January 03 2008

Continuing the work theme, and understanding the mentality of advertisers, here’s another festive commercial tale.

A well-known manufacturer of crisps (that’s potato chips for those of you a few thousand miles west of Cork) decided to have some festive music for their ads this Christmas. I was asked to record 4 familiar Christmas tunes in a ‘Contemporary’ style that ‘reflected’ the brand (!!!!). I’ve been doing this kind of work long enough to know that it’s a waste of time to just steam ahead and record all 4 tunes. I record one and get the feedback and only then record all four with the requests applied to all. I wait. I know that the deadline is looming so I call the agency to see if they have heard anything. They haven’t. They promise to call the client and get back to me that afternoon. The agency ring back. I get my pad and pencil to write the comments down. The piece I selected from the 4 to start with was ‘Jingle Bells’, incidentally.

“I have the feedback”, says Dave.

“I’m ready with my pen,” I say.

“They think it’s, er…..too Christmassy”, says Dave.

‘It’s fucking Jingle Bells”, I say. “Hang on, let me just write this down in case I forget……’too Christmassy”.

Quite frankly, you couldn’t make it up.

I have spent the last few months recording electric guitars the forthcoming Album by the Tangent. Called, as far as I’m aware, ‘Not as good as the Book’ a rather ambitious double album and novel! I sing lead on a couple of tunes, or at least I did last time I heard it. I have yet to hear the finished version. I enjoyed the experience and played considerably more guitar than I would on my own albums. Again not sure just how much is still there and audible on the finished version. There’s talk of some live shows, but nothing concrete as yet. We’ll have to see how it all pans out. Here is part of the artwork for the album:




Django was most impressed. “Dad, you’re a cartoon! Cool”

It’s a proud moment when your son realises you are 2 dimensional.

I have also started writing a track for Pete Sinfield’s new album after he played me a track from the recent John Surman CD. Inspired by this I recorded a demo for him. Pete seems rather fond of it.

Here’s another tale from the music biz that will ring many a bell to those of you who have ever released a record. My recent album, you may recall, was released officially early last year. I was told by the label that we were going for a February release, which is what I told the PR Company that I had employed.

Consequently we were going for reviews and features that coincided with that date. It began to get difficult to get in touch with the label. In March I received an enthusiastic e-mail from a company who told me that they had just been employed to sell the album into the shops. He said the release date they were working to was May! Which means that no one had thought to discuss this point with me and that that I had already paid a good deal of my own money for promotion based on a release date some three months previously. Then, nothing.

I received an e-mail from my pal John who told me that he thought the label was about to into receivership. That this in turn is because a German company that they had done a deal with to manufacture and store product had, themselves, gone bust. This stock, including mine, was impounded. From what I can gather the initial pressings had been used for promotion, reviews and sales via my web site. All of the orders from web shops and retail outlets in the UK and Europe never received copies. Meaning, in commercial terms, that the whole exercise has been a waste of time and (my) money. I am now left with deciding what to do now. Do a deal with another label? Just print up copies my self and sell to a distributor? My favoured option right at this moment is to just forget the whole damn thing. But then I’m rather emotional about this at this point.

Learning to live in the country again.

The week before Christmas we ran out of oil. New to this country living and without being connected to the local gas supply we rely on oil housed in a tank hidden behind the trees in the front garden. No company could deliver before January. It was freezing in the house. By the Thursday Amanda called me to say that the kids couldn’t sleep in this weather, in spite of the electric heater and hot water bottles. Part of the house is a 1946 pre-fab with little or no insulation. We are going to have to knock this down and re-build next year.

When Amanda called I was in the West End buying Christmas gifts prior to my annual meal out with Barry Moorhouse and professor Barry Jones (plastic surgeon to the stars.) Yet again Phil Smee and his wife Ange came to the rescue putting Amanda and the kids up for the night. I kipped on the professor’s couch.

We managed to get some oil on Friday afternoon from a contact of the guy who was operating the digger making a trench for the mains and phone lines into the studio. As ever, It’s not what you know.

Amber was 3 years old on December 20th and we had a party for her on the Saturday.



On Christmas Eve we drove down to Chris Porter’s lovely home in a village in Hampshire, just like we did last Christmas. Just like last year we had a wonderful time, as did the kids.

On the Thursday we travelled to nearby Bournemouth to spend sometime with Amanda’s mother, her sister and kids. Next day we drove home. There was no electricity as the mains had tripped. It was freezing again. We threw out the food in the freezer and found the fruit bowl in the kitchen had been decimated. The mice are back we assumed. Maybe they had chewed through something to fuse the house? In the evening we went to a pub a mile up the road owned by a Thai family who run a good restaurant there. Being able to just meet up with our pals Nick and Liz at the drop of a hat is one of the reasons for this move. It was a lovely evening.

Getting ready for bed on our return Amanda went into the kitchen for some water. She called me to come and look at what she found in there and the reason for the empty fruit bowl we found that afternoon. On the kitchen worktop was a Glis glis, or edible door mouse. Something of a problem round this way. This mammal, a native of central Europe, was brought over by Lord Rothschild in the early 1900’s. He let a few of them out on to his estate and the have now bred in their thousands. Bizarrely they do not move out of a triangle of southern England bordered by Beaconsfield, Aylesbury and Luton. There he sat, looking at Amanda and me, without moving or showing any fear. The local pest controller, who’s been visiting us for the past few weeks, told us that we didn’t need to concern our selves with the dreaded Glis as they hibernate for longer than any other mammal and won’t be back till May. Well he’s here now and sleeping somewhere. He was back in the kitchen the next 2 nights too. You can’t catch them or hurt them, as they are a protected species. We await the pest man’s return.

January 2nd 2008

2008 already! I know…. I know! What the hell have I been up to? Well not writing diary entries that is for sure!

So much has occurred in the past few months that it's hard to know when to start. So here are some memories.

A social life????

Life, as I live it these days, seems rather devoid of a great deal of social interaction. I have a job that finds me locked in a sound-proofed space with no windows and the miracle of broadband means I have no need to actually meet people or work with them face to face!! Now, what on earth would be the point of that???

This is a situation that I'm not altogether happy about. Whilst my contemporaries bemoan the rigors of a touring life, I miss it like crazy. Oh, to play live with other people in front of a real audience. Oh well. As a consequence I treasure get-togethers with old pals all the more, on the rare occasions when they happen.

At the end of July two of my best pals, who just happen to play in the same band (Porcupine Tree), found themselves with a few weeks off from what has been an incredibly busy and successful year. I have known Gavin for nearly 25 years and we have worked together on many an occasion. Richard I met in Italy at the end of the 80's when both Gavin and myself were touring with Italian singer "Alice". We were promoting the album she had just made with Richard and Steve Jansen..

We had the whole of London with its many and varied restaurants to choose from, yet somewhat predictably, we ended up at Marine Ices in Chalk Farm. Joining us was Lyndon (Connah) who I have known since 1976.

There’s something terribly comforting about this area of London for me. So many significant things have happened here over the years.

The restaurant is opposite the Roundhouse, a venue where I saw a number of gigs and events as an impressionable teenager. Stomu Yamashta's Red Buddha Theatre, Hatfield and The north's first LP launch show with guests Robert Wyatt and the Northettes, to name but 2 influential shows from my youth.

When I became a member of the national Youth Theatre we rehearsed at the school just 50 yards from the restaurant at the bottom of Haverstock Hill. In 1975 at the tender age of 16 my first 'proper band' Soon After, a three piece that featured 2 screaming lead guitars and a trumpet, somehow managed to win several heats of the Melody Maker National Rock/Folk competition.

That summer we played at the final, just across the road at the Roundhouse. A few years later I was recording my first album at the Roundhouse studio and being managed by the Bronze organization in the offices above.

A couple of years after that I was singed to Chiswick records who were based just up the road near Camden Town tube, within a year of that I signed to Stiff records whose offices where a stone throws away from there. And where I first laid eyes upon the gorgeous Amanda Giles in all her back combed, high heeled, 80's glamorous splendour.

For many years I was signed to Carlin Music publishers, whose offices are still just to the right of the round house and with whom I am about to do an administration deal in the next couple of weeks.

I digress. This was an evening of old jokes and reminiscing in a place where I feel at home. It meant a great deal, just a meal with pals. One of who is soon to be a member of King Crimson, no less. I watched with interest and amusement the speculation of who the new 'Mystery' Crimso member will be on various forums. Gavin is one of the finest, creative and more complete musicians that I have ever had the pleasure of working with and is just the person to breathe new life into the old beast.

A week later and I found myself being driven, at some speed, to Robert’s house for another lunch by the fast car owning Mel Collins. A lovely afternoon it was too. In Robert’s diary it informs you that “Jakko did dialects” This refers to anecdotes I told about being a young voice over artist back in the late ‘70’s and early 80’s and Robert’s requests for some regional accents that I claimed were my forte at the time. “only Mel ate the salad” Roberts diary continues. Well that’s as maybe, but in my defence I would like to point out that I did eat the broccoli and Mel went one to devour a large cream cake! Robert is no mean anecdote teller himself, incidentally, some of which leant the afternoon a very surreal air. Lovely.

Buying a House part 507

Meanwhile our house in West London went back on the market. We fired our previous agents as we'd had enough of the arrogant, gelled haired racer boys that pass for estate agents these days, and employed the more up market version from nearby Chiswick. We were very impressed by the pitch of the well presented manager of the Turnham Green branch. However when initial details arrived we had to correct various inaccuracies.

Little did we know that this was just a sample of their incompetence. When the online details appeared there were even more errors. We were selling a large Victorian semi-detached freehold house. They, however, appeared to be selling a terraced house leasehold. In spite of frequent requests the incorrect details remained for weeks. Whilst looking for our house we had a list of criteria, which I imagine most prospective buyers do. We were looking for a detached property and consequently wouldn't bother looking at a semi.

I assume that anyone looking for a semi wouldn't be bothered looking at a terrace, indeed our house wouldn't come up on an online search. As this is the way people look for houses in this day and age, we began to assume that this was the cause of the paucity of viewings. Either that or the market was turning. The agents phoned explaining that they had placed a number of very classy adverts in various local magazines and that they were sending me a copy of one. It arrived in the post the next day. The ad was indeed very glossy and impressive.

The trouble is the house they were advertising was a lease hold property in Chiswick W4 and we were selling a free hold dwelling in Acton W3. I informed the girl at the end of the phone that I called as soon as I had received the magazine so that she could cancel and/or amend the copy for the other publications. She told me that it was too late. Within and hour the branch manager called to see if we could have a face-to-face meeting.

Three days later, on the Friday morning, she and her assistant arrived. As I opened the door the manager, rather dramatically, told me that this was the most uncomfortable meeting with a client that she had ever had, that they felt so bad about the mistakes and failings. That this was a complete aberration and not the usual service of their proud company.

She spent the next hour mending the broken bridges and assuring us of a change in approach. This was a damage limitation exercise as she assumed, quite rightly, that I was regretting employing them in the first place. We agreed to continue with a new vigour and attention to detail from the agents.

On Sunday afternoon, a mere 48 hours after our estate agent summit, there was a knock on the door. A young, and obviously pregnant, woman stood there. Slightly flustered she explained that she and her husband where desperate to see the house. That they were on holiday the following morning and were keen to view before they left.

That she had called our estate agents the previous day on 4 separate occasions and was promised a return call each time. By end of play Saturday she had received no such call. Hence her arrival on our door step. I invited her in and showed her round. She asked if she could call her mother. Half an hour later she viewed it again. She explained that she'd driven up the road a couple of times looking for a terraced house, but assumed it had to be ours because of the agents board (which we'd only had put up when I requested one). She also asked me how long the lease was.

Later that day the doorbell rang as we were about to bath the kids, she had picked up her husband from the airport and brought him straight round. They offered the asking price.

On Monday morning the girl at the agents called to tell me that we had been offered that asking price, I told her that I already knew this. I then asked her what she knew about the buyers. What were their plans, their financial position? She didn't know anything, so I told her. I also explained that if she wanted to know anything else about them to just ask me.

I suggested that her agency might like to review the amount they were charging us in view of how we sold the house and their meeting with us just a couple of days before. She laughed uncomfortably.

So we made the decision to sell the house no matter what this time. We would find a house for rent in the area so Django could stay at the same school. I would rent studio space at either Chris Porter’s place or Mark Angelo's nearby. We would take our time looking for the right property, by which time we would be cash buyers.

Then one day Amanda found an old bungalow sat in a large plot surrounded by fields in very near to an old market town in Hertfordshire.

I've always liked this town. There’s a great old looking high street packed with very nice restaurants and bars and shops. Wander down any of the side streets and you could be in a Dickensian costume drama. Plus a number of old pals live in and around the town and all our other pals are pretty near at hand. We viewed the property on a rainy Sunday afternoon. The house, an extended bungalow, was a mess. The woman who owned it was 100 years old and had just moved out. It was clear that her vision, sense of smell and personal hygiene were not what they once were, still the plot was lovely and it was a great location. I was somewhat put off by the sound of the nearby, but unseen, A41. Amanda was taking Django down to Bournemouth the following day, so we didn't rush into a decision. Two days later it went under offer with someone else.

Some weeks later we went to see a house in the village of Marsworth, set in a gorgeous spot just up from the canal. The house was going to tender and had a lot of problems which included vast cracks in the walls due to the proximity of a couple of large and thirsty weeping willows. No to mention the water supply from an underground stream. We spent a week or so considering an offer and what the cost of fixing all the faults would be. On the Friday before the offers were due Amanda suggested that I call about the other house. I frankly couldn't see the point. The sale must surely have progress by now. Indeed I kept putting off the call till late afternoon.
'How weird that you called!" said the agent when I finally phoned them, our buyer just pulled out of the purchase 30 minutes ago? By the time we made an offer on Monday morning they had had 3 others. We had to keep upping ours till we secured it, albeit 70 grand more than we would have got it for all those weeks earlier.

We moved, after some drama (like our buyers pulling out 3 days before exchange and then changing their minds 24 hours later. And being threatened with legal action by the estate agents when I refused to pay them the full amount on completion, due to their terrible service. Oh how I laughed at the solicitor’s letters that claimed our meeting with the manager never took place! ) On October 25th. A relatively stress free day due, in large part, to the wonderful friends we have. The great Phil Smee and his lovely wife Angela looked after the kids on the day and night of our move and my old pals Nick and Liz took them out for the day the following morning. Giving Amanda and myself a couple of days to get the place habitable.



I have no family left, save for my sister in Arkansas and some half brothers that I never speak to, and the only bit of Amanda's family that we do see are based in Bournemouth. Geography dictates a limited amount of contact and anyway, their priorities have, understandably, been else where these past few years.

The other side of her family we never ever see or speak to anymore. We were fully excommunicated the day before my father died in 2003. Amanda still has no idea what it is that she is meant to have done. I certainly know what I’ve been accused of. But the truth and reality of that situation do not appear to be of any use in resolving the whole affair. This is a great shame for the children, I think, but who knows what goes on in people’s heads when they’ve convinced themselves of something. The experience has often made me think that there are positive advantages to being adopted. So we are blessed with the friends that we do have. Of late they have been amazing. The kids now have several honorary grandparents. They are all kind, generous to a fault and the kids absolutely love them all.

Since the move we have settled in nicely. Our nearest neighbours to our right are about 300 yards away and they have all been very welcoming. Our nearest neighbours to our left are 1/2 a mile away and there are just fields as far as you can see behind and in front of us.

Django has slotted in to his new school very well and easily. His new teacher is Miss Axe and her assistant a Mr Rock. Comedy “rock musicians childrens teachers names” .that a sitcom writer would reject as too unlikely. And Amber is happy at her new nursery, which is only a minute’s drive from home.



The builders have been in and the new studio is but weeks from completion. In the meantime I commute to west London where I rent a space from Mark Angelo’s. This drive, which is at times of no determined length is frankly no fun and I look forward to not having to do this. It’s funny how the old area looks now that we don’t have to live there anymore.

Work

The wacky world of advertising is alive and sick as ever. I have a number of jobs lined up for the start of the New Year, which is always a good start. I recorded the music for the latest VW ad, which was a recreation of the sound track to a Chaplain Movie from the 30's. I did part of this with Chris Porter at his studio. There was also a nice piece for the Carbon Trust and various pieces for the NHS. So if you find yourself in casualty looking up at the screens in the waiting room that could well be me you are listening to. Unlikely to cheer you up when your arm's hanging off I grant you.

July 22nd

Major backtracking

Bloggitis? possibly. Blogger’s block? mmm.
Heres the thing. I haven't written anything for public consumption for a month or more. Whilst there is obviously an element of a lack of discipline and a schoolboy like resentment involved, the truth is a bit more complicated.

The fog that has been descending slowly following the death of 3 close friends obviously hasn't helped. The calls with my pal Jim Cronin's lovely wife Alison following his sudden death, provide the kind of perspective you can do without. As indeed has the whole business surrounding Ian's death that I have written about at length in the previous 2 entries. Added to this the continual hunt for a new house and the early mornings and late nights that come with two young children and a job with deadlines.
Back in the last week in April, however, I thought the following:

If hell does indeed exist, and if it reflects a personal horror for each of us, then the London guitar show comes closer than a painting by Breugel, quite frankly. At a quarter to the hour, every hour, the organizers, in their wisdom, have decreed that this is when every stand in the cavernous space of the excel centre in London's dock-lands is permitted to unleash the full volume of their main display or demo. The noise is unbelievable. The sound of a thousand idiots (myself included) going widdly, widdly at high volume for 20 minutes. This is not conducive to anything remotely musical. I played loud, fast and frequently wrong. I could barely hear what I was playing, let alone the tracks I'm playing over. The poly harmonic information filling the space, often at great noise, turns into grey audio mush. When I stop, the roar continues. Like playing a gig on the busiest runway at Heathrow. Ben Crowe seems pleased enough, having attracted sufficient interest in his splendid guitars to justify the exercise. On the plus side I get to meet and chat with some people that I haven't seen in some time. Not least of which my old pal Ed Poole. He is one of the most naturally gifted musicians I have ever worked with and a lovely geezer to boot. It's been too long.

The month of May actually started rather well.
It was a stunning cloud free day as I drove up the M40 and headed off cross country at Oxford. I had been invited to lunch by Robert Fripp at his home in Bredenborough. The food was tasty, the company very entertaining and enlightening. Life, as I live it these days, seldom contains the luxury of just enjoying the moment, the company and surroundings. This was a rare and splendid afternoon. Robert showed me round his fantastic house and gardens and made me want to move from London all the more. Pictures of the day can be seen at Robert's diary here.



Sadly, for some readers, I have to tell you that he did not pass on any tips on how to be a successful raging venal band leader. Indeed, at the risk of destroying his entire reputation, he was charming and very funny.
There have times during my involvement in a previous band, when long chats with Robert were the only life line to sanity. We are now able to share this experience.

I left Robert's house around 5 and drove further north to Wolverhamption. Here I went to the studios of WCR where I was interviewed by Chris Evans (no, not the ginger haired millionaire) about my new album. Chris and I have similar tastes and memories. He had been introduced to my album by mutual pal, novelist Jonathan Coe. Indeed the previous week Jonathan had written and lovely letter telling me how the Glee Club had been a constant i-pod companion on his recent trip to Oz. After a very pleasant, if at times technically fraught, couple of hours I bade Chris farewell and headed home for London.

In the following month we 'lost' 3 houses and have been under offer for over 4 months, with our buyers understandably concerned. Some of the practices of estate agents have shocked even a cynic like me. Particularly upsetting was the house just round the corner from Danny Thompson. A large Georgian property on 3 floors, with a nice garden, big garage for the studio, a stream with a bridge leading you to a further 1/2 an acre. It rather reminded me of Robert’s house with it's town and country division.
I won't bore you with the details but the estate agents 'conflict of interest' was infuriating and I'm sure we were played for a patsy.

Glee Club reviews arrive from over the world, which is flattering and validating. In the UK , however, I have employed a PR company to attempt to achieve some visibility. I can't even get slagged off, however. Some publications have expressed interest and followed this with a query about my intentions to advertise in their publications.
Meanwhile 3 magazines and 2 national papers in Italy have run both positive reviews and features/interviews. No PR company involved. Indeed I'm pretty sure I didn't even send out review copies. Ultimately I made this record for me and not for praise from music publications or anyone else. The dream, however, that some attention may result in sufficient sales to repeat the exercise or generate enough income for this to be my main working concern, remains.

Talking of Music publications I am thrilled to hear that my good pal Gavin Harrison has been recognized in the 'Modern Drummer' poll results. Coming first in a best Prog category. I've known Gavin and worked with him for over 20 years. Whilst I realize that polls are a popularity contest and not necessarily indicative of talent, I have to say that this is an exception. Gavin is, quite frankly, the most extraordinary musician that It has been my pleasure to work with in my professional life. And I've known a few.

Meanwhile my great pal and sometimes manager PC had a life saving kidney transplant. This has been on the cards and planned for some time. The tissue matching has been very detailed. A former neighbour had donated one of hers. What and extraordinary gift.
The operation was on a Wednesday. By Sunday he was watching Arsenal at the Emirates stadium. Unbelievable, I saw him the following week and he looked brilliant. It's hard to imagine that he had major surgery just a week before.

A few weeks later I hear that Tim Hook, who not only worked as tour manager for Level 42 in '94 but also for King Crimson for many years, had crashed whilst para-gliding. Indeed we discussed this dangerous pastime at Christmas at PC's festive lunch. Tim hit the ground with such ferocity that he has shattered his pelvis.
According to PC he can't wait to get better and go back up. His wife's isn't so keen.

The house buying saga also came to a crashing climax after we viewed a property that we had been avoiding. On sale for at least a year we had tracked it through 4 estate agents. We hadn't bothered seeing it as the house looked kind of ugly. Indeed it had become a running joke between Amanda and myself. Trouble is we had seen everything else so we went and saw it anyway. Set in a lovely spot the 2 acre plot itself was stunning. We could change the house, but not it's location. We went away feeling very up. We even popped into the local school which was very impressive. There was one place left. When we arrived home we offered the asking price. At last, we thought, nearly 6 months later we had found our home.
Except we hadn't. When we eventually spoke to the estate agent he told us that they had spoken to the vendor with such force that they were expecting a serious complaint from head office. Apparently, after a year and 4 estate agents and no interest, the afternoon of our viewing a 'friend of a neighbour' had popped round and offered £40,000 more than we had! As a courtesy to us, would we like to match that figure. This struck us, and the agent, as rather unlikely. We were back to square one. Worse - our buyers had withdrawn. Who can blame them, they'd hung on for so long.

There have been a number of comments, queries and e-mails about the future of the Schizoid band. To answer those, here’s my take on it all.

Firstly I guess, never say never.

I wrote a letter of resignation from the band sometime before Ian’s illness, but it was decided not to go public with it. Just in case something came up to make it seem possible again.
Following Ian's death however, I'm not sure I can see a way that I would want to do it again. Ian's enthusiasm and the drive that he brought to the band are audibly evident on the 'Live In New York' CD. The group sound confident, inventive and full of fun. Whilst it would no doubt be possible to employ another drummer it just wouldn't be, or feel, the same. Also recruiting a new drummer would dilute the concept further. It's bad enough that I was in the band. As a former member so kindly (though no doubt accurately) informed me, late one evening in a Japanese hotel room "NO ONE is paying good money to come and watch YOU play".

Another non Crimson member would therefore, on a purely practical level, make it a less saleable proposition. No one seems sure where Andy McCulloch is, let alone if he is still playing or interested. Though I haven't mentioned it when we have spoken, I can't imagine Bill Bruford having any interest in it either. The only time that we nearly did play with another drummer was back in 2004. Ian had taken a job in LA playing in the pit for Pat Leonards musical and we had already committed to headlining a festival in Florence. We found out late and tried desperately to find a replacement as the band were very keen to play this show. In the end Guy Evans, from Van Der Graff, agreed to do it. I'll never forget what he said to me at his flat near Primrose Hill. 'Yeah, I'd love to do it. I've never played Prog rock before'

Anyway by the time we had confirmed the replacement, the promoters had cancelled our appearance.
There have also been comments regarding a posting of Ian's on his diary about the US tour and how this had been the final straw. It would appear that some people find this hard to believe. Well, at the risk of boring you, here's the reality.
Initially a few agents were keen to represent us in the US. They felt that promoters would jump at the idea. Steve Ozark, the hard working agent that took us on, found that the reality was that promoters were not convinced that there was the same degree of interest that we had found in Japan, Russia, Italy etc. In the end all Steve could do was obtain a week or so of shows. The guarantee's were low (the amount of money paid regardless of turnout) but we figured that we would pack venues and break percentage and impress other promoters and book more shows for later in the year. We managed to play a large show in Mexico City which really helped finance the rest of the US shows and made them possible.
The costs and the poor value of the dollar made this a real 'skin of the teeth' venture.
Here's a cost that I'm sure most people would be unaware of. In order to play in the US, you have to have a work visa. These cost £1000 per member. So with 3 UK based band members and 2 crew, things mount up pretty damn quickly. The process is also dull and lengthy. You have to book an appointment with the US embassy in London. This can take months and often it gets perilously close to the leaving date. No visa and it's all off. This can be speeded up for an extra £200. You have to be there and line up from 7:00 am and wait. Car parks are very costly indeed for this part of town and the congestion charge is £8 each. So before we have even arrive in the US, what with flights, transport and work days pay for the crew, were heading towards costs of £10,000. That’s before we've secured accommodation for all once we're out there, rehearsal facilities, equipment hire, van hire and internal flights for everyone.
Once there we didn't break the percentage. Mexico was fantastic. We had great enthusiastic crowds in the US, but apart from one or two venues, we didn't come close to selling out. At the show in Boston we were watched by about 20 people. The promoters had proved their point. To the many kind and well meaning Americans who have implored us to play in the US, this is why it hasn't happened since. It cost me a few grand to play those shows. Whilst I don't regret this and the experience of playing this wonderful music with players that created it in the first place, it's a costly hobby that I just cannot afford to repeat too often.
Incidentally a close pal’s band who tour the world regularly take an American player with them. He, apparently, just has to turn up at a local consul, fill in a form and pay $70 to work in the UK and Europe. It's that old special relationship of ours.

In the end The Schizzies is not my band. It belongs to it's members as long as they are part of it. If the others decide to continue, that’s great. It's not my place to dictate one way or the other. I guess my main role always was as facilitator. To organize stuff, to make it happen and fund the thing. Maybe without that, it makes it unlikely. That appears to be the case so far.

About a month ago I was contacted by Andy Tillison, who has a band called 'The Tangent'. He had approached me with view to being involved with the band back in the winter of 2004. Indeed I met him in the West End on December 20th that year. It's not a day I will forget. Amanda was very pregnant with Amber and 5 weeks away from the due date. Indeed when I went home she wasn't feeling any better. She began to feel faint at around 5 o'clock and lay down. When she tried to get up she fell down again. I spoke to the hospital who suggested bringing her in. She collapsed and started bleeding. An ambulance was called and young Django, who should have been in bed, joined me driving in the wake of the ambulances speed to Queen Charlotte’s Hospital. Danny Thompson, who called to make sure I didn't miss the Keith Jarret documentary, told me to get off the phone when he realized what had happened and he drove straight round to look after Django. It's a moments like this that you know who your friends are, being without support or family to help out. By the time I took the boy home to be put to bed by uncle Danny and aunty Sylvia, the hospital had left a message on my mobile asking me to get to back as soon as possible. When I arrived Amanda had been taken into surgery and Amber was delivered some 5 weeks early. We found out afterwards that both mother and child were in danger as Amanda had a placental abruption. Which can leave the mother with dangerously low blood supply and pressure and the baby with no life support system.
Not sure Andy is pleased with this memory being so closely associated with him.

Anyway he wanted to know if I would be interested in playing guitar and possibly singing a couple of tunes on the new Tangent album.
I said that we should give it a go on a tune or 2 and see how we felt about it. I have just finished 2 tunes and am about to embark on the rest. I'm enjoying it and putting on more guitar than I probably would on my own records.

Left a message for the great Nick Harper as I have just seen a fantastic review of his new record in the current edition of MOJO. It made me smile that Nick just might be getting some much deserved recognition. If you see him playing near you, you have to go, he's amazing. Nick called back for a chat and asked if I'd be interested in joining him on stage for a few numbers when he plays a show at the Half Moon in Putney come the Autumn. I'd be both honoured and flattered to do so.

I have also been up to my eyes in TV commercials. Which is a mixed blessing believe me. I have had a number of mails asking me if any of the adverts might be things that are recognizable. Well yes, if you live in the UK or Ireland. Maybe you've been to the Motorola museum thing in Chicago? You'll have heard some of my music.
For the rest here's something that I did. It has a certain notoriety, this ad, and has appeared on numerous TV shows like 'Tarrant on TV' for obvious reasons. And no it's not because it's one of the only adverts in the past 30 years to feature a Mellotron in it's sound track.




Thank you for reading.

More soon

No really.

March 26th

It is said that two of the most stressful things you can endure in life are a house move and the loss of a loved one.

Welcome to my world.

Work wise the day to day deadline hitting world of the advertising business has calmed somewhat. This is of course typical. Peaks and troughs are the norm. The art is to learn not to panic and try to achieve things that the usual lack of time stops you achieving.

Meanwhile the sale of the house progresses and we have been looking and looking for somewhere to move to.

One Friday we travelled out to Buckinghamshire and viewed 7 properties.
We even fell for one and considered making an offer. However over the weekend Amanda found and interesting property in a village just outside Hemel Hempstead. Whilst viewing this very house the following Monday it was apparent that this was not for us, but what was also crystal clear was that this was our comfort zone.
Lovely though Bucks is, it is here in this piece of Hertfordshire amongst these surrounding towns and villages that we have support, pals and familiarity.
Consequently we started looking at things we had previously dismissed, for various reasons. By the following Thursday we were in my old village looking at a house in need of some serious renovation.

By the time we'd mulled it over we discovered that it had just gone under offer with another agent. This house had been on the market unsold for nearly 18-months!

The next day we receive a call from the solicitor with regard to our own sale. That afternoon Amanda discovers a 18th century grade ll listed farm house set in half an acre with a huge barn in the next village up, so with whining kids in tow, we view it the following morning. We make an offer within moments of arriving. It's perfect on so many levels.

Thrilled and excited we spend the rest of the day in the company of my old pal Eamon. Firstly in his pub in Amersham, then his house in my old village. Django gets to ride around on a quad bike and Amber gets her first horse riding experience. So every one left happy.

Then Monday arrived.

Not as simple as making an offer and waiting for it to be accepted. Turns out that the old woman who lived in the house for the past 40 years or so had no relatives and had consequently left her estate to charity. Not just one charity either, but 6.
I was told by the agent that by charity law they had to continue showing the property for another couple of weeks. This was a bleedin nightmare.

Nearly 2 weeks later I received a call informing me that 2 other people had also made offers. That, should we want to, we have till the next morning to improve the offer should we want to. The day had it's ups and downs. At one point I suggested blowing the whole thing out altogether. In the evening Chris Porter came round. He currently lives in a large listed building and knows the pro's, cons and shortcuts. Graeham Juggins (good pal and former Schizoid tour manager) was staying with us and also put in his suggestions. At about a quarter to one in the morning I
e-mailed our final offer and position, some 12 grand above our previous offer. Do we want this? .........

As the weeks passed we heard nothing. According to the solicitor the executor has to take the report that the agents have submitted to a convened meeting of all 6 charity trustees and make a decision.

The tension this has created is intense. We have to change schools, I have to hire a new place to work till any new studio is built, we have to start packing and pruning and all the time our buyers want to move yesterday. It's horrible. We are in limbo. It's difficult to view other properties and even if we found one, what would we do then??

Meanwhile I have been arranging and organizing Ian Wallace's UK memorial. One last Schizoid gig if you like.
Margie flew in the week of the event and we met up a couple of times prior. Once with his ex wife Jenny for a meeting with Ray Owen who is a Humanist Minster who will MC the event

The reaction to my previous post has been astonishing. Both myself and DGM, where a story referring to it was posted, have been inundated with by hundreds with questions, queries etc. Who was responsible for this and what is this site?

But for me the amazing thing has been the number of musicians, mostly name players (and a few childhood heroes among them), who have rallied round. Writ en, and phoned to express their support and registered their disgust at the appalling treatment of Ian by this site in his final days days. It was to these people only, that I named names.

In case any one missed it I reprint the comment from Adrian Belew following my last post.

Ian Wallace was indeed a man with no malice. in fact he brightened everyone's life who knew him personally with his effervescent good humor (i.e. he was terribly funny) and his unruffled take on life. Ian had the good sense generally to ignore the heartless bastards but I can't imagine how it must have hurt him to read such shite while dying. 
I remember very well how it took the life out of me to be publicly trashed for my efforts. I very nearly left King Crimson, my favorite group in the world, because of things being said by anonymous creeps. 
the new upcoming bears record has a song I wrote called "think" which says:
you don't want to know what people really think about you. 

dear sweet Ian, I am so sorry to hear you were subjected to such horror at your most difficult hour. 
all of us who knew you, loved you and will miss you forever.

cheers, 
adrian belew

On the tuesday morning, 2 days before Ian's memorial in London, the phone rang. It was Robert. We spoke about the memorial, but moved to other stuff. Soon there was laughter. Nothing earth shattering, just a conversation but one that lightened my mood considerably. I'd been living beneath a fog following Ian's death and all it's many implications. Suitably buoyed I went into the house for a cup of tea.

Amanda, never prone to drama or exaggeration, had a concerned look on her face. She said that her sister had called from Bournemouth. That she had heard something distressing on the local radio about our good pal Jim Cronnin. Regular readers will know Jim owns and runs an extraordinary Monkey sanctuary in Dorset called Monkey World. That Jim and been a close and important pal for 20 or so years. I went back into the studio and searched the net for news, with no luck. I called his house and mobile. Nothing. Not even an answer phone message. In the end I called Monkey world and eventually spoke to someone in the admin apartment. I blabbered. I tried to explain who I was. The said they knew of me. They said "Yes I'm very sorry, but Jim Died on Saturday".

I blabbered on some more, but they couldn't help. They didn't know any details. A press release would be made public soon.

The fog came back. I spoke to Jim just before Christmas. He was in Mexico rescuing a chimp. How could this have happened? Just out of nowhere.

Thursday was the day of Ian's memorial. I arrived with Graeme to find Robert and Margie already there. We set up, placed the order of service on the chairs and sound-checked before people arrived. A full report of the day can be read on Robert's diary.

As for me, I sat behind the piano at the front. Here I was able operate the CD player and change the volume settings.

Robert's speech immediately preceded my performance. As he began I felt better. He was very funny, by the end however I began to feel the tears welling up.

Singing 'Islands' was a difficult and momentous thing to do for a host of reasons. Some more obvious than others. It was indeed a difficult gig as Robert states. I felt dislocated. It was like a 3rd party experience. I could hear my voice in the distance, like I was listening to it from another room. Like it was someone else's voice. I could hear that they were having a bit of a problem, that the emotion of the event was creeping in-between the notes.

Afterwards I walked in the grey overcast light of a Thursday afternoon in March, from the venue in little Venice to 'Paradise by way of Kensal Green' at the corner of Ladbrooke grove. This is where they held the wake for Joe Strumer. The manager Paul was very helpful throughout. In a previous life he used to manage Killing Joke. This, by comparison, was a piece of cake.

We drank and remembered and a lovely film of clips, home footage and back stage shenanigans that was put together by Nigel Dick was shown and greeted with much applause.

And that was it.

Friday was a strange day. I had driven to Harefield just outside Rickmansworth to get the car mot'd. They gave me a hire car as I had an appointment to see a space for the temporary location of the studio. I hung out with my old pal Chris. He's been at the memorial yesterday and it was with him that I'd first seen Crimson back in '71 at Watford town Hall. I felt drained and empty. Not only after Ian's memorial but with the realisation of Jim's death finally starting to sink in.

I became concerned about Margie too. Since Ian's death she's had plenty to occupy her self. Today all that was at an end. Today was the beginning of the rest of her life. It's the day after the funeral that's the worse. Today you are at your most vulnerable. I've had enough experience to know that much, at least.

At about 11:00 my mobile went. It was Margie. She didn't have to say much. The anger and hurt were all to apparent in her voice. I tried to calm her down. To find out what had happened.

She had, possibly foolishly, logged on and visited the site that had printed all the 'Wally Potter' stuff.

Who knows why or what she thought she might see. Following my last post the reaction of the 'web master' was to purge the site of any mention of Ian Wallace at all. That included all the lovely and genuine tributes from others. A 'scorched earth' policy if you will. Like none of it ever happened, I guess. Margie found, however, that a new thread started the evening before, had begun to evolve this morning.

One regular contributor began to question the 'Web Master' and his decision to erase stuff from the site.

"How many topics did you delete, and why?"

he wondered.

The response was that he - " didn't know, he just felt like doing it".
The questioner suggested that this was 'bullshit'

This inspired a detailed response about pruning dead threads and the liability of the site collapsing etc

Then someone else wrote the following:

'Redundant threads my arse. Tell the whole story, including the bit about you chucking a wobbly, deleting the Ian Wallace threads including everyone else's messages of condolences.
Go on, I dare you.'

Our hero then replied with some sarcasm. At the end he wrote this:
'PS. Who's Ian Wallace?'

Back to his highly 'humorous and iconoclastic' best, no doubt. This is what Ian's widow, a day after saying her final goodbyes to him, read. That's why she was shaking.

By the time I got home the whole thing had developed further. Unable to leave well alone and still suffering the scars and hurt from the sites decision to make light of her husband's fatal disease, Margie joined the fray.

'I'd be happy to tell you and I'd be happy to tell you how much you personally hurt him....are you brave enough to face me? I'm in London now and will meet you at train station....just say the word.'

This exchange continued.

It was distressing to read knowing how she felt and what she had just been through.
Margie pointed out That Ian, on his last days on this earth, had said he forgave this guy and suggested Margie did the same.
She couldn't and wanted to meet him face to face.
The web masters response had all the tact and charm of a school bully. He even accused her of 'playing dirty', for God's sake!

In the end his final response to Margie post's was to ban her from the site completely. Two other posters who wrote in support of her were also banned from the site.

This is not a site that I had seen much of prior to the 'Wally Potter' incident, but I have been reliably informed that one of it's central tenants was that free speech and, accordingly, that there was to be no moderator.

Free speech! Well the kind of free Robert Mugabe might recognise possibly.

Two days later The web-master printed an apology, of sorts.

It was just 3 days after Ian's memorial in the UK, over a month after his death and about 4 months after Ian had bravely announced to the world that he was fighting cancer and for his life, and after a lot of people were very hurt and appalled by the original posting.

I won't bore you with the whole thing, you can probably find it if you want to.
But for me, the second sentence of his missive says it all,

'At the time, I had no idea of the severity of the condition and a seemingly off-the-cuff remark turned out to be far more offensive than it was intended to be.'

One wonders how a statement that you have esophageal cancer and are fighting it for your life might appear vague in it's seriousness?

His remark was intended to be offensive, so that's cleared that up. Just not as offensive as it turned out! Oh, so that's alright then.

At what point, one wonders, would a joke about someone's cancer be appropriately offensive? When it's first diagnosed and there is a slim chance you might beat it? Or near the end when it's clear you haven't?

Well it's a tough call.

Feb 28th

Todays Independent carries a large obituary for Ian Wallace. Theres a lovely picture of him too that I hadn't seen before. Its a pretty extensive and well researched piece. For a moment it's strangely comforting to see this degree of recognition for Ian's work in a respected daily paper. Then I'm struck by the same thing that happened when I read Pi'ps obit in the same journal but a few months ago. Ian could have done with this kind of press when he was alive and releasing a new CD or Schizoid tour.

It's still hard to imagine that I will never speak to him again. That he won't call from LA for a chat about the football or in the hope that I might make him laugh. It's just horrible.

Meanwhile the web is also awash with generous appraisals of Ian as both man and musician.
I happen upon one website who do just this. Praise him and remember him. Yet this doesn't comfort me at all. In fact it makes me fume with anger. For the past few years of Ian's life this same site took great pleasure in knocking Ian down and taking the piss out of him at every available opportunity. Ian was a sensitive soul and took this to heart.

Free speech on the web is just that and I would tell Ian to ignore it. Crimson fans may well remember the Adrian Belew debacle on Elephant-talk. It's just not worth getting involved. These are, after all, just the musing of a handful of people. But Ian , bless him, just couldn't get over the injustice of, say, a record he's made, that no one had even heard yet being slagged off regardless.

So if that were my stance toward them, why has today made me so angry?

Well heres the thing. A month or so ago Ian took the very brave decision (in my opinion) to go public with the battle he was facing with this disease. This particular web site chose to report this genuinely touching event by making jokes about Ian and his illness. Indeed they referred to Ian and his cancer as 'Wally Potter and the throat of fire'.

It's hard to imagine what the sites motivation was in doing this. Maybe they thought they were being funny or ironic? Maybe the thought that they were being clever, dangerous, iconoclastic or challenging? Well you know what? Ian didn't think it was any of those things. He was absolutely devastated that anyone could say this about him. He was deeply upset at a time when he really didn't need any other worries in his life.

So, in case they weren't fully aware, that is exactly the effect it did have on him.

I hope they're pleased with them selves. Well done.

That someone could make light of my friend and colleague staring his own mortality in the face is, frankly, beyond me.

Just in case anyone thought this was a brief aberration from the site, I would like to point out that following this initial posting there was indeed some reaction form others suggesting the sickness of such remarks. This was greeted with great sarcasm. Indeed the most generous thing they could come up with was 'Let's wish Wally well and hope that it isn't long before he's ruining more Crimson standards by jazzing them up.'

Just what you want to hear when your dying.

God forbid that the individual responsible is diagnosed with a terminal illness himself, or his wife or child. Will he find the subject so hilarious then?

Ian was, as Robert Fripp pointed out in his diary, a man with out malice. In the end he said he felt sorry for them, but it certainly made his last and most difficult journey considerably tougher, both for him and especially those around him.

I note that since his death they appear to have erased these comments and exchange's from their archive. In its place are the musings and reminiscences of hearing, watching and indeed meeting this great musician.

Not funny, clever or challenging.

Definitely ironic though. He could have done with this care and support when he was alive. It's no use to him now. And to those of us left, it won't erase the memory of what they wrote about him before.

Feb 26th

The morning was packed with last minute changes to the Play-station Advert. Nothing difficult, just fiddly. Back to the muti track session, make the edit, mix it. Then load it up to the big premixed Orchestral bit that never seems to need changes. A little compression over the whole thing and mix it down again. Then load it up in the movie editing software and make a new movie file with the new changes. Just in case you were wondering.

All done in time to have a bite to eat prior to driving out to Buckinghamshre with Amanda to view a property. Except that at the very least minute they require 20 second and 15 second versions. There's, and my, deadline was 1:00. I just made both.

We drove out of the smoke to the country side where an old school pal, and now estate agent, shows us round disappointing property number 507.

Never expect estate agents details to tell the truth.

February 25th

I had promised Django a day out during his half term break last week, However pressure of work and deadlines had reduced this to but a mere lunch trip on Thursday.
So today I attempt to make a mends and take him to the circus.

Zippos circus has been in residence at Brent Cross for the past week. We drove out through the drizzle and low and behold there were indeed tickets left for the final morning performance. We entered the entrance marquee where the damp air hung with the aroma of chip fat and popcorn.
We queued up for a box of the the over priced corn de pop and were served by a slender woman with far too much make up on. Only to later discover that when not serving kids and parents fizzy drinks and junk food, she was in fact Princess Lena the Rumanian queen of the high trapeze. Jeez these people work hard for the money.

Inside the small sawdust laden circus tent we took our seats ring side. Django was, for the most part, totally captivated. In a world of cyber entertainment, blue screen dare devils, cinematic trickery and risk free, health and safety conscious activities there was something genuinely shocking about seeing people close up risking, if not their lives, then serious permanent injury. In fact there were a few moments that I could barely watch. The stocky indian Princess from the family of knife throwers (who we had seen some 20 minutes previously juggling foot balls and burning tennis racquets and introduced as Czechoslovakia's finest) that was tied to a large spinning wheel and had real, sharp, large knives thrown at her, was a case in point. As for the insane south american troupe of high wire nutters who generally pissed about and tried to put each other whilst they balanced across a high wire some 100 ft up in the roof of the tent with no safety net, or safety wires! Well I watched that through the fingers of my hands. At one point the youngest member walked across to the middle and begun to juggle the hoops he had balanced precariously on one arm. He leaned over to catch a misplaced hoop and began to fall. My son was about to see a grown man die or become a paraplegic at the very least. But, ho ho, his shoes had been attached to the rope. How we laughed.

After lunch at somewhere just dreadful that no self respecting parent should ever take a child (don't tell mum!) we went back home.

Django was full of tales of the daring acts he had just witnessed. When asked what his favourite thing was, he said 'The budgies'. The aging ringmaster took the spotlight in the second half with-the kind of bird act that I haven't seen in over 30 years. A collection of budgies pull small carts and slide down slides. It was rubbish, anachronistic and in the word of he great bard, bleedin naff. Django loved it and kept laughing at the memory of the Budgie climbing up the ladder, running round the others and sliding down the slide when the ring master kept telling him off. Bless him, he's only 4 and a half.

'Mum! after that we had lunch at McDonalds'.

Never tell a 4 year old to keep a secret.

February 22nd

Constant to-ing and fro-ing with the agency. Little changes here and there. I mix all the music back into the pictures and send movie files. It makes life a lot easier.

I had promised to take Django out on one day of his half term holiday, but have been so snowed under that it has been impossible. Today, in spite of deadlines, I take him for lunch at the Wimpy. He loves it there. Sadly this is largely due to the free bag of cheaply made crap (and no that's not the food I'm referring to) at the end of the meal. It makes him happy though and does no harm in moderation I reckon.

Come back and head straight out to the studio. A couple more changes prior to a meeting tomorrow and then another job comes in for Alton Towers-!!

Decide to work some more tonight after the kids are in bed.

The phone rang as I was reading Django a story a little later.

When I got down stairs Amanda told me it was Margie.

I called her straight back.

It was midday in Los Angeles and Ian had died that morning.


She told me how much I had meant to Ian and that she had read my letter before he went to sleep the previous night.

She said it had made him cry and laugh. the latter being something he hadn't done in some time.

I said that I would phone some people and tell the sad news. I told her that I hadn't wanted to post my mail onto the guest book of their site and it was personal.

As it has now been digested personally and and Ian is, wherever he is (with Boz hopefully) I will share it with whoever might be interested. It went like this:

Dear Margie,

For the past few days I have been logging on the the Status site every couple of hours.
I have been doing this with a combination of hope and dread.
I read you recent comment this morning.
I pride myself in being a reasonably articulate individual, spending time and care on lyric's to express how I feel.
So I wrote some stuff down.
I then had to get into the west end for a meeting and thought of little else on my way there and on the way back again.
I re-read what I wrote and found that I couldn't improve on it.
Heres what I committed to to text:

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck ,fuck, fuck, fuck
Bollocks

That just about sums it up.

I am lost for words.

If, and indeed when, it seems appropriate (and it may well not ever seem so!)

Please tell Ian that I love him.
That playing with him was an honour.
That having him as a friend is a genuine pleasure that I will always treasure.
That to play live with one half of the Crimson that I saw aged thirteen at Watford Town Hall, was a childhood dream made flesh.
That King Crimson, and indeed The Schizoids, were an infinitely better band with him on the drum stool.
That whenever I eat at 5 hot Chillies, I will forever see the expression of joy on his face as he devoured each mouthful.
That I wish I was with him now, if only for a few minutes.
That in spite of everything, I still don't like Liverpool.
That my life was a better thing for knowing him and for working with him.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, bollocks

I have debated whether to send this at all, for some hours.

I decided to send it anyway.

I am lost for words again.

Please take all this in the spirit in which it was intended.

I'm not sure I believe in much, but I pray (whatever that may mean) that you somehow find a way through all this.

I know that his journey this past few months has been made easier with you there for him.

I am grateful for that, at the very least. You were fighting for him, and the rest of us, every inch of the way.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, bollocks

Love

Jakko

February 21st

More discussions and changes to the new signature model with Ben at Crimson Guitars.
Read an update on Ian Wallace's condition from Margie.
This is not good, not good at all. I try to write something to them. But what do you say to a friend who will almost certainly be leaving us soon. I tried anyway.

A meeting at the offices of TBWA in the west end and I meet up with my friend Dom, but also several creatives that I hadn't met before. Gemma I have worked with on a number of occasions, but such is the abundance of modern technology that I seldom meet anyone. All the more reason to move out to the country side.

When I get back I start work on the changes for the Play Station ad.
I decide to send the e-mail to Margie and Ian.

February 19th

Half term and Amanda isn't feeling great. We went to a kids party on Saturday and have just learnt that the birthday girl is now down with chicken pox. Amanda had this for the first time a few years back when she caught it off Django. It wasn't pleasant. She's concerned that it's return is making her feel unwell in the equally unpleasant guise of shingles. We keep an eye on Amber for spots too.
Spent the day frantically finishing the job for the Middle east.

Some changes took me into the evening.

Feb 16th

In the past 2 weeks I have.

Continued composing and spotting to picture orchestral music with a middle eastern ethnic flavour.
Provided sound alike tracks of Matt Munroe and Muse.
Emulated some Japanese Kodo drummers.

Recreated an old Country and western track and a movie soundtrack.

Done a number of interviews for publications in the UK, Italy and Holland.

Continued designing my first signature electric guitar and sold a house for more than 3 times the amount we bought it for 8 years ago.

And It's only February.

February 15th

Take time off to visit houses in Hertfordshire. Drive round various ares to get the lay of the land. It's a beautiful and sunny winters day.
In the evening we go out for our Valentine's meal. We couldn't get a baby sitter yesterday.
It's the first time we've been out as a couple since Amanda's birthday last August.
The evening is marred by a row about the house we saw this morning. We don't have rows.

February 12th

We have been offered the asking price. We accept. We appear to have sold the house, but have nowhere to move to-yet.

February 10th

The weekend is packed with viewing. 2 of them second viewings. Keeping the house spotless and amusing 2 young children is not easy.

February 7th

Work on various adverts and the show in the middle east.
Uncut magazine runs a review of the album. The final line goes thus:

'In all though, by no means as preposterous as it might have been.' I laughed out load when I read it.

In the evening I meet up for dinner at a japanese restaurant in Chiswick called, some might say appropriately, 'Tossa'

It is Peter Sinfields 'Last Supper' Actually it's his second last supper. About 18 months ago he was due for an operation. Nothing life threatening, but something he's put off and a 3 hours procedure none the less. Not a big fan of hospitals he arranged a meeting of pals for a meal. It was then that they discovered, during test's to gauge his general state of health, that he had a serious heart problem. SO he never had that operation, but a quadruple by pass instead! He looks remarkably good and healthy this evening. We are here as he is to have the original operation in a few days.
It was nice to catch up and see him so well.

[postscript: Peter's operation went well, and his is making a sprightly recovery]

News from across the pond is not so encouraging. Our dear friend and colleague Ian Wallace is having a bitch of a time getting over the aftermath of his operation on his oesophagus. We can but hope and send as much love as we can summon.

February 5th

Ben Crowe, of Crimson guitars calls. He is intending to have a stand at the London Guitar Show in April. He will be showing his first signature guitar. The 'Robert Fripp'. He has asked me i I will play on the stand. As ever I say yes. I ill no doubt panic later, as is my way. He also discusses the possibility of making a 'Jakko M Jakszyk' signature guitar and launch both of them at the show. I need to give this some serious thought.

In the evening I travel to Paul Crockford's office. Tonight we are attending the folk awards. Danny Thompson is receiving a 'Life Time Achievement award. Some years back I got Paul and Danny together. I knew that they would get on. And indeed they do. Paul is now Danny's manager. It was a lovely evening and I felt honoured to have been with my pal to see his worth recognized after all this time. I sat between Paul and Dann'y pal Mick Wadsworth. Mick is currently manager at Gretna. He used to be Bobby Robsons right hand man, but left Newcastle to manage Southampton. A decision he now regrets. Still he enormously good fun and great company. Danny's award is p[rented to him by Peter Gabriel, whose speech was both touching and full of genuine affection for Danny. I'm not afraid to admit that a tear or two were welling in my eyes.

After I bumped into Ade Edmonson. His wife Jennifer was presenting an award. I hadn't seen him in years and it was lovely to catch up. We exchanged contacts and agree to go for a curry in a couple of weeks.

February 1st

Dominic calls with a brief for Play-station. Historically I do lots of demo's and changes for them and I still don't get he gig. Still I'm keen to break my duck with them. So off I go.

Speak to Alan at the PR agency. Reviews in the print media are slowly appearing and various leads are being pursued. He is hopeful, I am cynical. Meanwhile I have been directly contacted for review copies from magazines all over the world. A number of them, Italian and Dutch, have even asked for interviews. It's England that is tough and peppered with politics.

Work is now piling up and we try to get out the Hertfordshire for house hunting too.

January 26th

Spend the weekend up in Hertfordshire looking for a suitable new abode as the house that we'd fallen in love with has proved problematical. We spent an evening with Steve, who has a professional insight into panning in the area. He told us, basically that because of the properties boundary and the fact that it lies in green belt land means that we will not be able to build a new studio. The only option would be to buy some land off the farmer next door, and even then it might not be possible. So we cross it off our list.

January 25th

Drive up to Loughborough to spend 3 hours on Dick Heath radio show. Very nice of him and he's been amazingly supportive of the new record.

January 21st

Spend the evening in the company of Peter Blegvad, his brother Stofa and John Greaves. It is indeed, The Lodge. This is the first time we have all been together since Peter's Launch show of 'Choices Under Pressure' at the 12 bar some years back. It's always a pleasure. Much reminiscing and laughing ensues.

January 15th

As I have just said to someone in an e-mail, January is a bitch. It just can't help itself. Regardless of whether you try to ignore the festive season, the days and weeks that follow somehow just seem to slowly crank back in to action.

I like to work in January, but seldom is there a deadline to hit. What I do have is time. Time that I should really be getting on with the many things I wish I could get on with when I'm snowed under. I just seem to find all sorts of nonsense to distract me. This year it's selling the house and pursuing a new one. Not exactly nonsense obviously, but a huge distraction none the less.

I have been accused on many occasion of being a workaholic. However I think I'm a binge worker. When I do get going there's little to stop me.
I have started to look at the live tapes of Rapid Eye Movement from '80-'81. This as the band that I was in with Dave Stewart and Pip Pyle. A great deal of the material was never recorded and some of the writing is very good. Having spoken to Dave he's agreed to have a listen to my tweaked version of about 3 tracks, then make a decision on whether to proceed.
Dave from the agency calls about another cat food commercial. A different brand mind and a mad combination of a brief.

This evening we watch a TV show. Not a subject I usually write about, but this is different, as you will see.

The show is on BBC2 and is called 'Trust me I'm A Healer'
This is the second show of the season. Last weeks episode featured a suitably eccentric individual. Greasy hair, thick glasses and living in a council house. We follow a patient receiving treatment from him. She's an older woman who's been diagnosed with liver cancer. Her condition appears to have improved after her first visit. The healer is later seen in his living room summoning up up an anti cancer genie and placing it inside a small bottle of water. The interviewer never appears on camera, you just hear his voice. His approach is even handed, initially anyway. His main technique is to give the healer sufficient rope, then lets him get on with it. The healer asks the narrator if he can pass the bottle with genie in it to his patient. He drives with it to see her, only to find that she has died. The healer seemed harmless enough and maybe he filled her days with hope, when they might have been filled with fear.
Tonight's protagonist is a very different kettle of fish.

Steven Turoff practices psychic surgery.

A previous BBC program 'Watchdog' in an item called, as I recall, 'Britons worst quacks', featured him producing bits of bloody tissue via secret filming. Bits of this 'Tissue' were later taken from his bin, analyzed and discovered to be from a chicken.
Anyway tonight we see him driving in a new luxury car, his wife has one too. We see him in his large detached house with a swimming pool and large gardens and he tells the camera how much he earns. He seems rather pleased with himself.

When he speaks he sounds more like an east end market trader or cabbie. Not that there's anything wrong in that you understand. But he doesn't speak in quiet tones or quote from obscure biblical or philosophical texts. Indeed he claims he doesn't know what he's doing. His surgery is packed full of hopeful people, some who have traveled across the world to get to his clinic in Chelmsford.

During the course of the program we are shown interviews with 2 of his patients. One, a woman in her 60's, tells us that she had been diagnosed with lung cancer and given little chance of survival. She then explains that Mr Turoff opened her up, bent back 3 ribs and then pulled out the offending tumor. When asked to see the scar she said, with great pride, that the beauty of this kind of surgery is that the scar heals completely within 24 hours.

The second interviewee was a young man in his early 30's. He'd been diagnosed with a brian tumor and given a year to live. It was now passed that year and he claimed that the psychic surgery had ridden him of the cancer.

Unlike the previous week we were not told of what happened to these patients. So I don't know what happened to the woman.

I do know, however what happened to this young man. Within a couple of months his cancer came back rather aggressively. He died last summer.

How do I know this? He was my brother in law.

The well healed Mr Turoff's wife seemed rather uncomfortable with the whole thing. As the program progressed the camera began to linger on her face as her husband fielded questions and queries. At one point she felt compelled to leave the room. We also saw him traveling to eastern Europe. Dressed in robes and his words being translated from English the crowd view him as a kind of messiah. One suspects that he's beginning to believe in his own publicity.

I am reminded of a trip that Amanda and I made 5 years ago. We used to fly off to India come Febuary/March time and just veg out on the beach. On this occasion we became rather friendly with a group of guys from Kashmir who would travel down to Callengute for the holiday season to sell jewelry and precious stones. They had a shop just off the high street. They invited us over for diner at their apartment one night. One of the men began to talk about his travels down from Kashmir on the bus every year. He said that in the past 5 years he had met an increasing number of people whom he described as 'White European women of a certain age, who come to india to 'Find themselves'. On his recent trip he found himself next to one such woman. She told him about the Guru she was coming to see. She explained who he was and how enlightened he seemed. Our friend said that he hadn't heard of this guru. He did, however, recognise the man in the picture the woman then showed him. He told me that previously the same man, without the robes and serene look, had owned a couple of fruit and vegetable shops in town, and that last time he saw him he was complaining that they didn't earn him much money anymore.

January 1st 2007

New Years Day and another joy filled visit. This time album cover supremo Phil Smee and is lovely wife Angie. Big favourites of Django

This time 9 years ago I was in a terrible state, wondering what the hell life had in store next and considering just how keen I was to find out (if at all). This was right in the middle of the period that is the corner stone of the current album.

Today I consider myself very blessed and very fortunate. I have spent too many years feeling distressed and hard done by. A victim of the cruel industry I gave my life to.

As I sit here, I am all to well aware that I have a beautiful wife, two lovely healthy children, a very nice house and a job that earns me a decent living and the freedom to indulge my musical fantasies. I have great friends and am able to count some of the best musicians in the world among them.

If I knew who to thank directly, I'd write them a letter.

Better just to savor the moments and not take them for granted.

Happy New year to those of you who take the time to drop by and read this nonsense.

I thank you.

December 30th

Back in London.

A lovely day spent in the company of 2 of my oldest and dearest friends Nick and Liz. More food, more drink and more presents.

December 26th

Drive to Bournmouth to spend a day with Amanda's family.

The kids behave badly and are not remotely charming.

December 23

Travel with Amanda, the kids and too much luggage down to Chris Porter's lovely house in a village about 9 miles south of Sailsbury. We spend the next 3 days here. We are made to feel part of the family and the kids have a fantastic time, charming everyone they meet. Fantastic.

December 22

Django is 2 days into his school holiday. It's treat time. I take him to his favourite restaurant for lunch, Starvin Marvin's. A rather authentic American dinner set in a long aluminium casing on the A40 diagonally opposite the Hoover Building. We then go to the Cinemas to see 'Flushed Away' the computer generated Aardman feature.

Half way through the film my ear pops back to normal, exactly one month from the moment it popped on the descent into Milan on the way to Venice.

18th December

Decide to get the train in to the west end for last minute Christmas shopping. Easy stress free trip to Tottenham Court Road. However on my return the Central Line has stopped running due to a signal problem. I decided to walk as it's a bright winters day. Start to regret the idea by the time I reach Notting Hill Gate and give up all together at the Shepherd's Bush roundabout and hail a cab. (This is a walk of some miles, for the non-Londoners amongst you.)

In the evening get a call from Ian Wallace, who is still in the ICU at a hospital in LA. Ian has gone public with his illness now, so it's a secret I no longer have to keep. Ian tells me that he has been having hallucinations as a result of the heavy medication. I'm sure he'll retell this amusingly in his own blog soon.

17th December

Today Is Amber's 2nd birthday party. Her actual birthday is on the 20th. As she's only 2 most of the guests are grown ups and people we haven't seen in a while.

As most people leave, the Barbieri's (Richard and Suzanne), arrive. They've been stuck in pre Christmas traffic for over 2 hours. They stay for the evening and we get a Chinese. Always great company, we never seem to see enough of them.

December 15th

It's been a week of Christmas get togethers, forgotten admin task's and invoicing.

Tuesday was Paul Crockford's Christmas do. I sat next to Tim Hook, who had been the Level's tour manager back in '94. Subsequent to this he was Crimson tour manager during the life of the 6 piece line up. Also in attendance was Scott McKeon. Who is still only about 19 and is managed by Paul as a result of playing him a CD and insisting that he see him play. I advise you to do the same. He plays modern blues guitar with a confidence and maturity of someone twice his age. Also in attendance was Mark Knopfler. After lunch there was another pop quiz. Which I won. This is not bragging, but evidence of a young man who had no friends and too much time of his hands.

Wednesday night saw the annual dinner at Langens Brasserie that we have with Barry Moorhouse, of 'The Bass Centre' fame and Professor Barry Fox, eminent plastic surgeon to the stars. Professor Fox is a bit of a guitar playing music fan, hence the connection. Indeed he has formed a band with other like minded plastic surgeons. They are called (and I'm not making this up) 'Tuck That'. Tonight's new boy is the 'unknown' John Clarke. Some of you may know him as the guitar player who replaced Allan Holdsworth in Bruford. He has, quite coincidentally, been playing for Sir Cliff in his band for nigh on 20 years. There is a festive break from the world tour, hence is Christmas meal availability. Much fun and annecdotage was had by all.
I point blank refused to to tell my 'Saxon' story. Amusing though it well may be, I have told it at this same function 3 years running.

A day later and I took Dominic and new by Dave, from the ad agency, to the splendid kerelan fish restaurant in Charlotte street.

Today, however, Amanda and I drove out to Hertfordshire to view a property. Following the eviction and the end of Mand's current adventures in publishing, now seems the right time. I no longer need to be in the smoke for work. indeed I rarely ever get to meet any of the directors or producers of tv ad's any more. Bikes, that would regularly arrive and depart the house with latest edits and versions, have all been but replaced by the internet, e-mails and ftp sites. I'm sick of the grime and the yellow and black police signs asking for witnesses of yet another violent crime. The 'Life' sentence given to our former nieghbours still shocked me, in spite of living next to them for all this time. It all add's up and wears me down.

The house, set in country side just out side Hemel Hempsted and but a stones through away from Steve Wilsons studio, is beautiful. Grade ll listed, land and out buildings make it tick most of the boxes. However, from the aerial shots we viewed from our computer, the open fields it backed on too, have been replaced by a large 'luxury development. Luxury they may be, but they are still big and over look the garden on two sides. So not for us, but the search has begun.

December 7th

Those of you who have been reading this blog this year will know of the horrendous time that we had with our neighbours. They were eventually evicted from the premises next door back in July. A couple of months prior to this the 19 year old twin boys and their cousin had been arrested in an operation that involved closing of our road. 6 police vehicles and some 18 or so officers.

Well in todays local paper there was a report of the final court case of the boys in question. Even allowing for my knowledge of the facts reading the details of their attack was truly sickening and shocking. Make you own mind up:


http://icealing.icnetwork.co.uk/ealinggazette/headlines/tm_method=full%26objectid=18244444%26siteid=67372-name_page.html#story_continue