Emu running from wildfire in California/the first of the English fleeing Albion …
Motherisms Feat. Politics, Driving and Poets …
I’m still at close proximity to Mum. Which means I just can’t help interacting with her …
Someone’s on TV massaging a piece of pork with the sort of sensuality I am yet to express to another human, and telling us to buy it …
Me: They never advertise organic vegetables …
Mum: They shouldn’t need to.
Me: No. But they do …
Mum: The world is over populated, let them poison themselves. Carry on I say!
Mum is talking about the recent presidential visit ….
“Did you see Obama get off the plane? God, he just looked so cool. And then you had our leader, looking like a puffy twat.”
Mum’s come round and we’re going through the papers. We’ve reached the horoscopes …
Mum: Oh your stars are good, they’re saying you’re entering a new period in your life.
Me: Thank god. The last 15 years were shit.
Mum is being organised and writing a list, or a note … something. She’s wearing glasses, she has a pen, she’s told me to shut up; it’s important.
Mum: What’s the date?
Me: 29th
Mum: Of what?
Me: …. Really?
We drive past two men in black suits walking down one of the rougher, deserted back streets in town …
Mum: Debt collectors
Me: The Matrix
Mum is up to date with American politics and she is angry about it. I have just been lamenting Bernie Sanders (WHY!!! A BIRD LANDED ON HIS PODIUM WHILE HE WAS TALKING ABOUT BIRDS, PEOPLE.) mum’s moved on to Trump …
“The trailer trash masses of America will vote trump, and there’s a lot of them. They breed like rabbits and have no more intelligence.”
I’m learning to drive and I want to treat it like riding a robot horse. Currently I’m about to do a pretty-much vertical hill start as one of the L plates had flown off.
Me: I want to do some rally driving after I pass my test …
Mum: Well, there we go …
A second later …
Mum: Let’s not run before we can walk. Let’s just get up this hill please.
Donovan is in the papers. Mum loves Donavan so much. But neither of us can avoid the fact he looks a bit like a Buddhist Edith Piaf. Or as mum puts it …
“It looks like he’s transing.”
Mum is reminding me I must watch Hollow Crown again, or that’s what she’s trying to tell me.
Mum: You must watch Game of Thrones.
Me: Game of Thrones?
Mum: No, Hollow Crown. Same thing.
Me: It’s really not. You haven’t seen Game of Thrones.
Mum: Have you?
Me: One episode.
Mum: Everyone keeps banging on about it, I might see what all the fuss is about.
Me: I really wouldn’t bother. Honestly. It’s just a bit boring more than anything else.
Mum: Ok I won’t bother then. I never liked the Hobbit anyway.
Me: This isn’t The Hobbit either, The Hobbit is good! Well, Lord of the Rings is.
Mum: Yeah … all those Tolkien stories.
Me: They’re tales of moral fortitude!
Mum: Tales of moral turpitude by the sounds of it …
I’ve just returned form London, mum’s come to pick me up from the train station like a delightful “taxi service”. The radio’s on, mum’s obviously feeling classy as it’s classical.
Mum: Do you know what this piece of music is?
It’s like University Challenge all over again …
Me: Gnossienne no.1 by Eric Satie.
Mum: Very good
Me: I can play this shit.
Mum: Hm.
I’ve never delved deep into the world of psychedelics, but I’m fascinated by it. It’s also pricked mum’s ears …
Mum: They’re doing medical studies with LCD for depression.
Me: Yeah I know ..
Mum: You heard the programme?
Me: No, I read Timothy Leary ..
Mum: Ah right. Yes, well, they’re testing psychedelics on anxiety …
Me: I’m going on the trial.
Mum: I want to too.
Me: Well let’s get in the trial then!
(We forgot and failed miserably at getting on the trial.)
We’re trying to change channels but for some reason nothing’s happening. Some car programme with celebrities on it (not Top Gear) is on …
Mum: I’ve always liked Johnny Vegas …
Me: Me too but that’s Louis Walsh.
I am in Spain. I have just posted an article about Tracey Emin marrying a stone. My mum follows the website and, according to this text, clearly forgets I write the content …
Mum: TRACY EMIN HAS MARRIED A STONE ! XX
Me: I know mumma I wrote that article xxx
We have successfully arranged the day ahead and we’re feeling good about it. Mum’s feeling really good …
“I am the mistress of logistics. If Napoleon had had me, he’d have won.”
Mum’s come round. I’ve spent days, nay, weeks alone and am starting to resemble the hermit farmer on the Fast Show, who comes out of his shed once a week and says, “This week, I have mostly been eating old pie.”
Mum: Oh there’s that pillow I was looking for! What’s it doing here?
Me: I slept on the sofa last night.
Mum: Why?
Me: It was Friday night and that was the most reckless thing I could do.
I don’t know what I’ve done. But it’s obviously good, as on the drive home mum comes out with …
Mum: You’ve turned into a very nice young woman.
Me: Oh, good.
Mum: I was bit worried about you for a few years there …
Me: Ok …
Mum: But you’ve pulled through nicely. I’m very proud of you.
Me: That’s a relief …
We’re going to someone’s birthday …
Mum: I’m relying on you to be the glamour end.
Me: Oh …
Mum: Just … brush your hair or something …
Gossip straight of the press …
Mum: Did you hear about Mariah Carey’s husband giving her 10,000 roses for Valentine’s?
Me: No … How did she get through the door?
Mum: I don’t know! It must’ve looked like a funeral parlour in there …
I’ve discovered there is a place of great literary interest very near by …
Me: We must go to Porlock soon. Shelley was there, he had a dream and was interrupted while writing into a poem ….
Mum: No he didn’t. It was Coleridge.
Me: It was Shelley!
Mum: I bet you it’s Coleridge.
Me: Ok, I wouldn’t put money on it.
Mum: No. But it’s a bet.
Me: I have to wait until I get 3G.
Mum: When do you get 3G?
Me: In a bit …
Mum: What is 3G?
(It was Coleridge. And the poem if you’re interested, was Kublah Khan.)
Halloween 1999-Style
Interview With William Poyer
William Poyer has just returned from a three-year stint in Mexico. He’s returned with a new album (and a girlfriend), two new music videos and one in the making.
At the time when we Skype-meet, I have none of these things – and am triple checking I’m recording …
I interviewed this conductor at the Royal Albert Hall and we did an hour and a half long interview and it was all incredibly complex. When we finished I realised I hadn’t been recording any of it and I was so horrified I couldn’t tell him, it still haunts me, but we’re recording so everything’s fine …
Well, I’m not as complex …
Still I wouldn’t want to blag your answers. So, you’re from Swansea originally, why Mexico? And had you planned on staying that long?
No. It was a whim leaving. I’d been living in London for 8 years, working in the film industry for some pretty intense people and doing jobs I never intended on doing. I’d always wanted to make movies but I was just helping other people make movies. Music had been on the back-burner for a long time and I just thought, ‘Right, screw it. I’m leaving.’ I had no money, bought myself a one-way ticket on my credit card. Then thought, ‘How can you travel with no money?’
Teaching English.
I knew I wanted to go to Latin America I knew I wanted to learn Spanish; and there were just a few more things about Mexico I was interested in … I just knew, culturally, it had a bit more weight – and it was cheapest place to do the English course. That’s about as much thought as went into it.
I think that’s about as much thought as needs to go in to it. I once went to Mozambique because Bob Dylan wrote a song called Mozambique. I was later informed he never went there, but, I had a nice time … Where were you in Mexico?
Went to Guadalajara and the idea was to go to end up at the beach. Then I got a girlfriend in Guadalajara and she got a job in Mexico City so we moved there -which I never had any intention of doing.
Cool place …
I thought it was going to be a monster of a city but its beautiful. Amazing pockets of wonderfulness, so we stayed there.
Having spent 3 years there how did you know it was time to come back?
I’d been wanting to come back quite a while. I always knew I would come back, initially, it was probably the sense that, I was going away to come back. With time and the development of songs every 6 months, I’d be like “Yeah, think I have an albums worth of material”, but then something would significantly change; I’d find a significant progression and the old songs just kicked away. That happened a few times, then, I knew I was ready to record something – but I didn’t know how to do it. I’m not a producer, I don’t have any rich mates, I hadn’t done a gig; I’d just locked myself in a room for 2 years to study writing, so there was no one championing me. Then someone told me about crowd funding …
How did that work?
I offered $16 to get a free album, $20 get a thank you or whatever, I think it was $500 get name tattoo, this Brazilian producer – I’ve got his named tattooed, he gave me $500.
(It’s actually a very elegant tattoo and I start wondering how much I can get people to pay me to tattoo their names on my extremities ….)
You left to hone your sound – what was your sound like before you left?
I did an E.P with a band, I’d always had this obsession with cowboy music – Americana, and country ideas and ideologies, but the E.P didn’t really feel like me. Then I went down the very soft route, with lots of finger picking like José Gonzales, but I kind of lost a bit of the identity of what I was doing before; and I just knew there was a marriage of sounds I hadn’t found yet. I just knew I wasn’t good enough. I knew I could write songs, but wasn’t where I was supposed to be.
Didn’t Find Luck – definitely has both of those elements, the guitar reminded me of early Neil Young and then you have the fun Spanish guitar at the end …
You knew it’s a funny one, that song gets the least attention out of the whole album …
I really like that one, it was my favourite.
I love it that song, it sort of came to me in a dream; which is weird because I’m always very conscious of them [the songs]. A mate had been like, “How’s Mexico influenced you?” and I was like, fuck, I don’t think it has. I think Time has influenced me but not Mexico; and I was feeling really guilty about it, thinking maybe I should have some Mexican songs. I fell asleep that night and had this dream about a Mexican guy walking through the desert. I didn’t know what he was looking for, and he was sweating and it was really intense, and it goes on for ages, probably about 20 minutes or something; and then I realised at the end, he was looking for luck; he was trying to find luck, he was trying to obtain this like, Holy Grail of luck.
Like Don Quixote, sort of …
Yeah! And I’ve been thinking about the concept of luck for a while; and had been thinking its better to be born luck than it is to be born rich, or anything really … and yeah that’s where that came from. And he never found it.
But he shouldn’t though. That’s what makes the story good. And life, frustrating.
You mention one came in a dream, but how do songs normally come to you, do you have an idea, a verse a word, a melody? Is there a pattern?
It’s always rhythm. I’ll usually have a groove on the guitar and there’ll be a change, a chord, and it’ll usually come from the rhythm.
(He starts ‘chuck chucking’ the rhythm …)
Then I’ll add a syllable to it …
(He does, it sounds like this …)
Bubudbabda BA da da ….
… So it’ll come from rhythm and syllables and then I’ll just start jotting down gibberish. And then an expression usually, something that could be poetic, a saying, will link with the syllables and the rhythm then once you’ve got that ….
You’re rolling. …
Yeah, then start writing shit for pages. I start in pencil, if I’m sure something’s good I’ll fill it in in pen and then it can be very quick.
Video for Fell the Truth was shot out in Mexico, right?
Yeah, done on two hangovers with a boy I met at Sofar Sounds in Mexico, and he was like, “You’re the Welsh Ray LaMontagne!” I was like, great, that’s nice … but I don’t think so.
Take it.
He came to a couple of gigs he was like, “I want to do something with you.” So he went and listened to the song, and he really listened to it. He came back with ‘knock down, door fell truth’ – that was his favorite line, and said, “I want to put you in front of a load of different doors.” I was told him to crack on so he put me in front of a load of different doors, down by Frida Kahlo’s house. Which is a beautiful part of the city. And yeah just tried to walk about lip-synching to my iPod in my back pocket, feeling like a bit of a plonker.
You did it well …
Yeah walking past people miming, looking very odd.
You have to remove yourself from all that. Stay true to the ‘Art’ …
Yeah it’s been very humbling many experiences, whether crowd funding and asking for help or miming in the street …
“Help me be vulnerable to the world!”
You do you just have to let go.
In the video for 2 days later, you got kidnapped and blinded by tequila. What’s your next video? Are you just doing things you want to do?
Next video The Liar The Bitches The Crooks & The Thieves – Mexican/British joint production, we’re shooting on May 5th. The same director in Mexico is out shooting scenery so mountains desert, then I think we’ll do it as a double exposure, of there, and me here. The song’s a riff I pulled back from years ago and it was a song I wrote about the day before coming to a studio, so there’s sort of a sense of way back when.
Also watched Laid Bare Live thing at The Ritzy with Gabriel …
Gabriel Moreno!
Oh my god it was amazing, I loved it so much.
My mum watched that the other day and was like “Oh Will, I love that bit at the beginning where you were doing the poem”.
It was great. Was it improvised? Had you done something like that before?
I’d done it once with him before and he just came up to me and was like, “Do a poem with me …” Which was brilliant because the first song I wanted to play was in this strange tuning, and it just really worked as an opening to the show. That riff I want to do something with. I was thinking of getting him in the studio with him reading a poem over something.
Have you done much like that before, or just those two times?
Yeah just, we’d winged it one time before; but it’s nice to just sort of follow him and see where it goes.
Yeah, I get it. I do comedy improvisation and …
…. Flying by the seat of your pants
Yeah, totally. I used to be terrible, but, the thing is, as long as you just go with it, everyone’s good.
Yeah, you’ve got to be open, and I think the more you do those things the more flexible you become …
You find your way in the moment, not sure how else to explain it. So speaking of collaborations – one who’s alive, and one who’s dead?
I’m obsessed with a band called Shovels and Rope.
Like the name …
It’s a husband and wife duo from North Carolina and they play this sort of dirty, gothic, Americana – with a slice of hillbilly on it. They are just … yeah I love them. If I could do anything with them I would love to. If I could write a song with them …
And who’s dead?
Townes Van Zant, definitely.
I hear Fell Truth was inspired by a true story you saw in the paper?
I was asked to find the article again and I cant which makes me question whether I indulged story it a little bit …. It was the first song I managed to write that wasn’t about me, which I knew was a good sign. I loved the idea of this guy who hadn’t committed murder, being framed. But at the end of the article there was a suggestion that after he was acquitted, he had actually done it.
Maybe we’ve all done it, or maybe it’s just me, where you can tell a lie, certainly as a young man making mistakes, I told plenty of lies in my early 20s, but I told them so many times …
… You almost believed them.
Yeah, they sort of became truth, real. And that’s what I was doing with this song; he was so convinced he hadn’t done it and then at the end he just kind of give the suggestion; and I love that part of the story … It’s funny, it’s not something id’ been interested in before, understanding the psyche of crazy people. But, I think I’m getting more interested.
There’s a lot in it for sure, especially if you’re a storyteller of any sort …
Not far off that point. If you had two parallel lives, I’m not saying you don’t maybe you have more. I don’t know. But for purposes of this question you have two, what would you do? You have choice, you have free reign you aren’t limited in this parallel life …
I would like to live in a Jack London novel live in Montana live simple life fat of the land, fishing, playing banjo …
But you can do that in this one … that just sounds like the future to me.
Parallel life on this planet?
No, I mean, why limit yourself to this planet? You have the choice to do anything, anywhere in space or time …
Exploration sounds wicked. To be the first person to go to a place, an untouched land. History’s like a new topic of mine I’m enjoying …
It’s the best …
I think the first time to be a settler, the gold rush is something else I’m interested in, the 49’ers, the first ones. That would be pretty wild. To be heading for something you just heard as a whisper, a story, and go, I’m going.
What did you miss UK while you were in Mexico and what do you miss Mexico now you’re back?
I’m terrible for wanting more. The grass is greener on other side. I was saying to my girlfriend, “Oh, it would be nice to spend winter in Mexico and the summer in London.” I was complaining for so long about wanting to come home and now I’m here, I’m like …
… Kind of want to go back?
Yeah! Im terrible. Dad’s the same, they’ve just moved to Spain and he’s like “Yeah, but its not Mexico” … but yeah, while I was there I missed the transport in London.
Wow. You know you’ve got it bad if you’re missing the public transport in London.
Not when you’re using it in Mexico, its hard work. That, and I missed Sunday roasts. Probably those 2 things, really good public transport and a roast
Sound sensible ….
Now I’m here, I’m missing reasonably priced restaurants; really good, delicious, fresh food; cheap beer and mescal – miss that, and the weather. And I miss a place I played called The Black Horse which was full of bunch of immigrants form all over, blues guys from New Orleans, Country form Oklahoma, a guy from Reading, me, Mexican guys; we had a really cool thing going on for a while. I miss that.
Solid things to miss. Beer and mescal sound great …
They go so good.
I’ve got in to beer and whiskey chasers …
Sounds dangerous …
Might be dangerous.
I’m getting to whiskey very slowly.
I don’t like alcohol at all but I’ve got really into whiskey ….
Haha! You don’t like alcohol but you’re drinking beer and whisky chasers …
Yeah … So, What’s next, or is this enough?
No.
Hungry?
Yeah very. Next is getting good gigs, the next videos; I have two live videos going live this week, a few festivals, met a cool guy I’m doing some writing with, and back into studio, to what extent I don’t know, maybe E.P. or another album. Maybe just something we can give away for free but yeah keep on planning more …
The single Fell The Truth is out now and the album (‘Born Lucky’) was released on Laid Bare Records on the 22nd April.
He’ll celebrating the album release at Brixton East Gallery, tonight, Thursday 28th April. Go!
And in the meantime here’s his new video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6lRYAef29Fc
Gigs – go out, see things, feel stuff in your ears:
Spiritual Caipirinha Bar, Camden – 16 April 2016
Laid Bare At The Ritzy, Brixton – 20 April 2016
The Pack & Carriage, Mornington Crescent – 07 May 2016
Century Club, Soho – 12 May 2016
Old Queens Head (Daytime show), Angel – 15 May 2016
Nozstock Festival, Herefordshire – 22, 23, 24 July 2016
Motherisms: The Great Escape …
I know. It’s Valentine’s Day, I’m so sorry. It is now as inevitable as needing the loo eventually. There is no escape from its cellophane-wrapped clutches. BUT, don’t worry if you don’t have someone to say something nice to you, or someone to buy you a fake pearl/bad watch/silk boxers/teddybear. Remember you always have your friends and family, who love you. Why not say something nice to them, as well as your beloved? Why not use today to be really nice and loving to everyone in your life instead of hoping for a bunch of roses and some chocolates rich enough to fill the hole.
These are all the nice things mum and I have been saying to each other over the last few months …..
I walk in to mum’s flat, she’s moving house and boxes are everywhere in preparation for the move. As I come into the kitchen I see her bent over and wrestling with some very thick masking tape in her mouth …
Me: What are you doing …?
Mum: It’s Chinese New Year, you can’t use scissors.
Me: Oh …
Mum: Yes. Bit of shame we’re moving today but there we go …
I want an animal. I have wanted one for 10 years. The quest continues …
Me: We have to get a dog. Or any sort of pet, but really, specifically a dog. They lower heart disease by 78%.
Mum: Yes I know they do darling but I can’t have one now anyway.
Me: I’ve started stroking them on the street now, just to get a fix.
Mum: No, I do Hatha yoga. Much cleaner.
Mum’s playing a CD in the car, I haven’t heard it since our first house. Turns out neither mum …
Me: Who is this? We used to play this all the time. I love him
Mum: You know, I can’t remember …
Mum ejects the CD so we can look (we’re stationary, don’t worry beackseaters) …
Mum: Bruce Coben
I’ve read it, that’s not what it said. Mum must have terrible eyesight, poor old woman, she can’t read anymore …
Me: Bruce COCKBURN
Mum: COBURN, it’s pronounced CO-BURN. Cockburn …. Jesus.
Mum’s moved in to a new place that has, shall we say, the ‘capacity’ for an older person. This means a lovely walk-in power-shower and a strange array cords dangling from the ceiling, neither of us are sure of their purpose. I am bored, so I reach for one to see what will happen …
Mum: Don’t pull that! God knows what it does.
I don’t. But examine it suspiciously.
Mum: We’ll spray them all silver …
Me: No, gold remember, for warmth.
Mum: Yes good. I’ll just say my daughter is a very famous artist and got carried away. Do apologise.
Mum’s talking about something I’ve written. She is getting carried away …
Mum: You could channel the spirit of the late Brian Sewell … very underestimated.
Me: I feel I’ve done underestimated.
Mum is putting on some makeup, she looks infinitely more presentable than I do, but is not happy with the results …
“Oh god. This is it. What Shakespeare said: sans teeth, sans eyes … sans bloody everything.”
Mum is on the phone to her friend. They’re talking about the recent engagement between Jerry Hall and babe-magnet Rupert Murdoch. Mum appears to have some interesting theories on the union …
Mum: I think he’s a reptile. I think she’ll come into their room on their wedding night and he’ll be there, sitting in a big chair, a huge reptile with his lizard claws, waiting …
There’s a pause …
Mum: Yeah I’d do it for £10 billion.
We’re discussing our new-found saintliness ….
Mum: I’ve lost my capacity to drink large amounts of wine
Me: I’ve lost the desire to.
Mum: Yes the desire to. Like port though …
Me: Me too. Lots.
Mum: Got to keep away from that, too much and it’ll make you fat … and give you gout.
Me: Noted.
It’s a few months ago now and Mum’s on the phone to my godfather. They’re talking about the presidential election (not in depth). Mum is struggling to remember who the “cool, old guy” is. I can’t help but offer some assistance …
Me: Bernie Sanders.
Mum: Jade’s telling me it’s Bernie Sanders. Apparently she keeps a note of my political preferences.
Me: No, I’m not keeping note. I just know who he is.
Mum starts making a variety of childish faces at me in response.
It’s Christmas and we’re all watching Downton Abbey – mum and I are used to chatting through TV shows like this. Today, we’re not allowed, because it turns out we aren’t as entertaining. Mum is struggling, and just can’t keep her mouth shut. The butler has come down to give the well-to-doers some news …
American Lady: Where’s Lady Edith?
Mum: Tripwire, me lady.
Mum has a love-hate relationship with The Archers. I just have mild disdain (but affection for the theme tune). It is on, as it is at 7pm every night of our lives …
Mum: Come on!!!
Archers: I think I need a cup of tea …
Mum: Well go and have one!!!
Archers: Just cleaning up the workshop …
Mum: Oh, for crying out loud. I hoped Rachel would stay in New Zealand.
Archers: These cows, when I look at them …
Me: … I get aroused.
Archers: They’re like family.
Mum: Yes. Great. Another bloody homily of cows! Get on with it. Let’s have a murder for once!
We’re settling down to some well-deserved television:
Mum: Ah now this is Bear Grylls who’s fallen in love with a lunatic …
I laugh, knowingly …
Me: It’s Ben Fogle and Rich Hall ….
I realize 45 minutes later that, it is indeed Ben Fogle, but it’s not Rich Hall, it is a mad man who lives in a swamp.
Mum is looking through the Style magazine in the papers, which I now loath. It’s turned into Mizz. But anyway …
Mum: I do wish these girls would learn to cover up one day.
Me: They will soon, I told you, Dolce and Gabanna have started making hijabs.
Mum: Oh…
Me: I might get one, a hijab. As an act of rebellion …
Mum: Mmm … I won’t discourage this, you’ve always looked great in a veil.
Mum’s complaining about the youth of today, as usual. I agree with her but like to pick holes, for picking holes sake …
Mum: Smart phone, dumb people.
Me: And there’s you begging me for my smart phone.
Mum: Well you can fuck your fucking smart phone.
Mum is talking about the cold draft that comes into flat. Apparently this has something to do with squirrels …
“Now you see, squirrels have an extra layer of fat to get them through the winter … the little bastards.”
We are reconvening mid-week and discussing anything interesting we have come across. Mum is first …
Mum: There’s an article in The Times about teenage feminist boys …
Me: I’ve seen it. I’ve never seen so much bullshit in all my life, sorry. I don’t believe the buggers. The title and pull quotes were enough.
Mum: One must be aware of the bullshit.
Me: Yeah, I’m aware of it, I’m just not willing to engage in 6 pages of it .
Mum: Yes no, fair enough ….I wasn’t either.
It’s the Archers again ….
Archers: Can I share something with you?
Archers: What?
Me: Pull my finger …
Mum: Oh don’t be so ridiculous jade. Shush now.
A pause …
Archers: There’s something I want to do …
Mum: Suck your dick.
Me: Mum!!!!!
Mum: You wait …
(She’s a little graphic, but as usual, correct.)
Chris Belson, Moon Songs e.p. Review
People always tell you not to judge something by its cover; if that’s in regards to a person, then fine, I agree; I don’t want to be judged by my cover at 6am on a Monday morning. But in regards to anything else, I think you should judge things by their covers, and anyone who tells you not to is an idiot and just repeating a saying that went out of date before it was even said. If the cover is to your taste, the likelihood is, so will be its content. That’s my rule of thumb and I’m sticking to it. So when I saw the artwork for Chris Belson’s new E.P. I hoped I was in for a treat (interestingly in regards to this point, Belson had designed the artwork himself).
‘Moon Songs’ might be his first E.P., but Belson has already garnered some notable praise: “An outstanding new talent for today…” Mojo.
Like a consummate professional, I started the record at the beginning, and while swaying to the intro of ‘Children’ I looked at the picture of Belson and thought he reminded me a little of Michael Cera, so I was expecting a similar tone to come from my computer when he sang; but then, there’s that voice. It comes out of nowhere like a long, pulled note on a double bass, that somehow trips into octaves a double bass could only dream about.
While I was listening to the record I was staying with my mum, who I know to be quite a ruthless critic of my, and anyone else’s, work. She walked in to the room and the first thing she greeted me with was “Who’s this? Great voice …” I said who it was and that I was reviewing it. She said “Well, a great voice is one thing, but let’s see if he’s written any good lyrics.”
For the rest of the E.P. mum sat there in complete silence, and when it was over, said “He’s great, play it again.” One can only assume she was satisfied with the lyrics, that range from planetary metaphors such as ‘Planets Align’, which fills you with the hope that you are not alone in being unable to read “what’s written in the stars” (Lord knows I’ve tried) to ‘Without You Again’, which uses nature and landscapes to describe what it’s like not being around the one you love. ‘Dogs Are Howling At The Moon’ contains the imagined meaning behind the howls, and their relatability to lovers, friends and family who are far away; and the transitions of the moon are used to represent the ebb and flow of romantic emotions.
Belson began playing on a broken old Spanish guitar he bought at an auction age 12, which he still has, and the album focuses around the guitar and his accomplishment on it; though hints of piano, horns and an occasional rhythm section throughout the record keep it interesting.
So, let it be known: Chris Belson is the whole package. He’s Leonard Cohen with a good range, he’s a lighter Tom Waits, he’s Johnny Cash without the guns, in ‘Dogs are Howling at the Moon’ I can hear J.J. Cale; he has the hymn-like rhythm of country with the homely melancholy of folk. But then at the same time, he’s none of these. Chris Belson is different. He has a knack of creating melodies where the notes seem to chase themselves and the album creates a sort of melodic circle, much like the face of the moon on its cover. And how nice not to be hounded by bass, how nice not to hear another girl singing folk-y songs like a baby, how nice to hear a man, though having a competent range, not feel the need to drive home the message he can compete with a mezzo-soprano. In sum, Chris Belson is a bloody relief.
‘Moon Songs’ has been released on the record label ‘Laid Bare Records’, which emerged from acoustic nights of the same name: ‘Laid Bare Live’, all founded and operated by Rami Radi, who himself has his roots in acoustic music.
‘Moon Songs’ is out now and you can catch Chris Belson at the launch party upstairs at the Ritzy on Thursday the 14th of January, for free. How bloody nice.
☆ I Made Christmas Cards …☆
… but it took so long no one is going to get one this year. Sorry! Here’s a sneak peak for next Christmas … only 369 days to go!
Motherisms: The Return
It’s been a while, too long I know some believe, but sometimes life doesn’t give you much amusing ammunition. Fortunately for everyone we’re emerging out the other side, and mum is firing on all cylinders.
(Excuse half-arsed/mixed up gun/car metaphor). ((Thanks)).
I have discovered people are EATING the cute little ponies that run wild on Dartmoor. I express my distress to mum. This is how our text conversation goes:
Me: They’re selling poor little dartmoor ponies as sausages!! In the times xxx
Mum: Its the only way they will survive. Heard this woman on the farming prog. Meat is meat, horse, cow, whatever. At the moment they go for dog food. Uneconomic for moorland farmers now, they are turning to sheep and cattle which will chang the whole ecology of the moorland. This way they are slaughtered close to home rather than being trucked miles to be slaughtered for dog food. Im all for it!! xxxx
Everyone knows I’m squeamish/pathetic and predominantly vegetarian. What mum’s forgotten is I also have a tendency to fall asleep on the sofa. So when I fail to react to mum’s practical nature I receive …
Mum: Oh shit! have .I shocked you.? This phome only does very basic punctuation. Xxx
(As if good punctuation and grammar might soften the blow). It’s only 12hrs later she receives the reassuringly idiotic:
Me: Oh no!! I fell asleep! Only just got that. Well, maybe I will start a pony sanctuary, divert all the sausage ponies in to my field xxx
Mum: Yes.Ok darling xxxx
Mum likes to vocalise when she’s bought a lottery ticket, as if voicing its possession somehow increases our numbers’ chances …
“Well I bought a lottery ticket for Saturday as it’s over 20 million, I only do them now if they’re over 20 million – though I’m thinking I might get scratch cards, where the disappointments more immediate.”
A ‘Sun Life’ life insurance advert is on television and they’re kindly offering a free pen, just for enquiring ….
Sun Life: And you’ll receive a welcome gift ….
Mum: When you’re dead.
Mum is talking about a boy she used to babysit who’s cut his long hair ….
“He’s much happier since he’s out of this Jesus faze. He used to sit there under this veil of misery.”
We’ve just watched Lady in the Van and are talking about the Ascension at the end ….
Mum: A ‘beam-up’ doesn’t seem too likely …
Me (always searching for the positive): Well, who knows …
Mum (change of tune): I do. We shed our bodies and our spirit goes on to something else, then we get to start again and become one with the fucking universe, man.
Me: Ok! Cool.
Mum has been learning about Kim Kardashian and Kanye West – I assume through the Daily Mail she flicks through in Sainsbury’s but refuses to buy…
Mum: That woman with the fat bottom and her husband who’s designed a line of absolutely horrible beige things …
Me: Yes. What? I try not to think about them …
Mum: Well, she’s pregnant again and has been squeezed into this latex dress-thing. It’s absolutely comical!
A very accurate afterthought comes to mum …
Mum: He’s very up himself isn’t he, the husband.
Me: Yeah. I think it’s sort of beyond that …
We’re watching Judge Judy, I have no problem with this but mum seems to think she needs to make an excuse ….
Mum: Judge Judy is better than the news …
Me: The news makes me nervous.
Mum: Me too, I can’t watch the news. I read the papers but the news makes me anxious. It’s designed to make you anxious; if you’re anxious, you’re conservative.
Inspired by The Simpsons I buy some pink florescent donuts and bring them back to the car. I can see mum’s face contorting in horror as I approach. I get in …
Mum: Oh my god no!!! Darling what have you done?! I’m not even sure I want to share the car with them ….
Mum has been telling me that her old doctor, Dr Beaven, once told her that if someone dies you should go out and tell the bees. I have, coincidentally, mentioned a bee in passing, in one of my poems. Mum is reading the poem …
Mum: You’ve stolen my bee line! We’re like Shelley and Keats!
Me: Just like Shelley and Keats.
(In case of future lawsuits: I didn’t steal her bee line, I just used the word bee.)
We’re watching Have I Got News For You and are learning Germany sent a Saint a license fee bill. (She died in 774) …
Mum: Well, I wont take the water bills too seriously any more.
Me: I’d have them sent ‘Care Of’ St Jude if I were you.
We’re watching Judge Judy again. There is a robust woman, very pretty, with burnt copper hair and a complexion I can only dream about, mum feels equally bitter …
“I’d die for skin and hair like that … she’s probably related to Henry VIII …. they’re about the same size.”
I’m reading a newspaper out loud …
Me: Stress is on the rise, is this news?
Mum: Of course not. Who’s surprised? All these people do is just sit on the sofa watching other people with perfect lives, eating ice cream.
Me: Where as we watch Judge Judy and Police Interceptors and eat brown rice and vegetables …
Mum: Exactly.
We’re talking about where mum will go when she moves out of the beloved little ‘garret’ in January …
Me: Maybe I’ll put you in an old peoples home ..
Mum(with utmost sincerity): You put me in an old peoples home, I make sure they throw me out!
We’ve just had people simulate some shagging in a perfume advert, now we’re watching people shagging again in some drama thing …
“Sex used to be fun when I was young, everyone kept quiet, it was furtive and secret; now it’s like having a bowl of cornflakes. So boring.”
I’ve finally done something relatively sensible, that someone incredibly sensible advised I did. I’m reading out an email in response to my sensible thing to mum …
Mum: Doesn’t give much away does it?
Me: Think that’s called ‘expectation management’ …
Mum: Yes. Right … That’s what I have to start doing.
Poetry Reading
Once every two years I will read my poetry out loud in a public space; so far this has happened twice.
Here is a picture to prove it …
Looking forward to 2017!
∞ Photo, Alex Waespi ∞
All That Glitters
†
London, you are usually overcast when I visit you. Maybe twice a year when I’m up you’ll be blazing hot and people will be outside drinking like Europeans on the continent, but without the European tact of stopping before they’re sick.
The last time I came to visit you was only a week ago, for a funeral. Not ‘a’ funeral; the funeral of my godmother, who had lived in the same house in Battersea my entire life, had always had both fire and central heating on, and had been an invisible pillar in the structure of my life; there for me to lean on if it ever got bad enough. Invisible only in the fact that I never felt it had got bad enough for me to lean on her, and so I hadn’t truly realised what a fixture she was until she was gone.
You were grey the day of her funeral too, not warm either. But she had left you on your sunniest day, just before the super moon.
Now, there is one less person in this world I can lean on, so I imagine her invisible column bolstering my spine and promise to stand up taller for the rest of my life.
This week (and, I brace myself at the thought: for the next two weeks) I am up for work and I thank the indian summer that you are not yet at your bleakest. Your thin laced, blue-grey skies are still off-set by the leaves on your few remaining trees; green if evergreen but burnt, bright, red in the vines on the outskirts of town.
In Victoria however, you are at your greyest. I slowly slalom my way out of the underground and try to prepare myself for human interaction, to remember to “SMILE”, because people don’t like girls who don’t smile. You get told to “cheer up”, regardless of whether cheering up is conducive to a good production or not, or really, whether it’s conducive to being sane. But I’m not high enough up the chain or far enough in the belly of these things to start exercising my opinion, unless it is positive. I know my place in their eyes.
Fortunately, I also know my place in mine.
So I set myself up for all this; for the advertising producer to eye me up, and not quite understand me or be able to file me away somewhere so instead he’ll treat me with slight distrust. Like a spicy desert or a tame dingo that could turn feral again at any moment and maul everyone at the Perspex table we meet on. I prepare myself for this.
People walk and storm past me, with varying huffs and struts of importance. I wish they wouldn’t all wear grey and black. Though I am wearing black, and I do very much like grey; and that bright computer blue of that lady’s coat is horrible but I do wish people could create a more pleasing palette to walk among.
I keep in mind I am the person I find disheartening; I am wearing black and I am looking at my phone trying to find my way to the production office. But, for once, I am not in a rush.
Things change.
As I turn off the grey street with its glasshouse shops and steel ship architecture, there’s a bustle of red brick and green leaves, and between the two worlds is Westminster Cathedral, though I don’t realise it is Westminster Cathedral until I get closer because I’ve never been there before, but I suppose you know that. I did know it must be some sort of cathedral, or maybe I thought it was a church at this point, but what’s the difference. (I’m not asking).
On the steps a girl flamboyantly crosses herself before she goes off to a purposeful and confident days work, brimming with the holy spirit in her navy, satin puffer coat – it looks warm.
I creep inside the Cathedral. It’s better than I expect, large and long and cavernous, with paintings and mosaics of saints, cornflower blue seeping through the honeycombed windows, green and ochre wood-like marble columns support the heavy, empty ceilings; cloistered men chat in red by the pews and lights dangle from wrought iron chandeliers.
I walk down the aisle and feel the cool air as I breath. ‘Cathedrals always make me cry.’ I think as I feel the tears coming, but I don’t like crying so much anymore so I wonder why my eyes fill instead and clear them with thought. I think of all the souls, wishes, despairs, hopes, sins, secrets, notes that were sung, they still hang in the air; it’s all here in the atmosphere and it’s almost overwhelming. Imagine if they’d lit the incense. I wish they’d lit the incense.
I hear a lady’s knee crack as she gets up from her prayers.
This calms me down.
There are about 10 people including myself scattered around the brown benches; we seem to all be from different continents, which is very diverse of us. I choose a pew alone on either side, I need room for my thoughts – I like to observe, but need the privacy to think. The thrill of the voyeur is stolen if one is being observed oneself, but I feel no eyes on me here. It is a great relief.
I watch a priest prepare a white-clothed table beneath a huge, pillared temple-thing, I suppose there’s a word for that, my mum and sister probably know it. I however, do not. So to me, it is a huge Greek temple stuck in the middle of the cathedral, and that is impressive. The priest is going about laying the table, preparing it endlessly under gold white light and I drift away from him. As he continues to go through the motions, he blurs and clouds and my minds eye comes into focus. I imagine an easier life.
I don’t know what I would ask from God anymore, I’ve asked for most and am still waiting for the vast majority. I understand that with some things, like the chick I accidentally killed when I was three going to heaven, it’s hard to tell if He followed through or not, but other stuff like, ‘give me a break’ or ‘cash injection please’ it’s become increasingly apparent the Holy Spirit won’t be intervening on my behalf anytime soon. So I just sit and instead imagine what might lie ahead of me today and how I can make it easy on myself.
Just be easy on yourself.
With that decided I get up, St Barnabas in mosaic to my left, royal blue and beaming I find him quite a humorous and comforting chap.
I know I am leaving now. I light a candle because I have change and it’s a nice thing to do. I watch the flame bloom and cradle my fingers around it for a few moments, then wonder if I can take it with me. Then, know I can’t.
A few paces in front of me and to the right, just off the exit passage (whatever that’s called) I find an entirely sparkling room: the ceiling all in metallic glistening mosaic, Jesus and Latin in sparkling tiles and an old lady who has been there a while.
She’s illuminated in every direction by a thousand glass stars. She seems the centre of this little universe, so I leave her alone to be restored by the glitter.
As I make my way out I think I don’t have anything against religion; but then my brain rises with ‘OH! Jade. But the wars and the horror that has been waged and is waged in the name of religion.’ I pause in thought, momentarily appalled by myself for even thinking such a frivolously backward thing.
Then, as always, something lurches forward to defend me, this time from, myself.
‘Thank you social conditioning, but no; I don’t think I do have anything against religion, by religion I mean it’s very essence: spirituality. Religion at its base teaches one very simple concept that is very hard not to agree with, love and tolerance. (Oh so that’s my opinion. Feels slightly dangerous to have one … maybe it’s not the right one. How much do I care if it’s not? ‘)
I have plenty against people. I have plenty against people who can’t see past the picture to the meaning, or who distort and warp and complicate it beyond recognition. Who use it for gain or greed, to use their given name for “it” to kill. I have plenty against them. Because people seem to do a very fine job of abusing, deceiving and slaughtering each other without the bastion of religion. We are usually the problem.’
Like a finger pointing at the moon, we must remember to see the moon, not the finger.
So no, in here, I feel safe. Protected from the deluge of aspirational mentality that is now the lifeblood of London. It’s hollow and fake and it makes me sick. But I need the money, and that, unfortunately, is another mentality.
For now though, I am still here in Westminster Cathedral and in a sense, because I have been here, I am always here in this ever expanding moment that runs like a race track through time.
No, I have nothing against religion itself and little against you, London. Little except for the fact you are no longer my home. And though I know you so well, you aren’t mine anymore. So I don’t mind your grey skies so much, I won’t be long under them, because I do have enough against you to stay away.
Book At Bedtime
My sister has translated an amazing Austrian book, ‘A Whole Life’. Her translation will be read on Radio 4s ‘Book At Bedtime’ on October 19th: meaning the rest of the family, myself included, can finally give up and bask in her glow. Put it in your diary and listen to it – or read the book xx
