Lemon scented crack den

The dust has settled around the Kompressor EP then. We’ve had some good reviews of the opening night here:

http://www.peterguy.merseyblogs.co.uk/2012/03/mashemon-dass-unser-so-sexual.html

and here:

http://mangoneblog.tumblr.com/post/20123960451/review-mashemon-ep-launch-saturday-17-03-12

Seba Rashii supplied a glowing review of the EP:

http://seba-rashii.blogspot.co.uk/2012/04/reviewmashemon-kompressor-ep.html

And with that brief flurry it’s all gone silent. The world has spun and more important things have occurred. So rather than pine for our brief moment in the sun we’ve started planning our next release.

In their rawest form the plans are as follows:

• Another 4 track EP and accompanying gig.
• Some videos featuring actual band members in motion.
• Some web-based performances for you to cut out, keep and touch yourself to.
• A gig on a zeppelin floating over the great cities of Europe.
• The grand opening of the “Mashemon Boutique of Perversion” Fetish Emporium.

I admit that some of these events are more likely than others and I wouldn’t be so bold as to put a time scale on any of it, but I will say that the EP and videos will be done in a matter of months. The other stuff may take a little longer.

We have a gig coming up in the Zanzibar on the 4^th of May. A good slot as well, at 10.00pm. So you have plenty of time to lose your inhibitions beforehand. Apparently we will be acquiring some tickets, so get in contact via Facebook if you want one.

Tomorrow we will be attending the Record Store Day Band Fair at FACT to distribute some of the final copies of the Kompressor EP. Come along and get one while there are physical copies left. Kicks off at 2pm.

This must be one of the most sensible posts I have ever done. It is full of actual information that may be of interest and use to people. I don’t know if this bodes well. I’ll have to start concocting something opaque and obtuse as soon as possible.

When the red light is on all debauchery must cease

I was standing in the Lomax late on Saturday night, sweaty and not wearing any trousers feeling very pleased with myself, despite having cocked up the beginning of the last song, just like I said I would. Next time I might try saying “I will now play this song perfectly” and see what happens. Probably end up setting myself on fire or falling out of a moving vehicle or tipping scalding hot soup into my lap or getting my head caught in a bear trap.

The sound was brilliant, all the bands were superb, the crowd were lovely and we wiggled our fingers, flapped our jaws and waved our arms in the correct ways to get the music to come out. We managed to assemble a top notch-bill again and they all put in great performances. Well done Faded Gold, So Sexual and Dass Unser and also to Frank and his excellent team at the Lomax. Kings and Queens all.

Despite starting the musical preparations at about half past three in the afternoon and spending a fair amount of time walking backwards and forwards through the St Patrick’s Day revellers whilst carrying our heavy pieces of equipment, by the time I got on stage I was feeling remarkably chipper. I got my second wind somewhere between the stroke of ten and plugging in my guitar. Of course, if you had drawn me aside and offered me a comfy chair, a cup of tea and a slice of cake then I don’t know what would have happened but it wouldn’t have been rock and it wouldn’t have been roll.

What could be counted as rock and roll was the amount of hairspray I had used to keep my wayward barnet in good order. Earlier that day I had decided to get another haircut but, breaking with tradition, I didn’t go in, slump in the chair and express in exasperated terms that all I wanted was for them to make me beautiful. This time I went to a place on Picton Road run by a nice chap called Ken. I said “take an inch off all of it” and he did just that. Who would have thought it could be that easy? Satisfied with the job he had done I decided that I would get the damn thing to obey me for once, so I subjugated it brutally.

Another thing that might qualify was the colour of nail varnish I decided to use. Not sure of the name, but it matched my tie, which is the colour of lip stick worn by women of ill repute in BBC 2 dramas from the 1980s. You know the sort of thing, the colour of lip stick on investment bankers’ shirt collars and on the rim of martini glasses. Dennis Potter would probably have approved.

Reading back over those two paragraphs makes me wonder whether I have any repressed issues that need addressing. I’m thinking no.

Hairspray and red might make you think I looked like Robert Smith. I did not look like Robert Smith. Saw him on the telly the day after the gig and came to the conclusion that his hair isn’t quite what it used to be. It was all grey and wispy and I’m sure it kept going in his mouth whilst he was singing. I’m not one to ever say to or about another person that they should get a hair cut, but Robert, darling, I know this guy who’ll take an inch off it all and it will look faaaabulous.

So after the gig, back upstairs, getting out of my suit, I found myself trouserless , sweaty and pleased. Not in the way you’re thinking, I was by myself. And not in that way either. For gawd’s sake. I’m a human being not a lump of meat.

A lump of meat with a cracking ass. I digress.

When I came back down all the new EPs were gone, most of the people were gone and we had to begin the process of lugging stuff back round the corner to Crash Studios. Whilst I was carrying my guitar amp’s speaker cabinet I got stuck behind too slow moving lesbians with matching Mohawks. They apologised when they noticed me huffing and puffing behind them, which was very nice. The same can’t be said for the pile of botoxed and silicone boobed harridans heaped on the corner by the Lisbon who were swaying backwards and forwards and shrieking and shrieking and shrieking and shrieking and shrieking and shrieking. They just stood there swaying, an immovable Wall of Crass. I would have ploughed through the middle of them, but they seemed to tessellate so perfectly there was no gap or crevice to be seen.

As it were..

So I went around, stepped in a puddle of something icky and lumpy and cursed St Patrick and all his little wizards. Later that night I drank a glass of Château Neuf Du Pap and praised Satan for inventing the custard doughnut.

I think that sums it up perfectly.  

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……