Exploits of the Frictionless Man as it wanders around the world like some kind of slippery hydra. Music, words and pictures a speciality.

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

Like sitting on a train next to a sweaty potato with eels for hands.

Another day of rain! What could be better than yet another day of glorious endless rain?
This is the second day of my holiday that was supposed to be in Portugal but failed to get there. How delightful. To make best use of the time so far I have done some washing, got up late, played some guitar and sneezed and croaked for bloody hours on end. But today will be different, I am sure.

This Sunday we are off to Neath to play for my Community Music Wales mentor, Mark Hendy. Hello Mark. The aim of this is to let him pick which of our selection of mighty fine music we should record in an as yet undisclosed studio. At the moment it looks as if this song will be Take me to the Car Crash, which is the one he likes the best from the ones he has heard us perform so far. This is fine by me since it is one of our best and has the least in it for people to cock up. And it should be a straight forward process to record it. Should be.

Fric Bass and myself have been working on the Frictionless Duo material a bit; more on this later. It sounds pretty good, with the content of the songs more to the fore than with the whole band.

The thing about bands is that often the actual pieces of music they play can be obscured by just the sound of a group of musicians performing together. This can be a combination of, among other things, musical competence, instrumentation, pure volume and the audience's response to the potentially intimidating presence of the band itself. It creates a completely different kind of musical event when the songs are performed with just enough intervention by musicians and their instruments to let them breathe.

With the kind of set-up that this band has the song in itself and the performance of the song are quite separate issues. When songs are generated by the band as a whole, from improvisations for example, it is often apparent that the song and the performance of the songs are very closely linked. But when the song is written separately from the band then there is a very definite concept of the song existing in a different form; it has a life of its own. As a result I feel the need to perform them so that the audience can hear what they are, unencumbered by any additional concepts, or as few as possible. Which all means there will be a whole different way for you to enjoy your friendly neighbourhood Frictionless Man.


rhysaurus said...

Don't worry, Portugal ain't so good, just great weather, beautiful women everywhere, delicious food, cheap wine, legal hash and a totally amazing atmosphere...

I'm sure Swansea's no different?

MonkeyChops said...

Swansea is as anal warts are to the human body. Or so I've heard. Allegedly. Or should I say, actually?

Did you know, it takes nine million bikes to fill the Albert Hall? Now I know how many bikes it takes to fill the Albert Hall. Hitler's got one ball. Don't tell him, Pike. Madam, you are disengenuous. My cat's breath smells of cat food.

Name all the references and win a cruise to France! (nb departs from France)

Mr Frictionless said...


How do I tie a noose?

Swansea is sewage being sucked through a straw, at a cild´s birthday party on a motorway, in Swansea.

All the references are from Carmichael's Bumper Anthology of References.

Kuntakinti said...

Swansea is beauty, beauty Swansea, and that, you ungrateful barstarrrrds, is all ye need to know.

Or is that Reading?

Mr Frictionless said...

Reading is Swansea and Swansea is Reading? What a thought....

Hughes the Booze said...

"it takes nine million bikes" - isn't that from that annoying Katie Melua song that was written by an ex-Womble that's just been in the charts?

"Now I know how many bikes it takes to fill the Albert Hall" - really too obvious, surely? (A Day in the Life - The Beatles)

"Hitler's got one ball" - playground rumour?

"Don't tell him, Pike" - Dad's Army

"Madam, you are disengenuous" - embarrassingly I don't know this one

"My cat's breath smells of cat food" - Ralph Wiggum from the Simpsonian institute for crayon research.

Can I have a prize anyway, even though I didn't know them all?

MonkeyChops said...

Very well done, Mister Booze! I'm impressed by your knowledge and frankly ludicrous dedication to completing the pointless task I set you.

All of your answers are correct; you passed on 'madam, you are disengenuous', a quote from Peter Greenaway's literally seminal film The Draughtsman's Contract.

You win second prize; the knowledge of a job well done. Mine, that is, as quizmaster.

Now answer me this riddle-me-ree;

I am 4.5 billion years old. I am 90 million miles for the Earth. My mean surface temperature is 6,000 degrees. I am a huge ball of flaming energy, and I contain 98% of the total solar system mass. I am the sun. What am I?

Mr Frictionless said...

Frankie Howard.

morriston burns said...

Hello everyone! Sorry no post for a while, but I've been busy with the ever tedious 'real life'.
Kuntakinti, (or Cuntykitty, to use the correct regional spelling) if you like Swansea so much why don't you just go and live there? Oh, you do, don't you. Sorry. No, I mean I'm truly sorry.....for YOU!

Swansea would be a much nicer place if it was given a 'chavectomy', as would most major cities. Also, the High St needs to be knocked down and started again, as does the leisure centre; actually, I think they are planning to do that, aren't they? And I can't believe some people are actually complaining about this! 'Oh, it's a piece of Swansea's history'; fuck off! It's hardly a stunning example of modern architecture, is it? God forbid they should build something more attractive in its place.
I admit there are quite a few new developments going on in Swansea these days, but as I like to say 'you can't polish a turd'.
And before you say 'if you don't like Swansea why don't you go and live somewhere else?', I already did.
I admit,

morriston burns said...

I didn't write that last 'I admit'!

Mr Frictionless said...

Yes you did, it's right there. Go on, admit it.

Kuntkuntyrinkadinkiwinki said...

Actually I don't. I live in a really small village in the middle of nowhere, with no one and nothing for company except a man who bags newts and sells them to China as sex aids. How I long for the day when I could walk somewhere just to see something, anything, a shop, a pub, a post office, perhaps another person, a newt, a sexy chinaman. It wouldn't matter if they were closed because in the countryside there's no money anyway. None. Not a sausage. Except for the people who live in those big big houses with the long driveways and the vicious wire fences, but they don't mix with the likes of me, oh no. Still, life goes on. I think i'll go and wait at the bus stop for three hours. There's no buses, but it's just got better lighting than my house. Not that I need any lighting because I haven't got anything to read because there's no shops or libraries because the dirty communist immigrant lesbian disabled blacks in the cities get all the money, instead of us hard working farmers. And, Morriston, you can polish a turd, as that is what I've been doing for recreation for the last twenty eight years. My turd polishing finesse really is remarkable, you'll have to come and visit. Just don't shake hands.

MonkeyChops said...

Kuntkuntyrinkadinkiwinki, you may be adept at polishing turds, but can you shave sputum? Can you finesse vomit? Can you, indeed, pick it, lick it, roll it and flick it? I'd like to see you try. Um... actually I wouldn't.

Welcome back, Mister Burns. Your presence makes Swansea a better place! Your presence outside of Swansea, naturally. You're like one of those cake magnets, except for biscuits, and it's very important that you realise that. I, on the other hand, am an altruistic high-flier in the competitive world of finely divided charged solids acquisitions, a magnanimous magnetic magma magnate if you will. Will you? Didn't think so.

Mr Frictionless said...

I have a Polish turd on my excritoire. Lech Wałęsa left it there, on a Thursday. I'm more pleased than I had imagined I would be.

I like this Kinty Cunty fellow. I am ungrateful, and a bastard, so now I feel appreciated at last.