I am inviting molestation wearing these dungarees

I have in my hand a copy of our new creation – Kompressor the EP. I’m very pleased. It’s a quality piece of merchandise for sure.

It would not be going too far to say that making it was the most enjoyable time I have ever spent in a recording studio. I don’t tend to like recording studios; they’ve never been the most welcoming of places I find. You do your turn and beetle off to a corner and do something unobtrusive until the grownups are finished. Thankfully Andy is nice and patient and even tolerated me taking forever to do simple things properly.

Looking back over the past 2 and a bit years we have produced a lot of stuff for an unsigned band. Including the Kompressor EP, we’ve recorded and released 19 songs, all beautifully packaged and presented. There’s not a lot of people can say that. Lots of videos on youtube as well. I’m proud of what we’ve done and I don’t say that lightly. Sometimes it has been a bit frustrating because it seems that we don’t get the attention I think we deserve, but then I am biased. You’ll forgive me for that, you always do and that is because you’re a good person.

That’s why it has been particularly gratifying to have seen some good previews for the EP Launch gig this Friday in the Lomax from Sevenstreets, Double Negative and Bido Lito as well as getting a mention on Dave Monk’s Radio Merseyside show and being unsigned band of the week on Chris Currie’s show on 7 Waves Radio. That’s more attention then we’re used to and it feels really good.

Hopefully people will come along and have a great time. It’s a top notch bill and you’ll be walking away with a lovely EP. What would be even better is if everyone who took a CD came and found us on facebook and soundcloud, downloaded some more music and let us know they were enjoying it. I don’t see anything wrong in saying we all need a little affirmation now and again. 

Of course, if you’re feeling generous or you just can’t hold it in I’m always open to adulation, worship and reverence. If you feel the need to touch me you can. I have healing properties. My bath water can heal the blind and cure dysentery. Doves love me, as do rabbits and ponies. Walt Disney based Snow White on me and I have a cracking pair of buttocks.

For all these reasons and more I urge you to come and do something worthwhile with your Saturday night. Come to the Lomax, feel the warm glow of my glory, bask in it. Maybe tell someone you love them and then kiss them, with tongues. Unless they don’t want to. Always a good idea to be sure. If you’re not sure how to be sure, Mashemon have a pamphlet available called:

“When people are interested in your kisses: Know the signs!”

I wrote it. I have a success rate of nearly 83% when it comes to kissing. What’s your success rate? If it’s over 50%, congratulations! You’re not evil.

I'll bring the porcelain crotch, you supply the copper flange.

Our first gig of the year was not a solid gold success. Sometimes the stars align to make everything occur in perfect synchronisation, yielding happiness and bliss for all. Sometimes the stars align, again in perfect synchronisation, to produce a demonic shit storm that leaves you really, really tired. And shitty.

I’m sad to say the stars were arranged against us.

We’re easy going guys, us Mashemons. We like to be helpful, polite and generally genial. Smooth the way and all that. So when we heard that our gig at the Threshold festival was at 1 o’clock in the morning we dutifully swallowed our fears and got on with it. Either no one would be there or everyone would be there, so you never know. Next up we found out the sound check was at 12.30pm. A good 11 and a half hours away from our slot.

“Crikey” we said, “that’s something”.

Still, we sucked up our bellies and turned up and did our thing and went off to meditate and practice our kung-fu. And watch Liverpool’s pathetic performance against Manchester United.

We met up in the evening to pootle along to the festival and catch some of the acts. We saw The Left Hand, who were very good. We saw some other stuff, which I didn’t understand. And by not understanding I don’t mean to say that they were dealing in musical concepts which were beyond my comprehension, I mean “I don’t understand why they are here playing to these people whilst we have to wait until 1 o’clock in the morning to play to no one at all". 

It surprised me:

I once saw a Kiss Tribute band. Ronnie Barker was Gene Simmons. 100% of FACT.

We got to the Elevator bar at about 10.30pm. There were probably about 40 people in at the time. Not sure who played. But about 20% of the crowd left. Then another band, who did for another 20%. Repeat. By the time we went on there was only two punters remaining, one of whom was the redoubtable and indefatigable Tony, the power behind the excellent Liverpool Bands website and facebook page, who had come all the way from Yorkshire and had hung on to see us. We finally got on the stage at 1.30am and started playing at 1.40am. It was not a vintage performance, but we got through everything facing the right way and without any accidents. Well done us.

The sound guys seemed to enjoy it. The bar staff seemed to enjoy it, our much put-upon and abused venue liaison lady enjoyed it and Tony enjoyed it. We spread a little happiness. Well done everyone.

Am I keen to do it again? Not if the stars align in the same way. Am I disappointed that yet again we get stiffed in the scheduling department; yes I am.

Am I looking forward to tonight’s performance in the Lomax, which we organised ourselves? Sweet Jesus Corbett yes I am. I’m going to rock my prosthetic cock off. You see if I don’t.

Relentlessly fabulous gravy training.

Thought I would give the New Year a chance to show me what it’s got before I started blathering on about anything. So far it has shown me nothing that previous years haven’t. January is cold and I’m broke. Thanks 2012, I see, I see very well.

In music news we’ve been beavering away recording stuff in Andy’s studio and it is sounding pretty immense. We still have some mixing to do and some artwork to finalise but the final thing should be ready in March. And in March we will be doing a gig in the Lomax to launch it. You heard it here first, unless you already knew, in which case you didn’t. If you feel the need to tell me that you already knew then feel free but know this: I already knew you knew. How does knowing that make you feel? Guess what: I already know.

Our plans have changed somewhat from before. Instead of one album for 2012 we’ll be doing two EPs. Track listing for the first one is:

1. Curtains
2. Kompressor
3. Frank Bloke
4. Suburban Regeneration Project
5. Wear and Replace

That’s a preliminary running order there, so don’t be surprised if it changes. That’s what you’re getting though and it is going to rock your little corner of the world. If you listen to it. It is primarily an aural experience. So if you’re not going to listen to it don’t come crying to me if you find your world has not been rocked. Of course if it does rock your world and you haven’t actually listened to it I would like to know what you were doing with it in order for that to happen. If you want to send photographic evidence feel free.

We’re also lining up to play in the Lomax on the 17^th of February. Not sure quite who will be on, but I need to get out and make some noise. I can hear my suit sobbing in the wardrobe, it keeps asking me why we don’t go out anymore. There’s only so many times you can tell a suit to be patient and I think we are nearing that number. Poor thing. It misses the excitement, the tension and the heavy lifting. So come along and make my suit feel wanted and loved. It thrives on affirmation.

I run in turquoise suits

The last gig of the year is in the bag. Two singles have been completed and the album is on its way. We got in a drummer. And there’s still a month left to go in 2011. Probably too soon to start looking back over the year that was and furthermore that’s not the sort of thing we do. That requires the exercising of brain cells that I have taken great pains and spent large sums of money to destroy.

You see, there are some things that I really don’t want to remember. I’ve purged a lot of them, such as why I can’t stand the sight of chives, why I whistle the theme tune to Dad’s Army whenever I see a duck egg and why I have a prosthetic arm. There’s a lot of work still to be done though.

Such as the time I was working for the Kennet and Avon Canal Trust. I had worked as part of the team that had been restoring the turf sided Monkey Marsh Lock, which is just outside Thatcham and is listed as an ancient monument. A ceremony was to be held to celebrate the re-opening of the canal and the Queen was to the guest of honour. It was all very exciting indeed.

The grand day came and I put on my best canal hat, like a river hat but with a wood pigeon feather rather than lark’s foot, and my favourite galoshes and made my way to the place where the Queen would be boarding the Rose of Hungerford to travel between locks 44 and 43.

I arrived quite early, a habit which I have been unable to break to this very day and has seen me get into no end of trouble. “In nunc arcu ite ingrate”, as it says on my coat of arms.

So there I was. My task for the day was to prepare the cucumber sandwiches and make sure that no children were drowned. Varied tasks you might think, but you’re probably not too familiar with that stretch of the Kennet and Avon canal. I set to work on the former, since there were no children there at that time. Not everyone likes cucumber sandwiches, but those people are not the sort of people who would be attending a visit by the Queen to the opening of a stretch of canal. For a bit of variety Mary Sanders Rose, of the Berkshire Sanders Roses, was going to be supplying some tongue sandwiches. A marvellous spread to be sure!

I had finished trimming my 145^th crust when I heard a scream from near the side of the canal. Screaming is not the done thing in that part of the world, especially when the Queen is due to visit. Hurrying in the general direction, I saw a horrible sight; a green faced lizard creature, dressed in a blue, green and pink paisley frock molesting a poor young man who had been attempting to clear a couple of old plastic bags from the bulrushes, its arm shoved up this poor chap’s fundament to the elbow. His screams of torment were horrific and on seeing me he begged for assistance.

Now, I’ve been around a bit and tangled with more than my fair share of green skinned water lizard people. Things to remember:

1. Be polite
2. Offer a sandwich

I waved a cheerful hello to the monster and jogged back to the pile of sandwiches I had prepared, popped a few onto a plate and made my way back. The ordeal was still not over and if you ask me I think that the creature was taking its time just to be cruel. Naturally vicious you see.

I offered it a sandwich, pointing out that they were cucumber. This appeared to please the creature, who withdrew its claw and took one. I tried not to show my disgust at its lack of basic food hygiene, since this was hardly the appropriate time, although I confess to tutting ever so quietly.

It was as it reached for another sandwich that I noticed the indentation on the top its head. This hollow held a pool of water which the creature was careful to not spill. Realising what I was dealing with I snapped out a brisk bow, which it returned promptly, spilling the water and suddenly becoming immobile. I signalled to the creature’s victim to make a run for it, or to at least do the best he could, and we both beat a hasty retreat.

After giving the chap a nice cup of tea and a cushion to sit on I returned to spot where the creature had been, but it was gone. At that moment I heard the band strike up a tune as the royal party arrived.

It was a grand day out. Here's a nice picture of the Queen taken on the day.

That is all. Get out of my house. 

Sub-aqua urine inspector

We rehearsed on a Saturday afternoon this week. We also rehearsed quietly. Still drank beer though. The reason for the change in time was that we hadn’t been able to get together during the week and Andy had to take his offspring to the fireworks in the evening. We couldn’t do Friday because Mike simply had to go out on the tiles and get shitfaced. The reason for the change in volume was that we are due to play a gig in the FACT bar on Thursday at about 8 o’clock and we reasoned that a less cacophonous approach might be appreciated. It was ok. I won’t say it was underwhelming but then it certainly wasn’t overwhelming. I suppose you could say it was “parrawhelming”, or “equiwhelming”. Some people would proffer “whelming” but that isn’t trying hard enough. Try harder.

Also on Saturday Mike presented us with our latest product: Guts the Single. I love it. I think every song on it is exceptional. You might not agree, but I don’t care. If I started caring what you thought my whole edifice of superiority and braggadocio would crumble like the soggy cardboard box it is. A cardboard box that had been pissed on by a horse. And a rabbit. And a goat.

After rehearsal and fireworks Andy and I met up to go drinking and catch some bands.  First we went to the Shipping Forecast and saw Choc Electrique, who were very entertaining. They definitely needed a smoke machine and more spandex. The drummer had a bandana so they might as well go the whole hog. Hog wholer.

Then we bumbled off to the Mojo where something was happening. The sound was really very bad where we were stood so I can’t give a fair assessment of what it was that was happening. But then, I can rarely give a fair assessment of anything. We drank our bloody marys, munched on our celery and pootled off to an old man’s pub to talk about a band whose name currently escapes me and eat peanuts before returning to the Mojo to see someone else and then go home.

Here are the things I learned:

• Andy’s kids really don’t like mushrooms.
• Young people often look like they are having a lot more fun then I have ever had. I was a young person once and as far as I recall I didn’t have half as much sexy looking, pert and fresh faced fun as they do.
• Bloody Marys fill me up like dinner.
• Andy is at least 27% cooler than I am.

Whilst Andy is cooler than I am he isn’t going to be allowed to play with proper drum sticks on Thursday. I on the other hand will be singing with my proper head. He has to use these stick like things that look like small fasces without the axe. As you may or may not know Andy is a big fan of the Roman Republic and dresses up like a magistrate on the weekends. He also does his weekly shopping in a chariot. He doesn’t care for Goths either, neither the Visigoths or the Ostrogoths flavour Goths. They make him sad. 

Do all black and white things taste of mint? In the name of science I ask you to lick.

I have do not have a problem with Goths myself, of whatever flavour. Possibly not liquorice Goths. I do not care for liquorice. I doubt they come in that flavour anyway. With their pale skins and black clothes I imagine they probably taste like humbugs. Since the opportunity to taste a Goth has never presented itself to me I cannot give a definitive answer. Of course if they do taste like humbugs then one won’t be enough since I am rather partial to mint flavoured sweets. Then again, given the size of your average Goth in comparison to your average humbug I imagine one Goth will last quite some time. Look after them properly and one could probably last you for at least a couple of months. And you would have minty fresh breath to boot. This must be the solution to a problem that no one realises we have. I should write into the Reader’s Digest or Fiesta right away. Get out. I have work to do.

Dear Fiesta / Reader’s Digest,

I want to tell you about an encounter I had with a person who liked to wear black and had a pale face. I had read about this kind of thing happening to other people but never thought it would happen to me. I had just finished mending a young lady’s washing machine when I managed to spill whole tub of ice cream on myself……

Your beastly arse.

I have been a shell of a man today. So to perk myself up I helped Mike with the recycling from last night. I am now a shell of a man who smells of stale beer and nastiness.

Last night was epic. Great turnout, superb bands and a wonderful atmosphere. I don’t think I would be wrong in saying that was the best Death Tax Trouble we have put on in a while. Everything came together just right.

Dass Unser were superb, starting off the night with just the right vibrations and drawing people in. They have a great sound and I do believe we will be asking for their services again in the future. I recommend you go and see them the next time you can.

We, of course, were what we are. Reasonably steady on our feet and facing the right way. What more can you expect? Nothing, that’s right, you can expect nothing else.

Das Beat were also a joy. Not only was the music great but they managed to get all their gear in the stage area and not clout each other with their guitars. Musicianship and spatial awareness = gifted. We’ll get them back again as well.

Darren Aston supplied the tunes from his virtual wheels of steel and stayed on station ensuring that there were no nasty sonic gulfs. Well played that man. I do believe we are going to engage his services for our next outing as well. I imagine that equates to brand loyalty doesn't it? Does it? Yes of course it does.

We were also very lucky to have lots of pictures taken by the lovely Heather. I thought she captured our raw masculine sexuality and thunderous loins very well. To that end she will be shooting the Mashemon 2012 nude calendar for us. It will be a torrid collection of sordid, tasteless and in some cases downright unpleasant pictures which will hopefully appeal to perverts of the lowest order and make right minded people vomit into their own, and each other’s, laps.

In other news the new single is 60% complete. Two songs recorded, one well on its way. The covers have come back from the printers and we’ve set a date for mixing. These are pleasing developments. Track listing has changed from what I said previously and now runs thusly:

1. Guts
2. Lost and Found
3. Low Pressure System

Not that it makes much difference, since you’ll likely never hear what was going to go on as B and C sides anyway. They just didn’t get through quality control.

In the car home from rehearsal the other night we were trying to work out how the album’s running order would look. Here’s what we have so far, in various stages of completeness and in no particular order:

1. Lips Limbs Lungs
2. Guts
3. Curtains
4. Frank Bloke
5. Wear and Replace
6. Kompressor
7. Another Man’s Dirt
8. Suburban Regeneration Project

That’s eight songs. We need one or two more and then we’ll have an entire thing.  Not bad at all.

Right. That little lot has taken me an hour to write. So very very very hungover. Send help. Or flowers.

Bogart or Bogarde would have done it better.

Onwards onwards onwards onwards. Got my hair cut. Think I look like a Luftwaffe pilot. I don’t understand what is on my head. I don’t know how I’m supposed to push it around up there. It doesn’t want to tell me either. I’ve put so much hair product in it today that every time I touch it my hand comes away slightly sticky, like I have just playfully batted away a glazed bun that was tossed at me by a baker. I presume we are playing some kind of game.

When you think of a baker, what do you think of? Depending on my mood I have two bakers; if I am happy and full of fun then my baker is a lady with a light dusting of flour, smells of raisins and cinnamon and has a nice white apron. If it is a bad day and I am full of vinegar and spiders then it is a pale faced man with a thin black moustache and well oiled hair, who probably has a pistol hidden in a loaf.

So now, when I think about the baker and the sticky bun, which baker do I think of? Lady baker. That means I must be having a good day. It is important to know these things.

I’ve actually had a quite a fun few days when I consider it. I have done some fun stuff. Went to the Shipping Forecast on Thursday and got really very drunk whilst watching Low Winter Sun, Mystery Box and the Doo Dahs. I enjoyed myself. I got a chance to talk to the nice people from Low Winter Sun, who supported us back in the CUC. I say talk to them but it was probably closer to me talking at them whilst they checked the exits. Nice people. Nice, patient people and a promising band.

I didn’t talk to Mystery Box. By the time they came on I was having a bit of a slump and beetled off to sit down somewhere, I think. But I do remember the singer was wearing a bowler hat. Since this is in no way an assessment of their abilities, more a critique of my dissolute behaviour, I’m sure no one will hold it against me when I say I can’t remember a thing.  

By the time the Doo Dahs arrived I had got my second wind. I enjoyed them as well. I probably spent more time admiring their singer than was probably civilised, but then what can I say. I’m a bad dog. I did mange to talk her afterwards but she disappeared and never came back. It was just like one of those films. If I was wearing a trilby it would have been even more like one of those films, except I would probably have had to go and have a shoot-out with an evil baker in a warehouse downtown immediately afterwards.

After that I wandered off to find a place that made a good whiskey sour. And I found it, oh mamma yes. Can’t remember where it was but I do know it had a lot of blue lighting in it.

Saturday was the day of the big Harvest Sun gig in the Williamson Tunnels supporting Vic Goddard and the Subway Sect. I wore new shoes. I think we played very well, although Margaret, Mike’s exceptionally astute good lady wife and keen Mashemon observer, thought I wasn’t drunk enough. No one has ever said that to me ever. I admire Margaret and hope to never let her down in this way again. 

The Beatnik Hurricane and the Ladykillers followed. I was in a much more reserved mood at the time so I left them well alone. Vic Goddard and the Subway Sect rounded things off and everyone had a good time. Andy and I went off in search of the place I had that whiskey sour on Thursday but couldn’t find it. By then it was home time for us, since we were neither in the mood for dancing or fighting.

So there, that’s a bit of something to read.