Tinyfish

Blogging from My Space Only From Now On.

2006-10-09T16:23:00.000+01:00

Ladies and gentlemen.

Over the past few years we have been adding to this blog on a regular basis, giving you updates on what goes on in the world of Tinyfish. We're a little prog band, we don't want to shove this stuff down your throats but we often like to share it with you in the same way a stranger might introduce himself and then ask you to sniff his finger.

At the moment, the vast majority of our contact with the outside world has been through the Tinyfish My Space page which also has a blog facility. I've been trying to replicate my blogging on both sites for a while but after recently returning from the Summers End festival and adding an entry to the My Space Blog (which took three hours to do when you include hunting out all the band links and adding photos). I've decided to give this page a rest and continue blogging only at our My Space portal as it just takes up too much time to maintain both.

Admittedly, My Space is not the best place in the world and the code that runs it sucks balls in a major way. That said, we get huge amounts of feedback from the people that use it so it's a bit of a no-brainer really.

I'd love to say that this is a sad moment as we've been using this site for over two years now. Unfortunately, I don't give a monkeys as the Blog will continue at My Space so yah boo sucks!!

Please switch over now and we shall never mention this sordid business again.

Myspace.

More Mixing - This Time With Sexy Pictures

2006-08-24T16:06:00.000+01:00

Another rainy evening in the Crow's Nest and here is proof that we aren't just sitting around surfing the net for porn.

Here's Rob surfing the net for porn.

And Paul also surfing the net for porn.

And finally Simon, watching Rob & Paul surf the net for porn.

In truth this was an evening spent 'saving' some of our guitar tracks from the artistic dumpster with Rob doing a sterling job of taking the hiss out of Jim's guitar bits.

Paul is dealing with the many comments and suggestion thrown our way from this myspace page.

Simon is just posing for the camera so ignore him.

Many such nights as this are endured for the sake of a better sounding album and it's what we do when were not posting blogs.

More piccys of us in interesting positions as they occur.

Paul, Simon & Rob (Jim is hidden under the patio).

PS. I'm astounded at how much music relies upon computers now. I think our mice get more use than our guitars. Such is life.

Mixing It Up And Riding With The Ghost

2006-08-16T15:43:00.000+01:00

Simon writes;

It’s been a while since any of us posted something on the blog (band looks at floor, shuffles feet and mumbles an apology) which is primarily because most of what we have been doing over the last few weeks is astoundingly tedious and not really worth taking about.

I’d really love to tell you that between blog posts, we are flying around in our private jet, knee deep in groupies, living the bacchanalian lifestyle to the full and yelling ‘Yeee-haaaaww!’ The truth however, is far more prosaic as we’re merely battling with the task of mixing the whole album down into one big sexy mass of Prog.

Talking of a big sexy mass of Prog, Jim is now back with us and for the first time in a little over two months, all four band members are back working together. Most of our evenings/weekends are spent gathering a studio tan and attempting to make sense of all the music we have made so far with the eventual goal of punting it on to anyone out there that might want to listen.

On a personal point, I’m currently reading Neil Peart’s book ‘Ghost Rider’ which is proving to be one of the most singular books I’ve encountered in the past couple of years. For those of you who are unaware (or have just come back from a hiking trip to Pluto) Neil Peart is the Drummer of Rush and during the late 90’s, had to endure the death not only of his daughter but one year later, his wife too. To combat this almost unimaginable loss, Neil decided one day to get on his motorbike and ride (he didn’t return for 14 months). The book is a journal of his time spent travelling both the US and Canada while slowly rediscovering a life made utterly alien by grief.

Such a book you would think, would be chock full of depressive ramblings but it even the most introspective moments I found to be coherent and very readable. This is not Neil the drummer that we are discovering but Neil the father, the traveller, the observer and ultimately the one who was left behind. It would be a crushing experience if it were not for Mr Peart’s lucid focus and self observation which drives the narrative along and leaves you thirsty for the next page.

It would be wrong to say I was taking pleasure from this book but it does leave you with a special feeling inside to see such a man claim the victory of hope and continuance from seemingly insurmountable loss.

I’m not sure I could have done the same in his position.

The Do's and Don'ts of Prog and Rock

2006-07-11T19:33:00.000+01:00

Jim burlbles...

It occured to me the other day (and I can't remember why) that there are an awful lot of songs in the world choc full of advice for a full and enriching life: "Have A Drink On Me", "Get Down, Make Love" and "Agadoo" spring to mind. But there are an awful lot of songs that overflow with negative advice, telling us what not to do. And so I searched my iChoonz for the word "Don't" and was shocked at how many musos out there are trying to stop me doing stuff. Here's just a few that leaped off my screen to chide me for my thoughtlessness:

Don't Believe A Word - Thin Lizzy. Why? Who's lying to me? IS it that Simon? I'll 'ave 'im!

Don't Stop Believin' - Journey. Alright, one of you has to be wrong. Believe? Don't believe? Huh?

Don't Cry - Seal. It's MY party and I'll damn well cry if I want to.

Don't Stop Me Now - Queen. C'mon - you're likely to do yourself a serious damage if you carry on like that.

Don't Tease Me - ZZ Top. You can't possibly expect me to pass up the chance to mock those beards?

Don't Wait For Me - Thunder. But I don't know how to get to the party so I have to wait for you so we can go together.

Don't Stand So Close to Me - The Police. But you smell so lovely...

Don't Fear The Reaper - Blue Oyster Cult. Well generally speaking, skeletal dudes in black cloaks with great big fuck-off scythes are widely regarded as being pretty scary so... I stick with crapping me'self if it's all the same to you.

Don't Hurt Yourself - Marillion. Oh! Thanks h - good advice disguised as bossiness.

The End

Hey Tinyfish, Show Us Your Pants?

2006-06-26T16:41:00.000+01:00

Over the past few months our visibility in the prog community has increased considerably. Initially we had planned to keep ourselves to ourselves until we had an album to throw at people. However, the prog world being what it is, coupled with our big mouths, it appears that the Tinyfish underpants of secrecy are now hanging out to dry upon the washing line of truth for all to see.

With the launch of our MySpace page, we have begun to field an increasing number of questions about the band and its music which we are always very happy to answer (although we didn’t expect this amount of interest so soon). Most have been on three main topics so let us take this opportunity to answer all three of them in one go:

Question 1: When is your album due?

Answer: We really, really, REALLY, want it to be completed by the end of September (the recording will have been two years in the making by then and we are really keen to see what people think).

Question 2: Why has it taken so long to record?

Answer: Being poor and having day jobs, we decided that this project would be produced entirely ‘in house’. We built a studio in a loft and learned how to work the recording equipment by reading loads of manuals and looking over the shoulders of the other children in our class to see what answers they had written.

Question 3: Will you be playing live?

Answer: We are planning to play live in the future but we have no gigs booked as of yet, largely due to the fact that we have no drummer. Fortunately, our singer/guitarist Simon also knows what he’s doing behind a drum kit and has been able to fill in for the duration of the recording. We can confirm that Tinyfish are actively looking for a drummer to complete the line-up.

Watch this space for more underpants as they appear upon the line.

Also Eden

2006-06-02T19:39:00.000+01:00

One of the nice things about enjoying Progressive music is it's a fairly inclusive genre for both fans and bands alike, which is rare thing to witness in the music world.

Prog gigs in my part of London are fairly rare occurrences so imagine my delight when I hear that Galahad were due to play a show with fellow proggers Also Eden in support at the Cartoon in Croydon, South London (which just a bus ride away from my doorstep). All looked rosy for yours truly until Galahad anounced that they have had to pull out of the night for some reason which left support band Also Eden out on their own.

Fortunately, the Eden boys refused to bow out and are now headlining the evening in their own right (yay!). This means that I still have a prog gig to go to this evening and an opportunity to kick back, relax and mix with fellow proggers.

Full power to the band for performing tonight.

Simon.

Underground Gossip

2006-05-25T15:55:00.000+01:00

I found a great website today run buy a guy who notes down quotes he overhears in the Tube in London. I thought I’d share a few personal favourites with you.

Wing mirror injuries have increased exponentially.

No way can the guy from Frasier be in the X-men.

From now on I'm putting my name on all the staplers and hole-punches.

Chewing gum makes me really farty.

She never smiles. I don't think she has the muscles.

No way am I volunteering. Do I look like a volunteer?

He looked at me and then sniffed his fingers.

You can't tie someone up with nylon.

I found a white feather this morning. Maybe it came from an angel.

Russell Square. The home of a man called Russell.

What's a terrorist? It's just a soldier with a beard.

My jumper smells of burning.

Where did you buy your diaphragm?

The woman in the flat upstairs has stopped using broadband, so I can't get on the net anymore. What a bitch.

Horus and Anubis. I can't think of any more right now.

Raisins are shit.

Nobody in Hollywood wants to tell the truth.

Imogen, would you CALM DOWN!

I think my mum likes cucumbers.

My arms feel radioactive, you know? They feel like they're throbbing and glowing in the dark.

I'm having a cheese flavoured moment.

Penguins are birds too.

Je vais manger sur une etoile.

Dreams are like emails from your subconscious.

Can you tell me why you're angry or is that cheating?

There are three keys on my keyring and I only recognise two of them.
How can it be a genuine apology if it's a recorded message.

You're a gynocologist? Hasn't it put you off vaginas?

Money can't buy me gloves.

I was born in the year of the............ sandwich.

Wagamamas can lick my sweaty balls.

I'm not going to end up being the anonymous sperm donor for a lesbian couple.

I'd give it three stars. Out of a hundred.

If you're going to waste my time, I'm gonna piss in your ear.

I wouldn't rely on a guy called Anonymous Funkster.

Are you ready for a new kind of salad? A salad made entirely of beef.

You see? The sum total of all human knowledge can be found on the London Underground and these are just a tiny proportion of the quotes on the site.

If you want to see any more, click here. Trust me, it’s compulsive reading.

Simon.

Stars in my eyes?

2006-05-18T13:22:00.000+01:00

When Marillion play their conventions, they regularly have a spot on one of the nights called "Swap the Band". The idea is, you send them a recording of you play a Marillion song and if the band thinks you're up to it, you get to replace one member of the band for that song, at the gig, in front of a partisan Marillion fan crowd. Obviously, if you're a bass player they won't ask you to sit in for el Presidente Moseley. So I am going to be submitting my entry (due in by the end of June) to those nice people at the Racket Club.

"Well, he looks like Friar Tuck, he once had a hit with a song named after some chav girl from the local estate and he's in a Scottish Heavy Metal band... that's right Matthew. Tonight I'm going to be Steve Rothery".

Since it's all bluesy at the beginning and rocky at the end, I'm going to try my hand at "Fantastic Place".

And also, telling you about it means that it'll be difficult for me to back out of it now.

Wish me luck...

Jim

Tumbleweed

2006-05-17T18:12:00.000+01:00

Jim writes:

Gosh. It's all gone a bit quiet round here hasn't it. Ever since tinyfish discovered myspace.com the world of blogspot has ground to a juddering halt on it's axis.

So, for our avid reader, here's an update.

OHMYGODTHEALBUM'SNEARLYDONE!

OK, an exaggeration I suppose. But my bits are done, oh yes they are. With a sudden burst of speed I spent two days in the Crow's Nest II lobbing down some guitar parts for a couple of reasons. Firstly there were a few bits I had done the firs time round that I wasn't entirely happy with and secondly Simon's computer had some kind of hissy fit and it chucked out a couple of my guitar bits. You notice it didn't delete anything of Simon's. Or Paul's. No, mine. Even the computers are out to get me.

This sudden burst of speed was due mainly to the fact that I'm off back to the USA for the whole of June for another month (maybe more) of life in New York. I'm really looking forward to it actually although I know that I'm going to miss home, wife, cats, guitars, band and so on. And I'll be watching the unfolding World Cup demise of Sven's grey army surrounded by Americans (I can't wait to hear some of the commentary).

In other news, I fitted the EMG-SA pickups I bought in New York to my Strat. Whoooo-hhoooooo! Sounds ace!

In other, other news, my bike has been written off. On the May Bank Holiday a young lady of about 19 years of age ran into the back of me at the roundabout between The North Circular road and The Hendon Way, throwing me and bike into the middle of the roundabout. Luckily there was nothing coming at the time otherwise I would have been hit twice. Anyway, she went into the back of me so it's entirely her fault (and my insurance company agreed) and her insurance company are going to have to cough up for the lot. So, new motorcycle when I get home in July.

And that's all the news that's fit to whatsit.

Jim

Cliche or aphorism?

2006-04-24T22:13:00.000+01:00

They (the same "they" that said there'd be snow this Christmas?) say that all things must pass. They also say that what goes around, comes around.

Today my wrok stint in the USA comes to an end (my brother is picking me up and taking me to Newark "Liberty" (oh puh-lease!) Airport in half an hour (8.30pm flight) but I'm going to be back here for another month throughout June.

And I can get home to wife, cats, motorcycle, guitars and band. I can spend some time rebuilding the callouses on my fingers, re-learn scales. Frankly I'm feeling like I'm going to be horribly rusty the first time I step behind a guitar again. My playing will be rubbish. But I'll sound nice with these nice new pick ups (EMG-SA) I bought at Manny's on West 48th St.

I look forward to being handed my P45 by Simon and Paul in the next week or so.

See y'all sooon. Y'all!

Jim

HEY! Where's the missing accent mark gone from the title?

Let's Talk Turkey

2006-04-09T22:04:00.000+01:00

...which is where I have just got back from.

Our holiday started with our arrival at Heathrow at 3:30 am. Almost immediately we enountered a guy who had been drinking constantly and fell off his chair in the coffee bar. As we tried to get someone to attend to him (the coffee bar staff having gleefully informed us if he died it wasn't their problem) another onlooker pointed to the bag of crisps clutched in the hand of the unconscious man and opined "At least he's still got his crisps".

Turkey is a strange country in some ways. It wants to join the EU so the government can spend all the EU money on ale and whores like it did the UNESCO money that was supposed to preserve the billions of ancient monuments that Turkey contains.

It has huge modern apartment blocks next to adobe mud huts.

Most of the ancient monuments are only recently being dug up and preserved - mostly by foreign archeologists (the same ones that nicked most of the stuff above ground in previous times).

It has 72 million people, almost all Muslim, but (our guide claimed) only 8 million of them are practising. So maybe the rest should just amalgamate with the Church of England to save money :p

Our guide was also keen to impress on us how secular Turkey is. Unfortunately he decided to do this my telling us how many porn mags and porn cinemas Turkey had. When one of our party asked "what about publishing Salman Rushdie?" he unaccountably lost his voice.

We travelled through some of the most beautiful landscapes, and some of the most boring flat ground I've seen outside of America.

We were treated (in a cave hotel, no less) to some of the best food and fabulous music I've tasted/heard in a long time - they got a local musician in with his 'saz' (http://www.allaboutturkey.com/muzikalet.htm#saz) and he was amazing, even though I understood not one word. We were also (on our last night) subjected to a Turkish Lounge singer who I would have cheerfully modified with a crossbow until he shut up, like a musical version of St. Sebastian.

We were shown some of the most amazing ancient things, including a Roman city (Ephesus) which is amazingly preserved and hardly stolen at all, and we were taken around a jewellery factory which made us Brits laugh because it had great pretensions at being upper class for rich Americans and yet was called 'Argos'. (A note for any Americans - in England Argos is a catalogue shop a bit like 'Target')

The Turks were really nice and friendly - except when their only purpose in life was to sell things to stupid tourists, and then they were rude and annoying. The Turkish word for 'no' is 'hayir' (pronounced 'hiya') and is pretty much the first Turkish word you learn as a tourist. We had lots of people in our party who appeared to have shopping disease; they would buy any old piece of crap from the roadside and didn't care how much they paid for it.

We stayed in some fabulous hotels (one with its own private beach from which we watched the solar eclipse) - and in one place where the set meal for dinner was canned mushroom soup and Fray Bentos 'steak' pieces on mashed potato, which I hadn't had for so many years, it transported me back to the darker side of my grandma's cooking, only with slightly more recognisable ingredients. The guide had the enormous balls to ask us if we enjoyed the meal. I barked a derisory laugh which resonated sympathetically with many of our party. This was the same hotel where they hadn't bothered to turn the corridor lights on and we had to find our rooms in the dark. And the key didn't work in ours, so they gave us a different room, which had a breathtaking view of a collection of undeployed toilets, still in their polythene wrappings. My wife claimed that it was a front for the Turkish Mafia.

If you wish to avoid this place, it's called the Surmeli in Ankara.

Anyway, enough of this - Turkey can be a lovely place. Just be prepared for some surprises, mostly concerned with money, if you're not careful.

Frogs In The Midwinter

2006-04-07T13:51:00.000+01:00

I was in Paris not too long ago visiting the in-laws when I happened upon a fantastic little trio playing loads of Django Reinhardt numbers.

I spent nearly an hour watching them perform in the cold thinking "How in the name of luncheon meat can they play in this temperature?" but they didn't seem bothered at all.

Talented, cold resistant, groovy looking, French bastards...

Simon.

How Do You Record An Album?

2006-04-07T13:24:00.000+01:00

Things are never as they first appear. As Victor-Lewis-Smith once said ‘Cat’s are not clean, they are covered in cat spit.’

It has been eighteen months since Tinyfish began to record its now eponymous debut album and what have we learned? Well we’ve learned that recording progressive music is rarely as simple as wearing satin flares, placing a microphone in front of a guitar and pressing the ‘record’ button.

When we began this endeavour, none of us had any real experience of how to go about making an album. The only advantage we had is that in our many separate musical activities over the years, we have seen OTHER people engaging in the dark art that is the recording process. This means that when we began to commit sound to hard disk, the majority of our studio technique was based upon vague recollections, educated guesses and sheer blind luck.

Not the most auspicious start to a recording project I grant you but like middle age or waiting for the opening credits to finish on a porn movie; all good things come to those who wait. Enthusiasm will only get you so far, before you have to hit the books and try to understand why you need a compressor for the bass drum and some reverb for the snare, so that it doesn’t sound as if the drum kit was recorded in a woollen sock.

For the purposes of this record (and for those of you that get mildly moist when technically matters are mentioned) we used a recording system called Pro Tools (a.k.a Poo Tools). Some of you in the know about this software might say; ‘Wow, Pro Tools, the industry standard recording system for bands like Metallica, Eels, Yes, The Spice Girls, King Crimson and The Tweenies. You guys must really be loaded!’ Sadly however, the truth behind such a statement is a little more mundane.

Where all of the above used the Ferrari version of the software, we plumped for the sensible family Volvo package which does the job perfectly well but without all of the bells and whistles. That said, none of us are about took a gift horse in the mouth however basic the set up and we got on with task of recording with almost no grumbling or girly tears.

As has been mentioned before in this blog, much of the equipment we possess sits neatly in two camps. One; the cheap but cheerful gizmos that don’t cost the earth (which applies to the majority of our kit) and two; those special once in a lifetime, covet and polish it everyday purchases e.g. Jim’s Les Paul guitar or Paul’s Sei Bass, that simultaneously break both the heart and the bank.

As for the choice of studio itself, the vast bulk of the work has taken place in two London lofts, the first of which needed a ladder to gain entry to the workspace (and believe me, carrying a large guitar amp up a near vertical surface, even for a short distance is not to be sniffed at). Both venues have afforded us the amount of seclusion and ventilation required to make entirely too much noise for prolonged periods of time.

My one indulgence has been a guitar synthesiser which enables me to make all those lovely Zzzzzeeeeeeeeeeooooooowwwwwww and Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh sounds on my rusty/trusty axe without having to resort to a bank of keyboards. This was something very important to me as although it’s easier to get those extended proggy chords and fast arpeggio lines from a standard key based synth, with a little bit of extra effort and imagination, the same can be achieved from a guitar should it be required.

As a band, we talked about recruiting a keyboard player but the thought of us having to add another musician to the existing line up and run the risk of ruining a perfectly good working chemistry, didn’t really appeal.

Secondly, (and maybe more importantly) we’re consciously attempting to break with a few of the prog traditions here with the intention of developing some sense of our own identity, and you can’t very well do that with some hobbledehoy in a wizard’s hat following you around, wafting piano glissandos hither and thither.

Never say never though. 

I’ve reluctantly taken on the role of engineer for the project because we’re just too poor to employ anyone else and Paul has been excellent as an assistant engineer throughout the entire process. In the times where I have been pulling my hair out yelling obscenities at the computer screen and looking for a cat to kick, Paul would sit Buddha like, dispensing sensible advice and quietly blocking all my drop kicks aimed at Mr Flibble.

Thankfully, there’s now more of the album behind us than in front of us and even though we’d never say we know all there is about recording, at least we can feel good about not being complete beginners anymore.

Here kitty, kitty…

Simon.

Phil Collins

2006-04-03T15:08:00.000+01:00

Face #1

2006-03-31T13:38:00.000+01:00

Can you identify this everyday object photgraphed from an unusual angle?

This was a game played on a BBC TV show back in... the 70s? 80s? Damn. Can't remember. What was the name of the show? Test The Family? Chalenge The Family? Ask The Family? Ah well, something with "Family" in the title at least. Format: 2 families of four (Mum, Dad, Son Daughter) challenge each other to general knowledge and cranium-stretching questions. 'Who was the Education Secretary of the coalition government of The Belgian Congo from October 1921 to January 1922 before being assasinated in his bath tub - his last words reportedly being: Can you bring me my loofer please M'butu? Ah thank y... bugger"? '. The kind of thing that Middle England thrived on. Middle class families of Guardian readers and dictionary eaters pitting their wits and lack of imagination against each other. Adequately hosted by... oh shit... Michael Aspel? Robert Robertson? Frank Muir? Christ! Either I'm getting too old to remember this stuff or perhaps it wasn't that important to me at the time to remember that I oughtn't forget this stuff as I'll need to remember it in 30 years' time in an online blog.

Aaaanyway... It's Simon. Photographed from the stepladder by the hole in the floor of the Crow's Nest v1.0, some 18 months ago at a time when we had a drummer and held the misguided belief that our first album was only a couple of months from completion. See the look of calm certainty on his face? No. Me neither.

Arty pic though.

Jim

About Face

2006-03-28T13:45:00.000+01:00

I have been asked on a number of occasions in the past why we don’t post any pictures of ourselves on the blog (and soon to arrive, website). Surely self promotion is part of the music machine and getting your face known would help the band’s profile and maybe even sales.

Well that might be true if we were handsome young slabs of flesh with chiselled features and steely eyed expressions but like most other bands in the progressive genre, we are all in our late thirties/early forties, slightly pale looking and enormously unimpressed with the idea that our faces could add anything to our music. If we thought for a moment that there was the slightest chance that our looks made a difference, I’m sure we’d be models not musicians.

Seriously though, there will be some photos of us posted at some point in the future but if such things really mean that much to you, maybe you should look to follow another band. With all the best will in the world, having a snappy image has never been important to us as Tinyfish. We do music first and everything else comes a poor second.

I remember a time many moons ago where the members of this band were booked to play at a party for an actors agency in the Kings Road (Chelsea, London). We were booked to play later in the evening and burst through the door to be confronted with a host of A and B list celebs. Both groups stared at each other for a moment and the look we exchanged said it all.

“Ugh, musicians!” They flounced.

“Fuck, actors!” We belched and went our separate ways for the entire night. No-one danced and we didn’t care as cash is still cash no matter how empty a venue is. If you don’t believe me, ask an actor.

That said, we are really keen on showing you the things we use to make the music and we all believe they are a damn sight more interesting to look at than four white middle class boys who all look like accountants, standing around in a graveyard trying to look mean.

But hey, if we’re in the photo with a musical instrument…

Simon

If music be the food of love...

2006-03-23T18:07:00.000Z

... then grab a hold of this and spank it Baby!

This is my Gibson Les Paul Standard. Not one of the classic models from a vintage year but a Les Paul none-the-less. From what I can gather from the serial number it's an early 80s model, before they went all HUGE headstock and started using the hideous diamond headstock logo. This is based exactly on the type and style of Les Paul made famous by the likes of Jimmy Page, Marc Bolan, Eric Clapton (in his early Yardbirds guise), Brian Robertson and most importantly, Scott Gorham.

Yup, Scott Gorham. Thin Lizzy's longest serving guitar player and surely the coolest mo-fo ever to step on stage at Hammersmith Odeon. The Californian was always the cool drink of water to Brian Robertson's half gallon of Scotch, the Summer breeze to Gary Moore's Winter storm, the thoughtful response to John Sykes' shoot first, ask questions later approach. All three of these co-Lizzy axemen used Les Pauls during their stints alongside Philip Lynott, Brian Downey and Scott Gorham. And the twin-Les Paul sound defined Lizzy and their attitude towards music making; always the perfect blend of light and dark, fast and slow, hot and cold.

The classic Lizzy sound and Scott Gorham's all-pervading sense of melody, timing, attitude and cool are what made me want to be a guitarist, a musician. And the Les Paul was always the instrument I wanted, ever since I first picked up a guitar.

Lately (as befitting my role in a Prog band, a musical genre for which the mantra is "There is no such thing as too much gear, there's no such thing as too much gear...") I've used my Variax with great success because of the variety of sounds it can produce. I've also used my Strat, equipped with a Roland GK3 synth pick up. But when it really matters, when it really counts, it's the Les paul I return to. Time and time and time again.

I'd have sex with this guitar if I could. But I can't. So I'll just have to settle for strumming one off instead... SOLO!

Jim

It’s What You Do With What You’ve Got.

2006-03-21T14:19:00.000Z

If life is a series of walls to be scaled, then money can often be the key to door that lets you bypass all that nasty climbing (which tends to ruin your both your hair and your Calvin Kline chinos).

Being rich must be nice

Like many amateur musicians I’ve discovered that it’s always a running battle to get the best equipment possible for the least amount of dosh. This predicament is often hampered by advertising pamphlets that masquerade as music magazines (that we pay for interestingly) who line up to tell us what we should have, while all the time making us feel small and artistically impotent because our current DAW is ninety seconds out of date.

I used to buy into this crap in a big way but somewhere along the line; it just got more important to complete a song rather than shell out 400 quid for a better reverb on the kick drum. I’ve also long ago discovered that it’s much less painful to damage a £300 guitar at a pub gig than one costing £3,000.

While on the subject of waking up and smelling the coffee, I’ve noticed yet another bugbear lurking in the musical alleyways, poised to creatively shaft you up the Gary and make off with your hard earned reddies; namely the ‘How to sound like (insert fashionable artist here) by using keyboard X + plug-in Y’ magazine article that simultaneously attempts to encourage your urge to join the in-crowd and eliminate the last vestiges of your own individuality.

This kind of journalism makes my blood boil yet there is a silver lining to our cloud of enforced mediocrity in that if you keep your nerve, forget that your chosen instrument isn’t top of the line and discard the urge to slavishly copy the sound of Good Charlotte, Black Eyed Pees or Autechre, then there is a small chance that you might actually sound (dare I say it?) original. This option gets even more attractive if you understand that as the musical masses continue to remain creative cattle and you have something new to say; you improve your chances of producing something worth noticing.

Working in the Progressive genre, you often find that many of the ‘prog’ bands that are active today wear their influences very much upon their sleeves almost like a badge of honour. Many trade on past glories to accrue an audience who know what they like and like what they know in double quick time but without much hope of creating something truly progressive in intent and as a result, never moving beyond their existing fan base.

Now, if I’m being REALLY honest with myself, I acknowledge that Tinyfish are as guilty as the next bands when it comes to keeping the genre geeks happy because in part, we are ARE those geeks. We want to play good music to as many people as possible and if we can give a crowd some of that traditional genre flavour to the night then so be it (everyone is happy I hope). I’ve seen many prog bands that are less than original and still had a great night out. Let’s face it, even Genesis now openly admit they were ripping King Crimson off at the beginning so how precious should you be?

Where I believe we hope to differ from this credo in that such influences are hopefully a first step towards a style and sound of our own. If we appear a little ‘similar’ to our heroes now, we also hope to emulate their desire to become greater than the sum of our individual parts in the future.

This notion was discussed at great length behind closed doors at the group’s inception and we all agreed that if by intention, our debut album were our definitive statement, we’d sell all our stuff on e-bay to the first person that offered us a good price (or the equivalent weight in soft porn).

In a genre as established (and perhaps over used) as progressive rock, the areas of untainted ground are getting harder to find but I believe still not impossible. Most of the great advances in any field are made by those who either happen upon a discovery by accident or make a leap of logic that turns a thing completely on its head. You can only innovate by doing so we look at our recorded output as research and development as much as a musical handshake to all those that might want to greet us.

Hello, we’re Tinyfish, how do you do?

Simon.

V For Vendetta

2006-03-20T02:46:00.000Z

jim writes:

There's nothing clever about this title. This post is about the movie V For Vendetta, released nationwide across the USA last Friday. Having read the comic several years ago when it was released on a month by month basis as a 12 part graphic novel, I had waited years for someone (with both balls and vision) to get round to filming this. And finally they did. Boy, was I worried that they'd screw the pooch?

So yesterday afternoon, my brother, his girlfriend and I went to see it.

UN-EFF-ING-BE-EFF-ING-LIEVABLE!

Go see it. Now. What are you doing still reading this? Why haven't you left yet? Go on. What are you waiting for?

An while we're on the subject of movies you have to watch (and not just soon... NOW!) - see if you can find "PRIMER" on your next visit to Blockbuster. Described by The Gaurdian as "Donnie Darko for grown-ups" it is, for all the world, like Donnie Darko for grown-ups. But better.

OK, got that out of my system.

Good. So. Tinyfish, eh? Nice.

View from the 15th floor

2006-03-14T19:15:00.000Z

It's not without an air of mild disappointment that I have to report that I was wrong. Wrong about exactly how exalted my working location would be. Oh! And wrong about the building I was going to working in. *sniff*

It seems that between being offered this New York gig and actually arriving here the company I'm working for moved offices, from the 57th floor of the Chrysler Building to the 15th floor of 565 5th Avenue (a fairly nondescript New York office building that doesn'[t even qualify as a skyscraper). Everyone with the exception of the company's managing director seems pretty miffed at this but since the company is expanding at a rate to rival that Waller bloke from Celebrity Fat Club (or whatever it was) on a fact-finding tour of the Cadbury's factory.

But hey! I'm in Noo Yoik! So it's not all bad.

So while I'm sampling life in the richest, most feared, least respected and most often ridiculed nation on the planet, Simon, Paul and Rob march ever on. I'm looking forward to a stab at transcontinental technology later on when Simon has promised to upload a rough mix of some stuff to my webspace for me to have a listen to, comment on and (with luck and a few hundred bucks for a new guitar) perhaps rerecord some guitar bits for.

I'll let you know how it goes.

By the way, does anyone know where to buy kevlar body armour?

View from the 57th Floor

2006-03-06T10:25:00.000Z

James writes:

This weekend coming, tinyfish takes it's first tentative steps towards global domination by poking a small stick into the ribs of North America. For the next five weeks I will be eshewing my commitment to all things tiny and fishy in faavour of all things Big and Apply. New York, New York (So good they named it twice), New York, New York (Oh the scandal and the vice). Here I come.

Whie this may, on the surface of it, lead you to believe that work on the album will slow to the pace of an asthmatic ant with some particularly heavy shopping, further from the truth you could not be (young Padwan). Simon and Paul will not sleep, will not rest, will not turn away from or otherwise shirk their responsibilities in my absence. Or so I'm assured (by people I should have learned about by now). And you may also think that my part has been played to the full for the time being. And you'd be right - kinda.

I'm be journeying to the dark side of the pond with my laptop (I'm there to work so, you know, I'll need it anyway) and some appropriate connecting lerds but without a guitar. NO GUITAR!?

Backstory: A week or so ago, while the open fire crackled, the wind outside whistled and the ice settled evenly over my motorcycle I mentioned to the wife that I had no idea how I was going to survive 5 weeks without a guitar. She snorted and replied "Knowing you, you'll just go and buy one while you're there". "Ah, erm, well... I..." I responded eloquently while a mental light with a particularly slow-working dimmer switch began to glow in my head. The smell of burning dust was cloying.

Back to the present date: Dammit, she's right. Barman! Bring me another of those wonderful Variax thingys. Yum! Hic.

Simon has agreed to continue sending mixes of the tracks as and when they occur and should any extra guitar bits be needed I can record them there and make use of technology by saving thm as .wav files and uploading them to the web for Simon to download and fly into the tracks. Awesome (as they say over there)!

So, while it may be cold in New York City I will be all warm and snug in an apartment overlooking Central Park or working on the 57th floor of the Chrysler Building on Lexington still gainfully noodling away as a guitarist should. And if I have to venture out into the cold of NYC, so what of it? Frost is cool.

In my shoes

2006-02-22T01:02:00.000Z

I'd just like to say that I feel terribly guilty about trying to build a small video whilst Simon has been recreating the history of the world on drums.

Having filmed tinyfish at work (including myself) I am trying my best to make us look like human beings. Or at least prog musicians. Just ignore me. I'll let you know.

Robert

Paul: Bastard

2006-02-21T15:48:00.000Z

As a part of my very occasional series of articles on the sad bastards that inhabit this band; today we shall talk about all things Paul.

Paul Worwood plays bass in Tinyfish and has been my friend since school. The poor sod has been party to some of the best and worst music I have ever been involved with (cue distant memories of packed out gigs at The Marquee Club supporting IQ, Jadis, Geoff Mann, etc and getting changed in toilets overflowing with piss at The Ruskin Arms in order to play to three people playing cards). He and I have stood on stage, side by side in venues as close to home as the pubs of South West London and as far away as the clubs of New York and at no point, have I ever had cause to worry that he couldn’t do the job.

In the recording studio, his reputation as a ‘one take’ merchant is near legendary. I remember working with him for a now defunct prog band in the 90’s and while the entire band argued around him (myself included), Paul calmly laid down his bass tracks one after the other without so much as a flinch. When the recording light went off, he quietly put his bass back in his case and went to find the chocolate Hobnobs. That incident says a lot about Paul’s attitude to both music and indeed life; pay attention to what needs to be done right now and then look for the chocolate Hobnobs.

Bastard.

When you see him play, it’s almost impossible to believe that he took up the instrument simply due to the fact that we couldn’t get anyone else to play in our college covers band. Paul thought about our proposition for a day or two, then took what little savings he had and purchased a bass and amp from a dusty little music shop in Hammersmith. His only question was;
“If I do this, you guys aren’t going to split up are you?”
“Of course not” we lied.

The split didn’t last long however and soon we were all working in another covers band who had a residency in a local pub. The deal was that for ten quid each, we would enthusiastically murder a set of classic and popular songs from the past three decades and the audience would occasionally applaud. We kept this arrangement on and off for about three years until sadly, the pub was attacked by two guys with a chainsaw (I'm not exaggerating) and we had to look elsewhere for work.

It’s where we learned to be good and Paul learned to be very good.

It has to be said however that our Paul doesn’t tend to throw his skill out there for all to see, he just quietly plays what needs to be played be it easy or mind boggling hard to execute. I’ve played with many virtuoso players in my time but I’m reminded of some video footage I have of Paul in a rehearsal room, side by side with an excellent guitarist matching him note for note and smiling quietly at the camera as he did it.

Bastard.

That’s not to say that playing bass came easily to Paul. Most of his skill came from good, honest practice and live experience. He wrestles daily with the songs we write but never gives up until the performance is correct and he fully expects to be better musician every time he plays.

We often push each other out of our technical ‘comfort zone’, partly because it improves us as musicians but mostly because we are mean spirited individuals who enjoy it when others are reduced to girly tears. When Paul is at the centre of this misery, rather than break down and call for mommy, he just digs deep and pulls out something masterful which leaves the rest of us feeling rather stunned.

Bastard.

The strangest thing of all is that over the past twenty years I have seen many changes to his equipment set up, his bandmates, his playing style and even his choice of beard but the quality of his musical contributions have rarely dipped below fantastic. Couple this with his good natured and practical demeanour you find yourself having a tough time trying to find anything to moan about.

Maybe he has smelly feet. I’ll investigate that at the next recording session and get back to you.

Simon.

Miles, furlongs, yards, feet, inches.

2006-02-17T11:03:00.000Z

Like British Rail in the 80s, we're getting there. Further pushing the BR simile, we hope and pray we avoid Hatfield. For reasons that should be obvious if you've ever been there.

This weekend will see Simon and Paul taking on yet more drumming/engineering duties as the multifaceted, multi-talented duo take their places upon drum stool and computer armchair respectively (I'll be sneaking off to the footie since you ask).

With the first half of our musical journey having been taken up with guitars, bass and synths recorded there's only the remainder to be taken up with recording drums, vocals, backing vocals, extra guitar parts, new bass parts and then finally all the twinkly bleeps and boings that make a piece of music truly Prog.

And then we need to mix it. And master it. And then get it out into the world.

Good God, it feels like we've hardly moved at all. But we're still gently rolling along the track, somewhere between Reading and Clapham Junction, with a well-thumbed copy of Guitar Magazine to read and Kino on our iPod for entertainment.

Thank goodness for rail privatisation, eh? Oh.

For me, most things in life have been about the journey and not neccesarily the destination - Tinyfish has been no different. If Motorville never saw the light of day I would be mildly upset but would be content to know that I've spent some more time writing and playing the best music I can with two of my best pals. And I am sure we would start again on another melodic jaunt pretty quickly.

And if we take our time, hop off the train at Richmond and grab a swift pint in The Shaftesbury Arms, so what? We're having fun at least.

The Old Haunt.

2006-02-13T16:43:00.000Z

Over the over the past year and a half, I been involved in recording the first album by Tinyfish with my mates, Jim, Paul and Rob (which is nice)…

Because we are not full time professional musicians, each member of the band has had to undertake many roles during the recording (Paul’s work as bass player, assistant engineer and paper round, Rob’s as lyricist, webmaster and exotic dancer, James as guitarist, the band’s art director and takes in washing) however at no point has their primary role been in any doubt; these guys play.

I too have a number of tasks in the band. I sing, I play the guitar and ocassionally, I host The Oscar Award Ceremony but above all of those things, I am a songwriter and it’s what I love to do. Right now however, we have reached the point in the album where the rhythms have to be taken care of and for the next few months, I have to forget most of the above and become the thing that drew me into this music stuff in the first place, a drummer.

If I had to say which instrument I play with the most ease, I would point a finger towards the drums every time. I cut my live teeth behind a kit and when the word ‘jam’ is ever suggested by other musicians; apart from setting off the fire alarm and running for the exit, I’ll choose sticks over strings every time.

The guide tracks for the Tinyfish album were put together with samples and loops so that the song’s arrangements could be quickly fleshed out and the band could add their parts without the need to de-camp to another location (i.e. a commercial studio). Technology has reached a stage where the quality and power of equipment in the average home studio is on a par and in certain cases exceeds, that which was used to record albums like Pink Floyd’s Dark Side Of The Moon. This means that the vast majority of the recording can take place in the comfort of one's home environment, free of charge and close to the chocolate Hob Nobs.

Even with such technology at our disposal, loops and samples (in my opinion) rarely give you the same feel as a live drummer sitting behind a kit. Given our meagre fiscal situation, we had to come up with a plan that would allow us to record live drums without (a) leaving the house and (b) annoying the neighbours. Thankfully, Roland have produced the V series of electronic drum kits that enables me to play quietly and produce an authentic drum performance at the same time (they even have real drum heads you can tune for that natural 'bounce'). In progressive music the need for such 'live' playing is even more acute but the trouble is; I haven’t hit a drum in anger for nearly three years.

Fuck.

So back to school I go. I’ve unearthed my dusty old practice pad and the Buddy Rich rudiments book that I hated so much as a twenty year old and settled down to practice in every spare moment I have. The blood blisters are back on my thumbs and slowly but surely, the calluses that used to live permanently on my two index fingers are making their presence felt again. I’ve even taken to riding my bike to and from work again in an attempt to build up my ankles (and lose a few inches from my midriff I hope).

What has amazed me about practice this time compared to those early years is how much I’m enjoying it this time. Back then, I just wanted to impress the girls with the speed of my splash and the size of my ride (matron). Today, I practice because it’s relaxing and might make me a better player at the same time. Add to that the sense of achievement when you bag a particularly difficult drum fill and what used to be work has become a real pleasure.

So I’m back where I started, behind a drum kit hitting things in all manner of tempos and strange time signatures. It’s not what I live for anymore but it’s a lot of fun to revisit the old haunt once again.

Boom Boom…

Simon.

During The Hot Chocolate

2006-01-31T16:53:00.000Z

About three years ago, I ran out of music.

Really, no music at all; nothing, zip, nada. I’d sit behind my guitar, strum, play scales, appear at open mike nights, play in covers bands but I had no new music inside of me whatsoever.

Disaster.

This was the third part in a trinity of horribleness that had been building in my life up over the previous year. Family problems exploded in my face, I’d watched my wife’s father die slowly over six months of cancer and now I couldn’t play a note.

Like many songwriters/musicians, creating songs can act like a ‘pressure valve’, taking life’s troubles and venting them through song. As such, writing music is as much a part of my sanity as vitamins are to my bodily health and without the ability to write new songs, I began to unravel in all sorts of interesting ways.

I picked fights with total strangers (and lost most of them), I erased all of the music I had written over the previous six months from my hard disk and even took a saw to my favourite cherry red telecaster (cue a well timed flying rugby tackle from my wife who stopped me from completely severing the neck from the body). The repairs were expensive (but quite cool looking) and served as a wake up call to get my mental house back in order.

After much soul searching, I decided to go back to school and learn everything I could about both the history and the art of making music. I put all my equipment into storage and turned my studio into a study room. I bought biographies on some of the world’s greatest composers both ancient and modern, I studied genres, technology and technique, I attended seminars, gigs and workshops (The Barbican and the Royal Festival Hall are teeming with ‘em if you’re interested). I upped my gig going to one or two concerts a week and chose the shows not by what I liked but by what was interesting, I went to pubs, arenas, theatres, even front rooms so that I could see how other people made their music. I wrote pages and pages of notes, I filled notebooks with lists, quotes, summaries, analysis, bullet points, critiques and observations, all of which I hoped might give me some insight on what was missing.

Still nothing.

The upside was that I was keeping busy (no more street fighting) but a year later I still had no idea what was wrong. This led me to believe that any further active participation in music might be limited to amateur journalistic ventures on web sites or maybe the occasional fanzine. I would cheer from the sidelines rather than play in the game from now on. This realisation depressed me even more but at least I could sell my musical equipment and buy a decent stereo instead.

About two weeks later I was sitting in a bar in Battersea, reading a history of Ambient Music by David Toop and mulling over my new life when I caught sight of a quote by a band called The Boards Of Canada. It said something like ‘melody is everything to us’ which I thought was a nice summation of the band’s intent. I lifted my cup of hot chocolate to my lips, pondering the notion and froze (me not the drink).

Epiphanies are very rare things in life, so rare in fact that you tend to notice when they occur. The world gets very quiet all of a sudden and the urge to yelp excitedly in a high pitched, feminine way is almost overwhelming.

I had cracked it.

Fifteen months after I’d first realised things were wrong; I finally knew what was missing in my music. It was so simple that like the man who discovers a short cut through a back road after years of driving around the Kingston one way system, I felt a complete twat after the elation had subsided. Needless to say I slept very well that night.

Today, Tinyfish is in full swing, writing music is a joy again and entire areas of music that once seemed dead and beyond interest are now fresh and unknown territory ripe for exploration. I guess it just shows you just how much of a ‘head’ game making music really is.

So, what was the grand revelation that I experienced? Well the answer is so mind bogglingly simple that if I told you what it was, there is a good chance you would say:
“Is that it? Fifteen months of inward struggle and that is all you have to show for it? I could have told you that you tosser!”

Maybe it’s just better to say that it worked and if you’ve ever had a similar experience, you’ll know exactly what I mean. If you haven’t however trust me when I say that when it does hit you, you’ll never forget it.

It’s the best cup of hot chocolate you’ll ever have.

Simon.

I do not want what I do not have

2006-01-30T10:04:00.000Z

Old tech. It has it's place. Often that place is just propping open the door to the lav (or propping it closed if the lock is not working). Even the most ardent bog-breaker would find it hard to get into the khazi if the door was held shut by a Mellotron, the foot of the pooing progger therein and the entire back-catalogue of Sound on Sound stacked neatly by the porcelain in a dual toilet reading material/emergency bum-wipes role.

But sometimes old tech can get you out of a fix.

Yesterday was one such moment for me.

I forgot to bring all my leads and power supply odds and ends to the Crow's Nest. As a result, my Variax gainfully spent the day holding the door of Simon's bathroom ajar.

And hoorah! for Les Paul and his classic 1950s guitar design that requires absolutely no external power, no stereo cables, no USB ports, sound cards, and no firmware updates. Just a lead and an amp thank you and away you go. Brilliant!

And we managed to knock "Nine Months on Fire" into shape too. Marvelous. Plus a little more of "Motorville" too.

Further from the truth

2006-01-10T07:49:00.000Z

"My songs are like Bic razors. For fun, for modern consumption. You listen to it, like it, discard it, then on to the next. Disposable pop."

Jim writes:

I watched "Classic Albums" over this past weekend, a retrospective view of "A Night at the Opera" and was simultaneously enthralled, bowled over, inspired and put firmly in my place. A host of music biz luminaries, producers, musos and indeed, Messers May and Taylor, talked about the writing, production and backstory of this quintessentially British Rock album, it's impact on other musicians and the way it changed people's approached making music.

As a result I have gone on a bit of a Queen binge over the last couple of days. And, in my oh-so-very-humble opinion, in among the 15 studio albums Queen made in their lifespan (I''m not including "Made in Heaven" here) there's barely a duff track.

One of the comments made by our Rog during the programme struck a chord. He became rather animated and irritated when he talked about how people always refer to Freddie as having been the consumate showman while seemingly ignoring his mammoth ability as a musician, pianist, singer. Quite. as I write this I'm listening to the track "Dreamer's Ball" from "Jazz". Stunning. It's not one of their better known songs, never having been a single. But let's have a look at just a few other tracks that were not Queen singles but are widely regarded as both Queen and Rock classics:

Love of My Life
Death on Two Legs
Let Me Entertain You
It's Late
Brighton Rock
Stone Cold Crazy
Don't Lose Your Head
Princes of The Universe
Dragon Attack
Tie Your Mother Down

Thank GOD Freddie was so wrong about the impact his music has had, and continues to have as we approach the 15th anniversary of his death.

If Tinyfish could shift just a single grain of sand next to the huge footprint Freddie Mercury left behind, that would be an achievement in itself. And I would be satisfied enough with that.

Riding A Wave And Falling Off A Log

2006-01-09T12:30:00.000Z

First recording session in the new Crow’s Nest yesterday and it was a doddle. I have to admit to being a little nervous as to how things would go as until this point, the studio had not been used in anger for over a month. I shouldn’t have worried as apart from a short journey of discovery in search of an appropriate length of XLR cable we were able to achieve a significant amount of work.

Paul re-recorded some of the bass work for ‘Too High For Low Company’ and some new bass parts for ‘Fly Like A Bird, Sink Like A Stone’. Jim was also busy on sections of the same song, adding some solo acoustic guitar as well as some additional guitar parts for ‘Motorville’.

Well done gents.

Since our return to activity I have, and indeed so has Jim, had a surprising amount of feedback from the Prog world on the anticipated release of the album (More so than for any other release I’ve ever been involved in). I guess this is down to the fact that there are not that many new UK prog acts out there (my brother’s band FROST is the only other one that I can think of) and as such, the bus stop is largely free for us to vandalize in whatever way we see fit.

That may change however. It might just be me but I get the sense that the UK Prog scene might be in for a significant transformation over the next two years. It’s a wave I intend us to ride should it occur.

An in that mood, roll on the Prog Curry on the 20th gentlemen (you know who you are).

Simon.

PS. I saw a great documentary on Ronnie Laine over the weekend. What a nice geezer he appeared to be and I shall download ‘Ogden’s Nut Gone Flake’ this very evening.

Second's Out

2006-01-06T12:38:00.000Z

Simon writes:

Almost everybody enjoys some boxing at one time in their lives.

This is the sport of Kings. The roar of the crowd, the taste of blood in the mouth, the thrill of success when your opponent hits the canvas after you deliver a blistering combination of bodywork and then the final, decisive uppercut that slackens his jaw and sends his bloodshot eyes rolling upwards. You’ve worked all your life for this moment and finally after all the pain, doubt and sacrifice, you are Champion of The World!

Alternatively, you probably know the other from of boxing which occurs when you move house. This is the sport of the common man; the roar of the removal van, the taste of the mortgage, the thrill of success when you loose sight of the floor due to all the useless toss that you call ‘your stuff’ covering every inch of its surface. You’ve worked all your life for this moment too and after all the Solicitors, Building Societies and sofa manipulations you are Champion of Flat C, 19 Cloppity Clopp Street.

Moving house (for me) was an astoundingly painless affair and most of that was due to two very fit and polite Australian gentlemen who drove the van and lifted weights that are usually only undertaken by fork lift trucks. Two hours later, my wife and I were alone in the first building we have ever owned.

As Peter Gabriel once sang; ‘Lord, here comes the debt…’

The other members of Tinyfish have been incredibly patient with me during this time (my thanks to Rob who helped out on move day). The last full recording session we held in the old Crow’s Nest was back at the start of December and things had been really gathering pace when I had to break up the party by putting the studio into boxes and tell the band to twiddle their collective thumbs for a month. Sorry chaps.

Three weeks and many late nights later, the studio now occupies a new Crow’s Nest which is a touch smaller than its predecessor but has carpet and skylights that you can smoke out of without standing on a stepladder. James, who is the group’s designated nicotine researcher, will probably appreciate this feature most all.

Like any mad professor, I’ve regarded this move as an opportunity to tinker with the electronic equipment and as such, some of my best friends in recent weeks have been cables. A sad state of affairs for any red-blooded man but sooner or later, we all have to pander to the inner geek that craves attention.

There has been much banging of heads on the underside of tables and cursing at the creation of elaborate audio paths which stubbornly remain silent but I recognise this is part and parcel of the whole DIY ethos of recording in a home studio. Simplicity is all in situations like this but will I listen to reason? Oh no! In my mind, I have grand plans for every piece of technology short of my sunglasses being able to talk to-one another and be recorded with just the touch of a button. As a result my wife has noticed that bubbles of saliva form at the edges of my mouth whenever I try to explain this majestic vision of an audio utopia to her. I’m not surprised.

In truth, most of my re-wiring work has been dedicated to setting up the V-drums for the drum tracks and apart from ‘re-painting’ some of the vocal parts, completing the tub thumping is my main task right now. After that we have the task of mixing and mastering our collective efforts into what should become the album proper but one thing at a time I guess.

Underneath all of this frenetic activity however is the worry that wherever I move to will not have the same creative ‘vibe’ as the place I have just left. Thankfully, this hasn’t proved to be the case and slowly but surely, the place is beginning to feel like home.

As the saying goes; everything feels different but strangely the same.

High resolution...

2006-01-04T08:25:00.000Z

Jim writes:

That's it. Christmas is over. Back to work you slackers.

The festivities over and done with and noses having swollen considerably, due on no small part to the consumption of copious quantities of what Fundamentalist God-botherers might refer to as The Devil's Wee-Wee, the members of Tinyfish will be returning to their new grindstone this coming weekend.

Simon has clearly been the busiest of all of us over the last few weeks. The poor blighter has had to a) dismantle the Crow's Nest, b) dismantle his home, c) pack his wife into a small Harrod's carrier bag and then d) move everything a few miles across London to a new home. Then e) reassemble his home, f) reassemble The Crow's Nest and then quickly g) unpack his wife from her carrier bag before she suffocates. In the middle of all this he had a birthday - I'll leave it to him to tell you how old he is now.

Paul almost certainly spent the Christmas/New Year period keeping his two boys out of trouble, tending to his wife's every whim, dashing up and down motorways to the midlands to see in-laws, and across London to see his own family, cooking, cleaning, laundry and devising new and interesting ways to entertain the masses with his bass guitars.

I slept. A lot.

No, really. I did. I felt like I slept through about 64% of my time off work. The remaining 36% of my time was divided between eating, drinking and catching the occasional catnap on the sofa in front of the TV. Lazy bastard.

Actually that's not entirely true. I spent a great deal of my time off preparing myself for the rigours of self-employment. meetings at the bank, building society, Mortgage peeps, talking to the Tax Office, insurance companies. From Monday 9th January I'll be out on my own and I really needed to get my financial affairs in order.

I also spent time trying to really get to grips with Garageband - a nifty little bit of software on my Mac that works a bit like ProTools but nowhere near as cool. Or versatile. Which is probably a good thing as it took all my mental strength to get my head around this most simple bit of recording software. I've cobbled together a few random guitar ideas that might make it onto our second album.

Which reminds me - any New Year's resolutions anyone? I made only one - finish the first album.

Other plans for '06:
1. Start second album
2. Save enough money to go to Holland for the Marillion Convention in February 07
3. ... er, that's it really. Not very imaginative really.

'Appy New Year. It's going to be a good 'un. I can feel it. Can you feel it too?

Working For Da Man Be Doo...

2005-12-08T11:58:00.000Z

Jim, mate...chin up, you will be fine as long as you don't resort to becomming a Gangsta Rappa like last time.

He da man and da Dadda and he run 'tings, 'tings don run da man...

...Bing be da man too, doo bee doo bee doo...

Goodbye Cruel World

2005-12-08T10:56:00.000Z

Jim plods mournfully:

As some of you may have gathered from my demeanour over the last few months, life has not been what anyone might describe as "a bowl of cherries"; a bowl of toenails might be slightly more accurate.

One of the dominant and overriding factors in this cereal of bodily detritus has been work, working life, low salary, long days, sometimes very long nights and general levels of professional fulfillment.

And so after five and a half years working for The Man I have decided to once again become The Man for myself. In spite of my memories of life in the freelance market sending me into convulsions of cold sweats I figure that even a job sweeping up in an abatoir might be more appealing than where I currently find myself.

And so yesterday I handed in my notice at Indigo Communications.

My last day here will be 7 January 2006 and from that day on (or at least until someone offers me a permanent job with a company car, guaranteed international travel, an office in Aruba, a secretary that makes Cameron Diaz look plain and dowdy and a salary that would make Roman Abramovich blush) I shall be working under my own steam and taking on everything and anything offered to me. I will work myself into an early grave, surely. But it will be a fur lined, gold trimmed and bejewelled early grave lined with £100 notes entirely and wholely earned by me.

No flowers.

My future's orange

2005-12-01T17:23:00.000Z

Jim uploads:

That's my weekend sorted. How about you?

He Haw He Haw

2005-11-22T12:46:00.000Z

Fresh back from a long weekend in Paris visiting my goddaughter, celebrating her and her father's birthday. With all the fuss in the papers recently, you'd think Paris would be one huge burning wreck but this is simply not the case. If anything the reverse is more applicable.

If was effin' cold.

Left to my own devices for an afternoon, I donned a pair of gloves, a woolly hat and a big coat, so I could roam the streets of this fantastic city. I wandered, I shopped a little (okay a lot), I rode the metro, I drank good hot chocolate and rubbish tea in endless cafes playing live gigs and I thought to myself; "God they REALLY love music here."

It's true guv, there are live venues to play in almost everywhere you look from the biggest enormo-domes to the smallest of intimate clubs and they cater to virtually every kind of music. The last time I was here I could have seen Explosions In The Sky on a boat on the banks of the Seine for Cliff's sake!

It's long been a moan of mine that there just aren't enough venues to play in the UK. I will admit that the frequency of good gigs gets better the further North you go but thanks to the ubiquitous (and cheaper) DJ, venue managers (understandably conscious of their bottom line) choose not to showcase new live talent anymore.

Here in France, where to be anti-social and stay in to watch a DVD on a Saturday night is to be goitre on the neck of George Bush, going out is everything. Even if it is to sit in a restaurant and talk endlessly about which is the best wine to serve with boiled stoat. I can’t get enough of it.

The French put the English to shame with their love of life and of each other. Their economy might be coughing and spluttering like George Best on life support but when you compare that to us money worshipping, work all the hours that god sends, house prices through the roof, pay to watch footie on TV, Brits; I feel somehow we’ve missed a trick.

Tonight will see me back in the Crows Nest compiling bass and vocals on All Hands Lost and the ‘hidden’ track Parasol which Jim pulled of the best guitar solo of his life (yes it is that good folks!). Paul and I just sat open mouthed as we listen though it last week. He out Gilmored, Gilmore.

Talented bastard.

Division of Labour

2005-11-21T12:07:00.000Z

Jim notes with a degree of amazement:

It's a minor miracle I haven't been fired yet. Although at this rate it's only a matter of time. And you know what? If I tried a little harder I could actually manage to give less of a shit about my job right now. But I'd really have to go some.

Spoiler (read at your peril)

2005-11-16T08:27:00.000Z

For those who were not in attendance last night and who intend to be at one or more of the forthcoming Marillion gigs (see how I assume that more people than Simon, Paul, Rob and I actually read this blog?) but DON'T want to know what was played... look away now.

An Accidental Man
Band takes to the stage with Mr h wearing Oxford Don-style cloak and mortarboard and brandishing a riding crop to set the mood for the evening with this tale of social obligation and public flogging

You're Gone
Drum-loop laden mid-tempo cruiser. Another here-today-gone-tomorrow ditty from Mr h

Beautiful
Lighting rig went into overdrive for this slow ballad about how rubbish people are at seeing the good stuff around them.

Gazpacho
Fame and the price of fame - loosely based around an OJ Simpson character. And Jake LaMotta. And John Lennon and Kurt Cobain. Loosely.

Genie
How you can't unsay or undo the things that have been said or done once temptation has had it's wicked way. Apparently h was inspired to write this song when he was approached in Berlin by a woman who claimed that she had been his wife in a former life (German's, eh?!). He declined the invitation to spend some time with her discussing this (wise fella, our Mr h) but was intrigued enough to write a song around the premise about what might have happened had he taken the lady in question up on her invitation.

Fantastic Place
And it was.

Out Of This World
The song that inspired a salvage team to search for, locate and subsequently raise the wreck of The Bluebird from the depths of Conniston Water. One of my favourite Marillion songs, if only for the line "At such speeds... things fly".

The Party
Been there, done that, remember it all too vividly.

Drilling Holes
And acid trip goes really, really well for the members of Marillion. Even XTC get a mention! Two sugars, please.

The Damage
I have yet to meet anyone who has adequately explained what the chuff this song is about. Who cares? Barn-stormer!

Quartz
Some people are just different. Some people are all analogue while others are deeply digital. I'm clockwork and you're quartz. One of these days, you're just going to stop.

Mad
Tiny segue section of a bit of the album Brave. Nice!

Go!
What a delightful little guitar line Mr. Rothery plays on this song. A song about how it only takes a second to turn your life around or upside down.

AT WHICH POINT THE CHAPS TOOK A 5 MINUTE BREAK AND THEN CAME BACK TO PLAY...

King Of Sunset Town
OMG! Haven't heard this live for about 10 years! Maybe.

Cathedral Wall
If I had grinned any wider when they started this, the sides of my mouth would have met round the back and the top two thirds of my head would have toppled off.

THANGYOOGOODNIGHTAYLESBURY! Oh - must be encore time then...

Seperated Out
Am I enough of a freak, to be worth paying to see? We're all freaks on some level, aren't we? Aren't we?

Neverland
If there was one song likely to make me blub like a schoolgirl, this is it. I'll leave it to you to find and read the lyrics.

So, there you have it. A blinding night all round, spent in the company of good friends, a couple of beers and some of the best music you'll ever hear, anywhere on the face of the earth. Only two weeks to go before I head off to Holland for the Marillo's gigs in Tilburg and Utrecht with The Lion and The Trooper. S'gonna be good. Now, where did I put my beer goggles?

Market Square Heroes

2005-11-15T12:36:00.000Z

Jim taps with a jittery sense of anticipation:

Tonight I shall spend the best part of two hours grinning a these five lovely, talented blokes, singing like a complete buffoon at the top of my voice along with all their fabulous songs and most likely, giving myself a damn fine sore throat to remember the evening by. And I'm getting into this evening's Not Quite Christmas Tour Fan Club Warm-up gig at the Civic Centre in Aylesbury for FREE.

Nowt, nada, zilch, zip, gratis, no pounds, no pennies, free, Free, FREE!

Well, I say "free" (employs annoying punctuation hand-gesture) but I guess the net worth of the work I have just done in redesigning the Web-UK Marillion Fan Club logo would be worth around £750 to a paying client so, perhaps this is the most expensive gig I've ever been to?

All together now...

"I came, just as fast as I could, through the dirty air, of your neighbourhoo-ood!"

The Son of The Way We Work (Part II)

2005-11-14T17:10:00.000Z

"4/4?"

"No, four bars of 5/4 over 5 bars of straight 4/4 while the lead line plays 6 bars of 6/8 over 2 cycles of the four bars of 5/4 and it all resolves neatly at the end"

"Oh... So not 4/4 then?"

We have the technology...

2005-11-02T07:17:00.000Z

Jim moans:

Last night was one of the most surreal and unpleasant nights of my life.

Apparently I snore. A lot and loudly. And for the last couple of years teams of doctors, nurses and consultants have spent time gazing up my nose trying to work out why.

I have no first-hand evidence of my snoring. I simply have to accept what I've been told about the noise I create while unconcious (booze-induced or not). I don't have a deviated septum. I don't have soft palate problems. I'm not morbidly obese nor am I in the throes of an alcohol abuse jag (though God knows that would be light relief right now). So after two years of sinus-gazing the quacks who pass for medical professionals in this country finally got their collective shit together and sent me to The Royal Brompton and Harefield Hospital to participate in a sleep study last night.

The bloke who showed me to my room could only drum up the enthusiasm to tell me the technicians would be happy with me because I have a shaved head and therefore it'd be easier to glue diodes to me. I sat and waited for what felt like 3 hours but was in fact exactly 2 hours and 54 minutes before Technician First Class Arnold "Su Jones" Rimmer came to hook me up. A process that took another 1.5 hours. And left me looking like something you'd see at the Tate Modern. Naked but for boxer shorts and tattoos (I would have worn a smile too but I couldn't quite manage that) I looked like an early prototype for the Six Million Dollar Man (Oscar! What are you doing in the garage with Steve? Nothing Mom - just borrowing some of Dad's tools!). Three wires dangling from the crown of my head, one slap-bang in the middle of my forehead, one over right eye, another under left, another one behind each ear, two under my jaw, one on my chest top right, another on my torso bottom left, one on each leg, three straps around my chest, trunk and stomach holding power packs, transmitters and junction boxes and finally a little black breath measuring device that sat under my nose, making me look like some kind of William Gibson inspired cyber-Hitler.

There was no way on God's green earth I was going to be able to sleep with all this stuff all over me. I sat and waited and watched TV.

And so it was that at around 10.30 (having completely failed to see Chelsea lose to Réal Betis of Spain I now understand the sentiment behind the phrase "every cloud has a silver lining") I decided that I was too bored to stay awake and tried to get some sleep.

I suppose I must've dozed off at some point but to say my sleep was broken would be like saying Steve Vai can play guitar a bit. Fitfull would be a good word to use. Equally appropriate would be "shallow"... or "bollocks". By 5.00am I'd had enough. Knowing that the data gathering machines had done their thing by 4.00am I bleeped a nurse who gleefully came to help me tear chest and leg hair out, then I had a shower, left and got to work by 5.45.

And now I can look forward to a day of demanding clients, stroppy bosses and tiredness. I wish I wasn't tired. I wish I could avoid tiredness. And display tirenesslessness...ness.

I bet Steve Austin never had days like this.

Why Go Home When You Can Go Splat!

2005-11-01T18:48:00.000Z

I wonder if she gets introduced to her boyfriend's parents as 'Splat Girl'?

Somehow, I don't think so...

The Tired And The Selfish

2005-10-27T12:04:00.000+01:00

Simon scrabbles;

I’m looking at the album through the bars of a busy life.

Yesterday I had to tell the guys in the band that I have to suspend activity upon the album for a short while as my day job is beginning to slowly and quietly eat into the soft underbelly of my life. At the end of every weekday, I arrive home exhausted and guiltily slink past my studio towards a bowl of pasta and a DVD.

Weekends, which are usually the haven of musical activity have also been invaded as I spend my Saturdays in my office knee deep in IT. On Sundays like God and unlike priests, Premiership football teams and shopping arcades, I rest.

This practice is what is technically known as selfishness.

There are however a few mitigating circumstances that can (at times), offset this selfish attitude and provide a small insight into why people act this way from time to time:

1. Physical exhaustion – Never a great motivator and rarely a source of inspiration. Take it away Mr Hemingway:

"Eased off on the book in May because the Doc said I worked too hard in April and May is a fine month to fish and make love to Miss Mary. I have to ease off on making love when writing hard as the two things are run by the same motor."

2. Time - sure there are people out there with incredible time management skills (captains of industry, parents, etc) but I am not one of them. If you are talking space management, I’m your man. I could make even the smallest spaces in a house seem like a Saturday night hooker with a chuff like a wizard’s sleeve. Time is another matter and I’ll be late for my own funeral.

3. Skill - So far I can count the number of months I’ve been seriously working with Poo Tools on my fingers and thumbs (no toes yet) and as such some of the things that I have to do (proper use of inserts, external and internal sends and returns, comping, bouncing the comps, track management, resource control, etc) have yet to become second nature. Most nights I sit in bed with manuals and a notebook, resisting the temptation to push them aside and bury myself in a David Gemmel novel. The manuals don’t always win.

Now I’m not complaining about my life. Most importantly I realise two important things; Being alive and tired, (at the moment) is vastly preferable to being dead and at rest as it makes phone calls easier to make and secondly it gives my wife someone to kick in her sleep.

Most of all, I feel bad about letting the guys in the band down as they are on fine form. We hit our stride a few weeks back and Jim’s guitar work at our last session was near legendary (semi-erections were to be had all round at his both his sublime note selection and timing). This thought is the real reason why my pasta tastes bad and my DVD, lacklustre. There’s more to this than one person and the music that we create cannot be made by any one individual which makes it complex, slow and utterly fantastic to be a part of. To be unable to contribute to this is group more frustrating than trying to push an octopus through a Venetian blind.

Like a curry however, eaten in haste with a pint of warm lager, I will return.

Spam Your Blog Up

2005-10-19T09:48:00.000+01:00

Jim Rants:

Next person that puts a f*%@$g spam comment below one of our posts is going to get a smack in the chops. Bitch! Get a life you spotty bed-wetting losers!

And... breathe....

Partially Sighted Banana Jim Sanders

2005-10-17T09:06:00.000+01:00

In keeping with the blues tradition of guitarists having a) a defect of some kind (one-legged, dyslexic, multiple nipples etc) and b) a fruit-based nickname, I finally earned my blues name after all these years when I picked up a bottle neck in the studio yesterday, switched my Variax to the Gibson tri-cone setting and reeled of some atmospheric slide guitar for the quiet section in "All Hand Lost".

I'd love to show you a picture of Blind Lemon Jefferson or Massive Underbite Raspberry Snodgrass but since I can't work out how to put pictures in the blog in the first instance and being confounded by the non-existence of Old Rasp (as he's affectionately known among those in the know) in the second, here's an appropriately morose blues emoticon instead...

:-(

... I woke up dis mornin'...

NB

2005-10-10T12:35:00.000+01:00

It should be noted that the post below the post below is not to be taken literally in as much as the lyrical content of the song mentioned should in no way be construed as being in any way biographical nor remotely descriptive of the professional life of my aforementioned chum and furthermore any similarity between the storyline of the song and any persons, living, dead or undead (name that movie) is purely co-incidental.

Alright? It made me think about the whole pop industry at large and in general. That's all. Got it? Good. Now, away with you...

I'm Under The Bed.

2005-10-07T18:34:00.000+01:00

Simon dribbles;

I was lying underneath a random bed in the sheltered accommodation last night, dressed in my Thursday hot pants and flexing my left hand in readiness for the glove puppet, when it occurred to me that I hadn’t mentioned on the Tinyfish blog, exactly which songs might make it onto the album. As I waited in silence for the owner of the bed to return from the toilet, I began to draw up a mental track list for the album…

Track 1: Motorville.
This is about as close as we’ve yet to get to an instrumental as I only warble for the last two minutes. This number is about what you get when you have too much of what you want. Jim and Paul are the real stars of this track who weigh knee deep into the musical noodles and come up smiling with fists full of melodies. Motorville will probably end up as the name of the album too.

Track 2: Fly Like A Bird, Sink Like A Stone
I believe this is James’ favourite track on the album but I could be wrong. It’s one of the songs that was written before the band was formally convened and is a laid back, slow burner with bars of 9/8 woven into a 4/4 groove. There’s a typical Sanders solo that explodes at the end (a-la Marillion’s Neverland) that I love to bits. Rob tends to write most of the lyrics for the band but this outpouring is one of my increasing rare submissions which is about empire building by stealth.

Track 3: Too High For Low Company
Ah-ha, the first part of the vampire story! A great bassline from Paul and lots of heavy guitars from James and yours truly. I love the middle eight of this one as it has an ice cold solo from Mr Sanders which is very unlike his usual brand of warm and tubular sounding note explosions but it really sums up the spirit of the song. There’s also a funky close harmony vocal bit in there that tends to slip by unnoticed unless you’re look out for it. So er…look out for it.

Track 4: The Clock
The first of the album’s two ‘long song’ and is currently weighing in at eleven minutes. I’m not a huge fan of epic songs as they just tend to be a load of short numbers stuck together with swirly synths or samples to connect everything. That said, I’ve heard some great examples (‘Supper’s Ready’ nearly always springs to mind) but they tend to be the exception rather than the rule. Tinyfish will never say never (maybe there IS a behemoth inside us waiting to get out) but I wouldn’t hold your breath as life’s too short (which is incidentally what the track is about). Nice glittery synth work by James in the middle two minutes too.

Track 5: Hand In Hand
Usually when we write, one of us will say; “Hey, isn’t song ‘xxxxx’ great!, why don’t we write something in that style?” We all agree and enthusiastically set about the task but due to our short attention spans, we tend to get distracted and end up writing something else. This is one case in point as it started out as a King Crimson ‘Epitaph’ like ballad and ended up somewhere completely different. On a slightly unrelated point, Hand in Hand was known as the Mellotron song for a while as there was more than a large smattering of it across the tune. I personally used to dislike the Mellotron sound but as my guitar synth has a particularly good (and in tune) sound-a-like, I’m not as hell bent against it as I used to be. By the way, the spellchecker has just taken umbrage with the word ‘Mellotron’ and suggested ‘Millerton’ instead. Microsoft are not prog fans then?. I have no idea what this song is about lyrically so I suggest you ask Rob if you are curious.

Track 6: Nine Months On Fire
An epic in miniature. This is a six minute song that could have been fifteen if we’d been a little more up our arses and self indulgent. Paul really shines on this one, growling his way across the opening tom toms and snaking through the musical long grass during the quiet middle bit before piling the grind back on as song draws to an abrupt close. It’s similar to the Genesis track ‘Me and Sarah Jane’ in form but much closer to ‘Watcher of the Skies’ in sound when we play it live. I particularly like the way it snaps shut like a mantrap at the end. Probably the most ‘Tinyfish’ song on the album and one of our better moments if you ask me.

Track 7: All Of The People, All Of The Time
Currently this is my personal favourite yet is merely a small interlude between the main tracks. It features the dulcet tones of Rob Ramsay who tells a tale of paranoia gone wild at the other end of the phone. Apparently, you’re never alone even when you are.

Track 8: Build Your Own Enemy
I’ve always feared and been fascinated by the things that make us unwell. Being ill is a fairly binary (and banal) state of being, yet to understand the impact of any malady is a profoundly complex undertaking (and for this song, one where I merely scratch the surface). On a lighter note, there’s some great interplay between James & Paul during the end section courtesy of a happy accident that involved too much coffee, missed cues and furious silent nodding.

Track 9: God Eat God
Why do flowers and fists both come in bunches?

Track 10: Sundried
The second part of the vampire story that follows on from ‘Too High For Low Company’. Without a doubt, this is the piece of music that personally, took the most work to achieve. The strings are courtesy of a bunch of Russian players who appeared to have one eye on the music and the other on the clock. Getting their performances was the easy part (thank you Turnkey!), the difficult part was trying to write an arrangement that would do both the strings and Rob’s mournful yet acerbic lyric justice. There was much gnashing of teeth as I struggled with the ever present Poo Tools (which seemed to have decided it didn’t want to play ball with my grand vision) to create something that gave the album a more idiosyncratic dynamic. Truly, a man is merely the sum of the licences on his iLok key.

Track 11: All Hands Lost
Time to close the album with the second of our two longer songs. This was the first piece of music I wrote for the band and certainly the first one I tackled on Poo Tools. The time and effort exerted upon this one number would put it up alongside The Beach Boys ‘Good Vibrations’ for blood sweat and tears. A tune that turns the clichéd end of the world theme neatly on its head with an animated and neatly observed lyric from Rob. James puts in an inspired performance and thoroughly deserves his writing credit if only for the all pervading guitar hook that threads its way through the music. It also saw the debut of James’ latest weapon; the Variax (a guitar modelling simulator that lets you sound like any number classic axes from a 1950’s Fender Strat through to an Indian Sitar!). This is probably the number I feel most personally involved with as both I and the band began together by playing this tune again and again with our then drummer Steve up in the attic that is now The Crows Nest Studio (sorry neighbours). I’m rather keen on the last few seconds of this track as well.

Well those are the current candidates as they stand. I’m sure there will be changes as some fall by the wayside only to be replaced by others but the main body of work is all present and correct. It’s been a long road and it’s not over yet…

This weekend shall see me tackling some more of the drum parts for ‘All Hands Lost’ behind the trusty/rusty Roland V-drums. Paul will assuming his usual role of engineer/tyrant as he sits in front of the computer, tapping his feet and yelling “No, no, no!! How many times have I told you; its three bars of nine, one bar of four, another three bars of nine, stop for two beats, eight bars of seven and then the ghost note section in three. Pull your fucking finger out you useless gibbon and play it right this time!!”

Paul is the nurturing type don’t you know.

One Hour Man

2005-10-05T10:54:00.000+01:00

Jim babbles:

Today when I got to work I listened to Marillion's album "Radiation". Here are the lyrics to "Three Minute Boy" from that album:

Here today
Gone this afternoon
Another tune we almost remember
What's the story
Sex and drugs again
Business as usual
The clock's already ticking
La la la la

When he was young
Staring at the TV
He watched the fun happenin' to other people
Now they scream
As they run after him
Like a dream
Like Elvis and the Beatles

A three minute song is all he wrote
He only did it for a joke
They played him on the radio
From Tokyo to Timbuktu
A three minute boy, ain't that somethin'
They named their children after him
The good times rolled beneath his feet
He skipped along the one-way street

She's a pretty girl
She don't know how it started
She made a movie
He almost remembered
She measured up
They moved into a basement
"We're so in love!"
They giggled to the nation
La la la la

Three minute millionaire they said
The numbers rattled round his head
They spun him three times round the globe
She waited patiently at home
And all the pretty girls wanted him
In places that he'd never been
Too much love will do you in
Forgive Forgive Forgive Forgive

Three minute kid is here again
Surrounded by three minute friends
He found someone to understand
To shock the world and hold his hand
No religion, no restraint
No direction, no complaints
No future and no way out
No time now to think about it
All the money's gone
He don't know what he spent it on
Girlfriends gone off with the Jag
Gone back to her mum and dad
He's curled up on the studio floor
He just can't do it anymore
The flashgun went off without warning
He'll read about it tomorrow morning

She's goin' out with someone new
In this week at number two

These fabulous lyrics, brought into the world by the pen of Steve Hogarth made me think of an old pal of mine who some of you may know. This chum made a fair old living writing fabulously successful pop songs for boy and girl bands, until the day he had a "What am I doing here?" moment of epiphany and packed it all in to concentrate on writing his own 60 minute slab of Prog Rock Magnificence (and a fine, fine job he's done too).

I wonder at a world that lauds the sound-bite culture, shallowness and style above substance. And makes me thankful that there are still people out there who believe strongly enough about something as unfashionable as Progressive Rock to suffer the brickbats, catcalls and the sniggering from behind cupped hands.

God! I love being in this band.

Diet!

2005-09-30T14:10:00.000+01:00

Jim says:

You know how when you want something REALLY badly and no amount of "you can't afford it" or "you don't really need it" from anyone is going to sway you? Yes? Good. Well I just caved in and bought the guitar that I first really took notice of at The London Guitar show a few months back.

I am now the proud owner of a Variax.

And I'm quite a few pounds lighter.

Dogs in the Midwinter...

2005-09-29T11:40:00.000+01:00

Jim says:

When I was younger, before I knew any better, yet at a time by which I should have done, a friend asked me if I liked Jethro Tull. He hopped from foot to foot with excitement like a kid needing to pee, "Ooh-ooh"ing about Songs from The Wood. I was deeply ashamed - I had never heard anything by Jethro Tull but since to this particular friend of mine believed that I was deeply knowledgable about all things Rock, Prog and Metal I wasn't about to shatter his illusions by letting him know that I was horribly hazy about anything The Tull had ever done. So instead of admitting my ignorance... I lied.

"Hmmmn..." I opined, learnedly stroking the part of my face that is now covered by a goatee beardie thing.

"Well, Jethro Tull... the thing about Tull... you know the actual thing about them is... well, they're crap aren't they?"

I plucked this gem from the air, basing my decision on nothing more tangible than the fact that they all had beards, looked like Catweazle, wore tights, and one of them stood on one leg and played a flute. Ponces! How un-Rock was that?

I took it one step further:

"You should stop listening to them now my friend. People might think you knit your own meusli and make herbal infusions from the scrapings of farm yard floors. Get with the program... here - listen to this Black Sabbath album".

My pal looked unconvinced but yet I was gratified (what a sh1t I was) that his shoulders had slumped when presented with the news that I didn't like something he did. I was a bad man.

Some years later (and not many) I was living in Tel Aviv, Israel. European bands that included this trouble-spot on their world tour itineraries were few and far between. I had been unlucky enough to see The Waterboys while there and their insipid and uninspiring set provoked me into accepting an invitation from a friend to see Jet'ro Tool (as he pronounced it) at Park Ha'Yarkon. Surely even Tull had to be better than The Waterboys?

And they were. Blimey! They were fantastic. And I was bowled over to recognise quite a few of their songs - Thick As A Brick, Watching Me Watching You, Beastie... Cripes, what had I been missing.

Now, you might think that as a result of this moment of epiphany I became the World's Biggest Tull Fan but you'd be wrong. I have a few albums, some of it is OK, some of it is is really good and yet more is utterly astounding. But I have only ever owned stuff by Tull either on vinyl or casette. It has been a long time since I listened to them as a result and so it was with a large lump of glee that I tore open the wee brown parcel from Amazon on Monday night to find both "Crest of a Knave" and "Broadsword and The Beast" on CD. I clutched them in my fists, raised them to skies and roared my approval to the Gods of Prog. I scared the cats but only elicited a single raised eyebrow from my wife.

And now I can't remember if there was a point to this otehr than to let you know I've just bought 2 CDs online.

Ladies: I Give You Paul Worwood

2005-09-27T17:21:00.000+01:00

Pic's coming soon. More love and five string bass runs than any woman could handle!

The Truth And Why You Need It.

2005-09-27T17:04:00.000+01:00

Simon scribbles;

I am a musician. I write, I play, I sing, I engineer, I produce.

I do none of these things professionally as I am not a professional musician. In actuality, I am a professional in the Information Technology field and this means that I go to an office between the hours of 8.30am and 6.00pm to pursue said profession in return for money.

Most of this money goes towards paying off a loan my bank gave me to buy a house. I have to do this job, otherwise I will have to give the house back and this action will not only rob me of a place to record music, it will make my wife very, very unhappy.

The other members of the band (with the exception of one) are in the same position as I and all of them have priorities that come before the frivolous/fun activities that constitute operating a progressive rock band in the noughties.

In an ideal world, I would be doing music professionally; twenty four hours a day, seven days a week in fact but sadly, until that day comes, I and the other members of the band will continue to operate (like most progressive musicians), as a cottage industry (albeit fuelled on a mixture of naïve enthusiasm, an unadulterated love of progressive rock and Visa card transactions, all of which shall be religiously hidden from our wives).

Why do you need to know this?

Because nothing we will ever produce would make much sense without it. This is a labour of love and although I sincerely believe that we may go on to produce many albums; they will not make our band a household name, they will not enable us to travel to gigs by private jet and most importantly, IT WILL NOT MAKE US RICH!

Ask any prog musician why they do it and you will (almost without exception), be told that it was for the love of the music that drove them to don a wizard’s hat and boogie in 9/8. Hell, even Neal Morse wrote ‘The Light’ thinking it was better to play what you wanted rather than what was popular. Some might even have been part of commercial music industry for a short while (Marillion and Echolyn spring immediately to mind) only to discover that they preferred to play challenging music to the few who ‘get it’ rather than endure performing chart fodder to the masses who don’t.

Tinyfish salute all of those musicians who stop reaching for the sun and choose instead to grasp the nettles that grow in its light.

In other news; I have found that women’s netball is a wonderful spectator sport…

I'm schitzophrenic and so am I

2005-09-21T13:00:00.000+01:00

Jim Says:

Can you afford it?
No.

Do you need it?
Probably not entirely.

Will it cause a row at home?
Almost definitely.

Will you buy it anyway?
You betcha!

Why?
Because a wise man once said "You can never have too much gear". And I think he was right.

But... what is it?
A Strat with all it's internal organs ripped out and the internal workings of a Variax 300 put in their place.

What if it sucks?
Then I won't buy it and I'll buy a bog-standard Variax 300 in it's stead.

But they're really ugly.
Yes I know. But just look at what it does.

What DOES it do?
It does: Fender Strats; Fender Teles; Gibson Les Pauls: Standard, Custom and Junior; Gretch; Martin acoustic 6 & 12 strings, Gibson Acoustic 6 & 12 strings; Rickenbackers 6 & 12 strings; Dobro National; Resonator; Sitar. Being brief.

I see.
Good. That's settle then. You'll be getting one too then?

Happy Birthday Tinyfish

2005-09-16T15:41:00.000+01:00

Simon says:

It was this week a year ago that I made the call to Jim and asked him if he wanted to form a Prog band with me. That year has just flown past like a small, very dangerous child, dressed in a cowboy outfit, riding a particularly fast and shiny BMX.

Since that date we have formed a line up, started a blog, lost a drummer, written loads of songs, purchased lots and lots of musical goodies, learned to use Pro Tools (a.k.a. Poo Tools) with varying degrees of success and recorded and album and a half of material (in some cases, twice).

The Crow's Nest studio is beginning to look very lived in and functional which is a shame as we'll be upgrading to a custom designed studio at the end of this year (The Black Attic), which should see us able to make even more majestic music and of course , better fart tapes.

I also noticed that each member of the band is a little different now. Gone is the nervousness that comes with not knowing if we were able to write good material to be replaced with confident sense of purpose, clear excitement and heavy bouts of binge drinking.

Happy birthday Tinyfish. I understand not many people know of your existence right now but patience is a virtue and maybe things will change...

PS. Coming soon ladies; Pictures of Paul

It was a meeting

2005-09-09T00:11:00.000+01:00

Tonight was a band meeting. Simon showed us his x-ray skeleton of "Nine Months On Fire" that I'd written the lyrics for. It was marvelous, and it flew. I am always extremely happy when I hear Simon's new versions of songs, especially when he gets all the words right, since that is my selfish interest.

Many years ago, I was walking down a street in California when two Spanish men passed by us, talking (naturally enough) in Spanish, which I speak not a word of. After they'd passed by, one of my companions turned to me and said: "Sometimes, I wish I didn't understand Spanish."

"Why," I said, "what were they saying?"

"Oh," she said, "they were just arguing."

I was standing at the bar tonight, and suddenly, I felt exactly the same, only about English.

Songs and Blocks of Wood

2005-09-07T19:56:00.000+01:00

Hello. Robert here. I thought that I'd finally get off my bottom and talk about my contribution to tinyfish.

I write lyrics.

How do I do this? Well, Simon hands me a song. Imagine that the song is like a block of wood. Sometimes it has an eye or a handlebar carved into it, sometimes it's just an interestingly shaped piece of wood.

I look at it for a while, then I start carving away all the bits that don't look like they belong in the song. Eventually, I end up with a recognisable thing. Or even a series of things.

It all depends on what mood the song arouses in me, as to what sort of thing comes out - after all, you can't do more than bring out what's there already, eh? That's what drugs do, and that's what songs do. The more powerful the drug/song, the more things come out. And if it's strong enough, you get things you didn't even know were there...

Those are the kinds of songs I try and end up with.

Ow!

2005-08-23T16:51:00.000+01:00

I agree with Jim. Music hurts.

The Bryan Adams Blog?

2005-08-10T14:34:00.000+01:00

While Simon and Paul work away the hours in The Crow's Nest, steadily burning the retinas from the backs of their eyes from staring at the computer monitor, I have holed myself up in a studio in Chesham with guitars and amps and good soundproofing.

Practicing like crazy I find that while four weeks of no guitars works wonders for one's marriage it plays havoc with finger dexterity and softening callouses. I hurt. A lot. Last weekend I used up 16 hours of my life going over solos, patches, rhythm guitar parts, new extended chords and just playing, playing, playing.

While the other two are now unable to focus on anything further away than 22 inches, I am unable to use my left hand to pick up knives and forks, keys, TV remotes or anything requiring the most basic of manual dexterity.

Which is why I found myself humming an old Bryan Adams tune on the way to work on Monday:

"...Bought it at the five and dime,
Played it 'til my fingers bled..."

Although I guess it's worse when your eyeballs bleed.

Everything I do... I do it for you, and you and you and you.

2005-07-31T13:39:00.000+01:00

I feel terrible.

I feel like I've been letting the side down.

I feel like I haven't been pulling my weight.

And I feel, somehow, that I might in some way be responsible for Simon and Paul having such a hard time of it with the recording process.

This is utter bollocks, clearly. But being the product of a semi-Catholic upbringing, it is my mission in life to feel guilty about everything. And I've been away. 3000 miles away actually, sampling the delights of the Acadian, Gaelic and Celtic cultures of Nova Scotia, Canada. Enjoying the beer, the scenery, the music, the beer, the food and beer, the wildlife and the beer has been the mission for me and Mrs. Wife for the last 18 days. We're heading back tonight and will be arrivng back in Blighty at some time around 11.00 tomorrow morning.

Arriving back to a house that has been "tidied" by my mother-outlaw, probably arriving back to desk piled high with two weeks of work backlog, but cetainly arriving back home to be greeted by two fellow bandmates, freshly bald from hair-pulling, toothless from gnashing and bleary-eyed from crying tears of frustration over the recording of the album. While I've been swanning around Canada without so much as a care in the world.

I feel terrible for them.

I feel as though I should bring them something inspirational back from the colonies.

I feel like I really ought to know as much about recording as they do.

I feel as if, just BEING AROUND to share the burden might help.

I feel a Bryan Adams-style version of Jim'll Fix It coming on...

The Wall

2005-07-29T14:26:00.000+01:00

Simon says;

Like a marathon runner, we have hit 'the wall'.

This has to be the most ball grindingly hard part of the album so far. We have formed the band, written the songs, learned how to use the recording equipment, recorded the demo, listened to it, made copious notes and have begun record the REAL album in earnest...

...only we haven't.

Paul and I have been working on arrangements for the last three weeks and that had been going well but underneath this thin veneer of confidence had been the growing dread that the demo was not going to be usable as a base for recording the album proper and oh, how right we were.

The plan was to use the demo sound files as a guide but since they were put together without any thought about using them in the main recordings, none of the bastard songs will sync up with our 'posh' recording equipment. Only 'The Clock' which turned out to be the real problem child of the demo, has played ball and slotted in with our software (Pro Tools).

The two of us went through the tracks one by one in an attempt to solve the problems, manuals were opened, brains were stormed and straws were clutched at but as fast as we tried to whip the songs back into shape, each one just unravelled before our ears.

We sat back and just stared at each other in silence for a moment, then bust out into peels of desperate, maniacal laughter as the reality of having to begin again from scratch settled in (it was all we could do to prevent us from crying). It’s like making a million only to discover all the money you’ve saved is counterfeit.

So, last night I turned the computer on, chose a tempo, picked up a guitar, pressed 'record' and began to play the intro to 'Nine Months On Fire'.

Never has that title seemed so apt.

Temptations

2005-07-26T15:15:00.000+01:00

Oooh, I have become a six year old child again.

The reason for this regression is an instrument called the Chapman Stick (see ace Stickman, slaphead and all round excellent musician, Tony Levin of Peter Gabriel and King Crimson fame above) and I have an overwhelming urge to purchase one. Yes indeedy I do!

For those of you not in the know about these wonderful instruments, they were developed by a gentlemen called Emmet Chapman in the US back in the late 60's as a means of playing a stringed instrument in a semi-similar way a piano player plays the piano (i.e by striking the stings to a surface rather than strumming like a regular guitar). In addition to this, Chapman thoughtfully added bass strings to the instrument which meant that a player could play a full accompaniment across many octaves.

Okay, for the best part of about five years I have been loitering around Ebay and/or local music shops, looking for second hand Sticks and to put it bluntly, coveting every single one that wafts by my eyes. I liken it to a child looking through the window of a toyshop at a beloved game or device that would solve not only all my problems but indeed, all the problems in the world at that moment and in one instant.

This naturally, is both infantile and impossible :-)

I’m sure all the other band members must have a similar story to tell although I will admit that James purchased his dream guitar (a splendid Gibson Les Paul Standard) and Paul (a 5-string custom built Sei bass) some years back. They seem as pleased as punch with their respective axes but I bet there is something out there that still sets these guy’s pulse racing. When it comes to expensive musical objets d’art, there literally is no limit. I mean have you ever seen how much a brand new Bernadetto arch top guitar costs? You won't get much change from £30k (I'm not kidding).

Yes, the key word in that last paragraph however is expensive. A good second hand Stick will set the average punter back about a thousand pounds and if you want a new one with extras you are almost talking telephone numbers. I find myself looking down the barrel of either a bank loan or a bank job to obtain one. As it currently stands, I am confined to the odd moment alone with a picture of a Stick in a secluded part of the house and a box of tissues. Why oh why don’t I lust after normal man things like cars or lesbians?

All good things come to those who wait however and I'm sure that one day, I might scrape together enough cash to to own one. Maybe.

Don’t think of me as sad, I’m just a teeny bit repressed is all.

A Moment Of Madness

2005-07-07T15:20:00.000+01:00

How can I possibly begin to explain what went on here in London today. Bombs on busses and tubes, the sight of the dead and wounded on our streets and for what end? I feel happy to be unable to understand why people would want to inflict such pointless pain.

I'm sure I can speak for all the members of the band when I say that our thoughts go out to the families and victims of these terrible events.

Utter madness.

Drums and Money

2005-07-01T13:35:00.000+01:00

Well it has begun. We are recording the album 'proper' after six months of self imposed and self taught engineering and production school. As has been mentioned before, the amount of manuals we have collectively had to plough through and understand is astounding but in the end I believe the ends will justify the means.

All complaints aside, the main reason for us attempting such an ambitious project all on our lonesome are two-fold:

Firstly, progressive rock is not the great chart topping, cocaine consuming, girl getting, silk wearing, money spinning, cash cow it used to be. As a result, the vast majority of major record labels now cough and walk swiftly past anything with an extended chord or an odd time signature. There are younger and more gullible markets to be exploited in today’s MP3 world.

Secondly; we have made no secret of the fact that we all have day jobs and families so the notion (however wonderful) of us spending weeks in a professional studio with a name producer, sipping cocktails by the pool while having our pubic hair weaved into our beards so that we may be able to strum them like harps is sadly a very pleasant but very obvious pipe dream. A shoestring does not even begin to describe the budget we have to work with on this album.

As a result every penny spent has to be worked out in advance (in sometimes painful detail) for fear of our pockets being emptied before the completion of the album. It seems that before we can be musicians these days, we have to be business men first.

Oh joy!

To return to the point and on a more positive level, the first drum was struck in anger last Sunday (June 26th) as Paul (seated at the computer with his engineering hat on), Jim (with his producer's hat) and I (with my special moisture resistant red drumming pants) began to track the drums for the track 'Build Your Own Enemy'. The progress was tentative to say the least as we have a long way to go before completion but it felt good to place a first foot on the road.

The rest of the afternoon was taken up with the guys 'green lighting' what I had written for the drums as we had used drum loop samples to speed up the process of writing and recording the demo. Great for speed but not so great for me as I now had to replicate/re-write the drums parts for my ham-fisted drum technique. Confidence was running low but I soon perked up as the other two guys shouted encouragement.

"Just fucking do it you toss pot!" Encouraged Paul as leaned back on his seat and drank his coffee. Fine, I thought and I looked to Jim for added support.

"Yes, you're great, now do it properly and stop looking so crest-fallen" Warbled Jim in agreement as he slurped his tea and kicked my drum stool. I looked quickly back down at the kit before me, fixing my expression into a tableau of concentration, while all the while wondering where MY hot beverage had gone.

Tea, milk with one sugar please...

Tub Thumping

2005-06-24T14:49:00.000+01:00

Clever Paul

2005-06-21T10:18:00.000+01:00

Two posts in as many hours. We're like busses I suppose.

Paul did indeed wander over to the Crows Nest this weekend to help yours truly to defeat the evil Poo/Pro Tools and help me over a large hurdle that will finally see us able to record the drums live and in total isolation (in short making the bloody thing sound better).

Paul is a clever git and thank god he was there.

More fun was had with Paul's latest purchase (as mentioned elsewhere in this blog) his midi 'Taurus' pedals which make that classic prog synthetic bass rumble that you hear so often at Genesis shows and in scary parts of 70's horror films. Naturally, we spent a very enjoyable hour or so rattling the window frames with their classic growl.

As has been mentioned with the pre-production demo completed, notes made, pubs visited, drinks drunk, voices raised (it was a noisy pub) and conclusions arrived at, we are now commencing the full album recording with all speed.

The difference this time is that over previous years (and other bands), we have had to fit into the times available for commercial studios, our financial resources and work commitments. With this album and band however, we have our own place to write work and record (the Crow's Nest) which has significantly lifted the cash and time vultures off our collective backs.

Oh goody!

Brilliant!

2005-06-21T08:35:00.000+01:00

It's now just over a month since any of us posted anything up here and that might make it seem as if we've gone off the boil but far from it. Still waters run deep and all that, which is not to say we're Philosophers by any stretch of the imagination but a tidy desk is either a sign of inactivity or anally retentive organisational skills. I know which one it is for me and I'm damned sure I know which side of the desk Simon sits.

New guitar patches sorted at my end of the office, new Bass pedals acquired at Paul's end of things and the facility to record individual midi data tracks from the drums onto ProTools at Simon's end.

So the seemingly uphill task of re-recording everything begins.

Last weekend Simon sat reticently behind the kit while Paul and myself looking on expectantly.

"Look," said Simon, "it's all going to sound completely different to the demo when I start playing all over the tracks."

"GOOD!" cheered Paul and I.

"Which doesn't mean we weren't happy with the drums on the demo, just that it'll sound better when proper drums are played along with the track rather than the tracks being played along with sampled drums" I continued.

Simon took some convincing. We all need our ego's massaged from time to time, with a little exaggeration here, a tiny white lie there. But what can you do when the best drummer you've ever worked with (who chooses to play guitar and sing brilliantly as well [This song is not about friendly rivalry. It's called "Simon You Bastard"]) thinks they mightn't be up to the job? You verbally abuse them - that's what.

"Stop wincing about, for fuck's sake. You're fucking brilliant, the songs are fucking brilliant, the demo is fucking brilliant and we're all fucking brilliant. Don't worry. It'll be fucking brilliant".

"Brilliant." said Simon.

And with that we went downstair to drink more tea.

Drink Harry, Drink 'Till You Can't Drink No More

2005-05-18T16:51:00.000+01:00

This evening will see the proud but slightly cross-eyed members of Tinyfish trot off to the pub up to discuss our thoughts so far about the pre-production demo that we completed at the end of April. As has been mentioned before (ithangyewjames...), each band member has taken a month of to inwardly digest the material that was comitted to CD and this evening sees our first opportunity to hear feedback (so to speak).

I for one will admit to suffering a little 'burnout' at the end of April and had no real idea if what we had created was pants or not. As a result, this month of has been a godsend personally (nothing to do except climb mount Snowdon and learn Archery). However, the time off has been worth it and thought of meeting up again has filled me with bags of enthusiasm for both album and band.

It does make me think what the big acts must go through, I mean all we did was spend three months writing the songs, learning to record music in a Pro-Tools software only environment, hire and fire a band member, design a website, begin work on album artwork, research websites and record labels for future promotions, purchase and learn how to work guitar-synthesises, write lyrics, programme samplers and rebuild the studio almost in it's entirety (twice).

What must it be like in the 'big leagues'?

Show me your box.

2005-05-09T08:59:00.000+01:00

With the demo finished we're taking some time to live with the fruits of our labour for a few weeks. Time in the the Crow's Nest will be at a minimum (if only to allow Simon and his wife a little quiet time together) and the next 3 weeks or so will be taken up with compiling some serious production notes.

So I'm playing the demo over and over and over, gathering thoughts and further ideas. Does this bit here work, does that seciton go on too long, does this song need something more should that song do a little less? And while I'm at it, so are Simon and Paul. Which means that when we next get together we will probably only agree on one thing - the name of the band.

When it comes round to starting the album proper, I have been offered some free studio time to record the guitars. This will be great as it will mean that primarily, the guitar sounds will be waaaaaay better.

The notion of speaker simulators is great but what you gain in convenience, you lose in immediacy, the whole interaction between the guitar and the noise coming from a set of Celestions being lost to the idiocincracies of D.I'ing. To set up in a soundproofed room with some serious microphones set strategically around a blaring amp while one thumps out a song is one of the joys of being a guitarist. The strings vibrate, causing the magnetic poles of the pick ups to vibrate within the coil, causing an electrical impulse to shreik through the cable to the amplifier and out of the speakers where the considerable noise once again causes the strings to vibrate further or even marginally differently. This is where killer tone, beautiful sustain and a big, big sound really gets going.

And this is why plugging into a tiny box is never quite the same as plugging into a really big and noisy one. No matter what those nice people at Line 6 told me at the London Guitar Show yesterday.

Priorite a droit

2005-04-28T11:05:00.000+01:00

You know you're on to somthing when, even though you're on your way to the funeral of a Grandparent, and even though getting to that funeral has meant very little sleep, a 13 hour journey across land and sea and vast expense, you can't help but hum the refrain from the opening track of what you hope will be your new band's debut album as you negotiate a roundabout that goes anti-clockwise.

Beinvenue a Motorville

PS - Four of my cousins think I loook like a cross between Moby and Dr. Green from ER. Which is nice.

James

Mr & Mrs Stick Catcher

2005-04-22T16:38:00.000+01:00

I went to see a band called Interpol a few days back at the hallowed Brixton Academy (a great venue by the way if you're ever in London). The band were great, if a bit too keen on wearing there collective hearts on their sleeves when it came to their love of all things Joy Division; that said I had no complaints.

The crowd really loved these guys and the adoration was not lost on either myself or the band. It was great to see a group of people just getting in to it and forgive me if I sound like a craggy old romantic git, but I hadn’t seen such devotion in years and that warmed my heart to the core.

The problem was that while there most of us were content to say “Great gig, now let’s go have a beer.” there were some people present who had gone beyond simple enthusiasm and were quietly wearing a grim tableau that signalled the least attractive of all fan traits; the obsessive who has lost all perspective that it is just a band.

It’s the quiet ones you gotta watch.

The incident that proved this point occurred after the band had left the stage and the crew were setting down the stage equipment. As is usual there is a small hardcore of fans badgering the technicians for collectables e.g. set lists, guitar picks, etc. In this instance the drum tech was handing out some of the spare sticks that the drummer had discarded during the gig and this is where the problem began.

As one stick was flung into the crowd a young girl and boy simultaneously lunged for the missile as it descended towards them. Both caught an end but would one yield to the other? Would they fuck…

I stood incredulously as they wrestled with one another, neither making eye contact with the other as if such contact would mean actually having to reason the issue out like normal human beings. The conflict stepped up a gear as the guy began kicking (yes, you heard me correctly, kicking) the girl. Amazingly, she hung on for dear life and both had to be prised apart by a bouncer who said (quite correctly) to the both of them “You should be fucking ashamed of yourselves!” He gave the stick to the girl and I watched the hate in the boy’s eyes burn as he slunk away to join his rather embarrassed mates.

Maybe it’s me, but even the most devoted fan has to draw a line somewhere in the metaphorical sand and say “On that side lays madness.” I have been obsessed about many bands in my time, collecting all that I could, listening to the songs, absorbing the lyrics but at no point have I ever, EVER, let these artists take over my life to that extent.

I remember Rush’s Geddy Lee saying once that “We’re musicians, it’s not that noble a career.” and that kind of perspective is refreshing from one so high up in the music machine.

Tinyfish will never be a big band. We'll never play the Hammersmith Odeon, we'll never have Hollywood starlet wives and we'll never be interviewed for Rolling Stone. We recognise that but one way or another I hope whoever hears and sees us will like what we can do and hopefully go home having enjoyed the evening. However whatever level of success we achieve, none of us are at home to Mr & Mrs Stick Catcher.

How much fun IS this?

2005-04-22T09:29:00.001+01:00

I'm doing this, partly because I can and partly because I want to stop Simon saying that he's the only bugger in these here parts that can be bothered to post on this blog.

Another Friday has rolled around and another weekend of football and music hoves into view. But first the important matter of the Kino gig, tonight at LA2 in Charing Cross Road, London. Actually I believe it's now The Mean Fiddler but hey, I still think of the Apollo, Hammersmith as Hammersmith Odeon. Two Mötorhead gigs and the first three Star Wars movies in one sitting have seen to that.

So tonight, Simon and I don our Cloaks of Prog, and head off to see messers Mitchell, Beck, Trewavas and Dalton (sitting in for Senor Maitland) put us through our paces. With a pre-gig knees up with other Marillionistas from the MOLF and maybe a post-gig booze-up with some of the band it looks like it will kick off the weekend in a jolly good way. And I've been given the inside scopp on some surprises that the band will play tonight, from a MAN WHO KNOWS. Oooooh. Mystery, eh? Oh.

Saturday sees a West London derby between Fulham and the glorious Chelsea and a dash home to spend a few hours persuading my wife that she DOES remember who I am and that she does still love me irrespective of the fact that I have barely been home in a week.

Sunday beckons and the transfer of the GK3 pickup from Les Paul to new Strat, demo listening, maybe some mixing and definitely lots of tea. (NOTE: New Strat will soon have shiney new EMG-SA pickups chucked on it too. Zziingggg! Ker-chang!). And then I will sleep. Because in between all of this, I am having to make travel arrangements to get me and the wife to Normany in France on Tuesday for the funeral of my Grandmere, who quietly shuffled off this mortal coil yesterday morning.

Have you ever noticed how real life gets in the way of fun?

Steve Says Goodbye - Recording Continues

2005-04-20T12:15:00.000+01:00

Well I suppose every band has to hit this wall at some stage but here it is; Steve has left Tinyfish. Sad news but probably one that had been quietly on the cards for a while.

To be honest the union had not been and incredibly fecund relationship with Steve being away a lot with the great and gifted from Dolby Labs. The good news is that the split has happened quite amicably (via-email) and we all wish him the very best of luck in the future. Offers of beers the next time we meet up at a gig abound and although were losing a very talented drummer, we are possibly gaining an additional potential audience member so all things even out in the end. :-)

We've agreed to carry on as a four piece (that's Jim, Rob, Paul & yours truly) with me filling in behind the kit for the recording. When it comes to live work we'll have to consider getting a man in to bash skins while I take care of the strummy and shouty bits.

As for matters more exciting, the recording of the album continues apace and the current list of tracks that are on the album are.

1. Motorville - A speedy little number halfway between Rush & Genesis
2. Fly Like A Bird, Sink Like A Stone - Melodic and atmospheric with a subtle 7/8 lilt
3. Too High For Low Company - A big and beefy song with a killer bassline
4. Hand In Hand - A quiet, dreamy number
5. Nine Months On Fire - Loads of mellotrons & guitars with a sinister theme
6. All Of The People All Of The Time - A short trip through every day paranoia
7. Build Your Own Enemy - A tune about how love can turn into hate
8. Sundried - A string quartet signals the end of the road for one soul
9. All Hands Lost - The current prog epic about how we've thrown it all away.

There are a few other tracks lurking in the background that are threatening inclusion but to mutter about them at this point would just be plain unfair to all the thousands of you out there that hang upon my every word...er.

To return to the headline news, Tinyfish would like to wish Steve the very best of luck in the future and hope that whatever band he decides to join next will be less famous than us. :-)

Why Progressive?

2005-04-04T15:12:00.000+01:00

I had a guy ask me about the band over the weekend and he looked surpised when I told him that we play proggressive rock.

'Why in the name of all that's holy do you play that shit?' He enquired. I didn't even pause to think, looked him straight in the throat (he was taller than me) and replied;

'Would you rather me call you a muthafuka, rap about how tough it is in my middle class neighbourhood and call my wife a ho as we drive to Sainsburys?'

He looked at me like a dog that had just been shown a card trick, then ambled off back to his mates. I noticed that a few minutes later his friends began to look at me in the same way he had. I finished my drink and left before confusion gave way to agression.

Muthafuka.

2005-03-22T13:04:00.000Z

The Tinyfish business model.

Simon & James see Marillion @ Aylesbury

2005-03-10T11:45:00.000Z

Marillion – Aylesbury (UK) Thursday 9^th March 2005.

Warning guys and girls, if you are due to see Marillion at the Minhead gigs this might act as a spoiler so read at your peril...

I arrived early during the afternoon which afforded me a few hours exploration time of the band’s spiritual home. Market Square (does that name sound familiar?) sits in the centre of the ubiquitous shopping mall complex that is populated with the usual suspects (teenagers in hooded jackets, old age pensioners, screaming children, etc) who go about their daily business unaware of this town’s small part in progressive rock’s history.

James and his wife Fran (who drove up to the gig as it's fairly local to them) met up with me at the Hogshead that's just ouside the venue and was chock full of Marillion fans. James seemed (as always) to know every bugger in the room and in wandering around the room I was introduced to Lucy Jordache who is the band's commercial manager and all round good egg. One of the most notable characters there was a man mountain of a guy called Brian who was friendly intelligent and, along with James, would be attending the Marillion Weekender in Minhead over the coming weekend.

This gig is ostensibly a warm up show for Marillion's three day weekender in Minehead between Friday the 11^th and Sunday the 13^th of March. The party faithful (i.e. the Web fanclub) have rolled up to see band blow the cobwebs out and have a bit of fun while they do it. The civic centre is a concrete and stone space with ageing pine floors and fittings. The auditorium is similarly neutral, spacious but without character and holds host to a crowd who get on like an extended family, all handshakes, back slaps and hugs.

James Fran and I wandered around the room and finally settled on a spot in front and just to the left of the stage. Poor Fran however, due to her diminutive stature was having trouble seeing the band and chose to wander to the back of the hall so she could get a better view.

With a set split into two halves, the band have warned everyone in advance that the show has to be over at 10.30pm or trouble with a capital ‘T’ will be visited upon them by the local authorities. Pete Trewavas appears unperturbed however as he wanders through the crowd acknowledging calls of his name with waves and cheery greetings.

Finally, the hall darkens and the stage lights slowly smoulder into life revealing a slightly sheepish Pete who grins at the faithful while he dons his bass. The crowd react with a cheer as the rest of the band appear at their various stations, checking equipment and sightlines. There are a few moments of silence before the first notes of ‘Invisible Man’ begin to throb from the PA, much to the delight of the crowd and the guys settle back into the beat. A couple of bars later Hogarth (‘H’), dressed in the now famous (infamous?) grey suit and half moon glasses, with hands clasped behind his back, stalks onto the stage and utters the song’s open line ‘The world’s gone mad…’

Third song in (ironically; You’re Gone) and the technical gremlins make their presence felt as Mark Kelly’s keyboard rig splutters and dies, leaving the band temporarily as a four piece to fill in as best they can. Better poker faces you could not wish to find as they boogie on despite the gaping holes in the sound. I for one was impressed at Ian Mosley’s metronomic timekeeping as he played without any backing for nearly half a minute before Mark’s rig was restored to health and slipped back in seamlessly.

The band were presenting a cut down version of the Marbles album with warmth and humour (Marbles pts 1-4, Fantastic Place, Don’t Hurt Yourself, Angelina). This was never meant to be anything more than a run through for the weekend but forgotten chords, fluffed lines and technical problems aside, it was obvious that the band were finding their feet with frightening ease. The highlight of the evening’s first set however, was Neverland, A slow burning hymn to lost memories and past glories which ignited beautifully with a superb, soaring solo by Steve Rothery (who really has filled out a bit since I saw this band play last – ten years ago). A song very reminiscent of the Clutching At Straws line-up and a fine way to go into the set break.

The second half of the show opened with ‘Brave’ and I’m reminded why I lost touch with this band in the first place. The track and indeed, the album doesn’t really do anything for me but I seem to be in the minority as the crowd appear to know every note and line ‘H’ murmurs.

My favourite song of the second set isn’t one I know but ‘An Accidental Man’ (from This Strange Engine) and certainly a crowd favourite judging from the reaction it gets as band strike up the first few chords, held me spellbound, clapping along with the four hundred other souls in the room and and for five minutes I let its power and splendour wash over me.

The evening was rounded off with ‘Between You And Me’ from Anaraknophobia and although I was largely indifferent to the album version of this track, live and in the flesh, it’s a different matter entirely. The band and crowd lock together and during the closing minute ‘H’ just leans on his mic stand and smiles quietly to himself.

Even at this stage in the band’s career, I feel a tremendous sense of having witnessed the passing of something unique. I will say that although this gig could never be classed as a vintage performance, the Marbles album and tour has been the band’s most successful foray into public life since Season’s End (featuring actual hit singles no less) and it’s immediately apparent that this past year has been a special time for both fans and band alike. With a few last shows/festivals to play before this particular cycle of the group's life comes to an end, I get the feeling that it’s going to be a worryingly tough act to follow.

We drove back to James’ & Fran's cottage and I was subjected to a thorough investigation by the world's most friendly cat.

Purrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr........

2005-03-07T12:21:00.000Z

My Thoughts Exactly.

Free Mojtaba and Arash Day

2005-02-22T10:05:00.000Z

It's a lot of fun even being in a band but be you Pink floyd or Tinyfish, we are only musicians and our place in the world should be placed in perspective.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/technology/4292399.stm

2005-02-17T16:47:00.000Z

Tinyfish In The Studio - NOT!!

The Clock

2005-02-17T16:09:00.000Z

I'm late, I'm behind, I'm tardy, I'm après, I'm delayed, I'm last minute, I'm belated, I'm 'effin LATE!!!

This was the month that I was going to get the demos done. I promised and postured, the very epitome of assuredness but after a series of illnesses, previous engagements, and downright rubbish ness, I find myself scrabbling to keep to my self imposed timetable and completing roughs of each of the fifteen prospective songs that have written for inclusion on the Tinyfish debut album.

In truth, I have tried to do as much as was humanly possible and the frustration of lying in bed, with a head full of cold, a throat full of thorns and ears like damp napkins has been maddening. It's times like this that the true professional prog musician resorts to the last bullet in his gun....

...blame someone else.

Yeah that James guy, it's his fault your honour. I mean, look at him; all dressed up in leather and riding a motorcycle. He put me off by making me worrying about his safety upon the Queens highway, charging hither and thither without so much as a by your leave. Yup, it was the worry over James' safety that caused me to be ill!

No wait...

No, it was Paul that bastard; father of two children that are at the right age to be magnets to any virus within a three kilometre range of his house. Okay his kids haven't been near me in years but, but....er, Paul could have carried the virus' on his shoes and given it to me by er...rubbing his feet on my toilet seat.

Better still - Rob!

Ha ha, I have it, of course how could I have missed it. He's got a new job and that job is in computers. Because he's new, I bet he pressed a button that slowed the internet down and as a result made me angry, thus; lowering my immune system to the cold virus.

Maybe it was all three of them. I see it now, a conspiracy to unseat me at prig’s guiding light and ultimate saviour of the genre. They could see that once I achieve total control over Progressive Rock, I could go on to cure the world of all know diseases and, and....

Fekkin hell, I'm depressed and I'm going to bed.

Oh sit I can't, I've got and album to record...

2005-02-15T16:37:00.000Z

Thing

Many Mouths Make Light Work

2005-02-15T16:10:00.000Z

We are in danger of some of the other members of Tinyfish pitching in on the blog so I hear.

What you don't see are the huge amount of e-mails that fly to and fro between the band members usually indicating where the free spaces are in our caffeine driven, child ridden, overtime infested, badly organised lives occur. Any slots that become available are instantly used for writing/recording/rehearsing material for the band and planning good legal defences for the ensuing divorces our wives constantly threaten to serve us with due to the fact WE ARE NEVER AT HOME!!!!

I for one seem to be living in the unofficial French Embassy at the moment. Friends and family members from our glorious European neighbours make good their promises to my wife to wander over to enjoy the freezing cold weather, crap transport system and overpriced food that make this nation truly great.

Anyway, the guys might (I say might) just chip in every now and again with more than just my inane brand of banter.

Who knows, you might learn something useful about the band after all this time...

2005-02-10T16:56:00.000Z

Simon In Another Snotty Cold Shock

Pathetic and Professional

2005-02-10T06:12:00.000Z

I’ve been ill again.

It's the product of poor diet, late nights and too much time gathering a 'studio tan' (i.e. sun dodging) which only goes to prove that dedication to music isn't always a good thing.

The idea had been to begin the recording of pre-production demos for the first Tinyfish album this weekend just gone but due to my new super powers of aching limbs, bloodshot eyes and snot production I'm only good for the consumption of orange juice and testing the durability of tissues. Like a student Jedi, I will have to have patience before I can once again master the force.

On the good news front, James arrived at my door this evening and began the long learning curve of getting to know his newly purchased guitar synth. I sat opposite him in the studio and sniffled pathetically while he auditioned patches, set levels and generally behaved like the professional guitarist he is.

I do belive that I'm finally feeling a little better and have decided to wear more than just underpants and a soiled shirt while doing the weekly shopping. Decorum should sometimes take priority over comfort and besides, it makes leaning into the Tesco's frezzer section a little easier to bare.

More prog as it occurs.

This weekend should see some I hope.

Demonstration

2005-02-02T04:15:00.000Z

February is demo month.

We now have roughly fifteen tracks in various states of completion which is more than enough for the first album. I will admit that the thought of recording/producing the entire album more or less on my own is a daunting prospect but that is tempered with the fact that the material is so good and the band are very impressive at the moment, so the excitement of it all that’s driving me through the fear barrier.

I have however, got to complete demos for ALL the songs this month so that the guys can listen to them and come to a consensus as to which tracks deserve a place in our small slice of history and which deserve to be shown the door.

There has been some discussion as to if we should rehearse the songs up to a 'live' standard before we start to commit them to Hard Disk or if we should record the songs and learn them from the album. I believe we are going to probably do a little of both in the end.

Some of the material we could play live right now but there are a few numbers that are so 'embryonic' that attempting a full run through would be laughable. Most of us agree that we need to be able to perform these songs in some form or another but we also know that there are things we can attempt in the studio that would be lost in the melee of a live gig.

Welcome to the third way Simon.

Now We Are Two

2005-01-30T18:30:00.000Z

Simon writes (but then again who else does?). Actually, from this moment onwards, just assume it's me unless someone says otherwise. I'm sure that the other guys did learn to read and write but I guess I'm the only one who obsesses about the little crappy details that I report.

Oh no, I'm a geek!!!

Boo.....or is that hooray?

James arrived at the rehearsal today with a guitar synth. This fact pleases me no end as now both of us have the ability to use synths in the Tinyfish sound and I for one, think that 'aint no bad thing.

I've been very keen to keep the band keyboard free as it's my firm belief that the playing surface/instrument influences the kind of chords and melodies that a musician can create and our use of this technology could set us apart from the pack if we approach it correctly. For example one of the things that a keyboard player can do and I've seen it happen, is that they tend to stick to certain keys (C being a big favourite) plus with so many fingers, the temptation to play huge 11th chords on a synth/piano is overwhelming.

With guitars making the strange noises, the texture DOES change very subtly. For starters, we can mix the signal with the actual guitar sound and if you choose the right noise behind it, you can create some really tight playing which evolves as the chords/melodies play out. Parallel chords are also a natural by-product of the physical nature of a guitar's construction and can hard to reproduce smoothly on a keyboard unless you have a good working knowledge of chord inversions.

The restrictions of the guitar fret board can also help define the sound too. As mentioned before the ability to reach notes that no guitarist could ever reach lets us remove our sound even further from what's expected. Plus it's going to look cool having these big synths without some Mellotron or Hammond B3 taking up half the stage.

Talking of Mellotrons; Spock's Beard are touring again but they've missed the UK out. Bastards!!!

Guess we'll have to do it instead.

Wimpy

2005-01-19T16:48:00.000Z

Simon writes:

With two really good rehearsals behind us, the material for the debut album (and possible EP) is beginning to take shape. We've been meeting on a weekly basis up at the Crow's Nest and slowly but surely I'm beginning to think we REALLY have something cooking here.

'All Hands Lost' is more or less completed. A twelve minute beast that deals with, well, Rob's explaination is more eloquent than I can come up with:

They say our civilization is disappearing down the toilet.
We will be destroyed by our fast-food culture.
This is how the world ends: not with a bang but a Wimpy.

Well done Rob you git!

2005-01-09T16:43:00.000Z

Held Hostage By The Common Cold.

The Nine Hour Itch

2005-01-07T12:00:00.000Z

Simon Writes:

Nine hours!!

Nine fekkin' hours spent struggling with a new song.

Man I hate that feeling when you know you are just THIS close to something new and exciting but missing by what seems just an inch. Might as well have been a mile. I will admit that I may not be the next Dylan or Lennon/McCartney but there is something there that sits at the back of my head and tells me to dabble with organised/disorganised noise. When you are sitting in front of the mixing desk at 2.30am, guitar in hand, looking forlornly at a computer screen, that displays ninety seconds of absolute sonic joy but cannot come up with anything to rival it, the desire to set fire to said computer becomes considerable.

It's an itch you can't scratch.

Eventually, I admit defeat and wander downstairs to watch an episode of 'The West Wing' on DVD and munch disconsolately on some toast, occasionally swearing under my breath. These are the occasions that I feel like an utter, utter loser. I know there is always tomorrow and it's not a contest but, but...

...IT IS A FEKKIN' CONTEST!!!!!!!!

It's a battle of wills. Me vs. me, in the best part of Simon against the dullest most unoriginal part of Simon, no holds barred, unlimited rounds you're shit, no I'm not, slug fest. Tonight folks, I am shit so quit while you're behind, take a bow and exit, stage left. Even the Marmite on my toast didn't spread properly this evening, congregating in lumps and refusing to relocate around the bread in the way a good yeast extract should.

4.00am and I have work at 8.30am.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzz......

Bring It On.

2005-01-06T16:33:00.000Z

Simon Writes:

2005 is the year Tinyfish write, record and release their debut album. No mean feat when you consider Peter Gabriel usually completes one track in the same amount of time.

I've just purchased a band new Dell computer which is going to be drenched in data over the next few months. The band got together just before Xmas and drew up a plan for the New Year which involves a lot of writing and recording at the Crow's Nest. I better open the windows and get some beers in then.

For many people, the prospect of starting a band, writing some songs creating an album and trying to promote the results can be a slow process but I believe these things go at their own speed.

I like to move quickly and get the job done as soon as possible so I can move onto the next thing. In truth, I love beginnings more than I like endings and my boredom threshold tend to make me prolific but not very thorough. This is where I think the band is going to really shine as it's when I hand the stuff over, that the real magic begins.

I'm looking forward to it. Really, REALLY looking forward to it.

2005; bring it on.

The Band That Wasn't There

2004-12-12T11:13:00.000Z

Simon Writes: My eyes are welded shut after a late, late night that shouldn't have been experienced by a man of my advanced years. I force them open and peer around the bedroom looking for my wife who has the mother of all colds. Her snot output has been impressive and has enabled her to sound like a poorly maintained tractor engine for most of the small hours. Shuffling into a dressing gown, I stagger downstairs to find the tractor sitting at the table in our kitchen, eating some toast and still revving her nasal engine. 'How was last night' she rasps and fixes me with an inquisitive gaze while offering the remaining portion of slightly munched toast. My balls were itchy but I resisted the temptation to scratch them and instead took the toast and nibbled at it while recounting the gig by the band that wasn't there. We were asked to play a charity gig by a mate of the band who has a reputation of being a good guy with bags of talent as a musician in his own right but is so disorganised, he couldn't pour piss out of a boot if you put the instructions on the heel.

That said, we rolled up and put on our best brave face and sat through the endless soundcheck that always ends up putting me more on edge than less.

First up was a great solo artist called Jeannette Murphy. She is the kind of artist that gently pulls you into her world and spits you out the other side as a convert of her cause. I've seen her before and it was a delight to see first-timers stiffen and then melt under her gaze.

Then there was us. This kind of acoustic gig used to be my bread and butter a few years ago and at the risk of sounding a little arrogant, there wasn't a crowd in such a venue I couldn't twist round my little finger given a good run up. That train however, has long since left the station. It is amazing how rusty one gets with an audience if you've been away from the live scene for a while. Although we were well rehearsed, my between song banter could have been better. Thankfully I had James & Paul there with me who's playing more than made up for my poor communication skills.

As the gig progressed, I slowly got my crowd banter back and apart from a sudden little finger blow out, we left the stage to rapturous applause which is always helpful to an ego like mine.

Last on were Paradise Nine and this is where the proceedings get weird. They inhabit a strange nether world somewhere between Hawkwind and U2 which might sound a tad bizarre but for some reason it works beautifully. The oil projector shone over the band's faces and the air became thick with the smoke of many, many spliffs while we watched them navigate their way towards the 'light fantastic' and eventual oblivion. It must be said that for all of, Greg's dis-organisation, that guy can really play guitar.

Afterwards, I bumped into Carl the Paradise Nine drummer and it turns out that he replaced me in a prog band back in the 90's after I left to inhabit the acoustic floor spot scene. Funny old world innit?

My wife/tractor listens intently and slurps her coffee while I slip into silence.

'And this is what passes for rock and roll in your circle of friends does it?' she mutters over the rim of the coffee cup.

'Er...yes, it was really, really wild, ha ha.' I retort weakly.

'Sounds as though you didn't like it much'

I ponder this for a moment. She's quite right of course, I didn't really like it and I suspect neither did my fellow band members. It felt like old news to me. Hell, I'm in a really cool prog band now and all we could think last night was 'I wish we were playing OUR set tonight.'

I shake my head 'Nah, it was great but that was then and this is now.'

Health And Locations

2004-12-09T13:54:00.000Z

A few days before the gig as another band from another time...

Simon is ill. He struggled to find anything of worth to emerge from his fingertips and ended up yelling at the computer for not good reason whatsoever.

James is in Portugal following another kind of group, his beloved Chelsea who (much to Simon's chagrin) seem to be better than his beloved Arsenal at the moment.

Paul is at home practicing.

Rob is also at home but he's just keeping quiet and hoping that nobody notices him.

Steve is still in Munich which both Rob and Simon know is a very good place for both food and beer.

The band will be gathering this Saturday for a run through of the pop fluff and then performing said fluff that very evening. The gig seemed like a good idea at the time but the closer it gets, it is beginning to feel like a bit of a chore. Still it's for charity so complaints and belly aches will be left at home and fun WILL be had.

And somewhere in the middle of all this Simon has to get well again.

Roll on Wednesday the 22nd...

The Stanna Band

2004-12-06T16:04:00.000Z

Sunday is rehearsal time.

The usual suspects arrive by car, bus and rail around 10.00am (Jim, Paul & Rob). Steve is in Munich this weekend the lucky bastard, but we can survive on sequencers alone for one meeting.

Tea and coffee is consumed in copious amount along with various items of parish news (i.e. football gossip, checking who's free for recording on what dates, the fact that women’s breasts are great and what tracks that should be on the proposed EP). We all admit to being tired before we begin but happy to have a crack at whatever we encounter.

Everybody clambers up the ladder into the Crow's Nest and begins the short process of plugging in and tuning up. The conversation continues and it now looks likely that the EP will be recorded simultaneously with the debut album, which should ease the workload considerably and give both releases a more unified sound. It almost sounds like a real band.

We have also accepted a request to play a charity gig in West London, just for fun, playing pretty little songs (no epics to be found here). When you play prog, even the most complex pop songs seem like a walk in the park by comparison so we were happy to do it. With Steve away, it looks to be an unplugged set which should pose no problems and we jam through the numbers and give knowing looks to each other as the bum notes fly by.

The rest of the rehearsal is taken up with the taming of a track called 'Nine Months On Fire' one of our current favourites. It only lasts six minutes but it's a lot of fun to play and has loads of proggy bits that keep our fingers busy for the duration.

Onwards an upwards, there are two new numbers as well; 'Sundried' is a neo-classical thingy and 'Build Your Own Enemy' that sound like it could be a real winner.

The day rounds of with a half hearted run through of the pop stuff but we stop halfway through 'cos we're old and tired and the limbs just can’t take pop and prog in the same afternoon.

Stanna stair lifts all round then.

Waiting For The Gas Man

2004-11-29T15:37:00.000Z

Simon writes:

Been away for a week on holiday at home. Did you miss me?

Thought not.

Just using up holiday before I lose it at the end of the year (you know how this works don't you?). As is usual with me during periods of time away from my dayjob, I instantly became as ill as a dog and stayed in bed for three days. To add to this, my central heating broke down and I had to get it sorted before I froze to death and (more importantly) the necks of my guitars bent themselves into coat hanger shapes.

So I waited for the gas man...

...for three days...

...and then he had to go back and get another part. You know the drill.

I suspect as I'm probably not unique in this situation, I think Frank Zappa wrote a song about this very situation 'Flakes'.

Fortunately for my guitars, I found an old oil heater under a carpet in a disused lavatory with a sign on the door saying 'Beware of the Leopard' so I was able to heat the Crow's Nest for the duration of the breakdown. It was either them or me guv.

The rest of the week was spent with another bout of cleansing studio restructure that usually occurs when I notice a glaring error in it's construction that could have been easily rectified at the time but now requires fifty meters of additional cabling, an inexpensive audio converter that is sold by only one shop on the entire planet, located just inside the Artic Circle and a medium sized dodo egg.

The weekend saw me write a tune called 'Sundried' on which I used samples from a string quartet which sounds quite nice although trying to write semi-classical parts for cello, viola and violins is a lot hard than it initially looks.

The Gas Man is due back this Friday and he says he'll have it sorted out by then.

Yeah right.

The Things We Do.

2004-11-18T07:42:00.000Z

Simon took today off to complete reference demos for three songs.

He toiled, he broke strings, he sung tunes and he drank tea. Eventually however, after more wrestling with Pro Tools and some creative use of the word 'toss', the songs became listenable and the rest of the band agreed not to beat him up.

Rehearsal in the evening with James, Simon, Paul and Steve who worked through a rough version of 'Fly Like A Bird, Sink Like A Stone'. James brought with him a tantalising snippet of a new demo entitled 'How Can I Miss You Baby If You Wont Go Away' and the rest of the band agreed that it sounded most promising.

The rest of the rehearsal was spent discussing the order of events for Sunday's full rehearsal and what is the best way to revive a beautiful blonde woman if found naked and unconscious in a bouncy castle.

The subject demanded investigation.

Silent Night

2004-11-16T17:00:00.000Z

BLOODY PRO TOOLS!!!!!!

Half the 'effin night spent reading manuals, clicking preferences, hiding windows, right clicking (to no effect), searching for the volume edit and yelling BLOODY PRO TOOLS!!!

Last night was no fun whatsoever. I knelt in front of the monitor with my Strat 'round my neck and a swear word in my throat, clicking box after box and occasionally leafing through the foot thick manual supplied. All I wanted to do was play a bit of guitar over some previously recorded material; oh you silly deludued child you.

The learning curve was as steep as the north side of K2 and I have brooded upon last night's nightmare throughout today. It's like engaging a bull elephant in gladiatorial combat armed only with a postcard and a new haircut. The term brutal and one sided doesn't do it justice at all.

This evening shall be easier as I have come to grips with a lot of its features but the experience is brunt into my memory like branded steer.

All I can hope for is either a moment of clarity or an embolism early in the evening.

Bad Bunny, Good Bunny

2004-11-15T15:49:00.000Z

A short note from Simon.

Sometime songwriting can be a pain in the arse. I woke up really early on Saturday morning, thinking to myself

'Right, you've got to do guitar overdubs this weekend, all of the material that the band has, needs placing on a CD to give to the guys so that they can work out addition parts'.

Dull, dull dull.

I'm not fond of this part of the songwriting process. It has to get done ‘cos it the little bits that make the song work, so after a cup of tea and some toast, I wandered up to the Crow's Nest, powered everything up and set to work doing the dull grown up stuff. Sometimes songwriting can be a wonderful thing however. About half an hour into this process, I hit upon a riff that intrigued me so much that I stopped what I was doing and had a bit of a play... ...and at around about 10.00pm the following night, I had written a ten minute rough of a song tentatively called 'The Clock'. This is what songwriting is all about, I bloody love it. There seems to be two types of songwriting it seems; one is what Towns Van Zant called 'sky songs' which seem to be zapped into your head from the sky. From the writer's point of view, it is as though the song falls out of your fingers with little of no input from your conscious mind.

This is what happened this weekend. I worked for eight hours straight, slept and then worked for another ten without pausing for anything except a drink and the occasional piss. I didn't even notice it getting dark or the house burning down for that matter.

The other kind of song is what John Lennon called 'craftsman songs'. This is where the conscious part of the songwriter's brain does most of the work and his/her skill as a musician or technician is employed. I do these songs too but thank fuck, not this time.

The downside hit me an hour after I finished. I hadn't done the bloody overdubs I was supposed to.

Ohshitohshitohshitohshit...

Well, there you have it. Yours truly now has some interesting nights ahead of him as there is a rehearsal on Wednesday night and the band are expecting their CD's with completed demos on them. I've never been a good 'craftsman' in the songwriting sense as I have the attention span of Bart Simpson on a sugar binge. This is gonna be interesting and if I don't pull it out of the bag by the rehearsal, my arse will be grass and the rest of the band will be the lawnmower.
I am so dead…

Ritual Bass Sacrifice

2004-11-12T11:47:00.000Z

Simon and Paul spent a convivial evening adding bass parts to the song 'Nine Months On Fire'.

As is usual for such evenings, upon Paul's arrive at the Crows Nest, he donned his bright blue swimming trunks and fluffy pink ballet shoes usually worn for such occasions and then respectfully climbed up on the back of the band's replica goat that they have come to know as Phil.

Phil had been prepared specially for the occasion, draped in strips of yellow calico, drenched in orange juice concentrate and cooked in a clay oven until sexy. Simon would read a few random passages from his favourite car maintenance manual to lift Paul's spirits before our intrepid bass player proceeded to balance upon the goat's back.

Simon then feeds the mouse that drives the wax recording cylinder and leans out of the window to ignite the ceremonial firework that signals to the neighbourhood it is time to place a genius performance into the archive of tinyfish history. The sense of anticipation is palpable for many miles in all directions but Paul, far from being intimidated by such expectation, is energised by the charged atmosphere and signals the beginning of his performance by yelling his now famous battle cry which, for some reason, no-one can remember.

Many people have passed comment upon Paul's ability to record a bass part in only one or two takes but few have been lucky enough to bare witness to the phenomenon in person. Simon has been psychologically conditioned by Rob with hot needles and wet eels to remain calm under such circumstance. A cool head is required at all times as nothing ruins a bass take more than a mentally unbalanced band member armed with a sizzling eel, intent on ritual bass sacrifice. Later that evening they had coffee and biscuits.

It's what real men do.

James

2004-11-11T09:54:00.000Z

James plays guitar in Tinyfish. He plays good guitar, very good guitar indeed, we would be fucked without him in fact.

Every band contains it's fair share of leaders, followers, writers, creators, pains in the arse, motivators, innovators, introverts, extroverts, psychotics, sceptics, enthusiasts, pioneers, negotiators, visionaries, participators, masturbators, archivists, anarchists, protagonists, blanks spaces, wastes of time, work-shy bastards, workaholic tossers, narrow minded idiots, open hearted heroes, good friends, bitter enemies, plotters, accomplices, victims, time wasters, soul searchers, optimists, pessimists, hopeless romantics, lost causes, highly strung pushers, laid back slackers, piss takers, shit kickers, soul searchers, mind gamers, losers, winners, liars, con-men, lynchpins, deadweight, enigmas, magnetic personalities, sob stories, music fanatics, money worshippers, happy campers, miserable sods, lazy bones, stars, anti-heroes, newbies, stalwarts, lightweights, fuck-ups, half-wits, sly foxes, dumb bitches, egomaniacs, altruists, multi-instrumentalists, one trick ponies, fakers, naturals, stoners, speed freaks, nostalgia buffs, pioneers, traditionalists, goodies, badies, shredders, groovers, loud-mouths, givers, takers, movers, shakers (heh!) and a James.

Our James looks like a cross between a mad professor and a badass biker which makes for an interesting evening if you've never met the man before. Everything about him screams intent. He is the very personification of it in fact, from the biker boots on his feet (I don't think anyone has ever seen his feet actually!) through the Gibson Les Paul slung around his midriff to the angular neatly, shaven face and head.

James is one of the poor sods tasked with coming up with the music for tinyfish. On cold midweek nights and sometimes grey Sunday afternoons, James can be seen cradling a cup of steaming tea at the doorstep of Simon's house puffing on a Marlboro light and discussing the merits of a B minor section in the middle eight of the band's latest prog creation. Alternatively, he could be describing the details of his latest crash on his motorbike. One thing you do not do on any account, is to fuck with him.

Unless your his wife.

Then it's allowed.

And even encouraged.

Of all the people who could play prog, James is the least likely to have been involved in this frequently complex, often bizzare and geniunely unloved genre. The regular board of fare in his MP3 player would be closer to bands like Thin Lizzy, The Skids, Tyketto, Frank Zappa and early Metallica (to name but a few) but in all honesty, that would only be telling half the story.

Beginning at year dot, James started his musical life in a college band playing Black Sabbath covers on a pearl white SG copy. In addition to the guitar role, poor james had to double as lead singer due to the fact that there was no-one around with the balls to ponce about, fixing their hair in the way lead singers are apt to do.

After that band fell apart, he wound up in another band that rehearsed in a room above a pub in South London and it was here that the real journey began. Still doing the shit gig of singing and the good gig of playing the guitar, the band began to take on disturbing prog overtones which led to the band being quite good for a while. Sadly however, they took on a lead singer and the ensuing madness drew a veil over their exploits in time for them to all to save their self respect and go their separate ways

He spent some time noodling in other bands until he got an phone call from Simon asking him to;

'Stop wanking about and get your arse down to Wandsworth. I have something that needs your guitar on it....no I won't take no for an answer....no, you can't be busy washing your hair 'cos you haven't got any.....great, okay I'll see you in an hours time then?...what??? I don't care about that, buy an ‘effin motorbike or something then....yes, you arsehole, the big, fast kind, the faster the better...uhuh…..yes, you can but all the leather stuff to go with it if you want....an hour then?...good, yeah, okay...tea with two sugars and I'll see you in an hour'

Slam!!

'Arsehole' muttered James...

Today, we rely on his brand of Gilmour-esque slow hand melody so much, the very thought of his leaving the band instantly sends them into peels of laughter and the off-hand suggestion of compromising photos with a Shetland pony that would be circulated in the event of his departure.

However, both the band and the pony in question had been very drunk that night so such an event might just be the tip of the iceberg.

The Cost Of Progress

2004-11-10T14:19:00.000Z

Simon spends another evening in the loft (a.k.a. Crow's Nest) chipping away at the first two really 'prog' numbers that the band have created. The first is called 'All Hands Lost', a 12 minute song with lots of stupid chords and even more stupid time changes running through it. Rob is working on the lyrics at home and has hinted that the song is going to be about the end of the world. So, er...keeping the themes light then.

The second song clocks in at 7 minutes and called 'Nine Months On Fire' and is full of heavy riffing and liquid guitar. The arrangement needs a bit of work at the moment but that is going to be addressed at the next 'full' rehearsal. Paul (the bass player) will be in the Nest tomorrow evening to work on his parts for the latter half of this song as Simon couldn't be arsed to write anything for it.

Currently, the band has the following songs in various stages of completion;

1. All Hands Lost - Everything written except the lyrics
2. Fly Like A Bird, Sink Like A Stone - Complete
3. Nine Months On Fire - Drum/guitar/vocals written but bass and lyrics still need work
4. Eat The Ashes - Complete (although could do with some re-arranging)
5. We Few - Partially written (waiting for James to return from the USA)

Rob usually attends rehearsals with a minidisk and takes 'live' recordings then works on the words at home. James and Simon, do the majority of the music writing with arrangement ideas and other parts put into the mix by Paul and Steve. The idea is to release an EP in the next few months and follow that on with an album sometime in 2005 but nothing is set in stone right now.

Tonight is Simon's first wedding anniversary.

Let the fun and games begin...

Yelling At Cables

2004-11-09T11:17:00.000Z

Today is not a good day in the world of Tinyfish. Simon struggled all last night with his decrepit computers, trying to coax them into some form of activity. Around and around he went pleading, yelling, sometimes weeping the computers laughed at him scornfully "Hah, we laugh at your software installation, we spit upon your re-boots, we openly taunt you at your Online Help requests and your Google searches." They taunted. Poor little Simon was left kneeling on the floor clutching a CD and handful of USB cables, keening quietly into his shirt. All Simon had wanted to do at the beginning of the day was to move around some of the samples he had created on his musical instruments so that he may find them a little faster when writing glorious slabs of Prog. Alas, it was not to be and the once proud tinyfish singer was left a shadow of his former self, barely able to string a coherent chord sequence or melody together. The good news however is that as a result of his grievous mental degradation, he managed to write three songs for Westlife and is now a multi-millionaire. Writing prog rock is not an easy thing to do. When the average songwriter sits down behind their guitar/keyboard/smash hit creation software, the arrangements and the structure are largely a given. Most songs have an intro, a verse followed by a chorus and maybe a solo or middle bit. The rest is just a variation on the above and some clever use of a computer.

“Oh no, that is not it at all, short non-prog songs can be equally complex and challenging.” True up to a point until you actually try writing a prog epic. Go on, try it…

Prog seems to be a different animal completely. Usually, an epic prog song starts out like a normal number with all the normal constituent parts (see above) but somehow it get's restless and starts to stick it's legs through the shirt sleeves of the structure and wear the jacket back to front. In addition, it begins to add all manner of new apparel (hats, umbrellas, strange wiggly glasses, etc). Eventually, you are presented with a song that bears little or no relationship to that innocent tune you once awoke and asked to 'put some clothes on, we're going out for a stroll'. If you walked down the road with this monstrosity, you'd be laughed at from all quarters and with good reason. This is where every ounce of your talent has to be employed. Somehow you've got to convince this sartorially arthritic behemoth that as much as it might think it's being original by wearing it's shoes on it's hands, footwear is there for a reason and besides, the streets are full of dogshite.

If you are lucky, the inspirational mist descends upon you and when you come out of it, you have a twenty minute epic in front of you that is vaguely listenable. The downside of this is as mentioned; the creation is dressed in the musical equivalent of spandex and slippers. This is where you have to knuckle down and employ your skills as a songwriter. You cut, you copy, you fiddle, you fix, you tinker and you polish until the bastard sounds as though it was forged in the Halls of Thor/Ronald MacDonald himself. Congratulations, you think, time for a smoke or a wank or lie down (probably not in that order), you have just worked up a piece of art that will be loved and respected by as many as four people worldwide.

The band have a few of these tunes in their pockets and the sense of satisfaction gained in writing them lasted almost as long as the songs themselves and he entire edifice remains a grim testament to the power of group hysteria/delusion so go figure.

Meanwhile back in the loft, Simon stares silently at the group of leering machines that throb and twitch in the corner where our hero has thrown them. Maybe tomorrow then.

Bastards.

A Great Grey Day

2004-11-08T09:17:00.000Z

Bored, bored, bored.....

I have just survived one of the dullest weekends of my life.

I'd love to say I spent it writing a prog rock meisterwerk, some hymn to the wonders of an alien concept that will rock the world's economic and social model but alas, all I did was go to Basingstoke for some chairs. For those not living in the UK (or the geographically challenged), Basingstoke, or to give it its full name, 'fucking' Basingstoke, is located some miles west of London and seems to comprise of a ring road and some shops. I must however thank Spore/Rob for giving me the chairs. Well done Spore.

In other news, the studio is looking nice.

When I first arrived at my current hovel, I was pleased to discover that the previous occupants had built a loft which would suit my needs as a recording space. At that time I had no idea that I would be forming a band so the room was configured differently i.e. whips, chains, different monitors, etc.

Since the formation of tinyfish (small 't') however, I have had to move the bloody furniture round, re-route and re-wire countless times as each time I completed my house of cards, a hitherto unknown flaw in my logic would bring the whole bloody thing down around my ears. I'm currently on configuration #6 and weeping is an almost daily activity for me.

The guys in the band are not around this week either. James is in the USA beating up as many Bush voters as he can find without getting murdered and dumped in a scrap yard. Spore/Rob has a cold and talks like a cross between Howard Keel (RIP) and Mr Spock. Steve is running around trying to make people use Dolby (don't ask, an entire blog in itself) but I might, if I'm very lucky, get to see Paul later this week. He has a big bass and a narrow face; see how we race, up to the loft space, to make some...er...prog. In times of such muso absence, I tend to do the sonic housekeeping; mucking about with song arrangements, fiddling with sounds until they either hurt or sound nice (sometimes both) and possibly starting a new tune with some stupid working title like 'Nurse Hitler Goes Bouncy'.

What a wag I am.

Comming next: Yelling at cables, an in-depth report...