Just some of the characters from songs on the album I’m currently working on. The idea (OK, I know its a gimmick) is to make the insert card and publicity material a guess who quiz. The above include: Charles Darwin. Napoleon Bonaparte, Genghis Khan, Attilla the Hun, Alexander The Great, Jesus Christ, Tom Paine and Hannibal – all from Broken Biscuits.

The song is partly a rant about the way older people are sometimes side-lined and denied respect in our increasingly youth orientated society, despite often having led remarkable lives. However it’s also a satirical comment on Western imperialism – not something I set out to write but just seemed to appear (I only realised this a while after finishing the song).

The title song, Crazy Life On The Road, is a fictionalised account of my adventures with old cars. Most of my life I’ve driven jalopies – too broke for anything else – which has often meant breaking down in some way out places. Also, I recall times when I hitch-hiked around the UK and Europe in search of adventure with a copy of Jack Kerouac’s ‘On The Road’ in my pocket.

C.  I am a very old man – what have I to offer?

Just a pile of memories, and the aches and pains I suffer.

And these broken biscuits – crumbs all over the floor.

Broken biscuits – not much more.

I conquered the world with Napoleon, Hannibal and Alexander,

Genghis Khan and Attila the Hun, and we all went tumbling after.

We travelled east and we travelled west, till ever land was taken,

And every high street looked the same, and we called it civilisation.

I fought so many battles, but the killing it never ended.

No one knew why it began, though everyone pretended.

We lived a life of luxury with all the riches we had plundered,

Champagne and caviar, and all the rest was squandered.

Tom Paine said its common sense – Darwin evolution.

Either way get off your backs and join the revolution.

And so we manned the barricades and kept the red flag flying,

But those who gave the orders were not the ones for dying.

I heard the sermon on the mount, and the followers of the prophet.

Wept awhile at the wailing wall, would you ever Adam and Eve it?

Now I walk the streets of Jerusalem, of Mecca and Varanasi,

Wondering why everybody seemed, just the same as you and me.

I found a girl or rather she found me, and love was all that mattered,

And all the ones that went before to the four winds they were scattered

We live in perfect harmony till we began back-biting.

Lucky I knew what to do – let the lawyers do the fighting.

Now my story’s at an end, God knows what comes after.

But sometimes it seems I hear the sound of distant laughter.

I’ve done my time for nearly every crime and never will deny it.

So hangman go on do your worst, at least the grave is quiet.

MB © 2013

Lewis Brian Hopkins Jones (28 February 1942 – 3 July 1969) – founder member of the Rolling Stones. This photo was taken about the time the Stones got going in the early Sixties around South London and also when I first saw them playing at The Railway Hotel opposite Richmond Station. Later I went to their gigs at the Crawdaddy in Richmond Rugby Club’s place and also at Eel Pie Island. This was before they’d released any records and still considered themselves a blues band, not then writing any original numbers.

I mentioned all this to Stew Rickard, a rockabilly muso from Newcastle, and he told me he’d been in London at the same time for work and went to Richmond  looking for the Rolling Stones. Unfortunately he ran into some local lads who had other ideas (maybe, he suggested) taking offence at the Geordie accent) and threatened violence. Stew tried to get away by slipping into a Chinese restaurant but as he came out the gang set upon him and beat him up. A plate glass window was also smashed in the process and my friend badly cut and bruised. A few days later he returned to Richmond with a big knife and the intention of seriously maiming these lads but despite hours of trailing the streets didn’t come across them again. And he never found the Rolling Stones either!

It’s not really a funny incident but something about Stew’s story telling really made me laugh and inspired a song. I’ve taken poetic licence to give my reluctant hero’s escapade a happy ending – but it’s true that he still plays rockabilly music (melodeon and washboard). In fact I invited him to accompany me on recording the song recently (CD out soon).

LOOKING FOR THE ROLLING STONES   

Geordie went down to London, back in sixty three.

Heard the joint was jumping – what a crazy little place to be.

Talk about Chuck Berry, Bo Diddly and Elmore James,

Now there was a rumour, white kids were doing the same.

Chorus: 

So he went looking, looking, looking for the Rolling Stones.

Looking, looking, for the genuine Brian Jones.

Heard the name – before the rise to fame,

Went looking for the Rolling Stones.

So Geordie took off for Richmond, wandering round the streets,

Asking loads of questions to everyone he meets.

‘Hey there mate! Who you looking at?’ Some Cockney geezers shout,

‘Go back where you came from or get your Northern teeth knocked out.’

Geordie didn’t want no trouble, ‘Howay man,’ he did say,

Dived into a restaurant – a Chinese take-away,

And just as he was a leaving, all upon his tod,

Gave them lads a pasting, with a saveloy and cod.

But Geordie did not give up now, and in a back street bar,

Found that Little Red Rooster, and a mean old slide guitar.

Jagger says, ‘Why-aye man, do that thing you do.

Can’t get no satisfaction, till I hear those washboard blues.’

So Geordie went back to Tyneside, now he understood,

How to shake his body, along with Johnny Be Good.

He could have made a million, with chicks at his command,

But he’d rather play in Byker, with a rockabilly band.

No more looking…

MB © 2013

The Ballarat Arts Centre (a converted pub), a new independent venture in North Shields, recently hosted a songwriter’s symposium which was a great success (according to all participants). Hopefully this will become a regular event – once a month maybe. The next one is on Friday 18th October (though I won’t be there, unfortunately, as we’re off to China that very day).

Ballarat, by the way, is an old Australian gold rush town about 65 miles North West of Melbourne (see pic above). The name is derived from the aborigine meaning ‘safe place’. It has an interesting history: The Eureka Rebellion began in Ballarat – the only armed rebellion in Australian history, the Battle of Eureka Stockade, which took place in 1854. In response to the event the first male suffrage in Australia was instituted – thus Eureka has been seen by some as the home of Australian democracy. The gold rush also gave rise to other cultural legacies – the rebellion’s flag has become a national symbol. Apart from an acclaimed botanical garden, large art gallery and many statues of notable prime ministers, Ballarat also has the longest running lyric theatre building, Her Majesty’s, built in 1875.

Why a pub in North Shields should be named after this place is not known (by the songwriters anyway) but maybe a former resident of Ballarat returned home and bought the place. In fact, several people have commented the pub had a pretty bad reputation years ago, being one of the nearest public houses to the ship yards. Now, however, its a really pleasant place to be – light and spacious. I wish them success.

For more information on this, please drop an email to karen@artofindustry.co.uk 

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