24 posts tagged “this morning call”

...in the form of a video blog for a change, and yes, I do say the word "penis" in ths first video.... such is life in front of the camera!

Here's part one:

and here's part two- what a treat!!

Here I am at Manchester's In The City music convention.... and later, drunk at the same.... always the way!

Thanks!

Ben

Author: Rick and Tom from ListentoManchester.co.uk

Published on: Monday, 26 Oct 2009

“One idea we wanted to explore was using projections which allude to the themes of the album and also create some interesting visual textures within which to frame Ben. So we have images of the sea which link to the track “Tides”, the hills and mountains which link to the track “In Country”, and the evening sky which link to the track “The Observatory”, explains Lisa.

I wanted a minimalist feel and also to explore the use of white light against skin in some of the photographs. Lisa and I were inspired by this picture called “The Secular Man” by David Bowie. (yes, that David Bowie!) The figure in the artwork appears to be in a semi-religious position, arms outstretched, head hung to one side, like an image from the crucifixion. Yet the picture is called “The Secular Man”, which seems ironic. It was quite an interesting idea and one that I felt worked well with the more downbeat elements of the music I was writing at the time. We also incorporated some of the slides from the projector we had hired. Despite the apparent seriousness of intent behind these photos, they were immense fun to work on!

“Ben explained how the theme of time passing is a very important one on the “All Quiet At 4AM” album, whether it’s references to specific times of the day, or long periods of time linked by major life events such as births or deaths”, said Matthew, another Black Cherry photographer. “We alluded to this photographically by producing some interesting time-lapse effects with multiple images of Ben in different positions across the frame.”

“We also wanted to produce the photographs ‘live’, rather than relying too heavily on effects produced by Photoshop or other image manipulation software.”

Is writing fun?
Well… yes and no.
We often hear about authors who can’t stand the creative process behind writing yet feel compelled to do it for whatever reason, whether that reason is to achieve some sort of literary catharsis, an obsessive compulsion to put pen to paper, or simply the need to generate the next pay cheque.

I was intrigued recently by an article in The Guardian which asked a selection of popular authors what motivated them to keep writing and if they actually enjoyed the creative process. I’ll come on to some of their responses later.

Some of these authors inhabit the same sort of world that I do, when I’m sat in the studio try to create the latest “This Morning Call” masterpiece. What exactly drives me to continue to try and write songs? Why, even at the expense of spending time with friends, or being usefully employed in some other gainful employment, or spending valuable time mending the broken back gate or painting the bathroom, do I insist on spending at least a proportion of everyday sat twiddling in the studio or playing the guitar in an often fruitless attempt to “get something good down”.

Indeed, it not as if I could say writing music was paying the bills. You have to be incredibly fortuitous, talented and involved in a genre within which there is sufficient commercial interest to actually generate any significant cash from music. Even then, you have to hope that you will tap into national radio play, and have sufficient marketing clout from a limited number of ailing “major” labels or big independents to stand any chance of reaching a large audience. Arguably, the arrival of social networking has really only succeeded in diluting the market with “average” bands that has made it even harder for quality to get noticed.

Yet, despite the odds, I persevere. And looking back over some of the crappy tunes that I’ve come up with in the past, God knows why! Yes, faithful reader, there have been some real clangers that I thought were the bees knees at the time. It can be rather sobering to go back an revisit some of your earlier works, especially with the dawning realisation that you probably sent at least a selection of these out as demos or at the very least insisted that they were played at a mates house party! I wish I could once again share the delights of “Do you Feel Loved?” – an awkwardly camp and overblown disco classic that I can safely say has been shelved forever.  Woe betide anyone who asks me to dust off such classics as “Second Sight”, which despite boasting a lovely string line, has a schmaltzy, meandering vocal and, lets face it, lyrically is a load of random ideas thrown together completely without focus. I completely revised my approach to writing lyrics following this debacle. One of the few benefits of finishing these tunes, despite their flaws, was the fact that I now knew how not to do it!

I think I’ve been trying to write songs ever since primary school, and with such a deep rooted, psychological need, I can’t imagine myself ever being able to stop. I can genuinely feel that my writing has improved. In fact, I think its sitting back and listening to something that you’ve worked on that has really come together that is my favourite part of the creative process. I’ve sometimes found myself sitting down at the computer to work on an arrangement and just wished that the damn thing was finished already, and then I can have my moment, the “last listen before bed” as I like to call it. That phrase makes sense when you realise that most of the writing and recording happens between the hours of 9pm and midnight. Practicalities dictate that one has to think about ones neighbours. In fact, I’m amazed that there has only been one occasion when they have banged on the wall to shut me up!

So what do some of these authors have to say about their own experiences? Of course, all of these guys are writing professionally and therefore have a big advantage over me in two areas – they sell books, they have a measure of critical acclaim, and don’t have day jobs. I wonder how that changes things…

Hari Kunzru ....
I get great pleasure from writing, but not always, or even usually. Writing a novel is largely an exercise in psychological discipline – trying to balance your project on your chin while negotiating a minefield of depression and freak-out. Beginning is daunting; being in the middle makes you feel like Sisyphus; ending sometimes comes with the disappointment that this finite collection of words is all that remains of your infinitely rich idea. Along the way, there are the pitfalls of self-disgust, boredom, disorientation and a lingering sense of inadequacy, occasionally alternating with episodes of hysterical self-congratulation as you fleetingly believe you've nailed that particular sentence and are surely destined to join the ranks of the immortals, only to be confronted the next morning with an appalling farrago of clichés that no sane human could read without vomiting. But when you're in the zone, spinning words like plates, there's a deep sense of satisfaction and, yes, enjoyment…....

Will Self....
I gain nothing but pleasure from writing fiction; short stories are foreplay, novellas are heavy petting – but novels are the full monte. Frankly, if I didn't enjoy writing novels I wouldn't do it – the world hardly needs any more and I can think of numerous more useful things someone with my skills could be engaged in. As it is, the immersion in parallel but believable worlds satisfies all my demands for vicarious experience, voyeurism and philosophic calithenics. I even enjoy the mechanics of writing, the dull timpani of the typewriter keys, the making of notes – many notes – and most seductive of all: the buying of stationery. That the transmogrification of my beautiful thoughts into a grossly imperfect prose is always the end result doesn't faze me: all novels are only a version- there is no Platonic ideal. But I'd go further still: fiction is my way of thinking about and relating to the world; if I don't write I'm not engaged in any praxis, and lose all purchase.....

Please visit the guardian website – there’s a few more of these – unfortunately I haven’t got the reference or the credits right here now.

Ben

I don’t know about my French (see title), but it was one hell of a big fish that arrived at the diner table on Sunday afternoon, as we sat in a pub in Edale, feet up and smiling with a rosy glow that comes from a day spent in the hills. Let me recount our journey to you. Some of this is true...

Edale is a small village, nay hamlet, which occupies the valley basin of the vale of Edale, marking the start of the Pennine Way and home to a great many more localised rambles and scrambles, hills, vales, bogs and hitherto undescribed natural wonders. Its rolling hills are home to a great many rabbits, hares and sheep, birds and other such creatures existing unspoilt and as nature intended. Water falls in quantity from great slabs of limestone, and legions of Sunday walkers, motivated by the pursuit of large open spaces, trample and climb there way to the top of the valley. Those that survive are greeted by exposed, boggy moorland and impressive views of the surrounding farmland and peaks.

Let me introduce our group. Ahead, walked Mr. Daniel Smith, a one time trumpeter with This Morning Call and infamous northern wit and impresario. To my left, Mr. Lee Marks, wannabe film-maker and critic, and renown purveyor of Tasmanian dark ales. To my right, Ms. Julia Madien, who made a name for herself singing musical numbers to orphans during Vietnam and has seduced her way into some of Manchester’s finest bordellos and boudoirs with only a stocking and a hat box to her name.

The clouds lifted and although the sun tried to warm us, it was to limited effect as we set out from the village car park, boots and waterproofs at the ready.  Although I insisted on travelling “map-free”, we felt no fear as we plunged into the unknown. It wasn’t long before the hills began to close in around us and we felt the firm hand of nature by our sides. Not for the faint hearted are the rough crags and stony precipices of the Grindlebrook. There are tales of goblins and trolls dwelling in them there hills, and the hills themselves have eyes, ready to trap a unsure hiker with a loose stone or sucking bog. Maybe an evil half-breed mutant with a gun and an unhealthy obsession with breast milk hides behind the next Tor. But we didn’t let such thoughts trouble us.

We scrambled our way up the valley, and with each turn the ground rose before us, great boulders were strewn across our path, and soon the time came to forge the stream itself. Ms. Maiden leapt gracefully from stone to stone, while Mr Smith and Mr Marks satisfied their imaginations by regaling our party with tales from Middle Earth. The climb became steeper as we neared the summit, near vertical in parts, and with the ever present danger of slipping and falling we had to take extra care, only allowing ourselves to stop for a few moments before toiling upwards, hearts in mouths.

The summit brought with it a fabulous view across the vale and an opportunity for Mr. Marks to compose a “hero shot” in his head, for his latest “blockbuster in development”, and, of course, with the wonders of modern technology, he received a phone call from the bank on his mobile as we began to traverse the hillock, apparently chasing a bad debt. “Now is not the time for banking”, I remarked, “Not when there are hills to be tamed and pies to be pursued. Onwards!”

The downward passage was blocked, so we had to take a more treacherous route on our return, most of which was conducted via the method of a rolling, or sliding, descent. That’s a technical term first described by Edmund Percival Hillary in 1953 as the best and quickest way to descend from a great height. Luckily, the soft, moorland grass provided an ample opportunity to get a wet bottom, and three dozen pratfalls later the descent was complete. We found ourselves returned safely to the village, and, of course, the local pub.

Upon entry to the pub, it was immediately apparent that we had found a haven. We quickly made ourselves at home. Food was ordered in quantity. We feasted on cooked meats, soup, crusty bread and chipped potatoes. Mr. Marks did indeed order one of the King’s own haddock, and it was a prize catch indeed. At almost fifteen feet long, the young gentleman proved his metal and polished the monster off in record time. He was followed in no uncertain terms by Ms. Maiden and Mr. Smith, who both consumed a whole sheep each. A royal feast!

And so, with a heavy heart and a sore toe, we removed ourselves from the vale and returned to Mancunia. Our heavy eyes and tired limbs sent us quickly to bed, to dream of hill and vale, brook and stream. To wake in the knowledge of a Sunday well spent. God bless this green and bountiful kingdom.

Its festival season once again, and as usual the City of Manchester manages to serve up a healthy platter of local talent all crammed into the bank holiday weekend in venues around the Northern Quarter.

Its called the MAPS Festival and it’s the brainchild of several local promoters who have all clubbed together to ensure all the major venues in the area are flying the same flag. Basically, it’s “In The City” without the industry bullshit.

We were asked quite along time ago if we wanted to be involved in the festival and since its always nice to be asked, we agreed to participate. We are coming to the end of a run of six or seven gigs, many of which have been in Manchester, and which started with the Thriller Killer gig back in February. We felt it would be nice to be onboard with a well promoted, well organised (I hope) event to bring the campaign to a conclusion. The remaining gigs include a set at The Ruby Lounge on the 21^st June, the Coventry gig at the Kasbah, and a show in Glossop on the 31^st August, if memory serves. The time to retreat, write, record and take stock once again will soon be upon us. So really, if you fancy catching us live, you should get yourself down to MAPS and check it out before its too late. I’m sure it’ll be one of the gigs of the year.

Our exact stage and venue time is: 10pm (ish), The Mint Lounge (Oldham St, a few doors up from the Night and Day Café), on Sunday 25^th May.

And yes, it is a bank holiday weekend, so there’s no excuse not to raise a glass and join us along with pretty much every local band of note, and party.

It’ll be interesting to see how the general public take to the MAPS festival idea. In recent years, Manchester has enjoyed several summer events aimed at promoting local music. Aside from the obvious ITC related activity, we’ve been lucky enough to have enjoyed the D-Percussion Festival, which really was quite a major event and also free. I had the misfortune of being hungover at a previous D-Percussion and I remember it all got rather too busy and hot at about 6pm in the evening and I had to leave. They certainly cram them into the Castlefield arena, that’s for sure. The event is also memorable because Lee was sick after drinking three sips from a can of Stella at 11am in the morning. Although this was a few years ago now, and I trust he knows better! Why were we drinking Stella at that time? Well, you couldn’t take your own beer in so the cans had to be drunk before entry because the price of beer on site was beyond tolerable.

I remember on one occasion, there was a street festival around the Northern Qtr with some large outdoor stages, and the line up included 808 State and Kinesis, amongst others. Mr. Scruff normally gets his tea-stained fingers involved in some capacity at these events, being a local lad. I think I remember seeing him at D-Percussion a few years back. Mr. Scruff had a few years of being the best thing since sliced bread around these parts, but I could help but think he was a little overrated, and certainly when I saw his Glastonbury show last year I was a little disappointed. Too downtempo for the Saturday night.

I know there is no getting away from it, but in the end these “local band” festivals do rely on the band bringing their mates along to generate a bit of atmosphere, and I must admit that it's also rather galling to have to put up with yet another great event where we are not being paid. In fact, with the cost of transport and rehearsals, it is costing us money to do the gig. The whole “get the band to sell tickets and only pay them for ticket stubs returned” thing may make life easier for promoters but it essentially means that the band have to do most of the leg work and frankly that annoys me.

If you are doing a lot of gigs, this becomes impossible to manage. Its not my day job, don't forget. IMO, if the band are willing to play for free, then the gig should be free. Otherwise, they should get a fee, even if it simply covers expenses. I imagine the only people who will be making any money from this shebang will be the bars, because everybody likes a drink. Why don’t the bars put their respective hands in their pockets and help pay for these events? Afterall, we are the people who frequent these establishments and keep them in business week after week. Stop ripping us off. When we were at the Troubadour in London, it cost me £6 for a gin - that was more than the ticket price for the show. How is that justified?

What we need is a hit single then we wont have to worry about this sort of thing…!

MAPS tickets in advance (i.e. the ones that we will get a cut from) are available from the band – just drop us an email – and are priced £6. I know I'm moaning about the ticket thing, but I really do think this will be a great event.

Here’s the full line-up: