Bands

Demon Sperm

by Enormous on October 21, 2009

It appears that old demons, once considered entirely banished from these parts, are in fact able to make a stunning return.

I’m going to have a fight on my hands again, I can feel it. Still, being English, one doesn’t like to complain. Mustn’t grumble, and all that.

The subject of demons reminds me of a bumpy journey in the back of a Ford Transit to a gig at the Marquee in London many years ago. Tom, Slaughterhouse 5′s chief roadie, was reading the Dean Koontz novel Demon Seed. Occasionally prone to the odd vocal ejaculation, he looked up at me and asked, ‘Do you think sperms ever have a wank?’

We all laughed so much we almost crashed into a coach full of mooning schoolchildren. Boff the drummer nearly soiled his britches.

It was Dave Graham, ace bass player and comedy genius who eventually replied to Tom’s earnest enquiry. With astonishing wit and perfect timing, he pointed at the band’s rhythm guitarist who was driving the van, and said, ‘I bet Steve’s do.’

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Babysitter Bassist Baby Issue

by Enormous on October 15, 2009

I was chatting to Walt, bassist with indie band The Babysitters yesterday. I have been trying to poach him for a few weeks now, using all my powers of manly seduction. I think Walt is a thoroughly agreeable chap and a very good musician – the kind of very good musician that would fit right into place in the Enormous line-up.

He has said before that he would love to join the band, but, apart from his duties with the Babysitters, he was telling me that his wife is due to give birth soon and that he would not really have the time or the energy to properly commit to Enormous. Stupid women. Stupid babies. What happened to rock ‘n’ roll?

Aside from his skills on the bass guitar, Walt is a clever and very witty man. I mentioned this to him during our conversation.

‘Yeah, bass players are traditionally regarded as being even dumber than drummers, aren’t they.’

‘That’s true, Walt,’ I told him. ‘And drummers, by definition, apart from being incredibly stupid, are also very, very annoying. All of them.’ I then remembered an old muso joke: ‘Hey, Walt, what did the bass player get on his IQ test?’

‘Tell me, Davy.’

‘Dribble.’

‘Ha, ha.’ Then he outdid me. ‘Here’s one for you that demonstrates the point even better.’

‘Go on, then.’

‘Did you hear about the drummer who arrived at the gig only to discover he had locked his keys in his car? It took him an hour to get the bass player out.’

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Distant Drums

by Enormous on May 28, 2009

Sonny Starr, drummer with the Modern Men rang me last night begging for studio time again.

‘Can you hear me OK? I’m in Dubai!’

‘Good for you, Sonny,’ I shouted over a bad line, ‘but I know what you’re like. Besides, I keep telling you, the studio is too small for a big kit like yours.’

‘I got rid of that, Davy. I’ve just bought one of those cool little Fibes kits. Four-piece.’

My ears pricked up. I love those old 70s drum kits. They are quite unusual: they are made of fibreglass and have a lovely fat, heavy punchy sound that reminds me of the Sweet or Slade. They are quite sought after.

‘This Arab swapped it me for some speed.’

‘You smuggled speed into Dubai!?’

‘Nah. Of course not.’

I breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Minty did.’

‘Minty?‘

‘New bass player. Very cool. Bit, though, you know . . . mental.’

‘When you say an Arab swapped the Fibes kit for some speed, Sonny, were you sure no one was watching you? From any parked cars or anything?’

‘Hee hee. Don’t worry, Davy-Boy, it’s only crrrss zzrkkk crkkz.’

‘I can’t hear you, Sonny. Tell me . . . oh, look, it doesn’t matter.’ I carried on shouting into the phone. ‘You definitely are not coming into the studio! Especially with Minty in tow, and especially with a set of drums you acquired using nefarious means from an Arab in Dubai – even if it is an old Fibes kit.’

‘You need some excitement in your life, Davy. Remember what it’s like being in a band?’

‘I’m in a band.’

‘No, you know, I mean . . . a proper band. On tour.’

‘I have enough excitement in my life at the moment, Sonny, thank you very much.’

‘Really? I doubt it. What you gonna do right now after talking to me, for instance?’

‘I’m about to take Audrey for a walk.’

‘Hah! See what I mean? You should be coming with us to this secret booze club near the Australian embassy where they have topless belly dancers.’

‘. . .’

‘You’d love it! Nelson Galaxy would. What you doing after your stupid walk?’

‘I’m going to listen to a little Burt Bacharach and then go to bed.’

‘With your Marks and Spencer’s pyjamas on?’ The line was still bad but I could tell he was laughing on the other end of it. ‘I saw Bacharach on the telly over here the other night,’ he went on, ‘and I’ll tell you this . . .’

‘What’s that, Sonny?’

‘He’s not little.’

‘Very funny. I wish I’d said that.’

‘Don’t worry, Davy, you will. See ya.’

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Spit and Polish

by Enormous on March 22, 2009

I wish people – well, men, I suppose – would not expectorate in public quite so freely around here.

Audrey stepped in a grotesque lump of glowing mucus when we left the house this morning; and a few minutes later I had to dodge flying spittle while I listened to a speech from Reg on the folly of the present government’s immigration policy (he blames all the Polish people of the village who he says could ‘spit for Poland at the Olympics’).

He delivered a colourful and passionate discourse on the subject which was punctuated by him absent-mindedly depositing monstrous gobs of luminous saliva everywhere in a rather enthusiastic and festive manner. Disgusting, and all too common.

Changing the subject, I have just posted a version of The Way That It Should Be on the Enormous website/blog. This is the version of the song that appears on the album Almost Everything. Look out for a totally different version of it on the new album which is due for release in the summer.

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Chanson de Geste

by Enormous on March 9, 2009

If you have a few moments to spare, why not pop on over to the revamped Enormous website/blog where I have just posted Let’s Run Away Together, a song about one of my many daring deeds of the past few years.

I’ll be posting tracks there often – new demos of songs for the forthcoming album, old faves, and solo acoustic doodlings – so feel free to add enormousreloaded.com to your bookmarks and keep me company over there, especially if you are a beautiful woman with plenty of money and an interest in handsome English songwriters.

While you are there, why not click on a few of the adverts – I’m sorry to say, I need the money.

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Revelations

by Enormous on March 1, 2009

1: I’m so bored with blogging.

Ca suffit, maintenant.

If music be the food of blog, play on,
Give me excess of it; that surfeiting,
The appetite may sicken, and so die.

Seriously, I’m almost done – besides, if you knew what I was really thinking, you would bury me alive.

Whoosh!

On the Fantastic hifi today:
The Girl Who Turned Into Herself – Enormous
My Fake Husband – Enormous
Deep Lanes – Nelson Galaxy and the Donovans of Trash

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Morning Starr

by Enormous on February 12, 2009

Sonny Starr, punk drummer extraordinaire, has just paid the studio an early morning visit. Once again, he came to ask me for some advice.

‘I’ve given up playing the drums, I’ve given up punk,’ he paused for effect, ‘and, you’re not gonna believe this, but . . . I’ve formed a synthesizer trio.’

‘That’s totally amazing, Sonny,’ I sniffed, ‘and I’m incredibly happy for you, but I’ll have to bid you farewell and get cracking upstairs.’

‘You busy on a mix or something?’

‘Not really.’ Now it was my turn to effect a careful pause. ‘Thing is, you see, after what you’ve just told me, I think I’m ever so slightly about to slip into a coma.’

He went on excitedly: ‘We’re called Sonny La Rue and the Modern Men. You’re looking at the singer.’

‘The singer? Where is she?’

‘No, it’s me. I’m the singer.’ His smile was so full of pride I feared he was about to fall over.

‘But you can’t sing; you have a voice that sounds like a goat in distress.’

‘That never stopped you, Davy.’

I had to admit, he did have a point.

He carried on as I was closing the door on him: ‘I’ve just bought an old Prologue synth and I was wondering if you knew how to get a nice violin sound out of the thing.’

‘Impossible,’ I informed him. ‘You just can’t make a nice violin sound on a synthesizer; violins can’t do it, why should a synth?’

I watched him wander confused and disappointed down the street towards the bus stop. Audrey brushed up against my leg. ‘Looks like the weather is improving at last,’ I told her.

Clouds that had earlier seemed a permanent feature in the winter sky were melting away to reveal a promising orange sun hanging low on the horizon. ‘Come on, girl, time for a nice cup of Earl Grey.’

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