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.

MP FREES... It seems that everyone is giving away free MP3 downloads of their music these days. To refuse and hold out for a punter willing to part with hard-earned cash has become a foolhardy faux-pas for an independent artist worth their salt.
"Nobody is buying CDs anymore" seems to be the phrase of the day. The implication is that it's better to give at least some of your music away, as a promotional tool, rather than just keep it under wraps. This way, more people are hearing your songs, possibly carrying them around on their iPods and hopefully turning a friend or two onto your music. Perhaps they may even be tempted to pay for a copy of your album, or visit iTunes down the road apiece, and pay for a download of another track or two ? Maybe not.
There is, of course, another school of thought that insists that giving away recordings that you've worked so hard on, does nothing but further devalue your music. I must admit that I do find it a little humorous that faced with the scenario of declining CD sales, the best idea we can come up with is to give away compressed audio versions of our songs, that don't sound quite as good as the originals.
The public's total acceptance of compromised audio quality as evidenced by the explosion of MP3 players, would seem to go hand in hand with the apathetic acceptance of the putrid morass that passes for popular music culture these days, but that's a subject for another day. And anyway,thinking about this stuff, and trying to predict the future about where this whole business is going, makes my brain hurt. So, let the chips fall where they may. I have songs to write, play and record, and I'll do it whether people end up buying, stealing or giving them away. Do your worst!

Out of the closet and into the garage...
Apparently, "How The Mighty Have Fallen" will be the Track Of The Day in the Folk category on Garageband.com, on the 29th of November. For the unitiated, Garageband.com is a site that has its musician members review the work of their fellow artists and assign them ratings of between 1 and 5 stars. Songs pass through several rounds of voting(or not) and can climb(or not) the charts in their particular genre.
"How The Mighty Have Fallen" has earned an average of 4.8 so far, and is into the second round of voting. What does this mean in the grand scheme of things? Not much, probably, but it is rather nice to be involved, and I have discovered a few talented acts along the way. Robin Tymm is one such gentleman, and might be well worth your attention.

The Golden Age Of Self-Esteem...
There was a time, of course, when keeping a diary was an altogether more private affair. You'd scribble a myriad of personal details, whether scandalous or mundane, on its pages, and would be mortified at the very idea of someone else catching so much as a glimpse of the contents. It would be kept at the very least, out of view, and usually at the bottom of a sock drawer or in the pocket of a seldom worn jacket in the back of the closet.
Now, of course, it seems like eveyone has a personal web log on display for the whole world to scour. Out of the closet (or sock drawer), our journals have emerged from the shadows and truly taken centre-stage. Not only do we open them up for public scrutiny, we practically beg for readership; adding links to the diaries of others and utilising keywords and search engines to attract more and more of these prying eyes in the vain hope that they might be remotely interested in what we had to dream last night.
Similarly, the act of making a phone call has taken a similar turn. In the England of my youth, the old phone booths were huge cast-iron affairs that when the doors closed, effectively became sound-proof. It all seemed to make perfect sense really; you got to make your phone call in solitude, devoid of outside interference, and more importantly, without the embarrassment of broadcasting your private conversations to anyone and everyone within earshot.
It all sounds awfully quaint now, of course. Public phone booths are fast becoming obsolete, as the general populace increasingly conduct their personal correspondence on cell phones with scant regard to where they are, how loud they're talking and to who may be listening.
As modern culture's obsession with self-esteem, self-empowerment and personal fulfillment leaves old fashioned ideas like personal responsibility and common courtesy in the dust, it comes as no surprise that the prevalent mindset of the day seems to be that we need to be heard,that we are important,and that we need to be reachable at all times.
Personally, I refuse to have a cell phone for several reasons. As it is I very rarely receive a phone call that is of any interest to me at all. I seriously doubt that my carrying around a designer cellular device with its very own irritating ringtone will translate to more quality conversation; quite the contrary, I suspect. Personally, I hate the idea that I can be interrupted by a ringing phone even when I'm away from home or the work desk. To be reachable is to be obligated. Besides, I really don't think that I'm that interesting. Why anyone should need to discuss anything of note with me is a bit of a mystery.
Of course, the main reason for my cell phone phobia stems from a fear of becoming one of the hordes of people I see daily; people who although they may appear to be going about their daily business at the bank, the grocery store, or driving on the highway, are doing so with a phone glued to their ear and conducting conversations seemingly unrelated to the task at hand. Their self-absorbed message to the teller, check-out clerk or fellow commuters would seem to be "You're not worthy of my total attention". If I become one of them, I have to stop being disgusted, and I'm not ready for that.
So, here I am, an old-fashioned prig; a phone-phobic card-carrying member of Luddites Anonymous, and I have a web log. Despite having mixed feelings about it, I realise that it is unavoidable. For far too long I've relied on my more tech-savvy brethren to help me muddle through. My friend, Don Moore, has done an incredible job of designing and maintaining my website, but I have to at least take responsibility for some of it. So from now on, this blog will be serving as my website news page. Consider it a small step on the road to recovery from my technophobia (no,I'm not speaking of my dislike of the alleged music of Moby; I'm sticking with that) and I know I have a long way to go. But, considering that little over a year ago I was scouring manuals looking for the "On" switch on my computer, I'm really quite optimistic about the future.
I'm still not getting a cell phone, though.