Squid Ink

The Not So Difficult Second Album

2012-01-30T23:56:00.001+11:00

The beds have been made for Squid Ink album number two, attempt number two. If this were charades I would have just held up two fingers followed by putting the two fingers on my sleeve. "Second word! Second syllable!!".

We have kept the super hot shit from the first session (now a full two years old...as honourable son number II is now two and I had to dash from the last session to his heavily pregnant mother) and dropped the merely hot shit. Step forward "Words From Ham" (for it is he!). If Silky is to be believed, Teenage Fanclub already wrote the best song ever about astro-chimps.

Fortunately Silky's silky work remains on several tracks including Melbourne's finest Bryan Ferry impression for the lead vocals on "Hare Trigger".

Paddy has taken a giant leap for mankind with his contribution, "One Step".

And as usual I provide the quantity for appropriate contrast and surround for Paddy's quality.

This coming Saturday we re-enter the West Wing to finish the job off!

Meetings

2012-01-17T15:05:00.000+11:00

Once in a while I am surprised at work when my otherwise un-rock-'n'-roll job throws up a moment where it seems the prosaic has managed to peer into my soul.

To wit (for it is so!):

I received a meeting request via email entitled "A Walk Through The SAD".

I accepted hastily and look forward to it with uncommon interest. I think I shall wear a hand-knitted Joy Division jumper.

Apocalypso

2011-12-02T17:07:00.001+11:00

Christmas turns my thoughts, once more, to our lack of Christmas single this year. In fact every year we lack a Christmas single. And, indeed, we lack any singles at all, ever.

In to this hole that, as I have demonstrated, gapes in many directions and dimensions rushes the greatest and most cruelly overlooked Christmas single of all time (listen above).

Why do Slade and Wizzard and Mariah get a guaranteed flogging (or the Benny Hillesque drivel and dirge that is Fairy Of New York...why do Irishmen like nothing more than a cliche?), and yet this home grown gem gets nothing. The animation driven film clip can't even be found on youtube.

I realise I said this all the year before last and probably the one before that.

I also picked up the utterly charming A Very She and Him Christmas. No newies on it mind you. Not like the towering epic by the Mentals.

My Gandhian Experiments With Truth

2011-11-28T22:27:00.001+11:00

Anyone interested in whether adult humans can be trained as easily as Pavlov's salivating dog need only have witnessed my alarm and mild embarrassment on the train home today. Why? For on ipod shuffle up came "Audrey's Dance" from the Twin Peaks Soundtrack. The music played every time the none-to-subtly named Audrey Horne made her way on to the screen.

Ahem. As you were. Next stop Croxton.

A Good Reason Not To Cut Your Finger

2011-11-27T22:45:00.001+11:00

In a desperate and despairing moment (caused by the realisation that cutting the tip of my left index finger whilst chopping mint for a delighftful mint sauce meant that rehearsal, for one week at least, was now cancelled) I turned to the ipad and its natty version of the Garageband application.

I was certain that my song writing, though hitherto limited to expression through my lightening fretwork and a solid amount of distortion and reverb to cover even the deepest of blushes and a decent paucity of practice, would be able to transition easily to the synth world.

As the document above displays, this is not the case. What an abomination. What a travesty. What an injustice.What an exercise in pusillanimity!

Please heal yourself finger of mine...quickly.

The video is what it obviously is, i.e. me using the computer camera to create enough footage (which shows a patient and good humoured me, happy to indulge myself, and a jolly wife sorting out some quilt-making in the background) to cover the song, getting bored after half the length and repeating it. Ingenious. Certainly more inspired than the setting of the song.

A quick annoyance about Garageband. Once you tell its "smart" instruments what major or minor key you are in, you can only play diatonic chords. Now for a songwriter who depends on mixing up minor and major chords for a bit of harmonic variety (or a key change FFS) this is quite limiting and only adds to the vapidity at work here.

Opening A Short Story

2011-11-23T22:25:00.001+11:00

As he walked into her office she looked up from her paperwork.
"you don't look well"
"Ummm...I have a broken heart" he said
She returned to the business at hand and cracked open the syringe.
"well this should hurt less than that"
Having extracted the liquid from the vile, she was now busy removing air bubbles. It was clear from the grim precision of her activities that this was nearing the one hundredth (if not the three hundredth) time she had done this today. And quite possibly this was the millionth time she was expecting to hear someone tell her that they didn't like needles.
Even so, she broke from the routine of preparation and looked towards him.
"What happened?"
"Sorry?" he said breaking momentarily from self-absorption.
"Why is your heart broken?"
He brightened at the realisation that he had made his way through her professional routine and dragged her into his misery. Or at least into an interest in his misery.
Realising that his eyebrows had risen with his rising mood, he quickly collected himself and lowered his chin in compensation.

Lesson 17 of Paddy's continuing tutorial on how to play the drums

2011-06-02T13:16:00.001+10:00

Let The Birds Lay Eggs

2011-02-27T22:59:00.004+11:00

Work has begun on a new masterwork called Porko Diablo.

Possible album title: Rise of the Mammals

On Tour

2011-02-22T21:09:00.005+11:00

This week (intimating that I post at least weekly) finds your daring correspondent in Inverloch. I was invited down here for one of Ricky Nixon's bunga bunga parties but he cancelled it for reasons I know not. Fortunately I have been gripped (griped?-Ed) by World Cup fever (chlamydia?-Ed). It leaves one quite reeling with thrillderment to realise that there will be 49 matches in this World Cup and it takes 7 matches before there is one even remotely worth watching...and that requires a now delusory (and during the few moments we have left, let's talk right down to earth in a language everyone can easily understand....stretched to the point of impenetrable post-structural comedy) premise that the West Indies are still a decent team. But my mind turns to Hot Rock, and it turns to it much more often than posts to this blog would indicate. Such is the state of rock in the 30s that not only do babies prevent you from rehearsing but they also prevent you from having space to pack a guitar. And while the ukulele is certainly admirably compact it does not lend itself to slabs of totemic riffing. It does on the other hand encourage alternate chord forms.

The Death of the Recorded Music Industry

2011-02-18T15:10:00.001+11:00

Certain sporting claims made by classic rappers.

2011-01-09T20:11:00.005+11:00

"I can say a funky rhyme like Greg Louganis can dive. Don't have to be Saturday night for Young MC to get live."
Young MC, I go off.

"I'll serve your ass like John McEnroe; if ya girl steps up, I'm smackin' the ho."
House of Pain, Jump Around.

"Yo, aiyyo my rap style swing like Willie Mays, My eyes Purple Haze, my solar razor burn through shades."
Wu Tang Clan,For Heaven's Sake.

More to come as they occur to me. Submissions gratefully received. Rock!

A Shot At The Title

2010-09-20T22:24:00.004+10:00

On Thursday the 9th of November 2006 Silky-D laid down a challenge. In the time since I have thought about the question. I have cogitated. I have writhed. I have wrestled. I have shaken my puny fists at the firmament. I have written some shit hot songs.

And then...what's this? Nearly four years later (that bit surprised me actually) I saw that Maroon 5 were about to release their new album. First, the name, Hands All Over, seems like a flaccid rip off of the Squid Ink debut. But the true majesty is in the exquisite awfulness of the cover. To be honest, I don't think it tops Daltrey, but my oh my is it bad. I think the quality I admire most is how the photographer by any objective measure has ticked all the right boxes for sexual allure (like a totally stacked babe, like totally nude on a bed, dude) but has achieved only a flat-pack emulation of sexiness. I think the only thing I can say in favour of the cover is that the image of the woman, arched as she is towards the sky, seems to be paying homage to the cover shot of that classic Daltrey solo album Ride A Rock Horse.

I heard the lead single at the barber today. This album may be the reason why punk had to happen again.

Idle Hands

2010-09-09T23:39:00.004+10:00

The devil's work is usually what I turn to when there is a break in proceedings. I can be found engaging in idolatry with several graven images on the go at once. The neighbour's wife has barely sat down from work as a speech pathologist before I am coveting her(and hello Jane if you are reading). Building pointless tourist wheels in the docklands in an inept fashion, privatising natural monopolies and vital public infrastructure, and specifying IP based phone systems are all devil-sanctioned pass times that often fill, for me, the interregna in hot rock.

However, the only slightly fallen angel that is Mrs Tedium kindly organised for me a guitar lesson as a Fathers' Day gift. So, while the hot rock stays on a gentle simmer, I have begun honing my craft with Patrick (yes!) who lives two streets away. This very evening he took me through some natty exercises that involved barre chords in formations other than E and A. The idea, as Patrick tells it, is to encourage slightly different, or differently emphasised, harmonies and even chord fragments in place of chords.

When asked what I would like to work on I suggested that doing that neat bass and melody at the same time trick that Richard and Tommy, in a nod to Dilky's erstwhile didact, do so very well might be nice.

I shall, as people who are busy doing the devil's work say, keep you in the loop.

Initial Advantages

2010-09-07T14:44:00.005+10:00

I have the initials, when not trading as UT, of DP. Not all that handy. No.

Handy initials would be SS. Allow me to demonstrate why.

SS - You can write your initials like the two lightning bolts in KISS.

SS - You share the initials of one of the 80s, and most of the 90s, finest bat manufacturers, Stuart Surridge. It was good enough for Graham Gooch (GG! Not quite Gordon Greenidge mind you - Graham may have been better but Gordon was much cooler...the very antithesis of Graham's "it's grim up north" demeanor, which is odd as he was born and bred in Essex) and me (first bat was an SS).

SS - I skip delicately over the Schutzstaffel.

SS - The Sydney Silky (for it is!) is one of Australia's most loved terriers. I have known two, i.e. Roselea (not named after the Bob Seager, and thin lizzy covered, song) and here charming son Walter (most definitely named after the scorer of mountainous runs Hammond).

SS - Few things are better than steam ships.

The greatest band of all time

2010-08-06T16:30:00.006+10:00

One of the greatest, most wasteful ways to spend your time is to sit around thinking about ‘what if’.

Today I came to think – what if the greatest band that has ever walked this earth hadn't been completely ruined by its useless poser of a front-man.

I am of course referring to Led Zeppelin and Robert Plant.

I was listening to my iTunes on random. Something I almost never do. I wasn't paying much attention until a guitar solo of such brilliance and originality leapt out and demanded my admiration.

To compare this to their mega-band contemporaries, I heard:

none of the unrefined torrent of Hendrix;
none of the white-knuckled clinching to the old school of blues we see with Clapton;
none of the Vaudeville of Queen;
none of the adolescence of The Who;
talent, unlike with the Stones;
and none of the Nigel Tufnel as with Jeff Beck.

To this point I hadn't recognised the true giant amongst giants in Jimmy Page.

I had come across Achillies Last Stand. Skip forward to around 3:30 and you'll hear 70's guitar rock at its absolute finest. The maturity, restraint and originality displayed in this passage came as a revelation to me. I had never really paid attention to Zeppelin – I was much more the Floyd kind of guy.

The reason I wasn't a Zeppelin kind of guy is plainly evident at 7:20.

What we hear from here is amongst the most annoying sounds a human body can make. His nasal whine sounds like a leaf blower. And his lyrics make me think… ‘who cares’.

But I'm a can-do kind of guy. I like to offer solutions, not just point at problems. So in that spirit I offer a collection of front men that would have rounded out this band and fulfilled its destiny as the greatest.

Joe Strummer, Roger Taylor, John Fogerty, Phil Lynott, Justin Hawkins, Dr Dre, Sonny T, Nigel Tufnel, Linda Ronstadt.

And also in the spirit of the greatest blogger ever, I invite all the Squinkers to put their shoulder to the wheel and solve this riddle once and for all…

Suggestions?

More on Moon

2010-07-27T09:00:00.000+10:00

Keith Moon's isolated drum track from the recording of ‘Won't Get Fooled Again’

My word, I love this man.

As one of the commenters has it: “and he did it all without even moving his arms… just staring at the camera…”

Feelings I Have

2010-07-19T22:37:00.004+10:00

I love the dudes.

I love the hot rock.

I feel frustrated that we rehearse so rarely (I mean no blame in this. It is hard to get four hot dudes in the room at once).

I feel very happy when we play a gig...elated even.

I am more than a little hurt that only complete strangers who are just trying to promote their own lame shit can be bothered to comment on posts...I just can't compete with facebook.

If You Want Blood...

2010-07-16T22:24:00.002+10:00

I must become more accurate with my down strokes. I think I am returning to the Bronco after only one gig but it sure is nice to have the white scratchplate to document how I suffer for my art.

This evening has been spent trying to write new songs. I have two half songs but they don't seem that good to me. The magic, though, comes from the number of times I have thought this of a song, only for it to become one of my favs once I have fed it through the Yellow Magic Orchestra that is the Squid Ink organ.

The Greatest Show On Earth

2010-07-08T22:07:00.004+10:00

How lovely of our friends and partners to attend the gig. Indeed, how lovely to have been asked to play it in the first place. And I thought we did well. It is odd for me not to have an audio record of the gig...usually it helps to balance, if not dispel, any dreams of having done well.

Tongue Tied was a great way to open, and even better now that I will not be landing us in a protracted legal battle with Jack Black.

I'll come clean and admit I am the wrong side of three Malt Runners (do not walk but run, in a malty fashion, to get this limited release...it smites even the Hop Thief which came before...a bit like Squid Ink does to Led Zeppelin).

I thought my solos were good too.

I stuck around for the delightful Colour Kids, who could go far if given the right breaks (or creating them or whatever the freak it is you have to do). Lovely songs, come across as charming people on stage and all play their instruments well. I like the Chemistry Set very much. They are like Eddie Current Suppression Ring but without the affectation. Genuinely nice chaps and I like their songs and clean playing a lot. That guy who commented asking if they were the UK Chemistry Set should sign them up.

The force of imagination

2010-07-05T15:30:00.001+10:00

Only seconds ago did I finally notice that the monkey in the Squid Ink poster has his brain exposed ready for the hot oil. My apologies to all for being so obtuse but now that I've finally caught up let me say that this is red-freakin-hot. Nice work Inkers!

Nice work too on all who saw the gig last night. An enthusiastic and generous audience. I do apologise for not urging the band to play the crowd-favourite, impossible-to-spell Mnemosyne: it turns out there was a faction pressing for an airing of that bass-friendly number. But, I must say, we've been playing that song for four years — we might take a pass on it once in a while.

By Popular Demand

2010-06-25T19:57:00.005+10:00

Had it not been for the keen reader of this blog, we might never have advertised the upcoming gig in this, the most obvious of places. Our own self-funded focus group. The locus of our brand power. Where the band gestalt takes the pulse of our broad and deep fan base.

When: Sunday, 4th of July, 8pm.
Where: The Empress Hotel, Nicholson St.
With: Colour Kids and The Chemistry Set (the nicest guys in rock).

The rock will be hot. Plenty of new songs (Silky and Crafty usually recognise them once we have played a few bars), and plenty of old favs. The set list may not be too adventurous as some stupid footballing nonsense has kept us from each other.

On Grand Themes

2010-06-13T14:14:00.005+10:00

Our attempts to race album number 2 have halted for a variety of reasons. My non-band activities are largely to blame but there are many additional reasons. Another that springs to mind is the slight paucity of material, and in some instances sub-squid-standard material.

What we did manage to record is at once encouraging and discouraging...and ultimately not enough. Sometimes I listen and I hear gold, sometimes I listen and I hear lead.

What does strike me is the, I believe, inadvertent partial move from my randy sex lyrics to addressing the big issues. Contained within the short set of songs we cover euthanasia, abortion, illicit (gay, if Silky is right)love, slave trade, indentured prostitution, Uri Geller and scientific animal abuse. Birth appears to be absent and I am planning to address this, although I feel Pink Floyd's Embryo says all there is to possibly say on the subject. Perhaps tax free superannuation contributions is another hole in the story? What about an eliotesque Key To All Mythologies?

Not wishing to be too National Times about things by ending with a few questions but are missing anything else? Or have we covered all possible grand themes?

Exit Everything

2010-06-11T10:57:00.005+10:00

There was a very sad loss to the gulag last year when Roland S Howard left the building as a result of liver cancer. I am guilty here of doing something which irks me about people's treatment of RSH, i.e. referring to him as a guitarist by way of the gulag. The guy was a unique guitarist and one of the finest Australia has produced...he more than passes the UT test of whether a guitarist matters, did you recognise their playing the moment you heard it? But this overlooks what an excellent songwriter and more specifically, sorry rhythmn section, an excellent lyricist he was. While his erstwhile bandmate Nick Cave long ago descended into self-parody, Roland wrote cold, visceral songs about now (not some southern gothic blah blah blah). I am not a fan of treating lyrics as poetry (again step forward Nick Cave and his published volumes) as they don't stand up. But check Dead Radio (unfortunately as his solo releases were hugely overlooked, more on this in a minute, you tube has only some sketchy bootlegs. Here is the lyric sheet) for some fine work. Even his most famous song which he wished to partly disown, Shivers, is about the best set of teenage-written lyrics I have heard...no cry/fly/die mountain/fountain to be found there.

So far as I can tell his last album Pop Crimes was as near as self-released and sold out within minutes at his last gig at the Prince. The previous album Teenage Snuff Film is a masterpeice. Brooding, nasty, malevolent, melodic and intelligent. Not a dud track on it.

I was greatly saddened by his passing. He was awesome and original. His guitar playing was at once melodic and percussive, and you never once heard him play a note that didn't matter (something of which I am guilty every time I play). There was no pointless Clapton shit.

Considering his physical appearance made me feel ill, so sickly did he look even in health, his lyric that "when the lighting is bad, I'm the man with the most" sums him up perfectly.

Compensation

2010-06-10T08:39:00.007+10:00

Getting four dudes to stand in a grim little room with walls made from breeze blocks, thick filthy felt stapled to these walls and an inadequately hinged door constructed by gluing together 8 bits of MDF, is difficult. Only Paddy seems serious about it by not having a baby any time soon because he doesn't want to mess with the life aquatic. What with endless international sporting engagements, stupid children everywhere and near constant but diverse illness and ailments, the Squid life, as Willie so adroitly put it whilst humping encyclopaedia around Fort Worth, ain't no good life, but it's our life.

So how do I compensate? Buying new gear of course. The '81 USA Fender Bullet pick ups were giving me the shits. A lovely rich clean sound but a papery distorted sound. Having been so pleased with the Fender Bronco upgrade, I plumped for the DiMarzio Super Distortion S rail pick ups in the neck and bridge position. For those who like a little meat with their Tedious gravy HERE IT FUCKING COMES!

Our New Life

2010-06-08T22:19:00.012+10:00

I was listening to the radio yesterday and heard a charming little song with a nice melody, an affecting swell in the strings in the middle section and an active bassline. Not at all rocky or funky which would normally make me take notice, you realise, merely pleasant.

I'd never heard the song before and a search bar was handy so I typed in a few of the lyrics I was hearing to find what the song was. Turned out it was a single by a chap called Max Gazzè from 2004 called ‘La Nostra Vita Nuova.’ Here's a link to the video on YouTube if you're at all curious. The video reminds us that the masculine wonder of the healthy moustache lives on in Italy and I, for one, am pleased to see it.

There is an odd thing that happened during the day and a half since then: I have found myself playing the song over and over. It has bewitched me. I am utterly besotted with this beautiful little song.

I like the way the simple, almost one-note, verse contrasts with the sweet melody of what I'm calling the chorus. And then there is the genius of repeating the word “diverso, diverso” at the end of the chorus. The word is the same at each of the three choruses so it sticks in your mind and yet the things that are “different, different” each time are themselves different. A quirky touch.

And there is that dramatic middle bit. Glorious. Cheers me right up and I sing along happily. It is in the key of A while the rest of the song is in D and you can really hear how the key change pushes the middle bit out.

The tritoney riff at the end was a mistake in my opinion but serves me well as a reminder to hit that rewind button again.

On the rare occasions when I write a song, I'm conscious of avoiding writing songs that are driven by the bassline as I don't like the thought of people saying “oh that song has a good bassline. Who wrote the song? The bass player? Well, that explains it” — as, of course, people inevitably would. You know what they're like — cunts that they are. As for this song's interesting bassline? Max Gazzè is a bass player. Well, that explains it.

Sick

2010-06-04T17:38:00.004+10:00

I don't know if you remember the show, but The Young Ones once had an episode where all four of the lads were unwell. They all had colds and got grumpy at each other (as opposed to other episodes where a bomb dropped on the house and they all got grumpy at each other or where they mysteriously fell through some kind of a time warp and they all got grumpy at each other). This comes to mind as I am at my workdesk on a Friday afternoon pumping out the hot stuff for my employers and their shareholders. Like Neil, Rick, Mike and Vyv, I am gobbing up great piles of unpleasant bodily excretia; coughing and sneezing, befowling mountains of handkerchiefs. It is gruesome.

All of my coworkers here in the office are as sick as I. Filthy crew that they are. If we somehow had Madness turned up here playing Our House we wouldn't be able to hear it over all the coughing here. God it's revolting. There is some extreme acupuncture, involving six-inch nails, I'd be pleased to perform on them all.

I date the beginning of the worst for me at last rehearsal. I have a nasty history of rocking up to the rehearsal room with a bit of a cold and then ruining my throat through over-singing. My technique isn't great and I sing quite high for me in many of the songs and my voice gets trashed.

I have not done a great deal of research into the subject so does anybody have proper tips on how to avoid ruining my voice when I have a little bit of a cold? I guess the only correct answer is “take singing lessons for five years”

Brand Awareness

2010-04-11T20:16:00.004+10:00

In a great leap forward, a Braggian rather than a Maoist, for our non-exclusive manager, and for the greater Squid Ink cause (perhaps this is the first step in our long march...what you just heard was the sound of a metaphor breaking) as the album is now available to the general public!
For the Squid Ink fans, and they are legion, who have access to the library in the municipality of Port Phillip and don't have the internet access by which to get the album free from this blog, they can now borrow it!
Our non-exclusive manager has been busy re-enforcing the brand! Now library goers in the inner south of Melbourne, when asked if they know Squid Ink, hold an outside chance of saying "ummm...I think I have seen the name somewhere".

Lyric note: Port Phillip rhymes (sort of, as Paddy might caution) with Mary MacKillop.

Treading On Toes

2010-04-09T21:03:00.008+10:00

It's an awkward situation. I so rarely post but here I have several possible posts and I don't want to slam them home all at once for fear that they will drown each other out. Let us hope I remember them for a few days. I could have done them as drafts but then they may remain like the two drafts still in our list of posts, tantalisingly unfinished (What on earth had Paddy been pondering? In the midst of my wounded, emotional bleat, what had stung most in the plain panoply of possible hurts and barbs? Do I have a gear other than wounded,emotional bleat? At least Paddy toggles between pondering and furious rage).

So to this post. I feel odd about posting my proposed lyrics to Pink, or Play The Bass as it is now called because I think both sets of lyrics that exist are excellent and I do not intend this to suggest that these lyrics are superior. I just liked the idea that the song be about playing the bass...something I don't do. So I will not be in the least hurt if they are ignored, or butchered, or re-cast in excrement and left at my front door.

V1
Give me four strings and a single coil
put me stage right and I'm on the boil
Makes my bowels slack and my muscle tighten
Play me thunder and give me lightening
You want guitar with some decent heft?
You'll never find it on the treble clef

You can keep your b, your top e
it's all a disgrace
Play the ace
Play the bass

V2
Four live wires makes me go too far
My Bass guitar wants to kill your ma
Play so low that it makes you bleed
It's the only good thing about Paul McCartney
All I need is a precision in hand
you'll never need two of me in the band

That lowdown rumble
it makes my blood race
Play the ace
Play the bass

V3
A split humbucker to unleash my rage
A skeleton suit on a festival stage
A pen nib beard gives you N.I.B.
I don't need anesthesia when I'm pulling teeth
Give me a lead break, I'll give you a B flat
See Roger Waters rip a new hole in Guy Pratt

Coda

Just guitar and drums?
what a mistake
Play the ace
Play the bass

The White Keys and Black Stripes
What a waste
Play the ace
Play the bass

The platters that matter (slight return)

2010-03-11T16:58:00.005+11:00

Back into it, then.

In the second of an occasional series, Silky will run you through another mighty haul of vinyl. The more I think about it,the more I realise we in Australia pay far too much for most things and in particular for records.

I have been slumming it over in North America again, this time in the extremely civilised, extremely scenic enclave of Vancouver, where I took time out from my occupation as Luge Correspondent to grab a swag of records. $3 each and I think you'll agree some absolute classics.

Getting them back was a slight challenge, involving patience, derring-do and a flimsy paper bag that split fairly early in the piece. I had an eight hour layover in LA and --resolving not to just sit around the world's worst airport AGAIN, took a cab down to Venice beach and attempted the walk to Santa Monica pier. Due to the threat of terrorism American airports no longer have lockers which meant I had to carry the records along with my cumbersome laptop bag. The paper record bag disintegrated after about 100m and I completed a fairly miserable hour-long trudge, hugging my platters to my chest in a light drizzle.

here's the haul:
Elvis Costello and the Attractions - Punch the clock
Elvis in his 'uncool glasses, discovering jazz, hanging with Chet Baker' phase. Every day I write the book is a bit dinky but Shipbuilding is an immortal classic that is a fair bit better in the original form than the cover version I have somewhere by Suede.

Madness - Absolutely
Kind of a childhood nostalgia trip, baggy trousers etc. Reminds me of watching The Young Ones.Their first album and my favourite. Has one of those 'introducing the band' pieces of pop journalism on the back cover (I love these).

Richard and Linda Thompson - Shoot out the lights
Walking on a wire etc. Linda sings quite nicely, I think. You know that song Wall of Death? When I was a kid I thought it was 'Let me ride on/the water-bed/one more time.' It makes better sense, I still believe.

Seals and Crofts - Greatest Hits
I think this is soft-rock genius and can't stop listening to it. I love the beards on the cover, I love the song Ruby Jean and Billie Lee. I love Summer Breeze.

Aerosmith - Night in the ruts
Hot blues rock. Joe Perry is smokin' in his 1979 prime.

Divinyls - What a life
Canada is a good place to buy classic oz rock as to them this is just another lame 80s album. Pleasure and pain etc.

The Church - The Church
ditto. An Unguarded Moment is just about perfect isn't it?

The Pretenders - Get Close
A classic, didn't have it. Mrs Silky loves'em.

Van Halen - Diver Down
1982 album featuring some il-advised covers that I find amusing. Pretty Woman? Where have all the good times gone? Dancing in the street? Sure thing guys.More cocaine!

The Very Best of the Everly Brothers
Always loved them, didn't have any.

Dolly Parton, Linda Ronstadt, Emmylou Harris - Trio
Had never heard of this but couldn't resist it. It's great. It's from 1987. There's a song called Hobo's Meditation. The insert features cutout paper dolls of all three gals.

Michael Nesmith - Infinite Rider on the big dogma.
Cool title, Hansel.

The Byrds - Byrdmaniax
Was pretty chuffed to grab this for $3. I remember that UT has strong views on the Byrds,though I can't quite remember what they are. My view is that this is a pretty sweet record.

10CC - Deceptive Bends
Without doubt one of the greatest album covers of all time. The Canadian version has a turqiose background instead of purple. It's EVEN COOLER. I also quite like The Things we do for love.

Elvis Costello - Taking Liberties
This one is a massive childhood nostalgia trip. An American comp of his first four albums. I think Girls Talk was my favourite song when I was about six.
ELO - Out of the Blue
I now have just about every ELO album ever recorded. I alone believe this to be a good thing. This is the very height of their annoyingness, Mr Blue Sky etc.

ELO - On the third day
As above. Grieg turns in his grave as Lynne shines up an improved take on In the hall of the mountain king.

Van Halen - Van Halen
As if this needs to even be explained.

Eric Clapton - Just one Night
Live? At Budokan? A double album? With Albert Lee? (Y)

Blondie - Autoamerican
Shamelessly currying favour with Mrs Silky after a month away from home. The birth of hip hop is captured here by a white woman who can't rhyme or flow.

Ted Nugent - Free For All
Yet to listen but I expect this to be relatively epic and yet relatively tuneless at the same time. Seduced by hot cover art and not for the first time.

Elvis Costello - King of America
Not my favourite EC but still pretty good.

Hot Gear

2010-03-05T11:42:00.005+11:00

It seemed a while between purchases for the band. And in lieu of actually playing anything I thought owning more stuff might compensate. Both are a direct pinch from Kurdt's rig. For many years his only two pedals were the small calone and DS-2. So why not? He was able to make his guitar sound like buildings collapsing (Moby's description and inadvertant, I beleive, reference to Einsturzende Neubauten).

Hot Rock.

Back In Black

2010-03-03T20:24:00.006+11:00

Long time no speak. Things I have learned in the interim:

1) I am slightly embarrassed that we have let the blog slide...Paddy once said "No one blogs anymore"...and he was right...but we bucked the trend for quite some time. We should have kept it up.

2) The Beatles remasters caused me to listen to most of the Beatles' albums for the first time. I was unaware how many ordinary songs they had hidden on their early albums. Sie Liebt Dich is a total revelation.

3) My new squid baby is a lovely boy.

4) I miss rehearsing, let alone playing gigs. Silky's facebook post about LAX gives me hope that we may soon be on again once more for some hot hot rock!

5) Justine Clarke is the greatest interpreter of song of the modern era. Disagree? Pick up Songs To Make You Smile and listen to how effortlessly and good humouredly she glides between the many genres covered.

6) My son was wrong at least two ways when he said "Pat gave me that" about a present that Paddy gave the new squid. Possibly three ways if it was in fact from Fluffy via said Pat. The blanket and excellent hat for son number one are equally as excellent for son number two Fluffy. You know your kiddy shizzle, no question.

It is lovely to be back. Hopefully this will inspire others but at least one of them is now a celebrity blogger who probably won't lower himself. I am down the coast this week and have the uke with me (could not fit the guitar and even had to give up underpant space for the uke). Some new songs in the offing...just need a band.

On Waiting

2009-12-12T12:15:00.005+11:00

This is a period of waiting for the Ink, both collectively and individually, both temporally and teleologically.
We all wait for the album. The bits so far sound encouraging and also half-baked. I wait for my next son who is over staying his welcome in the womb by a good 3 days now. We all wait for Crafty's next post...though this is taking on a beckettesque feel. The wait is over for Silky's elevation to celebrity blogger pending pithy, multi-meaning (and no doubt, at least some of them, smutty) title...this will be in sharp distinction to Paddy's direct call-to-arms/cri-de-couer that is the title of this blog, which will now feel like Silky's more humble beginnings. The small town girlfriend before the exciting, exotic romances to be found in the big city.

We can and will get back to the studio but until this little monkey shows his wet and purple head I am in, to quote one of the greatest songs ever written, suspended animation, a state of bliss (the second half is not entirely accurate but lots of songs have suspended animation in it....in fact I might write one).

Motorcade

2009-11-16T22:20:00.003+11:00

Today is exciting. Not only is it the evening before my wife's birthday (that is her actual birthday and not the day she gives birth...a mere 3 weeks away, though any day really), but it is chance for the fans to see behind the magical curtain. To delve straight to the three hearts of the Squid Ink creative Deus Ex Machina. Here is footage of a guy I paid to learn the new bit to one of our new songs, which means it will now go a bit longer. The band are well aware of this song in a much faster, groovier and more richly instrumented format but the descending B, A, G, F# x 3 is new to them. Consider this notice to begin the nestorian task of learning this intricate slab of genius before next rehearsal.

Tumescent adolescent

2009-11-09T21:02:00.007+11:00

And so the recent blogging renaissance continues and — only because somebody needs to break the chain before it stretches toward infinity — I will not apologise to the previous poster for displacing his extremely worthy and eminently readable submission. But do have a hunt for it below.

This is a music blog. But sometimes, even for those who really love the rock, music sucks. The record collection looks resolutely uninspiring, Row after row of mid 90s indie rock albums stare back at you like an insolent challenge to any remaining pretensions you might have towards some kind of current hipness.

Neighbours come round for a BBQ and you resort to chucking the ipod on and hitting shuffle, then are left to wonder exactly how and when Christina Aguilera's Dirrty got on there.

You look at hipster bibles like pitchfork and everything looks worthy and uninspiring and overhyped and basically like a shittier version of something you already have that was almost certainly better when done in your day.

So a guy I know who goes by the sobriquet “Dante Hicks” recommended this blog to me and it seems like some sort of temporary answer. I am passing on that recommendation to you.

Check out http://soundweave.blogspot.com/ which specialises in stuff that sounds like it would be fantastic, even if it doesn't always SOUND fantastic.

Reading these descriptions I pretty much want to download all of them. Whether it is Loan and their blend of “Stoner/Sludge/Doom Metal” from Bilbao, Spain (which allegedly sounds like a cross between Sabbath and something called Electric Wizard) or the Tel Aviv-based TV Buddhas, whose album, The Golden Period, is listed as “garage, psych, blues, noise-rock. guitar/drums duo.”

There is Italian “folk metal” and Polish “post-rock/psych”. All downloadable at the click of a button. I am waiting for TV Buddhas to finish downloading as we speak. I am also slightly intrigued by France's Chico Magnetic Band, allegedly a blend of Hendrix, Alice Cooper and Funkadelic and described as “SO BAD it lights a fire in my head, creates a fevered dickswell and comes close to bursting my heart every time I spin it.”

Will let you know in due time if I experience the fevered dickswell.

Ask Not For Whom The Bellbird Tolls

2009-11-07T13:25:00.000+11:00

I feel slightly bad about bumping Paddy's most exciting post down a rung after he apologised for doing it to Silky but the blog must roll. If you have stumbled across this I heartily recommend that you read the two previous posts. Together they achieve one of the late-career peaks of this blog. Silky draws on connections posts past but plays with the form by not completing the ellipse but allowing Mr Big a free hand to take us where they must. Paddy, on the other hand, initially eschews broader pop-culture tools often used in this blog and takes us into a personal space not inhabited since the last time he purchased an iron horse. Paddy and complacency are focused enemies and to this end the rug of pop-culture is slid back under our feet by mid-way through the post when the KLF are employed as his whipping boys in a 360 degree mockery of the music industry, with Paddy and the boys from the Ink not spared.

A former bandmate of half of Squid Ink (in fact another member jammed with the Ink in our very early days) has just released a CD with a new band called Bellbird (happily both the band and the album have the same name which gets me out of some murky grammar back there). It is an excellent effort with more than a gentle nod in the direction of the Kinks and a knowing glance at Magic Christian Music. You can buy Bellbird here and you can watch a video for one of their songs here. Lovely harmonies and neat guitar. Obviously feel free to do neither as these pricks have never showed up to our gigs but that doesn't place them in an overly lonely group. My favourite song is Old Friends/Deadends which contains one of the greatest vocal performances since Robin Z on He's A Whore and some clever lyrics.

Bonneville and the Timelords

2009-11-06T15:15:00.006+11:00

While everybody was on hiatus buying black market tickets and quoting Roosevelt I bought this motorcycle. A 790cc 2001 Triumph Bonneville. My dream bike.

While the satisfaction of spending the last of my savings on a beautiful, powerful, chrome-bedecked monster of a motorbike (with an exhaust that sounds like the murmuring of choirs of angelic cherubs being run over by the 8:27 to Cranbourne) instead of squandering it on stuff like food and rent leaves me giddy with joy, the rent does actually need to be paid.

Therefore we need to release a worldwide hit single that will pay back at least the cost of the Bonnie.

But how is that done? How does one release a single that will sell a billion copies and make a fortune? I didn't have a clue so I turned to British electronica duo KLF for the answer. In their manual The Manual published in 1988 they tell me the golden rules of writing a hit single:

It must have a dance groove
It must be around 3'20" in length
It must consist of an intro, a verse, a chorus, second verse, second chorus, a breakdown section, a double-length chorus, and outro
The breakdown section must not be a guitar solo
It must have lyrics. They must deal with only the most basic of human emotions. These emotions must not be negative ones. Essentially they must be about how I'm never gonna give you up, or that that's the way I like it.

Simple really. Fortune assured.

Calvary crossed wires

2009-11-06T11:43:00.005+11:00

I am back.

I am not sure about any of the caricature or irony business described in the previous post but did have a good time nonetheless.

Speaking of irony, I've noticed that poor Alanis Morisette gets a very tough time on this subject from all the hipsters (unfortunately for Alanis, grammar hipsters and music hipsters are often one and the same).

But how come people are always lashing Alanis for not knowing the meaning of irony in her song Ironic but nobody ever gives Ice Cube shit for similarly misusing it in his classic It was a good day?

The song is mainly about fucking bitches and also about basketball, there's a confluence of these topics when Ice pays a visit to one of his hooches and remarks: ''It's ironic, I had the brew, she had the chronic, the Lakers beat the Supersonics.''

This is not nearly even ironic. She's a fucking HOOCH. As if she would not have a stash of the chronic virtually all of the time. Anyway, I sort of sympathise with Alanis, is all.

Speaking of basketball, as part of my iconic adventures in post-ironic Americana or some shit I did manage to buy Knicks tickets on Monday night for $30 from a scalper outside Madison Square Garden. This after being told at the ticket window that the cheapest available seats were $245.

The sweetest part of it was probably watching Mrs Silky-D - who is quite straight and risk-averse when it comes to such matters -- nearly have kittens as I transacted that shit.

I also took a day trip to Philadelphia to check out some of the key sites associated with my new quasi-obsession: the founding fathers. I saw Franklin's house, and his grave, and the room where Jefferson penned the declaration of independence and also the steps that Rocky runs up in the movie Rocky.

On the way back to NYC my train broke down and I was stranded in rural New Jersey for five hours, I shared a couple of beers with the guy next to me who turned out to be a semi-famous jazz drummer who had played with many of the greats etc. He had been to Australia but the only place he saw was Wangaratta. Imagine such a thing.

Anyway, I am back. I picked up my guitar last night for the first time in ages. I couldn't really remember any Squid Ink songs ( little has changed there, obviously) so I just strummed a few random chords and accidentally hit on the progression for Mr Big's 1989 smash hit To be with you. I've been singing it ever since.

I always hated this song, at the time my sister liked it a lot and bought the album. I'm sure that she would loathe it now but I find that I quite like it.

Isn't that ironic? Or something?

I think I had the song in the back of my mind because while in New York I took in a show - Rock of ages - which was a "jukebox musical" about Sunset Strip hair metal bands in the early to mid 80s. It starred one of my favourite American Idol alumni, Constantin Maroulis and was both better and worse than what you would imagine from this brief explanation. Anyway, To be with you featured briefly in the soundtrack and must have lodged in my head.

I also went to see Richard Thompson play an all-request set, as I have previously mentioned elsewhere. Audience members wrote the songs they wished to hear on slips of paper and they went into a hat, to be drawn and played by Thommo onstage. One of the more fun ones was a reprise of his cover of the early Beatles ditty It won't be long which was great because the entire audience sang the backing vocals and it was quite a nice, warm, collaborative moment.

Anyway, like Mr Big, I have left New York and sort of wish I had not. In their case it was because hair metal went out of vogue and they had to pursue the japanese market, where they went on to have several multi-platinum hit records throughout the 90's, even as the rest of the world was all busy being still just a rat in a cage despite all its rage. They even released a live at Budokan album, which seems like a bit of a travesty. In my case it's because I ran out of money and the fence in the front garden need painting before I go back to work.

So it turns out Mr Big have just reformed and a new album is on the way. Like Unrelenting Tedium they have been busy writing. Like Thommo they are doffing their caps to the Fab Four by including a Beatles cover. It's for you. Weirdly it's a song that John and Paul wrote around Revolver time but never recorded, instead they gave it to Cilla Black.

Covers are ace, we should get some new covers. Mr Big cover the Beatles and so does Richard Thompson. Dinosaur Jr covered Richard Thompson but never, to my knowledge Mr Big. But they did release an album called Green Mind -- which I didn't really like much but UT will probably now tell me is his favourite or something, thus beginning some new argument. Green Mind sounds a lot like Green Tinted Sixties Mind, which is the second best known song ever recorded by Mr Big (trailing the first by some fair margin).

Thommo covered Britney Spears' Oops I did it again, which is only my third favourite Britney song (I would like to have heard his take on Toxic). Britney, like the Beatles before her, is one of the most covered artists of all time. Check it out on the internet, EVERYBODY does Britney covers, It's a must.

Britney herself basically never does covers, though, which I guess is kind of, maybe, not really ironic. (You could, though, mount an argument that all of her songs are covers since she sure as hell isn't writing them). She has covered Prince, though -- as has Thommo himself. The other famous Britney cover is of You Oughta Know by Alanis Morisette. This was longer than I expected it would be and a lot more rambling. I think I have my wires a little crossed. Fucking jetlag.

Tedious Chappie (Slight Return)

2009-11-05T21:48:00.004+11:00

Fans of the band, and hopefully the band also, will be pleased to hear that I think I am back. Many may not have noticed that I went away. Just as I failed to notice, and feel very bad about not noticing, that Crafty has had a fairly nasty ear business. Something far worse has probably happened to Paddy and Silky (all I know is Paddy seems to have some kind of lyrical block...Silky, on the other hand, seems to be living out some sort of post-modern American caricature and I can't work out where the man, the holiday, the iconography, the irony, and the sporting bit of the whole thing begins and ends [please note awkward forcing of oxford comma for Paddy's reading pleasure]) and I would never know it.

Separate limos it is.

Anyway, I have been off my game and now find myself back on it. The fruit of this is a new composition which is like The Jam only better. Sadly, Paddy's lyrical block is contagious but that has not impeded my output hitherto. Midian is booked for next wednesday evening (room 2...as the actress said to the bishop). The Brunswick Hotel has clearly been got at by the nasty people who run every other venue in Melbourne as they are no longer returning my emails...but the credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by blah blah blah...rock!

Rewriting

2009-10-21T14:45:00.013+11:00

A few weeks ago I wrote some music to go with a set of lyrics that Silky-D posted here and then I brought the song along to rehearsal, the lads were very encouraging, and after a few goes the song started to sound pretty good.

The song is a fairly familiar blues riff over a fairly familiar chord progression which gets the foot tapping readily but the thing is that, as it happens, the band in general and Silky in particular are not that keen on the original words. All a bit childish; too easily dated; “not very good” were I think Silky's words but I don't have as good a head for remembering quotes as he does.

So I have been charged with the task of writing new lyrics for the song. This is good in that I wouldn't have to share any writing credits and the song would be mine… all mine! The power! Mwaahaha!… etc. But it is bad in that I don't actually have anything to write.

I have no lyrics to bring to the song. Regular readers of this blog may have noticed that the words are not coming easily from my keyboarding fingers.

Does anybody have any topic suggestions? Or some wonderful, hooky, ear-catching rhyming couplets they can offer?

Perhaps I need to start becoming a positive thinker, a person who will be motivated and inspired to allow the most amazing lyrics to flow into my mind. I need to get the beautiful words flowing into me and melody lines cascading through me

Being a tortured artist is such torture. Particularly when the lads are actually expecting me to actually create some actual art!

State Of The Axe

2009-09-22T08:26:00.005+10:00

Fans of the band and blog will no doubt be wondering exactly where Unrelenting Tedium is with his guitars. The re-acquisition by my eldest brother of his Burns Marquis re-issue guitar has prompted some soul-searching at Modern Tedium Industries 3000. Why have guitars that you never ever play? For it is good for the soul… however it becomes injurious to the soul when you are struggling to store them. Time for some rationalisation. A cunning manouvre was played on the free-love manager we have when I returned said Burns and encouraged him to keep the Fender Bullet (complete with USA Owner's Manual).

So now I have two electrics in the form of the Fender Bronco (most honourable guitar number 1) and the Fender Duo-Sonic (never had an easy relationship with this guy but I have grudging respect for his refusal to bend to my needs). The man in the most dangerous position is the Hofner Committee semi-accoustic. Silky once described himself, when he saw an image of him on stage with the Danelectric, as a praying mantis playing a toothpick. With Hofner in hand I look like the guy in the mariachi band who plays the silly big guitar (a moment's research proves it to be called a guitarrón). I do like owning it though.

The ukulele is providing no end of home-based entertainment and the octave drop on the 3rd string is a revelation in harmony. The tuning of the top four strings of the guitar (only up a fourth) make it the easiest cheat ever. No wonder every man, woman and dog is playing it. I must retrieve my mandolin from the chap who has had it for 10 years.

Non-manager brother has an excellent steel-string that he never plays which he has offered but I have an ordinary Ibanez so I need to off-load that before I can justify liberating the Art & Lutherie from under his well used bed.

Guitar Gulag and Other Essays

2009-09-20T20:39:00.005+10:00

Clarence White...so tremendously overlooked. He even invented the b-bender. You can take your early era birds and that 8 Miles High shite and blow it out your patooti. David Crosby was, and remains (when Gene Clark is gone...where's the justice, where's the sense?) an annoying, worthless swine. Clarence soared, picked, twiddled and thrilled. Speed, grace, fire and skill. Dead early and with some great face art. It would be mean not to give my fav guitarist spot to Thommo but Clarence is up there. He never ceases bend my mind with his B string. The Byrds Live at the Filmore East is an end-to-end masterclass.

Fluffy furnished me, via some sordid practices at a major department store and the price of a coffee at a way-too-hip-for-a-guy-dressed-as-a-bank-teller-wearing-a-fleece cafe (I suspect they would be really upset to be called a cafe but I don't know what else to call it), with an imac. This has prompted the change to garageband from my hitherto lifelong devotion to cakewalk. Garageband is certainly a neat piece of software that confuses grumpy old gen Xers like me by trying to get me to pay for Norah Jones to teach me how to play one of her songs...or John Foggerty (but only Proud Mary. Where is Effigy sir!?)...or Sting (clearly the imac has not probed my mind to hear the contents of my poem Listening To Sting, as surely it would not offer him to me?), when all I really want to do is record me whining along to mah geetah. By gum does it make it easy to do that. Paddy is all analogue, which is ironic as there could never be an analogue of the inimitable Paddy (and once again Happy Birthday for yesterday). When I probed the home of he and his partner (knowingly maintaining the mystique of the blog and its reader) last month I found that he had recorded a tone-poem representation of a Silky meditation entirely on his four-track (still bearing the stickered name of his swift uncle on its housing). And I thought I was Gen X...

The Fifth Squid...

2009-09-18T14:32:00.005+10:00

Fluffy pointed me in the direction of a Northcote recording studio which goes by the name of the Soundpark because of the happy coincidence with my own surname. The website certainly looks the business and they proclaim themselves to be well priced. But, and I acknowledge what an intersting peice of info it was, it made me feel dirty to consider using anyone other than Trevor. The man records albums excllently and builds at least some part of two squid homes.

Trevor has no idea he is the fifth squid and would possibly be upset to hear that he is. I will never forget when we finished the mix on Crossbreed and as the silence filled the room he swung around on his chair and said "Gentlemen, you have just recorded your first number one single". Of course he was wrong...and I had asked him to say it...but I will never forget it.

A Plate of Cold Sick

2009-09-17T12:43:00.005+10:00

One trouble with the band hiatus has been the effect on my song writing. If you sit around with only an acoustic guitar, or after yesterday a ukulele, all you end up writing are dribbly strummy-wummy songs. Perhaps it is time for the introspective revelation that will be the Modern Doug Park solo album...the Squid members who receive my demo versions of new songs prior to rehearsal will no doubt be excited by this prospect. Often the shuffle function on my Ipod kicks my arse by bringing up MP3s of these demos and the slow, awful, strained shite that makes its way at considerably higher volume (cakewalk's fine work) out of the speakers is an entirely inexquisite agony.

My thesis is that hot rock breeds hot rock. You are what you eat. For this reason don't read free newspapers. And if you promise not to I will consider holding off the solo album.

My Local Furry Squid Looks Like Woody Allen

2009-08-31T10:49:00.003+10:00

Things That Simply Cannot Be Told

2009-08-18T13:51:00.009+10:00

It will hurt and surprise readers of this blog that I have been feeling a little down of late. I am not sure if it is because of hormoaning or whores moaning (props to Thurston)...some reasons are well known to me and others not.

But surely it is the build up on the heart of the pressure of the incommunicable of which Squid Ink is an excellent release valve. With Silky out watching some weird ritual in Germany we are left rockless and on and on the pressure builds (I can't even be bothered entertaining Paddy with an oxford comma, such is my listlessness).

Plans need to be afoot for some recording. With the arrival of yet more squid in December it seems vital that we capture this crucial period in the bands trajectory (I know a trajectory can be both up and down but can it be straight?).

It is unclear whether we have enough material at present for another album (actually it is fairly clear we don't) so a dangerous EP may be the way to go…although the thought of hiding some of the current gold on an EP gives me highly communicable pressure on the heart.

Anyone at the last gig will have heard the awesome "Tongue Tied", which a colleague who did attend told another colleague who didn't “Unrelenting Tedium's written a new song about nipples,” for the one and only time in that incarnation…as Fluffy has pointed out that the chorus is suspiciously similar to another song, which is sadly not one of ours. Maybe we should post it here for download.

And will Silky please please please let us record Uri?

Happy memories

2009-08-05T09:30:00.000+10:00

I felt it was important to remember the happy days. To take us back to great moments in the past

This one was a rehearsal. I don't mean to go all “wasn't it great in the good old days when we used to practise.” I merely want to point out that this photo from the crappy camera in my phone is documentary proof that on one happy occasion way back in the sweet summer of 2008 we were able to park all four of our cars in the four car spaces at the front of the practice studio. We usually have to scramble for a park in side roads a hundred metres away and hire sherpas to schlep all our gear in to the studios but on this occasion we were all able to park right outside.

Halcyon days. I should write a song about such joy.

Advice to guitarists from Richard Thompson

2009-07-31T16:45:00.002+10:00

The Q&A from Squid Ink favourite Richard Thompson's website has appeared on this blog before. Since Squid Ink only wants you to improve, we share him sharing his advice on how to play a guitar solo.

Richard: I am a guitar player who wonders how you keep your solos so fresh and new? I seem to hear myself playing the same runs in some shape or form despite efforts to break new ground — I have been playing awhile, am considered by peers to be not too shabby, but can't get free of my entrenched soloing habits. I particularly admire your complete freedom from the pentatonic cage and unique timing and phrasing. Any thoughts about how one can work on expanding and improving note selection and phrasing without woodenly forcing “new notes” into solos? Thanks

Charlie Parker never repeated himself, but everybody else does, to some extent. I comfort myself with the thought that those clichés are really “signature licks”. But we all must try to expand the envelope, so here's some thoughts:

It's all about scales, so practice weird ones — minor 7 flat 5, 13th scales, 11th scales, whole tone scales. Try double octave scales.

Change the emphasis when you play a scale — push the off beats, put the notes into groups of 3 or 5 or 7 or 10.

Put your guitar into a bizarre tuning, and then play a familiar fingering. Write down any interesting sequences, and try to play them in regular tuning.

Try to sing a solo instead of playing it. Try to sing along with a solo as you play it.

It's all about the heart, so at some point, if you've done your homework, empty your mind of everything, and let your heart, not your brain, play a solo. Your fingers will know where to go.

Forty Years Ago Today

2009-07-27T18:15:00.018+10:00

Forty years ago this month the Beatles were in the studio recording their Abbey Road album.

There were splendid songs on this album. I'm thinking of the delightful ‘Something,’ ‘Come Together’ which I've written about on another forum, and ‘I Want You (She's So Heavy)’ which is a wonderful collision of what is basically two different songs edited together. The bluesy I Want You verses were recorded during the White Album sessions and the crazy-arse 6/8 She's So Heavy refrains were spliced in to make a tour de force which, as far as running time is concerned, was topped only by ‘Revolution 9’ in the Beatles canon — and, of course, ‘Revolution 9’ doesn't count because it is stupid.

There were duds too, of course. Yes, I'm looking at you ‘Octopus's Garden,’ that godawful ‘Her Majesty’ drivel, and ‘Maxwell's Silver Hammer’.

Ringo Starr said ‘Maxwell's Silver Hammer’ “was the worst track we ever had to record.” John Lennon called it “Paul's Granny Music” and refused to take any part in recording it. The story is that his only contribution was to drop his trousers in the studio and moon Paul McCartney as he was recording the line “So he waits behind” (you can hear McCartney laughing at it as he sings the next line “Writing fifty times ‘I must not be so…’”)

It is encouraging to note that in, for example, the goodtime rocking tune ‘Polythene Pam’ Lennon copies the patented Squid Ink song form of

|Verse|Chorus|Verse|Chorus|Solo|Sudden end|

While we're talking about ‘Polythene Pam’ allow me to point out that you can hear Lennon counting out the bars in the left channel during the guitar solo. For those who don't know why that would be done, they would have recorded the backing tracks — that is, the drums, the bass and the acoustic guitar — at the same time (my sources tell me they recorded the backing tracks for this song on 25th July 1969 — they played it no less than 39 times before they had a take everybody was happy with). They would also have recorded somebody doing a guide vocal so that the musicians know where they are in the song but there is a long stretch in this song where the musicians are playing the same thing over and over (D-A-E chords) where the solo will go in later. You need to know when this is going to end which is easy enough if you're in the same room looking at each other but you need to have something on the recording to help those who will later do some overdubs. The Beatles did this by having somebody, usually Lennon, count the bars into a microphone as they go. You can hear this counting throughout the Beatles's œuvre.

I bring this up only because, on the evidence of the previous post on this blog, perhaps we in Squid Ink ought to get into the habit of counting the bars in songs like ‘Deadpan.’ Or, at least, we should get John Lennon in to do it for us.

The Squid's Navel

2009-07-23T16:31:00.021+10:00

I thought I would review Silky Come Home. I thought about sending it just to the dudes but then how would Jodie ever get to read it? If Paddy is in anyway inclined he could link to some of the better tracks. It might be nice for some to finally hear Sibella in all its shambling off-key charm (and Thommo might check the blog and be chuffed...or sue). There is an unashamed focus on my bits as I find me quite quite interesting.

Mnemosyne
Not a bad start. In time and largely in tune… crucially we get most of the changes. Slows down somewhat. Happily the lyrics are remembered. The guitars in general are too quiet but this could have been my room mic.

Crossbreed
We fairly nailed this one. Guitars chime. The rhythmn bounces along. Nice tight drumming. The first appearance of some amusing vocal reverb deployed by the clearly bored Jodie on the night. Again lyrics remembered. Guitar solo is excellent considering I could not hear a note of it. Good commitment from the entire band… we sound like we mean it.

Thin Walls
This one came out way better than I remembered. Even my guitar fiddly bits, though way too weak, are not a disaster. Paddy struggles manfully with vocals and comes out on top. Crafty provides excellent harmony… and we sound like a band. Guitar solo if anything is better than usual.

GHMS
Absolutely smashed it. Better than the album version. Great drums. Great bass. Great guitars and great vocals. Good speed throughout. The only criticisms I can make is me losing my place on the fretboard in the middle chorus and illness preventing me from performing one of my few harmonies and instead doubling Paddy (and don't try and tell me I usually double Paddy anyway… I am sure I don't).

Sibella
Loose as a goose but nice tempo. Fine backing vocals and Paddy expertly handled my reversing of the verses with his usual aplomb. Pissweak guitar solo. Great drums… perhaps my favourite drum-wise. My vocals are all over the place… which is where they usually are.

Hare Trigger
More shaky guitar work from me. Fine lead work from Silky. Does anyone, least of all me, know the lyrics to this one? Silky does a cracking Bryan Ferry impersonation during the alternate section. My wife commented particularly that she liked his style… and I love the commitment. Clearly a crowd live fav. My "improvising" in the outro threw everyone except Paddy… sorry.

Deadpan
What the fuck happened here? Poor Paddy's voice is finally giving up.

Who Loves The Sun
Much better than it could have been. The vocals are better than the instruments… in this way we are the same as the Beatles.

Tion
I like the way we roll here. After practising the twiddly bit solidly for four days (along with the twiddly bit in Thin Walls) I missed the strings completely the first time… the second was a much happier experience. The real star here is Jodie with an egregious use of vocal reverb. Paddy's voice responds enthusiastically to the lower register. Unfortunately his bass work may have shone but it is hard to hear throughout the entire recording.

A Family's Mistake
I love everything about it except my amatuerish breathing technique. I like the speed and I like the fury. We almost cracked the transition into the outro… but, true to form, not quite.

Tongue Tied
Absolutely freaking nailed it… despite there quite obviously being no lyrics to the chorus.

Easy To Do
From the sublime to the ridiculous. Though there are some cracking errors here, they are made all the worse by the slow and exposed nature of the song. Highlights include Paddy's crackling vocals which convey the heartbreak of the ordeal being narrated… pathos defined… and my chromatic solo work.

Hinny
Hmmm… Paddy's larynx has left the building. The crowd sounds tired of us by the end.

Eutectic Point
Great work. Good thumping of drums and good cover for the missing stick. How hard is it to sing a repeated three note melody in tune… quite hard for me apparently.

Ink sinks the Pink

2009-07-20T09:54:00.010+10:00

I am stuck at the Honda dealership waiting for my car to be serviced. When the service guy asked me how many "clicks" it had done I realised I had no idea, panicked and said -- slightly misogynistically but trying to cover up -- "dunno mate" (I like to put on a blokey voice at such times). "It's the wife's car, I never drive it, I'm just bringing it in for a service".

This piece of stereotyping was music to his ears and I then was treated to a five minute rant about how "it's always her car until something goes wrong or it needs petrol putting in it".

Anyway, while waiting I wrote some fragments of a new song about Pink. They have a free coffee machine in the dealership and I have taken full advantage. Consequently I am a little jumpy.

The diss song is an important part of any hip hop posse's artillery. We don't really have a diss song (unless I have misconstrued the hidden meanings in Tracy Says). Although I sometimes wonder whether Mrs Bun is not indeed quite harsh on Mr Bun.

If anyone needs a good diss, it is surely Pink. Fuck her, to be honest. I hope she sees this, fires back on stage and buys into a career-making public slanging match with Squid Ink.

10,000K Service

Man that Pink really knows how to party,
hot rock chick rocks out like Fugazi.
All of the dudes in my book club have seen her,
18 nights at Rod Laver Arena.

She's so crazy when she cuts loose.
Like Jessica Simpson but more obtuse.
Like Beyonce but short and not black,
with more tattoos and not such a nice rack.

I think her boyfriend's famous, but I don't really know
She puts on one hell of a show.
There's singing and shouting and even some dance
She's like Lady Gaga but wearing some pants

chorus:
Sometimes I feel old when I rage about these things
I don't even really know what Lady Gaga sings

She's got spunk and a bad attitude
in certain lights she looks like a dude.
She's a rebel and a punk and she's born to be bad
She in an annoying Optus ad.

She sells herself better than PT Barnum,
Melbourne loves her like Germany loves Farnham.
I hate you pink and I hope you die.
Painfully, soon, and with no long goodbye.

The Swans Living In The Park

2009-07-14T15:54:00.005+10:00

Where is my badge? Has a question ever been asked more inexpertly? Have the lyrics ever been so clearly about nothing except support for weak rhymes? How do you lay your love on the table, let alone talk about it? Why are you telling me about the swans living in the park? Where is your badge? I don't care. Was George Harrison really everyone's favourite Beatle? Didn't his lame millionaire obsession with eastern religions kind of get up your nose? Was he the second luckiest man on the planet?

All of this is a feeble lead in to the topic of badges.

We should get two more but as Booker T says (he speaks with his hands) time is tight. All the ones I like are a bit oblique but I do favour "Silky Come Home" as Snoopy Come Home was my favourite Charlie Brown book, in fact I think I had the board game of the same name. "Squids Become Electric". "A Woman Of A Different Stripe". "Squid Ink 182". "Squid Ink Reunion Tour 2009". "Squink".

Any thoughts?

JJJ top 100 songs of all time

2009-07-14T15:40:00.003+10:00

Sex On Fire made the list.

Of the top 100 songs of all time.

Tion didn't even make a place and Kings Of Leon are in the top 100.

Short Stack

2009-07-10T13:00:00.003+10:00

I have whole-heartedly enjoyed seeing this week's comical social-network-tiff between pop culture blogger Jess McGuire and the fans — and lead singer — of Short Stack.

McGuire posts a photo of the three lads wearing nothing but socks on their penises. When I was 15 I guess I thought the idea of the Red-Hot Chili Peppers wearing nothing but socks on their penises was kind of amusing as well. But I would have thought anybody who tried it now would be derided for being several decades too late.

McGuire, sadly, hasn't put the cream of the twitter traffic on her blog, most of it is badly spelt comments pointing out that, at 28, McGuire is too old to like Short Stack. This leads to my favourite which was from @nicoletosev saying “shes at home with metapores and hot flushs @jessmcguire just needs alil dick.” Metapores! That's adorable.

Metapores. That cheers me right up.

Even better than a packet of Timtams

2009-06-30T16:15:00.004+10:00

Pleasingly, the new management at the Brunswick Hotel (140 Sydney Rd Brunswick) have asked us to play and we've found a slot in our busy schedule on Sunday the 19th of July. Come along and join the rock. Ships and Thieves are playing as well and that means two red-hot bands on the one stage on the one evening. For free. OMG.

Lean and Mean

2009-06-12T16:30:00.006+10:00

We, here at the Squidquarters, are always up for a fight (if the comments in the last post are anything to go by we like a fight with each other most of all). And it may be worth thinking twice before taking us on. We are shedding appendages and delinquent organs like forward-thinking telecommunications organisations are dropping H.323 endpoints for SIP. To recap:

Silky without appendix
Crafty without teeth
Paddy without braces
UT still largely intact… perhaps reconstructed.

So look out on the Sydney tour for fancy smiles, easy chewing technique and tummies that don't hurt.

Classic Australian independent rock

2009-06-12T08:50:00.004+10:00

I heard The Saints' (I'm) Stranded being played at a café near the office where I rock my day job and I was struck by the comparison between it and another classic Australian independent release, GOD's My Pal.

Both feature raw production, both feature unsophistocated musicianship and both mention homes (one describes a protagonist being far away from home and the other is inviting you over to the protagonists house. Charming)

The big difference is a 16-year-old Joel Silbersher trying to sound like Lemmy versus a 17-year-old Chris Bailey trying to sound like Bob Dylan. My Pal is charged with a potent hook and (I'm) Stranded is utterly unlistenable.

From Hugh to Eternity

2009-06-07T21:14:00.007+10:00

Okay, let's be frank. People dig their own kids. And not for the first time I find myself standing right in the middle of the road as the everyman.

Despite my awesome song writing skill and flaming hot guitar work and lilting yet soaring vocal prowess, I am not a particularly gifted musician. What I have comes through graft and pretence. My son, the reincarnation of the Buddha known to you as Prince Hughie Siddharta, is 16 months old and completely wondered me by singing the first phrase of Bah Bah Blacksheep the other day and has barely stopped singing it since. The return phrase is now often appended. The lyrics are all "bah bah bah bah bah" but I am openly amazed. The first two intervals are spot on. Tonight we had a rousing Hot Cross Buns added to the already formidable set list. My son, the God King known to you as Prince Norodom Hughie, appears to be a musical genius on par with Mozart and Whitney Houston. 16 months! Well outside the first year of perfect pitch already covered on this blog.

Quiz

2009-06-06T15:45:00.005+10:00

It's pleasing to note, from time to time, how thoroughly the Squid Ink way of life infiltrates modern society.

This week's example comes from page seven of the Good Weekend magazine which came free with today's copy of The Age.

Question four of the quiz asks “What marine creatures have three hearts and blue blood?” which is a lock-it-in, put-your-house-on-it gimme for any fan of the band.

And then, only inches away is question 15 of the quiz which asks “What type of animal is a hinny?”

What type of animal is a hinny? Is this the final proof that Squid Ink's radio-friendly smash hit is taking over the press or possibly that Ms MacDonald and Mr Schluter, who compiled this particular quiz, were at the gig at the Brunswick Hotel — hoping in vain to see a fellow Fairfax employee playing onstage — and thereafter had Squids and crossbreeds on their minds?

Food for thought.

Squid Ink Go Global

2009-05-30T10:28:00.006+10:00

Global is a fairly loose term as we have been struggling to crack Africa and most of the Americas but non-continental Europe has been smashed (particularly a small corner of the home counties). I sent this link to the dudes via a Generation Y social networking device and it was blocked I think for the use of the word cock inside Buzzcocks...and I thought Generation X were a bunch of prudes? Which leads me neatly to an observation...in my conversations with people who have attended gigs and listened to the debut Magnum Opus we have been likened to, in order: Stiff Little Fingers, the Buzzcocks, the Descendants and in the review below (taken, perhaps not, from the Whitstable and District Echo, an organ no doubt well respected by Silky for its gritty, hard-nosed, good-old-fashioned-get-out-there-and-find-a-story kind of journalism mixed with cutting edge cultural reportage...and apparently all done for the visually impaired) Stiff Little Fingers and the Buzzcocks again. This is heady company we keep. I find it genuinely uplifting that the reviewer has actually listened to the album.

Squid Ink : 8 Legs To Hold You. **** Album of the week.

"These Aussie wierdos certainly have more in common with English punk outfits like Buzzcocks and Stiff Little Fingers than their compatriots and ex-prisoners Midnight Oil, INXS and Ice House. But that's a really good thing believe me. The excellent opener "Deadpan" sets their stall out early doors. A "Tour De Force" might be pushing it but these guys show us that going crazy isn't the sole right of Aussie cricketers (esp when they lose the Ashes this summer)! The tight musicianship all round kicks ass and I couldn't fault the recording/engineering - they clearly have well equipped studios and producers down under! Interesting mixing with some clever bits show these guys have some imagination alright - eg start of "Mrs Bun". Some corking little songs in there, too - lots of laugh out loud lyrics - check out "Inter-species Carnality Blues" for belly laughs - "Are you a man or is that some kind of falsie? Are you left handed or is that some kind of palsy?" I found myself sniggering on the tube whilst listening on my iPod! Added this album at the same time as Elbow's Seldom seen kid and I found myself skipping back to 8L2HY! And Elbow got some crappy Mercury prize for that tosh. Overall a groovy little album I'll be happy to listen to whilst walking the dog or pogoing around Whitstable.

Peter "Katie Price" Andre, Chief Music Writer, May 2009"

Squids on film

2009-05-22T13:08:00.004+10:00

I really like this and decided, spontaneously, to blog about it. What do you reckon?

ELO made some pretty awesome videos, back in the day. Should Squid Ink make a video? For which song? And what kind of video should we make? How come I can't figure out how to embed a youtube clip in this post?

I already feel like Modern Doug missed a good opportunity to shoot some stock footage with his visit to the Donkey Refuge last year. Would hate to miss another. Alternatively, we could just drop 'Song for Uri' on top of the vision from the clip to Soundgarden's Spoonman, submit it to Rage and hope that nobody notices.

Oh Rock of Ages

2009-05-14T14:30:00.009+10:00

Squid Ink played the Brunswick Hotel last weekend.

We launched the album in a blazing fury of hot rock and the crowd loved it.

However, you may not have heard the bad news: Silky-D — our own hard-rocking, praying-mantis-shaped guitarist — due to health reasons could not be on stage. The band felt dreadfully unhappy about this and so, I fear, did the audience. We tried to placate the murmuring fans by giving them a taste of Stand-In-Dave but it simply wasn't the same.

Anyway, Stand-In-Dave handled the material comfortably, we nailed the old hits, the new songs went down well. We chose to keep Motorcade in our pocket for you until Silky can join us because only then can we do it justice. Look forward to that.

We have to play again when Silky is back on two legs. Watch this space.

Squid Ink On Ice

2009-05-05T13:17:00.004+10:00

No no! Not the drug of choice for the post-pepsi generation instead a reference to the travelling Disney spectaculars and to their originator's suspended animation. Why?

When I popped the live CD of last saturday's gig, unimaginitively titled "John Barleycorn Must Live III", into my computer iTunes helpfully suggested that I was about to rip "Bambi - Disney - Children's Music". I corrected it but was quietly pleased to know that we were helping to ensure that the kids are alright.

On Turning 33

2009-04-28T18:56:00.004+10:00

1) RPMs...should probably leave it here. At Squid Ink Headquarters we are all about the works of Gamsci but cannot stomach his lack of revolutionary intent. If there are not 33 and 1/3 revolutions of the mind per minute in the office Silky starts playing Motorcade and Paddy smashes the capitalist machine.

2) How good is it to have an enormous monster of a gig at the Barlecorn Hotel this saturday evening at 8pm, the true home of Rock and Roll and nominal refernces to alcoholism?

War is over (if you want it)

2009-03-31T16:27:00.005+11:00

Squid Ink's war against apathy, child-rearing and the deleterious impact of modern-day work commitments has finally been won. On May 8 — VE Day according to Wikipedia — there will be no peace in our time, only red-hot rock.

Banners will wave, strangers will kiss in the street, panty-hose will become suddenly affordable once more and — most importantly — the boys from Squid Ink will play live for the first time in more than a year.

Eight Legs to Hold You, an opus three-days in the making, will be launched upon the world with a corruscating live performance at the Brunswick Hotel. New merchandise will be available, as will copies of the album and — possibly if the publishing department can meet its deadlines — the first ever, colllector's item, issue of the Squid Ink zine.

There will be new material to unveil and old favourites to revisit as the Squid Army gets a new set of orders from its four Churchillian overlords. No war can be won by one band and support will come from Ships and Thieves as well as The Chemistry Set. The Age calls them: “Among the best bands ever to have a shared a stage with the eight-legged bushmen of the calamari.”*

More details to follow as they come to hand.

*technically not The Age per se but Silky-D, though he does work there.

The platters that matter (2)

2009-02-24T10:46:00.006+11:00

The good people at Yarraville records were having a sale the other day, on account of their closing down and moving to Smith Street, Collingwood. Everything was $2. I bought as much as I could carry.

As a consequence I am now very well sorted for 1970's yacht rock, thank you very much.

Here's the list for you mockery and consideration. Tasting notes included.

Warren Zevon - Excitable Boy (Werewolves of London. Hot. But you also get Roland the Headless Thompson Gunner which sounds to me, like the best song Nick Cave never wrote).
Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band - Stranger in town (lush beard on cover, Hollywood Nights etc)
Boz Scaggs - Silk Degrees (Lido, wo, oh, oh, oh.)
Ian Dury and the Blockheads - New Boots and Panties (borowed this once from a prominent member of Ships and Thieves and liked it).
America - History (cos there aint no-one for to give you no pain.)
The Doobie Brithers - Best of the Doobies (Tedium has already made his feelings more than clear about these guys).
Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band - Against the Wind (wild silver horses on cover. Contender for if I ever wish a mural for my favourite new panel van.)
Bachman Turner Overdrive - Head On (more lush beards from Canada's finest.)
Commodores - Natural High - (for those soft and sexy times when you want to get soft and sexy for 20 mins and then stop to turn the record over).
The Cars - Greatest Hits (have this on CD but, shit, man! $2? Why not?)
Eurhythmics - Be Yourself Tonight (for Missus Silky)
Eurhythmics - Revenge (study aid for Crafty's next cover)
Hoodoo Gurus - Blow Your Cool (happy to snap this up for less than the price of a cappucino)
Al Stewart - Year of the Cat (predilection previously noted).
J Geils Band - Freeze Frame (what was I on about before? I don't even drink cappucinos).
The Faces - A nod is as good as a wink (see comment re. The Cars)
Allman Brothers Band - Reach for the sky (picked this up at the end when I was starting to get flagrant. Should have looked closer to see this was late-period material and recorded after the death of one of the said brothers.)
Willie Nelson - Always (Willie sings the classics. Note, not the Bon Jovi "Always".).
Jackson Browne - Running on Empty (because I am turning into my dad).
Kris Kristofferson - Songs of Kris Kristofferson (my favourite so far. This is just awesome More beardiness again but more rugged than lush this time).
The Beatles - Abbey Road (have it on CD etc.)
Wings - Band on the Run - (Surely the most frequently onsold album in the history of second hand record stores)
Neil Diamond - Hot August Night - (see above.)
John Cougar - The Kid Inside (early material. Bought this cos it looked nice, actually a Jem records reissue).
Hall and Oates - H20 (watch out boys, she'll chew you up!)
ELO - A New World Record (I love ELO. Nobody else seems to).
Supertramp - Breakfast in America (see above).
Roxy Music - Stranded (hot chick posed provocatively on cover. Who woulda thunk it?)
Paul Simon - One Trick Pony (because of the red baseball cap and because Late in the Evening is probably my favourite uncool song of all time).
Huey Lewis and the News - Sports (mostly becasue of American Psycho)
Traffic - The Low Spark of High-heeled Boys - (starting to wonder if the plural of Cappucino is not cappucini?)
Elton John - Greatest Hits (bit lame but it has Rocket Man on it and also Goodbye Yellow Brick Road)
It seems like I bought a lot, you say? Where did I draw the liine? The line was drawn with Roger Daltrey's oft-discussed Ride A Rock Horse which, for the second time in the history of this blog, I held long in my hands but could not bring myself to actually purchase.

All The Platters That Matter

2009-02-08T16:23:00.006+11:00

I attended a party this past Saturday eve at the handsome Wesley Anne. There I had good fortune to speak to, among squid partners and birthday girls, a young lady who was looking excellently pregnant for the second time. Whilst mulling with her the creeping feeling that world is hurtling into some serious trouble at our hands, she slipped in a startling chestnut (yes...chestnuts can be startling...particularly if they tap you on the shoulder whilst you are concentrating). She had been out powering walking on a weekday evening not so very long ago and listening to 3RRR as she gave her cardiovascular system, and that of her unborn child, a beneficial workout.

What should she hear but Hinny which was subsequently complimented by the disk jockey. Admittedly I only think it was Hinny because she said the song had a girls name...like Jenny. She is sure it wasn't Richard Moffat who played it but it was at 6:30 in the evening and it was a dude...who could it have been? And how exciting.

My Watering Eye

2009-02-05T16:09:00.002+11:00

And in a trice it was gone. Just as the magician blows on his clenched fist and opens it to reveal an empty palm so too the gig fades from view like a vapour trail on the empty air. Michael at the Brunswick Hotel was nice about it…

Hi UT ,
I have advised the two other acts - will keep you guys on our books for a future gig
Cheers
M

…I don't think he hates us. His communications prior to this one have been equally direct and business-like…so there has been no cooling of tone, but there has been no warming either. I am inspired though. Across the clouds I see my shadow fly to other pubs to book gigs.

Leave the solar system.

The Ox is Fecund

2009-02-04T12:42:00.006+11:00

I have taken in recently The Chemistry Set and on a slightly larger scale, Neil Young. Neil was great but it is always a shame when he doesn't bring the Horse. It sounded at times like he was playing with session musicians...and what was he doing letting Ben Keith play guitar, he was way too timid, where as his pedal steel soared. Some pleasing and surprising choices in the set list (always great to hear I've Been Waiting For You) and some spectacular clangers (Sea Change which as far as I know is unrecorded) which did actually serve to make the high points higher.

Anyway I have departed from my point. So I went to see Melbourne funsters The Chemistry Set, for my review you should subscribe to the Preshil Cricket Club email list where you will also see my vituperative secretarial side, and I arrived heavy with eight legs to hold me. I furnished the barkeep via a post-pot-purchasing-mumble with said slab of HOT ROCK!, explained we felt a bit silly for not including any contact details but maintained that it gave us indie/art cred (for it is us!). So I called them yesterday to see if they had listened to it and they had in fact emailed me an hour before offering us a gig.

Thursday the 19th of March in the Year of the Ox at the Brunswick Hotel. About a year and a half since the last gig. I don't think this should be the launch.

One thing though...they want to charge us $100 for providing the PA and the mixer...which really means the mixer. This is probably fine as we used to pay $60 to the mixer 15 years ago but the "pay to play" rankles with me a bit. I guess if you want to play on Sydney rd that is the cost.

Year Of The Ox

2009-01-06T09:19:00.003+11:00

With births, sabbaticals, Olympiads, road trips and software releases out of the way 2009 can mean only one thing. The year of the Ox beckons Paddy forth to wear the skeleton suit as rock crashes down around us. Once more we have missed the opportunity to release a Christmas single but my work on Words From Ham continues...it may expand from taking in American Space Chimps to an open letter to Pete Ham...exciting stuff indeed. Rehearsals resume on Thursday, the first since the appearance of everybody's new favourite palindrome. Silky will have been screwing villa board to the studs and nogs of Uri and Paddy may well have turned viciously against more of his opera but will keep it to himself. We have levered our way in to the bakehouse but once more may be levered out as Thursdays cannot be an on-going concern for me (wifely calisthenics)...perhaps button-holing them may produce a Wednesday night...but I don't mind the Midian.

Great Can Wait

2008-12-14T19:12:00.007+11:00

History is littered with masterpeices we had to wait for. How good was Prince's Black Album when it showed up 10 years later? And Brian Wilson's Smile was clearly not the plinky plonky nonsense of a daft old prick who did good stuff ages ago. Heaven forfend that we might have already heard the good bits on Smiley Smile and other releases...but like die-hard fans who buy the best of from a band for whom they already own everything, so too the world rushed out to buy Smile. It's a shame you can't pulp CDs. Does anyone know anyone who has heard Prince's Black Album...it was touted as the lost masterpeice of the greatest mind light-ego-sex-funk has ever known. So I have established that Squink are in good company by making the fans wait for the first in our Magna Opera...but we have encountered the daddy of them all. I have been listening non-stop to Chinese Democracy and it is so far beyond the best album I have ever heard as to be unclassifiable. Only the obtuse see it as an album that sounds like a bad Axl side-project recorded 10 years ago. It is breath taking in every way. Do androids dream of electric sheep? And does Axl dream of super meta-music creating session sheep?

So the next time your middle eldest brother (and I guess this is advice for Paddy and Crafty's younger brothers...whom I nearly named and put at risk of identity theft) asks "so where's your album?" let him know the company we keep.

Songs of Praise

2008-11-18T21:51:00.009+11:00

Silky laid one of the first reviews of "Eight Legs to Hold You" on the dudes at the last rehearsal. Apparently his friend liked "Someone to Tell Me" the best (it seems a very popular track with people I know who like their rock a little less hot but are keen to say something nice...my mother-in-law for instance who swears she gave the album two good listens, one of which whilst reading the lyrics...).

Silky felt much humour could be found in my quest for compliments once more being undone by Crafty's crooning ways. Little did I know it would get better.

The wife of a mutual friend after listing to the album reported back with:

"wow, Paddy's really good".
"mmm hmm, like anything else?" UT prods
"Paddy can really play can't he?" she continues
"uh huh...yup...he can" replies UT with a tone somewhere near zero kelvin.

However, I could reason this away as being someone who...I don't know...but the bitter prism of my ego parsed it somehow.

When I passed the disc to a friend in Sydney whom I considered to be hot rock simpatico I felt secure that he would wonder at my diverse opera, consider my vocal delivery second only to Willie Nelson as the greatest interpreter of song, and simply gnaw his own hard-on off over the hot shit I laid down in the solos.

He left me a voicemail on Sunday.

Modern Doug!, It's [name withheld] here. Just wanted you to know that I have listened to the album and I think it's great. Far and away my favourite bits are the lyrics to (Elton)Inter-Species Carnality Blues and my favourite track is Thin Walls. The rest is fine but those are really the stand-outs"

I kid you not...he liked Paddy's song the best...and made a point of saying he liked the LYRICS to Inter-Species...if I wasn't so utterly convinced of my own super hot shit the reviews received so far would be quite troubling. Poor Sydney friend got quite a tirade when I called him back, followed by a hang-up.

Uses for a new pro-tools rig # 117

2008-11-06T10:18:00.003+11:00

literal reversioning This has been around for a while and spawned various imitations but I think it is absolutely the best. Suggestions for which song might best benefit from a Squid Ink reversioning? I had in mind Richard Marx's Hazard but am not sure we could pull off the FM radio sheen.

3 hearts, blue blood and teeth that cut like a chainsaw

2008-11-05T14:57:00.004+11:00

On Halloween at around 5.55pm we welcomed the newest and smallest squid into the world. Ada Rae Heynes Jephcott, was born with only one heart, red blood and no teeth but according to scientists she can expect all this to change as she grows into a giant squid. Check out some early pics here

Tyche Has An Eight Leg Hold On Us

2008-10-29T08:35:00.003+11:00

I took leave from work on my Key to All Mythologies for a little trip to Brunswick. The 3RRR studios glowed in the lunchtime sun. The pale yellow brick of 1960s warehouse put me in mind of years spent at Kazari warehouse in the gloaming of the last century.
The first surpirse was that I didn't expect steps immediately inside the door. I was greeted at the reception by the friendly Kate who assured me I was very lucky to have won. Out came a friendly bearded chap and assured me I was very lucky to have won. We all smiled silently to each other as we reflected on my luck, particularly for having won. then the bearded man went off to fetch the bounty. He was immediately replaced in front of my by a friendly woman who appeared from out the back who assured me I was very luck to have won. By now I was starting to run dry on my "you bet"s, "oh yes, indeed"s and "very grateful"s (for we are very grateful!). Friendly bearded man re-appeared with large box and assured me I was lucky. Kate then took a few sharp pictures of me looking sharp, and lucky, next to the large box and I made my way out of the building, after appropriate thank yous, to a chorus that sounded not unlike the chained prisoner in the Life of Brian (you luck lucky bastrad...they must think the sun shines out of your arse).
I could not take the guilt that this luck, and more accurately this over assurance of luck brought, so the next morning I set out by steed at first light once more to Brunswick town and dumped the large box on Paddy. Has he opened it?

Just Gimme The Prize

2008-10-06T13:50:00.003+11:00

I suppose you could consider it money well spent. Our third year of band sponsorship of 3RRR has yeilded a prize. In fact we won the first prize. Digidesign and M-Audio's "Pro Tools Music Creation Studio" Bundle. Finally, my one handed keyboard playing dreams shall be realised. Paddy up-front with his hair greased down and the dudes dressed in full Tubeway Army regalia behind.
How wonderfully nice to win something. I fear it may only further expose the lack of time we manage to spend on the band...but Silky's recent opus and my ongoing opera (used in context, in a sentence!) will now receive the production values they deserve.

In addition, pleasingly, Roadkill Rodeo won two days recording at Headgap.

It's hard to rock with a keyboard player in the band...

2008-09-16T14:30:00.003+10:00

I can't let this one pass without comment. The sister internment camp to the Guitar Gulag, the Keyboard Clink (pissweak I know) has lost my favourite jailbird. Richard "Richter Scale" Wright of The Pink Floyd will only be playing Great Gigs in the Sky from now on (amazingly not one article has used this so far...all the more amazing as this was one of Wright's few solo credits).
As far as I am concerned his biggest contribution was bringing back parallel 5ths as a legitimate harmony and conventional contrapuntal theory can go hang for all he cares. Too often his willowy vocals were mistaken for Gilmour's and where they sang in tandem he was a fine foil for Gilmour's sweet tones.
I reckon he was at his best on the two soundtrack albums Obscured By Clouds and More.

His first solo album, Wet Dream, is actually alright. I am gutted...absolutely gutted.

Cock Rock

2008-09-12T10:28:00.005+10:00

V.1
see me at the track
you better watch your back
I'm a chicken king and I can do anything

the baddest and the most
the firstest past the post
I'm a chicken king and I can do anything

chorus:
I'm a chicken king baby
I only want the best
when I get a bucket
I want 15 pieces of breast

I'm a chicken king baby
but baby I aint chicken
step into my office
gonna be some finger lickin'

V.2
riding in my Bentley
rock a woman gently
I'm a chicken king and I can do anything

come and see my yacht
I'm takin all you got
I'm a chicken king and I can do anything

chorus

I'm a chicken king baby
I only want the best
when I get a bucket
I want 15 pieces of breast

I'm a chicken king baby
but baby I aint chicken
step into my office
gonna be some finger lickin'

V.3
I know which one comes first
and baby I'm the worst
I'm a chicken king and I can do anything

the chicken beats the egg
so now its time to beg
I'm a chicken king and I can do anything

bridge:
I killed a million chickens
I did it with a smile
frozen, roast or deep fried
honey watch my money pile

I built my life on slaughter
but what's a man to do
I broke a million wishbones
and all my dreams came true

chorus

It’s your birthday

2008-09-03T15:25:00.006+10:00

Many of you Squid Ink fans (and indeed band members) out there may be asking yourselves ‘where is this elusive debut album we keep hearing about?’ Well a mere 25 days before the first anniversary of finishing the recording of the album, it has been given over to the press for production. Yes it’s true, early next week you should be seeing a finished CD, with artwork and everything, gracing the shelves of your local record store, or at least in the hands of your favourite band member. Only 100 of these eagerly anticipated red hot little numbers will be produced by the friendly boys at Implant Media in Brunswick, so if you want one you had better get in quick. We look forward to seeing you all at the album launch (date TBA).

Why the hate?

2008-08-24T15:25:00.001+10:00

Many years ago I recall hearing about Jason Priestley — and this may be the first and last time Jason Priestley is mentioned on this blog — being in Perth to compete in a car rally. He finished middle-of-the-pack and some dullard, petty, namby-pamby, whinging, creativity-free, pathetic fuck of a journalist pulled out the feeble, hackneyed, miserable line that as a rally driver he makes a good actor.

Whether or not he makes a good actor is still debatable but if he didn't come dead last after mistakenly turning on the air conditioning instead of pressing the accelerator at the start line what the hell made the journalist feel so superior? On that occasion, Priestley finished ahead of a good half of the field competing in that particular race — people who are no doubt just as passionate about their rally driving as Priestley, perhaps more so — so what was this lazy, carping, humourless cretin of a journalist complaining about?

This old episode came to my mind when I was surfing through news programs on telly recently, looking for footage of Usain Bolt's win in the 200, and sat through a story of Paul Keating getting on stage and dancing along with Mike McLeish at the end of a performance of Keating! The Musical. “As a dancer,” the journalist doing the overdub said: setting up his oh-so-witty gag to punctuate the end of the piece, “he makes a great politician.” Keating wasn't moving too badly for an old guy in an expensive suit, I thought. What did this TV news guy want? Some energetic rhumba? Riverdance? Breakdance? What a pillock.

But it seems so easy for some brainless prat to sneer at, say, Stan Grant's guitar playing, or Pat Cash's, or Brett Lee's. None of these are Jimi Hendrix but at last count there were well over 6 billion people who aren't Hendrix. These three all play the guitar quite well and I have not the smallest doubt that all three play better than any of these sap-headed, superficial, fatuous journalists putting down their skill at the guitar.

Just because a person famous for one thing is caught on camera doing something entirely different and doesn't happen to be the very best in the world at this second thing doesn't mean you should immediately put them down for it. Being no better than the rest of us is not the wonderfully exciting source of derision some of these journalists appear to believe it is.

I guess I am sensitive to this lazy kind of criticism because, beyond the bass playing in this band that has brought me all my world-conquering fame, I too am a man with hobbies. I, for example, like to play cricket. I will never make the national side — only eleven guys in the whole country get to do that — but I do perfectly OK: there are members of the club who fail to match even my pedestrian record at the crease. The game brings me pleasure so I would not at all like some lonely, hate-filled journalist to catch himself on a bad day finishing some lazy colour piece with something like “but as a cricketer Paddy makes a great bass player”

Space Is The Place

2008-07-17T08:30:00.001+10:00

How things have changed at Midian. Is Mr Midian ever coming back? I liked that when I called to book the room for rehearsal he recognised my voice. Now there seems to be an ever-rotating cast of what can best be described as dudes. It's like the actor who plays a central charcter in one of your favourite shows changing every week. I found it tremendously annoying in Palindromes that the main actress kept changing around (that Todd Solondz certainly knows how to confornt my middle class values and shock me out of my complacent rut I can tell you!), even more annoying than the creeping feeling throughout the film that it was a bit duff. In any event next week we find ourselves in what I consider our holiday home, Room 6. It's not as comfy or familiar as Room 8 but we have had some great times in there. The short entrance hall gives Room 6 a grander feel but it lacks the door on the jaunty angled wall that makes Room 8 feel so modern and forward thinking.

Pretenders In The Gulag

2008-07-15T21:25:00.007+10:00

My trip to Gallins has prompted another post. When the shop was Fretted Instruments there was a range of guitars of many brands and I could browse and nod thoughtfully for many a 15 minutes during my occassional walks at lunchtime. But Gallins are slaves to the Gibson grind, to wit the front is filled with Epiphones and the rear is filled with Gibsons.
I don't think Silky will mind me saying that my eyebrow was raised by Jorma Kaukonen getting a signature series (the quality of the guitar seems top notch) but by itself it is not worthy of comment. Though he may not be first in the list of the axemen that...well any list of axemen (I even looked up Finnish axemen and he didn't figure), time has accorded him, along with album sales a certain cred that makes the signature model the next logical step.
However, Epiphone seem to give signature models to ANYONE. I first humphed at sighting the Noel Gallagher as he is a strummer first and foremost and his piss-weak solos have always made me whince. His song writing certainly is super catchy and he has far outsold even the mighty Jefferson Airplane (even if you include the Starship years) but the axework is more than unremarkable. He would have been kicked out of any band were he not the writer of songs that make drunk englishmen sing and cry at the same time.
Next was the one that actually made me laugh out loud...dear readers everywhere I give you the VALENSI! Verily, 'tis the guitarist from the Strokes. The hippest one-album rich boys this side of Albert Hammond jnrs solo career. Surely he is no one's guitar hero? Style hero? fine, maybe 5 years ago. Lovely chap? I do not doubt it for a second. But do we really want to buy a guitar set to Nick Valensi's exacting specifications so we can reproduce his "signature sound". Yes everytime Valaensi strums an open chord the charisma and personality come flowing out...HIS SOLOS ARE HIS TRADEMARK!

I am of the firm belief that if you haven't had a ghost written by-line in at least one guitar magazine you cannot have a signature model. Step forward Ace Frehely! Right this way Kirk Hammet! Sit right down George Benson! Can I get you a drink Dimebag Darrel! Perhaps some wine with dinner Eric Clapton!

Don't get me wrong, this is nothing personal against Noel or Nick but they just aren't guys that inspire you to become a guitarist...they may inspire you to pick up a guitar and become a song writer but you aren't going to try and nut out any of their solos note by note.

****************Update******************
Silky, a gent to the last, rather than rip me to shreds on the blog in the same way Axl once did to popular music magazine executives instead chose to walk me through the highlights of Jorma's career on the telephone. These highlights included Hot Tuna and his recent stewardship of the Adelaide Guitar Festival...surely being the headline act at a guitar festival is the next level up from having your own ghost written byline in a guitar mag. I shall spend the remainder of the year attempting to claw back some credibility.

This Is The B Flat

2008-07-15T07:39:00.005+10:00

I shall have the perfect pitch of a 6 month old hence forth.

It has been a wee while since we have had a kit update and I have exciting news (which suggests I am lively). I was out promenading on Chapel street when I passed what had been my good friends at Fretted Instruments. To my surprise and dismay they had become Gallins, dismay because Gallins have always been a bit swift in my opinion (I realise Silky scored a hot deal on his Kaukonen [the hottest finnish guitarist ever?] and I have been very pleased with my dealings in recent years but in the early days they never had prices on anything and they once tried to sell me a custom made case, quite forcefully, at a high price when an off-the-shelf number did the trick...it never makes you feel warm towards a shop when their sales technique seems to involve ripping you off...and they never stocked fenders). However I noticed their grand opening sale was on and, always one for being manipulated into buying something that has been marked down to the price you could have got it for anyway, in I went. Anyway I bought a tuner. It works really, really well.

Never question Bruce Dickinson

2008-07-11T11:50:00.004+10:00

Voice, guitar, drums and bass are the classic ingredients of great rock — the original quartet, if you will. Sometimes there are extra textural elements added, like piano for that old-time rock sound, or strings for a lush, orchestral touch. However when you need something extra, something magic, something to take you that one final step into greatness there is one go-to instrument that you must call upon.

The cowbell.

Yes the cowbell. That rhythmic vixen, that bewitching accent, that roman statue of idiophonic percussion, the glorious favourite both of inventive heavy metal drummers and of people who can't find their herd of cattle.

No song has ever been lessened by the addition of the cowbell. There are pantheon of glorious, life-shaping rock songs made perfect by that spicy beat of the cowbell.

Let me name just a few:

AC/DC — You Shook Me All Night Long
Aerosmith — Walk This Way
The Beatles — Helter Skelter
Bon Jovi — Bad Medicine
Cheap Trick — Dream Police
Guns 'n' Roses — Welcome To The Jungle
Kiss — Rock And Roll All Night
Powerstation — Some Like It Hot
Rage Against The Machine — Killing In The Name
The Rolling Stones — Honky Tonk Woman
Survivor — Eye Of The Tiger

The only criticism the band has heard of Squid Ink's as-yet-unreleased début album Eight Legs To Hold You from those lucky enough to listen to it is that there is no cowbell. Would the diamond that is Mrs Bun have been given that last final polish with a judicious touch of cowbell? Would some cowbell have been the final brushstroke on the masterpiece that is Gonna Hear My Sound?

Back in 2000, the awesome Christopher Walken guest starred in what has now become a favourite Saturday Night Live skit: More Cowbell. Does the skit work despite, or because of, him spending the whole time reading cue cards? Does it work despite, or because of, the unprofessional way the cast are trying not to crack up on stage? My theory is that it works because Christopher Walken is awesome.

On The Purpose Of Squid Ink

2008-07-08T11:57:00.008+10:00

Further to the salute to Jeff Healey below, I was listening to The Science Show on radio national last night and there was an excellent interview with Oliver Sacks mainly regarding his new book about brain malfunctions and oddities regarding music (a middle-aged surgeon with no prior musical intent or ability gets hit by lightening and two weeks later becomes obsessed with Chopin to the extent that he learns piano just so he can play Chopin's work, at the expense of his marriage, and this year saw the concert debut of some chopin-like piano pieces that he has since written). Anyway, he dropped some interesting facts throughout the conversation such as less than 1% of the population has perfect pitch but over 40% of the blind population has perfect pitch. Also (and I am not sure how this is ascertained) almost everyone has perfect pitch in the first year of life but subsequently lose it… I am setting Hughie to work as we speak. What sets Ollie apart though is the ability to link all these back to the human condition… the plight of the everyman… and he used a favourite phrase of mine from Thomas de Quincy “the pressure on the heart from the incommunicable” to express why he thinks music is important, i.e. that music, and Squid Ink in particular, relieves that pressure.

If in this world there is one misery having no relief, it is the pressure on the heart from the Incommunicable. And, if another Sphinx should arise to propose another enigma to man – saying, What burden is that which only is insupportable by human fortitude? I should answer at once – It is the burden of the incommunicable.

Not sure why a Sphinx is proposing enigmas and why anyone is listening but I am sure that is this caused by my mythological ignorance.

Another Inmate From The Guitar Gulag

2008-07-04T08:52:00.008+10:00

In a sad follow up to our regular series on guitarists worth a damn begun by Silky with his revealing post on Django (does one need further reason to see Woody Allen's rare late era gem Sweet and Lowdown?), I would like to mention the passing of Jeff Healey.

The poor bugger developed retinoblastoma at age 1 which thieved his eyesight. Jeff reckoned because of this he was drawn to music and guitar playing, playing the guitar laid flat on his lap and pressing directly down on the fretboard rather than gripping the neck from behind (now, on another matter, there is often-used photo of an old bluesman sitting on a chair with his hand placed on the front of the fretboard and I have been looking for a copy of this and the name of the player for some time… apparently no one is sure if this is really how he played the guitar or just what he did in the photo… a free copy of 8 Legs To Hold You for anyone who can help me out).

Jeff deserves mention on the blog for the large impact his version of While My Guitar Gently Weeps, and particularly the arpeggiated riff he played, had on me and my guitar playing buddies… it became a standard when a guitar was picked as much as the intro to Sweet Child O' Mine, Back in Black and Sunshine Of Your Love (we never did really play Stairway to Heaven). Oddly this didn't translate in to curiosity about any of his original music.

Anyway, apparently the cancer never really gave him a rest and he died from it at 41 having had several operations, and plenty of treatment, for it throughout his life… which makes me think he must have been quite young when While My Guitar Gently Weeps came out.

Max is back

2008-07-01T11:30:00.006+10:00

The word on the street is that Max Merritt, Squid Ink's shwarmi, who must spend every second day on dialysis for a rare kidney condition, has slipped away from his doctors and made the long journey from LA to be inducted into the ARIA Hall of Fame this evening at the Melbourne Town Hall. What a guy.

Merritt has not ruled out getting on stage and playing with the Meteors. Tickets are still available for the ceremony so you have the the chance to get yourself a piece of that merseybeat surfpop with its unrelenting dance beat and his fine, gravelly voice.

Terrible Twos

2008-06-28T21:40:00.002+10:00

Something momentous happened aroundabout last Sunday. This blog turned two. Thanks for noticing everybody. What'd you get us?

I didn't get a gift for the blog but the blog has given me plenty over the years. So many golden memories. The time Doug first fell for Hinnies, the time Silky-D went to Sydney and Qantas lost his guitar, the time Paddy's speaker cabinet exploded, the time Crafty ... ummm... posted. So many connections and misconnections, so much lyrical workshopping, so many workplace hours wasted.

June 2006 was a simpler time when squids worried more about whether to have kebabs or pizza (and what kind of sauce to have on that kebab, and whether it should be complimentary or not) and rather less about home loan interest rates, kitchen rennovations and just how much crying do they mean when they talk about controlled crying in the baby squid books?

Peaches

2008-05-30T17:30:00.000+10:00

I have written a song. I am convinced it is a masterpiece:

There's a reason I'm unhappy today
My lady took my peaches away
It's a misery I need to convey
My lady took my peaches away

I just want to go out and play
But my lady took my peaches away
Now there's only one thing to say
My lady took my peaches away

I rather wish my peaches would stay
But my lady took my peaches away
I remain so why wouldn't they?
My lady took my peaches away

As you can tell, it is a plea from the heart. About peaches.

That Ain't Workin'

2008-05-26T22:28:00.006+10:00

Certainly, I do want my MTV. More than ever I understand Mark Knopfler's bilious sarcastic tirade against those who deride his chosen profession and the blood and guts he sweats (yes..he sweats guts! That's how freaking hard it is being a rock star). He didn't want to do it but he knows someone has to do the shit jobs...and it is thankless. So hard is it that Mark had to wear sweat bands on his wrists and around his head....he works really really hard. No question about it.

In fact, listening to the staccato blues of the over-driven riff and Sting's ethereal backing vocals on the Jonathan Coleman Experience today I actually felt for a moment that I had written the song.

Why? Because the hard graft has come home to roost (yes...graft roosts when it gets home...usually after it has been out watching Mark and learning a thing or two about its own definition in the process) and in the mail this evening was a sweet cheque for $19.04 from the good folks at APRA (see scanned document above) who have worked hard (not as hard as Mark but hard) and collected money so that we may be properly compensated for slogging it out. It's not as easy as it looks playing the guitar on your MTV (how should I know?) but $19.04 goes quite some way to easing the pain.

Dan Tastic!

2008-05-18T16:30:00.000+10:00

The name of this post may trick you into thinking this is going to be about the longest squid, shortly to return from the Shaky Isles. But nothing could be further from the truth! This post is about one man's quest to satisfy his sweetie's fondness for little eggy pastries. And Yea, so it came to pass that the Harpo squid set about making Dan Tat on a chilly wet Sunday with nothing more than some ingredients, a die-hard will to make an enormous floury mess in the kitchen, and rockin tunes. The ingredients, I should mention, included a whole stick of butter and a quarter of a kilo of actual, pure lard. Mmmmm. Lard.

Harpo and Fluffy do enjoy an occasional Yum Cha, and never fail on these excursions to enjoy a Dan Tat or three. She once likened the delicate synthesis of pastry and filling to the complimentary relationship between a squid and a lady squid. Each on its own, neither would be especially great. But together they equal more than the sum of their parts.

NOM NOM NOM.

Films to See before you die (perhaps immediately prior)

2008-05-01T12:05:00.008+10:00

The first in an occasional series.

Those who know me know I love both movies and music (those who don't will immediately sense it when they hear the cinematic way in which I linger over a strummed chord).

Sometimes, yet rarely, these twin passions combine, as in fine rockumentaries like I Am Trying To Break Your Heart, concert flicks such as The Last Waltz or even the occasional overblown Biopic.

Here's a corker, though, that I just can't wait to see.

Former Poison frontman Bret Michaels (real name Bret Michael Sychak) is perhaps better known these days for being a fat, diabetic ponce who stars in the semi-comical reality TV show Rock Of Love.

This is a seedy take on the modern dating/bachelor type program in which Bret proudly sleeps with as many of the contestants as possible (receiving nightly blow-jobs from one it is alleged) before choosing a winner who becomes his "girlfriend."

The winner of season one -- Jess -- promptly dumped his ass immediately.

Anyway, it turns out that Bret has other talents not related to his love of the Unskinny Bop.

I'm talking about the 1998 feature film A Letter From Death Row.

The film was written by Bret Michaels, Produced by Bret Michaels and Directed by a young whippersnapper by the name of Bret Michaels.

It tells the story of Michael Raine, a former rock star and convicted killer who sits on death row but maintains that he is innocent and has been framed for the murder of his girlfriend.

Raine is played by an up and coming actor by the name of Bret Michaels. As the action unfolds, a young researcher fights to prove Raine's innocence in what IMDB describes as a "psychological thriller."

Bret Michaels does all of his own stunts, which is pretty laudable for a guy in his late 40s.

In a surprise turn of events, Martin Sheen plays the convicted man's father. A clue to the origin of this strange casting choice lies with the cameo of Bret's Hollywood drinking/nailing strippers buddy Charlie Sheen, who plays Cop #1.

The soundtrack is written and performed by Bret Michaels and was also released as Bret's first solo album. But Brett couldn't handle it alone and old Poison pal Rikki Rocket helps out.

Songs featured in the film, such as The Devil Inside, Sounds Of Sex, 69, Steel Bar Blues and Violent Endings have a prophetic ring when one considers that Rocket (real name Richard Ream) is currently in prison for rape, after fleeing New Zealand on a plane to Los Angeles earlier this year.

I can understand why Rikki needed his nom de plume; Dick Ream is a pretty bad name for a rapist.

I'm rambling here but if anybody has this film on DVD, I'd love to borrow it. Can't do Blue-Ray, sorry.

Also, I've never seen Gone With the Wind, so should probably take care of that one some time too.

Connections part III

2008-04-11T13:52:00.005+10:00

What follows merely kneels at the robe of award winning posts by my band members…but at least I am back.

Christchurch, the jewel of Canterbury and current home to errant Squids, is the largest city on the South Island of New Zealand. A quick scan through the city's most famous progeny contains several New Zealand cricketers and rugby players, a couple of architects, the inventor of the “successful Britten racing-motorcycle” and two musicians. One of these musicians, as I have blogged previously, is the spiritual father of Squid Ink, Max Merritt (the other is Bic Runga but she can go and get fucked). Max, most famous for wrongly harmonising his own song Slippin' Away, spent his early rock and roll life in thrall to Bill Haley and Elvis Presley and spent much time in the Lovely Lads and the New Originals before coming to the attention of New Zealand's king of rock and roll Johnny Devlin (Kiwis are thoughtful to ensure that their famous people often have names that make full use of the flattened vowel in their name). Devlin, at the height of his fame in 1959 spoke enthusiastically to promoter Harry M Miller (who was highly active in Auckland at the time) who took up Max as an act.

Harry had started out as a musical promoter and during the 1960s he marshalled tours by the Rolling Stones, The Beach Boys and Louis Armstrong. Harry Morris Miller has however since made a fine career out of acting as agent for all manner of notable people…some more infamous than famous. Reality TV stars are often his stock and trade but recently Schappelle Corby has used his services echoing the same move by Lindy Chamberlain(whose real first name is, pleasingly, Alice). Lindy suffered a wrongful conviction for murdering her third child, Azaria. At this point I considered making use of Lindy's adherence to the 7th Day Adventist faith to continue my connections but instead I plump for the dingo whom Lindy blamed throughout for taking her daughter.

The humble dingo, like many kiwis, is wrongly thought to be Australian. In fact this wild dog, descended more recently from the wolf than domestic dogs, can be found throughout South East Asia and made it to Australia as the local furry squids of the first people to walk across the land bridge to Australia. Dingoes on the whole are a little smaller than their lupine cousins in the north which is consistent with Bergmann's Rule which states that within a species body mass tends to increase along with the latitude at which an animal lives. Basically, as it gets colder you need to get bigger. The keen of mind will have spotted that wolves and dingoes share a genus, Lupus but not a species (surely an opportunity for some crossbreeding for infertile off-spring!!) but the rule still holds in this case. This seems to have been the key contribution to biology from an accomplished academic career for Christian Bergmann who hailed from the pretty hamlet of Göttingen. You would have to work very hard to be more central in the modern state of Germany to beat Göttingen…it is smack bang in the middle. As well as producing and educating Bergmann, Göttingen also gave us the resting place of the redoubtable Max Plank and the birthplace of Herbert Grönemeyer.

Herb has weighed in with a formidable recording career as one of Germany's most successful recording artists selling millions of albums in the German speaking world and being the only German artist to be asked to contribute to MTV's Unplugged series. We all know him better as the actor who played the journalist in Wolfgang Petersen's absolutely fantastic film Das Boot. As the journalist he makes the inquiries of the crew throughout the film that give the audience an insight into what life was like in a world war II u-boat. Having dedicated himself to a tremendously successful recording career in the intervening period he re-appeared in this year's Anton Corbijn directed biopic of Joy Division and Ian Curtis. I didn't spot him at first but he plays the unsympathetic GP who over prescribes nasty medication to Ian for his epilepsy.

This was Cornijn's first attempt at movie direction (and he does a lovely job) as he is normally a photographer who dabbles in music video direction. His most successful music videos include Personal Jesus, the award-winning Heart-Shaped Box and much work for our favourite Dutch band, his countrymen Golden Earing. His photography, and art direction, of U2 is for what he is most renowned. His photograph on the cover of the Joshua Tree album of a tree from near the Joshua Tree National Park prompted the band to so name their album. The album was American focused and the National Park is a potent symbol of the American dream and more specifically the American rock dream. Gram Parsons did not die at the Joshua Tree National Park as is sometimes thought but his manager did burn his body there after unlawfully making off with his body. Gram is remembered as the premier exponent of cosmic American music or country rock (a mantle which I think more rightly rests with the magesterial liquid-paper heir, Mike Nesmith) through his solo albums and work with the Byrds and the Flying Burrito Brothers. He has inspired many, acheiving far greater popularity and album sales posthumously. Among those inspired are the proprietors of The Flying Burrito Brothers Cantina and Tequileria on the corner of Armagh St and New Regent St in…Christchurch.

Almost exclusively about pianos

2008-04-09T10:55:00.004+10:00

For many years I have been living in a very nice terrace in an inner-city suburb which served me admirably for many purposes. It was a great area to live: walking distance from the CBD, good cafés, a cracking good local pub, a quiet, tree-lined street, a comfortable and elegant house. Almost perfect.

Almost.

Sadly, the house had no free interior wall that my piano could stand against. It could not fit in my bedroom as it was filled by my bed. It could not fit in the living room as its one solid wall had a table against it. It could not fit anywhere.

I missed my piano. Being able to sit down and play through a sonata at will was a joy and I missed it. Strolling past my piano, I was able to just plop myself down for a second and extemporise a whimsical melody through some different keys and then go on about my day.

Well, life in merry Squidtown moves on and I now live in a house blessed with a spare room and a few days ago some professional piano wranglers moved my piano into my home. For the first time in four years I have my dear Kawai upright by my side.

Colour me cheerful, I entertained a lady with some Eisler, I charmed her with Chopin, I beguiled her with Beethoven, I shocked her with Shostakovich, I let the lucky lady luxuriate lengthily in the likeable lure of Liszt.

It is woefully out of tune after many years of neglect but that should soon be rectified. Hurrah!

What a handsome bastard(s)

2008-03-24T10:34:00.005+11:00

Silky-D took time off from his life in Christchurch (where he is apparently busy working as a table-cloth at a local Pizza Hut restaurant) to meet up with Crafty in windy Wellington.

Preliminary scoping and logistics work went well and our Global Domination Summer World Tour should go off without a glitch after all the groundwork that was done, checking out the bars, cafes and pubs of the NZ capital.

While exploring, we came upon this intriguing find, which indicates that the great squid emperor has already made his presence felt across the ditch. Imagine our surprise at learning that Mr Bun had fled suburban Melbourne after having his artery-hardened heart broken by Mrs Bun, that young minx who inevitably could not stand her discontent with the horny toad and instead traded him in for a hot bit of crumpet.

It's good to see he's made a new life and successful business for himself across Cook Strait, where his swirls of ham and mustard are finding great fame. When Tedium has finished bouncing on his Swiss ball while repeatedly crooning John Lennon's Beautiful Boy, perhaps he can pen a sequel to what many regard as the Ink's greatest hit (I don't).

When rappers use powerpoint

2008-03-16T13:18:00.009+11:00

It's the height of laziness to put up a post that is just a link to somebody else's post but I'm a lazy guy, nobody else is posting anything and I'm at work on a Sunday with some spare time on my hands.

The pic above is from the very loveable Madhattan Nights blog, which has a pretty cool series of hip hop songs expressed as bar graphs, flow charts etc.

It's a bit of an old joke but I still like it.

In other news I went to see a band! Two actually, as it was a Dirtbombs/Datsuns double bill with the Detroit natives cruelly relegated to support status.

The dirtbombs were pretty awesome, despite being handed the old 'opening act handicap' of shithouse sound. Mick Collins oozed more charisma than is to be expected from an overweight blind man with a receding hairline and no fashion sense. He looked at the fretboard a lot when playing (even more than me) which leads me to believe that his whole 'blindness schtick' is just a cynical ploy for record sales.

He also karate kicked and waggled his ass while playing blistering solos, none of which are things that I do.

The Datsuns were extremely competent musicians with incendiary stagecraft but the dullest set of songs you have ever heard. Scarcely a memorable note, let alone a hummable chorus. By the end I was yearning for them to launch into Gunna Hear My Sound.

Or is it Gonna Hear My Sound?

Certain things that bother me about my guitar teacher, Nick

2008-03-07T06:59:00.005+11:00

Now that our album is recorded I've decided to learn to play guitar. Sick of being the Sid Vicious of the band (and unable to continue with the self-harm regime that goes along with that tag) I've started lessons with Nick from the Beggs Music Academy. I selected this school because it was the only place within walking distance and I did not have a car. I now have a car but am locked in after paying for 12 lessons upfront.
I have some gripes to share.

1. Nick is approximately 18 years of age.

2. All other students at the Beggs Music Academy are approximately 13 years of age.

3. Nick is a far greater guitar player than I could ever hope to be but each lesson is only 30 minutes and Nick spends most of it showing me how awesome he is.

4. Nick says ''awesome'' a lot. In response to pretty much anything (including many things that are, frankly, not awesome).

5. Nick refers to famous guitarists by their first names. ''This is more of an Eric lick''; ''bend and hammer, just like Chuck'' ; ''you wanna play it like Jimmi but not ''sound'' like Jimmi.''

6. This is not just annoying but also potentially confusing. Last week I thought he was talking about Hendrix when in actual fact he was name-checking Jimmy Page: ''nobody got the chops like Jimmy.''

7. Nick keeps trying to make me play Black Magic Woman. ''Carlos is awesome, man.''

8. One time I arrived early for my lesson, only to find him alone in the room, belting out an impassioned version of Counting Crows' hit Mr Jones. Complete with imperfect vocal impersonations. ''Sha la la la la lal la..... Mmmmmwahhhaw.''

9. One time I arrived for my lesson and Nick didn't show up. He got the time wrong. Instead of apologising the next week he said: ''hey that was some crazy mix-up, ay?''

10. Nick is attending Jazz School and so talks in a mixture of hep-cat slang and New Zealand accent. This is beyond irritating.

11. I don't really feel that Nick and I have bonded and I worry that we never really will.

12. Personal hygiene also something of an issue.

On the positive side...
1. He likes Django, whose gammy handed genius I have previously blogged about.

2. I guess I am getting a bit better.

Paddy and his new transport

2008-02-25T09:50:00.004+11:00

Kick Start My Heart — Mötley Crüe
Life Is A Highway — Tom Cochrane
Born to Be Wild — Steppenwolf
Leader of the Pack — The Shangri-Las
Ride On — AC/DC
Ballad of Easy Rider — The Byrds
Little Honda — The Beach Boys
Motorcycle Drive By — Third Eye Blind
1952 Vincent Black Lightning — Richard Thompson
The Ride Of The Valkyries — Richard Wagner

Rock and Roll Rugger

2008-02-16T09:47:00.003+11:00

Not much has been going on in in the briny depths of Squid-tarctica lately (except for one big thing but it is not my place to be making such massive announcements on behalf of a fellow bandmate).
While the band takes a brief hiatus, Silky-D has been researching future cover possibilities and shoring up the trans Tasman fanbase by attending the Canterbury Crusaders v ACT Brumbies rugby clash at Christchurch's Lancaster Park (sadly renamed AMI Stadium) last night.
Rugby, it turns out, is one of those sports in which not much happens (at least not much that is discernible from the nosebleed seats through a heavy, pounding rain.)
To spice things up and stir the crowd from slumber, key moments in the history of rock and roll are reprised to mark significant incidents.
At first I thought it was random, then I realised there was method to it.
Thin Lizzy, The Boys Are Back in Town - This marked each of the four occasions Canterbury scored a try. I think this one is easy to decipher. It was the first game of the new season, shrugging off the temporary distraction of the cricket and lawn bowls seasons the boys were back and firing on all cylinders.
INXS and Jimmy Barnes, Good Times - Itself a cover, obviously, this eighties nugget was played each time a try was successfullly converted. Again, not too tricky methinks. Not only have we scored but we have had, in rapid succession, a burst of Thin Lizzy and then an accurate kick at goal. Yes we are going to have a good time tonight, rock and roll music is going to make us feel alright.
Australian Crawl, Boys Light Up - Seemingly played when the opposition does something stupid, such as kicking the ball out on the full. Perhaps deploying cruel irony against the inept Australian opponents who were hardly lighting up as they were pumped 34-3. Or perhaps an appeal to the crowd to get involved?
Paul Simon, You Can Call Me Al - An obvious classic with a bass solo that is Borgeest-like in its magnificence. I may have blogged previously about how I received the tape for Christmas in 1986 and played You Can Call Me Al so many times in a row that my exasperated father frightened me into believing the tape would wear out and snap if I played it more than once a day. Anyway, awesome as it is YCCMA is puzzlingly deployed here whenever a player goes down with what appears to be a serious injury.
This one has me truly stumped. Perhaps a nasty judgement from the stadium DJ that crocked Brumby Adam Ashley-Cooper was a little ''soft in the middle'' for failing to withstand the brute force of the Canterbury pack. As he was carried from the field in front of the cameras and a braying crowd perhaps he was musing: ''where's my wife and family, what if I die here?'' Perhaps, struggling after the retirement of former captain George Gregan, ACT fans were wondering who would be their role model, now that their role model was gone.
Bon Jovi, It's my Life - Played to celebrate a win, striking up its stirring opening ''let's sing a song for the broken hearted'' immediately upon the final whistle . An all-round, revel in the moment, shoutout, made all the more apropriate by the overwhelming popularity of Bon Jovi in this fair city.
Conclusions:
1) It's best to barrack for the Crusaders. I don't really care who wins but you get to hear more Thin Lizzy.
2) My word, eighties music is really quite popular here and not in a knowing, retro, sort of way.
3) The less intrinsically entertaining a sport is, the more it tends to rely on the top-40 hits of yesteryear (see basketball, 20.20 cricket)
4) I really should find that Paul Simon tape and give it another thrash.

Tracks Of My Tears

2008-01-24T21:54:00.000+11:00

What can there be to blog about when nobody blogs anymore and nobody rocks anymore...good question.
I have sent P-Cat a copy of Guitar Tracks Pro and the plan is that we will now collaborate seperately. There is a fair chance that not a single file, let alone musical nugget, will change hands but at least it won't be because we don't have the means.
I like this approach as it matches the current "separate limos" phase the band is going through. So much so that Silky has changed country. The creative tension is something else.
Despite the annoyance of paying twice as much for rehearsal at Midian the other night becuase of a previous cancellation I am pleased we squared the ledger. Many have laid claim to the sought "5th Squid" sobriquet but a front runner must ceratinly be Mr Midian. It seems right that we have liquid papered ourselves out of his quaintly titled "shit list"

This week's feeble attempt at a cryptic clue:

defunct auteur in two blocks (7)

Christchurch to the Max

2008-01-18T08:43:00.000+11:00

On a day when Keith Humble took his six hundredth wicket the Squids are left spread-eagled like the Danger Bird.

The exciting mock-up of the CD by the indolent printmaker turned out to have a prophetic symbolism. The image on the front shows a giant squid grappling with the skyline of a city...and so too the tallest squid grapples with a new city, Christchurch. Life imitates art in the cruelest way for the band. It was an obvious choice as, being the sister city of Adelaide, it will no doubt afford plenty of options for al fresco dining.

While not trying to create an award-nominated, expertly-intricate connections post it is worth noting that after Crafty's bitterly, howlingly, plaintively beautiful Slippin' Away (complete with trademark daring reharmonisation...the dominant providing a FAR more satisfying, though perhaps predictable, release than the dribble back from supertonic to tonic) at rehearsal on Monday night, that the redoubtable and recently deceased Max Merritt hails from Christchurch.