Star Blog

AN IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT...

Because my computer, which has been playing up for a while now, is going in for repair this week, I will not able to do any more blog entries for the next few days. I am told that, if I'm lucky, I might have the laptop back by Friday Oct 27. More likely, though, is that I will not get it back until the middle of the following week. Whenever it is, though, rest assured, I will be back, scribbling more of this lovely stuff.

Until then... GET A LIFE!

Oh, and if anyone reading this is thinking of emailing me, again, bear in mind, I wont have anything to access emails with until then either.

Was on my way to a Very Important Lunch in London when suddenly the phone rang telling me it was all off. Postponed for another day. Oh...

I was pleased in one way because I never fancy going to London until I'm actually there. But on the other hand, did that mean I had to spend the day back at the coalface working on the damn book?

Thankfully, no. I realised I still hadn't reviewed The Who album, 'Endless Wire', so settled down to do that instead. And guess what? After playing it non-stop for the past week its secrets were finally revealed to me and I decided it was the most mature, thoughtful and, well, sheer musical piece of rock art I had heard in a looong time. So tried to say so. Find out how successfully - or otherwise - I managed to do so in the next Classic Rock.

Then I sat back to watch the new Ronnie Lane DVD, 'The Passing Show', which I'm also reviewing - and that blew me away too, especially as I was a HUGE Faces fan as a teenager. So many wonderful clips I had never seen before, such a sad, sad story - dead at 51 from m.s. Then, just as I was sat there tonight still thinking about it, it actually came on TV. It's showing right now on Channel Four or something like that as I type this.

What a strange, arbitrary, sad, brilliant world it is. You might say. If you were looking for a way to make sense of all this. Which I still am, despite all the evidence to the contrary that nothing makes much sense at all in this world. Today anyway...

Spent Wednesday in London, doing various meetings. The big question I kept getting asked was: when will the Axl book be finished? The big answer I kept giving them: um, very soon... honest. While I was in the vicinity, I wandered over to see Trev and the gang at Planet Rock. Trev showed me the Planet Rock meeting room which they have in the basement - bloody hell, what a pad! It looked like a cross between Ozzy's throne room - all ornate silver chairs and blood-red upholstery - and the ante-chamber to hell. The walls were covered in huge photo-montages of all yer fave rock heroes - Page, Lemmy, Alice, etc etc. And the lighting actually hung from a mini-rig that encircled the huge meeting/banquet table. Actually, I'm doing it a disservice trying to describe it here because it was much, much better than that. I was impressed.

Afterwards we went for a drink in the Spice Of Life with Robert my agent, who introduced me to a new glass of hooch apparently all the top 'media' people are currently quaffing called a... shit, what was it... a Maninger? A Maneger? Something like that. It was posh cider, basically, which you pour over a tall glass stuffed with ice and it tastes quite fantastic. Stood there slurping our meeja drinks and talking about all the people we knew who were millionaires, and how they had become one. My favourite kind of conversation, except for the fact that I'm not a millionaire myself of course, and therefore always end up feeling a little... how you say... green.

After Trev left to go home I hung on with Robert and shared a final glass of the magic-meeja juice as we chatted about the genius of Extras (Robert also works with Ricky Gervais) and Curb Your Enthusiasm. I told Robert about my idea for my own version of those shows, which he very politely showed interest in. But then he asked if he could look at one of the scripts and I had to admit I hadn't, uh, actually, like, written one yet. But that I would, oh yes! And then, you wait! Ho ho!

After that we went outside and I had to be helped into a cab which we pointed in the direction of the station. On my way there my wife called me and asked me if I was still hungry and wanted dinner when I got home, and that's when I realised I hadn't actually had anything to eat for about 9 or 10 hours. So you see, it wasn't the two glasses of hooch that sent me into a spin, it was not eating. Obviously...

I was going to write all about my day but then I fell asleep on the couch while watching the football on TV (football on TV always makes me do that these days, even the highlights on Saturday night - especially the highlights on Saturday night, actually) and now I can't remember a single thing.

Let's see... almost finished another chapter of the book, I remember that all right because it's such a rare event. And... saw the new issue of Classic Rock. I've got a Free feature in it which is very nice, except for the fact that you'll need a magnifying glass to read my name, because obviously that's really cool design-wise. Mmm... got an email from legendary writer Peter Makowski sympathising over the urge to run wild and take drugs at a time in our lives when such things are simply not on the menu anymore (pity)... spoke to Jon Hotten for the first time in ages about how average Entourage is, how very good indeed Extras is, how unbeatable Curb Your Enthusiasm is and how utterly stupid it is that we don't write something like that ourselves... spoke to Trevor White about Planet Rock, the real one, that is, as well as the radio station... emailed my brother Gerry asking how he's getting on but didn't get a reply, which may or may not be an answer in itself... heard from my agent Robert about a little shindig he's putting together to say goodbye to his long-time assistant Catherine, which we are both in bits about because there will never be anyone like her... Oh, and met a new friend of my wife's named Jo, who has two small boys and one baby girl (a direct mirror of our own situation) and is therefore one of the few people we know who understands exactly how beautiful-difficult-insane-gorgeous that really is... and... mmm... walked the dog... and... Oh yeah, got an email from Ross tonight telling me to say whatever I like about the new Who album, it will only be an opinion and opinions are what make the records and CDs of life go round, which just shows you how wise that mad old bastard is... bless him...

And bless you, too, for reading this twaddle. And for buying Star Trippin'. Did I mention that we only have a few left and that we're not going to print anymore? I did? Oh right. I'm off to bed then...

As previously advertised, I spent the whole of Sunday working on the book. It's got to the stage where my brain is so frazzled with the whole thing that I wish I was still in my drug-taking phase (and it was a phase, only lasting about 25 years). Cos I know that if I had the right 'tools' I could sit here for twice as long, doing twice as much work, and enjoying it twice as much - would it be twice as good though? Frankly, my dear, at this exceptionally late stage of the game, that question is almost irrelevant.

Almost, but not quite. Instead, I worked till I could work no more, then jumped on the stepper and bounced up and down for half an hour, lifting weights and blowing off steam like a whale breaking waves. Had a long cold shower at the end of it and felt... slightly better.

Now here I sit once more, about to dive into the foam and lather of the deep, dark, swirly-whirly word-sea. Bleating aside, I do feel lucky that at least I'm doing something I'm good at, as opposed to the other million things I could have ended up doing which I am no good at whatsoever. But still... do miss those drugs sometimes, fucker...

Meanwhile, still digging that far out Elektra compilation. You gotta get it, too, seriously. As I write I'm mentally peaking on Richard Farina and his 'House Un-American Blues Activity Dream'. Like Dylan without the bitterness or nasal spray. And I LOVE Dylan, so imagine how good this is...

Waiting in the wings, however, is the new Who album, which I haven't summoned up the courage to play yet as I'm actually supposed to be reviewing it. Why so, you ask? But surely... etc? Yes, but, I've already heard a couple of tracks on the radio and so far... how can I put this? Well, they haven't exactly made my worm glow. And I so desperately want to like it, if not just because they are a great band and I don't want to seem ungrateful for the fact that they are still - somehow - going, even though there's only half of them left alive, but also because my mate Cookie works for them and I REALLY don't want to say anything I might regret later, if you know what I mean. As for what Ross Halfin might do to me if I get it wrong... it's really not worth thinking about, not if I want to get any sleep at all tonight.

Maybe after a couple of glasses of Chianti later on this evening...

Spent Saturday doing something extremely unusual for me lately - working on the book and (god help us) listening to music. Linda had a friend here to help her and the rest of the stricken brood so I was left to my own devices. Had a long trawl around Youtube.com taking in all the clips of Axl and Guns N' Roses. Amazing how many clips brought back very specific memories for me - like one of Waxy standing around jawing at a club in LA from 1989 which I was actually at too, standing just behind the camera. What was so nice - and yet so shocking - was how normal he looked and sounded. Reminded me that that was what he was like when you bumped into him in a club back then. Before the long winter of discontent set in and he finally took control of everything and nothing.

Also came across a wonderful clip somebody had put together of three different performances of 'Nightrain' - the first from the tour this year, the second from the Illusion tour of '92 and the third from the disastrous comeback of '01. Jesus, talk about putting everything into 'sharp relief'. This year's clip sounded great actually - almost suspiciously so, frankly. I don't recall his voice EVER sounding that good. So much so it made me wonder if he wasn't having a bit of 'help' from the side, if you know what I mean. We have the technology, as they say. The second 'classic' era clip was best - exactly how we all remember the band (that is, the REAL band, as opposed to the faceless sidemen of today). While the third clip from '01 was totally bizarre. His voice sounded absolutely awful, like he'd lost both the top and bottom halves of his vocal register. Of course, it might have just been a bad night, but he was so out of breath it made you wonder what had caused him to 'improve' so drastically in the five years since.

Spent the whole day working on the book. Had to stop in the end though as the too-old head was starting to hum and buzz like a bad microphone. Just about to get stuck in again now, after I finish this. Meanwhile, listening to Volume 2 of this terrific new four-volume Elektra compilation called FOREVER CHANGING, The Golden Age Of Elektra 1963-1973. Really is the dog's bollocks... Love, Tim Buckley, Incredible String Band, Doors, Paul Butterfield, Nico, Bread, zillions of others... I know you melodic rock fans have never heard of (or simply heard) half of these but that says more about you, for this is rock music at its most sublime, full of beauty and colour and things your mum and dad would not have got. The way it should be.

A lovely Friday the 13th present, and I didn't even need to leave the house to get it. My eldest daughter has chickenpox. Unbelievable. I have now been to the doctor's surgery five times in the past two weeks - once for me (youth serum), once for my wife (bad back), twice for my youngest daughter (water infection), and once for my eldest. By my calculations, between us all as a family, we have now been to the hospital and/or doctor's surgery about 50 times in the last 18 months. That's about 49 times more than I had previously been to see a doctor or nurse in my entire life. In fact, we've been there so often they are thinking of opening a special ward in our name - the Wall Family Emergency Rooms.

Very, very occasionally, I get to do some work on the computer. Right now, of course, I'm struggling to finish the Axl book. This was supposed to have been delivered on September 1st. I have now promised it to the publishers for the end of this month - HAHAHAHAHAHA!

Well, you've got to laugh, haven't you? It's either that or put a gun in your mouth. Meanwhile, the piggy bank lies in little pink pieces and the pile of bills grows ever higher. My wife came up with a good idea last night though. "You should write a sure-fire best-seller!" she announced suddenly, as though the thought had never once crossed what's left of my mind. I nearly gave her a bad front to go with her back...

I was just settling down to another day of drudgery while outside it thundered and lightning-ed like a Frankenstein movie when the phone rang and there was this very enthusiastic American woman asking me if she could pay me money to appear in a documentary Fox TV in the US are making about r-o-c-k. Only snag: it had to be today. Very last minute indeed, and very unlike the Americans who always have things like this planned well in advance. Surely there couldn't have been a last-minute cancellation which they were desperate to fill by getting someone/anyone like little old me?

Whatever, the chance to escape from home for a few hours was too tempting - and to be paid for it too. Fortunately, Linda had help from elsewhere today and so I could actually say yes. And they said they would send a car for me. Sweeeeeet. It wasn't till the car was halfway there I thought to ask exactly where we were going. Birmingham. What? I had just assumed it would be London. No - Birmingham. The Holiday Inn. OK.

When I got there, I was whisked into a Very Large Room where there were four different cameras set up and about a hundred assistants. Very different from my usual talking-heads experience. Here in the UK you're lucky if you get more than two people working the sound and lights as well as asking the questions.

An hour later I was back in the car on my way home. An hour after that I was home, where I arrived just now after driving at insane speeds through the wettest drought on record. Fortunately, Linda's back held out long enough, though the pained expression on her face (and that of the neighbours who helped her while I was gone) told me I wouldn't be let out again anytime soon. Well, we'll see. What an adventure, though. Made me feel almost human again. So that's what it's like out there in daylight hours. Must do it again sometime...

Another tediously long day doing nothing very scintillating. Unless you count household hell-jobs like cleaning and cooking and threatening my wife with divorce or worse if her back doesn't get better soon. Oh, and sneaking a quick visit here and there to the computer where a variety of even more tedious emails are constantly lurking, awaiting my increasingly hard to maintain attention.

I've decided that the only way I'm going to get any serious work done is by giving up sleeping completely (which I've almost managed anyway with my ongoing insomnia) and simply working all night on the book, then donning my pinny and spending all day on the housework. That way I'll either die soon - relieved sighs all round - or do my own back in and wont have any choice but to retire gracefully to a room full of painkillers and wine bottles. Well, at least I'd have something more interesting to write about then than... this.

A looooooong day getting noooooothing done. At least, not on the book. Instead, I paid yet more money I don't have to the VAT vampires, ran around doing all the things my incapacitated wife can't do, balancing a baby on my back while cooking, answering the phone and pretending everything is fine all at the same time. In between times I also managed to answer lots of annoying emails, and spoke to Ross who told me he is going to Las Vegas tomorrow. Which is nice. For him.

Did bag a couple of Meat Loaf tickets for the Albert Hall but not even sure I will be able to go. If it was today the answer would be no-way-hozay so I am not hugely hopeful. Oh, and to top it off, some nutter wrote me an email telling me he'd bought Star Trippin' - but not from this website, but from Amazon. Sounded like he was doing me a huge favour. Tosser. How many times have I pointed out that not only is the book cheaper to buy here than anywhere else but that from here you actually get a signed copy - which you can flog on Ebay for more than it cost you to buy anyway? But no, Mr Big Favour buys one from Amazon. Sweet.

So there you have it, another exciting day here at the cutting edge of rock journalism, reading emails from nutters and changing babies nappies. So what did you expect? Stories of groupies and drugs? You'll need Star Trippin' for those. Just remember you don't need to go to Amazon to get it...

Complete blog white-out these past few days. Reason being, my wife did her back in which has meant she has been completely out of action, which in turn has meant that Daddy has had to transmogrify into Mummy too. Or Daddy-Mummy as he is sometimes known. Or just plain Mother-Fucker as he is also sometimes known. And as everybody with three kids will tell you, mummies don't have time for trifles like blogs.

Anyway, things are gradually looking a little better. Having pumped her full of painkillers, Mummy is slowly getting back on her feet, which meant that this weekend I was able to spend about two hours on the book. Fortunately, being a Mummy-Daddy has taught me how to type fast and I actually got another chapter finished. Of course, I can't vouch for how it reads - I'm saving that for what we pros call the Final Draft stage. That is, when I actually sit back and read all this stuff and try and plug any gaping holes. My guess is I may have a few more than usual to plug this time. But what the hell, you gotta go with the flow. Or at least you have around here. It's either that or drown in your own screams.

Saw Entourage on ITV2 for the first time tonight. Not as good as I'd been led to believe, certainly not a patch on Curb Your Enthusiasm or Larry Sanders. But fast and funny and... oh fuck it, I admit it. I wish I'd written it. One of these days though, you wait and see...

Found myself trapped between two worlds today. Spent the morning writing about LA in the late 1980s, quite a cool place to be if you liked Japanese food and beer, good grass, and far too many gorgeous women walking about everywhere you looked. Which of course I did. Then spent the afternoon enjoying my daughter's Harvest Festival sing-song at her school. Made me wish there had been a little less of the LA capering in my life and a little more of the good old Harvest vibe. Just for a better balance.

Came home and tried to get going on the book again but couldn't. I have been sleeping badly again and felt completely knackered. I can't even blame the kids who are all slowly getting back to normal. This was just the too-old brain buzzing so much I woke up at four this morning and simply never went back to sleep again - that is, until I tried to get writing again this afternoon. Then suddenly I had no trouble wanting to go to sleep.

Went for a walk with the dog on the Ridgeway instead. No one around and the sun going down. Somewhat glorious. But cold. As it should be this time of year. Autumn - watching the big yellow sun sink much too quickly. I can relate...

Long day in London. But then every day I spend in London seems long to an old Country Towner like me these days. Good though as I went to visit Bert Jansch at his home. His wife Lauren was there too. It seems Bert and I have something more in common than just a smoky drunken Gaelic past - much younger wives. The good thing about young wives is that they do their best to keep you alive. Old gits prone to invading the darkness and calling it home like me and Bert need that kind of encouragement.

Meanwhile, here's a newsflash, all that guff about Bert not being any good at talking - cobblers! He was great, yackety-yack-yack, the whole time. I could barely get a word in edgeways. Well, I might be exaggerating just a tad there, but seriously he was great. Told some fantastic stories about the Old Days, both Bad and Good. I hope he lives to be a hundred and make more astonishing albums like his latest 'The Black Swan'. One of the albums of the year, no argument allowed. And no, he's not 'a folky', you prat, he's a magician sent from deep space to keep us puny humans entertained with his other-worldly guitar-playing. Ask Jimmy Page...

Speaking of which, I was supposed to go to the Albert Hall tonight to see Jimmy's old mate from The Firm, Paul Rodgers. I gather Ross is going too, which would have been worth the effort just for that. But in the end I couldn't manage it. Basically, I'm fucked, physically, mentally, and of course financially. Not that that's ever stopped me in the past but not tonight, Josephine, I need my bed in a bad way. Or at least a day off. Haven't had one of those since Paul was in Bad Co. That's what it feels like anyway.

Did see Scott Gorham this afternoon though. Planet Rock had asked me if I could get him to take part in a documentary they're doing on Marshall amplifiers (in which I also make a breathtaking cameo appearance, natch) and, bless him, when I rang and asked he said yes. He also hung around long enough to do a My Planet Rocks for them (their version of Desert Island Discs.) He was looking good, too. Tanned, slim, relaxed, all the things that I am not, in fact. Bastard.

Got home just now to find an email from my best buddy at Kerrang! Paul Brannigan telling me the mag are running a competition for Star Trippin' in this week's issue (out tomorrow). Blimey, I do hope lots of you will enter. Which reminds me, better move fast taste-makers, cos the supply of books I signed for this website is rapidly dwindling. It's now or never for that signed, much cheaper than the shops copy. You wont make a better investment this Christmas, I'm telling you. And besides, like I said, I'm broke, so pleeeease for god's sake someone buy a copy of the book! Now! PLEASE!!!

Not that I'm desperate or anything. Obviously...

I was gonna tell you all about my exciting rock'n'roll weekend but I swear to God I can't remember exactly what happened now. No, it's not the gear, I wouldn't even know how to score these days, let alone what to do with it. I mean, it's the work - the book, the kids, the rain - bloody hell, the rain! - and the feeling that the good times are dwindling faster than the cash.

When I haven't been writing one, I've actually been reading a very good book too lately - Dazzling Stranger, the biography of Bert Jansch. Reason being, I'm off to interview Bert tomorrow. Well, that's one reason. The other is that I'm somewhat obsessed with Bert and his magic music at the moment. Which is nice. It's not often I get to interview artists whose music I actually dig really deeply. Actually, I seem to be on a run, in that respect, recently - Free was good too. Not only do I like their stuff, I hadn't actually interviewed them before, rare indeed these days. Now Bert. Very similar, in that I've never even met him before, let alone stuck a mike under his nose.

Of course, everyone says he's not much of a talker. That's all right, though, as I'm not much of an interviewer these days. At my stage of the game I feel like I already know all the answers before I've even asked the questions. Because when it comes right down to it there are only so many reasons why anybody does anything. I imagine the conversation going something like this. "So, Bert, why is it you do what you do then?" "Why do you think?" "Yeah, suppose. How about another cup of tea then?" "You know where the kettle is..."

Such is the stuff of legend. Or will be by the time I've written it up of course. Meanwhile, there's his biography. What a wonderfully well-written story. Makes you feel nostalgic for a world you never knew. Or only slightly. My father - the Devil take his rotten cowardly soul - was an Irish folk musician in the 1960s so I grew up knowing all about smoky, drunken all-night 'sessions', singing about black-and-tan bands and eyes that sparkled like diamonds. God, I hated that shit. Love it now though. How very strange life is.

I wonder if my children will grow up saying, 'God, I hated it when the old man used to play those fucking rock records... Love a bit of Zep now, of course..."

Thinking about it, probably not...