I cause the hand to falter
I dissolve deep-set resolve.
I am the halter that restricts
The gallop of your hooves.
I declare my opposition
To each heartfelt proposition;
I undermine all innovation
With consequential whispers
And smirk at hesitation.
I rot the roots of confidence;
My sneer is the frost
That withers new shoots.
I thrive on fear,
the trembling hand,
The quivering voice
The nervous tic,
The shiver.
I oppose each fresh decision
Regardless of conviction
With derision
And you will find
That I will win.
No doubt.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Friday, October 15, 2010
My musical career
I should have had a career in music. Everyone who knows me well says so. Trouble is, I can't play an instrument and I certainly can't sing. But I love music. It has been one love that has never waned in my life.
My grandparents, being Italian, ran the Central Cafe in my South Wales village. Now there were two main advantages to this; free ice-cream and unlimited music. The cafe had a jukebox. All the discarded 45s came to me. Each month I'd receive the records, with huge holes punched through them, by the greatest bands around. My mother swears I learnt to read fluently by the age of three as a result of finding and playing the correct records I loved. I'd like to think the first word I learnt to read was Parlophone. I had distinct favourites. Loy Orbison's Pletty Woman (I couldn't say my Rs), The Kinks' Sunny Afternoon (I took great delight in singing "I've got a Big fat mama" to my mother who would always feign anger),The Small Faces' All Or Nothing ( sadly a sentiment I've adopted throughout my adult life) and of course anything by The Beatles. John Lennon and Paul McCartney have been my most consistent companions throughout my life. They were idols to me then and I would spend hours staring at the cover of With The Beatles while playing track after track stacked high in my radiogram. Not a bad musical education I think you'll agree,
Being half Welsh and half Italian you'd think I'd be predisposed to singing well, maybe if i was called Luciano Bassey it could have worked but it wasn't to be. The singing capabilities must have been in the half of the nationalities' genes I didn't receive. I should have taken the hint when I was specifically told to just mime in the Primary School at five. I was the only child at school given a triangle to play in the choir. It scarred me deeply but it didn't stop me from trying. My head is full of lyrics. I mainly blame this for my inability to absorb any new knowledge in past twenty years. I still sing every day, however, every song seems to be in the wrong key and my versions end up being strained renditions with chin outstretched and all end up sounding like failed karaoke attempts at Prince's Kiss. I have contemplated singing all songs Johnny Cash style but this similarly doesn't seem to work for me. I end up sounding like a blocked drain. I should instead have been a musician.
Now when I claim I can't play a musical instrument, that's not strictly true. In Carmarthen carnival, 1976, my friends and I paraded the streets performing with our kazoo band. Our rendition of In The Mood was nothing short of phenomenal and the evening ended with a rousing Tequila where we downed a short at the end of each chant. The kazoo never worked properly after that even after I cleaned the vomit out of it.
The one instrument I have always yearned to play is the guitar. I nagged and nagged for lessons as a child and sure enough one day the nagging paid off and my father took me to lessons with a man called Don from Gorslas. Now it seems that Don used to play in a band in the early 60s and I even had a copy of their one hit in my radiogram at home. I was genuinely excited. First lesson, Don takes me into his living room, shows me how to hold the guitar, proceeds to draw three chords on a piece of paper (G D7 and C) and then tells me to practise for three hours. He then joins my father in the bar. It turns out the reason Don had been specifically selected for my lessons was due to the fact that his post rock star career was as a pub landlord. As a result, my father had a free pass every Tuesday night to spend 4 hours or so in the pub while leaving me, tongue contorted, practising away in isolation in a back room with no advise whatsoever. This continued for a couple of years and the only thing that changed from the description I have given in subsequent weeks was the list of chords i was given in the opening seconds before the disappearance into the bar. I suppose though that I should be grateful that I survived the 20 mile drunken drives home every week. Anyway, as a result of all of this, I developed a particular style of playing which was enthusiastic and distinctive and always resulted in bleeding fingers. I still have a vast repertoire of chords but I have no knowledge of how these could be combined. In the days before Internet tabs I was taught just four songs by Don (i.e. given the chord sequence) before he joined my Dad in the bar). These were Lily the Pink, Sloop John B, Wake up little Susie and best of all Johnny B Goode. Now as this list contains some of the greatest songs of all time, I can't complain.
The down side of this was that my lessons were put to good use by my elder sister who used to put on shows for my parents using me as a stooge. I vividly remember performing as Sonny to her Cher, Peters to her Lee and Abi Ofarim to her Esther. Thank God my family weren't rich enough to possess a Super 8 cine camera.
To be continued
My grandparents, being Italian, ran the Central Cafe in my South Wales village. Now there were two main advantages to this; free ice-cream and unlimited music. The cafe had a jukebox. All the discarded 45s came to me. Each month I'd receive the records, with huge holes punched through them, by the greatest bands around. My mother swears I learnt to read fluently by the age of three as a result of finding and playing the correct records I loved. I'd like to think the first word I learnt to read was Parlophone. I had distinct favourites. Loy Orbison's Pletty Woman (I couldn't say my Rs), The Kinks' Sunny Afternoon (I took great delight in singing "I've got a Big fat mama" to my mother who would always feign anger),The Small Faces' All Or Nothing ( sadly a sentiment I've adopted throughout my adult life) and of course anything by The Beatles. John Lennon and Paul McCartney have been my most consistent companions throughout my life. They were idols to me then and I would spend hours staring at the cover of With The Beatles while playing track after track stacked high in my radiogram. Not a bad musical education I think you'll agree,
Being half Welsh and half Italian you'd think I'd be predisposed to singing well, maybe if i was called Luciano Bassey it could have worked but it wasn't to be. The singing capabilities must have been in the half of the nationalities' genes I didn't receive. I should have taken the hint when I was specifically told to just mime in the Primary School at five. I was the only child at school given a triangle to play in the choir. It scarred me deeply but it didn't stop me from trying. My head is full of lyrics. I mainly blame this for my inability to absorb any new knowledge in past twenty years. I still sing every day, however, every song seems to be in the wrong key and my versions end up being strained renditions with chin outstretched and all end up sounding like failed karaoke attempts at Prince's Kiss. I have contemplated singing all songs Johnny Cash style but this similarly doesn't seem to work for me. I end up sounding like a blocked drain. I should instead have been a musician.
Now when I claim I can't play a musical instrument, that's not strictly true. In Carmarthen carnival, 1976, my friends and I paraded the streets performing with our kazoo band. Our rendition of In The Mood was nothing short of phenomenal and the evening ended with a rousing Tequila where we downed a short at the end of each chant. The kazoo never worked properly after that even after I cleaned the vomit out of it.
The one instrument I have always yearned to play is the guitar. I nagged and nagged for lessons as a child and sure enough one day the nagging paid off and my father took me to lessons with a man called Don from Gorslas. Now it seems that Don used to play in a band in the early 60s and I even had a copy of their one hit in my radiogram at home. I was genuinely excited. First lesson, Don takes me into his living room, shows me how to hold the guitar, proceeds to draw three chords on a piece of paper (G D7 and C) and then tells me to practise for three hours. He then joins my father in the bar. It turns out the reason Don had been specifically selected for my lessons was due to the fact that his post rock star career was as a pub landlord. As a result, my father had a free pass every Tuesday night to spend 4 hours or so in the pub while leaving me, tongue contorted, practising away in isolation in a back room with no advise whatsoever. This continued for a couple of years and the only thing that changed from the description I have given in subsequent weeks was the list of chords i was given in the opening seconds before the disappearance into the bar. I suppose though that I should be grateful that I survived the 20 mile drunken drives home every week. Anyway, as a result of all of this, I developed a particular style of playing which was enthusiastic and distinctive and always resulted in bleeding fingers. I still have a vast repertoire of chords but I have no knowledge of how these could be combined. In the days before Internet tabs I was taught just four songs by Don (i.e. given the chord sequence) before he joined my Dad in the bar). These were Lily the Pink, Sloop John B, Wake up little Susie and best of all Johnny B Goode. Now as this list contains some of the greatest songs of all time, I can't complain.
The down side of this was that my lessons were put to good use by my elder sister who used to put on shows for my parents using me as a stooge. I vividly remember performing as Sonny to her Cher, Peters to her Lee and Abi Ofarim to her Esther. Thank God my family weren't rich enough to possess a Super 8 cine camera.
To be continued
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