VP Soup- some background info

It all started in Belfast in May 2004 when I was sharing a flat with Bill Drummond the KLF supremo and as the tabloids formerly noted; cash burning art terrorist. Of course there was more to it than that but you knew that already. If you didn’t you really are on the wrong website. I met Bill in Belfast last year where we were both artists in residence at the Cathedral Arts Festival, Bill visual, me musical. Most of my time there was taken up compering and playing support gigs [all gigs in one place -hooray no driving!], poetry slamming and spoken word jamming [the most competitive yet civilised group of literary buff-rappers you could ever wish to meet] and female comedian minding [twice as demanding as any musicians I’ve ever met…truly shuddersome precious southern types]. Anyway, in the main it was all very nice. The new VP band did it’s first gig there in the John Hewit Pub…perhaps you were there, anyway, I’m digressing here. Back to Bill who as well as wooing the City Council with his installation ‘Twinned with your Wildest Dreams’ which had remained suspended beside the motorway from the official ‘Welcome to Belfast’ sign for some four months previous Bill had a number of appointments scheduled with local people to make soup. This was the result of a SOUP LINE he created between Nottingham and Belfast -a part whim, part dare, part why not kind of project with the capacity to evolve and endure and connect. People living on the line had been invited to contact Bill for Soup and they did just that via a network of Librarys, websites and flyers. Why Soup everyone asked? Because it’s a nice thing to do became the standard reply. A couple of weeks ago John Hirst the instillation artist who works with Bill called me up and gave me some new dates, the first for awhile, and that is how we got to where we are today. Sale Amazing thing coincidence, it’s all a bit unreal as I’m speaking to Julie from Analogue Cat the studio we recorded at last summer. Julies partner Rob contacted Bill regarding the Soup line and finally we have a date. This was clearly meant to happen. Julie’s house [she’s selling it and in my dreams I’m buying it…it’s a seriously beautiful house] is also her recording studio so it makes absolute sense to record the show here, something that I’ve been doing on other Soup events with only a mini disc player and to be honest very ad hoc results. Great stuff, I speak with Bill and John and we talk in riddles of coincidence. Sometime later and the very day is upon us. I get to Julie and Robs [the Analogue Cats], around 5pm, Andrew a fine artist who lives half a mile away from me has come along to eat and greet as his Mums on holiday and he cant work the microwave. He went to university with John Hirst but he’s proper artist with none of Johns conceptual mumbo jumbo. We set up a mic in the lounge and Bill and John arrive soon after having been driven over from Norwich by Gimpo. It feels a bit like a happening [or what I imagine a happening might feel like]as people slowly drift in, invited guests and neighbours as well as some very posh cats. Bill gets to work on the Soup. Gimpo is filming and pretty soon there's a house full. Soup is served around 9pm, by which time everyone is starving. Mike rings to say he can’t make it [he’s collecting some tiles from St Helens], Andy is at a party and Rob [Ferrier] is having a sulk. So much for my guest list. After we’ve eaten I play several songs to a lounge full of people I’m just starting to get to know better. A guy called Ross knows something about Baz Ader who inspired the song 'I’m too sad to tell you’ from the Growing up record so naturally I have to play it. We are a cosy gathering of musos, promoters labelists and art bluffers. All seem polite and engaged and do well to sustain attention for a set that lasts an hour or so [I played longer than usual].I even managed a Talking Heads cover. Andrew did his best to insult John. John reminded me that I get more and more camp the longer I play. Thanks John for that…you look like Peter Blake. Bill and John are staying over with Rob and Julie, I get off home late and drop Andrew at the chip shop on the way, VPx

Burnley

The Circulation Club is for sale, it says so right here on the internet, the auction is next week. I’m printing off a map of Burnley having not been there for sometime, last gig if I recall was at The Mechanics with Nils Lofgren in the CMP Theatre support days; a lot of water under bridges since. I collect Spooner from Middleton; he’s lending me an amp, an old Fender Bassman which just about fits the back seat. Spoon is back home rebuilding his studio and recovering after five shows with Soundtrack of our Lives in the US, he’s bit knackered. We get to the club and arrive at precisely the same time as the others. We’re in central Burnley alongside a new estate and a carpet factory. We get met by a 10 year old boy in a cowboy hat who turns out to the drummer in one of the bands. And what an amazing drummer he was, like a mini Keith Moon. I didn’t get his name or the name of the band, which is typical of me and slightly annoying. Sorry about that. The club is all retro kitsch Phoenix Nights, there’s a mirror ball and bizarrely a snug. We know the sound guy John from the Witchwood [very good he is too] still we take forever to get a decent sound as the monitors seem to be wired all wonky. The new amp I’m borrowing is also not as expected so I end up fiddling around and around with the sound. I overdo the details and then I really can’t tell anymore. I make do. Pre gig we get to play darts and snooker. Mike and Ben are regular ocky jockeys. I’m not exactly a natural for the arrows, best leave it at that. The gig goes well despite the lack of people. January is difficult month…like it says so in the promoter’s bible. Mike ends up wearing a bin liner. End of the night and I get a migraine from hell, manage to drive home but only just. Then I’m as sick as a dog. This is a pattern with me and not a very nice one,I must drink more water in future, VPx

Cork

We get an early start and make good headway to Cork, there’s even some motorway which is nice. We arrive earlier than expected and settle into the venue to watch the Man U v Villa game, naturally the camp is divided, Andy and Ben are United fans, Mike is more than happy [being a city fan] to have allegiances with any team that plays United and that includes my team, so we’re kind of equal. The Landlord sensibly puts us in a bar of our own when he realises we don’t all support the reds as everyone in his packed bar do. Better safe than sorry. So here we are in a little bar of our own with the TV and the hospitality ale and some snacks. All in all a result I’d say. Then out of nowhere Tim and Ann appear. Tim’s a local writer and friend who’s been working on the Irish press angle, we immediately order more drinks and catch up on gossip. We were planning on staying over at Tim’s place after the show but it’s seventy miles away and going to be too much of a rush so we have to decline. We really must plan these things better in future. After the match [United win comfortably] we head off to do a radio interview and song which is a brief stroll through the town away. We chat about the single, the DJ plays it and we do a strictly Sunday school version of Jesus Stole my Girlfriend with Sally Army tambourine and shakers [Mike] and organic melodica [Ben]. Andy’s having a sulk because there’s no DI for the bass guitar [again!]. We head back to the venue to sound check,it's on the second floor and has recently been overhauled, posh PA and new seats, very nice it looks too. They even have some sandwiches for us, the mashed potato ones are surprisingly appealing. So far so good as we head off back to the hotel with Tim and Ann for an evening meal and a wash. We’re back in time to catch some of the support, the delightfully monikered ‘My Evil Ex’, and I’m thinking sure, I can relate to that. The singer sports a Mohican but they’re more interesting than punk, more like a folk metal band. I’m also borrowing their gear, an old Roland Combo, so thanks guys for that, much appreciated. Just as we’re about to go on and languishing on stage I realise Mike has disappeared into god knows where, word is he’s left sticks at the hotel so in the meantime Ben and I meet The Corks side stage where we end up taking pictures and generally behaving like the gig is over before its started. Nobody seemed unduly concerned that we are by now half an hour late starting. I love that about Ireland, no worries and no hurry. The gig flys by and for the main we’re happy with it, I think we played better in Galway but Mike disagrees. This is certainly a great way to end a mini tour, alongside some wonderful hospitality with friends. We say goodbye to Tim and Ann and by then times pushing on. I settle up and the venue is pretty much empty after an obligatory indie disco beer sliding Smith diving chest baring finale. I smoke a crafty cigarette on the street below and meet a woman who guesses my star sign as I guess hers too with surprising accuracy. Bizzare that. The Corks are also there and experimenting with alcohol. Lots and lots of it. As the venue closes we go downstairs to the pub expecting a lock in and finding a jam packed boozer, its 4am, amazing. The Corks are just about standing, they entertain us with their stories most of which are so unbelievable they have to be true. They are huge fans of the old Rock n Roll Weetabix, Andy has tried it and recommends, you just use baileys instead of milk for a perfect hair of the dog, apparently. Then we’re back to the hotel which we find with relative ease even without Ben who’s still out supping. In the morning we get food from a bar [so many bars here we could almost be anywhere in Europe as they are all starting to look the same] and head off north to Dublin stopping off for some of the slowest and the most tasteless fast food known to man. On the boat Mike loses the money he won on the way over to the same Japanese croupier. I’m just grateful that the crossing is calm, pleasant even, then we’re home and dry, VPx

Galway

Is pretty much due east as far as you can go and we’re up and off and have missed breakfast naturally. It’s long old drive. We stop off half way to allow Mike some spontaneous shopping time for a mirror no less. Always the mirror…and it’s still Christmas in Ireland; seasons greetings signs remain on several houses. No rush then; exactly. We arrive in good time and Galway looks pretty and sleepy and covered in mist n drizzle. My kind of place. We locate the hotel and head off to the sound check. Roisin Dubh is a neat little venue tucked away behind a pub with a homely pine table ambience, American Music Club play here in a weeks time which is good enough for me, I love that band, well I used to, when I was lost in Americana, then I came back to where I belong; still they are pretty cool none the less. I have the very same conversation with the promoter who greets us with a huge pot of tea and some flap jack [and you can’t really go wrong with flap jack now can you]. The smoking ban in Ireland means a regular trip out doors to indulge. This is good for me as it takes that little extra effort to engage still I succumb to the odd temptation and loiter by the canal which runs behind the venue. It’s a cool way to meet people. There’s an American guy who looks all ZZ Topish with scary beard and Bush bashing verbals. Mike and I are simultaneously captivated and petrified. Then Ben gets talking to him but all fizzes out as neither can make out each others accent. After the sound check we get some pizza and eat it when Windings is on. Windings is the stage name, just one man vocal and guitar with a lot of delay, clever layered stuff, mellow songs which reminded me of John Martyn. Then we’re on and up for it in a bigger way than last night, a more energised set ensues and we’re happy with the performance; the reaction also is good. I get to sell CDs as Andy and Mike do the celebrity shuffle. Then we are entertained by the greatest rock covers band I have ever seen [and I've seen a few believe me]. They are called Salad Circus and have the whole Jimmy Page John-Paul Jones thing off to a tee. Great players [as the musos say].We all really enjoy them and thank them afterwards for the loan of the gear [thanks guys]. Then we’re back in the four to a room hotel room with the Rourke ipod and more beer. We even wake up in time for breakfast, VPx

Pond Hoppers

We’ve had these Irish dates booked for awhile, Dublin, Galway and Cork still it’s all bit last minute and DIY when it comes to booking the hotel rooms and the mini bus. We settle on the ferry, Ben knows the way naturally and will be driving. There’s bit of a weather problem; we check with the Ferry Company, it’s sailing alright, but expect delays and a severe test of the sea legs. Hmmm…I try not to think about it. The last time I did this I was incredibly sick and now it’s all coming back in anticipatory dread. So better be prepared. This crossings at 3pm so at mid day I take a couple travel sickness pills [Stugeron 15mg] which we’ve had knocking around for some time [they’re five years out of date], then to be safe I take a couple more when we get to Hollyhead. That should do the trick. Ben is driving, Mike is sleeping and Andy is playing golf on the ibook. I feel sick already. On the boat at last and feeling slightly out of sink after 2 pints of Cider [probably not the best choice] and I’m face down in the corner of the bar as the boat does that lurching and swaying thing. Unpleasant as it feels I manage to avoid throwing up. The rest of the band, naturally are absolutely fine. Mike and Andy play pontoon with a guy from South Africa who loses £900 in two hours which is pretty good going for a loser. Later on they drag me up on deck for some air. We get to Dublin around 7pm where Ed the charming man from CPU meets us at the dock and we follow him on his bike to Whelans. After another pint of ill advised local brew I’m feeling a bit better yet kind of spaced out and drifty, like I’m here but I’ve not really arrived yet. I am of course party to blame for this as alcohol and me hardly get along at the best of times. I order some food that somehow doesn’t materialise. By the time we’re onstage I’m a bit more tired and a little less fired than I should be still the band rises to the occasion and we get there in the end. After the show we’re back to the hotel which is a couple of miles cross town but on arrival I realise I’ve left my bag at the venue, by then it’s two am. Ben then drives me back to the venue without getting even remotely lost no hesitation and no deviation in a feat of skill that amazes. Ben has that ability to know where you are wherever you are, in truth the guys a genius. Finally bedded as Andy cranks up the ipod and then it’s all over until the 7am wake up call to feed the meter as we’re in restricted parking. Nobody wakes up; we get away with it, VPx