‘Why is Geronimo on the cover of your book? What’s he got to do with being a singer-songwriter?’
I was asked these questions recently by a BBC film maker when discussing ideas for making a short documentary. ‘Shouldn’t the illustration give potential customers an idea of what’s inside,’ she said, pointedly.

‘Well,’I hesitated, ‘do you read books?’

‘Not much,’ she admitted. ‘But I look at lots of emails and tweets.’

Now I could see why she had a problem with the picture (and would no doubt have preferred a celeb’s mug shot, preferably drunk and half dressed). Unlike me she obviously didn’t waste hours in book shops and libraries, allowing curiosity to get the better of her. For me, and any true reader (I thought), the contrast of a title like, THE SINGER-SONGWRITER’S LAST STAND against the picture of a long dead Apache war chief holding a guitar, would be enough to arouse interest. But, it seemed, not for her. And, maybe not for many others; eyes glued to screens all day and night and whose only knowledge of books was when they got made into films.

‘Hey Geronimo!’ in fact, was the title of a flop single put out by the hero of my book, struggling young musician Alwyn Stevens.  The story, based on my own and others experiences in the music world, is set in the Sixties and present day. Arthur Grimsby, the other main character, is a kind of beatnik Svengali, who lures innocent Al away from the suburban mainstream into a meandering life of musical crime. The ‘last stand’, by the way, may not only be Geronimo’s but also the novel’s main players – and possibly signals the end of the line for many old style singer-songwriter’s. Let’s face it, successful composers don’t need to play an instrument now any more than author’s need to write – technology (or ghost writers) can do all those arduous time-wasting things while more important jobs like promotion and selling can be got on with.

It wasn’t Halloween that inspired my latest song-writing attempt, not intentionally anyway. The title and chorus, plus the A minor riff, got me going – destination unknown. Then it became a lament for rock and roll, and perhaps a lot else. Despite the incredible advances in technology, music doesn’t necessarily get better – often just more easy to access. The sheer difficulty of finding rock music in the Fifties and Sixties , meant people valued it more. And after all, a good song performed well will always prevail no matter how poor the sound system or venue, etc.

Today it blares out everywhere – shops, offices, restaurants, etc – becoming meaningless. Technology makes faking it much easier since you can get a great sound without any talent. Cheap and easy access also makes music commonplace.  Where to next?  I don’t know, but there’ll always be a desire to comunicate – to be creative and share that creativity. The strange thing about music however, given the few notes available, is that the possibility for new configurations are almost limitless. And, as life changes, we’ll always want to reflect our experiences.

So, don’t weep for rock and roll – or any other format – they’re just names. But the music goes on.

Oh this ghost train’s running out of control.

But it never was a way to save your soul.

No, no. No, no. Ghost train. Ghost train.

Called rock and roll.

Now there’s no use lying down on the track,

Cause those glory days ain’t coming back, Jack.

No theme park ticket you can buy,

Will ever get you a slice of Yanky pie.

It was all a lie.

Just an illusion of mirrors and lights ,

Screaming women in lurex tights – on drunken nights.

Ghost train!

Met up with Sam Baker (no relation) last night (16-09-11) after his gig at Newcastle’s Live Theatre and gave hima copy of my book. He asked if I’d done the illustrations (yes) and when I showed him the one of him being blown up said, ‘Yes, it was just like that.’ Since the drawing was done entirely from imagination it was quite a compliment – though maybe he was just being nice. He is a nice guy actually and seems to have a genuine affection for his fans, hugging both men and women indiscriminately both on stage and off. Normally I would be put off by that but it seems genuine.

One thing that struck me last night (brilliantly supported by Chip Dolan on piano, along with Betty Soo, vocals, and Doug Cox on dobro guitar) was the poetry of his songs. No great guitarist or singer, the power of his material is in the evocative words. Looking at the beautifully stark photos on his website (which Sam took himself) one gets an inkling into the vision captured in the songs – superficially light and picturesque but with deeper strains of menace or tragedy. On stage his banter is often easy-going and jokey, but the content of the songs can be dark and twisted, though ultimately hopeful.

It’s obviously impossible to say what effect the horrific injuries and subsequent medical problems suffered from being a victim of a terrorist bomb in the late Eighties, but one suspects it’s these experiences which have been the main influence  and given him a unique view. His vocal delivery, somewhat sparse and stacato, was, he says, the result of memory loss following brain injuries.  Last night none of that was mentioned, nor did he sing Broken Fingers in which he refers to it obliquely, but he must get bored with talking about it. Nevertheless, even if you didn’t know, most people would guess he’s seen some hard times. He even includes the old Stephen Foster number ‘Hard Times’ in the introduction to Odessa, a song describing the fate of a spoilt oil baron’s son who kills his girlfriend drive a Corvette too fast – though daddy’s money ‘made the lawyers go away’.

Anyway, I hope he likes my book. Sam’s story is included as an important inspiration to me, and I meant it. He overcame many difficulties to recover from his injuries and still fulfill his musical ambitions. If he can do it?

I’ve been digging out children’s song collections, some which go back over forty years, after being asked to teach KS3 music at the school I work part-time in. Although I’ve taken the odd music lesson over the past few years my main subjects have been DT and Science so, despite my extra-curricular preoccupations, I need plenty of preparation. As part of these researches I came across ‘Leave Your Sleep’, a double CD and book by Natalie Merchant, which includes 26 poems written for or about children that she has set to music. The quality of the work, both the book which includes biographies of the poets and the musical arrangements, is extremely high and often delightful. Some of the songs I may use at school, especially the more light-hearted ones including some nonsense rhymes by Edward Lear and e.e.cummings, etc.

One of the poems, ‘The King Of China’s Daughter’ by Edith Sitwell, has also been set to music by myself, though I added some extra lines to make it more of a story and also doubled up some others to produce a chorus. I also used this device on a couple of other poems; ‘A Ship Sails up to Bideford’ by Herbert Asquith (the son of one-time Liberal Prime Minister) and ‘The Scarecrow’ by Michael Franklin (not to be confused with poems of the same title by Walter de la Mare and Khalil Gibran. The one by Gibran is a little gem, by the way:

Once I said to a scarecrow, ‘You must be
tired of standing in this lonely field.’

And he said, ‘The joy of scaring is
a deep and lasting one, and I never tire of it.’

Said I, after a minute of thought,
‘It is true; for I too have known that joy.’

Said he, ‘Only those who are
stuffed with straw can know it.’

Then I left him, not knowing
whether he had complimented or belittled me.

A year passed, during which the scarecrow
turned philosopher.

And when I passed by him again I
saw two crows building a nest under his hat.

Many years ago I went to the National Gallery in London with a girlfriend and she bought me a postcard of Saint Sebastian who, she seemed to think, looked a bit like me. For some reason the memory of that day came back recently and I imortalised it in song. It tells Sebastian’s story of double-martyrdom (he seemed to be something of a masochist). Despite the subject matter it’s certainly not meant to be taken seriously.

I must admit I knew nothing about Sebastian before researching it for this song though often wondered about the reasons for his fate. Seems I wasn’t alone. As I discovered his picture has been painted by numerous artists over the centuries right up to the present day – including sado-masochistic female versions. My song, to be fair, isn’t really about the saint but more about my relationship with the girl in question (not really named Caroline). It’s also a dig at the pretentioousness of  art galleries.

A new three part BBC TV series called ‘Secrets of the Pop Song’ featuring Guy
Chambers (co-songwriter with Robbie Williams), Rufus Wainwright (son of folk
singer Loudon Wainwright and sister of Martha) plus others including Boy
George, Sting, Neil Tennant, Don Black, Diane Warren and many others, have
tried to demonstrate what makes a good (ie, commercially successful) song. The
most revealing part has been in the studio when various artists have been set
the challenge of coming up with a genre number, such as power ballad, catchy
chart topper or anthemic song. Although these were somewhat artificial
circumstances the methods demonstrated aren’t so far off reality. Many pop
songs start out as little more than experiments with rhythm sequences or random
words that only later get sorted out into some kind of sense.

For me, however, coming from a folk background, the most telling insight was the
over-riding emphasis on superficial sounds rather than content. Generally
speaking folk songs have a historical or social meaning and, though some
singers may take this rather too seriously, it definitely gives the material
greater depth and intelligence. Since folk music is, by and large, not
commercially driven it can also afford to take the long view and not have to
pack an immediate punch which all pop certainly does. On the other hand, it was
obvious there are some amazing musicians working today (especially in the
studio) able to turn vague or humdrum doodles into great sounds.

The process of song creation demonstrated, though greatly enhanced by electronic
wizardry, isn’t really so very different to any singer-songwriter struggling
over a composition on just an old guitar. I often start with little more than
an interesting thought or phrase and gradually build it up like designing a
house – and I’m sure many other writers do much the same. Only very
occasionally do I get the whole concept in one go, though I might be struck by
an idea which I know has promise and then spend days or weeks trying to realise
it. There are also various techniques or tricks learned over many years which
help you avoid too much stumbling around in the dark – but you have to avoid
not getting lazy and falling back on clichés or comfortable patterns. The test,
as with any music (and on this BBC show), is in a live context – you never
quite know what will happen or how both you and others will respond. Music,
more than any other art form, is only really meaningful played to an audience
and only then can it truly come alive and show its potential.

Lastly, of all the possible reasons for song writing: profit, fun, friendship, even
political or social campaigning, I must admit to only one – obsession. Almost
every day, wherever I am, songs in various stages of construction keep buzzing
around my skull, like unsolved puzzles begging solutions. Even very old songs I
thought were done and dusted many moons ago come back to haunt me, suggesting
alternative lines or even whole new verses. Alternatively, brand new ideas,
tunes or words, can appear from nowhere or be triggered by something said or
read anywhere. This last scenario is OK in the car when I can quickly grab
paper and pencil, but out walking or working it can be a damn nuisance. Of
course, only a fraction of these embryonic masterpieces get to be finished and
even fewer are heard by the public.