Made by my head
Music, Ireland. Grey, name. My name. A step ladder. This house was built in a bog. Music is the window. I fell off a step ladder.

Saturday, March 25, 2006


Music. The Jimmy Cake.

These curtains... I need to pause here, undo my bow tie, light a cigarette, say thanks to the waitress as she hands me a Martini, and then sit sideways on the high stool... Pausing is good. Pausing is great when you have a Martini. You can look down into it, swirl it around and say, "You know..." It's even better when you have a cigarette in the other hand, so you can stop in the middle of a sentence to take a long drag from that. It's even better still if you're Frank Sinatra or Tony Bennett. And it's better again if you're whichever one of them is still alive. Faking a heart attack is good when you've paused for just about as long as you possibly can with the Martini and the cigarette. It's only believable when you're still alive.

But anyway, these curtains... Those Russians (-insert the story about those Russians). The Russians were actually very nice, even though they insisted that I give back the hamster and do the impersonation of Chekhov I said I could do. But then I got the idea of asking the Russians to pretend that they were The Corrs, so I didn't have to hide behind the curtains from those people who were waiting to meet The Corrs. And the Russians agreed to do it because they're so nice.

Band: The Jimmy Cake.

The Jimmy Cake are a group of musicians (and a few of Ireland's finest young composers) and they sound like... If I was in a pausing contest with Frank Sinatra I still wouldn't have enough time to come up with a way of describing their sound, but they're very good. Carol Keogh on said, "The Jimmy Cake can best be described as a kind of prandial refreshment containing sweet things like chocolate, sharp things like lemon and traces of nut." I don't know if that's the best way to describe them, but it's much better than my pausing with Frank Sinatra.


You can listen to some of their music in the 'Releases' section of their website. Or just go here:

The Russians are still insisting that I give back the hamster and do my Chekhov impersonation. I don't know how long I can hold them off by looking into my Martini, but they don't mind waiting as long as the waitress keeps their drinks topped up. If I didn't have to think about the hamster, I'm sure I'd be wondering where the waitress came from.

Saturday, March 18, 2006


Music. Jape.

Spring days, hills and valleys and now I'm lost somewhere and wherever it is I'm glad I'm lost there. Row boats down the stream and life is B a dream or C, the sound of long wave radio in prison cough cough to attract attention and mouth the word 'no'.

Sorry. Forget about that. Delete the word 'prison' and insert 'breakfast' or 'breakfast at Tiffany's'. Who's Tiffany?

A series of airports, flights and phone calls later: It's great to finally meet you, Tiffany... Goodbye.

Here, now, prison. No, forget about prison. These phones I dial all day long, these wires I listen to just for the sound, these words I write and things I say to Jane. "Ah, Jane, ahm..." Part of me runs away, and another part of me stays and talks to Jane, and gets to know her and we go for a drink and go back to her place and she laughs at all my jokes. But the part of me that would get the most enjoyment from this situation is the one that ran away earlier.

Band: Jape.

Album: The Monkeys in the Zoo Have More Fun Than Me.

Jape is basically just Richie Egan, who's also a member of The Redneck Manifesto. Listening to Jape and The Redneck Manifesto is better than knowing someone called Giddy who keeps winning the lottery by choosing the letter J every week.

Richie Egan's myspace place:

The Redneck Manifesto website:

If the other half of me is in prison... No, forget about that.

Saturday, March 11, 2006


Music. Rodrigo y Gabriela.

Sound, music, the future, lots of bells. Die in the afternoon, wake in the evening and say, "Did I just die?" Yes and no and maybe and no and ha! you just died and that's why your shoulder is like that and Aerosmith, I like Aerosmith.

That wasn't what I had in mind when I said 'the future'.

The past: The phone rang and when I answered it a familiar voice said, "I'm you five years from now. There's a rabbit on my head."

Band: Rodrigo y Gabriela.

Album: Rodrigo y Gabriela.

They're originally from Mexico, but they're based in Dublin. They used to play in a Mexican trash metal band. Now they play accoustic guitars. Eight of my toes think this album is better than Australia. The other two are lying.


The present, here, now, my army smells of the dog they tried to put a hat and scarf on. The woman in the video shop says my army smells happy. The lightbulb over my head wants to marry the lightbulb over her head. That's not a very good idea.

I try to look up without moving my neck. The rabbit on my head said he'd have found a new place by next week, but I'm not so sure now.

Some other blogs:

Hard-to-find music.

Dublin based blog.

Sunday, March 05, 2006


The Choice Music Prize

Richard III. You're Richard III, in a hotel. Richard III, one two three, in a hotel. "I'm Richard III." Yeah, in a hotel.

It's proving very difficult to get Richard III out of my house.

The Choice Music Prize is the Irish equivalent of the Mercury Music Prize -- an award that's not based on commercial success. Bell X1 were the favourites, but Julie Feeney won. It's a great album. More deserving of praise than the ozone layer.

Choice Music Prize website:

Julie Feeney's site:

In a hotel, all three of you, a hotel. And remember (throw the papers in the air and watch them float gently to the ground...

          ). No, I can't remember without the papers.

We are what the flashing lights on our heads say we are. I'm a noise-less farm of sound. Hello.

He shoots, he scores, he glues himself to a lilac tree. Let's kick him.

A walk in the rain - Poetry. Ireland. Reading the news with no trousers.
Very Slight Stories - Very short stories.
Henry Seaward-Shannon - Slightly longer short-stories.

More blogs about music.


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