48 HOURS… TAPPING MY FINGERS
I used to love my own company. I really relished and looked forward to time on my own. When everyone would just fuck off out of the house and leave me at peace with my thoughts.
I guess I still do. Last weekend I managed to cut myself off from the entire outside world for a whole 48 hours. Well, in truth the outside world kind of cut itself off from me too as it didn’t invite me anywhere or entice me with anything remotely tempting.
It might have been a good opportunity to write some music, write some promotional stuff for this big “David Bowie” gig we’re putting on or maybe even just masturbate non-stop until literally, the cows come home. In actual fact I did absolute jack shit fuck all.
I listened to some music, a few podcasts and read quite a lot. I got quite drunk, smoked far too many cigarettes and ate almost exclusively mince and ice cream (not together). I watched a bit of TV and was almost tempted at one point to go out for a walk. I didn’t.
I pondered why my old iPod won’t work on new iTunes, which made me angry so I stopped doing that. I had some Lemsips as I have a touch of cold and I had a couple of long baths.
What I should have been doing is plastering the town with posters and sending off press releases. As anybody who has ever promoted a big gig before may be aware that 3 weekends before the date is a pretty fucking important weekend. I didn’t.
Instead I stumbled around the place like a drunken robot set on autopilot.
Still, at least I’m honest about it. It wasn’t so much a case of that I couldn’t be bothered but more a case of not knowing where to start. The posters are late coming from the printers which has distracted me somewhat and I have done this kind of thing so many times I guess I no longer find a thrill and optimism inside myself any more to promote it. The night itself will be amazing, I’m sure of that. We might just break even on it if we’re lucky. I’ll be over the moon if we do. I don’t do this for money. I do it for the love of music – but it is usually a lot of hard work for little reward and having promoted gigs in Newcastle for the past 5 years I think it’s time to give it a long well-earned rest and just concentrate on my own music.
If that had been the case last weekend I could have become an ‘artist’ wandering alone around my flat contemplating life’s little woes, like Morrissey or the man from The Lighthouse Family. Like a lonely but free butterfly, stopping only for a moment to admire the beauty of a single golden buttercup in a sea of lush green grass… but I didn’t.
…Instead I thought 'FOR FUCK’S SAKE….!!! Why won’t my OLD iPod work on this NEW iTunes???!!! Yes… I have my iPhone – but I don’t wanna use that as my iPod… surprise surprise I wanna use MY FUCKING IPOD!!! I spend £300 on this piece of supposedly fantastic gadgetry only for it to become cuntingly obsolete a few years down the line. Fucking hell, I have a fantastic Walkman my big brother bought me in nineteen ninety fucking eight and it still fucking functions as a fucking portable music player for fuck’s sake. I wouldn’t have minded if I hadn’t in 2006 spent £300 on a 60gb iPod only for me to fall asleep on a park bench after having visited the amazing Razzmatazz Club in Barcelona and have it fucking nicked by some bearded Spanish cunt* and so 6 months later spend another £300 on an 80gb iPod only to discover that 4 years later it is fucking impossible to use! When I find that fucking Steve Jobs he’s going to be sorry he was born!!!!'
This reminds me, that whilst I was on my own and a little bit drunk, I emailed Richard Herring. Not to let him know how often I am stealing his jokes but more to rant at someone about the worries of being an independent musician and record label owner. Some of the more hawk-eyed among you may have noticed that I did not write a blog last week. Well this is why I must do it every week otherwise I end up telling my worries to someone I respect and admire rather than the idiot world at large. When I awoke at 3pm the following day I was surprised to see he had sent me a nice and very polite reply. That was nice of him. Next week I will either write another blog or send Peter Kay an email about how stadium rock acts like Status Quo kind of get on my nerves with the contradiction of repetitiveness and mass appeal.
Stop Martin having a nervous breakdown. Buy tickets to see him, Captain Trips and “DAVID BOWIE” here: http://www.wegottickets.com/event/121285
*This is not racist; he was bearded, he was Spanish and he was a cunt.