Ok.  After reading this I am scared:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-europe-26442381

And this makes me bring forward the first chapter of my novelization of The Light Gate my long gestated Cold War rock opera.  I am no writer of prose.  I am a musician.  I never intended for the following to be public consumption but sometime things change.  Something changed tonight.   God bless.

The Light Gate

On the counter-point of darkness

Stand my glass gates

On foundations of light,

That guide with a brilliant beam

Holds the blinded navigator

Still searching for his sight,

And this magic light show

Has now begun

Like a razor sharp laser

Brighter than the sun.

Chapter One:  In Polished Destruction

He remembered them from his childhood.  Standing out on the horizon from his parents' bedroom window as the heavy red orange summer sky hung like satin from the heavens to the ground.  Twenty or so steel towers stretching up to the setting sun in the West.  They were thin and delicately structured forms; intertwining strings of metal precisely strung and rigidly linked together.  He thought that they were beautiful and when dusk was settling he always thought that they were at their best.  That’s when lights came on like bright ruby beacons becoming more brilliant as the darkness came down.

When the night came and the sky was dark - Coca cola dark as he called it – you could see them bright and clear.  Like hundreds of red stars in the near distance, he told his four year old self.  They were awake through the night and being scared of the dark he took great comfort in this.  He thought of them as friends.

He asked his mother once about them.  “They’re radio masts, dear” she explained “those lights are there so that aeroplanes don’t fly into them at night”.  “Clever” he thought. 

They were very clever.

                                                                                ***

The dark brown Vauxhall Cavalier pulled up outside the fish and chip shop in Hilmorton, a small suburb of Rugby, Warwickshire.  Rugby was famous for its radio masts, some of the biggest ever built. They were first brought to life on New Year’s Day 1926.  In 1927, the site grew and provided the first transatlantic commercial telephone service connecting New York to London; at its peak it hosted twelve 250ft aerials.

As well as scientific research and telegram messaging, it was also used to communicate with the Royal Navy submarine fleet under the call sign, GBR.  It was where the BBC broadcasted its electronic time code pips on Radio 4, the ticking clock at the heart of the United Kingdom’s psyche since 1972. 

It is 1985.  The year that Gorbachev became Secretary General of the Communist Party and three years before he becomes Head of State of the Soviet Union.  The Doomsday Clock is at three minutes to midnight according to the Science and Security Board of the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists , the closest the world has been to nuclear apocalypse since 1952 and the invention of the Hydrogen Bomb.  Time has moved on since then with East and West Cold War rivals posturing for the dominance of their competing systems with easily enough fire power to annihilate life on the earth. 

In the early 1980s the Soviet Union began developing a Doomsday fail deadly deterrence called The Dead Hand.   Should a nuclear strike is detected by seismic, light, radioactivity and overpressure sensors it would automatically launch its nuclear arsenal of Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles (ICBMs) at their pre-destined targets by computer control.  One accident.  One incident.  And the world would be ravaged by annihilation. 

Outside the fish and chip shop the little boy waited with his mother as his father brought a bag to the car with the warm smell of batter, cod and fried potato.  The heaters were on in the car and he felt snug in the back seat with a soft glow from the digital display of the in car radio.  Outside rain came down and the street lights shone on the road in the early night. 

The 7pm Radio 4 news started and the father turned up the car’s radio.  Blip.  Blip. Blip. Blip. Blip. Blip. Blip.  Beep. 

As car turned around to head home his parents listen intently to the headline news and after a silence break into conversation about the story that they’ve just heard.

“That’s us” the mother says, sounding concerned.

“W-w-hat’s us, Mummy?” asked the little boy, he was still learning to speak and had a terrible stutter.  He didn’t like the tone in her voice.

“It’s the radio masts.  If the Russians launched an attack, we would be at Ground Zero” his mother said matter of factly, as though she was resigned to an immovable fact.

“What’s g-g-g-round zero?”, he knew what zero was.  It was a numberless number.  He’d just learnt about that at school.  Zero meant nothing.

“Well, it means that if there was a war, the radio masts would be the first thing that they would try to bomb and if the Royal Navy don’t hear the Today programme pips two days in a row or something like that, then they attack the Russians”.

“Does that mean we would die?” the little boy was worried.  He didn’t want his parents to die.  He felt protective of them.  The radio masts looked a long way away when he watched them from his parent’s window, he wondered if he could do something to save them.

“Yes” she replied.  “But don’t worry…we wouldn’t know a thing”.

***

Tucked up on the top of his bunk bed the little boy felt uneasy.  He was worried about the Russians and their bombs.  He felt comfort from the landing light falling through the window above his bedroom door but he could feel a distant terror.  He snuggled up with his favourite teddy bear and hid himself under the blankets.

He’d never really known fear like this before.  It was his first taste of something that felt really bleak.  He couldn’t sleep, so stayed awake for hours with his young mind imagining the darkness falling over his towers.  The corners of his bedroom grew darker, so dark that he thought he could see things living in them like they were in another world.  He had visions of the destruction hanging over his world.

***

26^th April 1986.  01:23H.  Chernobyl, Russia.  Engineers are undertaking a systems test at the nuclear power plant near the city of Pripyat on the border of Belarus in the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic.  A sudden power serge causes a reactor vessel to rupture.  A series of violent steam explosions damage the structure to expose the graphite moderator to the air resulting in a fire bursting up into the night sky spreading a plume of highly radioactive fall out up into the earth’s atmosphere containing four hundred times more radioactive material than in the first atom bomb dropped on Hiroshima in 1945.

27^th April 1986.  The little boy’s mother ran out into the street of a small Northamptonshire cul-de-sac.  She found in one of his favourite haunts at the end of the road playing with one of his friends.

“Darling, I need you to come inside.  Its nothing to worry about” she said trying to hide her mild panic “I just want you to come inside.  There’s some kind of toxic cloud that they talked about on the news.  Something to do with Russia.”

“Can Charlie come?” the little boy asked, gesturing toward his best friend.

The mother said that she better check with his parents and walked the boys to the house across the road.  Soon afterward he walked with his mother up to their family’s semi-detached house that sat up at the top of the road.  There was a dense wooded embankment running alongside the road with a wire fence and a long strip of grass between.  Charlie’s mother had thought it was best that he stayed inside his own home.

He watched the television news in the living room with big windows that looked out onto the road.  “Those Russians” he thought “they’re rubbish”.  The television said it was an accident but with an unshakeable impression that it was the result of inept operation and poor maintenance.  There was it seemed to his young mind another notch on the meter of bad things that could happen.  Maybe the Russians would be too busy to fight a war and bomb him.  Edward Sun slept soundly that night. 

Shortly after the extensive environmental devastation brought on by the Chernobyl incident - that poisoned the heart of the Soviet Union with pollution mainly affecting Belarus, Russia and the Ukraine, as well as much of Western Europe to a lesser extent - Glasnost, or as it translates ‘publicity’ meaning transparency became the dominant movement within Soviet politics.  Ultimately, it is seen as the process by which the Soviet Union led by Mikhail Gorbachev began to re-assess its modus operandi and led to the federation’s collapse in the late 1980s and until 1991 when the Doomsday Clock reversed back to 17 minutes to midnight.

The world breathed a sigh of relief.  Nuclear war no longer seemed like an immediate threat.  In the United Kingdom, Irish republicans bombed shopping centres and banks across in England.  In Belfast, a civil war raged between paramilitary terrorist organisations and the authorities of both sides.  The bombs were different and as the little boy grew into an awkward teenager, he didn’t worry too much about them.

***

On September 11^th 2001, Edward Sun was working in a munitions factory building parts for the Queen’s personal jet when the news broke.  Nobody paid much attention when the newscaster’s voice crackled over the speaker.  A plane had flown into a New York skyscraper.  Details were scarce at the time and his Mind’s Eye he imagined a little single prop light aircraft. 

Gradually the provincial radio DJ began to play more sedate, melancholic music as the extent of the Al Queda attack on the Twin Towers in New York emerged.  The news then came in that a second aircraft had followed, which began to ring alarm bells.  He decided to forego the promised over time he had booked in to get home and watch the news on television as it came in.  His co-workers sneered at him for being so earnest as he left but he was excited by the news; it seemed like something important was happening.

When he got home the television were pictures looked apocalyptic, huge plumes of heavy dust laden smoke stretching up into the sky.  It was surreal.  He felt enthusiastic about engaging with the drama unfolding; they’d even managed to hit the Pentagon.  Even though it was happening in a land far, far away he knew enough to know that the repercussions and went to bed that night a little drunk and half suspecting that the United States would drop a nuclear bomb somewhere that night.

The terrorist plan had been ingenious.  Their approach to death was chillingly practical.  Fly a plane into a building and kill three thousand people.  Their fatal commitment to religion lethally more so.

 A new war had seemingly begun but it still seemed remote.  The newspapers, television commentators and politicians all seemed to stress the great severity of what had happened.  World leaders expressed condemnation and promised vengeance but as time marched on it started to ring a little hollow; there would be no turning point just a slow, bloody pursuit of those responsible that would in the process claim the lives of many innocent people until Western pride could be restored.

The same leaders conspired to use the whole affair as a shameless opportunity to preach fear and remove the odd dictator or two for economic gain until nobody – except the devout, insane and blindly patriotic - quite knew which side of good and bad they lived on.

Edward Sun found himself living in a strange world.  He had grown to become awkwardly gregarious by nature, serious and intellectual.  Hugely driven but with a capacity for self-destructive idiocy; he sneered at his peer’s sense of fun, particularly in pleasure derived from creative pursuit other than that that he derived from his own inexplicable global view.  He thought that tortured artists were self-indulgent but justified his own self-indulgences as a necessary part of his creative process.  His deep introspection led him to troubling guilt over the contradictions in his high self-minded value system.

It was a gamble.  If he delivered, it would all be worthwhile.  If he didn’t  then he’d be a fraud, a failure or dead.  There was no rational line of mediation between the two.  The battle lines were drawn indelibly in his psychology. 

 One man and his guitar can change the world.

Light At The End Of The Tunnel

Looking back at the comments on my blog from a long time ago (end of 2005, I think)...I found this.

"Hey Tom, I find you very interesting. It could be that you're in London making your way, you write about it with not that woe-is-me sense of desperation or somebody-save-me victim attitude, but with the insight to know that you will make it."

Thanks Bri.

Come on people, throw me some more positive energy. Or as I said once before...give me $2 million dollars to buy synthesisers and I'll change the world!

I'm back on fighting form. Prepare for great things.

Tom.

Fresh Starts

I am having an epiphany of sorts at the moment.

Everything seems to be aligning in preparation for a fresh start.

We -The Change- had a good rehearsal at the weekend, and look set for a barnstorming set on March 27th at Cafe 1001 in Brick Lane. I hope that our "Pink Floyd on a fiver" film projections are ready to roll.

I am increasingly broke at the moment, which doesn't bode well for moving at the end of the month, but is something that I'll just have to rise above. I had a record company send me through some business stats on the record deal front today. I think that originally they were interested in just me, but it will be a Change record that gets released. We tried recording at the weekend, and though we didn't get the results we wanted...fuck me...the bassist and drummer are good. I would feel as though I was in safe hands, if I wasn't the paranoid soul that I am.

What else? I am writing a new opera. The treatment is fantastic, the lyrics and literary side of it are very strong. There is a distinct lack of music in the process thus far, but the ideas that I am going to apply are really interesting. Particularly if you like Steve Reich.

I don't write here much anymore. I can't be candid because if you search for my name on Google, this is the first thing that comes up and so this particular avenue has been screwed, which is depressing frankly. I could always take the Clark Kent route and adopt an alter ego, but in terms of a personal journal, I think that is a load of balls.

I might write here a bit more in the future. I might give facebook a whirl, a lot of my aristo friends seem to recommend it.

Tom.

Hub Magazine Interview

As part of the promotion for The Change's pre-launch gig of 'Attack Of The Chevron Action Flasher', I was interviewed by Hub Listings magazine by email. An edited version appears in the first December issue, mostly around East London. You can also find it at www.hublm.co.uk.

Below please find my unedited submission.


Hub: How old are you?

25.

Hub: How long have you been playing the guitar?

Seven or eight years. My first guitar was a cheap nylon acoustic that I bought off someone at school, it had the bridge glued on and when I took it home, I tried to tune it too high and it didn’t like it. Suddenly there were bits of guitar imbedded in my bedroom wall.

Hub: How long have you been in a band/s?

Four years. Off and on. I’ve always played solo gigs, as a songwriter I’ve always believed it necessary to perform in public, whether there is a group or not. But being in a band is much better, it gives you much more freedom. My first band was when I was at school at the age of 17, and I was the singer. We formed exclusively for the purpose of making a short film.

Hub: Tell us a bit about the change, members, characters etc...

The band started in 2002 at University. It was Danny Hewis – the drummer- and I, with some other guys. Danny and I were always the core I feel. There was an understanding about the way music should be performed, as well as a mutual willingness to engage in rock n roll stupidity. But earlier this year we were fucked as a group. Danny had gone back to Lincoln to where he had a longstanding involvement in a band with his two brothers up in Lincoln – The Hail Cesars – and I was trying to make a totally fresh start. Two things swung everything round. I started recorded the mini-opera as demos in my home studio and had every intention of releasing it as a solo record as I’d really delivered on them. A friend of mine who manages other bands heard some of the recordings on myspace and really encouraged me to go out and promote it.

So, I had some dates lined up, which never happened, but I phoned Danny not to ask him to play because I thought that he was unavailable. But he wanted to get involved, because he wanted to be out playing music with our kind of group. So, we started to rehearse. We’ve been living at opposite ends of England but I thought that a few train journeys shouldn’t be an obstacle.

Alex Baker, our bassist, was an old school friend of Danny’s. We had someone covering for us on bass but he wasn’t a bass player first and foremost. We brought Alex in and I think for the first time, I’ve got musicians around me who I can have total confidence in to go with me when I play and also who I can hand my songs to unreservedly.

It isn't just a matter of dynamics though. Their is a mutual desire to make this work in the long term and to deliver to some fairly lofty expectations that we've set ourselves. Key to this is that Danny and Alex give me quite a free hand. We understand our individual roles, and I for one, won't tell a drummer or a bassist as good as ours what they should be doing.


Hub: Who are your biggest influences?
Drop the question mark, and you have your answer.

Hub: That was more a statement than a question, so the Who, tell me more about your connection with them.


I have been a big fan for years. They got me through those turbulent teenage years that everyone goes through, but being somewhat overly sensitive as a kid, there was something that rang very true in music that is often about fragility but performed in a very powerful and aggressive way.

Danny is a big fan too.

Its changed quite a bit for me in recent years because my music has become much more of a focus in my life. Its now my time to make waves. I found - rather than adopted - a very Townshend influenced style on both electric and acoustic guitars, and as a songwriter I've always pursued the path of having a home studio and recording demos in isolation before taking them to the band.

The other big thing was that I was advised to study art which was time and process based for my Masters at University, as my background had been film. I chose auto-destructive art, and Gustav Metzger. He provided Townshend with an artistic rationale for smashing guitars, as well as providing groundbreaking light shows for bands including the Who on one occasion in the mid-60s.

But Metzger fundamentally changed things for me. He's a very curious, tragic, enigmatic character...and I spent a lot of time talking with him. It made me really sharpen up on my objectives, and by extension what could be achieved through my natural approach to music. I decided that I had been on the right tracks in terms of being very serious about what could be achieved and the challenges that threaten us. Its all very much linked in with the potential within the alignment between art and rock music. Art demands a pursuit of truth to me, rock music demands that deliver spectacle.

I'm also one of the first 22 beta testers of Pete Townshend's Lifehouse Method music software, which is part of his great 'Lifehouse' project, that originally became Who's Next. I have had two musical portraits created already. Its a remarkable experience. I hope that you can share the same one in the future.


Hub: Why a 'Mini Opera'?

Most of my songs are stories. Often about surreal characters. It made a lot of sense to write a series together, I wanted to get away from the more introspective songs that I've written before. The irony being that these introspections remain but they are mediated through twisted lens of rock. It also made sense for me to do something compact. I've had big projects that have never got off the ground, this was more manageable. I had enough music written for it to make it twice as long as it is.


Hub: What exactly is a 'Mini Opera'?

A series of songs that portray a story. My point of reference was 'A Quick One (While He's Away)'. The beauty of doing something that's, er, "mini" is that you don't bore people. Our mini-opera runs to just under 15 minutes. Exactly the right amount of time to finish the last scotch and coke before you go off to the Kent Institute of Art & Design indie disco on a Friday night. Any longer, and it becomes Dark Side Of The Moon...which as wonderful as it is, isn't going out music.


Hub: Hub Live sees the debut of 'Attack of the Chevron Action Flasher'. Can you tell us more about the story of the Opera?

Its the story of a 15 year old stuttering boy called Silas who is scared of the dark and is living in isolation from his friends. When he's invited out he has to leave, quietly so as not to alert his over zealous mother that he's escaped into the night. Between him and his friends there is a park, where the Chevron Action Flasher - a former investment banker who lost his money in the stock market crash - lies in wait. He's been terrifying the local neighbourhood for years. Silas, decides to face his fears and so enters the park, where he confronts the flasher with his machine gun like stutter. Suffice to say, there is a dramatic event. That I won't detail here. Suffice to say, Silas overcomes his fears and grows up to become a famous writer who speaks to thousands at the Royal Albert Hall.


Hub: So where else will you perform the Opera?

It will become a central part of our set-list for some time. I have a new, rather fantastically unique project in the early stages at the moment, but until that happens the mini-opera will remain. We hope to tour after recording our debut album in Spring next year. A date in Holland is a possibility. The UK a certainty. I would like to see a short film of it made to and have spoken with a couple of directors to collaborate with.


Hub: How easy is it for bands to record their material and put it on a cd?

It depends where you record. I have a great mobile studio now, but without that we wouldn't have the facilities to do so and it would be very expensive. I think that the main problem is getting the entire package together. This is why the Internet is going to be so hugely important to all musicians. We're still very much on the tip of the ice berg. But I predicted 5 years ago that bands would be offering subscriptions to their websites and would send their subscribers free music, with the option to by a plastic copy special edition if they wanted it. I stick by this still now. It will be the future.


Hub: How do you plan on recording the Opera?

Using my mobile studio at a suitable venue. Probably a live room somewhere. We may go for 24 tracks, and it will almost certainly be digital. We will almost certainly lay it down as a group, and lay on whatever vocal overdubs are necessary afterwards. It could even be me doing this at home as part of the post-production for it. I would like to see us remain true to my original demos. But this time around it will be a group effort. I certainly think that we will allow ourselves the time to get the dynamics right. It shouldn't just be a live thrash. We should make a recording that stands on its own two feet.


Hub: Will it be available for free online?

No. You may be able to audition it. I may make my demos available. But when it comes to having it, you will have to pay pay pay.


Hub: What are your thoughts on digital media distribution (mp3s, iPods etc)

Liberating. And like I said...we haven't even begun with it yet. MP3s allow people to distribute their music without the overheads of cd pressing and packaging. If someone clones our record and starts distributing it for free...then fine. Its putting many units of my work out there into the world. That is after all, what any artist wants. To have their audience served. It might seem like I'm contradicting my previous answer, by not allowing free downloads of the mini-opera, I want you to buy the CD as a package...because it will be a good package. I can't stop you copying it. Be my guest...and if you like it then please show your patronage by paying to come and see us.


Hub: Let's talk about something else for a moment: Ladies! are you straight?

Yes.

Hub: Do you have any embarrassing/funny stories to tell Hub readers about encounters of the feminine kind?

None that you deserve to know. I've never written a love song. Suffice to say, it isn't boring...I am drawn to insane women.

Hub: Are the others in the band as popular with the laydeez?

They have their moments.


Hub: Do you think that free online listings are useful? who for? why?

Very much so. It gives the oxygen of publicity to small acts, and helps people find their way around town.


Hub: Finally, what is the definitive reason for us all to come to the Gramaphone on December 13th?

Because my life depends upon it.


Hub: Thank You Tom.

Should I Shut My Blog Down?

Should I Shut My Blog Down?

I'm not well today. I'm at home. My stomach feels awful and I can't eat. Had a sleepless night last night. Am off work today. Probably just a bug.

I am seriously considering shutting down this blog.

It makes me feel vulnerable to prying eyes. There were over 250 views of my entries last week alone. I am sharing a lot of information about myself, and I don't know if I can do that any longer. I feel as though I can't be as honest as I would like anymore, and honesty is very important to me. I don't want to fail myself in maintaining that.

Part of me though, feels very strongly about using the internet as a forum for sharing ideas, experiences and thoughts. I don't want to fail to make my contribution.

Sounds very serious.

Tom.

That Fuzzy Place

I feel depressed. Very sad for some reason.

After the gig last night, I ended up alone not quite sure what to do with myself. Danny and Alex headed back up north straight after the show. So, I found myself sitting on my bed writing my journal at 2am.

I've had a long day today. I'm still tired. I still seem to be alone, I don't seem to want to drink -which is unusual - and so I'm at loss as to what I should do with myself.
Enough of the wallowing. Last night, was 'ok'. A very tolerant crowd, who I really didn't think would want the particular cup of tea that we tend to brew. We all made mistakes. We seem to have gotten away with it (but if you picked up one of the flyers from the gig and are reading this blog for the first time...then its a fair cop, guv!)

Still though, we did our job which was to sew another stitch in what we do as a band, allow me to progress the method of my own particular thesis and entertain - I hope - a few people on the way.. We have momentum for the first time in a long time. I've written a really interesting record for us to release in the form of the Flasher opera. It will help us stand apart, as long that is, as we are willing to stand behind it.

But are we in that fuzzy place yet where music, humour, art and violence combine to make entertainment. No. We haven't got there yet. We can do. We should do. We almost absofuckinglutely have to if we're going to go beyond the average. You see, we will never be pretty boys with Tony & Guy haircuts. No L'Oreal "st-st studio, L'Oreal studio line" for us.

Though, in our favour, we will only become stronger as the more beautiful looking around us watch their God given gifts fade around them. Hence we are rock musicians.

Tomorrow, I am off to Denmark Street to buy the new studio. It will be a 16 or 24 track rig, it will enable me to record demos for the Light Gate project in a way that won't be limited by technical constraints.

My hand is quite swollen from hitting my guitar yesterday, I have a few cuts - nothing like those of old - and I find the soreness quite welcome. It reminds me of who I am.

If you came to the gig, and you've laboured your way through this rather downbeat blog entry, then thanks for sticking with me. We seem to be set to play more at Gramaphone, once a month on a regular basis. I'm sourcing out some new venues in Shoreditch. Once we're a tighter machine, then we will be the best The Change type band that we can be.

Peace, love, and light to one and all.

Tom.

Gig

Coming ?

Watch Me Fucking Fly!

The wild house party wasn't very wild. I have vast stockpiles of booze ready for action. Those who came were sweet and very lovely, I am fortunate to know them all. But a lot of friends -not people I just know through myspace - but old uni friends were fucking appalling. They live five minutes walk away and didn't bother. Fuck them.

I also got dumped by my girlfriend last night. Something to do with her past made her freakout. We've only really just started. We're both twenty five years old. Absolute Beginners still, eh!

Anyway, I've been on the booze a lot recently and I was hoping to straighten up a bit. I've decided to fuck this plan of action, and remained hammered and sobre up enough for next weekend's rehearsals. So expect the artistic produce of a vegetable until then, soaked in a variety of alcholic beverage.

What annoys me most about being dumped is that there were no signs. It all seemed good. For the first time in eons I was really happy to commit, I'm usually pathetic when it comes to commitment. My bonking stats for 2006 are of the scale. Its shameful. Truly. But I seem to get away with it, until someone hooks me in and at which point it seems to dissintergrate.
Fuck that! I don't care if I die alone or whatever, as long as I've done what God put me on earth to do...as long as I make the contribution that I need to then I've no interest in hanging around. Falling for someone is a wonderful thing, but christ...it confuses things. Is it going to help or hinder me ? Should I remain permenantly detached to safeguard my artistic intensity or would commitment make me stronger?

But to all those who have written me off, to all of those who have dumped or run from me, to those who don't turn up, and to those who think that I'm pretentious twat...make as much noise as you like...because I still feel how I did when I was 21 and insane with this thing we call rock n roll...Danny and I are back on the 14th of September on stage. Watch me fucking fly!

Tom.

Technology Is My/Our Friend

We've finally got the internet up and running in the new house. I don't have it yet myself, as the Ratcomputer is still waiting to return following its upgrade. It'll be good to get back online at home though, in the summer of 2005 I designed a new website for The Change, but then moved to London and didn't have a way of updating it.

I've found Myspace a really great alternative, vastly superior in many respects - I can actually get web traffic on it (as in people) - but there's no place like home, and with my buddies at Art Concept, I can do things with the web that are beyond the reach of a lot of people who like me don't have any money. I have some ideas for things that I'd like to do with a new site, but this time I think that I'll step back from designing it. Its a really big distraction, and we've got access to this fab piece of software that is going to make maintenance much quicker and easier. I'm sick to the back teeth of slow moving old Dreamweaver.

It'll also give me a chance to get my Independent Artists Company page up to speed before I try to flog -sorry, "release" - the mini opera on it.

Speaking of such, I was in a quandry the other day about how to record the demos for my Gate project, because I really need more scope than my analogue four track can provide. So...I've found the answer. And its gorgeous. The only decision now is whether I go for a 16 or 24 track unit. I may need to put the 24 track dream on ice for the moment, and use the difference in outlay to buy a couple of new extra microphones.

Once that's done, I'll be able to record demos like a God. Sadly, it'll be goodbye to analogue. No way that I can afford a 1/4 " analogue machine...or run it either. But I'd like to still use my old Tascam on occasion and master it onto the new studio. If only women were as warm to me as the sound of analogue recording.

It hasn't been a very hard decision to make about this studio. The question mark was over whether it would be better to buy some stage gear for the band, but that, I've concluded, should be a joint venture...and this studio is for personal use (and by extension the bands also).
I really wouldn't be able to embark upon this new creative path without this equipment, ofcourse there is always more equipment that I feel that I need...a synthesiser would open up whole new ball games in terms of the sound that I use, or maybe an organ (not likely to be able to fit a Hammond with a Lesley cab. in my room, I think). But this should be a good start. One other thing...it has a drum machine. And according to the average life expectancy for English men, I have 52 years left to learn how to use it.

I NEED MORE TIME!!!

Peace and Love,

Tom.

Bored

Boring job. Boring house. Boring walls. No music. No studio. Bored.

I need to inject something interesting into my week. Its very boring.
Its the price that you pay for not being able to record.

Am going to have to find something/someone interesting to do something with pronto. Maybe it would be nice if - for a change - it didn't involve waking up with a shitty hangover the next morning.

I watched 'V for Vendetta' last night. Good movie.

Ah, so I bought tickets for The Who at my beloved Roundhouse yesterday. I really can't explain how much I love that place. I researched it a lot for my thesis. The Who's gig in October will be forty years to the month since they played there with Pink Floyd, Cream, and The Move, with Gustav Metzger doing the light show. Its a small venue too, so it'll be a nice change from seeing Messrs Townshend & Daltrey in a big field.

The problem with boredom is that it encourages idiocy to create distractions.
Bollocks.

Tom.

The Who At The Roundhouse!

I've got my fucking tickets ya bastards!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Tom.

Nasty!

Woke up this morning quite late - my hours have changed, so I get a lie-in - because I'm going to be working a bit later than before.

Was all set to walk across the road - Kingsland Road of Sunny Dalston - when I encountered the irresistable urge to have a vomit. Not entirely sure why, I didn't drink heavily last night, nor did experiment with Sushi, so I'm a little perplexed.

I am wearing some truly nasty clothes today. Black trousers, navy blue badly cut jacket, a white shirt and a really shit tie. What is it with ties? We have a company dress code that insists that I, the long haired bearded bastard of rock that I am, have to wear a camp bit of silk around my neck. What genius invented that?

Well, it won't be forever. By hook or by crook I'm going to pull myself up and out of all of this.
Now, it could be time for a shave. My beard is looking a bit Father Christmas. It will, ofcourse, look horrific for about a week afterwards. Praise the Lord!

It seems that I'm going to have a couple of gigs lined up in the near future. One for me, and one for the band. Spoke with Danny The Drummer last night, and he's keen on the band gig, I've suggested that we try to book something else in on the day/weekend following too, so that we can make the most of it. I suspect that I will travel up to Lincoln for the rehearsals. It could be a fairer way of balancing out the journeying that everyone is going to have to put in. There are some good rehearsal rooms - I think - around here in Dalston and Shoreditch too, and I'm more ready to use these than I was the ones in Camden. We've also got a great place up in Rugby too, that Llee found. Its cheap. Isolated. Has a stage and plenty of space, enough to record, we used it a month ago. So, we have options. We can play and practice wherever the fuck we like, we can pretty much pay whatever the fuck we like.

As long as I don't get too distracted by a bottle of scotch, guilt or the failure of my latest half-cock grandious attempt to save the world then we should go onto great things. As long as the 'Rambo with a brandy glass' alter-ego doesn't rear his ugly addled head, then I should remain pretty balanced and financially solvent.

I'm still trying to get hold of my friend Joe - he who is the genial monkey who has set-up an events company - to talk to him about VJs. That's the next trick, get a VJ who can add something really powerful to the musical mix. A 21st century rebirth for Mike Leonard and the Hornsey College of Art's Sound and Light workshop. That gives me something else to equate. Is it necessary to this brand of rock music, and if not, then the purist in me has to think about whether he can some unecessary dilutions of rock n roll.

The sour minded capitalist bastard cynic in me - and the performer - also says, that rock n roll is entertainment too. Its show business. But what a deadly weapon that is, a real Trojan Horse, because its the cheapest dirtiest low art form at times, but it can, has, and will again be capable of transcending barriers in a way no other art form can. Primitive and sophisticated. Vulgar and elegant. Immediate and abstract. All these things simultaneously. Bang.

Tom.

P.S. Tom, shut up, go and vomit some more before work.

Its Sunday!

Howdy,

How are tricks people?

I've had a mutha of a week, but I've just enjoyed my second lie in of the weekend, and that's really unusual for me, as once I wake, I'm not one to stay in bed.

Time for some changes, I think. I should have my studio back after next weekend's rehearsals, which will be good, as I can start to feel productive once more. At the moment I have lots of distractions, recording has become such a key part of my creative process when songwriting that I feel that I need it to focus myself when I'm writing. I have been working on the first song for new magnum opus that I've cooked up. Its called 'Break The Gate', its not exactly sophisticated, but then again rock music isn't and neither is my grasp of musical language, so I can be content with writing what appears to be a good rock song.

I've been seeing lots of people, people who I haven't caught up with for a while or who I should probably spend more time with. Still though, I miss companionship at the moment and people that I can draw close into me. I long to spend time with supportive creative people, people that I can build something with. Hopefully, I will get a fill of that next weekend with the rehearsals.

The weather here has gone quite shitty, and I'm a little worried as to where the summer seems to have disapeared to. Am feeling a bit weird, but quite relaxed today. I'm trying to put problems out of my head and revel in the space that they leave.

Peace and Love,

Tom.

Crazy

Finally moved in. Nice house. I didn't remember it much from the viewing. I have an excellent terrace. A good place for wine, food, books, papers, pens and assorted distractions.
Spoke with Danny last night, and Llee just now. We are scheduling another rehearsal for a week or so. Should be interesting, a new dimension.

Have done a lot on the new opera. Started getting some music together for it. I am borrowing guitars.

Still without my things, am still feeling displaced.

I've been very busy, and under a lot of stress. Hopefully things can relax a little more now. I haven't had time to write here for a week or so, or send anyone any messages. Sorry about that, will try to get back on track with that.

I had a very unexpected but intense experience on Sunday. I'd like to write about it here, but I'd be betraying a confidence. So I won't. Maybe one day it will be a short story, carefully veiled, so that you don't suspect that what I'm describing is fact. I must sound conceited. Sorry. I would love totally honest, but the problem is, too many people read blogs these days. Oh, for the distance of stardom or the anonymity of an alter-ego. But I am not a star, nor do I believe in writing blogs or journals under an alter-ego, and therefore, I have to deploy an editorial position in these circumstances.

Frankly, this sucks. Because it was - no drugs involved - a fucking mind, body and soul exploding experience.

I'll try to write more here now. I have my lyric wall up already. Nice to be feeling more focussed once again.

Tom.

Sleep In The Bath

Which is what I did last night.

Went to my friend Tanya's birthday party in Dalston. As I have nowhere to live at the moment, I managed to blag the bath tub. It was surprisingly comfy, though not very becoming of a twenty five year old masters graduate. According to one of my old tutors I am an 'intellectual'...if only they could see me now (cue self-depreciating laughter).

So things at the moment are all a bit up in the air, but I'm really looking forward to having a place to call 'home' once more soon. It could be a lot worse, and I should be thankful for the grace that I have received, and to myself for some of the fortitude that I seem to be showing at the moment. Three years ago, I was in a simliar situation and mentally I cracked. I suffered from terrible anxiety attacks and would be nearly catatonic. I would barely be able to speak and would find myself outside buildings when everyone else had walked in twenty minutes earlier. They probably thought that I was on the phone, whereas in truth I was having a breakdown and really had no idea - during an attack- of who, where or what I was.

I'm thankful that none of this has cropped up again.

Today, I am tired but quite upbeat. A bit scared and quite lonely though. Such is life, I could do with some companionship right now, I miss having people around me and pray that new people will flood into my life. I've been wreckless with friendships in the past, but I've also been failed by others. It is difficult to maintain momentum when you lack permenance of any kind in your life.

The one thing that I do have permenance with is my love of music. Its great therapy. Both listening to and making it. It is a wonderful release, and I believe makes me very strong. I also believe that its - rock - application is as a weapon. An entertainment weapon. Its showbiz and high art rolled into one.

At the moment, I'm on ice with it a bit because I don't have any guitars with me. I'm sorely missing them. I can't write, can't play and can't record. Its a temporary arrangement, but naturally, I find it a (if not THE) defining aspect to my personality. So, being without it is not fun.

Still though, I am fighting at the moment. I will be ready when things are back on track. The new opera is a really ambitious project, but I'm confident that I've got the ability and knowledge to see it through. I learnt a lot from recording Attack Of The Chevron Flasher. The one question that I'm trying to answer at the moment is whether or not to wait until I have my new digital 24 track studio, which I'll buy when the finances are in place. It would be nice to have everything standardised, but if it has to be recorded -as DEMOS- in part on my analogue rig, then analogue it will be.

Hope that you're feeling strong, safe and secure.

Tom.

Rock N Roll Refugee

I'm currently living out of a suitcase in Highgate.

Had one helluva busy week. Lots of stress, but I'm feeling grounded now, with some good friends. Managed to sleep well over the last few nights. Its great to have that old house behind me. It really seemed to be a house of doom.

Am moving into the place, in sunny Dalston no-less, on August 4th. I'm really looking forward to getting my studio set back up there -and I'm having my PC upgraded at the moment - so I should be able to do more things with my music.

I've enjoyed a wonderful creative burst in the last week, and have made real headway into the new opera. Its a joy to write about light.

But expect surprises. This is not going to be purely metaphorical. There is going to be real grit in it. What is particularly constructive for me, is that I am working toward a simple and elegant concept. Things fall into place. I do not feel as though I will need to explain much about it. Also, don't expect to hear it before the end of the year. That won't happen. Although, I'll start recording songs for it in August, the completed opera won't be finished for quite a while.

In the meantime, the Chevron Action Flasher will do the rounds, and I'm looking forward to unleashing him upon the world in August through the IAC. I've already been running a radio station there -Radio Flasher - and this is going to become more dedicated to my stuff once I've stumped up the reasonable amount of money to upgrade my account.

So, I'm busy, happy, stressed, crazy, creative and various other things at the moment. I'm not in love. Which is a major bonus, as frankly I don't want the distraction at the moment (though ofcourse, I would like the sex.)

I'm hoping that The Change (which I'm going to suggest renaming) will get back to rehearsals in mid-August.

Peace and Love,

Tom.

Magnum Opus

If you read my last blog entry, then you would have seen my new set of lyrics, 'Hot Light' and that I mentioned ' The Light Gate' which was a poem I wrote a few months back. I'm going to turn it into a full length opera. Its a very simple story. Its about a world where all the light has been taken prisoner, and its held in a set of glass gates called, The Light Gate.

I have sketched out a track listing. And written the lyrics to half a dozen songs (I did this yesterday). I have a hard narrative laid down. It seems very tidy. The main character is called Edison. (aka Edward Son, aka The Navigator). He has to find the gates and smash them to set the light free. One particular set of lyrics look really good, 'I Caught Your Catch'...plenty of bite in them. Razor fucking sharp.

The only problem is that I won't have any guitars around me for about ten days because I'm homeless from Wednesday and staying with friends until I can move into my new flat. Bollocks! Because I'm on fire creatively speaking at the moment.

So, here is the poem The Light Gate for you to see once more. Expect tales of darkness and light, fear and loathing, hope and love, and a Christian priest called Dave who holds raves for followers at a debauched fountain of electronic light. It is going to be trippy ride. But I guarantee you this...it is going to rock like the bollocks! Understand?!! Good.

Tom.

The Light Gate

On the counter-point of darkness
Stand my glass gates
On foundations of light,

That guide with a brilliant beam
Holds the blinded Navigator
Still searching for his sight,

And this magic light show
Has now begun
Like a razor sharp laser
Brighter than the sun.

The gate towers
Are light shafts
They illuminate and burn
Like a beacon to the lost
Make the clock mechanism reverse,
Re-start and turn,

As the stars fall
And the angels yearn
As our hearts fold
With love and pain undiscerned,

Until the gates crash open
As the word is spoken
We'll find answers,
Defrost the future,
Leave the past frozen.

These gates of glass will fall,
and the light will open.

Hot Light

Wrote these lyrics on the 214 bus from Kentish Town to Liverpool Street a couple of days ago. You might be wondering why I'm always banging on about gates made of light, the need for light, etc, etc, etc. Well, in this case, this is a companion piece for some else that I wrote which was a poem called The Light Gate. I came up with that - in a dream, I think - as a vision, I have quite a vivid visual imagination and I find it easy to generate abstract images in my mind's eye that explore my emotional health.

So, about five years ago, I published a collection of short form literature on the web called 'Rolling The Dice', and one of the short stories was about a dream/memory/vision that I had of being a giant transparent sphere packed with cogs and machinary rolling across a desert landscape and colliding with other spheres (people).

Recently, I saw a light gate in my head, and then we had the light fountain, and now I'm trying to find away to express the metaphor. The Light Gate is on a horizon. And its a very dark world. Because the light is imprisoned within the glass gates. And a traveller, seeker, pilgrim, whatever you would like to call him is following the beacon of the hot light (a laser beam, I guess) that shines out from the Light Gate (I've always imagined him on a 16th century frigate), and he uses it as a navigational tool. And once he finally finds the gate, he has to set the light free and end the darkness.

Hence, once the gates of glass are shattered the light will open.

I am fine today. A bit hungover. Looking forward to moving into my new house at some point and getting my studio back together.

Tom.


The Hot Light

In the frozen land,
Of hearts entrenched,
Where the cold silence,
Is self-defence,

On a dark horizon
Where all hope is spent
And the souls have buckled,
Into wreckage, twisted and bent.

Youll see him reaching
Up above for the beacon
Of the hot light
(beams from the Light Gate),
Of the hot light
(beams from the Light Gate).

In the silent rooms
Of a darkened mind
The light calls
Out to the blind

As troubles and fears
In a psyche, choke and bind
And cogs of intolerance
And ignorance grind.

Youll see him reaching
Up above for the beacon
Of the hot light
(beams from the Light Gate),
Of the hot light
(beams from the Light Gate).

Against the walls,
Of hate, bitterness and pain,
On the ground of a desert
Praying for rain,

In the head of faces
Raging against the grain
Amongst the sordid dreams
and bed-sheet stains,

Youll see him reaching
Up above for the beacon
Of the hot light
(beams from the Light Gate)
Of the hot light
(beams from the Light Gate).

Sun

Its fucking hot here.

I've find a new house. But will miss my lovely Camden pad next to Hampstead Heath. Will save some money though, and be close to Shoreditch.

Danny the Drummer called me last night, we're putting rehearsals back a week because I'm moving in that weekend. We talked about the band, he's suggested a friend of his who's something of a bass maestro. It feels really good to have Danny sounding so motivated and looking at the big picture. It was a revelation playing with him again. I'd forgotten how much he makes other people and musicians pale in comparison.

I am up more in spirits now. Very tired. Still quite stressed. But negotiating my way out of things. There are people that I miss. There are people who chill my spine.

Listened to the Flasher mini-opera demos on my mp3 player this morning. Sounds good. I wonder who wrote, performed and recorded it?

Once I'm moved in (on August 4th). I will sort out the release of the mini opera, solid dates for The Change to play and start thinking about light gates and other things.

Tom.

Light Fountain

In the surreal landscape of the light gate -or should that be dreamscape - there's probably scope for a water feature.

How about this? If you're going to have gates of glass built on shafts of light - which I figure is my metaphor for the imprisonment of light/good/love and half a dozen positive things - then what about a fountain made of light. It would surely be a spectacular thing. Once you've opened the light gate, and the light opens up, it could be chanelled into something beautiful. A crystal fountain that spurts out light.

Hang on. I could be onto a genial metaphorical starting point for something rather poetically brilliant, which is simultaneously daft enough - for you cynics out there - to allow myself to keep the uncertain balance of 'have I hit a nail on the head, or am I just exceptionally deluded'.
Joking aside - water features??? to BBC-fucking-2 for me. Maybe I can slot these metaphors in together and come up with something of a new creative project. Or maybe I should dust off the lyrics to 'The Reverend Dave and the Unholy Rave' off, surely the greatest rock musical spectacular never to be completed since Spinal Tap's 'Lusty Jack'. Maybe Dave needs a water feature at his vicarage. I'd forgotten about Rev. Dave until I told a graceful moving girl about it at a rave on New Year's Eve in Stonebridge Park...can't remember quite how she moved so gracefully...she must have been taking superb drugs.

What an extraodinarily self-abusive blog that was that I wrote yesterday. Did I write that? And 'no'! I wasn't drunk when I wrote it. But I did feel like I was crashing, and to be honest, I'm not exactly grinning like a Cheshire Cat today either.

Still though...didn't I ask for some grace yesterday? Did I get any?

Yes, actually. I made a phonecall and had a chat with Ems and Stu. Ems is an old friend of mine from Uni, and Stuart is her fella. They seem to have a lot of faith in me, I won't go into the details about what they do with their lives, but . Things felt a lot brighter afterward. Despite that I'm still convinced that I'm a spiritually ungrateful bastard and a shocking underacheiver.
Anyway, after being told -without asking -that I am apparently destined for great things...I went home. Watched Empire of the Sun and cried my eyes out as young Jim Graham (aka Christian Bale aged 12) sees the atom bomb and finally gets reunited with his parents after the war. The screenplay was written by Tom Stoppard, who apparently, I look like without a beard and maybe one day will be if not as talented or famous, almost certainly richer.
Then I watched Julian Temple's Glastonbury movie, and started to choke again, when they put up those fucking fences and evil bastard looking security guards - I once was one of them - acted like the Stasi meets the S.A. In the words of a hippy at the Isle of Wight Festival 1970...with the fences up, it resembled 'a psychedelic concentration camp'.

So, there you have it. That's where I'm at. I'm struggling to find somewhere to live, and money to pay for it. I seem to be lacking clarity on lots of small issues, that are like pin pricks in my neck at the moment.

Right now, I am in two minds as how to best cope with it. One mind thinks find distractions, and the other, along the same lines, thinks drink a lot. Pretty fucking ineffective.
I seem to be holding a lot of people in contempt today.

I went to the Roundhouse yesterday, drank a pint, listened to Saucerful of Secrets and mourned Syd. What a star he was...in the true cosmic sense, and not some L.A/Hollywood bullshit.

I'm off now to be listless for a while, to try and forget some problems, and ignore my own mediocrity until someone tries to engage me in a discussion.

Tom.

Crash

Today is a crash day.

Crashed. Crushed. Fallen into a black vault in the earth, in the ruins of a building. Something no longer there anymore.

I don't want to be weak. I don't want brave. Don't want to be tough. Don't want to be confused. Don't want to be famous. Don't want to be inspired. Don't want to be driven. Don't want to be controlled. Don't want to get laid. Don't want to be sober. Don't want to be drunk. Don't want to be empowered. Don't want to be responsible. Don't want to be alone. Don't want to be surrounded. Don't want to think. Don't want to love. Don't want to be controlled, patrolled, defended, attacked, sharp, blunt, centered...myself.

I am going to write something to you. You know who you are! But for the benefit of anyone else unfortunate - or maybe foolish - enough to read this blog today, I will elaborate. You could be a friend, a spurned lover, a lost friend, someone from my future, an emotional ghost, myself twenty years ago - will still have a pact don't we? That we'd turn the tables, do something good in the world and let the bastards choke on it -, you could be my friend John and if so, then maybe you can explain why you brought the curtain down and jumped from the ledge.
Today my arms are outstretched and I pray for grace. I hope that something will fall from above and set me free, and that for once I will transcend and not merely escape.

Back to you. If I have ever betrayed you. Then I hope you know it. I probably have. I have certainly broken promises to you. No excuses on that front. I don't expect you to forgive me. I am truly unworthy of any good fortune that has ever come my way. Like the fuck-wit I am, I have often confused my cowardice with frailty. I have given myself too many breaks. There is a much bigger game than you'd ever believe out there, and I am too entwined with wreckage to let myself climb out of it. If you have ever loved me, and I haven't returned this...then I am sorry. I know what it is like to be in your shoes. How terrible to be in possession of so much positivity and have no way of realising it except in nightmares and Kleenex. I seem to be completely lost when it comes to maintaining relationships, I must be a pretty fucking poisonous person to cause the havoc that I have in the past, I should have learnt sooner that invitations come with an obligatory door slam in your face.

On the subject of faces. Let me clarify something for you. I am a tremendous actor. I can conjure up the most sophisticated veneer and alter ego to fool you, sometimes I even fool myself. Pretty fucking cunning isn't it?! Pretty fucking evil too. My duplicity is total. I might come over as an emotional lightweight, a happy, having a crazy fucking party life occassionally the five foot platform boots of a jester...but I'm actually deadly serious. This self-destructive society that we've engineered around us is looking pretty shakey...better not to talk about that, eh?! It'd put you off your Subway. Have another can of lager. Smoke a Lucky Strike...go on, they've got charcoal fucking filters and come in a really cool box.

Sorry? Not enough fun? Well maybe you'll like the other me then. Actually, I've been there before with you. You did a runner didn't you, because you couldn't handle that much fun. Maybe, it was because you were too strong, or maybe too weak...or maybe both, because if you're weak then you've got to be pretty fucking hardcore to be strong, haven't you!

I will take a deep breath. The sun rises after every bomb. I have been spoilt with fortune. I really am not worthy. There is a light gate somewhere, it draws in blinded navigators across the ocean of the stars, and when the visible glass structure is found it will shatter and the light will open.

Tom.

This is no crisis.

Rehearsal Photos

Danny the drummer.



Llee the bassist...looking satanic.



Two insane rockers.


Yours truly.

The Change rehearsals: Day 1

Back in a rather grey Rugby, we found a fairly extinct village hall where we spent yesterday running through some songs. It went well. Llee did a good job of covering for us on bass, Danny was as ever his brilliant hilarious self, and I had a major annoyance with my guitar sound for most of the session. Nonetheless, we made good progress and hope to get more done today.

We managed a scratch rehearsal of our mini-opera 'Attack Of The Chevron Action Flasher', and got fairly tidy versions of Did You See Where My Money Went?, The Brief and Popular together. We probably need to add a keyboard player too. Its a big sound that we're working toward...and three people may not be enough.

Photos to follow shortly.

Its amazing. I'm the only one out of the three of us who hasn't had ringing in his ears.

Virgin Trains

The Virgin Train to Rugby rolled in at 23:00, and so I'm now back in the Midlands. Writing this before I go to bed, ready for tomorrow's first day of rehearsals.

I have a few things on my mind. Not about music, not apprehension over rehearsals. Just lots of distractions, some of them from the present and mundane, others from the past and people. I deleted a whole load of old messages from my mobile phone today. I didn't mean to hang onto them, but always seemed to busy to scroll that far back. Reading a few of them gave me a twinge of regret over something that I've lost.

I'm tired at the moment. I need sleep. Tomorrow will be a new day, and full of light...and I will have the chance to feel superhuman once more.

Goodnight,

Tom.

P.S. Tried to find a photo to put up here, but couldn't...expect plenty tomorrow.

The Brief

I've posted one of the demos that I recorded for The Change last weekend on myspace. Its a song that I wrote four years ago, and has featured in most of my sets since then. Its about the moment when I was given my brief as a writer. When I signed a contract with Busker John/Beer Bottle Joe/or whatever else you want to call him.

Its not a bad attempt at recording it. Rushed somewhat for the sake of getting it done in time to send it off to the others, but The Brief should be a really strong song for us...it comes from the best kind of place for a rock songwriter. Its a very sincere song about a moment which seemed decisive for me at the time. It must still be now, because its shaped my life into the unshapeable existence that I'm in now.

We are rehearsing this weekend. Two full days of it. I will be going to work on Monday with bandages on my hands. I am very excited by what we are looking to do. I would like to bring a VJ into the mix as well for the shows, get someone who is really innovative and aspires to align rock music with the visual arts.

I also feel some trepidation. Not about the group and not about what we'll sound like. I'm pretty confident on that front. I think that I'm feeling something deeper than that at the moment. I miss people who are dead or estranged, I'm also confused about my station in the world. I seem to have a lot of people telling me that I'm destined for great things and it isn't in the brown nosing sense, but I'm suspicious as to the accuracy of their assumptions. There is something else at work here. Other people tell me that I'm talented. This is not the case...but I am very determined, and anything that might be misconstrued as talent is in actual fact a brief flash of inspiration gifted to me from above by God's grace. Any other writer worth their wait in salt would agree with me on this.

I think that its more about being a misfit. If you're a misfit, then you don't fucking fit! And so you end up in strange situations in life. What would they say other than 'you're going to be a big success buddy boy', what would the alternative be, how about 'you're going to be ranting outside the Oxfam shop door way, preaching about the end being nigh with a bald head and shit on your clothes!'

Doesn't sound like such a nice thing to say to someone who you've met and seems to be eccentric, does it?!!

Its going to be a really loud weekend.

Tom.

More Who: Birdman!

'The Birdman' fucking A!

The Who: Beaulieu

James arrives in the mighty 1ooo cc chariot o' rock. And the 3 hour drive is ready to begin from Islington to the land of the bumpkins.

Errrr, hang on...have we taken a wrong turn...doesn't look very rock n roll Acton to me...

Ah, but keep faith...

Then this High School band turned up and played a few of their wistful tunes about love, life and jam making.

Casbah Club were as ever right on the money! Good in Beaulieu, a shorter set than in Hyde Park...where frankly they kicked arse and were pretty damn convincing. Woke up this morning with Casbah Club songs in my head...never thought that would happen. Seriously.

And then these fellas called The Who turned up...at right royally kicked ass for the second night in a row. Hyde Park had been the most fantastic gig, and The Who did a great job with a big crowd, but this was a very different kind of venue.

But they were loud and energetic. Pino's bass seems to be a lot louder than in 2004, and it really makes a difference. Zak is constantly surprising me when I hear him.

As for the other two fellas. Man, that Roger Daltrey he's got more power in his voice than the Hoover Dam. He's sounding great. Better than in 2000 and and 2004. In fact, he is on a different planet from 2000. Its strange how if you saw the band around then - particularly on the Royal Albert Hall DVD - The Ox is the complete star of it. No-one comes close.

But it seems that this is shaping up to be Roger's tour. Pete is sounding great too, but he didn't have some of the dodgy patches that Roger did five years ago. Christ, the man has just renewed my faith in the Who by writing the Mike Post Theme. Which frankly, at the moment, is the best fucking track on stage. If only it'd be a single. But then again, I don't think that Baba O'Reilly was either.

Fantastic stuff.

Tom.

That's Da Blues...B.L.U.S.E!

Son House...what a legend. And when the man says that blues is spelt B.L.U.S.E, you're not going to argue. Went to see Festival about the Newport Folk Festivals with Sarah Beth at the NFT on Thursday, she's working for the director in New York. I'd seen the DVD, but as with all films, you should see it in a theatre. Its a great film. And as you can guess, Son House was the highlight for me. The man is from another world.

Don't want to get sunburnt today (Saturday), going to see The Who in Hyde Park tomorrow, and then on Monday too. Should be good. Have been doing my bit for Anglo-American relations over the last week, and having a blast.

Wanted to post a new song up here today, but forget to bring it with me on my MP3 player. I am fuzzy headed this morning. Could probably do with a confidence injection at the moment. Am a bit suspicious of people. I find intoxication and sobriety equally disagreable at the moment.

Emotionally a bit uncomfortable today, don't know why...I feel like something from the past is trying to catch up with me, it would be comforting to believe that I would be carried forward on the crest of this wave, but I fear that I will be dragged under instead.
There are times when minor cracks in my sense of self, turn into canyons...and I feel quite helpless. Maybe things will firm up a bit more once I have moved house. I'd like to write the truth here. Like I do in my journal at home, but I lack the courage. You almost certainly, lack the interest.

Will no doubt brighten up over the next few days with the shows ahead. I have rehearsals for The Change all next weekend lined up. Hopefully I will be able to channel something through that.Tom.

Ready, Steady, Go!

Note to self:

Tom, stop letting your Piscean mind leap off into so many directions at one time. If you have a good idea, deploy it in a manageable way. Let the shades and streams of your grand plans follow. Find the source and follow the river to the channel, don't attempt to jump into the ocean and then swim upstream. Be focussed, but not blinded. Learn how to finish things. Do what you do best, and then let the rest flourish. Dreams remain dreams until you've developed the machinery to transform them into a tangeable form.

And aside from this, I am ready for recording this weekend. Looking forward to it. Am off the booze at the moment - out of financial obligation rather than moral preservation - so, my mind will be clear. Can't smoke in my room, as its about to be let out to someone new...so the air will be clear. The tea will still flow though.

There is so much to play for, isn't there. If it all comes to nought, then so effectively do I. The thought of remaining in this contemptable life that I lead at the moment, gives me the fear, and I made a pact with myself that once I'd done what I came here to do that I'd shuffle off this mortal coil without so much as whisper.

After the explosion, there really should be silence, unless you have any worthwhile bullets left to shoot that could bring some good into enough people's lives to make a difference. If I fail to explode at all, to contribute anything, to ever give something that can make a change for the better...then it would seem -conversely- that I have blown it in a very different way.

Its a tricky game of marbles to play, I fear. Anyway, here we go...once again...starter's pistol ready...Ready, Steady, Go!
Peace and Love,
Tom.

Up/Down Time

Spent yesterday hanging out with Welsh firemen and going around fire stations, part of some training for my day job.

My hours have changed...so I have more time this morning. But two days ago, I came home from work, was all set to get recording but lay on my bed and fell asleep. Next thing I knew, it was 10:30 and too late to play - as it would piss off the neighbours - so I lost the chance to up my down time.

This morning I picked up my guitar and ran through the Flasher opera, haven't played it since finishing recording it, but it felt and sounded good. Its going to be great live. I hope that Danny and Llee will help me hone it and enhance it for the band to perform it too. It works. Thank God.

And I'm already letting my mind spin onto the next project. Crazy, I know. I really should learn to walk before I can run. I have some time at the end of this month to relax and get myself together, which will be good.

Am super psyched.

Tom.