finn influence proudly on his sleeve, and why not? Like Neil, he has an instinctive melodic sense and lyrical approach that never seems forced, and there's a lovely relaxed power and self-assuredness in his delivery.The sound of his voice reminds me a little of Aztec Camera's Roddy Frame, and like Frame, William, still only in his twenties, seems to be hitting his stride at a young age. His first full length release is called One Way Ticket. Do yourself a favour and go and buy a copy.

Good for the wheat...

Folk music fans have a bit of a reputation for stuffiness. You know the stereotype: traditional types with their knitted sweaters, mildly greasy hair and wanton beards, sampling their real ale and designer-brand ciders, as they debate which artists are worthy of inclusion in the genre, and frowning upon artists who dare deviate from the traditional form and venture into, say, the pop or rock realm. From the American folkies who booed an electrified Dylan at Newport in '65, to Brits still recovering from Richard Thompson's 80's and 90's daring recording adventures, they can often come across as a rather sour and exclusionary bunch.

How refreshing then, to discover Woven Wheat Whispers , a site that dares to celebrate and promote all manner of folk and related music.

Although a newcomer to the digital download scene, Woven Wheat is quickly earning a reputation as an artist-friendly service that embraces all manner of styles. Genres currently listed in their catalogue include Celtic folk, Strange folk and Pre-folk alongside the Traditional and dance/Ceilidh acts. Actually, I'm not sure that I fit into any of their categories, but they let me tag along anyway.

Ian Southworth and Mark Coyle are the fine gents responsible for the Woven Wheat Whispers venture and deserve credit for their efforts in making their site a useful and entertaining one for the artist and listener alike. The largely upbeat and warm community forum is a welcome respite from some of the more morose and frosty ones out there (you know who you are), and they have a player that enables you to have a listen to the artists in their catalogue as you browse. Off you go then...Forum

Weather with us...

Once again it's that time of year in Florida. You know, the time of year when the cruelly oppressive heat and humidity of the summer finally departs and leaves us with gloriously cool and sunny weather. Cause for celebration? You'd think so, but you'd be wrong.
For some reason, the very mention of the term "cold front" causes Floridians to go into panic mode, wrapping themselves in layers of woolly clothing befitting of an Arctic expedition, as they scurry from their heated cars to the next heated building. The whole charade annoys me to no end.
Understand that we're not talking about truly frigid teperatures here; a daytime high in the 60s and an overnight low in the 40s is all it takes for the TV reporters to brave the elements, cocooned in furs and earmuffs, as they offer the public advice on how many sweaters to wear, and how to wrap their plants, pets and loved ones to protect them from the impending, perilous chill. Meanwhile, over on the area's beaches, there are stout Minnesotans and pasty British tourists alike, clad in bathing suits , cavorting and splashing around in the Gulf like it's the middle of summer, wondering what the fuss is about.
I must admit that I find it perplexing that the cauldron-like summer months, here in Florida, are actually more comfortable in some ways. Sure the heat is oppressive, but as long as you limit your time spent outdoors, say, to about 35 seconds, you're usually safe. The thing is, the air-conditioning systems in every building are usually at full tilt, so that you'll often see people wearing sweaters inside offices and shopping malls. The aim seems to be to keep us cocooned at around 68 degrees, and since I seem to be less tolerant of the heat these days, I really don't have a problem with this. Why though, when the temperatures outside actually drop into that desirable range, do the heating systems have to be turned on? Not only turned on, but cranked to simulate the searing temperatures of summer?
I can't stand it much longer, and have already been contemplating life in a less tropical climate. My feeling is that residents of Colorado, for example, are a little less likely to turn their public buildings into incubators at the first sign of a cold snap. I would go and do a little online research on the Rocky Mountains and its climate, but first I have to go outside for a cool down; my wife just turned the heat on.

With a little help from my friends...

Now that December's season of merriment and over-indulgence has given way to the harsh and sobering reality of January, and its requisite bloated credit card statements and well intentioned, yet already discarded resolutions, there's really no choice but to roll up the old sleeveys and get to work. For me, that means getting back to recording some of these songs that have been laying around, cluttering up the place.
It's becoming apparent that unlike the last project, this one will be more of a collaborative affair. I already have several drum tracks courtesy of my old mate, Danny DiPietra, and there's even talk of getting the Headlights into the studio again (possibly even at the same time!), so I'm hoping to get at least one track on the next album that features the whole band.
On top of that, the disturbingly talented Ed Woltil will be on board in some capacity, although exactly what he'll be contributing is up in the air at this point. Actually, I think it's quite big of me to invite him in really, especially in light of the fact that he recently burst into spontaneous laughter upon hearing one of the demos that had been, at least up until that point, up for consideration for inclusion on the next record.
I've also been talking with a couple of Lincolnshire folk musicians about a little transatlantic collaboration which has me excited enough to be wary of talking it up, for fear of jinxing it. So, I'll shut up about it for now. What I can't for the life of me shut up about, however, is a recent guest harmony vocal courtesy of Miss Emma("Dad, I'm already better than you on the piano") Robinson, on a new song tentatively titled "Real". It was her first time singing with a mic, and she executed like a pro. It might well be my most thrilling musical moment.