El Reporto de Frontie Lino...

Watch this space...

No, this one, here...

A 'Holiday'.

I have been on 'holiday' for nearly a week...

I haven't had a drink of coffee for over 24hrs...

 

I feel better now..

I really do...

 

Count Down...

 

Count Down...

 

 

Count Down...

 

 

Days Of Reflection expt (Leonard Barras)

The writing of Leonard Barras via the character of Herbert Mangle, Wallsend's Neo-Wordsworthian Poet and correspondent of the Wallsend Weekly Buffoon.

 

Management Today: In Case of a Emergency...

 

 

Uh oh, Another Fad.

On my wanderings through InterWebShire I often see Motavational/inspiration type material.

I've even posted bits that work for me.

I do worry that the end result of following some of the advice given, to it's logical conclusion, it would end in psychopathy.

Anyway, I decided to give it a go myself...

Tell me, does that 'work' for you?

 

Goodbye Being:55

That wasn't a bad year at all !

I lost (lots of) weight and lots and of useless baggage.

I became a better ukulele player.

I completed the Senbazuru (folding 1,000 origami cranes).

I created, placed, and recorded 365 paper plates.

I found work I can get into at last.

I must go now...

It's time to regenerate.

 

Baffled by Banished

Mr. Banished left a some what enigmatic comment on my (as yet unfinished) rambling post about the creative possibilities offered by the iPad.

 

I followed the link he supplied and found this picture:

That's Nick Lowe that is...

 

I really have no idea what Mr. Banished is on about:

I really don't .

 

Isn't This a Lovely Day? (I. Berlin) or 'Just How Useful is the iPad?'

This is potentially a long and boring post about me playing about with an iPad Mini in attempt to discover if it could replace a desk/lap top computer as my toy box of choice.

The long suffering AppleBook, I bought secondhand from Cash Converters more years ago than I can remember, is on it's last legs. It's screen has developed 'sun-spots' in awkward places, it's processing speed has slowed to a snails pace, and it lives in the back-room linked into several periferal devices associated with audio production, where it's to bloody cold to work.

Linda gave me the iPad Mini as a birthday gift last year. At first I was at a loss as to what to do with it, an iPod Touch being my favoured mobile device. Over the last year I've gradually found ways of using the iPad for what ever it is I do, errr, let's see...

Photography: My preferred camera app is the Hipstarmatic 'retro' camera. It worked well-ish on my iPod though the picture quality suffered due to the iPod's lowly lens. I have various other gimmicky camera apps, but I don't think of myself as a photographer I just point, press, and hope... For as many times as I have to till I nearly get the shot I want.

Film/Movie Making: Another 'retro' app, 8mm, is my camera app of choice for filming, though films made using the very good generic camera/movie app can be imported into 8mm to apply it's effects. 8mm also has a dedicated iPad version that offers more features than the iPod version that I'm still investigating. I only ever 'dabble' here as I really have no idea how films are captured and put together, I just know what I want to do and luckily for me the iMovie app does it. As time passes, and I gain more experience in editing, my needs will change, but for now iMovie still has plenty more to offer me. I'm still looking for a good animation programme though.

Music: GarageBand, GarageBand, GarageBand. In terms of audio recording software it's basic, and that's exactly what I like about it. Today's audio recording software packages, with all their sophisticated editing options, render the polishing of turds almost child's play. The problem here being that these processes, regardless of genre, dictate the outcome and everything ends up sounding a bit 'samey' in production terms. Well, to my ears they do.
Back in the day I loved my Tascam Portstudio-144 and stretched it's abilities as far as I could before the quality offered by the 4 Track cassette format became an issue. There simply wasn't enough tape surface available to get a decent signal down that would create a half decent master. The simplicity of GarageBand sort of reminded me of the PortaStudio. Nowadays of course GarageBand has many of the options offered by more expensive programmes, but in essence offers good quality recording in an easy to use package.

So, now watch this video and then I'll break the process down:

Most of my current musical noodling is centered around the Flying Aspidistras set. To understand the, in some cases, complex chord patterns and arrangements I need to play about with them or, as they used to say, 'jam' them out to arrive at a version that's playable 'live'....
(I have a real bee-in-my-bonnet about being able to perform any song I take on without the external aid of a song sheet. If I'm staring at a music stand I find it difficult to 'communicate' with any audience that may, or may not, turn up to be entertained and if I take my eyes off the sheet there's a very real danger of me losing my place. It's bad enough 'fluffing' a song your playing, but if you 'fluff' when it's written down in front of you it's unforgivable IMHO)
...I completely understand why some performers might want the security of a crib sheet, it's not what I do. It's something about having respect for the song and, to a lesser degree, the audience I think, though it could be me just 'showing off'.

Irving Belin's 'Isn't This A Lovely Day' was suggested for inclusion in the set by the other Asdidistra, Harriet B.
Now, (here's a startling confession) in 1978, on the crest of Punk's 'year zero', when I was 'destroying' everything on the road to nowhere just as hard as the rest, I heard Peter Skellen's album 'Astaire'.  
(I actually preferred it to much of the ersatz agit-prop being hammered out by the punk fraternity)
The album included a version of 'Lovely Day' so the piece was not unfamiliar to me.

It's a pig to play.
I started on it seriously around the end last September. My first mission, to get it into my head. It's there now and, though I still make the odd 'fluff' whilst playing it, I've got it to the stage where most people wouldn't notice. So now I feel able attempt a recording of it.

GarageBand open, metronome ticking at 120 BPM, and the SmartPiano instrument primed with most of the chords, I tapped out the basic backing track. I planned to give the piece a sing-a-long-round-the-piano-in-the-pub feel so the track is quite heavily on the beat and sounds somewhat hamfisted. I had to go into the resulting recording to shift some notes in various passing chords around till it sounded right. At this point I only considered it to be a guide-track for the other instruments I intended adding. I also added a SmartDrum track so I could loose the metronome. I don't like metronomes.

The first live part recorded was my Risa electric uke fed into the iPad via an iRig audio interface. The signal level was very weak. I thought the iRig might make things easier, but the output of the uke isn't enough to drive it properly.. The track offers various guitar amp models, I chose a 'clean' sound using a Vox AC30, or 'Brit Amp' setting.

Second live recording comes from my resonator uke via a dynamic mic fed through an iRig-pre. This was a much better recording level wise and worked well against the other tracks. The mic track is set up for vocals rather than instruments and offers little in the way of appropriate adjustment so the initial sound has to be as close as I can get to what I want rather than fixing it in the mix.

Third live track was the vocal captured with the iPad's internal mic and it shows. I've added a 'telephone' style setting to it, basically fiddling around with the High-Mids and a compressor. Future recordings will go in through a mic/DI Box/iRig-Pre setup same as the resonator uke.

All the (very) basic tracks down I did a bit level adjustment, added a bit of reverb and then left them alone. Getting the finished track exported out of the iPad presents some problems, but I settled for exporting into iMovie with the plan of adding a video. I've uploaded a mix to SoundClound and Google+, but I wanted a YouTube version as well.

The introduction of the movie is made up of Hipstarmatic pictures with a Ken Burns effect.
 The 'virtual' version of myself was created in an app called Morpho.

 To get my head to appear to be singing I had to export the vocal track to my old laptop, set a mic up in front of the studio speakers and then hit record whilst the vocal track is playing in iTunes.

I've still away to go to get a truly 'uncanny valley' version of me appearing to sing, but practice makes perfect.

I took the resulting short videos and pasted them over the full-mix vetsion of the song.
Lining everything up took some time I can tell you.
Once the video was complete I fed it through the 8mm app then sent it upthe tube.

I've got go to sleep now.... ZZZZZZ...

To be continued....

Small Things (for Claire)

I started trying to put my new found understanding of the Circle of Fifths to some use today  yesterday.
By lunchtime I had a chord sequence together.
The lyric has been written for a couple of months and originally the backing had a very 'lounge Jazz' feel to it.

I recorded it during the afternoon.
Then experimented with making a video for it.

Here it is:

it's for an ex.

Ignorant Ornithology: The Moth.

I believe this to be a moth:

Seaside Song & Dance Gynaecologist.

I let my childhood secret ambition out of the dusty room it's been in for about 51 years now here:

Hardcore Uker.

Well, why not?

I have the requisite musical abilities i.e. being able to sing a song and play the uke at the same time with occasional hilarious excursions into kazoo world.
The dancing's a bit of a poser and no mistake.

Like most foolishly drunken (or drugged) young men, I've bust the odd move or two out on the floor.
Used to enjoy it as well.
I think the style of dancing a song & dance man might require may be somewhat different to the extravagant 'free-style' flayling-about I used to call dancing.
Tap-dancing, now there's a worthwhile skill to attempt to acquire.
Lessons are a shocking price though.

Of no lesser concern is my wardrobe.
In the childhood vision I wore a stripy blazer and a straw boater.
These kind of items bring premium prices in retro boutiques and I'm not in that market.
I considered what item I could get that might signal my ability to provide a song & (potential) dance for the entertainment of those who are bored.

I have it!
It cost me £2:50 on eBay:

My God! I look like a gynaecologist.

Bow ties are a bit weird though, aren't they?

When I do decide what to do about the dancing aspect at least I know I've got the legs for it:

My God! I still look like a gynaecologist.

Brimham Rocks. Burn Baby, Burn.

The comments on the 'A Photo Opportunity Presents Its Self' found me thinking of Nidderdale and, more specifically, Brimham Rocks.

I was born about four miles away from this odd place.

In those pre-National Trust days the site was owned by a bloke known locally as Essy.

Occasionally, usually when the sun was out, Essy would sit in a small wooden shelter at the end of the track leading to the rocks and collect a small fee from visitors, I think it was about a shilling, for the privilege of wandering about the place.

Most of the time he wasn't there though.

The tribe I belonged to all those years ago would periodically band together and go bilberry picking at Brimham.

I would retun home with my hands and tongue indelibly stained purple .

For many of my growing up years regular motor-bike trials were held there.

Just try riding a motor-bike there nowadays.

I dare you.

During my heavy MTB phase I attempted to ride up to the rocks and was pounced on by a bearded NT jobs-worth driving a Suzuki 4x4 (olive green, natch).

He proceeded to give a lecture on the erosion caused by bicycles.

In my response to his spouting I used the word irony in the correct context for the first, and probably last, time.

A television drama, Tom Grattan's War, used Brimham Rocks for some scenes.
Through the magic of television the protagonists would run past the rocks and down to the beach and restless ocean.

For a while, after the series had aired, confused visitors to the area would stop local inhabitants (like me) asking 'where can I find the beach?'

All us locals would reply by pointing to the East saying 'It's 70 miles that way' then, pointing to the West, "or 70 miles that way'.

Oh, how we laughed one and all in those far off days.

Incidentally, during the filming of Tom Grattan's War, my Granny was put in a flat spin on seeing an unannounced platoon of WW 1 soldiers marching past her *isolated cottage on Stripe Lane.

For a moment she believed the boys had finally made it home.

She enjoyed the series though.

I've witnessed some amazing feats of climbing at Brimham.

More often than not by a guy called Wally.

I would watch carefully where he found hand and foot holds as he danced up the rock face.

When I went for the same holds they seemed to have vanished.

I wonder what happened to Wally?

(I'm not in a rush to find out BTW).

This brings me to one of the reasons for this post.

Mr. Banished mentioned that some scenes from one of The Omen films were shot there.

This reminded me of Burn.

Burn, how can I put this in way that will neither offend anyone, living or dead, or leave me open to being sued?

Burn spent a good proportion of his waking hours either chemically or herbally 'refreshed' and, much to the amusement of those around him, lived in a reality somewhat removed from the actual fact.

Not that we, his friends, were 'unrefreshed' it's just Burn took it to another level, and stayed there.

I am slumped a squalid bed-sit, not mine I hasten to add, I lived in a proper house with windows and running water.

Others, like me, but unlike me, are also slumped around the room.

We were digging Rip Rig & Panic maaaannnn.

The door burst open causing the occupants of the room to dash in headlong animation for the various precious wraps and bags they'd invested their disposable income on.

Bad move BTW.
Leave your stash exactly where it is if you find yourself visited by the redoubtable forces of law and order.

'What, me officer? No, I have no illegal substances about my person, unlike these drug fiends who kidnapped me and forced me, against my will i might add, to ingest their foul concoctions and perform actions so abhorrent to my nature that I shall spend the rest of my days ruminating on the follies I have been exposed to in this room.

Can I go home now, please?'

Anyway, it wasn't 'dem Babylon, it was Burn.

Burn is breathless with excitement.

He has cycled at breakneck speed (about 11 miles as the Burn flies) to deliver his news.

He'd just been to Brimham Rocks and seen the Bee Gees!

The room became strangely silent, all attention on Burn.

'You've fuckin' lost it Burn'.

I can't remember who said that, but it seemed to be the general consensus.

Burn insisted and insisted he'd seen the Bee Gees at Brimham Rocks.

Eventually, in the face of merciless taunting, Burn did 'loose it' and stormed out of the squalid bed-sit which, if memory serves, was actually his.

Oh, how we laughed one and all in those far off days.

One Saturday morning, watching SwapShop with my children, Noel Edmunds (I may be wrong, it might have been that Scofield fellow) announces the first British TV airing of the latest Bee Gees video for their song 'You Win Again':

Blink and you'd miss it, but the Bee Gees were most definitely at Brimham Rocks.

Some time later I ran into a very 'refreshed' Burn (pills by now, lots of pills).

'You were right about the Bee Gees being at Brimham Rocks!'

'Wha' dafuq U talkin' 'bout? Yer' fuckin' mental you'

This is the last conversation I had with Burn.

I don't need anyone to tell me what happened to Burn.

I know without looking.

*When my Granny lived there Swallow Cottage looked nothing like it does in the Estate Agent's ad.
It didn't have a bathroom or inside toilet for a start.

Banana 45

I'm worried about this banana.

It's been in the same position for 3 days (it's a little bit browner now).

I can't bananas.

That is, I can eat bananas, but my body rejects them alarmingly quickly via the same route as they when in.

Doesn't really matter as I'd have been reluctant to eat this particular banana anyway.

Who placed this banana here?

Did someone drop it, then another someone pick it up and place it in its current position,

I may never know.

Truly the world is filled with mystery.

The Photograph.

I was attending to the duties todays Modern Cloak-Room Attendant has to attend to when providing Premier Cloak-Room Attendant Services to, let's say, a charity ball (in aid of something or other).

I was buffing up the Cloak-Room counter top, having given it a good blast of Mr. Sheen (now with added something or other).

Hmmm...  Shiny, also silky smoooooth.

I was interrupted in my shiny counter stroking reverie by a photographer.
The photographer was there to take pictures of the guests.
He had the works with him.
Tin-foil umbrella with a flash bulb in it.
A special backdrop for the subject to stand in front of.
He had some fancy dress clothing for the guests wear  there by adding an element of amusement to the finished photo.
He would then have to sell them the photo.

I set up a 4' table for him and coved it with a green baize cloth.
He put his printer on it.
Here we see him examining his whopping great camera:

All well and good, but back to his interruption of my joy.

"Could you just stand in front of the screen while I just check everything's set up right?"

"No problem, sir".  

I stand in front of the screen, he aims the camera at me, and the flash goes.

The photographer examines the camera's view screen.

"Just one more, please".

"Happy to oblige."

All over.

I continued preparing my work area.

I gave the shiny counter another stroke.

The photographer came up to the Cloak-Room window and handed me a framed photograph:

It came as a bit of a shock I can tell you.
That's naked that is.

Have you noticed how you can look at your self in a mirror, but still never see yourself.

Photographs are different.

It reminded me of my first school picture:

There's, give or take a month or three, 50 years between these two pictures.

I tried to think about what on earth I could proffer in the way of advice to that happy little lad.

I'm still trying.

How To Buy A Guitar.... (if you're into that sort of thing).

Mr. Mick's Bourgeois guitar had developed a distressing problem in the fret-board area.
I won't elaborate as any description would soon deteriorate into modes of communication only Mystic Rog or Mr. Mick understand.
All that needs to be understood is that Mr. Mick asked Mystic Rog and myself to accompany him to the Acoustic Music Company shop in Brighton.
(Slap-up fish n' chips nosh included).
"Yes, yes I will go".

Getting in and out of Brighton by private auto-ma-car is tedious.

We arrive in the Kemp Town area of Brighton and enter the unprepossessing shop.
This shop sells high-end guitars and mandolins full stop.
No strings, no plecturms, no capos.
In a nutshell, this narrow product range is aimed at keeping time wasting riff raff out.
And should you want to buy a guitar or mandolin here, bring money, lots of money, and then some more money.
You will need it.

Mr. Mick explains the problem with his guitar to the repair guy in the shop.
The repair guy seems to completely understand what Mr. Mick has said to him and takes the guitar into a cupboard and closes the door behind him.

Another person appears, the 'owner' I believe.
He and Mr. Mick discuss various guitars.
Mr. Mick says he's thinking of buying a Gibson L200 Emmylou Harris edition.
The shop owner derides all Gibson products and the L200 in particular.
Mr. Mick's Gibson nostalgia bubble takes a hit.

While we're are waiting it would be silly not to try the exotic range of guitars in the shop.

Here we see Mr. Mick surrounded by guitars, each more perfect (and expensive) than the next as Mystic Rog looks on and listens:

Mr. Mick pulled out all his test tunes:

Anji (if you call yourself a guitarist you should be able to play this. Both Mr. Mick and Mystic Rog can play it.)

Classic Gas

After a while I began to notice that I could actually tell the different sound qualities of each guitar.

After a while it became apparent that one guitar stood out above the others.

I think it was a Ken Franklin Elsie 

In the meantime, Mystic Rog has fallen in lurrve with a 1920's Gibson Mandolin:

We break for lunch at the Regency Fish Restaurant:

Before we went back to collect Mr. Mick's repaired guitar we called in at GAK music shop.

Surprise, surprise they stock Gibson acoustic guitars and have a model very similar to the one Mr. Mick thinks he would like.

He tries it.

We are all three agreed.

It's shite.

Mr. Mick's nostalgia bubble bursts.

Back to the proper guitar shop.

Mr. Mick tries his adjusted guitar.

He doesn't feel the problem has been solved.

He trades it in, gives the shop owner a VERY LARGE AMOUNT of money and buys the Ken Franklin Elsie.

Mystic Rog continued his lurrrve affair with the Gibson mandolin:

The astute will notice that this shop did not sell ukuleles.

Truly I am a saint.

OutaSpaceMan Being: 55. (Interim Findings)

Yes, that's a genuine Ivy Arch cushion.

Harriet made me a gingerbread SpaceMan.

Linda made me a Happy Birthday Cake.

The Tiny-Headed Boy (Key/OSM)

Lyric taken from the Hooting Yard posting:

The Tiny-Headed Boy