Last night I played my first solo set for months. I’ve been busy writing, and it was exciting to perform some new songs in front of some new people. Playing live always gives me an energy boost.

I couldn’t hang around for too long after my support slot, but I saw The Shanks soundcheck and caught Ute’s first two songs. And even in a boomy, miserable space like the Port Mahon’s upstairs room they both sounded great. The sound guy (who gave me a beautiful mix, and is therefore my new best friend) admitted to doing more studio engineering than live sound. Which meant that he didn’t go the usual route of trying to squeeze the loudest possible noise out of the old PA. Instead, he mixed everything down to the drums and made the best of the situation. I can hear the distant road drills out of the window this morning, so my ears took less of a beating than usual.

The Shanks peddle an intelligent, proggy, sort of rock. It has that familiar, foot-tapping sort of beat that makes you feel all comfortable then occasionally shifts up a gear to a much more energetic kind of vibe, with the bass and drums driving the song. On top of this solid foundation they throw harmonies, time changes and a bit of piano, and some strong (and often unexpected) vocals tie it all together. And I bet their set sounded even better than the soundcheck.

Ute were surprisingly good too. I say surprisingly, because I thought they were called ‘Uke’, and therefore that they had no Myspace, no previous gigs on the web and no mention anywhere. I assumed (as you do) that they would be a nondescript support band. In fact, I was sorry to have to leave two songs into their set. They have an acoustic guitar, bass, drums trio lineup, with 3-part harmonies, fuzz bass, amusing percussion and quirky lyrics. It’s as if Ben Folds Five were born ten years later in England. Or as if The Legendary Swordsmen were born five years later and were cool. Not really, but that’s what I thought at the time. I’m going to go and listen to Ute on Myspace now to see if they are actually any good or if it was just my post-gig-and-coffee adrenaline buzz that made me fall for them. ;)

As Tim Myatt often quotes Gary Glitter as saying, “It’s good to be back.” Playing live is seriously good fun, and it’s what I do best. I’m going to try to think of interesting ways of integrating the live thing with the online thing to create one enormous musical thing, maybe involving streaming video requests or something. Or maybe selling my shirts online. Nobody really knows. But it’s going to be great.

“Nick Gill”:http://www.nickfuckinggill.com has “written up”:http://www.themonroetransfer.co.uk/wordpress/?p=56 a conversation we had in the States last weekend, and taken it to a beautiful new level:

bq. We performing musicians are, by and large, an insecure lot- we want our creations to be validated. Nothing says “validation” like an enormous cheque from someone who wants to make you famous. But it’s not going to happen. There are enough people who are willing to do anything to be pop stars that it’s much easier to mould them exactly as you want, rather than spend the time and effort trawling through back-room venues to find someone who has their own ideas about what they want to do. The false conception that this is how you make a career as a band is stopping thousands of musicians competing with major industry.

Nick goes on to stand on a plinth and announce his new manifesto for authentic musicianship:

bq. * Turn off your TV. It isn’t helping you. * Assume that everything a large record company tells you is a lie. The latest fresh-faced youngster does not have a groundswell of young people, who are much cooler than you, following her. She has not built a following by use of some technology that you’re only vaguely aware of. She did not write all her songs herself. Musical ability and independent spirit cannot be purchased from Toni & Guy, or from tight trousers at The Gap. * Do not invite A&R men to your shows. If you’re popular enough that they’d want to check you out for business purposes, then they’ll turn up anyway. If they do turn up, don’t let them in for free. They earn more than you, and they can claim it back on expenses anyway. * Forget about the whole idea of getting discovered. Make something that you care about, and make it as well as you can. Get a profile on the important music sites- MySpace, Last FM, Facebook, everything- and make these sites interact with each other. Write a blog. Make friends with people who are trying to do the same thing. If you’re an interesting person, people will find the things you produce interesting, and will listen to you. Find what it is about you that someone will find interesting, and tell them about it. * Do not sign up to music forums pretending to be a fan, or an interested third party. If you want people to listen to your music, ask them. * Be honest.

I couldn’t have said it better myself. ;o)

“The myth of getting discovered”:http://www.themonroetransfer.co.uk/wordpress/?p=56

h3. An offline voluntary pricing experiment

The last few years have seen a host of interesting online experiments with voluntary pricing models for music. I came across the idea through “Jonathan Coulton”:http://www.jonathancoulton.com (internet superstar), who was himself blogging about “Jane Siberry”:http://sheeba.ca/store and “Songslide”:http://www.songslide.com/About.aspx. The system generally relies on an artist having an established and loyal fanbase who are sufficiently understanding and aware of the realities of the musical career that they are willing to patronize their favourite artists by volunteering real money in exchange for music that is available for free.

The idea has always intrigued me, but I have never had a chance to experiment with it myself. The other night, however, I was surprised to find myself at the centre of an offline voluntary pricing experiment, during which I rediscovered the long-lost phenomenon of “tipping”.

h3. “Tipping”: offline voluntary payments

It was 3am and I was sitting behind a grand piano in a hotel bar in Manchester, four hours into a set of singalong requests and going strong. Out of nowhere, a drunk guy in a suit sidled up with a glass and set it down on the piano. I was mildly disappointed to find that it wasn’t full of beer, but very pleasantly surprised to see that it was full of money. An impromtu collection had taken place, and my new best friend had created what you might call a “tip jar” from a Belgian beer glass.

Now I’ve had coins thrown at me before, but this was different. No coins. Notes only. I quickly wrapped up my hilarious rendition of “I Wanna Be Like You” from The Jungle Book, and counted my winnings. £240. That’s right. Two hundred and forty pounds. Of course I carried on playing until everyone was passed out or ordering breakfast.

h3. A useful income stream?

There are certain parts of that situation I can recreate: the drunken crowd, the late night singalong and the pockets full of money. But the drunk guy with the tip jar was a magical catalyst. Enough of the crowd knew him to start off the generous tipping, and he was drunk enough to persist (but not drunk enough to accidentally spend it all on more beer…). Without him I would have woken up the next morning just as hoarse and hungover, but none the richer.

We’ve all heard stories of piano bars in distant lands where tips are as forthcoming as applause. I hear there might even be a couple in London. I’m going to find them. If there’s one thing I can do better than anyone I’ve ever seen, it’s playing five hours solid of requests in any key (and 90% of the lyrics intact), including shameless covers of Neil Diamond, Disney, Tina Turner and Billy Joel. There’s no depth of musical populism to which I won’t sink for cake and/or cash.

So who knows a good piano bar…?

Yesterday I heard the most insipid song ever written. That’s a bold statement, I know, but this song really made me cringe. It broke almost every rule of good songwriting, and was delivered in such an earnest and well-meaning way that it was hard to know whether to laugh or wretch.

It’s going to be difficult to explain this experience exactly in prose, so I’m going to give you a list of reasons why I was so blown away by this song:

It was called “Home”.

It was introduced as “a love song in Sanscrit – the language of love”.

Only one line was in Sanscrit.

Sanscrit is not the language of love.

The rest of the lyrics were stolen from a book of popular cliché:

** “Home is where the heart is” ** “I’ve travelled all around the world” ** “Now I’m going home” ** “Home sweet home” ** “Home is where you hang your hat” (only kidding ;o).

The song went on for what seemed like 45 minutes.

The structure was indecipherable. The closest term I can think of is a “ramble”.

The chorus (my favourite Sanscrit part) only happened twice, then a whole series of new cliché-choruses were introduced.

Just when it seemed like it was all over (strumming had stopped, singing had stopped, girl still had her eyes closed), she launched into an entirely new playout section with new lyrics, a new chord and much more swaying. It was like the extended outro on Layla, but without the great piano part.

All the lyrics to the outro also said “I’ve been away. Now I’m home” in a hundred different (but not interestingly different) ways.

h3. We Are One

The rest of the hippie-fest turned out to be pretty cool, with an astoundingly energetic dance/video act and a young poet called Ros (or possibly Rhozz) who performed a wonderfully natural poem about coming to terms with being beautiful based around Aesop’s fables. That doesn’t sound as good as it was supposed to. I guess you had to be there.

So, apart from the “soundbathing”, the costumes (did I not mention the costumes?), the overly prescriptive instructions (“Clap now. That was a fabulous gift.”) and the insipid strumming lady, it was a good afternoon. Jont and I played a good set at the end, before everyone drew collaborative visualisations of how wonderful their summers were going to be.

Then we went home.

I took self publicity to a new level on May Day morning by playing Jungle Book songs at a champagne breakfast in Oriel College and getting booked to play their Guest Night dinner next week! And then on Sunday I played a great set with Jont on Radio 2…

h3. May Day shenanigans

May Morning in Oxford is a wonderful time, when 10,000 or so people gather on Magdelen Bridge at 6am to hear the choir sing from the tower. Then the pubs open at 6:30am and everyone has a few beers and some sausage sandwiches before cheerfully wandering off to work (or back to bed).

This year (my tenth time) was a little more adventurous – we went on a bit of a breakfast crawl round the colleges. And this was how I ended up in the Oriel MCR playing I Wanna Be Like You at 7am. I had expected frowns and possibly expulsion, but instead they asked if they could pay me to entertain the guests at their formal dinner next week. Brilliant.

I’m entertaining the troops at Wolfson College Formal Hall on Friday too, and I haven’t played this sort of singalong/request/comedy set since my residency at the QI Club, so I had better get some practice in.

If you want me to play at your college, let me know! I’m on a roll.

h3. How many Johnnie Walkers does it take…

My dad’s called Johnnie Walker. So was his dad. And his grandad. And my cousin is also a Johnnie Walker. And now that I’m thinking about it my first name is John, which makes me a Johnnie Walker too! So I was almost dreading meeting Johnnie Walker, Radio 2 DJ and all-round legend. As it turns out I had nothing to worry about. His real name is Peter Dingley.

The session was super quick – Johnnie started interviewing Jont as he tuned up (and I set up the piano really quietly in the corner), then we had about 2 minutes to soundcheck before Johnnie introduced Candlelit. My banjo playing was extraordinary, as usual, and the whole vibe was very energetic and fun. Another 2 minute gap while Mr Walker played some sixties pop hit or other, then we kicked off a splendid rendition of Supernatural – as good as we’ve ever played it, I reckon.

h3. Next stop, Glastonbury

Jont has managed to blag us Glastonbury tickets, which means we’ll be playing the Small World stage sometime on Glasto weekend. We have “more gigs”:http://www.jontnet.com before then, but I’ll be happy finally to play the famous festival only a year after “my brother”:http://www.myspace.com/asilentfilm made it there. ;o)