I run in turquoise suits

The last gig of the year is in the bag. Two singles have been completed and the album is on its way. We got in a drummer. And there’s still a month left to go in 2011. Probably too soon to start looking back over the year that was and furthermore that’s not the sort of thing we do. That requires the exercising of brain cells that I have taken great pains and spent large sums of money to destroy.

You see, there are some things that I really don’t want to remember. I’ve purged a lot of them, such as why I can’t stand the sight of chives, why I whistle the theme tune to Dad’s Army whenever I see a duck egg and why I have a prosthetic arm. There’s a lot of work still to be done though.

Such as the time I was working for the Kennet and Avon Canal Trust. I had worked as part of the team that had been restoring the turf sided Monkey Marsh Lock, which is just outside Thatcham and is listed as an ancient monument. A ceremony was to be held to celebrate the re-opening of the canal and the Queen was to the guest of honour. It was all very exciting indeed.

The grand day came and I put on my best canal hat, like a river hat but with a wood pigeon feather rather than lark’s foot, and my favourite galoshes and made my way to the place where the Queen would be boarding the Rose of Hungerford to travel between locks 44 and 43.

I arrived quite early, a habit which I have been unable to break to this very day and has seen me get into no end of trouble. “In nunc arcu ite ingrate”, as it says on my coat of arms.

So there I was. My task for the day was to prepare the cucumber sandwiches and make sure that no children were drowned. Varied tasks you might think, but you’re probably not too familiar with that stretch of the Kennet and Avon canal. I set to work on the former, since there were no children there at that time. Not everyone likes cucumber sandwiches, but those people are not the sort of people who would be attending a visit by the Queen to the opening of a stretch of canal. For a bit of variety Mary Sanders Rose, of the Berkshire Sanders Roses, was going to be supplying some tongue sandwiches. A marvellous spread to be sure!

I had finished trimming my 145^th crust when I heard a scream from near the side of the canal. Screaming is not the done thing in that part of the world, especially when the Queen is due to visit. Hurrying in the general direction, I saw a horrible sight; a green faced lizard creature, dressed in a blue, green and pink paisley frock molesting a poor young man who had been attempting to clear a couple of old plastic bags from the bulrushes, its arm shoved up this poor chap’s fundament to the elbow. His screams of torment were horrific and on seeing me he begged for assistance.

Now, I’ve been around a bit and tangled with more than my fair share of green skinned water lizard people. Things to remember:

1. Be polite
2. Offer a sandwich

I waved a cheerful hello to the monster and jogged back to the pile of sandwiches I had prepared, popped a few onto a plate and made my way back. The ordeal was still not over and if you ask me I think that the creature was taking its time just to be cruel. Naturally vicious you see.

I offered it a sandwich, pointing out that they were cucumber. This appeared to please the creature, who withdrew its claw and took one. I tried not to show my disgust at its lack of basic food hygiene, since this was hardly the appropriate time, although I confess to tutting ever so quietly.

It was as it reached for another sandwich that I noticed the indentation on the top its head. This hollow held a pool of water which the creature was careful to not spill. Realising what I was dealing with I snapped out a brisk bow, which it returned promptly, spilling the water and suddenly becoming immobile. I signalled to the creature’s victim to make a run for it, or to at least do the best he could, and we both beat a hasty retreat.

After giving the chap a nice cup of tea and a cushion to sit on I returned to spot where the creature had been, but it was gone. At that moment I heard the band strike up a tune as the royal party arrived.

It was a grand day out. Here's a nice picture of the Queen taken on the day.

That is all. Get out of my house. 

Sub-aqua urine inspector

We rehearsed on a Saturday afternoon this week. We also rehearsed quietly. Still drank beer though. The reason for the change in time was that we hadn’t been able to get together during the week and Andy had to take his offspring to the fireworks in the evening. We couldn’t do Friday because Mike simply had to go out on the tiles and get shitfaced. The reason for the change in volume was that we are due to play a gig in the FACT bar on Thursday at about 8 o’clock and we reasoned that a less cacophonous approach might be appreciated. It was ok. I won’t say it was underwhelming but then it certainly wasn’t overwhelming. I suppose you could say it was “parrawhelming”, or “equiwhelming”. Some people would proffer “whelming” but that isn’t trying hard enough. Try harder.

Also on Saturday Mike presented us with our latest product: Guts the Single. I love it. I think every song on it is exceptional. You might not agree, but I don’t care. If I started caring what you thought my whole edifice of superiority and braggadocio would crumble like the soggy cardboard box it is. A cardboard box that had been pissed on by a horse. And a rabbit. And a goat.

After rehearsal and fireworks Andy and I met up to go drinking and catch some bands.  First we went to the Shipping Forecast and saw Choc Electrique, who were very entertaining. They definitely needed a smoke machine and more spandex. The drummer had a bandana so they might as well go the whole hog. Hog wholer.

Then we bumbled off to the Mojo where something was happening. The sound was really very bad where we were stood so I can’t give a fair assessment of what it was that was happening. But then, I can rarely give a fair assessment of anything. We drank our bloody marys, munched on our celery and pootled off to an old man’s pub to talk about a band whose name currently escapes me and eat peanuts before returning to the Mojo to see someone else and then go home.

Here are the things I learned:

• Andy’s kids really don’t like mushrooms.
• Young people often look like they are having a lot more fun then I have ever had. I was a young person once and as far as I recall I didn’t have half as much sexy looking, pert and fresh faced fun as they do.
• Bloody Marys fill me up like dinner.
• Andy is at least 27% cooler than I am.

Whilst Andy is cooler than I am he isn’t going to be allowed to play with proper drum sticks on Thursday. I on the other hand will be singing with my proper head. He has to use these stick like things that look like small fasces without the axe. As you may or may not know Andy is a big fan of the Roman Republic and dresses up like a magistrate on the weekends. He also does his weekly shopping in a chariot. He doesn’t care for Goths either, neither the Visigoths or the Ostrogoths flavour Goths. They make him sad. 

Do all black and white things taste of mint? In the name of science I ask you to lick.

I have do not have a problem with Goths myself, of whatever flavour. Possibly not liquorice Goths. I do not care for liquorice. I doubt they come in that flavour anyway. With their pale skins and black clothes I imagine they probably taste like humbugs. Since the opportunity to taste a Goth has never presented itself to me I cannot give a definitive answer. Of course if they do taste like humbugs then one won’t be enough since I am rather partial to mint flavoured sweets. Then again, given the size of your average Goth in comparison to your average humbug I imagine one Goth will last quite some time. Look after them properly and one could probably last you for at least a couple of months. And you would have minty fresh breath to boot. This must be the solution to a problem that no one realises we have. I should write into the Reader’s Digest or Fiesta right away. Get out. I have work to do.

Dear Fiesta / Reader’s Digest,

I want to tell you about an encounter I had with a person who liked to wear black and had a pale face. I had read about this kind of thing happening to other people but never thought it would happen to me. I had just finished mending a young lady’s washing machine when I managed to spill whole tub of ice cream on myself……

Your beastly arse.

I have been a shell of a man today. So to perk myself up I helped Mike with the recycling from last night. I am now a shell of a man who smells of stale beer and nastiness.

Last night was epic. Great turnout, superb bands and a wonderful atmosphere. I don’t think I would be wrong in saying that was the best Death Tax Trouble we have put on in a while. Everything came together just right.

Dass Unser were superb, starting off the night with just the right vibrations and drawing people in. They have a great sound and I do believe we will be asking for their services again in the future. I recommend you go and see them the next time you can.

We, of course, were what we are. Reasonably steady on our feet and facing the right way. What more can you expect? Nothing, that’s right, you can expect nothing else.

Das Beat were also a joy. Not only was the music great but they managed to get all their gear in the stage area and not clout each other with their guitars. Musicianship and spatial awareness = gifted. We’ll get them back again as well.

Darren Aston supplied the tunes from his virtual wheels of steel and stayed on station ensuring that there were no nasty sonic gulfs. Well played that man. I do believe we are going to engage his services for our next outing as well. I imagine that equates to brand loyalty doesn't it? Does it? Yes of course it does.

We were also very lucky to have lots of pictures taken by the lovely Heather. I thought she captured our raw masculine sexuality and thunderous loins very well. To that end she will be shooting the Mashemon 2012 nude calendar for us. It will be a torrid collection of sordid, tasteless and in some cases downright unpleasant pictures which will hopefully appeal to perverts of the lowest order and make right minded people vomit into their own, and each other’s, laps.

In other news the new single is 60% complete. Two songs recorded, one well on its way. The covers have come back from the printers and we’ve set a date for mixing. These are pleasing developments. Track listing has changed from what I said previously and now runs thusly:

1. Guts
2. Lost and Found
3. Low Pressure System

Not that it makes much difference, since you’ll likely never hear what was going to go on as B and C sides anyway. They just didn’t get through quality control.

In the car home from rehearsal the other night we were trying to work out how the album’s running order would look. Here’s what we have so far, in various stages of completeness and in no particular order:

1. Lips Limbs Lungs
2. Guts
3. Curtains
4. Frank Bloke
5. Wear and Replace
6. Kompressor
7. Another Man’s Dirt
8. Suburban Regeneration Project

That’s eight songs. We need one or two more and then we’ll have an entire thing.  Not bad at all.

Right. That little lot has taken me an hour to write. So very very very hungover. Send help. Or flowers.

Bogart or Bogarde would have done it better.

Onwards onwards onwards onwards. Got my hair cut. Think I look like a Luftwaffe pilot. I don’t understand what is on my head. I don’t know how I’m supposed to push it around up there. It doesn’t want to tell me either. I’ve put so much hair product in it today that every time I touch it my hand comes away slightly sticky, like I have just playfully batted away a glazed bun that was tossed at me by a baker. I presume we are playing some kind of game.

When you think of a baker, what do you think of? Depending on my mood I have two bakers; if I am happy and full of fun then my baker is a lady with a light dusting of flour, smells of raisins and cinnamon and has a nice white apron. If it is a bad day and I am full of vinegar and spiders then it is a pale faced man with a thin black moustache and well oiled hair, who probably has a pistol hidden in a loaf.

So now, when I think about the baker and the sticky bun, which baker do I think of? Lady baker. That means I must be having a good day. It is important to know these things.

I’ve actually had a quite a fun few days when I consider it. I have done some fun stuff. Went to the Shipping Forecast on Thursday and got really very drunk whilst watching Low Winter Sun, Mystery Box and the Doo Dahs. I enjoyed myself. I got a chance to talk to the nice people from Low Winter Sun, who supported us back in the CUC. I say talk to them but it was probably closer to me talking at them whilst they checked the exits. Nice people. Nice, patient people and a promising band.

I didn’t talk to Mystery Box. By the time they came on I was having a bit of a slump and beetled off to sit down somewhere, I think. But I do remember the singer was wearing a bowler hat. Since this is in no way an assessment of their abilities, more a critique of my dissolute behaviour, I’m sure no one will hold it against me when I say I can’t remember a thing.  

By the time the Doo Dahs arrived I had got my second wind. I enjoyed them as well. I probably spent more time admiring their singer than was probably civilised, but then what can I say. I’m a bad dog. I did mange to talk her afterwards but she disappeared and never came back. It was just like one of those films. If I was wearing a trilby it would have been even more like one of those films, except I would probably have had to go and have a shoot-out with an evil baker in a warehouse downtown immediately afterwards.

After that I wandered off to find a place that made a good whiskey sour. And I found it, oh mamma yes. Can’t remember where it was but I do know it had a lot of blue lighting in it.

Saturday was the day of the big Harvest Sun gig in the Williamson Tunnels supporting Vic Goddard and the Subway Sect. I wore new shoes. I think we played very well, although Margaret, Mike’s exceptionally astute good lady wife and keen Mashemon observer, thought I wasn’t drunk enough. No one has ever said that to me ever. I admire Margaret and hope to never let her down in this way again. 

The Beatnik Hurricane and the Ladykillers followed. I was in a much more reserved mood at the time so I left them well alone. Vic Goddard and the Subway Sect rounded things off and everyone had a good time. Andy and I went off in search of the place I had that whiskey sour on Thursday but couldn’t find it. By then it was home time for us, since we were neither in the mood for dancing or fighting.

So there, that’s a bit of something to read.

Caught on the rim of a minty cheese hole.

August is nearly up and that means there’s not a lot of summer left. One more summer, no closer to making nuclear fusion a viable energy alternative. Another summer gone where I have not worn shorts in public.


I have quite nice legs, a little hairy maybe, but they’re alright. If you saw my legs in a line of ten pairs of legs you wouldn’t point at them and say “worst legs”. Of course all the legs would have to be in the same state, you couldn’t have 9 pairs of lovely tanned smooth legs and mine because, and this is assuming you are a fan of the tanned smooth leg, my legs would be disadvantaged, they would not be on a level playing field, the odds would be stacked against my legs, my legs would not be getting a fair crack of the whip, spin of the wheel, smell of the cheese or squeeze of the melon. In fact this is just the sort of lovely legs competition you would organise, just to make my unhappy. Well, it won’t work. You can take you competition and shove it.

Coming round here comparing my legs with other legs. One of these days why I oughta…

We had a good night on Saturday at the CUC with Talk to Frank, Low Winter Sun and Nick Lawless. We made a good old racket and I think I may have thrown one shape. Only one mind you, standards and all that. Hopefully no one noticed the shape I threw. If they did they would probably compare it with other shapes they have seen thrown and then they would ask themselves “which is the best shape?” and since I am, at best, an indifferent thrower of shapes there is a fair chance that I would be ranked poorly. And then they would turn up at the next gig, with their official league table and inform all and sundry that not only did I have the worst legs but threw the worst shapes as well. This is precisely the sort of thing that makes me regret ever leaving the convent. I mean aquarium. I mean sanatorium. I don’t know what I mean.
So that was a good night. We’re doing some recording tonight for out next single, which will run thusly I think:

Side A: Guts - (Redolent of a drunk hod carrier in tights, sling-backs and a sequin gown at a wedding reception.)

Side B: More - (Essence of The Bay City Rollers being murdered by meth addled iguanas.)

Side C: Taxidermy - (A hint of Tony Bennett singing Heroin whilst having his head slammed in a fridge door.)

I can’t guarantee that these songs are anything like what I have described, but I’ve had a go at it. These should be ready to get your grubby little hoofs on in September. If you come along to witness us supporting Vic Goddard and the Subway Sect at the Williamson Tunnels on September 10th I’ll even throw in a free look at my ankles.

Is there an aching in your bacon?

The following will be as topical as it ever gets around here.

1. People throwing bricks through windows and stealing trainers = idiots.

2. MPs bleating on and on and on and on about how unacceptable and mindless and criminal it is = parasites.

3. The Prime Minister making out that he had something to do with easing the situation = utter cunt.

4. Reactionary-middle-class puffed up peacocks and peahens whining on about how they should have their benefits stopped and national service would do them good = short sighted bourgeoisie pricks.

5. Rioting isn’t new.

6. Every time this happens a bunch of bright sparks have a good long look at it, come to the conclusion that, as social animals, the society in which an individual finds itself actually shapes the behaviour of that individual, that there are clear sociological and economic reasons why these things happen and if they were changed then life would actually be better, not just for the people who were suffering but for absolutely everyone involved.

7. Solving the problem gets a bit boring/expensive/difficult.

8. They remake the Invasion of the Body Snatchers again and nothing ever changes.

That would be my 2 pence worth. Let’s just say we’re all right and never speak of this again.

In other news, we will be unleashing our flaming loins on the public on the 20th of August at the Lomax in Liverpool. If the heat emanating from our loins is too much for you, you’ll have to make room for the people at the back who aren’t weak and afraid of the power of our loins. It has the power to heal; it can make people with bad posture stand up straight, discipline the lazy eyes, in some cases it can even cure male pattern baldness. Sometimes it gets so hot you can toast a marshmallow on it, or a nice crumpet.

Ooh, I could do with a nice hot crumpet right now. And then something to eat! Sauce! Shut your face! Phwoaaar!

The other day I learned that sometimes you might want to rock out, but sometimes you want to do more, you want to rock out with you cock out. I can see the plus points in that, but also the downside. If you like your rock, you probably enjoy rocking out. But you might not enjoy rocking out if those around you are also cocking out. The verb cocking is not usually used in this sense, but I know you’ll know what I mean.

Terry - cock in or cock out?
You decide!

Sometimes I like a bit of jazz. I used to play a little in a modest way. Sometimes I would be jazzing so hard I would actually want to put my cock away, jazzing with my cock in as it were.

There you have it. Yin and yang. Cock in and out. Sunrise, sunset. You can have it both ways. OOOOH! SAUCE! PHWOOOOOOAR! SHUT YOUR FACE!

Like hot sexy beast on toast, that's what.

It’s been a few weeks now since our debut as a three piece and the good feeling hasn’t worn off yet. A big thank you goes to everyone who turned up, to Go Heeled and Ade Jackson for making lovely noises and also to Katherine Hartley for taking some great pictures. Furthermore, I think that anyone with a heart and ears would have to agree that Andy was magnificent on his debut.

bang bang bang bang bang boom tish

We’ve been working on the b-sides for our next single, due out sometime in August or early September probably. Track listing runs thusly:

1. Guts
2. More
3. Taxidermy

Went to Manchester Radio online for a nice chat with Paul and Lucy on the Ripman Show on Monday. Drank some drink, slurred our words and they very kindly played Lips Limbs Lungs and the b-sides. Very nice people they were as well.

Whilst we are on the subject of booze and trying to talk about Mashemon, Richard Lewis has included us in his recent roundup of what is going on in Liverpool for http://www.beardedmagazine.com/. We spent a pleasant afternoon in the pub with Richard a couple of weeks ago, holding forth about music, the premier league of glam rock, the sealed knot society and a whole heap of other stuff for an article for Nerve magazine. I don’t remember much about the evening other than going for a drink with Paul Reynolds from A Flock of Seagulls and being told that Brian May is very tall.

This Saturday we are playing for the CND at St. Brides church in Liverpool. We’re on at 4.30pm, so come along and see what we look like in the light.

Automatic Grape Foam

If, like me, you often find yourself having to come up with the name of a famous actor who you need to disguise yourself as you’ll probably have a couple of reliable names you can pluck out of the ether without much effort. Mine are Vincent Price and Sidney Poitier. You might have Hattie Jacques and John Le Mesurier, or Adam West and Marlon Brando. You can have whoever you like, there aren’t any rules. You can have more than two if you need them. It is up to you, I can’t tell you how to live your life and even I tried to I doubt you’d listen to a word I have to say even though I am always right about these things, like that time you were going to spend all that money on those expensive sausages because you were having your family round and your mother always complains about whatever you give them unless its sausages and even then if they aren’t excellent sausages from the butcher then she’ll go on and on and on and on and on about her old butcher when she was a child living in Chelmsford and how the butcher had sawdust on the floor and was really fat and you can’t trust a thin butcher, just like you can’t trust a bald barber.




Here's a picture of a fat butch... hang on

 

Do you remember what I said? That’s right, I told you to tell them to and fuck themselves. Of course, when your father died later that year and you were no longer in the will because they had disowned you, you tried to make out that it was my fault. Thing is, they had started to hate you a long time before that ever happened. They told me so that time I took them all out to the dog racing and made them put a grand on Lusty Veronica, who should have won really. I told you about that didn’t I? Never mind. And stop trying to set fire to my house. It’s pissing me off.



Anyway, I digress. Last Tuesday I was skulking around the local retail park trying to decide whether I wanted to buy myself:

• A tub of screenwipes.

• A bag of compost.

• 24 petrol blue carpet tiles.

• A Power Rangers duvet cover (reduced).

• 3 frames of ten-pin bowling for the price of 2.



I was stood on the corner weighing up the pros and cons and those things which seem like cons but, on closer inspection turn out to be pros, until you actually make the decision when they turn out to have been cons all along, when who should come out of the garden centre but a guitarist I had to fire from an old band. He had a length of hose under one arm and a bag of charcoal briquettes under the other and some kind of flowering shrub stuffed down the front of his trousers. Not wishing to be recognised and decided that if he saw me and tried to speak to me I would pretend to be the spirit of Vincent Price, tell him I was late for the bowling league and run off.

He didn’t see me though. I lurked around for a while longer, kind of hoping he would come back. He didn’t and it began to rain, so I went home for my dinner. I had fish fingers.

Meeting him, the guitarist, who I fired, from that band, back then, before, reminded me that he was the only person I have ever met who managed to make his musical instrument speak the language of his very soul. And it sounded like the death squawk of a terminally constipated goose lodged in the severed head of Janet Street-Porter, being fired from cannon at an orphan, on crutches, at Christmas, for ever and ever. This contributed to his departure from the band. In a strange twist of fortune this week I will be attempting to recreate this very sound for our new song Kompressor. I know I won’t be able to create anything as unpleasant because my soul is not a filthy motorway service station toilet, shellacked with the accumulated secretions of four decades worth of lonely truckers, onanists and perverts.


Why not have a go yourself? I know why.



All day

Why I like Talk to Frank

There is a new (new to me at least) promoter about and they are called Talk to Frank. You might have heard of them.

We first played for them in the Bad Format club at the end of April. Our previous trip there had been a pretty bleak experience, so we were a little cautious about playing there. Ever the optimist I thought that it couldn’t be that bad again. Whilst the turnout was a bit sparse (our intrepid gang of middle-aged co-conspirators made up most of the audience) we had a grand time, played well and I left with a warm glow of satisfaction. A good deal of this warm glow was down to the Frank in Talk to Frank, Mr Frank Hedges.

You meet a lot of “cool” people in this line of work. You meet a lot of people who dam up their enthusiasm for some reason. I’m not much good at that especially when it comes to getting out and making music and as far as I can tell neither is Frank. I like him for this. I also like him because he always gets back to me. I have fired off messages to numerous promoters and I think that I would not be unfair in saying that Talk to Frank is the only one I would be perfectly confident of getting a reply back from, either from Frank himself or Joanne. Good manners cost nothing after all.

Friendly, enthusiastic and they reply to messages. Frank also got out of bed to come to our gig in Parr Street for the Smiles for Japan event. Friendly, enthusiastic, replies to messages and has good taste. If I had a Christmas card list they’d be on it.

Here’s what I suggest you do. If you’re in a band and you’re looking for a gig and you’re not the sort of person who dicks people around and has unreasonable demands (not that anyone like that would be reading this I am sure) then drop him a line and ask for a gig. If you would like to know what a Talk to Frank night is like then check out his facebook page for updates. If you want to know what a Talk to Frank promoted Mashemon gig at the Lomax is like, get your arse down there on the 20th of August. I think knicker throwing would be appropriate.

Preparing Pre-Preventative Cultural Retardation Measures

Not had a gig for a whole 20 days and I have another 22 left to go before our evening in the social centre. That’s 42 days. So far this year I have had to wait 25 days at most between gigs and on average we have had a gig every 10 days. I’ll be including a full breakdown in the annual report.

Not that I have been lazy and sitting around in my dressing gown eating fondant fancies and filing my fingernails. Oh no no! There has been song writing and recording to be done. This has not been the easiest task though. The vocals and guitars for the first album were recorded in my dining room, which was quite a nice room to record in even if the rest of the house was cold and damp and horrible. Unfortunately, despite my new home being neither cold nor damp nor horrible, I now have to record in our spare bedroom. The atmosphere just hasn’t been right and I have been struggling to work out what the matter is and what I can do about it.

So I had a think and came to the conclusion that it was the fact that this house is a mid-terraced affair whereas our last place was at the end of the terrace. This meant that I could sing to my heart’s content safe in the knowledge that no one would be listening. This is not the case in our new place. I can hear our next-door neighbour’s telephone ringing most of the time, so they can definitely hear me bellowing away. And that bothers me. It makes me all shy and timid. So there was only one solution that I could think of.

Booze. Yes, a few glasses of anxiety inhibitor are definitely the answer. There’s a balance to be struck of course, I want to have the rosy glow and the inability to properly appreciate the consequences of my behaviour, but I don’t want to end up with the diction of Shane MacGowan. Don’t want anything too gassy either. Whilst my belches have a certain rich bass texture I find it quite hard to get them in tune and we don’t use any pitch adjusting techniques in Mashemon. We do a lot of other things, but that’s just not cricket.

So the recording is back on track. Our first single of the year will be a three track affair containing the following:

1. Lips Limbs Lungs
2. Dead Dog (Texas Sex Club Mix)
3. Note Left Unwritten

Should be ready for July. I am also pleased to announce that this single will feature live drums. Our rehearsals with Andy have been going extremely well, so well in fact that I have been making involuntary Rock Singer Exclamations. I have never been one to do that sort of thing, making those “woo” and “yeah” noises and letting out a bit of “huh” and “hoo” or maybe a little “ooooootakemetothebridge”. I’ve just never felt the urge. But I did the other day. We rocked like a mother. Fucker. And the R.S.E just slithered out. Not too many, I have standards, but a couple. I think my posture may have improved as well. And I definitely did more hair shaking. Whether these are welcome modifications I don’t know, you’ll have to come and watch us on the 25th of June and make your assessment then. I’m excited now and I’ve still got 22 days left to wait. By the time of the gig I’ll be so excited I won’t be able to get my trousers on.

Things are going to sound different, louder for a start. Here’s the set:

1. Guts
2. Kompressor
3. Frank Bloke
4. Another Man's Dirt
5. Sanity Check
6. Lips Limbs Lungs
7. Facts

Not 100% sure about the order yet, but that’s what we’ll be doing. Still confirming the other bands for the night, but it’ll be a grand old time. Come along and partake. If not I’ll be coming round yours and you won’t like that at all.

Too tense for trousers.

13 gigs in the bag for us. They have been a varied mix of fun, frustration and the fog of war. Now, as promised, we are going to have a few weeks of rehearsal and recording in preparation for kicking off again in late June.

Here are some things for you to expect:

1. 3 singles, each backed by a pair of B-sides.
2. 1 album.
3. 1 drummer.

So that’s 12ish new recordings and 33.33% more Mashemon. That’s really not bad. More than I’ve ever got from my subscription to Fence and Hedge Aficionado, the bi-annual publication for the discerning boundary enthusiast.

Our two May gigs were very enjoyable. Both were in support of the Smiles For Japan event and hopefully we entertained the people who turned up in support. The Thursday gig was a hoot, good sound for us to play with and nice people. The Saturday gig was a more considered and restrained event since it was early evening, we were playing our quiet set and I had not exchanged much of my blood for fizzy attitude adjuster, although I made up for that afterwards…..

Playing the quiet set for a second time was alright, but given the amount of noise we have been making of late I think it is safe to say it will be going back in the box for a little while.

It was obvious that a lot of time and effort had gone into the Smiles for Japan fundraising, and we felt proud to be a part of it and give some support. Thank you Seba for asking us along. I particularly enjoyed the man in the Dolphin suit. A triumph.

Finally I would like to say thank you to the nice woman who felt compelled to curtsy to me when we were introduced on Saturday before the gig. I like to think it was on account of my good posture and regal demeanour. Or maybe I look like the Queen. Don’t know. Carry on!

Crackity crackity snappity snappity

That’s it for April then. It was a busy old month. We played 5 gigs, of varying quality, drank more beer than was probably good for us, were subjected to some prolonged interpretive dancing and carried a lot of heavy things up and down several flights of stairs over and over again.

Our final gig of the month at the Bad Format was a hazy affair and very enjoyable to boot. Frank made us feel very welcome and was a superb host. Thanks to the Mashemon faithful for sticking it out until the bitter end and a special commendation goes to Paul for his tireless shape-throwing. Relentless.

We’ve finished two recordings – Curtains and the Texas Sex Club Mix of Dead Dog and I am currently fiddling around with finishing a third – Wear and Replace. We’ve introduced two new songs into the set – Frank Bloke and Guts - and performed our first “quiet” gig in the FACT, which was one of the highlights of the month for me. I have also purchased my first roll of gaffer tape.

You would think that we would be taking it easy after that, but you would be wrong. Last night the two headed creature that waded out of the Mersey two-ish years ago began to grow an extra head. With a beard on it. And drumsticks in its teeth. We have two more gigs in May, playing for the excellent Smiles for Japan event that is being organised by Seba Rashii and associates and then we will be wrapping ourselves in a silky cocoon until the metamorphosis is complete.

Exciting times for us then. All we have to do now is find some places to play in the second half of the year and everything will be fine and dandy. Suggestions and invitations gladly accepted.

I have belonged to all manner of hysterical curators

Four gigs go by and I return.

April has turned all busy. Since the gig in the Laugh Inn we have played at the Bumper in Liverpool, Gallery 2 at FACT for the Nerve Centre’s Insurrection and the Shakespeare in Southport. I know Dylan will probably have done as many, if not more, but I think that’s not bad going.

The Laugh Inn was good, nice venue, friendly staff and a good sound man. Thanks Daniel. We got to use their gigantic glitter ball, which lent us a glamorous air. Whilst the venue was nearly empty the only people I know in Chester came to see us, which was good of them. Thank you Kim and Andrew. I seem to recall one of Andrew’s friends telling me something important about the wiring in the place, but I can’t remember what it was. Something about danger.

Our return trip to the Bumper was challenging. For one it smells of stale beer. There were some problems with the sound, I had a little too much to drink and our playing was sub-par. That said we were the only ones who brought any people, thanks to everyone who came along, it brought a tear to my eye. Afterwards I went and drank tequila until an ungodly hour. That brought a little sick to the back of my throat.

Next up was the FACT, which made up for everything. We put together a quieter set for this one, played a new song, turned everything down and had a good time. We even did an encore, our first ever I believe, which goes to show how much we enjoyed ourselves. Special mention to Alan for an outstanding t-shirt and some quality heckling. And to Paul. He knows what he did.

What's Burt looking at?
 Dunno, could be girls.

Finally last Thursday we had a last minute appointment at the Shakespeare in Southport. This is Dan’s (who used to run the gigs at the Herald before it was sold) current base of operations. It was a good venue and sound, and we managed to get the stage area completely dark, which made the visuals look great. Unfortunately the darkness did lead to some “jazz” moments from me, but I don’t think anyone noticed. The Southport faithful came along, which was very good of them. Easy on the eye as well, which is nice.

That’s the past and that is gone. Onwards to the future. On Sunday we are in the Avenue pub in Leigh. The show starts at 20.00 so if you are in range haul your carcass along. We’ve got a 45 minute slot so we’ll be sticking in some extras. Not sure quite what though.

The Badformat on Friday the 29th will round off April and then we are into May. So far we have only two dates booked – two gigs in support of Seba Rashii’s fund raising for Japan. I’ll post details of those up nearer the time.

After May we will be going dark for a while I think. We have some things in the pipeline which we will hopefully be unleashing at the end of July, ish. And a lot of recording to get done. Watch this space, unless you’re driving in which case keep your eyes on the road and your hands where I can see them.

Always buying the wrong car

We are out on the road again next week for a couple of gigs. On Tuesday we are off to Chester to support an electronic duo called Schmoo at the Laugh Inn. The comedian Rob Deering was at the Laugh Inn a few weeks back. I heckled him on a drunken night out in Brighton. I also heckled Jim Rosthental’s son that night. It was not the best night ever. The morning after was worse.

Moving swiftly on.

I don’t know what to expect from the Laugh Inn. In my mind all I can see is a series of tables surrounded by polite middle class families, like a matinee performance at Butlins. I’m pretty certain it won’t be like that. Although if it is I’m sure the assembled middle class families will enjoy our new tune Frank Bloke. As your old school comedian might say “it’s a bit blue”. Not Blue as in “Duncan from Blue looked at me and I think he fancies me”. But blue as in “encore de le smut sil vous plait.”

That’s Tuesday. On Friday we are going to be supporting another electronic duo, these ones being called Sister Gracie, at the Bumper in Liverpool. I see a pattern forming. We are being pared up with electronic duos, like pandas in the zoo. Maybe these promoters would like us to mate and breed. I’m not sure it would work, the biology wouldn’t have it. No babies, just spunky colons.

Is “spunky colon” going too far? We’re all friends here, I’m sure you won’t be offended. And if you are it’s your own fault.

I can’t really remember what it was I disliked about Jim Rosthental’s son. Hang on, yes, it’s coming to me. He wasn’t very funny. There you go. Apparently he’s doing a sit-com on Channel 4 soon. Good for him.

 



They said "Get Courtney" 
Which one, Walsh?

I’m writing a sit-com at the moment actually. It’s called Bucket. There will be a cast of four main characters. One will be zany, one will be thick but lovable, one will be witty and urbane and the main character will be a universal everyman, like Kirk in Star Trek or Hannibal Lector. The women will all have nice boobs and the men will have tight bums and firm jaws and they will all have amazing hair. It will be set in Manhattan and they will each have swanky apartments and jobs which they never seem to go to. The series will revolve around their amazing friendship which came about when they all met at a meth and sex orgy where they bludgeoned a blind orphan to death and fed the corpse to swine. 

 

I think I will call episode 72 “The one with the spunky colon”. It’ll be hilarious, grimly hilarious.







 

If you love your neighbours lift your weights in the nude



The buzz lasted for about 2 days. Now it is gone and I need another dose. Saturday night at the Herald in Southport was great. I was genuinely pleased with what we did and how well it all went. Need to get the suit cleaned though because it was a sweaty one.



Iron Age bubble, found in
Budleigh Salterton last Thursday



We shared the evening with two other bands. First up were Ratty Little Fingers, who were very enjoyable and folksy. I felt a bit sorry for the banjo player who had to stand at the business end of a bubble machine. It did occur to be that if you had a grudge against someone making them stand at the business end of a bubble machine would be a reasonably passive aggressive application of your grudge. Pissing in the bubble machine first would elevate this, but I’m not sure where to. I am sure there is a word or phrase for it somewhere in the world, possibly in a culture that is more urine centric.

The Star Turn of the evening was Vision Thing who were excellent and anthemic and majestic. Their drummer, Matt, has now recovered from a fractured back which I hear he received in a no holds barred mixed martial arts death match somewhere in the Devonshire countryside. Rumour has it that he owns a necklace of human ears, trophies from his previous bouts. I would ask but I need my ears to tuck my hair behind when I am trying to eat.

Now I have to wait a whole 3 and a bit days until the next one, which is in Manchester. I don’t know what to expect but I am sure we will have a grand old time. The night is organised by a band called Floone. I imagine a Floone is some kind of technical term in the steel-making industry, or maybe textiles. Something along the lines of:

“Eee lad, watch thou face on’t floone, it’ll take ee nose clean off. Thun yule haff to go hoom with it in tut hankercheef fur tut muther to sew back t’ont face.”

I’m not saying it definitely is; only that it probably definitely is. I can’t think of a more plausible explanation. I will ask and then let you know because that's what I do.

In other news you may have noticed that we have a new song on youtube called Curtains. If you listen to it and like it why not leave a comment? In fact, you could leave a comment here or there. Or even on the wall of a public toilet, if you can find one.

I think that's about it so I'll stop. My knee hurts and I don't know why.

I thanked the hatamoto for letting me leave with my nose

A week went past without a gig. Everyone else in the world seemed to have a gig, but we did not. This is an unhelpful thought. Unhelpful thoughts occur to everybody, arriving unbidden and hanging around like odious lodgers who default on their rent before leaving in the night with your wife and goldfish.

This unhelpful thought is compounded by the fact that I believe the hype about emails, I believe it in the same manner that some people believe in God, at an emotional, visceral and impossibly irrational level. Emails are fast, so that means replies will be fast, so that means if I send someone an email there is no reason why I should have to wait any time whatsoever for a reply because the rest of the world is just sat waiting to reply to ME. This is quite evidently the thought process of a lunatic.

Consequently when I send off an email to someone who is looking for bands to play at their venue I enter a shameful spiral of constant inbox checking and growing anxiety. It becomes an unnatural preoccupation. Some people do reply quickly, setting the bar for everyone else. Some people never reply at all, which is not good. Strangely enough very few people fall in the middle of these extremes.

It’s the lack of reply which is the worst bit. It would be easy to just shrug it off and go “hey, relax, them’s the breaks” and so forth. Unfortunately I have not perfected my shrug yet. Instead my intestines seem to slowly wrap themselves around my lungs, getting tighter with every passing day without a reply until, when a critical pressure is reached, the black bubble of impatience bursts and I roar, usually in Mike’s car on the way to rehearsal “Fuck them. Fuck them in the ear!”

Waiting whilst being manly

You see, it isn’t the rejection that hurts. Rejection is tolerable. Never getting a response is akin to having no voice, to simply being ignored. Of course there are many reasons why a response may not be forthcoming, mostly mundane and administrative in nature. That’s why you deploy the follow-up email strategy. To have your follow-up email disappear into the void is harrowing.

The wounds heal of course, but like the rejection of a lover or the death of a pet, they never really go away. Sometimes I wake up screaming or I will be found checking my inbox in my sleep. At times like these I have asked my nurse that I be restrained and sedated. It is for my own good I reason. One day I awoke to find that I had daubed “Good Manners Cost Nothing” in foot high letters of excrement across the dining room walls. Another time I challenged a promoter to a duel to the death with pistols at dawn. The bounder never showed though. It is with sadness then that I must conclude that whilst I am indeed quite mad, it is the moral decay of the nation which has made it so. God Save the Queen.

Mighty Agrippa, Roman God of the Aqueduct!

Yes, I had a haircut. I had my hair cut whilst watching the Italians almost beating the Irish. I had my hair cut because it was too long and I kept getting it in my mouth, or my dinner, or both. Utterly ridiculous.

Later that day we had a gig in the Shipping Forecast. I think we played a blinder. After months of creaky vocal performances I actually managed to do a proper one, without wheezing or croaking much at all. I even did a bit of showing off, not that anyone would have noticed. I didn’t do a Christina Aguilera. Well, I did in as much as I got some words wrong, but not in the overblown melodic mangling way.

So we played a good gig, but not to many people. Most of the people were elsewhere doing something important and vital I suspect, rather than listening to us although the ones who did listen to us were much appreciated. Whatever it was they were doing some of them had evidently finished it by the time the Speed Pets went on and the rest of them finished after that in time to catch the headliners Rialto Burns. I didn’t ponder this at length or out loud to anyone stood nearby whether they were interested or not. If you happened to have thought I was then that was an imposter.

Jupoopitar yesterday

After that we went and ate some chips. Or maybe we had a drink. I’m not completely sure which one came first. I do know that someone had lethal wind and it wasn’t me. And I do remember stating that everything we do is pointless when considered on an interplanetary scale, and there was something about the music of the spheres or something along those lines.

I thought of a new name for Jupiter. Made me laugh. Shut up.

Oh yes, and we decided that we are going to do a series of open air gigs at random locations of interest which we may or may not tell anyone about. I’m not sure where we got up to with that or whether it came before the chips or after the chips or what. Mike did not dance though. And someone used the phrase “a different set of boobs every day”. I have tried to uncover the meaning of this but so far it has eluded me. Send your answers on the back of sock to the usual address.

Now go boil your head.

Tinned Peaches

First gig of the year is in the can. We had a pleasant evening in the Mello Mello, albeit a long one. I think that by the time I got onto stage I was a little more “relaxed” than was optimum. Still, I think we got away with it.

It was a long night though, so thanks to everyone who came along and stuck it out until the bitter end. Thanks also to everyone who came along with the intention of sticking it out until the bitter end but had to go home. We won’t hold it against you. It’s a lovely feeling to see people who have turned up specifically to see us perform. Gives me a warm feeling in my belly.

Set list for the night went thus:

1. Curtains

2. Lips Limbs Lungs

3. Facts

4. Hell Jim Hell

5. More

6. Dull Boy

7. Sanity Check

We’re changing it for the next few gigs and it will go a little something like this:

1. Curtains

2. Dull Boy

3. Facts

4. Another Man’s Dirt (new)

5. Dead Dog (Texas Sex Club Mix)

6. Lips Limbs Lungs

7. Sanity Check

A bit of a change and some new ones. Got to keep ourselves on our respective toes.

Our calendar has been filling up nicely. Here’s what is in it so far:

1. Dance on Toast at Mello Mello – 19th January DONE!

2. Shipping Forecast – 5th February

3. Shipping Forecast – 17th February

4. The Herald in Southport – 26th February

5. Ducie Bridge in Manchester – 4th March

I think that we are planning to put on one of our own nights in March, so watch this space. Or one of the other spaces which we have. Watch the spaces.