Sunday, April 16, 2006

"I've suffered for my music..."

"... now it's someone else's turn... etcetcetcetcetcetcetc..."
Gotta sing, sing....
Well... exactly...
I had one instinctive response lined up, for my first "gig" under the auspices of the music enterprise dubbing itself "Open Mouth"...
Which was along the lines of...
"Open Mouth"...?
"Insert feet..."
(Clever, eh...? Nah, not at all. But, er, anyway...)
So, I was first on the bill last Thursday, at the G-Lounge in Camden, suitably nervous and suitably having spent the previous hour-and-a-bit-and-a-bit-and-a-bit-ter in the nearby World's End, dodging out of reach beyond the swarms of gap-toothed drunken sots, scary Goths and battered-Trilby-toting Pete-Doherty-wannabes...
By the third-and-a-halfth pint I was ready to roll on to the venue itself, steer my proud new guitar past the check-in girl ("Who are you here to see?" "Er, I'm... er, Aidan..." "Okay, is he here yet and can you see him?" "Er, no, I mean - he's me... I'm afraid..."), and before I could follow my pre-planned strategy of a quick toilet flit and nine quickfire pints, I was hustled on-stage to perform my eight-minute routine, two songs, "Autopilot" and "The Morning After" - both of which I'd unfortunately written about ten years ago, albeit "The Morning After" suffered some fairly hefty modern-world re-writing, er, last week...
And then... it was over. The G-Lounge isn't exactly the most cavernous venue, so I could actually peer into the whites of the eyes of some of my audience, as they peered unconvincedly up at me, but I found myself feeling more comfortablt up there than expected, and finally stepped down to convincingly rapturous receptions from the friends I'd forced along... congratulating me on the sour second song I'd had more doubts about than the comforting first, and generally being more enthusiastic than frankly I'd find reassuring...
But still, er, that encouraged me to, full of relief, down more'n'more'n'more celebratory bevies... Meanwhile being offered a longer, 20-minute stint at the Storm venue, near Oxford Circus, on May 17 - meanwhile sipping, supping, sinking more... meawhile, I dunno, someone asking whether I could go back on stage and play another three, count'em, THREE, songs because someone's not turned up - so I really start to panic, then enjoy the band that brings a pineapple on stage - and places it carefully beside them, performs their set, then takes it off with them: arty, and baffling, yet more stage-presence than I could muster - then I return, struggling drunklenly with capo, to bash out "Love Minus Zero" by Bob Dylan, then a half-written ballad of old age, "Calling For You", then an encore of "The Morning After", rousingly encouraged by my "posse" for all I fear losing respect by repeating a song from earlier on (though the crowd seems to have swelled since then...)
But anyway... I somehow feel I wish I hadn't frittered away all the feelgood, er, feel of earlier by returning, but my friends' ecstatic reaction seems significant, and a few other, er, "artists" seem to be coming over to chat and cheer.
Maybe I really can get away with this, after all.
Four days on, I'm still buzzing, in fact.
No, wait - that's just my head.
That's just the beer...

"Autopilot" is on this site elsewhere.
Here's "The Morning After" - er, just because...

When I take one last drink again
While heading for the sink again
I tell myself: "I earn what I spend"
And so I'll play this fool again
Then roll my eyes on you again
You tell me: "I'm as sloshed as you, again"
My random thoughts throughout the day
I tell myself to never say
Until I'm hammered and I'll tell you them anyway

But why do we wait,
'Til the morning after
To say
What would it take
To really move on?
Why does it take
The morning after
To remind us
Of those things that we forgot
The night before...

This sticky floor beneath my feet
We're somehow shuffling cheek to cheek,
The jukebox keeps playing Tears Of A Clown;
I should just catch this nightbus back,
Brave the smell of sick
And knife attacks
But still it's too tempting,
Trying to keep up this act -
Yet your online dating
Seems such a waste
I'd rather do things face to face
And it isn't the same:
"Do you wanna come back - to MySpace?"

But why do we wait,
'Til the morning after
To say
What would it take
To really move on?
Why does it take
The morning after
To remind us
Of those things that we forgot
The night before...

I guess I should just walk away
And encourage you to do the same -
A peck on the cheek
And I'll see you around -
We'll both find someone else instead,
Chivalry? Yes, I'm afraid it's dead -
It's bruised and battered -
It's poisoned and drowned.
To stay footloose and fiancee-free
It seems the safest bet for me -
And I certainly shan't change my mind
Any more...
Well... we'll see...

But why do we wait,
'Til the morning after
To say
What would it take
To really move on?
Why does it take
The morning after
To remind us
Of those things that we forgot
The night before...

4 comments:

Lyndon said...

look at you with your re-written lyrics trying to be all cool, ultra-modern and hip with your "myspace" gags... you sold out, man!

Not least cos the lines you replaced:
"I wish we'd gone back to your place,
At least then I'd be the one to escape"

were among my favourites.

People - notice: I knew him when...etc.etc.etc...

That TDK E90 gathering dust in my box of tapes could be worth, ooh, at least a couple of euros in the future... Sorry I missed the encore, such are the responsibilities of NOT remaining "footloose and fiancee [well, wife] free" - I wouldn't swap it for all your Camden Town stardom and clever worldplays, mind.

Aidan said...

No, here's a much better idea.
Burn that tape. And all and any of those which may just have come into contact with it.
Having dug up my long-neglected lyric sheets from almost ten years ago, I make no apologies for revamping any lyric I could somehow just-about salvage, and all apologies for the shoddy embarrassment of all previously...
But back to my main point: burn 'em...
Or the Garfield gets it.

a.c.t said...

Great lyrics - I like it. Haven't been to a gig for a while, I think the last one was The (unthrilling) Thrills and the Zutons at The Charlotte in Leicester and V last year but that doesn't really count (massive open air concerts just can't compete with intimate gigs.)

Lyndon said...

I'm under no obligation to comply with your request, my friend. Just like I can't demand my mates destroy their taped copies of my own magnificent octopus.

Besides, if you've gotta fill a 20 minute slot you may want to rediscover some of these little gems ("Too many free guitar lessons" anyone?).

Actually, I can't even remember where said tape is so yer safe fer now...