So we’re back from our little sojourn by the Black Sea, having drunk a wider range of cocktails involving Martini than we previously knew existed. The most important thing to say is that we survived. Ali, Andrew and Paul flew to Moscow early for a bit of sightseeing, while Ivor, Rusty and I were still slaving away in our day jobs, which meant we had to fly through the night, cross Moscow in a rickety minivan (with a bar across the seats like you get on a rollercoaster) and then hang around in another airport for a few hours.
We eventually got to Sochi, and eventually managed to check in and I got some sleep. Meanwhile Ivor was hard at work (he’s never out of the office), Paul took a dip in the Black Sea, and Rusty was getting on the vodka, having power-napped at various points in the journey.
We were playing at the Elle magazine aftershow party for Russia’s biggest film festival, along with a masterclass from the dancers from the Russian equivalent of Strictly Come Dancing.
The doors opened, and the beautiful people came in to get their hands on the food and the booze – a giant ball of strawberries, disconcerting fruit/meat combinations, and cocktails involving Martini. But no beer. I guess it isn’t very glamourous to drink beer.
Everywhere we looked, paparazzi were bombarding people with flashbulbs. The only trouble was that we had no idea who the famous people were. Apparently Martin Scorsese had been there earlier in the week, but we had to be told by a helpful British actor that the people in front of us in the queue for the free booze were “Russia’s equivalent of Pamela Anderson” and a clown.
Needless to say, they’d finished off the booze by the time we got off stage, but thanks to the editor of Elle we managed to wangle ourselves past the security into the after-aftershow, where there was even more Martini, and a pool. When the booze ran out there, it was time for bed, then back to Moscow, where we just about had time to spot a lemur in Red Square before getting an early night, so we could get a scary 4am taxi to the airport and back to Heathrow.
We’re in the midst of packing for Russia, but we’ve just got time to let you know that tickets are now on sale for our gig at The Luminaire on Wednesday July 9th. We’re still in the process of sorting out the other bands who are going to play, but it should be a good one.
The Luminaire is definitely my favourite small venue in London, both to play at and to watch other bands. There are a few reasons for that:
The people who run it aren’t obviously evil, unlike the people who run some other London venues that shall remain nameless. They’ve given some thought to how a venue works, and they’ve designed the place around their ideas. The stage isn’t tiny, and there’s a dressing room that isn’t the toilet (although last time we played there, we had to share it with 12 women in spangly mini-dresses – I have my suspicions that it was them who drank all the beer on the rider that night). The sound and light are pretty good for the size of the venue, and there are signs all around the place telling people to keep quiet while the bands are on (I’m a bit of a fascist about that sort of thing). I don’t know anyone who says a bad word about the place – even Robbie Gee (the driver for our UK tour last autumn, ex-member of King Adora, and general rock’n'roll legend) has been known to wear one of their rather stylish t-shirts.
So anyway, the Luminaire is lovely, and I’m really looking forward to playing there again. Assuming we get back from Russia in one piece. We’ll keep you posted about how we get on over there…
Howdy folks,I felt that as I’ve been a Lucky Soul for nearly a year now (where has the time gone?), that I’m well over due for posting my first ever blog. So, without the use of a safety net or general anesthetic, here goes.
I’m happy to say that we have managed to overcome a major hurdle, one of many no doubt, on the road to making the next album. What we’ve achieved is to learn, create, learn again, create some more, do a bit more learning, record, do some editing, re-record, change keys, re-learn, re-record and then finally mix demo recordings of a bunch of songs that will go on the next album. And they sound bloody great, even if I do say so myself.
Why put sooooooo much time and effort into recording mere demos of songs I hear you say ? Why not just go into a nice studio, with great equipment, friendly staff and the best coffee that money can buy and make an album? Well, when playing a song with a band in a practice room you think you know what it sounds like and what works and what doesn’t. And sure, one can learn a great deal about how to best play a song by simply playing it, but you can see (or hear as the case may be) a song in a different light once it’s recorded and you listen back to it. Often it turns out as you had expected, other times it doesn’t. And not to say that when a song sounds different from your expectations that it’s a negative thing for you can be pleasantly surprised too.
So, the benefit of all the loooooong days and even loooooooooonger nights tinkering away with instruments, lyrics, melodies, knobs and sliders is to gain a fresh perspective of our songs. And now it’s time to start the next batch, some of which we prepared earlier and all of which will be just as tasty. And we’ll get straight on to it, right after we get back from our lil’ trip to Russia
For your viewing pleasure I’ve included a photo of the view from the window in my home studio where the previously mentioned songs were lovingly mixed. This is the view that I would look at for inspiration and occasionally in desperation. Sometimes I’d just gaze and procrastinate, which can be quite useful at times too as it turns out. So if you’re in need of something to focus on for inspiration or just a distraction try looking at this picture. It may help.
Till next time,
Ka kite anō
Mr Atkins
p.s. the blob on the window isn’t a small smelly gift from a passing birdy, even though it might look like it. It’s actually just paint.
So we’re back from our little sojourn by the Black Sea, having drunk a wider range of cocktails involving Martini than we previously knew existed. The most important thing to say is that we survived. Ali, Andrew and Paul flew to Moscow early for a bit of sightseeing, while Ivor, Rusty and I were still slaving away in our day jobs, which meant we had to fly through the night, cross Moscow in a rickety minivan (with a bar across the seats like you get on a rollercoaster) and then hang around in another airport for a few hours.
Needless to say, they’d finished off the booze by the time we got off stage, but thanks to the editor of Elle we managed to wangle ourselves past the security into the after-aftershow, where there was even more Martini, and a pool. When the booze ran out there, it was time for bed, then back to Moscow, where we just about had time to spot a lemur in Red Square before getting an early night, so we could get a scary 4am taxi to the airport and back to Heathrow.
