Two worlds in parallel

I'm starting to learn the art of switching from one mindset to another.

Yesterday, wheeling the little emperor in his pram through the slick bars and restaurants in Shoreditch, then into the City where I was performing at an event, felt surreal. He didn't come with me - I dropped him off with a willing relative - but the oddness of our unit, LE bobbing a helium balloon up and down, staring at all the natives, me doing my speed walk and attempting to look as stylish as you can with a million bags draped around you, was not lost on me.

Looking at all the other professionals in the area, smoking, texting, drinking coffee or just purposefully walking, I imagined their lives to be so much less complicated, a seamless strain of work and pleasure - but it's never really like that, is it. We all have our hidden stories, whether we decide to tell them or not, and even if nobody else but us ever knows about them.

Keeping the music alive

There are a whole lot of artists and bands out there who never get their five minutes of fame on YouTube, or become known beyond their niche following. As a composer friend of mine once said about the music he and a collaborator produced: "We give a very great amount of pleasure to a very small amount of people."

I think this is one of things the Jeli Sound Archive is hoping to address: it's a new archive of British popular music, collated through oral storytelling and interviews. I went to their launch night at the Vortex jazz club, and was excited to see how many people were there - they obviously have a bit of a following already.

There were the requisite number of jazz enthusiasts (myself included), taking in the excellent band on stage – a quintet performing music by 1950s multi-instrumentalist Tubby Hayes and led by saxophonist Samuel Evans. Others at the back were perhaps not quite as attentive, but I think it just represents the fact that the musical genres included in the project are pretty widespread.

It will be interesting to see what stories are gathered. In any case, anything that sheds a bit of light on the kind of artists doing it for themselves, who wouldn't be seen dead on X-Factor, Britain's Got Talent or any of those other excuses to line a certain unscrupulous mogul's pockets with silver, gets my vote.

It's all for a good cause ...

I was interested to hear a piece on the news today on the Musicians Union (MU) and its members doing charity gigs. The contention is that professional musicians are often "emotionally blackmailed" into performing for free in the service of a "good cause" or charitable event.

I'm not quite sure how the MU plans to take this further, but I'm glad it's raised the issue. Too often, it's assumed that a musician won't mind playing for free - perhaps due to a lack of understanding of what's involved, or maybe the thinking is that because they enjoy what they do, it's no skin off their nose. The plethora of reality television shows with starstruck hopefuls queuing up to perform doesn't help, either.

Unfortunately, for a whole string of reasons, musicians all too often work for free - maybe it's a promotional opportunity, a showcase, it's for a friend, or you're starting out and you want the experience ... In fact we all (not just musicians) donate our skills and services at various points in the service of some cause or other. It's just that, for professionals in the creative industries, the practice is pretty much endemic.

The MU's complaint about charity gigs is that often, other people associated with such events - the caterers, bar staff, lawyers etc - are paid, while musicians aren't. I now have my own strict criteria on whether I will or won't play for free, but if you asked somebody in another profession whether they'd be prepared to do a day's work unpaid out of goodwill, or for some other cause, they'd probably say no, and nobody would think to question it. Celebrities like to make a big show out of their work for charity because they can afford to - for most of us mere mortals, however, we need to work (and get paid) to live.

Blast from the past

Just back from a gig with Rythme Futur at the Spice of Life's lunchtime session. The place was packed. What a different world to the whole mama thing - I get to wear an outfit that doesn't have dribble or food marks on it within two minutes of putting it on! And the audience is a little bigger too ...

My abiding association with the Spice of Life is of going there as a wannabe jazz singer years ago, to the open mic nights. It was a terrifying way to start out, and I always spent most of those evenings totally bricking it, until I got up for my slot. I've done other headline gigs there since then, and come a long way, but I'll never shake off the memory of those early fright nights!

There was even a guy there, who I think has been frequenting the place since the '60s, who used to go to the open mic sessions and give singers recordings of famous jazz vocalists on tape. I suppose it was a sort of compliment if you got one, but he did it virtually every week - I don't know how many recordings that guy must have made, as he always had at least one or two lots to give away. He gave me a batch today, after the first set, and I didn't have the heart to tell him I don't even have a cassette player anymore. I didn't feel so bad, however, after he heckled my whistling solo - not so dear little man after all, eh...

When the shoe is on the other foot

Since I had LE, I've found myself doing things I would have been appalled at in my child-free days. Yesterday, we were waiting at the bus stop with my friend and her daughter after a stint in the park. Another woman came up with a cat in a cat box. My friend wheeled her daughter over, as they have a cat, and she knows all about it. The woman seemed quite chatty and friendly, so I wheeled LE over to have a look, as you never know how long these buses are gonna take.

Before I knew it, I was pointing at the cat, saying, "Look! Cat! Miaow!" several times over, as LE colluded, "Duh! Duh!", pointing too (everything is called "Duh" to him). By this time, we couldn't even see the cat, it had retreated so far back into its box, probably thinking, "Get me away from these nutters!", while the owner was starting to look more than a little ticked off and annoyed. I kind of noticed, but couldn't seem to help myself, because when it comes to amusing a potentially fractious toddler, you'll do anything.

It reminded me of when I used to do a regular Sunday lunchtime gig at a posh London restaurant in Piccadilly. Parents would walk by with their children - I'm assuming at that time in the meal when they could no longer contain their little pumpkins - pointing at me, saying, "Look! Singer!", while I would attempt a cringeable smile, not really sure where to look and feeling ridiculous singing a heartfelt ballad to a nonplussed toddler. They always stood there just a little too long, and I'd start to get nervous and tetchy, hoping they'd move along. I get it now, though - like I said, when it comes to amusing a potentially fractious child, you'll do anything ... even if it means embarrassing the poor cat, singer, or the stranger at the bus stop.

You shouldn't have to suffer for your art

I was really saddened to hear about Amy Winehouse's death. I wasn't a particular fan, although I respected her music - she obviously had something special. In hindsight, if you look at all the media coverage throughout her career, something like this seemed inevitable, but was it?

We generally like our artists to be tortured - it's much more interesting to read about a bad childhood, poverty or some sort of addiction than about the average person with their average dysfunctions. And watching those demons manifest themselves in such an amplified way - through the papers, the internet, or in front of a packed stadium, is even more intriguing.

But it's not an artist's job to be tortured, even though it might seem to be in the job description. It's their job to do what they do as best they can, like anyone else. We make a mistake - and sometimes tragically so - if, as artists or audience, we expect anything else.

Relics and superstition

Went to see the British Museum’s new exhibition, Treasures of Heaven, this week, all about medieval relics. I have to admit to a certain ghoulish fascination with the Middle Ages’ morbid approach to religion, the petrified faces of their icons drawing me in almost involuntarily. There weren’t so many icons here, but reliquaries, and lots of them, including many religious souvenirs from the period inspired by the blood of its saints and martyrs.

It was tempting to go into the exhibition in the spirit of today’s age and think, of course I would never be so simple as to think an object like that could either save my soul, keep me safe or bring me good luck … but when you think about it, we probably have no less “relics” in our own society, they’re just different. Only the other day on the news I heard about an auction of Princess Diana’s “Travolta dress” (the one she danced in with John Travolta in 1985) for $800,000 … and what about the lucky number, pen, necklace, seat, pair of shoes – you name it – that, consciously or unconsciously, we use as a little bit of a good luck charm to help us on our way. When I think about it, I probably behave superstitiously more often than I care to admit.

I was also surprised at my own reaction to some of the pieces. Even though I knew the authenticity of many of the relics were, at best, questionable, I couldn’t help but be drawn in by one or two. A perfectly formed pendant purporting to contain “a thorn from Christ’s crown of thorns” momentarily took my breath away, as did a pair of gloves King Charles I was said to have worn moments before his execution (apparently there are at least two other such pairs in existence). Just for a second, I imagined, what if they really were – how awe-inspiring would that be? I couldn’t help but be slightly swept away.

It was a reminder not to be so cocksure about my own reality - at least, that is, until I came out blinking from the exhibition into the harsh light of the shop – where a host of the museum’s own relics were calling out to be purchased.

Green shoots

It’s good to restart this blog on a high note. The other day I managed to cram two gigs in one day – amazing, really, considering one was actually in the morning and it was a Monday too! The first was for a Strandlines event at King’s College for community groups in the area. For my contribution I played two songs inspired by stories that have emerged during the project so far: one was an arrangement of an old ballad about flower girls and the other about the underground shelter that used to be in Aldwych tube station.

For both songs I used a loop pedal, which I’ve never used on my own in a performance before. It turned out well, but had been a bit touch and go beforehand. A few weeks back, I’d borrowed a pedal from my guitarist friend Patrick, only to try my friend Sara’s pedal last week and realised it was so much better for the purpose. Of course when I tried to get one there were none available, so after persuading the lovely Sara to lend me hers (actually she was more than happy to lend it – I have very generous friends!), I found out the day before the event that I had the wrong cable – aaarrrggh! Fortunately with a combination of good advice from another friend, and husbandly trickery, I managed to get it working by using my mixer. Phew. The only thing to deal with after that was keeping the little emperor from jumping all over my delicate set-up, twiddling dials and making us all go deaf from feedback. Easy peasy. Ahem.

So, in the end, overall the two songs worked, and I think we can safely say I’ll be pursuing the looping and solo songs a little more now, if I can get my own flippin’ pedal one of these days!

After that, I hotfooted it to the Brady Arts Centre for a jazz dance gig with trombonist Graham and his band. We played songs in just about every possible dance style you can think of: tango, cha cha, rumba, samba, waltz, quickstep, foxtrot. I wish all jazz gigs were like this one – loads of people dancing, the band sounding great, and just generally really good fun to sing. Ahh.