Lisa Knight's Blog, page 36

POETRY: MY RESPONSE WHEN ADAM ANT INTRODUCED HIMSELF WAS TO INQUIRE WHETHER HE WAS INDEED REALLY ADAMANT ABOUT IT BY PAUL TRISTRAM

Everything was going swell

until the Filth arrived

wearing clown masks with LSD eyes

and reeking of ferret-piss Base.

We tried forming the wagons into a circle

but we only had enough for a triangle,

so we started shooting from each corner.

She mixed up her cents with my pennies

and we formulated an alcoholic plan

involving pie-charts and adultery.

There is not always sense in being sensible

screamed the street preacher as we passed,

I thanked him with a wink and bowed once.

They caught a serial killer milkman

stealing daffodils from Victoria Gardens

he said he likes to hand them out to widows.

There’s an art to throwing knives

and selecting un-scheming acquaintances

to laugh aloud whilst serenading you.

The mind is a fragile thing

made of cogs and springs

but the magic is really in your imagination.

Two wrongs don’t make a right

but three comes close enough

and fairgrounds are the perfect place

to practice pickpocketing.

A storm in a teacup is still a storm

especially if you’re right in the middle of it,

and ‘agriculture’ is a nice topic to end on.

Written by Paul Tristram

STEVE GILMORE’S MUSIC REVIEWS: Fluidity – New Direction

John Paul Carrol (aka Fluidity) even though a relatively new name to Soundclick has established himself rapidly both through some good reviews (he reviews under the jp23 nick) but more importantly through his music, two tracks I have reviewed have shown me that this is one New Zealander that should be taken seriously. Not that I make a habit of laughing at Kiwi’s ya understand. At least not their face anyway. Sorry, it’s just the thought of spending your whole life upside down (and not knowing it) that particularly touches that sadistic streak within me. They, of course, counter it with the thought that maybe it’s US northern hemisphere folks who are on their heads and I can’t say I find fault with that argument – at least not when you look at our politicians.

White rabbits, holes and toking caterpillars have nothing on these guys…

It’s sufficient that Fluidity has garnered two Highly Recommended’s from me already, but I have to say that his music does indeed reach all my musical pleasure centres. Acoustic rock it may be, complete with great vocals and harmonies if tinged with a West Coast feel, but I like this kind of material and I am not alone. Again, I would urge Fluidity to sign up to a Songplanet account and get his stuff played on the radio. So the burning question right now is New Directions a step away from what I liked about the first two tracks? The answer is a very glad sounding no, if it’s stylistically a bit different from what has gone before. It’s a more rocky, raw track than anything I have heard before, but it still retains all the hallmarks I have come to expect from this artist.

What it does tap into is yet another of my favourite areas – antipodean rock (as opposed to UK or US rock, that is). I don’t care what you say, to me there is a very real difference between these two schools. It doesn’t start and end with the letters AC/DC. Fluidity shows this difference splendidly on New Direction a track dedicated to his girlfriend but is a song about moving house, and the ensuing viewpoint it shows you. It carries all of the positives of previous tracks (good production, keen songwriting and adept performance) with a dash of heaviness that only registers after you’ve lived with the track a while. Sure, you are BOUND to notice that rockiness as soon as you hear it but only with repeated plays does it show the strength of the underlying song. Excellent and well worthy of adding to my growing Fluidity folder…

Highly Recommended (sheeesh, again!!??)

You can listen to this artist on SOUNDCLICK

Written by Steve Gilmore

POETRY: PLAYING ME LIKE A FIDDLE BY PAUL TRISTRAM

This is where that sad lament stops.

Each door you came through has been locked.

I have not burnt those bridges but blown them up.

You do not even get a ‘No!’ off me now,

politeness and manners are for the New Folk

that I meet upon my happy future path.

The silence without you all is absolutely stunning.

The weight of nastiness and confusion has completely gone,

the sun is now shining brightly, and it is a miracle.

I drew a line in the past, finally…and walked forward, smiling.

You will play me and my wonderfulness like a fiddle, no more!

Written by Paul Tristram

WEEKLY SERIAL: THE MONSTER OF BELL ISLAND – PART 7 BY JON OLSON

      Mammoth was forced to dive for cover when his adversary picked up an assault rifle and opened fire. The crates that had been keeping our hero safe from detection were immediately turned into a pile of splinters.

      They started yelling at each other as their bullet-ridden boat struggled for buoyancy.

      “Stay away from me!” the captain screamed. “I’ve had enough of you and your nefarious colleagues.”

      “Wait!” Mammoth shouted. “Have we met?”

      As another round of bullets narrowly missed his head, our protagonist had no choice but to throw himself overboard. He would use the ocean and its cruel tide for safe passage onto Bell Island.

      Unfortunately, Mammoth had forgotten something.

      He couldn’t swim.

***

      Chief Bull was sitting in his office when one of the captains called. Nancy could hear two people screaming at each other as a hail of bullets threatened to terminate their conversation.

      “What?!” he shouted. “Say that again!”

      “I saw him!” a voice exclaimed as the line struggled to stay alive. “Joseph Merrick!”

      Bull started grinding what was left of his teeth.

      “What’s your ETA?”

      “Five minutes,” his colleague replied.

      “What happened to your stowaway?”

      “He escaped, Sir. I have to tell you, though; this guy is no ordinary thief. It looked like some kind of failed experiment.”

      “Damn you, Dr. Roswell!”

      “I’m not sure if he is one of them.”

      “Why?”

      The man on the phone coughed and then cleared his throat. “Well, he decided to escape rather than take on my Kalashnikov…”

      “So, you’re saying this creature is intelligent?”

      “Yes.”

      “What happened next?”

      “As I told you, Sir, it got away.”

      Bull started rubbing his forehead in frustration. “Okay,” he said. “You can unload the crates, but tell your team to keep an eye out for him.”

      “Yessir.”

***

      Mammoth was still struggling for breath as he hauled himself onto Bell Island. His feet immediately started sinking into sand that had been left behind by an incessant tide. It had no mercy, so our hero had to endure its cruelty.

      The ocean had left him looking bedraggled.

      His fur was more than twice its usual weight.

      Mammoth started searching for a piece of wood to sit on. As he looked for it, the giant behemoth realised that there was no one around.

      Okay, big guy, what now?

      Not wanting to exert any unnecessary energy, he sat down and pondered his next move.

      That would take some time.

***

      Dr. Roswell was standing on the docks, watching his boss’s precious cargo being transferred from Obscurity City to Bell Island, when he heard something.

      A large growl.

      Something was building in the pit of his stomach.

      This feeling would not be satisfied until he ate another human being.

      “What’s left?” Dr. Roswell asked.

      “An incubator,” one of the workers replied.

      “Ah! Perfect! Can you leave it out as I need to use it?”

      The man shook his head. “Sorry, Sir, I’ve got my orders.”

      “Do you know who I am?”

      “Doesn’t matter,” he replied. “Orders are…”

      Dr. Roswell grabbed him by the throat and started peeling off his face.

      “Unless you want to end up in my Freak programme, you’ll do as you’re told!”

      The worker screamed and then retrieved his machine.

Written by Jon Olson

STEVE GILMORE’S MUSIC REVIEWS: Heath Houston – Cinnamon Valerie Angel

It was probably unfortunate that the first thing that fell into the festering pit I call a mind when I first started to hear this was the refrain from Cinnamon Girl by Neil Young. I have compared this artist before to the Beatles (a little in sound) and the work of Jeff Lynne and the Travelling Wilburys – a well loved strain of American acoustic rock that I have loved ever since I first stumbled across Buffalo Springfield a million years ago. I see nothing to change my mind on that score with Cinnamon Valerie Angel because it’s in the right pocket stylistically… Oh dear, this isn’t going to go very well is it? There’s definitely a castigatory feel to my voices, isn’t there?

Why are you looking at me like that? Don’t we all hear voices??

Cinnamon Valerie Angel is a song about his ‘gorgeous girlfriend’ (his words but she is yummy) but don’t get the hankies out just yet because there’s a bit of rough road right ahead. Chaotic from the start, the track has a rough charm enabling you to see what kind of track it could be. Heath says in the song comments that there is a lot of experimentation going on in this song, and I suspect that’s true in many ways. He also says he was immersed in the Beatles Revolver album while making this and I can see shades of that album in every nook and cranny of this track. A difficult task I’ll grant you, and more power to Heath for even attempting to take on such a technically difficult area. I’m amazed that it stands up as well as it does, even through the rough spots, and there are a few of those.

Unfortunately, to my ears, it falls at the first fence, and that coloured the rest of my judgement for a good while. The opening lines (arguably the most important) fail to convince and even noticeably unsure in a couple of places; the voice kinda wandering onto the note rather than hitting it immediately. After that, the track doesn’t really do it for me until the first chorus kicks in. The backing vocals come out of this with the most kudos because although they are a little forward in the mix, they are just right – and that’s what makes this track listenable too. It’s in the main lead vocal that I have the most problems with. There’s a distinct lack of the kind of authority needed to carry a track this strong. However, it IS a very worthwhile effort and with some tightening up of sound, delivery and arrangement, and this would be a shoo-in must have (a personal preference ya see).

Breezy, charming and flawed attempt at a genre I love but worth listening to.

You can listen to this artist on SOUNDCLICK

Written by Steve Gilmore

POETRY: THIS SIDE OF DEATH BY PAUL TRISTRAM

There is even more of Death!

It is happening all around you,

in the very street where you Live.

Upon the Dangerous Roads outside

which are waiting to take you

to wherever it is that you are going,

they are stained, smeared, tarnished

and littered with the stench of it.

Your Family Tree is ringed through

with it, your Past and Future also.

Family photograph albums simply

become a place where youngsters

go to put actual faces to Tombstones.

I have never met a Nurse who was

not Overworked and Over employed.

The Waiting Rooms (Hospitals)

are full to bursting, Constantly

(There is never any give or slack)

It’s what it is and the way it should be!

We are all strapped aboard The Reaper’s

Conveyor Belt and there’s no changing

direction nor stopping its a-turning.

Written by Paul Tristram

STEVE GILMORE’S MUSIC REVIEWS: Paul Rowland – Serpentine Soliloquy

Last track out of the bag this month is a new name to me and is (and I quote) ‘a heady mix of metal with goth undertones combined into a powerful song about the oral arts’ OoooK. Paul is a heavy metal goth type from Memphis TN so slap on some black lipstick and eye shadow and let’s go explore the netherworld. I can’t say that my definition of the word ‘heady’ and Pauls are going to coexist very well but there is certainly an atmosphere to Serpentine Soliloquy that keeps up the interest – especially if you are into the whole doom, gloom and despondency thing.

Surprisingly enough, lyrically anyway, the track appears to be a love song – or very strong lust, I’m not sure which. The musical backing is anything but. A scrapyard at night maybe, with patrolling rottweilers and the occasional Demon of the Dark as light entertainment. Dark as a witches tit even – as the old saying goes. I find that you really have to be into this whole ‘black is the new black’ thing to really get any kind of enjoyment out of the genre but it is helped by my having a liking for some decent classically heavy metal to hold up it’s rotting bones.

The truth is, if you do like the genre, you will very much like this track. As doomy and dark as any other track in the genre, Paul carries the whole thing off with considerable skill. He gives the track a Cure-like production mentality, harbours that to a distinctly 4AD vocal delivery and some very deft guitar strokes to ensure he is getting the point across. OK Paul, I got that message, and I’m wearing the T-shirt right now; this is an artist who doesn’t NEED a band – he is one. Although the genre doesn’t really appeal to me that much, the musical chops certainly does, and I’d like to hear more from this artist – hopefully with less of a black cloud attached to it…

You can listen to this artist on SOUNDCLICK

Written by Steve Gilmore

STEVE GILMORE’S MUSIC REVIEWS: Spencer Beasley – Doctors, Lawyers and Politicians

Sounding suspiciously like a character fresh out of Hogwarts via Harry Potter (sorry Spencer gotta start somehow…) Spencer Beasley is a new name to me and – as it happens – a 16-year-old acoustic guitarist from Florida. Now when I say acoustic guitarist, I mean ‘xact’ly that. Now when I was recording my own songs like this, I would have been proud to have come up with something like this, and I recognise the work Spencer has put into this very enjoyable track. Providing that you like acoustic guitar and a dab o’ vocals of course. There’s a definite ‘boominess’ on the recording that is almost off-putting but if you can put this aside you may very well enjoy this track.

Uh, oh. I bet you think I’m getting ready to unload on somebody right now eh?

The point is; I DO like what Spencer is doing here, in a very, very lo-fi kinda way. There are, however, certain things it’s impossible to keep quiet about. Uploading material like this does has certain advantages to the artist; it gives them exposure they wouldn’t have otherwise gotten, it gets them much needed comments from every peanut gallery in town and much more importantly it gets them comments that may be of some use. First off, let’s talk about what the guy is doing right. Doctors is a really good song, although it’s performed in a decidedly unsure way. Some of the chord structures are of passing interest to another guitar player, but outside that there are too many other things weighing on the negative side.

I’ll sum it up in one word: competition. Soundclick is a HUGE music site with thousands and thousands of different indie artists of all stripes, and some of them are so good it’s positively poo making. I mean, have you heard some of the tracks you are up against? What we hear on Doctors, Lawyers and Politicians is the bare bones of what appears to be a really good song delivered in the most basic ‘demo’ way. Where the internet WILL pay off for budding artists like this is to put together people to make music. Spencer Beasley is a good songwriter and arranger who is looking for a production team to shape and define his musical vision. If he gets that, this could turn into some serious business. Definite potential but way too lo-fi to garner much interest outside friends and family.

You can listen to this artist on SOUNDCLICK

Written by Steve Gilmore

POETRY: MENTAL TISSUES BY PAUL TRISTRAM

“Mr. Ackings the inventor of ‘Mental Tissues’

spoke publicly for the first time today

to Bill Slimegate of the national newspaper

‘The Daily Reflection’ about his thoughts

on his product literally taking over the porn world,

the sex industry, being championed everywhere

as the single males best friend and of course winning

the notorious ‘XXX Golden Dick Award’

at the 15th Annual Adult Entertainment Awards

in the beautiful Las Vegas on the 2nd of last month.

Bill Slimegate managed to corner Mr. Ackings

inside an old school quaint red phone box

in the South Kensington area at 11:04 this morning.

This is what the man of genius had to say for himself

“I threw that bloody penis award in the rubbish bin.

Why would I want something like that, Jesus Christ?

This is a nightmare; it’s all been a big mistake,

they are supposed to be used to help prevent suicides.

A Good Spirit came to the foot of my bed every night

for three months to teach me how to weave them

from magic, wishes, butterfly echoes and daydreams.

They are meant to comfort lonely, depressed folk

not aid the perverted section of the populace out there.

Now get your bloody brogue away from the door

or I’m dialling 999 and calling the Queen’s Coppers

Written by Paul Tristram

BRYN FORTEY’S BOOK REVIEWS: IN THE NIGHT CAFĒ by Joyce Johnson

Joyce Johnson’s best-known book is probably Minor Characters, which had a cover description of being ‘A memoir of a young woman of the 1950’s in the Beat orbit of Jack Kerouac’. She had been friends with Elise Cowen, one-time lover of Allen Ginsberg, and Allen engineered a blind date which led to Joyce becoming Jack’s girlfriend for a couple of years. She was a budding novelist herself at the time and has gone on to enjoy a successful writing career.

I have read a number of interviews and articles both about and by Joyce Johnson over the years and have always been struck by the fact that, even though their time together was comparatively short, she always stuck up for Jack; even defended him when needed. I liked that. What I had not read, was any of her fiction, so when seeing this book in a charity shop, I snapped it up.

That was more years ago that I care to admit to.

I should have opened In The Night Cafė straight away. Instead, it lingered at the bottom of my to-be-read pile and the longer I left it, the more I became convinced that it would not be my sort of book. She’d been Kerouac’s girlfriend, for God’s sake, and Jack was one of my all-time favourites. Lightning couldn’t strike twice. Could it?

I like to vary my reading a bit and having just finished a couple of top notch horror anthologies, Terror Tales of Wales Edited by Paul Finch and Kneeling in the Silver Light Edited by Dean M Drinkel, I was looking for a change of pace and decided maybe it was time to give the Joyce Johnson novel a try.

Set mainly in the New York downtown art world of the early 1960s and described as: ‘A woman, looking back, tells the story of the great love of her life’. Not too promising from my perspective, but I had always admired her on a personal level so decided I should give it a try.

As you might already have guessed, I was mightily impressed. I don’t know how much she was influenced by Kerouac’s biographical novels, but the storyline here seems to have borrowed large chunks from her personal history. As happens to Joanna in the book, Joyce too married an artist, James Johnson in real life, who was killed in a motorcycle crash.

Johnson’s writing style is much more controlled than Kerouac’s glorious rush of words but is effective in its own way. I found it to be a conversational style, almost as if she were there, telling me the story rather than me reading it. Nothing was forced. The plot, such as it is, unfolds at just the right pace, holding my interest from beginning to end.

Let me finish with these words: if any other Joyce Johnson novels find their way into my bookcase, they will be read a lot quicker than this one. Thoroughly enjoyed.