I’m sat up in bed, semi comatose; the TV is on, something about Australia, moving, dreams of starting again and such. I’ve no idea who watches this other than people in hospital with no choice, people who work in Australian tourism or people like me with a debilitating chest infection who cant find the buttons to switch it off and cant be arsed getting out of bed to do it manually. I just took two paracetamol and a wee dram of Morays medicinal scotch. My dodgy health has put the kybosh on my recording this week. Bonehead and Dave the Cakes have carried on, edits and guitars, bass and Stylophone parts. I got a new Stylophone for Christmas; thank you Marc we are utilising all available gimmicks. I last used one on the track ‘Mr Low’ from Ironing the Soul – several lifetimes past – as I’m old enough to remember Rolf Harris demonstrating one on his Saturday night show in the 70s. Now there’s a thing.
Mike Joyce the Smiths legend came over to the studio yesterday and Bonehead wooed him with our songs to date – he will be playing drums on the album alongside Che from
Capercaillie.
Bone called me yesterday advising on which tracks he especially liked – funny how it’s never the ones you expect. All in all good news though, we’ll be cracking on forthwith.
The TV has moved on to property and prices, homes under the hammer,squeezing in a second toilet downstairs, estate agents, plumbers and prices. Do people actually enjoy this kind of stuff? We all need to fix up our houses but making a TV programme come on…use your own imagination. Or perhaps it seems worse than it is playing to the soundtrack of my relentlessly hacking cough – no seriously; I refute all man flu allegations.
Everything changes and yet stays the same – I wrote a song called ‘Slow Television’, which surfaced on the 2006 compilation Whatever Happened to Vinny Peculiar…it cover the banality of TV as anaesthetic, so essentially I’m repeating myself, aren’t we all?
Here are the lyrics and links to those songs – the albums are also available from the site shop.
Now I’m shivering and about to put the heating on...
Slow Television
What’s on tv just a load of old rubbish
Still I can’t really see without my glasses
We loved Dr Who but its time to grow up now
Got so much to do with so little know how
Watching a slow television
Talk shows are trite and the pop presenters are wacky
Weather girls all look the same and the sports announcer is tacky
We loved Forest Rangers but we no longer get them
I have a taste for nostalgia and its running away with me again
Watching a slow television
And there’s no intermission
You can spend all your life channel hopping
From one station to the next
With your concentration span fading
Is this as good as it gets?
Watching a slow television
And there’s no intermission
What’s on TV just a load of old rubbish
Still I can’t really see without my glasses…
Mr Low
Can I get my ball back Mr Low
I lost it in your garden many years ago
Still hanging onto stuff can’t seem to let it
Can I get my ball back?
Do I want to get my teeth into this life?
Do I want a job a mortgage and a wife
You used to tell me everything would be all right
The house is on fire and the children have gone to back the place they come from
I buried my head in a time capsule with a poem from junior school
Can I get my ball back Mr Low
It’s in the cabbage patch if you did but know
Sorry for the trouble the lengths you had to go
I need to get my ball back
There’s no time like the past to reinvent the wheel
To change the way you are distort the way you feel
I’ve done for so long I’ve no idea what’s real
I need to get my ball back
The Davenports man brings beer to your home
And Rolfs on TV with a Stylophone