Happy Valetines Day?

At about midday yesterday, whilst idly surfing the internet, it occurred to me that I hadn't seen my good friend Gordon Urquhart online for few days.  I decided to drop him a message, as I often did, to see how he was, and to ask if he'd watched the footy at the weekend. Gordon lived in Zambia, you see, and Zambia has just won the Africa Cup of Nations for the first time, 19 years after an airplane crash wiped out most of their, then, national team. I was certain that Gordon and his family and friends would have had a right old knees up for such an occasion, and I wanted to get the lowdown.

I browsed to his Facebook page and absentmindedly skim read a post on his wall. Confusingly, it seemed to be a message of condolence. As was the post below that, and the one below, and the one below, and the one below, and the one below...

I kept scrolling, desperate to get the bottom of this bizarre misunderstanding, when I finally reached a post from Gordon himself.

It read thus: "Just nipping out pals, I may be quite some time. It's been great. Keep on keepin' on."

It seemed Gordon had died sometime on Friday the 10th of February. A very bright light had been switched off, forever consigning a couple of my hopes and dreams to a dark corner where they stack neatly on top of regret. I'd never met Gordon in person, you see, and despite an invitation to visit him when he lived in Culbokie, and a subsequent open offer of a trip to Zambia, time and [lack of] money had conspired against us. Curse you time.


Later that evening, Martin and I drove to Northampton to visit his brother, Steve, in hospital. There was a big crowd of us there, and we sat around the bed chatting quietly and laughing. Steve was asleep and our conversation was punctuated by his breathing. And then, at about 9pm, he stopped. After 19 years battling cheerfully and bravely with cancer, he had decided it was time to go. Another bright light had been switched off, although this one had been gradually dimming over time. I will greatly miss its comforting glow. About 20 minutes after Steve died, Watford, the football team Steve had supported all his life, playing at home against Leicester, scored a goal which saw them win the match 3:2. I can't help but wonder if Steve had a hand - well, foot - in that result.

We stayed at the hospital for another couple of hours, reminiscing with Steve's wife and daughters about the past. There were plenty of tears, but there were an awful lot of smiles and laughs. So many positive memories that it was impossible for the sense of loss to overwhelm them. Martin and I joked with each other that it wasn't the most romantic way to spend Valentines evening but, to be honest, I doubt there was a room in the world filled with more love that night. I'm glad we were there to wave Steve off. If he's quick he might be able to catch up with Gordy and they can wander along together.


So, yes. It wasn't quite the Happy Valentines Day that I might have had in mind. However I do feel very happy and blessed that I knew both of these lovely men.


Steve: Rest assured that I'll look after your little bruv for you. I hear a rolled up newspaper works wonders...

Gordy: We'll keep on keepin' on. Don't you worry.

So long, both, and thanks for all the memories.

Vile comtemplation

I'm feeling very contemplative right now. Today marks the anniversary of the passing of my mum, and this event is pretty much the reason Vile Electrodes exist (I blogged about that fact here, back when I used to blog!).

I think the fact that Martin and I are on the verge of very positive things this year, both personally and creatively, is why I'm feeling the loss very keenly today; mum was a posthumous catalyst for such major changes in my life and it saddens me that she doesn't get to share how happy I've ultimately become as a result of something so dreadfully negative.

But then, of course, I also find myself pondering about how I'd trade all my new found happiness and personal growth for 5 more minutes with her. A trade-off which, of course, she wouldn't want in a million years. But I'd do it anyway, because I'm stubborn. Like my dad.

But all the pondering in the world cannot make the impossible happen. All I can do is hope that she'd be proud of the life I'm living and the music I'm creating. Not sure what she'd think about the outfits though...

I haven't really written a song which adequately represents how I feel about losing her (well, I think that would be impossible), but I guess My Sanctuary is appropriately titled. I like to think she'd like it.

R.I.P. mum.

  My Sanctuary by Vile Electrodes

The Oramics Machine at the Science Museum

Hello. Martin here, in my FIRST EVER BLOG!!

So, DAY 1 in the The Oramics Machine household. Interesting. Verrrrry interesting. A very nice bunch of people gathered around a table in a very fine old building [the former Post Office Saving Bank HQ in West Kensington, now a huge museum store. In it's heyday, 4000 clerks making hand-written entries for every time someone deposited or withdraw cash in a Post Office, unique files for every single person holding an account in every single branch across the whole of the UK. Basically a giant human computer. All the women worked at one end, and all the men at the other. Quite right too].

We made our way through the cool, silent, labyrinthine corridors of the building to the conference room, half expecting to get picked off one by one by some long-forgotten feral zombie bank clerk, tiled walls splashed with the blood of nervous geeks in the very temple of geekdom. As it happens, an alarm went off warning us that a door had been open too long. Geeks.

Tim Boon and Merel van der Vaart are our contacts with the project. Tim - Chief Curator no less, is a likable Science Museum stalwart and the kind of self-confessed geek ("self built analogue synth in loft...") that made people warm to him. Merel is fairly new to the museum, but handled her job of (presumably) project manager with enthusiasm, earnest concern for our well being, and good humour.

The assembled group are mostly London based musicians, composers or music artists of one form or another. 12 Good Men And Women. [ratio: 9:3] Couple of Goldsmiths PhD lads, a software designer (for a WELL KNOWN UK music software company....) journalist, students, enthusiasts. I guess I kind of fall into the latter category.

I'm sure I'll write more about my fellow co-curators as I get to know them more. And they'll probably contribute to the canon about the subject online too.

The Oramics Machine was.... in the corner of a storeroom, covered in plastic, and in bits, but clean, and being lovingly treated. We're going to be designing an exhibition to support the machine when it goes on display, along with a group of 'I was there' Radiophonic Workshop alumni from back in Daphne Oram's time. It will be nice if we get to meet them.

We had a chat, ate muffins and played one another our music. I chose Play With Fire, Vile Electrodes de facto 'first single'. As the only person who represented himself with a pop song, my contribution seemed a little trite compared to some of the conceptual and left-field pieces contributed by some of the others, which were amazing, weird, fun and exciting but that was my reason for choosing it really - the Oramics Machine is a piece of obscure, bizarre and pretty avant garde hardware, even by today's standards. To exhibit it at the Science Museum means finding a way to make it understandable - and exciting to - everyone, not just academics, specialists and nerds. PWF was my little chance to say that the Masses need their Opium. Or maybe i just couldn't find a more appropriate track. Who knows.

Whichever may be true, we are going to need to translate our geeky enthusiasm into an energy and a language that everyone can share.

This is our task. We have [gladly!] chosen to accept it.

Songs of note

Naturally, all our songs are highly significant and it goes without saying that they are all amazing. Ahem. Some, however, are more significant and amazing than others. Here are my top 3 Vile songs.

Play with Fire

This was the first song that made us sit up and go "HEY, we're actually not shit!".

It's shiny and fizzy and poppy, with simple and crap lyrics, like every good hit out there. It's fun to play live because I know both the other 'Trodes will be rocking out to it, and Martin will lose himself with finger-pointy, shouty abandon. This makes me happy.

Proximity

One Sunday afternoon Martin was bored and itching to play with his toys and create new music. I was nagging him that we needed to finish some existing songs. He ignored me, so I peeled potatoes, clearly intending to punish him by cooking a roast dinner. 

Martin started up a simple drum machine loop on the TR-707 and absentmindedly played a couple of chords on the Juno 6. The arpeggiator setting happened to be on, and the chord pattern stopped me in my starchy tracks. They were brittle and beautiful, like icebergs colliding in space.

2 hours later we had Proximity and a roast chicken. A win all round really. 

Proximity still catches me unawares, and I'm often amazed that I was involved in creating it.

Deep Red

I love this. I know that a lot of Vileophiles found us via this song and the accompanying video on YouTube. It’s a wonderfully epic, brooding number with a soaring synth line that still sends shivers down my spine.

Why is it so significant? Well, catharsis through song-writing has long been a way of dealing with the problems life, and stupid people, throw at you. It’s probably true to state that Vile Electrodes wouldn’t exist if I hadn’t written this song. So I'm glad that I did.

“No more to say. The shadows are darkest on the brightest day”

Toodlepip.

ps - because I don't understand how the interwebs works, Blogger is oddly cropping this video. DAMN YOU BLOGGER!

Waste of myspace

Over a fairly short period of time Martin and I found that we had songs coming out of our ears. We had a name too. It was time to do what every band in the world does: set up a myspace and wait for fame and fortune to come knocking.

We uploaded our best finished songs which, at the time, were Utter Gutter Slut, Second Skin, Cruel and Black Cat. The results were amazing. Soon we were averaging 1 play a day, sometimes 5 when I remembered to leave the myspace music player running.

This staggering level of popularity did not go unnoticed or unrewarded and we secured our first ever gig as the headline act at the Rhythm Factory for their “New Band” night. Headlining already, eh? It blew my dad’s mind. The Rolling Stones are a headline act and we were up there with them on our very first gig!

Yes. Ha. Anyone reading this who is not in the know (like me at the time) should note that, for unsigned, local bands “headline” means “graveyard”. You go on at 11pm. The other bands have left. Your friends need to leave. The soundman wants to leave. But that’s neither here nor there and it’s all part and parcel of the process.

I was so nervous that I didn’t invite anyone to the show. Then, suddenly, on the day of the gig, it dawned on me that the people in London do NOT just go to gigs to express their gratitude for the wealth of great music on their doorsteps.

OMG. THERE WOULD BE NO-ONE THERE!

Cue me frantically begging friends and family to attend. I’d rather play to a pity filled audience of pals than an empty room. And, bless them, they came. They cheered at all the right points and they ignored the fact that my mic lead fell out during the very first line of the very first song (a reassuring start to my first proper gig).

I remember little more about the show but, despite my nerves, there are pictures which suggest I was surprisingly animated – jumping, dancing and flinging myself around the stage. That’s never happened at a gig since. Subsequent shows saw me rooted to the spot with fear, unsure even whether to lift my hand and put it on my hip. That’s one of the reasons I now play synths and Kaoss and drum pads on stage – they help distract me from the fact that I’m doing something so alien and terrifying to me!

Will the nerves ever subside? I kind of hope they don’t. They seem to keep me pretty grounded.

The Name

We became Vile Electrodes pretty much because we were desperate for a name and didn’t like anything we’d come up previously (Little Death Machine, Strange Fruit, Spitalfiends, R.S.W.O. [that there acronym will be revealed one day]).

Well, desperation and the fact that it’s the name of one of our songs that no-one apart from Martin and I have heard. It’s a song about how you sometimes just can’t tear yourself away from that person who’s no good for you. It’s almost as though they have…

VILE ELECTRODES WIRED TO YOUR BRAIN

BOOM. We were born. And now, at every single gig, we have to use finger spelling to get people to understand what we’re called. The Violet Roads? The Violent Toads? And all sorts of other weird things which would probably be a better name than Vile Electrodes.

But we are who we are: Vile Electrodes. Viles. ‘Trodes. The Electric Voles. For the time being at least.

Make-up mishaps

Writing this blog is weird. Documenting experiences reminds me of other times that I think are worthy of recording [even just for myself!] and, for the first time, I’m really viewing the web as a web. I’ll try not to tangle it too much.

Blogging about my mum's death acting as a life-changing catalyst made me want to share this snippet: 

I dressed and readied her for her funeral. Lots of people warned me against it, but it was something I wanted to do. The undertakers helped with the dressing – a dead weight is so called for a reason and I could never have lifted her by myself.

They left me alone to do her make-up and, gosh, I did an awful job. In the hands of an amateur, make-up doesn’t apply well to cold, rigid skin. Imagine trying to apply it to a semi-defrosted chicken breast. By the end of it she looked a bit like Aunt Sally.

It made me laugh. A lot. An odd sound bouncing around in such sombre surroundings. I reckon she would have laughed a lot too though.