I've got blisters on my fingers...

I don't play the guitar. Not really. What I mean is, I don't practice. The only time I pick up the guitar is to either work on a song or to record one. It's shameful, and I often entertain the thought that this might be the year that I finally get it together and start working on my playing. Oh well; it's the thought that counts.

It's sad because whenever I do pick up the guitar to record a part and begin the usual 'fumble around blindly in search of something that sticks' routine, I get to a point where, if something finally clicks, I admonish myself with a stern talking to. A sort of "See what you can do if you put your mind to it?" finger wagging, that's usually followed up with a guilt-inducing "Just think how good you could be if you practiced every day for about the next, oh... 35 years or so".

I recently had one of these episodes. I had a song that I originally thought might sound great with a fiddle playing the solo, but budgetary concerns prompted me to have a bash with electric guitar, just in case it worked. I took out the guitar from the closet, dusted it off, and played around for a good hour or so before it started to sound remotely musical, and although I knew I wanted to work on it a little more later, I recorded a take so I could do a quick mix to listen to in the car, just to see if I was on the right track.

Now, I play electric guitar even less than I do the acoustic, and boy did my finger tips make me pay. I ended up nursing two ridiculously raw finger blisters that left me unable to play either guitar for about a week, and to add insult to injury, I was still undecided about the suitability of the guitar part. So I gave the CD to a mate of mine and requested a little honest feedback.

He took the CD with him and when he returned it a while later, I plied him with the query,"Do you think that this is a good approach for the song?" After a brief hesitation, he sidestepped me with a query of his own. "I thought you were going to have fiddle on this one?"

Like I said, I need to practice, and I will. As soon as these blisters fully heal...

Reasons To Be Cheerful (Part Three)

Ian Dury may have arrived commercially via the Punk and New Wave explosion of the late 70s, but his music always felt gloriously old to me.

What a wonderfully odd star he was. He may have been physically compromised by a childhood bout with polio, but he was a vibrant and commanding presence, both on stage, and off. His records would share bin space with bands made up of snotty-nosed punks with their practised sneers and three-chord workouts, yet he was already as old as some of their dads.

He came across as more vaudeville than punk rock, yet he was afforded much respect from punky punters and performers alike. Rather than speedy, anger-fueled faux-anarchy tales, though, Ian came armed with crafty songs that were ripe with bawdy humour and a sort of cheeky old-time music hall sensibility.

The colourful characters in Dury's vignettes — Plaistow Patricia, Clever Trevor, Billericay Dickie et al — were rough around the edges to be sure, but even with his gruff, often half-spoken and occasionally profane vocal delivery, there was always the sense that he was singing with affection, and it all had this sort of positive, life-affirming quality about it; a gentle naughtiness that warms the cockles to this day.

"Reasons To Be Cheerful (Part Three)" came hot on the heels of his UK chart-topper "Hit Me With Your Rhythm Stick", and it's basically a jumbled list of ...well, reasons to be cheerful. Hard to argue with that, really. Hard to argue with the musical delivery either, as it happens. Dury recites (some might say, raps) over a stellar, funky (some might even say disco) backing, courtesy of his always brilliant band, The Blockheads, and although it's not really even my favourite song of his — that honour most likely goes to the lovely "You'll See Glimpses" — but it's still a little gem. Like most of Ian's music, it still makes me smile whenever it floats by. I really wish we still had him around.

Apparently, Ian Dury once declined an invitation from Andrew Lloyd Webber to write the lyrics for "Cats", ostensibly turning down a small fortune in the process. His response when asked for a reason, was simple and brutally honest — "I hate Andrew Lloyd Webber. He's a wanker, isn't he?".

That just might be more "punk" than anything Johnny Rotten ever did.

Listen Here


Why don't you get back into bed?
Reasons to be cheerful part 3

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Summer, Buddy Holly, the working folly
Good golly Miss Molly and boats
Hammersmith Palais, the Bolshoi Ballet
Jump back in the alley and nanny goats

18-wheeler Scammels, Domenecker camels
All other mammals plus equal votes
Seeing Piccadilly, Fanny Smith and Willy
Being rather silly, and porridge oats

A bit of grin and bear it, a bit of come and share it
You're welcome, we can spare it - yellow socks
Too short to be haughty, too nutty to be naughty
Going on 40 - no electric shocks

The juice of the carrot, the smile of the parrot
A little drop of claret - anything that rocks
Elvis and Scotty, days when I ain't spotty,
Sitting on the potty - curing smallpox

Reasons to be cheerful part 3
Reasons to be cheerful part 3
Reasons to be cheerful part 3
Reasons to be cheerful part 3

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Reasons to be cheerful part 3

Health service glasses
Gigolos and brasses
round or skinny bottoms

Take your mum to paris
lighting up the chalice
wee willy harris

Bantu Stephen Biko, listening to Rico
Harpo, Groucho, Chico

Cheddar cheese and pickle, the Vincent motorsickle
Slap and tickle
Woody Allen, Dali, Dimitri and Pasquale
balabalabala and Volare

Something nice to study, phoning up a buddy
Being in my nuddy
Saying hokey-dokey, singalonga Smokey
Coming out of chokey

John Coltrane's soprano, Adi Celentano
Bonar Colleano

Reasons to be cheerful part 3
Reasons to be cheerful part 3
Reasons to be cheerful part 3
Reasons to be cheerful part 3

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Yes yes
dear dear
perhaps next year
or maybe even never

in which case...

Tales from the podcasting couch...

When Ditchflower Brian Merrill approached me with the idea of doing a podcast to showcase our little record label, Sunshine Drenchy Records, I was a little relieved. I was beginning to think that I was destined to be the only person around not involved in podcasting. I mean, I've had considerable airplay from other podcasters over the past couple of years, but my limited technical expertise has left me watching from the sidelines, unable to join the fray.

No longer! Fortuitously, Brian is a self-described geek when it comes to technology, and along with the requisite array of software about his person, also has intimidating piles of hardware audio devices populating his home, studio, kitchen and water closet. They tend to have lots of flashing lights on them, and occasionally make strange beeping noises. The thing is, I think he actually understands what they're saying to him. It's quite amazing. The upshot, of course, is that he not only has the knowledge to put a podcast together, but he also knows the magic spells necessary to make it available for people to listen to.

So, why do a podcast? Well, why the hell not? It can't hurt can it? Besides, I'm between records right now, as are the Ditchflowers, so it might be a good way to promote the label a little bit; a chance to offer free downloads of previously unreleased tracks and live in the studio performances, as well as an excuse to get together at Brian's Studio Bee and have a bit of a natter over a fine ale or three. Why not indeed?

As will no doubt be apparent to listeners all, there was no script for "Bed Of Ales"- episode 1 of the Sunshine Drenchy Radio Podcast. Hell, there was no real plan or outline, other than for us to talk a little about the label and to play a couple of album cuts along with a song or two live in the studio. There was to be no rehearsal of the songs either. It would be matter of deciding which songs I would do, and Ed simply joining in after Brian hit the record button.

So, armed with several quality yeasty beverages, and a capo (no guitar— Brian said I could use his; it's much shinier than mine, and it doesn't rattle and hum every time you even glance at it), I traipsed over to Studio Bee and happened upon a podcast in progress. Yes, Brian and Ed had started without me. A decidedly unprofessional start to this Podcasting series, I'm sure you'll agree. It's a path we'll no doubt continue on as we go forward.

Click here to go to iTunes for the Podcast...Sunshine Drenchy Radio. Feel free to subscribe; it'll not cost you a penny, but it will make us feel quite loved.

If iTunes isn't your cup of iTea, you can also listen here.

Enjoying the ride...

I've struggled a bit, in the past - as I suspect many of us do as we get a little older - with the whole idea of enjoying the journey, rather than simply focusing on the destination.

In these early stages of recording my next collection of songs, I've been doing a lot better with it. Granted, there are still moments where my mind races forward and I find myself wondering when it'll be finished; where I'm going to find the time to actually play and sing all the parts, or even obsessing about the final running order of songs that have yet to even be recorded. More often, though, I've found myself feeling exhilarated by the fuzzy frenzy of the creative process. I've tried to exult in those little victorious moments that bring a song a little closer to fruition. It's silly not to, really, isn't it? It'd be a bit like catching a train and missing the scenery by pulling down the blinds until you get to where you're going.


Just yesterday, I began scribbling on a notepad, in search of words for the bridge section of a song I've been working on for a while. Suitable lyrics for this bit had been eluding me for weeks, and I still couldn't stumble on anything that thrilled me. So, I did what I often do -- instead of waiting for inspiration to strike, I had a beer instead.

It didn't really help with the lyrics, though. In fact, it distracted me a little, as a silly stream of beer-infused, pun-filled song titles like " Boozing, My Religion", " This Old Harp Of Mine" and "What's Bud Got To Do With It?" barged around my brain. By the time I found myself audibly groaning at "Labbatts, The Way I Like It", I knew that it was time to get to work, and I decided to record a quick demo of the song, in the hope that hearing it on playback might spur something.

Invariably, when recording the vocal for a song with missing lyrics, I tend to sing a little impromptu gibberish in the section in question, with the intent of replacing it later. You never know what's going to spill out when you do this, and that's half the fun. It can be totally dull, unintentionally funny, puzzling, and occasionally even frightening to hear yourself spew out words without premeditation.(I know there are those who think that much of what I write sounds like impromptu gibberish, but that's by the by.)

Although in the early days of writing this song, the idea was to go with the old early Dylan approach --single acoustic guitar, solo vocal and a bit of harmonica thrown in just to annoy the neighbours -- as I started to record it, discipline went flying out the window and the kitchen sink came rushing in. I upped the tempo, added a drum track that completely transformed the whole mood of it, doubled the lead vocal and layered some harmony vocals behind them.

The thing is, the recording, as hurried and off-handed as it was, took on a bit of a life of its own, taking me completely by surprise and giving me a bit of a kick in the pants in the process. I got all giddy and excited by the feel of the track, and all manner of ideas came flooding in. In particular, the words I was searching for showed up unannounced, and I promptly scribbled them down.

I think part of this new-found, er... maturity (ahem) stems from feelings of gratitude and thankfulness that, for better or worse, these songs continue to arrive. It's probably a common fear of people who like to put pen to paper, that the well will one day run dry, and I routinely have that "Well, that's probably the last song I've got in me" feeling. (Don't get your hopes up, though.)

Now, whether these songs are actually any good or not, and whether or not this song in particular delivers on the promise that I was feeling, hardly seems the point, really. The fact is, it felt really bloody joyful at the time, and I savoured it. The very idea that what can start off as a couple of phrases and a sliver of a melody occasionally ends up resembling an actual song is something I still find amazing, and I'm having a ball with it. The neighbours, I'm not so sure about -- tonight I'm recording harmonica parts...

Reasons To Be Cheerful (Part Two)...



I first heard The Innocence Mission back in the 80s when a friend passed me a cassette tape that had their debut CD coupled with the first Sundays album. It was actually a sweet pairing — The Sundays' Harriet Wheeler has a vocal delivery that's not a million miles away from that of Innocence Mission singer, Karen Peris, and both albums had an attractive shade of melancholy lingering beneath the pop sheen.

To be honest, the 80's production of The Innocence Mission's self-titled release hasn't aged anywhere near as well as the songs themselves. It often sounds a little too glossy, especially in light of the beautiful pure-of-heart songs being played and sung. It hardly matters though. For some reason, it's an album of songs that regularly call me back for another listen every couple of years. When I do, I always end up immersed in its beauty; totally captivated by Peris's pristine voice and the sentiments she effortlessly expresses, and I nearly always get choked up to the point of embarrassment.

These days, the albums crafted by this husband and wife team of Don and Karen Perris are more stripped-down affairs. The production and instrumentation is sparse, largely acoustic, and totally appropriate. Their little celebrations of life's beauty, sadness, faith and hope are all understatedly delivered with an easy style and grace that is so refreshing, especially amid much of the clatter that passes for entertainment these days.

When I first saw this clip, I watched transfixed for its duration. I'm not sure I even blinked. The simplicity of the visual; the starkness of the two-guitar accompaniment and the fragile beauty of the vocal just totally reaffirms the power of music to me. Exquisite.

Anyone have a hankie?

Website?... What website?

So where the hell is steverobinsonmusic.com? Well, the official reason is the old standby -"technical difficulties". Of course, the real reason is gross ineptitude on my part. It is, of course, inexcusable, and I should be duly punished. Unfortunately, my hairshirt is at the cleaners.

Speaking of old standbys...Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible. Thank you for your patience.

Swedish envy...

It's that time of year again-- the dawning of another dreaded Florida summer, where the constant dreary hum of the air conditioner serves as a brutal reminder that unless you're partial to third-degree burns and heatstroke, you're going to spend the next six months or so indoors.

I may not have solar panels on my roof; I don't drive a hybrid car, and despite my best intentions I'm still not composting in my garden, but I've most definitely gone "green" in one respect: I'm jealous as hell of anyone who gets to spend their summers in more civilised climate.

One such lucky sod would be English-born, Swedish resident Malcolm Carter. Malcolm is the kindly gent who recently wrote the generous review of Undercurrent for the Scottish-based Penny Black Music website, and he recently interviewed me for the same publication. Among other things, The Headlights, mushy peas, and Peter Noone all came up in the discussion. You can read the whole thing here.

Apparently, he resides in Sventorp, which I found humourous, since Sven would be the Scandanavian equivalent to Steve, and Torp must be where Thorpe comes from. My hometown is, of course, Scunthorpe (stop sniggering at the back!), and many of the towns and villages in the surrounding area take their names from nordic words (take a bow, Viking invaders). Funny old world innit?

At the time of the interview I had no idea he lived in Sweden. If I had, I might have been tempted to ask him a few questions of my own, like: "Is it difficult to get a work visa?"

Oh well, back to the swamp...

Catch a wave...to Colorado?

Well, the dream of relocating from Florida to Colorado may have been put on hold for a while (housing market take a bow), but at least I'm getting a little Rocky Mountain airplay.

DJ Carmen Allgood has been bravely promoting independent artists for donkey's years now --she was the first in the nation to produce a local radio show, apparently-- and continues to do so via her Colorado Wave radio programme.

This not-so-little-anymore syndicated radio show (over 100 affiliates and counting) has, over the years, assisted over 12,000 stylistically varied independents in gaining a little radio exposure, and I'm pleased to be part of that group. Volume 537 of the show features "Forget About Love" and can be heard here.