It was wake up and get into Liverpool day for an afternoon’s essential shopping, the details of which might not be very interesting as it involved Marks & Sparks. We left Lisa and Mark at the house and walked around the corner up the street to Prescott Road where we got the bus into the centre of town. The bus was packed with Saturday shoppers but we managed to find a seat on the top deck which is just what you want when you are revisiting the city you grew up in and want to see what has become of it. The centre is unrecognisable but Bold St is still there, it’s where I remember seeing the cover of Tubular Bells (1973) in Virgin’s fledging business shop window before the world knew about it and Richard Branson and Mike Oldfield in an unlikely collaboration took over the world.

There’s a record store (Dig Vinyl) in a building shared with clothes shops in Bold St, it’s a place I really like, and they always have a small but always an interesting selection of second-hand records. I managed to find a reasonably priced original copy of Vivian Stanshall’s Men Opening Umbrellas Ahead (1974), he was of course the master of ceremonies on Tubular Bells. I also found three second-hand Shocking Blue reissues from the early seventies and one of my favourites, Pink Fairies – Kings Of Oblivion (1973). I’ve had this album for years but as it’s locked away in storage at the moment I bought it again. As it happened I’d mentioned it at one of the earlier shows.

Liverpool was packed, a busker ‘signing’ music he was playing, that’s original. Two separate hen parties with the girls vomiting early on in the street (before 5.30) as they enjoyed the celebration. We managed to escape to the venue in an Uber that took us to the venue. “Hello mate,” I said no response, probably due to the fact that he was playing some awful dance music loud in the car that he didn’t turn down when we got in. There was a part where the singer was singing completely out of key but he didn’t seem to mind as he banged the flat of his hand on his chest in time with the beat (at least he was in time). The windows were wide open, but he just ignored us, he drove too fast and when we got out of the car he said, “Take care” – haha.

The venue was a small cafe, we’d had two venues changed on us, the Penny Lane Church wouldn’t provide alcohol on the Saturday night and the St Bride’s Church fell through at the last minute, but rather than cancel we played this little place to some dedicated fans and a great time was had by all. As long as the music is working, we are enjoying playing and the fans are enjoying the show then what’s not to like? If we want to play a proper venue in Liverpool you have to book months and months in advance and if something falls through you are out of options. Despite all this, we had a great night.

Music today has been the second Teardrop Explodes album, Wilder (1981). I really liked this record when it came out and still do. Gotta go.

Music Of The Daze

We left Leeds and stopped quite quickly on the M62 for breakfast, we had time as we were driving to Liverpool/Wirral which is less than two hours away. I asked the girl who served us where we were, she said equidistant (my word) to Leeds, Halifax, Huddersfield, and Cleckheaton. I’d never heard of Cleckheaton but the 16,000 people that live there have. I’ve never been to Halifax and I’m not even sure if I’ve been to Huddersfield, maybe once with AAE. It seems that although I grew up in the northwest, I didn’t ever really venture further north in England although my grandmother on my father’s side lived in Blackpool. There’s more chance I’d go to Scotland than Newcastle and apart from some vague memories of trips to the Lake District, oddly, I know other parts of the world better.

But as soon as we hit the Wirral everything became familiar, my old stomping ground. We passed The Yacht Inn on the Chester road heading to Heswall. My dad always used to point it out on trips back from Wales by humorously trying to pronounce it phonetically. We saw the signs for Parkgate, Neston, and Bebington and I remember riding my motorbike up and down this road so I get up a bit of speed. We drove through Heswall and I pointed out where Din’s used to be, the shop where I would buy records if I wasn’t in Liverpool. We turned right at the traffic light and headed towards Pensby past where I used to live in a flat and where sis Shelagh’s road is located. The chippie was still down on the right in Pensby but The Pensby Hotel where we used to meet as teenagers was long gone. It made me think of my good mate and mega music lover Spanter who had to miss the gig because he’s in hospital, get well soon, Spant, you and your bro Phil.

Next, we were at the corner that led into Thingwall and the block of flats I lived in as a teenager. They seemed so small because they were. We’d moved from a pub, The Grouse Hotel in Birch Vale between Hayfield and New Mills. Beautiful countryside, big rooms, lots of space and suddenly all changed and into a modern flat which was a step down for my freedom even if it was a step up for my dad’s work. He became Merseyside’s road safety officer, probably the reason I don’t drive, he was always arriving home with safety campaign pics, young girls who had gone through windscreens with stitches in their faces, exposing what can happen if you don’t wear a seat belt.

We showed Boydie where I used to live, where Sparks Lane was, where Dare used to live and then we wound our way through country lanes to Thornton Hough, a beautiful village of Tudor-style houses, posh, close to where I grew up (not as posh). We went to the pub next door where the landlord recognised me and we loaded into the Village Club next door for soundcheck. Lisa and Mark arrived (we’re staying with them in Liverpool), sis She and John and an old mate, Gazzer, I haven’t seen for decades who I was in a band with in 1975. He told me we played the upper sixth party at Park High School (with Dare too), I vaguely remember it, mostly because I had to wear my Woodchurch Sec school uniform, a secondary modern bloke playing at a grammar school. The power of music to break down borders apparent.

I’m not sure how many posh people turned up at the show, just music lovers, but even the posh like music I heard, haha. Great show tonight, a charming audience with amazing accents. Paul the promoter was there, Neil did the sound, he basically runs the place himself. We left with Lisa and Mark back to Liverpool and were soon in bed.

Music today has been The Teardrop Explodes – Kilimanjaro (1980), keyboardist Dave Balfe lived behind me, I saw him on the way to school most mornings, guitarist Alan Gill I saw frequently, he was a year older but we got the same school bus every day.

Music Of The Daze

Leaving the countryside and heading north up the M62 motorway to Leeds. It wasn’t so long ago that it was stopped, stuck, stationery with snow. As we drove north, traffic driving south was stopped for miles because there had been a crash but we saw the crash and it didn’t look so serious that it could cause such a tailback, but it seems it doesn’t take much. I was reflecting on just how much traffic there was, a Thursday afternoon, the motorway was packed with every shape and size and colour of vehicle you could imagine. It doesn’t seem that the world can do anything to stop itself from suffocating the planet.

We drove past signs for Halifax and Huddersfield as we rose up onto Saddleworth Moor, the site of the grisly moor murder burials, five children, the victims of serial killers Myra Hindley and Ian Brady in the sixties, a chilling reminder of the capacity that humans have to execute grotesque crimes. The beauty of the surroundings shattered by its history.

I hadn’t been to play in Leeds for a long time, I imagine it must have been with AAE. I don’t really remember what it’s like here, a major city nestling in the northwest between industry and miles of uninhabited land. We passed one of those famous houses that sit in between two sides of the motorway, refusing to sell up when the roads were being built. This stark beauty, the atmosphere of emptiness leaves a taste of mystery, timeless, eternal, simultaneously evoking the past and the future, all that has happened and how it will endure long after the humans have gone.

Driving into Leeds we went past the famous football stadium of Leeds United (Elland Road), we could see the Jackie Charlton stand from the slip road. Will they manage to stay up this year? We drove through the city to the student area of Hyde Park where the venue was. It was a really kool and alternative venue where upstairs the young people listened to hip hop in the background, talked, played chess, and enjoyed an environment to be with friends and discuss their now and their futures, whereas downstairs the older people (mostly) quietly watched the show with their memories and with no crossover between age groups.

Another good gig, Jo from Bulgaria did a great job of the sound and the audience members ravished the merch, leaving only Nightjar on vinyl and MOAT on CD. The last Noctorum – The Afterlife, and the last MOAT debut are sold out of their pressings and I can’t see a repress on the horizon for either of them. I’m afraid Liverpool and Scotland will not have the music choices that those in the south had. We still have plenty of the new T-shirt but I’m hoping that Nightjar will be an attractive vinyl purchase for the remaining dates.

Music today has been Gang of Four’s Entertainment! (1979), one of the legendary bands from Leeds. I bought this album when it was released, always a fan of their angular sound.

Music Of The Daze

Leaving Manchester today for the bucolic pulchritude that surrounds the Foxlowe Arts Centre in Leek, Staffordshire. It’s an hour or so south of Manchester and this was one of the unfortunate routing backtracks which sometimes happens because you simply can’t get the dates in the order you want them. It wasn’t so far out of the way and a nice drive through the rolling hills and the sheeps (we call them sheeps when we are in the presence of Olivia’s dad, Gerd). We found a coffee shop just outside Poynton, where Dare and brother Dave lived as a kid, in a place called Adlington and as it happened Dave and his partner Rachel came to the show. It really is lovely in this part of the world, the fields a deep green, a mesmerising calm as you gaze into the undulating hills and contemplate the rooks on a wing.

We arrived to find the car park and load in locked behind the venue, so I went around to the front to bang on the door, it was cold. I thought I was going to be quick, I banged again – nothing. Too cold I went back around to see the gate open and Olivia and Boydie already loading in, foiled by the system. We’ve played here before, it’s not the easiest place to pull a crowd but a local, Graham Stone, puts a lot of work into getting people in and the audience was fine for an intimate show.

A nice staff, Jane the manager, Saule from Lithuania behind the bar, and Rich the soundman who used to be a funeral director. He told us fascinating stories, his dad was in a band from Leek in the seventies called Hunter. After soundcheck we went to the Thai to order for later, we ate in the hotel after the show, it wasn’t good. Dinner is tricky on the road, soundcheck and load-in takes you almost to doors and then you are on. In our case we have no support, two sets, so we have to be back to play. Where’s my personal chef?

On stage one of the lightbulbs blew, we were glad to have had Gerd send us some spares, Olivia had dropped one earlier in the tour so if we lose one more, our killer light show will be a quarter down. On the subject of losing, I lost an earring somewhere, no time to buy another one (or two) on the road. As I’ve had my ears pierced since the seventies, I can feel it’s not there although I can’t see it or physically feel it missing.

The audience’s reaction was again very enthusiastic and I signed quite a lot of records after the show. We are now down to the last MOAT debut album and the last Noctorum – Afterlife album, all pressings in the world sold out. The other titles are running low, only two Space Summits, five Hanging Out In Heaven, nine Nightjar, two Atantaeum Flood, and on the CDs only MOAT CDs and two Atlantaeum Flood, everything else has sold out. We do have the kool Marty and Olivia shirts of which we need to sell seven more to break even, come on, we can do it. Thanks to everybody that has been buying our records and T-shirts, it makes a big difference to the touring budget and allows us to come out and do tours like tours.

Music today has been The Smiths‘ Hatful Of Hollow (1984) because I was singing William, It Was Really Nothing out of nowhere, plus we were in the area.

Music Of The Daze

Heading north to Manchester on the M1 in a white van with gear in the back, that’s being in a band, that’s being on the road. Leaving Leicester on what looked like a nice day, the sun shone through the window and I could feel its warmth, a sign of spring, different to those winter days where the sun is there (sometimes) but delivers no heat. Waves of memories flood through me as I see the signs for Liverpool but it’s all the places around, the places nearish to these two major cities, Nantwich, Sandbach, Chester, that tweak childhood memories of sitting in the back of my parents’ car (a green Humber Sceptre), driving to some mysterious destination beyond the safety of home.

I have a scary childhood memory of travelling in that car. I remember driving up the hill from Marple Bridge and as we turned right towards Glossop and the direction of our house, the back door swung open and I nearly fell out onto the road. We lived in the countryside, the last of a row of large bungalows with a view of Kinder Scout. We had geese and ducks, hens and bantams, dogs and a cat and a rabbit until one day the fox got in and literally ripped it to shreds, leaving the animal dead, its snow-white fur doused in blood. I thought of it as the fox’s revenge after experiencing the hunt and the chase in the field opposite with the fox worn out and the dogs full of vigour waiting to do what the fox did to the rabbit.

We drove into Manchester and I commented on how I don’t see a recognisable skyline there. Maybe it has just changed so much, so has Liverpool but the pier head is iconic. Manchester always seems like random planning, there’s a hole, put a building in it. It doesn’t really matter what it looks like, it doesn’t matter if it fits, the architect isn’t looking to match the last architect that got a building project approved.

We’ve played at Gulliver’s in Oldham Street before, the top room of an old Manchester pub. It’s dark in there and hidden behind a back door atop a narrow staircase, inside it’s long and thin with quite a high stage, it’s a little like a tomb if pharaohs had discovered rock and roll. Tonight we had a very nice helpful soundman (Ash) and an enthusiastic listening audience to which we are most grateful.

Earlier, after soundcheck, we had ventured out into the city as the rain started to fall and darkness fell with it. We lurched our way across Piccadilly along with a population of hunched over well-wrapped locals fighting their way through the grim night. We managed to make it to Wagamama in St Peter’s Square where we had a lovely ramen, gastronomic solace in contrast to the reality outside. We found our way back over black pavements and towering buildings to the gig and played a well-received set. Thank you to everyone for coming on such a night.

Music today was The Monkees‘ debut album (1966) because as I was born here in Stockport and lived here as a child, it must have been somewhere in close proximity that I bought my first 7-inch single, The Monkees’ Alternate Title (1967) otherwise known as Randy Scouse Git in the States as over there ‘Randy’ is a popular first name, ‘Scouse’ meant nothing along with ‘Git’. Here it wasn’t quite acceptable.

Music Of the Daze