The Greatest Show On Earth

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.

Why the hate?

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”

Pretenders In The Gulag

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.