Ginger | 27th September 2013
It seems that you guys enjoy these ramblings of Chris and I, and with Gav’s continuous video updates the GWB posse has been effectively downsized to a handy three piece for the time being. So further employing my ‘last one out the door’ policy, of whatever metaphorical room we’re involved in, I’ll stay here until the last man has ceased to commit. I thrive on healthy competition, as you may have gathered.
I appear to have entered a strange phase of inertia in my life cycle, after months of intense activity. Fresh from my stint with Ms Love, resulting in two perky wee tracks fully demo-ed, one of which looks likely to be her comeback single (which pleases me greatly as I wrote it) I returned home feeling less than brand new, only to be whisked off to that London – after emptying my bags (euphemise that however you will) – to be interviewed for a brand new KISS movie, due out late next year. If writing for Courtney Love isn’t enough of a thrill (cast iron sarcasm there, it most definitely is insanely thrilling) then the little kid in me was positively squealing at being asked to take part in an official, tell-all, KISS movie. I wasn’t a KISS fan when I was 14, I was a KISS addict. I collected everything that featured their likeness and housed it in a bedroom covered from ceiling-to-wall-to-ceiling in KISS posters and pictures. A bedroom that was never silent, and – until I heard Ramones, Sex Pistols, Cheap Trick and Motorhead – played KISS albums on loop. I’d do my homework with KISS blaring at extreme volume. These days I can’t write if there’s a fly in the room, but back then it was the fuel to my creativity, or simply the reason why my homework sucked to badly. Regardless of what I think about some of the stuff Gene Simmons says (the “show me a musician who got into this for the music and I’ll show you a liar” quote still sticking painfully in my craw) there is no avoiding one very basic truth, if it weren’t for KISS it is unlikely I would have escaped crime as a kid and got into music.
I do hope you get to hear the Courtney song too. It’s called “In Your Honour” and is typically catchy rock n’ roll with an edge and a swaggering guitar riff. And she sings it great. I searched for her ideal range when writing the melody, and I think I got her perfect pitch, the one that makes the world seem golden again. When Courtney hits that register (Celebrity Skin/Violet) my skin bristles, and that’s no lie.
And we’ve decided to complete that prickly (read fucking annoying) 15th song on the GWB ‘Practical Musician’ album, entitled “Albion”. It’s a musicians nightmare, unless those musicians happen to be of the calibre of the guys n’ gal in our collective. 10 minutes of sonic insanity that covers the history of sound within its duration. I couldn’t live with myself if we didn’t finish it. There was talk of shelving it until next year, then releasing it as a free single, but I couldn’t relax with this idea, it felt like a cop-out, and I’m not one for giving in easily. So I’m going to finish that tricky fucker in time for your receipt of the new album.
Not today though, or tomorrow by the looks of it. I’ve hit a wall. The missus has a new job so I’m up early taking junior to school then getting back into the house at 9:15, only to go straight into a coma that releases me at 3:00 when I go pick him up again. I’ve never felt such an effective form of shut down, not without medicinal assistance that is. I do some housework – yeah, I’m that guy, I do my bit – then sit and literally shut down. I guess it’s called exhaustion in some circles, and in others it’s called recharge. I hang out in the latter circles and prefer to think of this process as a reboot in readiness for whatever madness is coming next. And if there’s one bet I can guarantee a win on it’s that new madness is always on its way. It’s unavoidable and I welcome it with the open arms of an old friend. Motion keeps me alive, keeps me young and keeps me positive. I was born to work harder than the average man, I consider it a great gift and will use it highly unwisely.
Someone recently said I should make less music. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard anything so confusing. Surely it would be easier for someone to simply listen to less if the quantity is too much. And as far as the quality is concerned I’ve never been more on my game. I listen to those 90’s recordings and see only a style in evolution. I can fully understand someone not liking everything I record (in fact I’d be very suspicious of you as a person of you did, you’re obviously as fucked up as I am) but to desire less of a person because you can’t keep up is base insanity, not to mention a little bit Nazi. I guess some fans aren’t really fans of what people do, but of their own opinions on what people do. Which fine. Fucked up and weird, but fine.
Anyway, I’m looking at the clock and seeing that it’s time to do the Daddy thing and wait with the other parents, all waiting to see that one beaming little face make eye contact.
Feeling very grateful lately, of everything I have in my life. Thank you all for being a very big part of that everything.
p.s. Oh, and read the Lost Gospels According To Al Jourgensen book. It is sheer, unbridled hilarity, both dark and fascinating, and he’s got a million great stories, which he tells with a seeming inability to pull punches. Like a real Rock N Roll autobiography should be. It makes me want to write one myself, and if there were more around of this standard I may well do – but there aren’t, and my story seems in around the lunchtime of its cycle, so plenty of time for those kind of thoughts while I’m living the plot. In the meantime I’m loving Al’s book I’m considering reading it again when I’m done. Along with the new Phil Anselmo album it is my current addiction. Well, that and falling asleep.