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.