Britain’s got Tarrant.

I’ve got some great news guys.

My meetings with ITV are going great; the new Saturday night television show I’m proposing is really turning some heads.

Mr. Tarrant reserves the right to veto any idea.

Ok.

Every week the British public sends emails with suggestions of what they’d like to see Chris Tarrant do. A team at ITV then fish through the lot and pick five different ideas. The next stage is a phone-in voting system (similar to that of popular shows like Davina’s House) and we then have Mr. Tarrant attempt the most popular idea.

His catchphrase is “I’ll give it a go”, which usually precedes him learning what he has to do this week. With 'lifelines' and 'ask the audience' finally out of the way, Chris can show us his Tarrant.
If Chris completes the challenge? 'Chris has got Tarrant.

It's May? I haven't even started on my biscuits.

Things that if we got rid of would improve humanity; 

Joe: Most of the loose women and Jasmine Garden Oriental Cuisine.

John: Jesters and charmless fat men.

Me: Excessive body moles, Michael McIntyre, people who act ‘crazy’ around certain mates.

Made both mine and John's lists.

Pete: Bear Grylls hydrating himself with the moisture out of poo.

Fat Mark (Tom): The stress of the gunpowder plot. Along with zombie apocalypses, Tom would rather commit suicide at the hint of them than be directly involved.

I’ve been hooked on Deerhunter’s ‘Rainwater Cassette Exchange’ again. If you compare it with 2008’s effort Microcastle; it’s very ‘what you see is what you get’. So on Monday night I got hold of the new exclusive B-Side to 'Memory Boy', my pupils were dilated by the impending birth of what is sure to be their only effort for a while. It's called ‘Nosebleed’ and after an hour or so, I put it on; diligence is always required when delving into something written by ole’ Anorexic Brad… (Bad experience with his explanations of Atlas Sound songs when I saw him at ATP.) 

It’s really good anyway. 

And again I’m impressed by how they have managed to deviate their sound so well with the most subtle changes. It’s probably something they can manage because the song writing is always so strong and the consistencies in their production have now become idiosyncrasies. 2:55 long and a sweet summer ditty.
Link to Deerhunter's 'Nosebleed':  http://www.pitchfork.com/reviews/tracks/12170-nosebleed/

Room One. Oh, one?

So amidst a flurry of celebration of a good week, I was surrounded by a few groups, one of which consisted of late-sixty-odd year olds (in their twenties in the sixties). The types of people that after a drink they start acting like an ugly Carry On film. I listened to them talk about a lot of things, here’s a few quotes: 

 

Key
Me.

Them.

“Everybody was always on about music when I was your age, but pop music has never been my thing, I’m more into my classical, always ‘ave been.”-“Oh right, interesting. What composers or era?”-“Well... All of them! Least they don’t sound so similar.”

“Who is this? This new stuff is just terrible!”-“It’s Neil Young?”

“I would have a dog, but, why would I spend my pension on that? I’ve already got six-million pets on the dole tapping my pocket! That’s all pets are; expenditure.”

Nothing quite like the swinging-ladies of the nineteen-sixties.

When I did ask about their generation, they shied away from the questions and just began talking about their parents’ war generation, which is fine, but it’s not relevant to them. Like me complaining about the aids and haircuts of the eighties. I understand it’s a sense of respect and grandeur, but they had no interest in my rhetorical questions or the future, and just seemed so pissed off at everything (teen-angst).

To top off the first meeting with this bunch, they invited me to a private St. Patrick’s doo they’re having, I was honoured but taken-a-back by the false Irish accent the woman had just put on. “You have Irish in you?”-“Green-blooded and proud.”

Proud.

Ok, I’ve got some Irish in me, but fucking hell! They shy away from their generation who had it all, and choose not to be proud of a skill or something they’ve earned but instead reserve some pride for something they haven’t achieved, a genetic coincidence. I’ve never understood national pride.

Room 101ers: St. Patrick’s Day, “Charmless fat men” I.e. Chris Moyles (John coined the figure of speech), blokes who are snobby about ales, Douglas Murray (goes on ‘Question Time’ a lot as the hard Conservative but makes obvious and middle-of-the-road arguments), Spurs fans, Jon Champion and Chris Waddle (as a football commentary double), double-barrelled names, people who trash-talk with dead eyes and a fake smile and Lee Evans.

Man, 49, Coined the phrase "Charmless fat man".

"Dear Duncan, the protagonist is me, cunt."

Who hasn’t seen our new video? Great. It’s of our Saltway track 'Johnny Edson' and you can find it here: http://vimeo.com/groups/75362/videos/20485242

Joe just... chillin'... in the video 

I received this email from a magazine editor.


Sent:28 February 2011 23:02:37
Dear Oobah,
Thank you for submitting your story "A Quiet No.". While we won't be publishing this one of your pieces, we appreciated the opportunity to read your work again! I took a shine to many of the characters involved in the plot, but struggled to empathize with your protagonist, who at times has convoluted motivations which may have made him a little too unlikeable for what is trying to be achieved. I would like to request that you give our March brief a shot, as I’ve been a fan of past material and it looks like your stuff is back on the up!
Regards,
Duncan,
Editor

Press Reference#: 312358

My retort...

Sent:01 March 2011 14:26:11
Dear Duncan,
Funnily enough, that's me in the story, cunt.

Oobah x.

I didn't really reply with the last bit...

So I'm going to recommend something that's been out for a while; Sufjan Stevens' Age of Adz album.  Age Of Adz requires a joint amount of effort from you and itself. You've got to be in the right state of mind for it to 'get' you. I personally gave it about fourteen listens in the first couple of days, which is a lot of time; yet I knew that it was something I'd really appreciate, and it's very rewarding. Review.

If you're a fan of his other material, whistle, but this is completely different. Musically, it has links with Year of the Rabbit. His songwriting is usually so impersonal, with subject matters of historical stories, figures or Jesus. But this is really honest, secluded writing about himself and it's really heartbreaking. He spends time here admitting his faults as a human being, talking about his apparent love lost, death and illnesses. It's all very dark, vulnerable, rotten and intimate. Yet this album is emotionally very three-dimensional (he's really pissed off in places too). Anyway, he talks a lot about his creative doubts and despicable traits on this record but I don't think Sufjan has to worry, it's a great album with a fantastic rhythm to it. My only criticism of his second best effort 'Illinois' is probably the feel of it's track listing, the form on Age Of Adz is all unbelievable (despite that most of it [other than 'Too much', 'Vesuvius' & 'Get Real Get Right'] passed me by on the first listen).

Anyway, give it a/(14) listen(s).

I just bought a ticket to Sufjan's Manchester Apollo show too.

My Grey Russian.

Having enjoyed a birthday last week, here’s a Russian-doll footnote.

I remember building a den around the dusty layers of the cricket club grounds in my home-village with a friend, in the trees. Whilst we were enjoying the poached eggs and satin branches we’d created, I spotted a disturbance over the loose weaves of our broad-leaf rugs. I scuttled down the wooden staircase to search and illuminate. Standing still in the middle of my bourgeois-hall, my tort neck wrung a one-hundred and ten degree angle to the ground. A brightly coloured snake slithered between my ankles. I was petrified into a stand-still and took a deep breath. I yelled, screamed and ultimately broke down the gates of the palace and ran out into the dull, morbid and wet village.

The next few nights I had vivid dreams of this gargantuan serpent chasing me and my friend. Past the old school house, out of the playing fields and through the ever-encroaching village high street.

So the dream was really clear in my mind; it stuck with me through childhood and adolescence. Enough so that, the other night, and I promise this, I had that same dream and it was as terrifying as ever. It’s odd (with dreams) when you know there’s something going on that’s powerful but you don’t know exactly why so (I have never had a fear for snakes, I think dreams are metaphors). I‘m presupposing that it’s something to do with the fact I’ve been getting ill too often, and I’m at an age where I want to philosophise about it.

So, it’s been the birthday months for My Grey Horse (other than Fat ‘Tom Mott’ Marcus), we’ve been coming of age; appreciating what we have. We have been doing some terrific shows and have been chatting to all sorts of industry people. Joe took his first steps, John has had his first toupee fitted and Pete has started spending his afternoons drinking ale in central Birmingham reading the Davely Mirrorband.

It’s been a while but the blog is back, and here’s a free track thing you can sign up to as a token of appreciation, but we’ll be playing the ‘Native Tongue’ venue club night in Epsom this Friday.

If we play Epsom again, it will be here.

(for the free track 'Clay Feet' follow)

http://mygreyhorse.zimbalam.com

Punch-cat.

Has anybody actually heard of an instance where the name of Christmas has been compromised? Most interesting gift I heard of this year was my mate receiving a tub of Plaster-scene, my most interesting was a pair of shoes. Over the last few years I’ve watched Richard Pryor’s Brewster’s Millions around about 400 times, my resolution is to watch it every day of 2011.

So, on the 22^nd we unfortunately had to pull out of the show at 93 Feet East because of the constrictive (but beautiful) snow. We had another slot there on the 6^th of January booked; a back-up. Along came the day. We reeled past the convoluted curry crypts of Brick Lane and into the venue. We were greeted with the news that two bands had dropped out. Alas, the mood comparable to that of Lee Evans’ stand up; we began our uphill struggle. Enhanced by a missing house kit and a promoter who’d seemingly given up on the show itself, we were striving to explain the importance of the show and working through every avenue to keep it afloat (Tom carrying borrowed drums bare-chested through Brixton). As we carried on tracking down the missing house kit, we found out it was stored in Café 1001 across the road. We (Detective Oobah and G.I. Joe) strolled over and asked for the manager; 30 feet away she looked like a lot of class, every step toward us nailed her into the sexually oracular category. Anyway, she told us that the promoter knew, so we went back over and were told that he wasn’t willing to back the show financially; quest solved. We ended up grabbing the groups of people who’d come to see us and going for a drink, so it was fine.

I was going to write this thing about the film ‘Synecdoche, New York’. I flicked it on to sleep to at One-Fourty-five am and watched it all; couldn’t get to sleep after that, even after having put on Ratatouille to soften the mood. To recapitulate, I watched a critique on it at a festival on the Special features and a perfectly happy guy said that after watching it, for the first time in his life, he just sat alone in a bar and drank for four hours. I loved it, and hope that I can show the necessary intrepidness to watch it again soon; destroys you.

We’ve got a show at Cox’s this Friday which is also John’s twenty-fourth birthday. Got a cinematographer to Film the whole thing too… backstage is set up with Brewster’s Millions on repeat. Has anybody ever met a sexy Karen?

Do things 'The Saltway'.

My Grey Horse - The Saltway; available from December 5th. 

It’s December Fifth. Uncle Mark is whittling away at his advent calendar to the bebop of George Formby. Daddy is strolling into the room in his chicken-coloured hat and 2 piece suit, and Mommy is squeezing out a few cookies from the gas oven. You’re in the other room of your bungalow flat playing kisses with your cousin, the Moomins on VHS is on pause in the background and a Richard Gere 1999 calendar hung on the wall tells you that it’s Christmas time.

Honestly, I’d rather do things ‘The Saltway’, and you can do the same from tomorrow.  I’m deeply excited to tell you that it’s finally available via digital release as of tomorrow. Let our sophomore EP be the theme to your December.

Please, visit Itunes, Amazon or Spotify and search us up. Avoid your dirty family reunion and with frost at the windows and a sweet smile, engage with My Grey Horse before 2010 waves goodbye.