Jon Byrne

I’m in Analogue Cat, my favourite studio, recording Jon Byrne, who, in my humble opinion is Britain’s most exciting young folk singer. I’m here co producing his debut EP with Rob Ferrier, we haven’t worked together for a couple of years but it doesn’t take us long to get in the swing boys…as Clinic once so aptly said. You may well already know that Rob produced the first Clinic album which set them on the dizzy road to an appearance on The Letterman Show and most recently supports with Radiohead and The Arcade Fire. I’m still miffed that I missed their recent show at the local Arena, and to think we could have blagged a guest list place if we’d been more organised. The studio is situated in Mossley, top Mossley to be precise and we have the luxury of overnight accommodation in this wonderful old Victorian manor house. It’s a traditional old school basement recording set up, two inch tape and there’s no computer. We chose it accordingly with Jon in mind. Mike [Joyce] plays drums on day one on a couple of the songs and we nail everything by early evening, still always a bit messy on the first day with Rob and Jools [studio owner and session engineer] spending forever sorting out the mics. I get into a conversation with Julie on the merits of the 414 but pretty soon I’m lost in my technical ignorance and leave the setting up bit to Rob who’s more microphone savvy than I’ll ever be. German mics, Australian mics, Russian mics, American mics…hmm, now where were we. Mike, John and I run through some beat options. The term Folk-Glam emerges which sort of sums up the mood we’re after, stomping floor toms and long cymbal splashes that sustain seemingly forever…it’s a great sounding live room. Jon and Mike play to click; later we record more guides for the other songs and Jon performs a truly haunting version of his song ‘Child Killer’ which leaves us all kind of breathless. It’s very powerful song, intended as a guide but Rob and I discuss it later and we’re both thinking it was so much more than that; listening back the next day and realise we have the take. Then we add bass, more acoustic guitars and get a few more vocals out of Jon which we comp later that night. In the morning we wonder into town and are delighted to discover the E-Mouse brik a brack emporium. Rob bought some tools for his Blacksmith forge, the one he’s recently built in his garage. I bought a little yellow ashtray with a sailor on it. Not sure quite what that says about our respective personas but should you feel the need you can draw your own conclusions. We leave the studio around midnight on day three having added some final guitars and organ. If the mixing runs as smoothly as the tracking we’ll be laughing. More on this to follow, VP x

Barrow

Boneheads driving and he has a chest infection, I’m surviving despite a mouth ulcer and a sore throat. It’s a grey day and we all meet up at mine for tea and toast, Bens travelling with Mike, there’s a functional air to the gathering, like a last supper of sorts as this is the last gig for a while….and it feels a bit like an add on or a friends request, we set off and arrive without stopping, Mike and Ben beat us to it but only just. The Nines is a revamped and incredibly plush modern night club, a gaudy mirror balled disco palace kind of place. It feels incredibly clean and I’m not complaining, just thinking how Craig would have loved it. The stage has a gold lamer drape and a couple of pole dancing risers. This is a club with pedigree appeal, it says so on the flyers, whatever that means. We sound check and go back to the hotel, Mike and Ben are staying over, and Bonehead and I are getting off afterwards. My throat is feeling a bit better and so far I’ve managed to avoid the fags. It’s a quaint little family hotel, the foyer walls are covered in photos of politicians, we play spot the Tory, there’s Heath, Knott, Widdecombe, Balmy Boris, Tarzan, it’s a right old mug fest; enough to put you off the place. People are arriving at the venue as we do, by taxi, and we catch something of the support, a solo American called Peter I think his name was, he wasn’t my cup of tea or any of the bands for that matter but some people found him entertaining. He didn’t get booed off or anything. He was kind of engaging, but somehow in all the wrong places. Jon Byrne plays next and it’s refreshing to see someone with a genuine passion, I’ve seen Jon before and his set is typically intense. Jon was born to be on a stage and as Mike quite accurately observes, he looks uncomfortable everywhere else. I couldn’t agree more. Our show is good; surprisingly people seem somewhat reserved. Bonehead has his own little fan club here as it’s something of an Oasis town people inform me. Afterwards we say hello to people we sort of know but don’t really and sign tickets for girls with impossibly attractive accents, then we leave, Bonehead and I, not quite at the speed of sound but getting there. This has the last band show for awhile and I’d just like to thank everyone who came along to support us…it’s very much appreciated as ever. VP

Brixton

We have a day off and drive east out of Cardiff along the M4 heading for Windsor which seems close enough to London but not too close if you know what I mean. We’ve already visited the music shops and Ben’s bought a blue ukulele for his son. Of course we all have to have a go. Bonehead is the by far the fastest learner and entertains us on route with a startling rendition of his now famous [as far as we’re concerned] major minor song. His head is healing nicely. It passes the time. We stop off at a country pub and put our feet up on the tables before getting politely asked to remove them. We locate the Travel Lodge but there’s nowhere to park so we end up with inches to spare in an underground car park. Its touch and go and but the roof of the van remains intact. Then we load all the gear into the hotel. Later on we partake of dodgy Indian food and some decent sleep. Next day we set off for London refreshed. We played The Jamm earlier this year and booked this gig last minute to offset travelling to Bournemouth directly from Manchester in a day but alas the Bournemouth gig has been cancelled. This proves to be something of a headache in terms of financial planning as the hotel cancellation deadline has lapsed and they have no flexibility whatsoever. I make a number of futile attempts at getting some kind of refund all to no avail. I feel well pissed off. We stop off on route and watch the Man U v Arsenal game in an Irish pub in Richmond. It’s full of Man U fans which is a relief. Arriving in Brixton later that afternoon we are offered a flop house, turn it down and end up in hotels after some justified protestations to the promoter. After sound check we discover the stage times have changed and we wont be on till 12.45. This trobles our guest list no end. We’re only a few minutes drive away from The Jamm so return to the hotel to get our shit together and watch some TV. The Jamm Crowd is decent enough and we play well, its one of those shows that increases in momentum with each song. People are positive and we sell CDs. Later that night Ben and I return to the hotel at 5am for a much needed rest after Bone and Mikes DJ sets. The others stay in the club all night pasting posters onto ceilings and generally tripping the light fantastic. Ben drives home on Sunday and we’re all eternally grateful as ever. He’s like a human sat nav system still you probably know that already. Every band should have a Ben in it says Club manager Monique; I couldn’t have put it better myself. VP

Cardiff

Ben and I manage to make the breakfast curfew and enjoy a very decent full English veggie blow out. Mike and Jeff are late and get egg on toast after considerable grovelling. We return to The Robin to collect the gear and are on the M5 southwards in no time. Jeff is driving. Bonehead calls Owen Morris [the OASIS Producer] on the off chance he’s up for it, or mad for it, or whatever for definitely maybe and that's it, and lo and behold he is. We meet up with him in a Monmouth pub an hour later where the band catch up and I listen in; it’s hard not to at that volume. Owen is possibly the most gifted storyteller this side of Abergavenny. He's also very loud. Later that evening Miles reprimands him for making mobile calls during his set and I banish him to the naughty seat during ours. I expect his mother once described him as a handful and she’d be right. We arrive in Cardiff mid afternoon, Owen is staying at The Hilton and we’re some leagues under the accommodating sea. The Barfly smells like a nursing home, looks well and truly trashed and in time honoured tradition there is no rider, no food and no dressing room. On the positive side there is a sound engineer who knows the room all too well. We sound check effortlessly and leave for Pizza Express who serve the most amazing olives, huge black and green salt encrusted mini plums that Bonehead likens to dog food. Olives egh, don't you just love em or loathe em. Back at the finally found after endless searching M Lodge Hotel Ben and I watch TV and make recovery plans. At the venue we catch Miles and Erica's last two songs, both delivered with characteristic gusto. Ericas playing is truly something else. I get talking to her later about classical training, her love of roast dinners and Doncaster as a place to grow up in. She also has perfect pitch and demonstrtes a spontaneous A at the drop of a packet of Bombay mix. The gig is good, really enjoyable despite the tell tale shadows of a half empty venue. Reactions are great, Owen comperes us to The Attractions and we briefly discuss working together, though I feel this was more heated moment that actual possibility, we’ll see. I get the feeling that working with Owen might well tax my limited capacity for all things rock n roll. Like I said…I doubt it but we’ll see. After show we congregate just down the road in the Hilton Bar where Owen runs up a tab [with a little help from assembled liggers and loafers] of truly astronomic proportions. Ben and I retire early and sleep like babies, the others return at some point but as luck would have it I’ve locked the door. And that was that, VP

Bilston ...in the West Midlands

Seconds leg out…it’s Bilston, and we’re early. There are seats and tables and such and from initial perusal it would appear that many a tribute band passeth this way on the glory trail. Well you know what I mean. We are welcomed by accents that remind me of home, Miles arrives and we do the stage door catch up meeting. In the passing time since we were last sharing a stage he’s had his guitar nicked and returned in Accrington of all places. Erica is in Frankfurt demonstrating electric fiddles so is sadly absent for tonight’s gig much to the disappointment of my daughter Leah who turns up mid sound check. She loves the violin and was dying to see Erica play. We also have some strange family type connections to Miles involving his cousin and an ex boyfriend but really it would take me half the night to explain. We pop off to our hotel, it’s a rather well worn affair, a house in the grounds of The Haven some five minutes from the venue. We are advised to view before we proceed. We are swayed but mostly cause its dirt cheap and the breakfast chef has a reputation; a good one we’re assured. The accommodation is quite basic. Some of beds don’t meet in the middle. We have two triple rooms; Ben and I are downstairs and the lunatic fringe- I mean that with the utmost affection boys you know that- are directly above. We amble over to the gig for an Indian banquet as Mike is starving, always continuously starving. We catch the last half of Miles solo set, there’s a decent crowd, this is practically hometown territory for him and it shows. He plays a few Wonderstuff songs in amongst the newer tunes and goes down a storm. I’ve already told him of my fondness of the Stuffies and my preferences for the Modern Idiot album, which is the one most people seem to like least he informs me. This doesn’t surprise me, it’s happened with other artists I admire, Luke Haines for one, How I Came to Love the Boot Boys is possibly his most ignored classic, and of course it’s my favourite. So there you go. My tastes are not in keeping with popular consent. My records likewise it must be said but I’ll end this thread now before the self deprecates into something sinister. Our gig passes. I play Sperm Donor for the encore and we finish with the remodelled Social Worker. It’s improvisationally satisfying, and [note to self here] at this point in its live evolution seems to encompass more vocal spontaneity that is absolutely necessary. Selling CDs at knockdown prices and talking to people about the Villa [they’re all good natured Wolves fans] seems a decent way to end a very decent show. Later on we stop over at the club and drink more than anticipated. I also help to lock up as Karen is afraid of the ghosts. I’m not because there’s no such thing. Three hours later Ben and I listen to the Fight Club antics upstairs with bemusement and occasional dismay. Surely they’re not…blimey, you know I think they are. Now that’s gonna hurt, and I mean really hurt in the morning. VP