The Merry Wobblers

To Cleo's thrilled delight, Saturday night brought Banjo Man, Jazzer and the two dogs. Their pup, Arlo, is just a couple of weeks older than Cleo and they spent ages play-fighting. Fun for them and fun to watch too.

After an excellent meal cooked by Jazzer, we settled down to watch music videos on YouTube. Marty was raving about an Irish band he'd been listening to.

You'll love them Nelly. Just your kind of thing. Young band. From Dundalk. Where's the remote?

He starts shouting at our giant television.

Play the Merry Wobblers!

Merry Christmas featuring Elton John and Ed Sheeran came on.

No! Play the Merry Wobblers!

Jah Wobble came on.

I said,

The TV doesn't understand your Belfast accent. Try speaking like Bert.

But Marty was too distraught. He tried again.

Play! The Merry Wobblers. An Irish band. From Dundalk.

An item about Dundalk FC came on.

I left the room and googled Irish Band From Dundalk. Came back, said to Marty,

They're called the Mary Wallopers.

Banjo Man was right. I did love them. Even though some of them had mullets and Dave Hill fringes and Lemmy moustaches. 

Next day I checked their tour dates and they're playing Belfast in December. I'm not going. The last gig I went to was Django Django in Derry and I got mistaken for the singer's aunt. If I was to go to the Merry Wallopers I'm sure to be took for their granny.

River Deep - Mountain High

I don't usually have much to say about famous people dying because if I did I'd be blogging about nothing else for sure don't they die every week.

But then there is Tina Turner and I wasn't even that much of a fan. Except for River Deep - Mountain High which I must have heard first in my early teens and was blown away by it. Her voice, the lyrics, the production. It is because of Tina Turner that I've never cared for insipid music. I want the power and the passion. 

I checked Wikipedia for when it was first released. I'd have been thirteen. It did well in Europe, but didn't take off in the USA. Then, after Eric Burdon and the Animals did a cover version (I've only just heard it!) it was re-released in 1969. That's when it got me.

After listening to the Animal's version of River Deep on YouTube, it went straight to King Crimson playing Starless from all of eight years ago. I wasn't a King Crimson fan back in my teens but YouTube obviously knows that I'm all grown-up now.  

Wikipedia also informed me that Deep Purple also did a cover of River Deep - Mountain High but I'll listen to that later. I'm enjoying King Crimson too much.

Anyway, thanks, Tina. You were great. 

Evie's Concert And Other Matters

 Yesterday evening Bert and I went to see Evie and around 70 other young musicians give an open-air concert in Antrim Castle Grounds and it was wonderful. 

It was definitely a joyous and inspiring way to spend an hour or so although I did feel a bit emotional at times. Firstly when a Year 12 String Quartet played a piece from Palladio which was so heartfelt and beautiful that I welled up. And again, when the orchestra played A Million Dreams and I thought of Ava who would have been twelve this summer. 

But that's music. It makes us feel. As it should.

We had Evie all day today as her school is a polling station and today was the local council elections. I voted early. Nine candidates were on the ballot sheet of which five were DUP and TUV which meant I could only give preferences to the other four. I suspect I might be the only person on this road who put the man from Portglenone first.

Later on, I collected Martha from school and on the drive home I discovered that she has well-thought-out political opinions. This pleases me very much. They're her own too. I think that the voting age should be lowered to at least sixteen. After all, if doddery old farts can vote why not the mid-teens?

In Which Fred Narrowly Avoids A Bath

The day started off horribly wet and cold. Pigs had a duvet day. It was Pippin's first full day of freedom since her horrible accident and she enjoyed it. She actually chose to spend time in her cage although the door was left unlocked so she could leave when she wanted. 

I went shopping before I picked up the girls and bought a new bed for Judy and another clothes airer. Since the rise in electricity prices, I have decided to drastically cut down the use of the tumbler dryer. The drive to empty the big freezer is going slowly - too slowly. I managed to stew some raspberries and whitecurrants today and made a plan for rhubarb and ginger jam. There is a strange fish in there which I intend to defrost tomorrow. 

Evie arrived covered in mud, something to do with falling on the grass. I was reminded of Fred, who turned up the other day absolutely clarried in muck. I couldn't understand how it had happened. The muck didn't smell foul but it had an oily quality to it and wasn't easy to get off his fur. Brushing it out made a start and the rest of it dried out and disappeared after a couple of days. That old boy is too old to be bathed. He would despise it.

After discovering a lot of fur (that flew) in the woodshed, Bert reckons he had a territory fight with another cat. Recently Fred has been spending a lot of time there and it's likely there is a nest of ratlings in there, somewhere. The rival cat must have tumbled him into the resiny, sludgy effluent that runs off the logs. But no harm done, he's fine now, spending more time indoors and tolerating Pippin following him everywhere he goes.

At the end of the evening, Martha showed me how to edit my videos and in return, I gave her a masterclass on the history of popular music from The Monkees to the Pixies. The only tracks she knew were Monkey Goes to Heaven and Smells Like Teen Spirit. Next week she is going to teach me how to suck eggs.

In other news, I discovered I have five of the Cazalet Chronicles and have started reading number one. Sadly. two of the five were duplicates and they are already donated to the Tesco charity bookshelf. I think I'm going to enjoy this reading adventure.

Music Night 2016

So, after the babies were tucked up in bed and we'd read the story of how Brer Rabbit tied Mr Lion to a tree Jazzer and I went downstairs to see what Bert and Ben were up to and we found that Ben had taken over YouTube and was playing Bert his favourite numbers from Bruce Springsteen and the Seeger Sessions Band.

After we'd had our fill of The Boss I moved it on to Krystle Warren singing Circles on the Jools Holland show in 2005. Jazzer reckoned Warren was a man and could not be convinced otherwise. In her defence, she did have a quantity of strong drink taken. She rambled on in this vein throughout the track while Bert and I rolled our eyes at each other. The next one we listened to was Krystle Warren singing Jealous Guy a couple of years ago in Amsterdam. Even Jazz was struck dumb. When it was over she said,

Did you and Bert really think she was a man then?

I did not take this remark on board.

Bert asked for Paolo Nutini singing I'd Rather Go Blind. We weren't overly impressed. Heard it better. Nutini had himself referenced Etta James and Dr John doing it so I checked this out. This one was from 1987 and it was mesmerising. The others did not agree with me, especially Jazzer. Bert shouted for Christine Perfect (as she was) but I thought her version bland compared to Etta's. To annoy them all I played Etta doing Crawling King Snake.

After that we took it in turns to choose the music.

Ben (15) picked the .357 String Band, R.E.M. Losing My Religion and Joy Division, Love Will Tear Us Apart.

Bert went for The Dirty Heads, Cabin By The Sea, George Ezra, Budapest and John Prine, Killing The Blues. All songs that the fellows at the Tuesday night sessions work on.

I chose The Bangles, Walk Like An Egyptian, Miley Cyrus, Look What They've Done To My Song Ma, The Pixies, Caribou and Joe Cocker and The Grease Band at Woodstock doing With A Little Help From My Friends.

Jazzer went for an audition clip of some guy doing Redemption on Holland's The Voice. It was good enough. And then two videos by Taylor Swift. She did some serious dancing to one of them. I have managed to avoid Taylor Swift and her work until now. All I can say is that I plan to redouble my efforts. Swift is awful. Music for people who don't actually like music. I can't deny that she has talent but she wastes it. Still, who can blame her? The folk who don't actually like music seem to spend shed loads on it and make people like Taylor Swift, Madonna and their ilk very rich indeed.

Bill and Ben

Ben and Bert in Sligo 

Bert and I have known Ben all his life, all nineteen and a half years of it. He has been coming to our house since babyhood, sometimes with his family, sometimes just him. We always enjoy having him around. I'd thought a few years back that by now we'd be seeing less of him, that he'd have other places to go and other people to see but it seems that he still likes to hang out with the old codgers now and then. He's here now. The firm he is/was apprenticed to has gone into administration and Ben's at a loose end so he asked if we'd mind if he came over for a few days?

But we never, ever mind.

Tonight is Gypsy Jazz night so Ben and I left the musicians to it and went to my private, secret sitting room to Netflix and chill. We watched Bill Hicks perform his Just A Ride show in London. Ben hadn't come across Bill Hicks before and he was impressed. It struck me that although the cultural references were dated, the ideas that Bill put across were as relevant today, maybe even more so, than they were 25 years ago.

After my big success introducing Ben to Bill, I tried him on a couple of my favourite Woodstock clips. Joe Cocker, he knows Joe's early work, Santana, he thought they all look completely stoned and Country Joe and the Fish - good song. It was that song.

Gypsy Jazz over and done with I hunted him back to Bert because, y'know. The blog.

Last Day of September

This is the last day of my September Every Day Blogging Marathon and I'm feeling slightly jaded. Seeking inspiration, I checked the archives to see what Nelly posted on this day ten years ago.  It happened to be about Banjo Man. And included a very good picture taken by Zoe, a ridiculous video clip and a frothy piece about how much I loved Marty.

And as it happened, Nellybert had the Banjos around last night for a quiet and pleasant evening of music and story-telling with a side-order of boking. These days Marty plays guitar when he's not gigging and he is becoming rather good at it. I was sitting there with old Frank on my lap and I was absent-mindedly stroking his long bat ears and I had this thought. Young dogs and puppy dogs are much loved by everyone. Puppies just want any warm friendly body to lie against and then they are content. But old dogs, old dogs that are not one's own old dog are a different matter. When they choose to lie on a lap and have their ears stroked and then fall asleep then that is a great privilege, one that should be acknowledged and appreciated for old dogs are discerning.

Every Picture: The Band and the Critics

Band practice night in Springhill. Well it was. It's over now and they are listening to YouTube. We had Odetta and now Barrington Levy (who he?).

Earlier there were critics in, four year-old twins. The band played The Ziggy Song and Jeanie pronounced it "Awesome... and odd."

Flushed with success the band played the twins The Potato Song. Jeanie said it was "Awful... and stupid." William agreed.

Band

Seems like I'm getting a reggae education. We are now listening to a song called zungg uzungguguzungguzeng.

Critics

State of Play

Well, here we are - the last evening of 2016 and the 31st blog post in a row. We are expecting a quiet one. Our Godson is here and we hope for two extra guitar players. There are already two extra dogs. I had my first glass of wine at 4 pm and may well be asleep before midnight. I have made a coconut loaf and am in the middle of preparing a sausage casserole.

Here is a picture.

Nothing could be better than listening to and enjoying, in one's own home, live and beautiful music. This has been our pleasure in 2016, in all the years before and, I'm hoping, in all the years to come.

Happy New Year. No matter what, there will always be music.

I Learn About the Wheel

From the Granagh Road today

It has been a month now since I caught myself on. Truly tired of being a fat wee fecker I decided to eat better, drink less alcohol and walk more and I am happy to report that, so far, it's all going rather well. My daily walk has become a habit, I'm enjoying cooking and eating, I feel better and I have breathed out 11lbs of excess tonnage. And one of the things I'm enjoying most is that virtuous feeling when you don't eat all the leftovers, instead having them for lunch or dinner the next day. I love not being wasteful.

Then I found myself craving music/audio-books for the daily walk but I had nothing to play them on. Although there were two iPods that had been lying in a drawer for several years but they were probably broken. I dug them out, charged them up and tried them out. One was kaput but the classic worked! Unfortunately I'd forgotten how to use it. This is were the internet comes in handy. I found a video that some fellow had made for his elderly mother who must have been a complete eedjit but it was useful. My first walk (yesterday) was all about Massive Attack (the Tricky days) because I couldn't remember how to use shuffle. Eventually I worked it out with a little bit of assistance from that eedjit's son.

On my walk today I thought I had it on shuffle but it was alternating between Sinead O'Connor and Ry Cooder and that didn't seem very shuffly to me. Anyway I stopped for a pee up a laneway on the Granagh Road and stuffed the player in my pocket. When I resumed listening the sound had diappeared and I thought my headphones were broken. So back into the pocket it went and home I marched. Back on the internet I learned all about the wheel. I used to know this stuff. Where did my knowledge go?

Another problem. There was a lot of music on that iPod that I didn't want to listen to anymore. And of course I'd forgotten how to manage the player. I knew it had something to do with Rhythmbox. I don't do iTunes as my OS is Ubuntu. I've spent hours today figuring it out and I just got it sorted. I added John Lee Hooker, Rhiannon Giddens and the Milk Carton Kids. I'll add more tomorrow and maybe some audio books. Maybe Wolf Hall. I have the book but it's far too big and heavy. Far better to have it read to me.  

Listen With Granny

Martha and Evie like to listen to music when they are travelling with us in the van and as the only CDs that Bert had in there were by Joe Moore, Rod McAuley and Erroll Walsh (all local musicians that we know), the music they were listening to was exclusively folk and country.  Good as these fellows are I thought it was time to broaden the children's horizons. The first new piece of music I introduced them to was the Best of The Small Faces. The first track was Lazy Sunday. Play it again, said Martha. So we played it again about five times on Thursday the 2nd of January. On the 9th of January her first words on getting into the van were, "Put on 'Lazy Sunday'" We listened to it three times. She knows almost all the words now. The first Thursday...

Who is singing?

Steve Marriott. It's from a long time ago. He's dead now. 

How did he die? 

He died in a house fire.

Then she was too busy learning the song.

The second Thursday...

He died in a fire. How did it happen? 

He did a silly thing. He had too much to drink. Some people think he might have been smoking in bed. Some people think he might have fallen asleep and a candle got knocked over. He died from the smoke of the fire. He wouldn't have known anything about it.

(I never like to miss an opportunity to point out the risks of an unattended candle.)

Where is he buried? 

I don't know. He might have been cremated.

What's cremated? 

It's when dead people are burned in a fire instead of being buried in the ground. I'll check it out for you.

I did check it out. Steve Marriott died in 1991 at the age of 44. And he was cremated. He was a talented musician and a great singer and from the tender age of fourteen/fifteen I was a fan. The Wee Manny tells me that the Small Faces played the Flamingo Ballroom in 1968. Apparently on the exact same date that Ogdens' Nut Gone Flake was released. The Wee said that one of the local hard men attacked Marriott on stage and that Marriott came off the stage and battered him.* I don't know if that is true for the Wee Manny is well-known for his far-fetched tales. I certainly won't be bringing that one up with Martha.

According to The Mojo Collection (pub. 2000) the band regretted releasing Lazy Sunday as a single as they felt it pigeon-holed them as a novelty knees-up band. Forty-eight years later I think it's still a fun track, one to share with the grandchildren. It's not my favourite Small Faces track though. That would be Tin Soldier. Released in 1967 when I was fourteen years old. I was transfixed and I have never stopped loving it. Nearly fifty years. Where does time go to?

*Back in 1978 at a Stranglers gig I did see with my own eyes Jean-Jacques Burnel come off the stage to batter someone.

Honey and Flour

Our chickens took quite a scattering this summer. Apart from the depredations of the fox we had another one died last weekend, probably from some sort of a respiratory infection. The vet was in the yard on Friday morning and Bert had every intention of getting her to look at it after she had finished testing the cattle, but she started talking about trees and headed off to look at what Bert had available and by the time he'd closed a gate or two she was off and away.

My advice was that he should pull her neck, the hen not the vet, but he didn't take it as he is becoming soft-hearted in his old age. I think that might be the Martha and Evie effect.

She died without the benefit of Bert stretching her neck. That meant we were down to four hens and one rooster and an average of two and a half eggs per day. Definitely time to replenish the flock especially as Bert and Ben had spent a lot of time fox-proofing the run with heightened fencing, reinforced at ground level and, best of all, electric fencing top and bottom outside the perimeter.

I had promised Martha and Evie we'd buy them each a chicken. Evie wanted a pink one and I had to tell her that chickens don't come in pink. Martha helpfully suggested that we could get a white one and dye it pink and I had to disappoint her by telling her that dye would not be good for a chicken's skin.

It was obvious that bog standard hens were not going to cut the mustard with them so after asking around we went to a guy who breeds bantams and other fowl. His place was rather out of the way so I reckoned Bert should drive us as he is usually good at finding his way around. Our van is only a three seater so I had to sit in the back, in the dark as there are no windows. It was very rattly in there but I was just about able to hear Martha and Evie singing their current favourite song, our friend Rod's version of Willie Nelson's It's All Going To Pot. The girls have got it nearly off pat now. Imagine their childish voices doing sweet sister harmony.

All the whisky in Lynchburg, Tennessee

Just couldn't hit the spot

I gotta hundred dollar bill, 

You can keep your pills 

Cause it's all goin' to pot.

Despite my specific directions and a Google maps printout and a photograph of the house Bert still got lost but I didn't mind. For we found the place eventually and the girls were delighted with it. There were ducks, chickens and bantams everywhere. And, best of all, lots of cute little fluffy chicks running around. We had to be specific as to the type of bird we wanted as they needed to be able to cope with the chickens we already had so, guided by the breeder, Martha chose a golden coloured Pekin and Evie picked a white Silkie. They had both been clocking so we also got a clutch of eggs. Back into the van.

The journey home was a good deal shorter as Bert did not go astray. Just as well, as I was sitting in the back with two quiet hens in a box and eighteen eggs up my jumper. The girls put their favourite song on and sang along. I couldn't have been any happier.

There are no pictures of the new chickens just yet. They are in their own little house, in nesting boxes, sitting on their eggs and we don't like to disturb them. Maybe tomorrow.

The hens will be called Honey (the gold one) and Flour (the white one). Girls chose the names themselves. They are called after food. I hope no-one tells Foxy. 

Sometimes Google Is Just No Help

This morning I went for a walk in the Glens with Nez and Fly. Nez knows the name of all of the hills and has tramped over the most of them. Fly likes to run the drains and culverts but then he is a water dog. While we were out I found myself remembering all the times I'd spent in the Glens as a child.

Our parents would pile us into the car, Matty would have made sandwiches or maybe a ween of wee currant buns. We'd go to the beach, usually Waterfoot or Cushendall, and sometimes Daddy would park up on the way down and we'd run down to one of the streams that ran through the Glens and play in the water and jump from stone to stone and eat our picnic there. Sometimes I thought I liked the river better than the beach.

During my childhood there was a landslide in one of the Glens that made headline news on local television. Those were the days when events in Northern Ireland didn't regularly make the national or international news and this event was very notable. If I remember it correctly some livestock was lost, a cottage was swept away and a farmer had a narrow escape. Some time afterwards Daddy drove us down to look at the aftermath. I remember seeing the brown earth and boulders where the grass, plants and trees had been.

But I cannot remember where it was and an hour or more of research on Google has not made me any wiser. It would have been sometime in the 1960s. Anybody out there who might have an idea when and where it happened?

But anyways - my research turned up the BBC archive site and I found this clip of a 1964 Fleadh Cheoil in Clones. There are quite a few well known musicians playing including Luke Kelly and Andy Irvine. They'd only have been in their early twenties then. Luke's long away but Bert went to see Andy Irvine in Ballymoney last week. It's worth a look if you like that sort of thing.

Musical Youth

Dessie came round this evening. I was telling him that I'd just bought Miss Martha a selection of percussion instruments from Lidl's. He was uncertain as to whether these would be of an acceptable standard. My thoughts are that Miss Martha will probably enjoy them even if they are not of orchestral quality. Bert has been alerted that he will need to sort the whistles and the clarinet for tomorrow as he and the little lady will be having a session. Dessie recommends that we start her on a 'G' whistle. We may have to make an urgent visit to Beat Street, Cullybackey's numero uno musical supplies store. Hope it's not snowing. Hope I don't get carried away and buy Miss Martha a piano as well as a whistle.

I Feel Alright

This morning, while waiting for Matty's discharge from Antrim Area Hospital, I 'fell till' the floors. Every single room in the house tidied, hoovered and mopped for the first time since the pup came. You'd want to be chasing that wee brute around with a mop and a bucket of Jeyes Fluid and up until today it has been maintenance only. Today all floors pristine and gleaming at the same time for at least half an hour.

Nellybert sits down to a lunch of Polish Shop Packet Soup and some rather elderly bagels (waste not, want not) and we're listening to music. My choice.

Bert: Who is that oul' cunt anyway?

Nelly: Junior Kimbrough.

Bert: D'ye see if he was in that room in there, playing that, I would go in there and catch him by the scruff of the neck and hoil him out into the yard. And I'd say to him, 'See here Mr Kimball, take yourself and your instruments and the rest of it and clear out!'

Nelly: Kimbrough. And if he was in that room in there playing that you'd be standing in the doorway with your mouth hanging open in amazement at how brilliant he is.

Bert: Dam sure I wouldn't. I actually find that hard to listen to. It hurts my ears.

Nelly: Maybe if you got the wax* cleared out of your ears it would help. The bass notes are probably making it reverberate and that's what is hurting them.

*The wax in Bert's ears is feeling happier as Mozart is playing now.

Don't

Just noticed that I have 12 songs starting with 'Don't' on my iPod. They are -

Don't Be Light: Air

Don't Be Runnin' Wild (Problem Child): Ken Cook

Don't Cry No Tears: Neil Young with Crazy Horse

Don't Go Home With Your Hard-On: David McComb & Adam Peters

Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood: Nina Simone

Don't Look Back: Youssou n’Dour

Don't Mash My Digger So Deep: Bo Carter

Don't Mess With The Messer: Koko Taylor

Don't Smoke in Bed: Nina Simone

Don't Talk (Put Your Head On My Shoulder) The Beach Boys

Don't Walk Away: Youssou N'Dour

Don't You Rock Me Daddy-O: Van Morrison, Lonnie Donegan & Chris Barber

Going In The Right Direction

I parked the car at Steen's Corner and walked half a mile in the direction of Ballymena, before turning right onto the Whappstown Road. For the part of the walk I listened to the last ten minutes of Three Men in a Boat. I found it just a tad flat compared to the previous  chapters but then, after the best part of a fortnight on the river, the three heroes and the dog were feeling a bit flat too. The weather didn't help them as the poor souls were caught in an interminable summer deluge and they just wanted to be home and dry and clean and to be eating a fine  dinner. You know how it is. So my pace was only at a moderately brisk dander, as I concentrated on the book's ending, and was only enlivened by a quick dash into a field for a pee.

Book over I switched the iPod on to shuffle and soon sharpened my pace.

• All Your Love, Magic Sam - good brisk pace, I really lengthened those strides.
  
• Smells Like...Remix, Fatboy Slim - got the heart going good altho' I thought the track was shite.
  
• Bit of Snooks Eaglin - stepping out well.
  
• In The Mood, John Lee Hooker - does what it says on the tin. Did he mean aerobic walking?
  
• Going in the Right Direction, Robert Randolph & the Family Band - I was practically jogging to this.
  
• Wheels, Come On Gang - a spring in my quickstep and a good mood enhancer to boot.
  
• Her Mind Is Gone, Professor Longhair - getting close to the car. Winding down the speed.
  

Best walk I've had in ages. 

Don't You Know Who I Am?*

While channel-hopping last night we came across some sort of a mish-mash of a programme that included Michael Parkinson and Sir Elton John. According to Parky, Elton is a self-deprecating, humble sort of guy. I wonder did I pick that up right? Because he apparently had a major hissy fit at the concert for Diana the other week. Of course this was all probably mis-reporting and a complete parcel of lies. Sir Elton screaming,

"Get out of my f***ing way. Don't you know who I am? I've been working all f***ing day and I need to get to my f***ing dressing room."

I just can’t see it. Can you?

Anyway we watched a bit more of this programme that featured Elton through all stages of his career. God! - he has been around forever. Bert says to me,

You have to give him this. He has written some good songs.

And I said,

Yeah. But would you ever deliberately go out and buy his music, or download it or even bother listening to it?

And he had to agree that this was so.

I don’t expect ever to own an Elton CD. Hell! I wouldn’t even buy one for 50 pee in a charity shop. But at least when you hear him he’s not as vile as……

Coldplay!

I was out buying my papers this morning when my ears were assaulted by that woeful dirge, ‘Yellow’. I always thought that Chris Martin had a very unpleasant, whingeing tone to his voice but it was only today that I realised ‘Yellow’ is the most vile and hateful piece of so-called ‘music’ that I have ever heard in the whole of my life.

At least Sir Elton is good for a laugh.

Elton is determined to reach his recommended 10,000 steps per day.

*I was going to call this post 'Chris Martin Is A C**t' but I thought it wouldn't be very ladylike. Even with the asterisks.

I Got Those Goddamned Sore Back Blues

If I were an old time blues singer (and I'd love to be) I'd be called Big Fat Mama Nelly Moser and my signature tune would be 'Those Ol' Sore Back Blues'.

If Bert were an ol' time blues player he'd be Blind Bobby John Orr and he'd be famous for singing and playing 'My Ol' Fat Mama Don't Jelly Roll No More'.

So guess who has been on SoulSeek adding to her blues collection?

Today I Have Been Mostly...

Listening to...