Soundcheck #4: “Sssh!”

Hello folks! I’m whispering, although you can’t tell, there no opposite of caps lock. As some of you might know, I write a column for Stereokill.net chronicling some of my musical adventures and suchlike. This week, I’ve been talking (quietly and politely) on the subject of talking during gigs. Here’s the article, enjoy!

I’ve been at gigs where I’ve talked during part of a band’s set; we’ve all done it at some time or another. When I’m onstage, I don’t really mind people chatting now and then. I wouldn’t expect them to stand or sit in complete silence until I’m finished; after all, that would seem like an awfully strange atmosphere. However, I’ve played or attended a few shows recently where certain members of the audience have absolutely infuriated me.

At a recent Kitty The Lion gig in Glasgow’s CCA, for example, I was trying in earnest to listen to support act Matt Norris and The Moon, but found my enjoyment hampered by a group of people behind me talking loudly throughout the entire set. There were two other bars in the building in which they could have drank while they waited for the headliners, but instead they blethered and guffawed their way through a fine, fine set by a very good band.

It’s a phenomenon I’ve experienced from the other side of the mic, too: at The Liquid Ship recently, an acquaintance came along and spent the whole of my set talking VERY LOUDLY to his two friends. At another show, the same gentleman spent my set loudly chatting up two young ladies who had come along to see my good friend (and SK colleague) Andrew Lindsay. Roasting the locquacious punter from the stage almost made it worthwhile, but it played on my mind a little bit.

Fair enough, if you’re in a bar and I’m playing music, you’re within your rights to talk. But if you’ve come to a venue specifically to see live music, why would you then talk so loudly that the act hears it in front of the monitors? Personally, I’m loud enough that you can talk without me hearing you, though not so loud that you need to shout. If you’ve paid to get into a gig, but would rather blether your way through the support bands, what’s the point? Are you so inconsiderate that you think your conversation is more important than everyone else’s enjoyment? That’s just bad manners.

So, I refer to a quote. A quote I’m convinced I didn’t come up with, but for which I cannot find a source. At a gig, “if you want to talk loudly, go somewhere else.” Now if only I could remember where I got that from…

(This article was originally published on Stereokill.net on 23rd June 2010. You can read the original article in full here)

Thanks for reading folks! Comments as always, are very welcome.

love Shambles x

Soundcheck #3

A few nights ago I played a gig for which I was paid in beer, for the first time ever.

It’s a new thing for me; getting paid at all for what I do. About a month ago I made the princely sum of £16 for a half-hour set in a pub’s back room. My pay came solely by virtue of the number of people who came to see me, which is the first taste I’ve had of what it must be like to be a ‘real’ musician. Technically, the people in that back room paid me, just as you pay the artists you love every time you go to a gig, buy an album or download a track.

It was a good feeling, just as it was the other night where I played in a pub whose ’stage’ was basically the floor where some tables had been an hour earlier. It’s my first experience playing to so many people who weren’t there to see me, and proved simultaneously fun and intimidating. Highlights variously included:

1. A drunk idiot getting on the drumkit behind me and hitting them (arythmically), before being removed by the staff.

2. A different drunk attempting to shake my hand before he left, while I was still mid-song.

3. Yet another friendly drunk shouting out requests, one of which I actually knew. He joined in, singing better than me as I played “Caledonia”, a fitting close to my set. He bought me a pint and his friend gave me four quid for another.

Sure, its nice playing acoustic nights and folk gigs, but there’s a very different excitement to be found in playing to a busy pub full of folk who haven’t paid to hear you and quite probably don’t want to hear you; winning them over just by being yourself, without pandering to what you think they’ll want to hear (apart from “Caledonia”, thats a classic!) is a good, good feeling.

I like to think back on the words of my new, incredibly tall Polish friend from Hell is Harmony: “You are a very brave man, I couldn’t get up there and do that without my friends.” Being told you’re brave by a guy who looks a bit like a Viking is high praise indeed, but my friends are always there, in one way or another – if not in the building, then in the music, which I think is why I can keep doing it.

This article was originally printed on Stereokill.net. I highly recommend checking out the website for more original content, reviews and features.

Soundcheck #2

[Hullo folks! As promised, its the new instalment of my Soundcheck column, which I write for Stereokill.net. Enjoy!]

Often, when making my way through the internet – doing my best to sidestep the online poker ads and offers to make my penis bigger (how did it know?) – I’ll stumble upon an advertisement by some groovy, noisy band looking for a guitarist or bassist. And, since I don’t often get to flex my amped-up guitar-noise muscles very often (given my place as a folky shambler), sometimes I reply to said advertisements. Hoping to get my rock’n’roll rocks off, as it were.

The first step usually involves meeting up with my prospective bandmates for a cheeky wee pint. In fact, if they suggest anything but a pint – wheatgrass tea, a romantic candlelit dinner, a bowl of smack – I can usually tell we’re not on the same wavelength. So, having arranged just such a meeting, I found myself slightly perturbed by the advert-owner’s suggestion that we meet in a piano and cocktail bar. One which regularly features a magician, no less. I don’t want to sound paranoid, but I was slightly concerned that the young chap might be using this “band” as an excuse to meet a nice fella he can take home to mother.

But, in the spirit of open-mindedness, off I go! I hear that in Club Tropicana drinks are free and I do like Pina Coladas and taking walks in the rain, so I assume the evening will be just FABulous. My subconscious tells me to stop being so homophobic. I tell it I’m not homophobic, I’m just joking around. My subconscious points out that it couldn’t accuse me of being homophobic if I hadn’t thought it. I immediately consider starting up a huge drug addiction. That’d shut that nuisance up once and for all.

As it turned out, the advert’s owner was possibly the friendliest chap I’ve ever met. He was also as camp as the day is long. He went for a handshake-hug when we met, which given his diminutive stature made me feel slightly uncomfortable. Strange to find myself in a piano bar, involuntarily holding a small, balding man to my bosom. Looking around to make sure this wasn’t in fact Sex and the City, I took a seat. Pointing to an empty glass next to my new pal, I enquired if our other potential bandmate was joining us. “Oh, he cancelled, its just the two of us,” my new friend informs me with a smile. I dive into my first pint, not keen to hear what my subconscious was going to say on the matter.

As we chatted about music, I decided I was wrong about this effeminate muso: he was clearly just a bloke who loved music and wanted to start a fun band with like-minded people. I changed my mind right back again when I made passing mention of my beer belly and he effusively protested. “Don’t be ridiculous, you look GREAT! You’re in the prime of your life, enjoy it! You look great! Don’t be SILLY.” I declined another pint but he bought me one anyway, telling me once again not to be silly.

By the time I left, I had discovered that the only music we both really liked was Metallica, and lets face it, a hairy hippy and a short, bald, camp bloke aren’t likely to become the new Kings of Metal. He offered to write some new parts for my existing songs and I offered to let him. I walked away from my would-be bandmate, away from the piano bar and rushed home to my girlfriend, to steal a kiss which I hoped would help convince me that I hadn’t just been on a man-date. The kiss was stolen, but as I looked into my loving girlfriend’s eyes, she whispered, “how will your boyfriend feel about this?”

I think I’ll stick to being a solo musician for the time being.

Soundcheck #1

(As promised, I’ll be updating my blog with each new instalment of my “Soundcheck” column, which I write for Stereokill. Here’s the first ever instalment, enjoy!)

I’ve always been pretty shy; afraid of trying new things. Always gone at my own pace, and as a result I usually come to things more slowly than most people. As a kid I remember my mum would often have to assure my dad that their son would “do it when he’s ready”, whether ‘it’ was riding a bicycle or playing with other kids. This has applied to many things in my life, even to this day. I struggle with it daily, but I know its important to remember that the aspects of my personality which made it so hard for me to make friends in school, or which gave me a pathological fear of school sports day are the same ones which hold me back now.

What’s this got to do with my life as a musician you ask? Well, after five years of writing my own music, I’m finally about to play my first ever solo acoustic gig. To most people, it might just seem like half an hour playing some songs in an amusingly-titled pub* in Kilmarnock, but for me it’s so much more: it’s a huge step towards conquering my fear and my shyness, towards becoming the person I really want to be, and towards the obliteration of that intangible thing which leads to each step in my life to falling so far apart.

I’ve played gigs as a guitarist in various bands over the years, but this time I’ll be on my own. No comrades to share my excitement with, and if I mess up, nobody alongside me to dilute the embarrassment. Fear of failure would make it easy to run away, to tell myself I’ll do it next month, or when I’m more confident, or whenever. Except I’ve written about it now. What shape would the next installment of my column take if I were to back away from this challenge, as I’ve done with so many others? The shape of a big fat zero, I imagine. So hopefully I’ll soon be updating you, lovely readers, on my first gig. It might be a car-crash, it might be a triumph. It might be just plain alright.

Either way, for me, it’ll be a victory. No matter what happens, I’ve got nothing to lose.

*The venue is called Fanny By Gaslight. No joke. – Ed.