MANCHESTER ALBERT HALL:

Woke up 07:00, Manchester in the rain. Showered amongst rough bricks
& decay, breakfasted on streets cracks & alley poetry, photographing
debris. Found the pop-up cafe of Hunt & Darton, Piccadilly station,
toast & jam & potted tea, the stuff they bring to the cities they
land in makes me laugh like a kid, lifts the soul of a lonely boy
assailed by Spring & all it’s chemical messages, away from home.

(K)



GLASGOW ROYAL CONCERT HALL:

I’M A MOLECULE HANGING IN THE WINDOW HISSING:

The guest-list goes on, pepper mill home, conflict resolution,
sensual space, a guide to stuff I purify myself with. The strip,
the freak, the light shines through at night, between the lines.
Music & comedy gets me through.

(K)

DRIFTER’S DREAM:

Trucks unload behind my bug-eyes, black glass, you can’t see me.
Arranging stones, the broken bones of consecrated buildings,
making good, the things that fell to pieces.
Shock-hair lobster woman, posing for trade, window dressing,
catch your eye, draw you in,basket bicycle, lying smashed on
the pavement, nobody stopping, step around, don’t look, walk on,
shadows sing a cold song.

Invisible Conga People – ‘Can’t Feel my Knees‘

(K)

NORTH OF ESSEX:

Where are you, weighed in at 18 tonnes, out with the world?
Smiling with him before the city wakes, is ‘he’ the one?
Living life as a ghost roller, slumped over your morning lap-top
coffee, staring into the electric hole, to give a name to it,
enjoy it, waking with you is strange.

(K)

RETURN TO PLANET ESSEX:

Woke up in Essex 2:30am, bags & me left the bus for a taxi home,
that familiar bed feeling weird after nights on the road, the bunk
is my cocoon. Woke in time to see the sun kiss everything in sight,
Spring bursting out the ground, walked around, took unfamiliar
routes round town in a day-off state-of-mind.
Click, flick the switch, turn off the phone, I’m in, but until
tomorrow, nobody’s home.

(K)

BRIGHTON DOME:

Sea-side strolling, sun & wind, showered, fed & phoned home.
Guitar browsing in the company of friends, spiced apple tea &
ginger cake in Marwood, another copy of Jerry Lee Lewis’
autobiography after the the one I gave away, not read a book so
beautifully written since Maller’s ‘The Fight’. Browsed 2nd hand
vinyl, bought Neil Young’s ‘A Letter Home‘ & ‘Studio One Jump Up‘,
mix it up back on the bus, set me up good for tonight’s groove
at the Southern shore.

(K)

HAMMERSMITH ODEON:

Sun shining in the alleys behind the Odeon, stumble through the
stage door, shower, float to catering, newsprint scattered over
tables, catch up with the crew, the drivers, runners, riggers,
heads down, humming, the serious business of fry-ups, spill tea
on the the sports page, ketchup, hot ginger, toast & blueberry
juice, sit out on the fire escape in the sun & breath. They’re
flying tones of boxes in the house, rigging lights & running cables.
The tattooed arms of the house crew move in clockwork motion,
dressed in black & heavy boots, wool pulled down around their ears.

“Alright Karl?”, they nod in passing, carrying heavy truss like
children’s toys. The backbone of the show, disappeared long before
doors, returned after everyone’s left, to break down, load the trucks
& slip into the night, unsung.

(K)

BRISTOL COLSTON HALL:

“Ah yeah, they’ve all played ‘ere one time or another”
Outside the Arnolfini Gallery where I had my first exhibition
back in ’79, the morning shadows are freezing, the sunlit bits
feel good for the soul. Woman in red walking fast with a boyfriend
looking distant,

“What hope is there of us having a decent f***ing relationship
if you’re not going to do something!?”

He walks by her side, fists in pockets,staring straight ahead.
The rats have been at the bins bags again, the trucks have been
unloaded, men with tattooed arms smile returning knackered cables
to H who smiles benignly from behind his lighting desk.

Reach out to Buddha

(K)

DUMP THE DARK STUFF WITH THE BINS:

Knee deep in bad news radio morning, a heavy sheet of negativity
drawn over our nation again, again. Some mornings I can laugh off
this obsession, some days it feels like I’m going down with global
dark-stuff-flu. Held down, feel the badvibes, beaten into submitting
to the gloom, infected with fear & suspicion.
In this life I don’t seek negativity, don’t crave it to justify my
insecurities. I gravitate towards positivity, people who raise
themselves up, face towards the light, Spring bursts out the ground
& does the same, it must be the natural. Being pumped daily with
bad news is against nature, marathon running in lead boots.
I take the bins out, crunch through morning frost in the sun, buds
erupting to meet the light. Knuckles numb, I slip a camera out &
look around, see the world for the first time, again, again,
count my blessings, sober, still alive, shower off this dark radio
dust & go in search of the bright stuff. In the back of a car,
East London bound, production rehearsal, pre-Dubno-tour.
The company of friends, old & new, riggers, truckers, Sound & Lighters,
pulling together to transmit good news….people still coming together
to celebrate what’s good about people. Watching Essex out the window,
slip past easy in the sun, in-ears in, listening to Nervous Conditions.

(K)