I’ve been asked a lot recently why I moved to France. This is complicated. Firstly, I haven’t. Well not exactly. I still come back to the UK once every month or so, for meetings and what have you.

Quite why I bought in France at all is really the question, and with the benefit of hindsight I have three main reasons for this. Well four actually, but I’m saving the fourth for another time.

Reason number one: the bleeding obvious. Property prices in the UK were and are so ludicrously high, that for roughly the same amount of money that would have bought a two bedroom flat in West London, we were able to move into a beautiful working water mill next to a trout stream, with seven acres of land and a handful of outbuildings – the largest of which contains my studio. We’re only a two and a half hour drive from London via the tunnel, so if I need to go back, which I’m inclined less and less to do, I can drive to the UK and back again in a day with relative ease.

Reason number two: I had reached a point of exasperation with the political situation in Britain. The cherry on the cake and the reson that actually inspired the decision that very night, to look across the water for a house, was the day that war against Iraq commenced. This, despite the fact that two million British people, myself included, had marched to signify their opposition to war (representing the opinion of 90% of the population if statistics are anything to go by) and were roundly ignored, despite the fact that the so-called evidence for war was clearly then, and provably later, a tissue of lies. Lies constructed to serve the purposes of the long stated aims of the ‘Project for The New American Century’, authored by Rumsfeld, Cheney, Wolfowitz et.al. This information and erstwhile statement of intent, had long been in the public domain and yet they still got away with it.

Someone said to me recently, “Well at least Rumsfeld got his just deserts when he was fired”. This is ludicrously short sighted. It matters not to Rumsfeld and co. that they lose a job here and there. The fact is they have already hand picked their like-minded replacements. They are willing to suffer the various indignities of political life so long as their cause is advanced and more importantly, their nests are adequately feathered. Which they invariably are. Those bastards were waiting for any chance to start the military ball rolling, and when they couldn’t produce facts, they simply invented them. Well, you know the argument. You’ve heard it a thousand times before so I won’t replay it in any more detail than I have done already.

Anyway, I was intensely depressed by all of this. That a Labour government could dupe the nation so blatantly, in amongst the hundreds of other Thatcherite decisions they had already made and continue to make. Furthermore, it caused me to wonder, that if these are the visible signs of the way that democracy has been rendered impotent, what lies beneath, as yet undiscovered? (Perhaps I should shut up now – I swear I could go on forever).

Not that the political system in France is perfect, but at least the French had the strength of character to stand up to the Americans and question their motives. Now some of you won’t share my political views and I understand that, but I’m an intolerant fucker so piss off…

The third reason is a little more personal. Post-Honeycrack, I’d spent the following seven or eight years writing music for television and film, which involved me getting out of bed and walking the fifteen yards or so to my London studio, where I would lock myself in until the break of dawn, day in day out, rarely seeing daylight. The only times I would break from this admittedly self-imposed routine, would be to go into the west end of London and get so drunk that the next couple of days were pretty well a write off. Frankly, after so many years of this repetitious and predictable pattern, life was becoming very, very dull. I felt that I was in a serious rut and needed a radical change. So as radical changes go, moving to a different country where I couldn’t even speak the language struck me as a fairly abrupt way to shake things up a little.

The fourth reason is pertinent to the new album and it’s a tough one for me to address so as I said earlier, I’ll bring it up on another occasion.

You know, when I was asked to write this blog, I wasn’t at all sure what it was supposed to be. On reflection, it appears to be some kind of self-examination combined with elements in the style of ‘Mein Kampf’. In short, probably not worthy or suitable for sharing. Ah well, if you’re bored with my on-line ranting you can always check out some porn. According to statistics, you were probably about to do that anyway. And if you are patient enough, psychiatrists will invent a new vocabulary to encapsulate the blog, and a profitable sideline in drugs designed to quell the urge to ever write one.

Willie

Those of you familiar with the first Jackdaw4 album ‘Gramophone Logic’ will probably be familiar with the names John Steel and Kate Stevenson, both of whom made various contributions – Kate on drums and John on guitars, saxophone, harmonica, Kenwood chef and various other household appliances. Well I’ve just waved goodbye to them as they set off back to England, having spent the last few days here in France, making similar worthy contributions to the new album.

These are the occasions when I’m not playing/recording myself. Instead, I’m sitting in the producer/engineer chair, hysterically singing guitar lines for John to perform, flailing my arms in the air miming drum parts I’d like Kate to try, or barking musical orders of one kind or another at the two of them, before demanding that they try something completely different, just to satisfy my curiosity.

It has occurred to me on occasions like this, that I’m far more demanding of other people’s performances than of my own. When I’m all alone, recording myself and there is nobody in the studio to try and impress, I’m far more likely to adopt a ‘that’ll do’ attitude.

In between takes, we discussed which songs would or wouldn’t make the final cut and I think we’re close to settling. I’ll probably leave it to someone else to select the running order since I’ve never been particularly good at that, aside from deciding on the opening and closing tracks.

If you remember, it was ‘This Is Your Life’ that was the first song on the last album, and I am often asked about the meaning and intent of this song.

On tour, in my usual half-arsed attempts to be witty, I used to tell a brief story on stage, leading to the rumour that I wrote the song specifically about Midge Ure. Not strictly speaking true, although it was seeing him on the British television show, ‘This Is Your Life’ that started the train of thought.

You’re familiar with the format of the show I’m sure: In a well meaning way, his friends and associates from over the years were trotted out on to the stage to tell a funny or moving Midge related anecdote. But, as the show progressed, it felt more and more to me as though it were performing the function of a star-studded, showbiz, fond farewell. As if the contributors were writing his obituary in front of him in a manner that suggested his best moments were behind him, and it was time for him to wander in a dignified manner, into the ‘Gone But Not Forgotten’ folder.

Now I happen to think, that long after ‘Vienna’ (which lets face it, is why most people are familiar with Midge Ure), the man wrote and continues to write in my opinion, songs that are easily as good and better than his Ultravox efforts. (Check out ‘Breathe’). Then again, I suppose, that ‘This Is Your Life So Far, Here’s A Taste of The Bits The Public And Press Didn’t Seem So Interested In And We Look Forward To The Next Bit’ is not nearly so catchy a title or premise for a TV show.

Anyway, rather than a joyous celebration I thought the whole thing rather depressing and it lead to the thought that none of us gets to choose the way we are thought of or how we are remembered. Forget pop stars and celebrities for a second. The fact is that ultimately, we are all defined by consensus of majority, and there is no right of reply or complaints commission to appeal to.

I don’t know why that should bother me so much but it does, so there you are. I think that over the years I have probably developed a rather too active sense of injustice. I’ve tried screaming at the heavens and demanding some sense of balance and redress from the skies, but with no deity putting in an appearance, whom I can impress with my impassioned demands for fairness and equity, I quickly give up and settle in for a brief spell of inertia. That’ll do.

Willie

There is something pointless and meandering about making an album when there isn’t a specific deadline to work to.

One spends hours, days, weeks, months and, I’m ashamed to say, years toying with various arrangements, satisfying yourself that you’ve realised and recorded the perfect guitar parts, only to return to the song a few months later to decide that they were poorly conceived and badly executed, and your new improved guitar parts should replace the existing ones.

This of course, is a dangerous cycle and makes finishing an album virtually impossible.

Somewhere along the way, through sheer exhaustion/boredom with the tracks/external grief from those who give a toss, the decision is made to complete the thing, and during that lasted concerted push towards the end, one again convinces oneself that the correct decisions have been made, and that the songs in their finished, mixed state, sound as close to perfect as is possible.

Of course this is an equally stupid observation since inevitably, after not hearing the old albums for years, on the rare occasions I can bear to listen to them again, all I notice is the flaws; the song lyrics that are a little clumsy or lazily rhymed, the musical and vocal parts that should have been better performed, and the sounds and balances between the instruments that could have been improved with a few more tweaks.

Conclusion? Nothing is ever finished. Ever. Not in my head anyway.

Can you imagine how irritating and dull that can make life?

Well I’ll tell you. If nothing is truly ever finished, then life becomes pointless and meandering.

And as pointless meanderer’s go, I guess I’m going.

Willie

p.s. I am convinced that the correct decisions have been made, and the new tracks in their finished, mixed state, sound as close to perfect as is possible.

Album by late spring? It’s possible I suppose.

o I’ve come out of hiding. Not for long . Just thought I’d taste the air.

Thought you might want to look at videos we made for Gramophone Logic.
We shot Happy and King For A Day and I hope that by the time you read this, they will be accessible at “You Tube” or something.

Maybe on our website, I don’t know how it works.

Rob will point you in the right direction. [They are on YouTube - Rob]

“Why now?” I hear you grumble. ” This makes no sense at all” you continue.

Well. The answer which makes no sense at all, (you were right all along) is that several months ago, we started a new album which is nearing completion.

So I thought you’d like to see the videos we shot for the last album since virtually no one ever has. Just plain forgot to do much about them.

See. I told you it made no sense at all.

If there seems to be an erratic nature to the way I’ve made music over the last ten years or so, think of it as a metaphor for how daily existence is for me.

I don’t mean that in a ‘hand to mouth’ ’scraping the pennies’ sense, but more in a self-indulgent, pompous, ‘too much free time given to disappearing up ones own arse, while contemplating the universe’ fashion. My aim this year is to join up the dots a little and unify the effort. Of course it will never happen. I know him too well and we’re not to be trusted. Either of me.

I’m writing from a barn in France (more of which I’ll tell you another day), and viewing Britain from a short distance has been an interesting experience. It is said that even the most reluctant Englishman succumbs to some smallest of patriotic fervors when spending time abroad. Can’t say that’s ever been my experience.

All I can tell you is that it seems a nonsensical idea to think of ones self as anything more than a human on planet earth. I try and think of all towns, cities, nation states, races and religions as equally abhorrent. This way I’m rarely disappointed.

Not the healthiest view of the world I grant you, but at least it makes sense.

I’ll be bothering you again soon.

willie