Simple Minds and Simple working for ever, and ever and ever, and ever....

So, I have been busy recently (really? Not just taking a few days off work to contemplate life, socks behind the radiator, Asda's and the links between supermarkets and Trollied?) Well, you might say, I have taken my ramblings to a whole new level.. So, I now have well underway two new websites to tempt your pallet... (?) www.simplemindsforever.com and http://thecompletebusinessofavon.blog.com. Both of which I wish you to find, explore, and generally take to your hearts as you have with this blog (cough cough.) Ok so the first of these wondrous areas is, Simple Minds - my passion for these Scottish rockers started probably around 1985 and the launch of cult the 'The Breakfast Club.' Notably, SM recorded the biggest hit for them at the time that actually wasn't written by them 'Don't You (forget about me.)' From there, I fell in love with them - but I have to say, mostly Jim Kerr - that eyeliner, those baggy black jumpers and that voice (but not in that order..) The site doesn't boast to be a wealth of knowledge, more a tribute to a life long love for one of those groups who makes you proud to be British.. (and attached to Scotland..) The second website is dedicated to that thing that keeps us sane, insane, housed and generally fed occasionally - money and work... my new venture in the blog world takes you through a LIVE, (yes, LIVE) account of how I set my own business - and it is LIVE - not prerecordings, of cheating going on here... you follow me through the ups and downs of starting work for yourself... and if I can do it, anyone can...

Dig out the Platforms! Earth Wind and Fire are back, and back, and back and back...

So, I hear Earth Wind and Fire have a new single out? Well, not unless my ears were completely decieving me, on my way to the daily grind at some God forsaken hour during last week. Anyway, it got me thinking (as most of these rants do) about the question - whatever happened to feel good music? You know, the stuff that took us away from our miserable weather, our underpaid jobs, our nagging spouses? Have you noticed, (and a handful of you may have done from time to time,) about the durge we are subjected to on the radio these days? I often tune in to Radio Two in the mornings, and it is usually Chris Evans - now, hang on there, don't get me wrong (Pretenders 1980's hit) I do like Mr Evans - I was in particular a fan on 'Thank F it's Friday' (and we all know what that stood for) and yes, I will agree, he has all the makings of the next Terry Wogan, if not Ken Bruce, if he hangs around R2 long enough - a living ginger legend, you might say.... But, (and this is a biggish but) what is the rubbish he plays sometimes? I will admit, he will dig out the odd gem - the last one being Nick Lowe's 1979 hit, 'Cruel to be Kind' but what is the rest of it? There is far too much misery played out across our airwaves in the art of music - we don't want to hear about lost loves, death, drugs, suicide, some bloke running off with your best gal, bad grades at school (although these appear to be Chuck Berry themes) but let's liven up the beat don't you think? Let's sing about months of the year! Dancing on disco floors! Am I being too old? Possibly, but if we can have Leo Sayer's 'You Make Me Feel Like Dancing' (and Lord knows, we have tried) or even, Kelly Marie's 'It Feels Like I'm In Love' (and who could forget that in a hurry?) Then give us back our Earth Wind and Fire! So what if we haven't got a stage big enough? We'll build one! Surely there must be somewhere where we can fit 42 people on stage... which brings me round to another question.... If there are indeed, 42 people in the band... which one is Earth, Wind or Fire?

Pink Hair and All Good Round Sauce! Show us your Fuzzbox!

Somewhere back in the early to mid Eighties, (no one exactly knows when) four dizzy school girls got together and decided to do something with their lives in Birmingham rather than be destined to grace the checkouts in their local Tesco’s. Sisters Jo and Maggie Dunne (four years older) were eagerly learning to play lead guitar and bass respectively whilst Vickie Perks only had eyes for being a front lady with microphone in hand and petite, blonde Tina O’Neill, already had drumsticks in her tiny grip ready for her first lesson. Not really coming up with any great ideas for a band name, one of them came up with the idea of playing around with one of the instruments they were now rehearsing with. A ‘Fuzzbox,’ to describe it in his entirety, is a guitar pedal used to create a distorted sound. It was first used by Jimi Hendrix and was an essential item to create a surround sound of blurred or ’fuzzy’ noises in rock music predominately. It also was and still is, a certain piece of equipment used by many punk groups around at the time to give the very essence to a punk rock sound. Thus ‘We’ve Got A Fuzzbox And We’re Gonna Use It’ was born… Although with their brightly coloured rags and market off cuts image that was more Barbie than pure punk, they were appealing, but albeit out of date. Gracing the Indie charts was about as good as they could get in their early days. Too clean and well made up for anything along side The Slits, they took their place next to fellow extreme make up appliers, Strawberry Switchblade in the quest for pouts, powder, ribbons and vacant expressions. Now well equipped and fully all lessoned up on their respective instruments, they were ready to release their first single. Signing up for Vindaloo records (they were the first and the only label around willing to take a chance on the colour blind quartet) they released the AA sided record ‘XX Sex/Rules And Regulations’ in April 1986. It was Toni Basil’s ‘Mickey’ all over again. It was racy, ever so girlie and pumped up to the hilt with far too much bass, and certainly not enough glam to tame the record buying public. Their video promo was an embarrassing arrangement of flitty scenes of a derelict street and all the gravitating stunning shots of a kid brother on too much Tizer. The single itself, flopped at number 41 and failed to rise any higher, but it did take the number 1 spot in the Indie chart. With it’s squeaky chant ‘There must be more to life…’ it seemed that Fuzzbox were going to have to pull something better out of the hat if they really wanted to keep away from the food isles. It is however, one of those tracks that since their readily acquired fame a couple of years later, that we sit back now and analysis for any deeper hidden meanings. ‘XX Sex,’ will just go down as a crap song. Their over usage of hollering and whooping screams certainly weren’t going to put them down firmly in the punk hall of fame, but it seemed that for a brief moment, they managed to achieve something of a albeit, teddy boy retro feel with ‘Rockin’ With Rita.’ Teaming up with mediocre ‘where are they now,’ fellow nerds from the same label, it’s heavy Duane Eddy feel should certainly pull in the Seventies Teddy Boy ravers, even if they were all out of work Dads by now. Again, the timing was poor and yet again, it’s a track that we look back on fondly and remember the days of fancying the bloke working the Dodgems at Blackpool… ‘Love Is The Slug,’ was actually their second charting single and took all the chic out of girlies in white stilettos dancing around handbags reluctantly at some cheap disco on a Saturday night (probably in Kidderminster) It was pure Siouxie Sioux with its dull, draining vocals and lacked any real imagination. Yet it was typical of the time. It sounded dreary and almost to the point that the band were being held hostage whilst recording it. It wasn’t until the bubble gum ’What’s The Point,’ that we felt a definite change in the way their were reflecting the music scene around them. Released in February 1987, it was time that punk image of on the way out and they made a point of starting to dull down their look without it being too much of a shock to the last remaining punk buyers. Strangely but this time, they were creating an alternative to the ever popular ‘The Bangles‘, who were happily having a jolly good time in the middle of the road pop charts. Meanwhile, Fuzzbox were climbing the ranks through the Inidie scene. Not an accomplishment by any all female set up until now. Surprisingly, this up beat, rockabilly track failed to do anything higher than number 51. Although they were Indie Queens , it was actually the commercial pop charts they were after… They knew by this time that it wasn’t just their alternative, working class, struggling lyrics that would have to change. They couldn’t sing about snogging at the disco, having a pint with the boys and doing the washing up anymore. The green netting had to go as well as the leggings and pink and blue hair. After coming to blows with the Vindaloo label, they switched to the U.K section of WEA for their next single, and ’International Rescue’ was chart bound in February 1989 after a rather silent two year break. It was yet more apparent in this track that Fuzzbox had a definite humorous side. We had all be aware of their antics as their video performances up until now had always been a touch risqué and tongue in cheek. With this particular track, we see two of them dressed up as Thunderbirds along with villain played by Adrian Edmundson. All an incredible piss take but we wonder which is more the stronger, the pee out of Thunderbirds or themselves. Either way, the trick had worked, they had reached number 11 and were now ell on their way to creating another angle to Eighties pop music. Already regulars on certain programmes such at The Tube on CH4 and (who could forget?) The Old Grey Whistle Test! They were certainly about to have their most explosive 15 minutes of fame. Still just as noisy, yet now all wearing the same colour, they appeared to be tamed somewhat, and only admitting to writhing about on the floor during video sessions and gigs. They were now even bigger, more glamorous and profession, miles away from their amateurish, badly styled yet energetic theme. The music was more rock now than Indie. It had edge, sex on legs and was beautifully aggressive. The Spice Girls were a bunch of cabbage patch kids in still in baby grows compared to Fuzzbox. These girls were certainly all for girl power. Instead of a cosy night in and perhaps a snog goodnight; Fuzzbox would have worn you out then chucked you out after ordering you to serve them breakfast in bed. ‘Pink Sunshine,’ followed and sat rather ecstatically at number 14 in May 1989. One thing that could be said for this band who were songwriters, producers and masters at their own mixing, they knew exactly how to control their market. Not throwing too many singles in all at once in a desperate attempt to win the crowd over, they would instead, sit back and observe carefully, delegating as to what to release first. This particular track, ‘Pink Sunshine,’ was, by their own personal standards a track that should be released during the summer. A track full of jollity and a real summer theme of bright sunshine and fun, they felt that it would have been a better hit if it hade been released a month or two later. They were probably right, but we would never know. Perhaps their biggest track was their last noted single release although a couple more did follow. A swift, and also unaccredited solo by the legendary Brian May from Queen, ‘Self,’ was definitely Fuzzbox going out just as the album from whence this track came suggests, with a, ‘Big Bang.’ Angrily hogging number 24 in August 1989 it was the summer when all girls learned how to sneer successfully. It was meaningful as well as mean. We hated everything that moved whilst listening to this track. Men cowered in fear at a thousand young teenagers growling with the strength of a hundred PMT’s. It was an awakening for both listeners and Fuzzbox themselves, but bitter resentments and disagreements between the label and the band members, meant that any further work was going to be limited. Notably the most poignantly titled, ‘Walking On Thin Ice,‘ which was originally by Yoko Ono, was released somewhere around 1990 whilst the band went off on an epic tour of the far East. It was a desperate track not just in it’s theme but it flopped dramatically and the bitterness became too much. The band decided to cut their losses and continue with the tour, despite an awareness that Vickie was hankering after a break to peruse a solo career. Something, even today, she is still trying to find. They returned home, recharged and fairly flat in their sense of the band’s now iffy direction. Work on a new album was meant to take place, but reconciliations between the band and the label proved to be not worth it. From the unfinished ’Out Of This World,’ album, a final single was released just at the point hat the band decided to split up. The significantly titled, ’Your Loss, My Gain,’ heralded the second line of ’..and you know things will never be the same again…’ seemed to be the band’s swansong. It was time to jack the whole thing in and follow more personal plans. The enigma of Fuzzbox had come to a sad ending and quite literally, all four went their separate ways. Tina is now an Art teacher whilst sisters Mags and Jo have gone on to write for other artists as well as DJ ing on the underground scene. (Must be ever so tight manoeuvring turntables around on those escalators…) =========================================================== Looking back on this band, we wonder if it could have been possible for this band to have kept going. Leaving the scene on such a creative high, it always seems such a shame that band’s depart company when to appears that they could have had so much more to say. We had watched Fuzzbox grow and we grew with them, from their messy, embarrassing and over coloured take on punk (almost an insult to true punk rockers) they were, only briefly mind, to punk what the Cheeky Girls were to pop music; petty much an insult, but they broke away, rather glamorously from all that and became the most sort after girly group in the late Eighties, if only for a couple of years - hence the idea that they had literally, 15 minutes of fame. With no real tuneful notes in their heads, they certainly had learnt to play their instruments well considering they couldn’t play a note at first. They were so bad, it was genius. They looked awful, they couldn’t sing and their arrangements were about as professional as the Mini Pops yet they still stick in our heads and the world of Indie pop is a very dull and uninteresting place without them even today. It has been 16 years since they had us reaching for either the remote for the volume button to go up or reaching for the kettle in the kitchen. An attempt to make a come back did appear once somewhere in 1998, but quickly fizzled out the same year. It was time to put the sequins and hairspray away and go back to listening to some dire ‘Best Of 2006,’ album instead. Somehow it doesn’t have the same feel…. Fuzzbox were and will always remain so as; Vickie Perks - vocals Tina O’Neill - drums Jo Dunne - lead guitar (we miss you) Maggie Dunne - bass guitar Albums to run out and elbow old ladies for; ‘Big Bang,’ 1989 ‘BBC Sessions,’ 2002 ‘Look At The Hits On That!’ 2004 www.fuzzbox.tv.

Unicorn Lunches and Rumble Strips

It occured to me driving through the depts of the Cotswolds on a sunny Sunday afternoon last Tuesday, how the world of minor advertising actually succeeds. To be honest, if the chairman of ICI ever sat down at the head of the conference room, and said, "Hey everybody, I have got a really good idea! Let's join forces with the Teletubbies and get them to do a jingle for us!" I don't think that would have gone down too well... so, when it comes to minor guesses at what will entice the customer to drift in and sniff the wares, must be all down to sheer.... luck or judgement yet, the advertiser can never put in the mind what the mind wants to dress up for the rest of the body... Driving passed a oldy worldy pub, all quaint and chocolate box, I spied the name of the establishment - The Unicorn and outside was a chalkboard advertising the tempting delights of the the lunchtime menu.. UNICORN LUNCHES! (To which my Monty Python mind switched to images of Unicorn on toast, grilled Unicorn... Unicorn and chips, Welsh Unicorn and plates so big, that another foot of dish has to be supplied for the horn....) Journeying further down the road, I came across some Rumble Strips... mmmm, I thought, drenched in BBQ sauce..... Good Grief! I have just come across some unicorn cup cakes!

Taking the Riens or How to ride Smack the Pony

Taking a leaf out of the ancient theory of 'door kept open' for material, the largely credited, 'Smack The Pony,' did just that. Appealing to the most daring of new comedy writers, this brave sketch show embarked on a journey through the female psyche exposing her for all her foibles, faults and intimate thoughts. Reading through the long, endless list of material masterfuls, is a bit like running ones eyes down a school board of past Sports captains. With the idealists at the helm, 'Smack The Pony,' engaged the minds of the audience and endangered lives at Channel Four staff. Where as female comedy writers had stepped into the safe zone of placing humour on the shoulders of fictional characters, the performers of the 'Pony' club threw themselves onto the fire for all to laugh at instead. Life had been a notably safe haven for the inspired writers at the Beeb when a certain Miss Victoria Wood had been on the throne. Casting a wise eye across the set we find the comfortable characters of Mrs Overall and Babs. Although these extraordinary women made us laugh, chortle, guffaw and generally titter at their outrageous and highly amusing scenarios, we still had yet to tread the unreliable waters of our own misgivings. In short - it was only the most sturdy of relationships that could survive an episode of 'Smack The Pony.' Yet, wait to be shocked; there were just as many male writers collaborating on this show as there were females… Setting out on it's ambitious four year run, the show could only grow from strength to strength and judging by it's ratings, the spell was already working before the end of the first series. Writers Fiona Allen and Doon Mackichan teamed up with well established comedy actress, Sally Phillips to engage on their stripping of the mysterious female allure. Since these new comers were already attuned to the preciseness of what tight knitted observational humour should entail, they instantly knew how far to go. Obviously to the moon and back, was just simply not enough as their goal was not to shock, but to force the audience to laugh nervously. Like most comedienne writers of the more recent generation, they have had to rely on a good old wrench up the ladder from someone more well established. Phillips, perhaps the innovator for Catherine Tate's style of humour, first found herself playing a brief role along the cracked path of Steve Coogan's 'Alan Partridge.' It was also here that Scot girl, Doon Mackichan made her acquaintance with modern humour in the factious chat show. From a slightly different angle, Allen found a great wealth of experience by taking on minor key roles in sketch shows including 'Goodness Gracious Me,' and 'The All Star Comedy Show.' The show was set to be a platform where these new age writers could simply vent off their diversities for half an hour each week. What actually transpired was to be and Emmy winning cult show from which now, future female writers consider to be one of the most important benchmarks in British comedy history. What the trio of young talent gave us was an edgy feel to the way we appreciate sketch show comedy. Since the days of afore mentioned, Victoria Wood, the world had come a long way along the A road of observational humour. Where Wood had touched upon an area more inclined to be of a class breaking nature, Allen, Phillips and Mackichan shoved Wood into a 'Jean Brodie' Basque and set her out to dry. 'Smack The Pony,' had shudderingly dealt with the unspeakable, the inscrutable and the damn well shoved under the carpet. Whilst using the very title of the show as a slang term used in female masturbation, it was fairly obvious (or not to most of us) how far this type of unfelt comedy would intend to go. After the first series, one could get a feel of the pattern that was being repeatedly used. As a loose tribute to the previous 'Not The Nine o'clock News,' the show would end with a mock up of a recent music style of anthem - a running ending snatched by many a comedy show which never fails to delight audiences. Another key slot was a quick firing video shot where the trio posed as women looking for dates - a video dating link in it's tackiest form. An idea originally conceived by Victoria Wood, in which she, along with other characters posed as members of the public venting a personal niggles on screen. Another link to this sort of 'on the street' one line humour was also given ground by university chums, Stephen Fry and Hugh Laurie. In their show, they devised a series of one lines, thrown away by members of the public half way through their interviews. Effective and used to the hilt since Python, roots to any remedy of comic humour can usually be traced back to someone or show which appears totally unrelated. 'Smack The Pony,' was, in that sense, no different. Touching on the very personal issues of what women seemingly experience from time to time, it was not primarily a show for female eyes only. One could almost hazard a guess that there were many a man watching through slatted blinds and frantically taking notes. A lot could be learned about a woman's mind through the eyes of some serial flaunting cheap gags on the fairer sex on Channel Four. Something that sounds all too familiar on the channel that taste forgot, even so, 'Smack The Pony,' how ever it was taken, was undoubtedly a new turning point for female humour, shifting the pattern for female writers to delve more into the realms of comedy possibility. Everything was out in the open for thirty minutes each week and the format of this well adjusted show in disguise certainly rolled around mischievously through the fields of modern unpredictability. We were subjected to skits dwelling on the dullness of parties, lousy sex and bad jobs. Each only showing us a few seconds of cringing time, these skits were loving crafted to reveal the truth behind the complexities of the female world. Some held our gaze through the masterful play on words in flittish dialogue, whilst others, silently step over our souls to stamp, whole heartedly on our pride. What other show made us howl like banshees on a thirty second skit of the extraordinary lengths a woman would go to park her car in an empty car park ? Gliding and dancing around each space not making up her mind until deciding on horizontally park across four spaces and walk away without a second glance - perfect visual and factual comedy. Since the event of such factual genius, the road has laid bare over some considerable time. What seems to have taken shape since has been a reflection back to the good old days of fictional characters in general scenarios. A void seems to have been widened and the future of observational comedy in it's direct sense is a free for all. Until then, we have guys in drag, wheelchairs and bondage to keep us amused, well, some of us, at least…… But, there is always Green Wing…. Written by Fiona Allen Doon Mackichan Sally Phillips

How I stopped worrying and learned to love unemployment

Dear Folks, The time has come to take a different turn - I shall explain further... After twenty odd years of drifting from one substandard job to another, I finally jumped ship from my fairly secure life in the public sector and decided to completely loose my marbles and go it alone. Naturally this meant jumping every conceivable ship I had sailing in my local waters (home, car, life etc) and totally sending out for the little men in white coats, yes, I was going to start my own business... Gulp! So there I was no money (and I mean, no money) not a lot to sell - I am not destined to become some flashy designer, or inventor, but what I could do was the same secretarial stuff I had been doing for the last three years - aha! That would be it - I would start up a VA (virtual assistance job to the rest of you) company and work from home.. Let's hold it there - working from home - let's repeat that little glittering phrase for just a second - it sounds wonderful doesn't it - "work from home" so I will tell you where I went wrong with this initial starry eyed approach and we'll move on... Working from Home or Waking Up to the sheer scam of it all Okay, so I started to give up my job (boo, hoo!) and look for work on the Internet for a suitable working from home job. Let me cut to the chase here - there actually isn't one. What happened started off on the right foot - all those wonderful millions of pages just waiting for me to crawl through after I had put in my three worded search - what luck - all these pages of Google wonderland just waiting for me to read! As you would have expected, after the three Google page, the old momentum left me and the bladder was starting to fill, so off to the loo, and back but with just enough time to reconsider my approach and my three worded search and on to to something a little more tangible. How about.... "genuine work from home jobs" Yes, that sounds more like it! I searched only to find a load more scams telling me, "NO THINS IS THE REAL THING! JUST SIGN HERE, SEND US $250 AND WE WILL GIVE TO PERMISSION TO SACK YOUR BOSS, BUT HURRY, THIS IS A LIMITED OFFER AS OF TOMORROW MORNING, IT WILL COST YOU $465!!! Sigh..... Okay, so that search didn't work so I moved on to a whole long list of other rewording scenarios which all led me back to the same scam, and after all this clicking I was doing unexpectedly to this website, was allowing the geeky nerd sitting with his PC programmes in his bedroom, more money that I could ever dream about... Double sigh! After several dozens of hours and a sore bum later I decided that the world was not going to give me a good genuine deal as much as I tried and tried to look, so there was only one more thing to try - I could work for myself. All I needed to do was a bit of advertising, a couple of leaflets and some groovy business cards and I would be away! But, wait. I figured, now sitting here in my same old tracksuit bottoms and my messy makeshift office (the spare room without a bed) would anyone really want to hear this or would I simply be typing for my own therapy? So I will tell you what, drop me a line and I will keep typing tomorrow!

Yes? So what if I can't stand up!

There is nothing more crippling in this day and age than stomach flu. Yes, I know, I am quiet well aware of the contorted faces now being pulled by my dozen or so faithful readers, but I have laid in my sick bed contemplating this as a post - daring I know, but here it goes... Ok, so I won't deal with one end (I shall save you that) but it has given me time not only to drift aimlessly through a large collection of coffee table rag mag tat, but to think for a moment how delicate live really is (too heavy? You're probably right...) The stomach is a wonderful thing. We chuck rubbish at it at a daily basis in the hope and the expectation that it will deal with this garbage like some combine harvester on a cool August day. Yet, every so often, it says 'hang on a cotton pickin' mo! This organ is now dining out on oysters and rich French wine??? What happened to that nice plate of veggies from the Carvery at the weekend???' Ok - so we can't get away with a good plate of some foreign dribble from some expensive pad where a week's wage is the price one pays for a small tea.... On my way to the office this morning, I drove passed a MacDonalds truck happy stating along the side their pride in using cooking oil for fuel.... not sure if one can run a small child on what they shove in their 16 wheelers.. however, every trip to a fast food outlet must be what the stomach feels we are doing....

The Return of the Blog or How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love My Spare Time...

There comes a time in every old rocker's life when they just have to put down the drum stick, close the lid of the guitar case, put away the knackered Converse sneakers, the hair dye, perming lotion, Spandex and Brut aftershave.. and say, 'sod.it.'

So that's exactly what I did, hence the lack of perfected poise upon these black, barren backdrop these (shuffles lips behind hands) ...or so years...

The issue about blogging is that, at some point, sooner, rather than later, the blogette (in my case) kind of dries up.  You think of some golden pen moment, and whilst lazily thumbing through a copy of 'Bench and Nail' in Homebase one day, you find some damn bugger has beaten you to it.... where's the joy in finding that some four eyed, overall wearing, domino player has too woken up and 2 in the morning with the same brain wave as you???  Was he too, perhaps sitting and watching the same re-run as Emmerdale as me???  You can see where this is going....

So, you get back to work, ditch the dream of ever sitting, over relaxed with a jug of water and a selection of sparkling glasses at your side, batting anecdotes about your rise to writer's fame with Graham Norton on his chat show, and ....get back to work... to the job you are paid to do, not the one you want to do... right?

Yet, recently and quite by reluctant coincidence, I decided, yes!  Hold that thought Mr Homebase, and keep that cushion plumped, Mr Norton!  In the immortal words of Ali G....

I is back!


(I have just got to think about something to write about.....)