Tonight on 6 Music...

After all the naval gazing and the relatively pointless self obsessing self I feel strangely content and alive. It’s not nearly sooooo bad. Winding myself up and such. Still a few points I made probably need clarification, namely, the brand Vinny Peculiar will continue at least for the time being and not because I received a million emails begging me not to abandon the guise, no, I didn’t receive anything like. The ones I did were from mates who politely enquired ‘have you flipped’? To which I have responded yes and no. I’m still not sure. Only time will tell. What I do know is that I’m speaking with the right honourable Rob Hughes on BBC 6 Music at 8.30 tonight in his parallel universe. The subject matter is the rise and rise of new lad culture, brit pop and the like. Should be a nice change from all of this. See you there or there abouts, VPx

Hoax

I had a hoax phone call last night from some bloke who wanted his ladders back, as wind ups go twas a sorry little stab. Sometimes friends surprise in the dumbest of ways in their attempts to achieve exactly what I’m not sure. I am still trying to figure it out. In truth I am a songwriter losing belief in himself hence the recent destructive rambling and the sense of impending excape from a character who has lost his sense of character to some alternative notion or thing…like starting afresh maybe? Am I heading in the wrong direction… probably. I could always blame Christmas for relaxing the rules as feelings flutter and flip, stutter and die laughing. Why not put it all to bed and start again? I need a new gay bag, a new guitar, a new amp, some new face wash and a new identity. I need a reason to continue or a reason to stop-whatever- but…I am vain and I am blind and hate people when they're not for life, still,there are shows to play and songs to finish so best get on with it before it’s too late…..that kind of thing will have to do for now, rebuild, repair remodel, reinvent...the subject is now officially under discussion, VP x

Misery is not an option

From the previous posting I almost forgot…misery is not an option; who needs it. Agony is more my cup of tea but it’s conformity that has me in its seasonal grip, stupid telly, too much to drink, metaphysical turkeys everywhere. Of course I’ve been lolling around aimlessly. No PC and no guitars, no piano practice and no exploding treacle tarts; just another book by Howard Marks and one about time travel, an Aston Villa mug [not unlike myself], reliable biscuits off Auntie Nora and a holiday we still haven’t sorted because we’re both sooooo busy, now aren’t we? Everything temporarily aborted. I feel away in a manger when what I should be doing is updating this site with news of impending un-missible must see do and hear activities on behalf of the artist known as Vinny Peculiar- but to be honest with you I can’t be arsed. Respectfully…If you’re bothered you can check the tour dates. There are a few shows in the pipeline and the odd radio thing, if you’re not bothered then neither am I. I think I’ve already mentioned the US album release so yeah…it’s not a problem. I don’t want to keep reminding you of gigs and releases and all that promo-jazz. Still if you fancy it you could always kick start the message board again now it’s back in business, I got rid of the spam the other day…there I go again, looking for favours. What I think I’m trying to say is that I’m sick of self promotion. Numb to my digital numbskull. Perhaps it’s post release inertia? But there’s something really unhealthy about it. It can make you feel like a right phoney and I don’t want to feel like that. Not today anyway. I don’t want you to feel like I’m living in some exaggerated show off zone, so this is a little plea for something more tangible, though naturally I’ve no idea exactly what. Letting go of the old ego has a nice ring to it. It’s something that I’m working on. I think I’d like to make better connections somehow with people who stumble into this and into that and still want something more. I’m a writer, well I think I am and I understand that bit, if you’re interested in hearing what I do then great, buy a record, listen to something, read a poem, criticize it. In the meantime I won’t try and sway or persuade you either way. It’s your decision. Am I any good…and if so tell me why I’m not? Help me give up. Help me start again. Help me change direction. Help me keep my feet on the ground [that’s kind of what’s happening here I think]. Let me into your home and I’ll play a gig, all you need to do is feed me. Oh yeah and lets capture the whole thing and shove it up on you-tube. That goes without saying. Better still lets make the gig a secret and never tell a soul about it. It is fascinating though, you must admit, reading other peoples sites, the lengths people go to sell themselves, relentlessly bullshitting, lying and distorting their truths and all in the name of fame, or whatever that thing is that changes your life for ever, lets you be the real you, the sensitive talented persona that you always believed in, the overnight sensation, the very wonder of you. Well… BOLLOX to all that. My new year’s resolution will be to undersell everything I do, ignore all positive media possibilities and sabotage any hint of success, no matter how small. Accept myself and who I am and hopefully get to know you too. Therapy session ends, 16.36, Boxing Day 06. Now I think it best I just sod off and leave myself alone…until the next time, VP x

Another Year

We end up in a church that’s now a bar, there are only a few of us and it’s the end of year work’s bash. I remain sober and observe; a couple of lesbian princesses catch my eye, strikingly beautiful they appear to possess a rare and graceful elegance. I get a bit carried away. The women I’m with chat up the barman who’s a McFly wannabe all hair sculpt angles and baby faced charm, he’s making a right old racket shaking his cocktails and Rachel asks him if he’s that noisy in bed. He blushes, the women giggle and whoop as the lesbians kiss and blow smoke rings. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Perhaps I am feeling some way adrift of the seasonal mood, no drink, no fun and no real truth. That would be even worse. John and I debate the nature of happiness and agree that it’s an emotion best defined by memory. The here and now seems way too fraught and complex to rationalise. Am I happy??…well kind of but ???... is the inevitable response. McFly brings us more drinks. Man at the urinal tells me the Liverpool game is postponed due to fog. A girl falls over and I ponder on meaning of the phrase ‘spread eagled’. Time passes slowly, anther bottle of wine, shorts for the girls, I attempt to leave early but it’s impossible. We’ve been here since the early afternoon, we’ve done the true confessions, numbered and in some cases described our sexual partners in great detail, suggested a colleague we would sleep with if we weren’t attached, bitched about the people we detest …all the usual nonsense and then finally we’re gone, kerb crawling our way along Seel Street back to the PCT car park. I’m freezing. The M62 is blanketed in the white stuff, I sense a migraine in waiting and drink half a bottle of mineral water, feel even colder. I was never any good at having fun and it would appear from tonight’s attempt that nothings changed, another year another year another year. Happy Christmas and thanks for the support, VPx

Wigan

I’m getting increasingly perplexed by the RAC’s online directions as Craig and I lost in Wigan searching for the Tavern; as it transpires we’re not the only ones. When we arrive, Ben, the bands very own human sat nav is, much to our amazement, still skirting the ring roads. He arrives soon after. This has happened before and I’m sure it’ll happen again. We load in and drink Guinness with Neil the affable Landlord of this busy thriving establishment. He keeps a great pint. The stage is way up in the rafters and acts as a heat trap so we’re knackered just doing the sound check which passes off OK despite the onstage collisions; it’s just a lack of space thing. We eat at a busy Chinese restaurant half a mile down the main street in the midst various work’s nights out and play name that workforce before ambling back in time to catch a few of the bands. The first one we see are doing their first ever gig and are notable for their singer who doesn’t make eye contact with audience throughout the set. We like this gimmick and advise them of such later. I can’t for the life of me remember their name. Karen has rewritten our set order and it works; 45minutes later we’re selling CDs with decent feedback from new and known faces. We’re not gigging much over Christmas and I’m looking forward to the break. I might even go on holiday. We record a new live DVD mid Jan and more gigs are being added through early 2007. The new album gets it’s a US release in Feb so we’re looking at tour possibilities over there in April/May time. The financial logistics are a bit of a nightmare still nothing new there then. We’ll see what happens, VP

Bad Signal

Sometimes I don’t recognise myself and I take all the wrong turns, end up craving Sat Nav or a decent map. Right now I can’t think and I can’t speak, I just sort of float on like the song as any old song will have to do. I fear I have acquired writers block, or writer’s loss or something like that. Although this is hardly a matter of life and death…I grant you that. I spent ages today writing and re writing stuff that just wont sit still. Lie down. Work out. Come clean. Nothing goes to plan. Satisfaction…I can’t get no. I re read stuff and I listen back and I want to die, well not quite, but it rhymed so there you go. Some days are just torment and disgust. I think Bukowski said that but I’m not really sure. Here I am, likening myself to some great notion of artistry or other and hitting none of the buttons, making all the wrong noises, blowing an obvious trumpet when I needed a delicate cello. Sometimes it all feels so meaningless. Like a relationship I have with my imagination, one that says I should but I can’t when I need to. It’s been awhile since the riddles got the better of me. These things will pass and when they do we will kiss and make up. Until then it’s just me myself and I. Hard Candy here I come. VP x

Fish that Smoke

We’re off to Brixton and we’re running late, Craig and Ben bag the front seat for queasy reasons. Geoff has already taken the gear in Spooner’s van and is probably on his first pint by the time we set off. Spooner is working for The Feeling and yes I still have his mics which I’ll be returning soon. It’s Friday afternoon and the usual traffic nonsense is very much in evidence. Bonehead’s at the wheel of a new mini bus, a spacious little number and comfy too. I occupy the back seat and think how I used to covert the old back seat position on school trips when the back seat was the place to be. I also start to fantasise about Jackie Whitehurst’s mini skirt but you don’t really want to know that. Best move on in every sense. The journey is arduous. We make our way slowly across town, everywhere looks the same, there’s no proper ring road and the streets are too narrow. The houses are massive and there are always too many people about. In short London makes me paranoid. I’ve never liked it much. Too big for it’s own bearings. I got lost as a kid when on a Natural History Museum trip and ended up keeping the coach party waiting, the teacher, a regular tyrant known as Old Stone Face gave me the slipper in front of the class. I was ashamed embarrassed and humiliated; perhaps this has shaped my perspective. We arrive at 7.30pm and loaf around JAMM where we have an all night liquid rider, bar vouches and a few nibbles. There are cream crackers under the dressing room settee but nobody notices; it’s just me still pondering on the Alan Bennet Talking heads DVD I watched again after not seeing it in years and regularly talking about it with my daughter [who did it for A Level]. I was once again moved and charmed and sweetened by the masterful monologues, as was Lynne our American houseguest. At the venue Geoff has loaded in and the supports are sound checking. The apparent confusion from the sound engineer’s perspective is just front…he really knows what he’s doing despite the stage being overcrowded with amps and pedals and all kinds of rock n roll debris. We miss all the supports as we’re late checking into the hotel which is a 45 minute cab trip away. When we finally get on around 11.30 everything sounds great. Feedback is good [from the audience as opposed to the amps] and everyone settles into Mike and Boneheads DJ extravaganza. Top Night is I think the technical term for what follows. Back at the hotel Karen, Craig and I discuss the merits of hygiene and make lists of bands with animal names before retiring at 5am like proper rock n roll people. Bonehead calls me from the hotel bar at 10 am the next day; Mike is somewhere in Brixton with the fee, we need the fee to pay the hotel. Five hours later we eventually get out of London. What happens in-between you may well wonder but if I told you you’d never believe me. I get home for match of day positively knackered in a good way. VP

Monsoon M6

The weather is at best a depressing subject especially when it’s a nice day and everyone mentions it, but really tonight was a bit special. We left The Mailbox around 1.30am after a pleasing session for Janis Longs bbc radio 2 show where we had the benefits of a great sound engineer as well as the luxury of individual mixes and enjoyed a light of heart deep of soul chin wag with Janis who must rank as one of the worlds warmest human beings to be working in one of the world’s coldest of industries. Apologies for my lapse into media cynicism …it’s a bad habit of mine that sort of comes with the territory. Janis was very sweet and reminded us that Vinny Peculiar is not heard on the radio as often as should be. Naturally I agreed and mumbled some kind of whys and wherefores that seemed to make perfect sense at the time. Now I am curious to hear it again so will be accessing the listen again feature once I’ve woken up. Go ahead and have a listen if you get the chance. The journey home was truly awful, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a wild rain storm, at one point there was simply no visibility. It was as if we were underwater. The M6 can be a scary drive at the best of times but this was fearsome. We are humbly grateful to Bonehead for driving. We play Brixton tomorrow, VPx