A Promise

I ain't no fucking drama queen.

But when I say this, accept in your own mind that these are my own thoughts, and you couldn't possibly understand what goes on in there.

Just come to terms with it.

There's a band from round these parts, who've entered a competition and have got to the final four. There's a lot riding on this, and they could come out the other side with their lives changed.

I can't stand for this, no way. Not when there are hard working, incredibly talented bands who achieve nothing.

I will lose faith in everything I once thought good if this happens, and as a result I will no longer be able to put my heart and soul into what I do, knowing that this type of travesty is going on.

I will give it all up, sell my instruments, never play again, because I simply would not be able to comprehend all of this.

A 1/4 chance of them winning, so that's a 1/4 chance of me giving it all up.

You couldn't possibly understand, babe.

Remember This

If anything happens to me, finish the CD and get it out.

My last will and testament.

Over.

The Firebrand: Re-awakening/Re-imagining/Reunion

This was the band I gave my life for, between June 2006 and November 2007, for 88 live shows, for one released EP, a single and a half released EP. For all the broken fingers, cuts, bruises, broken hearts, and failed relationships.

I gave my heart, my soul, everything. I bled for this band.

We called it a day after battling through recording what should have been our second EP, the songs tell stories of falling apart, bad relationships and loss. We knew it was coming, but we still fought. Ultimately things came to a stop and we just gave it all up, left the 2nd EP to gather dust and moved on.

I told anyone who'd listen that i'd never go back.

I'd never go back.

Back.

This brings us to 2009, two whole fucking years since the last gig, the last chord of The Morning After echoing out, drenching the place in feedback, packing up the gear for the last time.

There are still stories to tell, we're still very angry, though in some respects we've mellowed with age. That fucking fire still burns though, and it eats me up inside til I think i'm going to be sick.

That's why we're dusting it off for another show, because of that desire, that burning inside the three of us.

Now more than ever it matters.

Mr. Hawkins, Mr. Davies and Mr. Holmes, like a moth to the flame, baby.

The Firebrand.

How 'It' Is

I am aching now, falling asleep but still thinking, still wandering and meandering through whatever path i've created.

I wrote a song about how I feel, i called it 'Lover'. 'Simple', I said. No joke titles. It's about a girl, some would say a love song - if you can believe that a Clay Statue can write one of those.

'I prefer the luxury of holding my hands up above the flames...'

I sang that with all my passion, about this girl, memories in my head of being underneath a swelling sky, black turning to blue, that feeling of dew upon your clothes from the night before, she feels like a part of you now, wrapped in an embrace they used to write poetry about, smiling, not saying anything but deep in conversation, noticing how the increasing light plays tricks on your mind, convincing you that you've noticed something you've never noticed before.

After you've felt that, waking up in a bed just isn't enough.

'Wake up with my lover (calm now), almost managed to forget myself...'

An aching in my bones now, lonely after only 3 hours alone, I can't think straight.

'If i'm lost then stay with me...'

Just say what you wanted to say....

Vile Fuckers

I'm going to be angry again. I've decided I'm so utterly fucked off by people these days, and the only way to get back a sense of 'person' is to get it all out.

Fuck you! No fucking more, you vile, worthless piece of skin.

It's all about other people though, isn't it? (Yes) I am so sick of this 'pat on the back' musical culture. Last night I had the chance to go and see some bands, but I didn't because I'd still be digging the hole to put the bodies in this morning.

I'm at six's and seven's with other peoples self worth. Then they say this...

"We are the best and most talented band to ever come out of this valley"

Without any sarcasm.

Say what you little fucker? How dare you have the gall to disrespect everything that has come before you with such a preposterous, ANGER-inducing statement. Cunt.

You will never better the people who came before you, it's because of those people you have a place to play. I'm not talking about me and my friends; I'm talking about the Pilotfish's, the Sserotonin's, the Wiccaman's, the Squeezebox's. You think that your shitty, fucking keyboard-friendly-girls-dancing-scene-bopping-16-17 year old filth betters this.

You will be gone in the blink of an eye you cunt. People won't remember your songs when they've grown older and had children. They'll never make a fucking film about you.

In Memory

I'm writing with a heavy heart, the phone rang this morning and the voice told me my uncle had died.

I'm going to come to terms with it in my own time, he was everything to me.

He was diagnosed with Motor Neurone only last week, I'm thankful that he didn't have to go to the depths of suffering assosciated with that horrible disease. He had made his peace, he didn't have the strength to fight that.

To try and capture in words what he meant to me would be a useless exercise, I cannot describe the love I had for him. He was caring, kind, supportive and a gentleman. There is a hole now, there is a hole.

A memory I hold dear was the night we took our families over to The Pop Factory when my old band The Firebrand were playing a battle of the bands. My Uncle and Auntie stuck out like sore thumbs, so much so that a drunken teenager staggered over and said, 'I'm not being rude, but what are you doing here?!'. Upon being told they were supporting one of the bands he shook their hands and gave my Auntie a kiss. Later on in the night, my Uncle was waiting at the bar where the queue was about six deep and that same boy that had asked him what he was doing there saw him and opened up the queue, telling everyone, 'C'mon boys have some respect!' just so my Uncle didn't have to wait around.

I am going to miss him everyday.

April 14th, 2009: The day my world crashed down around me.

God bless Raymond Luker.

EASTERN BLOC WINTER

Sounds serious? That's because it is.

"We're angry people, and it's the perfect time to be angry.
We are poets, hungry mouths and bleeding hearts.
One night stands and two day parties
Listening to our old friends fuck through the walls.

So it's the perfect time to be angry.
Just don't hate me, alright?
I'm not leaving the house.
Indian Summers and Easten Bloc Winters.
Indian Summers and Eastern Bloc Winters.
Keep warm by burning your diaries, your old books
And your photographs.
We can run away and find spring on the other side of the world..."

9/9/9.