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WINNIE THE POOH (AND TIGGER TOO) |
posted by jim on 1/09/06
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Do you like the new look of the website? Grey is the new black.
I was walking from the train station to my mum’s the other day and my path was blocked for a moment by some people cleaning up after their two dogs. There were what appeared to be three generations of people with the dogs. The grandmother was picking up the dogshit with her carrier bag gloved hand, while the mother was saying how annoying it was that the dog crapped in one place then moved a foot to the right and
dropped another steaming turd. “Why can’t he do them in one place?” She said. Later, on my way back to the station, as I walked past the same spot I saw that a horse had recently deposited an enormous hill of horseshit at the side of the road. I wondered why the horse’s rider or perhaps her mother hadn’t stopped to pick up the pooh, maybe with a larger carrier bag turned inside out over her hand. Maybe one from Dixons, big enough for a ghetto blaster or a Primark bargain coat sized carrier. And then I remembered that Dixons had shut down and had become Curry’s Digital.
Still writing songs. I might do some rudimentary demo recordings soon, to see what I’ve got. I’ve written seven songs so far, I’ll try and give most of them a go on tour. It’s a different way of doing things for me. I’ve tended recently to have recorded my songs before performing them.
I’m going to try some different stuff on tour, still mostly me and an acoustic guitar, singing songs but maybe a few other things thrown in to give me something to fuck up. Dangerous is the new safe.
I was watching Reading Festival on the telly – that can’t be right – and Edith Bowman was interviewing Franz Ferdinand about how they went to Reading as teenagers. When asked what bands they went to see, Alex Kapranos said (one band I didn’t catch the name of) and Carter The Unstoppable Sex Machine.
Listening to the new Dears album at the moment.
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THE GERMANS HAVE A WORD FOR IT |
posted by jim on 21/08/06
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On the ‘Straw Donkey’ Carter video collection me, Les and Wez played ourselves in the future – 2035 I think it was – for the between song links. We had grey hair and bad backs (Les really did have the bad back) and in the case of me and Wez, we’d mysteriously developed comic posh English accents in our old age. Last week me and Les returned to the scene of the Donkey links to film an interview about Carter for a forthcoming Carter live in Germany DVD. I said to Les that it might be amusing to film it in the same place, especially as the room’s décor hadn’t changed in the past ten years. Les pointed out that as the Straw Donkey film had taken place in 2035 and hadn’t technically happened yet we might be somehow messing with the space time wotsit. Anyhow, it was our first ‘Carter’ interview for a decade and possibly our last until at least 29 more years. Sci fi!
I played a gig on a boat on the Thames. Everyone was dressed as pirates
It was a stormy day. The tide was high and the moored vessel was actually swaying about a fair bit. As I sat there waiting to go onstage, watching some other groups play and various river birds swim by, drinking my pint of lager I forgot where I was and thought I was on a ferry to France. It was only after I’d bought 200 cigarettes and a huge Toblerone that I realised I had a gig to do. It was a fun day, although I did wab out of wearing my eye-patch, I was the only one onboard not wearing one.
Went to see Sheffield band Little Man Tate at the Bar Academy. Their intro tape was ‘Sheriff Fatman’ and it made me feel a bit weird and to be honest, somewhat proud.
Still writing or trying to write some new songs. I’ve got at least one more album in me, which is reassuring. I thought I had writer’s block. But I just needed a nudge. So far the subject matter of these new songs is quite angry and occasionally libellous. Today’s ‘album’ working title is ‘Schadenfreude’.
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TRUTH IS MORE DEPRESSING THAN FICTION |
posted by jim on 9/08/06
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Some things you couldn’t make up.
At a time when nervous pessimists such as myself have the disturbing feeling that the world is on the brink of its third big war, I was surprised to switch on the TV to catch the US Secretary of State playing a grand piano at a big poncy concert. I then read that our Prime Minister was off to an urgent and important meeting with the American president, but only after Bush had finished his prior engagement, which was to meet the contestants from the TV talent show American Pop Idol. Incidentally, after his meeting with Bush, Tony Blairs jetted off for another meeting, this one was with Arnold Schwarzenegger. Like I say, you’d be pushed to make it up.
To escape the madness I went to Devon to stay at my sister’s house while she was in Cornwall – it’s not only the Blairs who are the jetsetting family you know. While in Devon I’d do more walking than I ever do in London. On moors, by rivers, in the woods, along clifftops and across beaches, through the sea at lowish tide and up some extraordinarily steep hills. So much walking that I’d get blisters on my feet and have to remove my shoes, then I’d be walking down the road on the hot tarmac and I’d burn the soles of my feet so I couldn’t walk anymore. There must be a moral in there.
On the way home from Devon we went to the wedding of some old friends in Bath – the place not the big enamel thing with taps. The happy couple were from the world of show and at the wedding reception, aside from Jim Bob and Fruitbat from indie legends Carter The Unstoppable Sexy Machine, most of Goldie Looking Chain and The Darkness were there. Me and Mister Bat had our picture taken with The Darkness and the GLC entertained everyone on the Gladiator thing (that game where you hit each other with big padded sticks until one of you falls off your perch).
Also while in Devon I was part of a pub quiz team that would come a very close second behind an unbelievable show off of a winner – who I strongly suspect was cheating. The prize was only twenty quid but the show off winner made a big deal out of letting everyone know he was donating his winnings to charity, like he was M People winning the Mercury Music Prize. You must have noticed that I wasn’t nominated again this year. This is because you have to pay to get on the long shortlist and me and my record label don’t have that sort of dosh to fritter on such frippery. I hope Lilly Allen wins, here’s a nice picture of her. Maybe next year everyone will chip in and get my new album nominated. I’ve started writing songs, one’s called ‘Pizza Boy’ and another is called ‘The Carousel’. It sounds like a prize winner already doesn’t it.
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WHAT A BUMMER |
posted by jim on 22/07/06
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The big drawback for me with the summer in London is not the heat, it’s not the burned skin and the curly sweat hairstyle, the stink of the sacrificial burning of animals on garden grills or even the round the clock Big Brother. It’s the noise. The neighbours shouting at each other from one open windowed side of their house through to the other open windowed side. It’s the to and fro of the bouncing football outside my open window, as I wait for it to arrive over our fence and through our front room window, into my crunchy nut cornflakes. It’s the knock knock on the door from the twat from NTL, British Gas or Onetel . The knock on the door that you’ve got to answer because you've left the door open because of the heat, and along with all your open windows it means you can’t pretend you’re not in until the white shirted bullshitter pisses off and leaves you alone with your chosen phone company and electricity provider. It’s the impossibly loud bass woofers of the unwound windowed cars slowing down at the junction of the main road at the back of where I live. Surely sitting inside 500 horsepowers of throbbing steel disco is more of a threat to your driving skills than talking on a mobile phone or eating a Kit Kat. What do I know, I’m not Jeremy Clarkson. No, I’m James Morrison. One of many it seems, who’ve chosen similar career paths. The top 4 musical James Morrisons would probably be fatty from The Doors,then another large man who plays jazz trumpet, me of course and current flavour of the middle of the road month, James Morrison/ . Him with the “most gobsmacking, charismatic, rootsy soul voice (somewhere between Al Green and Otis Redding)…” Yes indeed, if somewhere between Al Green and Otis Redding is where you’d find James Blunt. I shouldn’t diss my family members and I suppose we must be related somehow or other, but every time I hear his name on the TV I flinch because they’ve just said my name. But it’s never me. And then like a fool I always think I better check him out in case he’s good, or better than me, instead of just younger, more successful and irritating. I wonder if anyone has ever bought a ticket to see him thinking it was me and didn’t realize, just thinking it was my new middle class white soul direction and that I’d aged fantastically well and had learned to play the guitar at last.
I had to try and write some songs for a thing I’ll tell you about soon and it’s spurred me on a bit to see if I can come up with something new for the September gigs as well. It would be nice to play some new material in amongst all the hits and best ofs. I wrote a song today, which I may play, it’s called ‘Another Day At The Office’, I hope to write and play more. I could end up with a whole gig of new songs, then people might turn up and think they’d come to see the other James Morrison by mistake. They’d think he’d aged suddenly with all the success and BBC coccaine and whores and had forgotten how to play the guitar.
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OIL |
posted by jim on 13/07/06
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I’ve been busy. Not proper build a house, asphalt a motorway busy. But busy. Aside from the odd gig here and there though, I can’t tell you much about it because it’s all stuff that’s still ‘in the pipeline’. And for fear of my pipeline drying up like it’s doing in the real world of oil and pipelines, I’m keeping my cards close to my chest. So I’ll just keep on mixing as many metaphors as I can and keep mum and perhaps schtum too. If I tell you what I’ve been up to it might curse what it is and it won’t come to fruition. So why did I even mention it? Because I wouldn’t want anyone to think I’d just been sitting around all summer in my own sweat, watching the World Cup and eating biscuits.
I have watched a fair bit of World Cup by the way. Being the indie Rod Stewart I’m technically Scottish but I haven’t been all anti English about my football supporting like that grumpy tennis dude. There’s no red and white flag on the front of my house or increasing the petrol intake of my car by fumfty per cent, but I was rooting for England anyway. On the subject of flags, when is the right time to take them down? At the end of the competition? When England were knocked out? It’s only my nimby snob’s opinion, and I know the flag’s been reclaimed etc but now the football’s over, the area where I live looks a bit like a BNP stronghold.
Anyway, I played a couple of gigs. One was a benefit in Bolton, which was superb. It was in a pub but the pub was more like a house really and the whole occasion felt more like a party than a gig. The kind of gig that if it was in a TV drama programme, people like me would say it was too unrealistic. ‘Gigs aren’t like that.” I’d say.
The other gig was at Blissfields Festival. The stage was made of grass. I didn’t play my usual heroic set. I didn’t have enough time onstage to build to a victorious finish and I had onstage sound difficulties that I won’t bore you with. But it was a lovely little festival, I was just a tad disappointed with myself.
I can probably tell you that I – along with the rest of Team Jim Bob – have appeared in a promo vid for the fine Sheffield band Little Man Tate. Look out for it on the TV. Mr Spoons is very convincing as a policeman. The kind of policeman that if he was in a TV drama programme, people like me would say he was too unrealistic. ‘Policemen aren’t like that.” I’d say.
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THERE'S A HERON ON MY ROOF |
posted by jim on 18/06/06
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One of the great things about being a father is Father’s Day. You get presents and a card and get to not feel guilty for bumming around on a Sunday with your hangover when you should be mowing the lawn or putting up shelves or something. The hangover is from last night’s Carter message board gig at the Windmill in old Amsterdam (Brixton). I didn’t drink that much but I’m a bit of a thimbleful lightweight nowadays and one pint of booze will do the trick quite well. For my set I managed to slip in a bit of My Way and also a bit of Heroes, which I thought was quite clever of me. Very Bono. Anyway, a great gig, I expect it turned a bit Sodom and Gomorrah
after I left, it looked like it was heading that way and I’m too old and borderline Cliff Richard for that.
Other things I’ve done recently was a gig in Nottingham which I enjoyed. Chris T-T was back for the day and it was as if we’d never stopped playing together. Rehearsals, reshmearsals.
Seeing as how it’s so sunny and hot and nice outdoors, I’ve been sitting inside typing on a hot computer, getting steadily more vitamin D deficient by the minute. I need to either do more or remember things I’ve done to justify this blog thing. I’m going to go and break my teeth on my American hard gums and Father’s Day Toblerone.
More soon.
Surely.
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HATS |
posted by jim on 4/06/06
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“I’m going to see my sister in Devon for the weekend, perhaps I’ll get my first of many swims in while I’m there. Yeah right.” Yeah wrong. I did go swimming. It was a small pool so I managed a few sort of lengths, getting cramp in my toes, something that’s happened to me whenever I’ve swam ever since I was a child. My toes twist around each other in a painful way. After the swim I treated my family to a flash slap up lunch of cheesy chips and watery mystery brand cola. Since my return to stinky London I admit I haven’t made it in the water for my second swim as yet. We live in hope.
Reviewed the Best New Acts (Mojo Awards)/ on Radio 6 on a Friday. I didn’t know some of the acts’ work I have to admit, but pretended I was more knowledgeable than I was by cracking woofers and being my usual man of the people hilarious self. After the show me and Marc my über manager met up with the rest of Team Jim Bob (Mr Spoons, off the wagon and pissed) to go see the reunion My Life Story gig, which was fantastic. MLS Singer Jake Shillingford open with caution looked like he was enjoying the chance to strut around the stage in a series of loud jackets and throw some impressive Vegas shapes. In the bar after the gig no less than five people spoke to me thinking I was Jake, including the keyboard player from My Life Story! I think that warranted an exclamation mark, I’m not a big fan of excamation marks usually.
While I was at the MLS reunion my daughter was across town watching Take That (no exclamation mark, strange) and she said it was the greatest gig ever. Note to self: All these reunions, don’t go getting any ideas.
Yesterday I played the Strawberry Fair festival in Cambridge. I didn’t realize how big it was. It was huuuuuuge. A very hot and sunny day and I started to get nervous before playing, that perhaps the audience might leave the tent while I was playing, not knowing who the hell I was, wondering why I was on stage with my terrible guitar playing and shouting. I love to be proved wrong and everyone stayed, in fact the crowd increased, the tent was proper packed, it was like the Arctic (my boys) Monkeys at Reading last year – I expect people will be saying that this morning.
Oh, and I wore a hat.
a bit like this one
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I'M UNFIT AND I KNOW IT |
posted by jim on 17/05/06
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I don’t get out much. Well, it’s not safe is it. I’m getting fat around the middle, I’ve been thinking and planning on going swimming early every other morning or so. I haven’t quite managed it yet as the determination I go to bed with doesn’t stick with me till the early morning, when all I want to do is drink coffee and watch the same piece of five minute TV news going round and round and round. I did go and see
Morrissey on a Sunday Night at The London Palladium. All the great vegetarians were there: Morrissey of course, Chrissie Hynde, Stella McCartney and me. Morrissey was great, although he seemed to be having a bit of a ‘Bloomsbury’, complaining of sound problems and getting more and more agitated. He didn’t play an encore and there was a certain amount of booing. I’m going to see my sister in Devon for the weekend, perhaps I’ll get my first of many swims in while I’m there. Yeah right.
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CHUCK |
posted by jim on 6/05/06
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It’s a widely recognised dictum (is that the right word?) that you should never meet your heroes. The other night I went to The Purcell Rooms on a busy and hottest-day-of-the-year-so-far South Bank to watch and listen as my hero Chuck Palahniuk read from his latest book. After the reading, an interview, some gags, great anecdotes and a few questions from the audience, there was a mad scramble to get down the front. A mad scramble to get down the front not seen since they opened the gates for the Beatles at Shea Stadium. This particular front was the front of the queue to get stuff signed by – as I’m now going to call him, because we’re now on first name terms – Chuck.
When I finally reached the queue’s front I was sweating from the hottest-day-of-the-year-so-far heat and also because I was nervous. I didn’t want to make a nob of myself or have my picture taken with a phone camera that didn’t work. I didn’t bring half a library with me to be signed, like so many in front of me slowing down the pace of the queue’s progress.
“Shall I dedicate it to somebody?” Chuck asked, or something like that, I was too struck with awe and embarrassment to listen.
“Jim Bob.” I said. I thought this would be good, instead of just saying ‘Jim’. I figured it would look better in the front of the book and my own self-inflated ego told me it would be like having something autographed from one star to another. Like an Elvis record dedicated to John Lennon and signed by the King. “Jim Booowwb?” Chuck said to me, like Meg Ryan did to Kevin Kline in that film French Kiss.
He wrote ‘to Jim Bob – no pearl diving! -– Chuck Palahniuk.’ And as I left he said “see you later, Jim Booowwb” like Meg again. As I left the building, walking past the rest of the long waiting queue of people with their malfunctioning camera phones and Chuck libraries they all looked at me and I knew they were laughing. Earlier on in the evening while writing to go in for the reading, Matt Johnson from The The was sat nearby. When we all went in, he had the seat next but one to me. Not important, just adding a bit of colour to the story.
Every year I used to go to Reading Festival and always used to bump into somebody called Roger. We used to end up spending the day together and he’d always get spectacularly drunk, one year he was there with his girlfriend (at least I think she was) who an actress and the daughter of the bloke from Randall & Hopkirk . She’s since been on telly quite a bit. That same year we also hung out with a pre fame Denise Van Outen. Roger used to be in a band called FMB, I found out this week he won 1.8 million quids on the lottery. That’s nearly two million pounds. Inspired by his work, yesterday, after laying a carpet for my mum, my girlfriend and I bought two Euromillions tickets. And guess what? That’s right, we won fuck all.
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LIBRARIES & SUPERMARKETS, CHEESE & POETS |
posted by jim on 22/04/06
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You may recall me writing on here in the past about Morrisons buying out my local Safeways and then shutting it down, leaving me with nowhere to buy my cheese. I was pleased to hear this week that Sainsburys will be opening a new supermarket in its place in the summer. Just in time hopefully for me to buy some multi-packed ice lollies before the sun goes in.
I played a gig in Wimbledon Library this week. It was always going to be a bit different. The gig was upstairs from where all the Harry Potters are kept, the audience arrived before the gig was open and had to carry their own (swivel) chairs up to the venue.
Because a library is an unlicensed venue the wine was free and so it felt like a small party rather than a gig.
I read some stuff from my Carter book (‘gulp!’ as Time Out would say) and played some songs. I chickened out of reading anything from my new unpublished book but did have a stab at a passage from an Elton John biography that was on the windowsill behind the ‘stage’. I resisted saying that I had a stab at Elton John’s passage there, I hope you’re proud of me.
When the enjoyable gig was over, a couple of ladies were telling me how they’d enjoyed the gig and one of them said I had a charming manner, the kind of manner that would allow me to get away with saying any old nonsense. They particularly liked my reading of the Adrian’s Magic Pants story – pooh and all. It turns out she was Dylan Thomas' daughter
This completely made the evening for me.
This morning I played a couple of acoustic tunes and had a chat on Crystal Palace FC radio.
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