Aural.

I am always so busy trying to top myself. Not kill myself ! I already know how I am gonna do that.Stick a hand grenade up my ass and pull the pin mid stage dive at a One Direction concert. Where was I? Top, you know, to better the last thing that I did.The last show,the last recording,the last photo shoot. Whatever. I pit myself against myself mercilessly.

Gotta have a hobby….

And its not that I forget what I have done its just that I don’t want it to be the sum of all my parts.Miss Haversham with a back-beat? Nuh-uh. I respect it and wave politely to it through the swirling mists of time and whatnot (” Ohh! I love what you have done with your hair!”) but I want more,faster and now. I could name one too many a sad motherfucker who is still trying to cash in on the future that never was.The fifteen minutes of shame.Fuck that swinging.

No thank you very much.

Independent music leads to stoic and staunch convictions.From afar I saw Ian McKay and company re-write the rules and change the game and at home I watch Blackie bang out an amazing and continually evolving body of work. Watch the masters and learn. They make it happen.I sat barefoot and starving beneath the damask draped table while Punk and Metal had a romantic dinner.The scraps were delicious and I ate the lot being the greedy fuck that I am. Sucked the marrow from every last bone.This is mighty fuel we are talking about here people. Bottom line? I can’t go grocery shopping with out wanting to punch at least five people bare minimum while having a panic attack but I will chase a promoter out into oncoming traffic with the butt end of a broken pool cue ( dont ask…) if I think I am being fucked with. Go figure right?

It gave and then shaped my courage when I had none,lets just say that.

Its nice to see some fans of my old shit who have open minds coming to the shows on Wednesday nights.Its nice to see fucking anyone at anything I do full stop and no I am not being facetious.I am always beyond grateful that anyone gives a fuck about my post-adolescent navel gazing output at all.Its a gift not to be sniffed at. Every day of my chubby existence that does not involve me wearing polyester and saying  “Do you want fries with that?” is a titanic achievement given my homicidal tendencies ( Mike Muirs secret band ) and staggering lack of formal education.

Music is so insidious.In the turgid chambers of my fetid imagination I am on first name basis with all of my heroes because nothing touches me as much as music. It touches me in places I don’t even wash.It was like Penny Lane said in Almost Famous,Cameron Crowes fearless and peerless love letter to rock and roll, that you can always go to the record store and catch up with your friends. And its true. I am so very fortunate that I have got to meet and on some blessed mind altering occasions play with many of the talented artists that have provided the soundtrack to my tantrum based self punishing lifetime .I have got to thank them,often too loudly ,stuttering dry mouthed , with inappropriate language and hand gestures better suited to signaling to an emergency aircraft when shipwrecked on a desert island.

But I got to say thanks.

I am going somewhere with this…

Ah.Artists! We are wankers one and all. Self absorbed toss-pots searching for the next riff. I am really the most socially ill adjusted person I know.Well,besides all of the other musicians that I know but you get the picture. If I am not in my head poncing around on stage at Wembley stadium with Guns and Roses playing back to back rhythm guitar with Izzy Stradlin,watching the lights turn Duff Mckagens blond mop into a corona of white fire I am locked in my room.Or talking to Lester Bangs in the shower.Or our tour with Blue Oyster Cult for-ever….but when I get to play? Ah! That is the money shot .That is where I come true.The only time when I correct in any way shape or form.

So there I am faffing about at the show when a new face pops into my line of vision and introduces herself to me.Really sweet and cool.We shake hands and she proceeds to tell me how much my old band meant to her. My jaw was swinging.She was telling me about songs that I had forgotten writing, albums hunted for,articles read and so on and so forth.She was so open and happy and it just ruled.I could never get jaded when it comes to this. How cool that she extended herself to me like that, that she took the time.

Fuck yeah it matters.

It was great. I saw myself in her. Its all a fucking great big noisy circle  isn’t it? I hate people who are too cool. I am never going to be cool.I love what I love far too much and that is the root,rhyme and reason to my entire existence.To whit…Iggy Pop makes Henry Rollins quake all over again upon witnessing him live at The Palladium in LA last month,I chase Henry Rollins around at Big Day Out clad in a wife beater and a kilt to in-eloquently thank him for keeping my Ritalin fired ass company through the napalmed deltas of a heinous small town adolescence and this rad chick asks me for my autograph by the light of the zillion candles that we spark up at every show.

Circles.

Gratitude owns bitches. Be nice.

Not to civilians and knob jockeys but to the people that float your boat no matter now many holes are in the hull due to repeatedly shooting yourself in the foot. It puts wind in your tattered sails so grab that bucket and bail child! Bail till the next show or podcast.Till the next time you line up for tickets or go to an in-store with your heart in your mouth and your limited edition vinyl and sharpie ready in hand. These are the gold dipped,honey roasted,no deposit down moments that provide the sonic thread to the tapestry of sound that ignites you,that you can wrap around yourself.Its an amour dig?

These misfits? They hold the match baby….

Petulant pyromaniacs given to big sound and transcendence.Sign me up lover! Mr Morrison was right.Lets all get our kicks before the whole shithouse goes up in flames.In the dark surrounded by like minded dreamers. Life is too long my little dixie cups.Its long and full of shit and trouble so cut loose while ye can.

Its the pyre flamed by desire.The alpha urge to show what you are made of,to lose yourself in a pit of like minded flesh for a sweet hour or so,head back,spine loose, just wallowing dig? ( and i know that you do…) ,to get through a job that you hate,past the roadblocks that the narrow minded masses have set in your way ( you are so fucking beautiful…). Spin till you hurl,Till stars fall when you close your eyes,its the only way.It elevates.It is noble.It smells raunchy and makes you ears ring like the bells of St Paul’s cathedral.It never says never.Fed through a Marshall stack it makes you believe that anything is possible and that all is obtainable. It relates when all else dictates. There was an old blues song called “I’d rather be blind” .

Case closed.

I scrawled my name on the flyleaf of her book and thanked Elvis yet again that I get to lead the life that I do.

Then to top it off my dear friend Miss Monika informs me that she has a ticket for Fu Manchu with my name on it for tomorrow night

“Dude! Really?” I gasp tangled in fairylights,falling off a chair, post show.

“Yep” she grins red of lip and kind of heart.

Well alright.

Redemption by way of aural annihilation?

Baby,you are singing my song.