It's only taken me 50 years to work this one out

Onstage chemistry. Powerful stuff.

This time last week, I made very heavy weather of the day. Physically, I was completely shattered; my head, on the other hand, was spinning furiously. I really wasn't up to much.

And what was this about? Simple. I'd sung in a bloody brilliant choral concert at Birmingham Town Hall, the previous day. Now, singing in a choir is really no big deal; people do this all the time. I've been singing for maybe five years with the same group of very nice people; it's thoroughly enjoyable. 

But because I participated in last week's shindig – a proper, pomp and circumstance, full-on, full scale Classical affair, with loads of voices and an orchestra - I now have a much better idea of the things that make live musicians, or for that matter any live performer, tick. It's taken me this long to work it out; odd, considering I've been going to gigs for over fifty years.  

Welcome to the future. Here's some 60s soul.

You're making music now. It'll be around when you're not. 

                     Flickr - Rosemary Voegtll

How do you think today's music will feel in forty years time? Will it still be relevant? Will it be stupidly old? A curio? A discovery to glorify the newgen person who ostentatiously 'curated' it?

Everything's online. That's wonderful for the curious listener, but not for today's creators, who are bullied into putting up their music for free for 'exposure'. Once online, that music makes money... just not for the people who created it. Cute.

The upside is you can find things. You want classics from way back when? There you go. It's a win-win for the record companies, who once could only recoup four and five-fold from issues and reissues in different formats, the poor things. Now, the web is a permanent way to extend sales potential.

And they just love it when the old boys keel over. Just look at the sales on Bowie and the Eagles.

Lives Well Lived

There's more, far more, than one way to define success

Mick Dolan died last month. I found out as a surprisingly wide range of friends and acquaintances marked his passing online. Texts, emails, facebook, tweets: a social media thing. I'll come back to that. That's often how we do this now: appreciation rippling out across the net. Refreshingly, unusually, it was sincere and heartfelt. 

I knew Mick in the mid 70s; he fronted an outfit called Big Front Yard. They were a fine, credible band. They made some lovely stuff, but ultimately didn't get anywhere. Before that, he and his brother were in a Birmingham prog rock outfit, Hard Meat, who didn't tear any trees up but richly deserved to - check this piece from Sam Umland. And don't snigger: that was the age of preposterous band names: Heavy Jelly, or Iron Butterfly, anyone? Hard Meat, never mind the name, did a lot more than most hopefuls: they scored a proper deal with Warners, and even got to play the US. You can find their stuff online...

.... and I think it's worn well, despite the prog trappings. There's some great guitar work in there. Let it play while you read on; it's worth it.

What happened in between then and now? I really can't tell you. I knew he was around. His name would crop up in discussions and music notes. He was respected, well respected. One of those guys doing good things, quietly and well. This year, 45 years on, he was still hard at work as a producer. Here he is, with Kate Gee, and a set of musicians I have a lot of time for. 




These are scraps and fragments: brave, innocent pictures of young men with a lot of hair and a lot of skill; odd recordings posted to YouTube by people who clearly loved Mick's work. It's not a lot. It would be even less without social media, which, bit by bit, collects traces and fragments from decades of work.

Hard Meat, early 70s    

But that's what we have left: files humming in a server somewhere halfway around the world: scraps of our lives. Little virtual milestones marking random moments. It doesn't really tell the full story of how we work and try and fail and try harder. These are lives lived, and the internet flotsam that washes around them is mostly what we're left with. It never tells the full story, but I'm still glad I can look. 

Sometimes we succeed and we have our moments of success. Inevitably, we get old, without noticing, until that change slaps us in the face. Suddenly there are new people, shiny and pumped; they run through the same brick walls we too used to burst through without even noticing. The difference? Now, we notice those walls because we're bouncing off them. It goes without saying that new talent is to be cherished and supported. People helped you on your way; now it's time to pay it forward. 

Mick did that. I try to do that. In fact, I don't really know anyone in music, or radio, who doesn't see that as an obligation. I don't care to know those who don't. 

So the wheel rolls on. Spirited young talent either flies or it doesn't. And when your shining new future doesn't quite work out like you hoped - or even if it does - then there are decisions to make. You love what you do? Stay doing it. But move, shift sideways, find new approaches. If that's what you love, there are ways. And once in a while, you'll bump into someone who remembers what you did back in the day, or who you can work with, and help. Sometimes they help you.

Our media gobbles up the next big thing, and tears down last year's sensations. Social media, with its lack of self-restraint, is especially guilty: it encourages you to jump and shout about the shiny new star you've just discovered. It discourages loyalty and considered appreciation. The next time you catch a likely bunch of swaggering young blades strutting their fine stuff onstage, think of those bands you saw five years ago - the ones that didn't make it. Where are they now?

Mick in '76   © Michael Gray, 2014    

Chances are they're still playing, just maybe not with the same people. Maybe there's a few rough edges been knocked off. Some will have given up and got a proper job, the better to pay for that house and mortgage. Maybe the guys still doing it have developed into much better musicians after their five years of toil. Maybe they still harbour dreams of glory. One thing won't have changed: the love of the music. The ones who jumped in for the love of the music will still be plugging away, and those are the ones we should salute. But - horror of horrors - they're older now. 

On this blog, I write about music and radio people, and their craft. I try to tell stories, and I look at the business trappings. Personally, I adore catching new, brave young talent, fresh and fierce, stealing audience hearts effortlessly. These are people driven by the pure love of music and performance. But so, too, are those - there's a lot of them - who have lived their lives in and around music and radio, and who still pitch up to battered mixing desks and pub stages, or who work behind the scenes to try to do the right thing. It's often the bit in the middle, the ugly business bit, that loses me, despite the fact that the ugly business bit often gives me lurid blog stories that get fantastic responses.

So here's to those people who've put in their shifts, who are burnished by the years, and who add craft and wisdom to their talent and energy. The weird old guy you've never seen before, who sits down at an open mic night, comfortable as you please, and... just blows you away. The battle-scarred veteran who can read your talent and make you shine. The ones who've got miles on the clock, and who still care. The ones who put music nights on for the love of the music, not the money. The ones on whom our entire grassroots scenes depend. These are the ones who share, and in so doing leave behind those little traces of their lives for us to discover - if we're lucky.

Mick was one of those.


See also this very touching May 2015 blog post from Michael Gray

You can find other blog posts on people we've lost here 

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Joan Armatrading's BIG last tour

Joan Armatrading has announced her last tour, kicking off later this year. She isn't retiring from live shows, but this is the big last tour. Big? It's huge. 

Joan is booked for over 50 UK dates so far with European and North American dates to follow. It's just her on guitar and piano. She's taking on a lot. 

I saw Joan at the old Birmingham Odeon in 1975, after she released 'Back To The Night'. She opened for A&M labelmates Supertramp - so she sang her very personal songs to progrock kiddies in greatcoats. It's all a long time ago, but I'm sure the stage was awash with unwavering, unwatchable red light. Almost certainly she had a crappy sound mix. The lot of the support act. 

I enjoyed her set. Supertramp was another matter, so I left, crossing a post-gig Joan coming out onto the street with her mates. I hollered out 'Good set, Joan!' and got a lovely smile back.

We met later when Joan was ferried around radio stations to plug albums. I don't think she enjoyed this. But I asked for another interview because, dammit, Joan's a really important artist, and this is going to be her last tour. And, hooray, she agreed. 

The Details: Too Late To Stop Now

When is a good time to start a band? And what do you want to do and say when you do start?

The Details attempt louche

Last week, at a motorway service station, two wannabe rock stars waltzed in as I slouched out. They were perfect. Shades, crucial hair, skinny jeans, tats, floppy t-shirts under leather jackets, and the killer look-at-me-I’m-a-star-flounce. 

Of course, had they been the real thing, they wouldn’t have strutted into Cherwell Valley services for a pee with the rest of us. But they wanted attention, throwing shapes while loading up on Krispy Kreme. Bless. 

It’s always a tricky thing, being in a band. But at least these boys had youth on their side to bash through the obstacles.

It’s trickier throwing yourself back in the game again after 40 years. The Details, four excellent musicianly veterans of the Birmingham scene, have just released a thoughtful, demanding album, loaded with sparkling fretwork and crafted songs. The biggest challenges they face will be getting new listeners to work at their music. And... they are old. Very old. Um, like me.