The Incongruity of a Cold in the Sun

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It seems, dear peruser of blogs, that I have unwittingly returned from my brief sojourn in Germany with an unexpected memento; to wit, one Germ.
As I write, I gaze glassy-eyed at the computer screen, laden down with the Mother of all Colds. My head is doing a good simulation of being pumped with Cavity Wall Insulation, my nose that of Niagara Falls, and my eyes feel as though the sand from all the Costas has been introduced into them, without anaesthetic.

I’m coughing like an old man, feeling a Winter’s chill, yet gazing out at glorious sunshine and Palm trees. It is an odd displacement. Certainly, I contracted this waiting around at a deserted railway station in East Germany, but one feels you have to actually be there while you’re suffering its effects.

I feel a fraud, languishing, bunged up to the eyeballs, in the Mediterranean sun. Still, better off here, than there, of that I have no doubt.

It started with a sore throat, not the type I get from hard singing, but one that was clearly an infection, you can feel the difference. Then it was downhill all the way. I’m just glad I don’t have a gig for a few weeks. Perhaps there will be time for Niagara to subside, and some men to come and take out the Cavity Wall Insulation.
A Cavity Wall Insulation Man earlier today

Diane of Poitiers - Sixteenth Century Groupie

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I thought today, as a companion piece to our travel journal, I would write a little about Diane of Poitiers. Tomorrow, in the journal you can read about our visit to Anet, where her Chateau is.It intrigues me as to how a woman like this would be perceived had she lived in the modern age. I think she would have been something of a rockstar groupie figure. By all accounts a good-looking woman, she was also very fit, an outdoors type, and an accomplished horserider. She was to become the favourite of the young Henri II, and I do mean young.Henri and his brother had been incarcerated in Spain at the ages of 7 and 8, and there he had read the tale Amadis de Gaula, a knight errant story, featuring the kind of Gentlewomen Diane came to embody for the young prince. It is thought she became his mistress in 1538, if allusions in their correspondence are anything to go by.
She enjoyed the King's favour, even at the expense of his wife, Catherine de Medici. He built the Chateau de Anet for her,
even entrusting her with the Crown Jewels. She weilded an extraordinary influence for a mistress. With a penchant for posing nude or topless for a series of portraits, her notoriety and influence would have made irresistible tabloid fodder nowadays. Maintaining her looks into her fifties,even her emblem has a touch of rock and roll about it, not unlike one of the Four Symbols from Led Zeppelin' fourth album


Today I imagine she would be viewed part Princess Diana, part Pamela Anderson.
Her influence waned when the King was injured in a jousting tournament, Catharine restricting access to him, repeatedly calling for Diane in vain. When he died, she was banished to the Chateau at Chaumont,where her emblem can clearly be seen carved above one of the fireplaces. She remained there for a short time before moving to her beloved Anet, where she live in comfort, but died in relative obscurity. She was laid to rest in a mausoleum next to the Chateau, but as you will see in our travel tale tomorrow, that wasn't quite the last injustice visited upon Diane.

Immortalised in the 1950's Hollywood Movie starring Lana Turner, Diane remains a Sixteenth Century Pop Icon, who certainly had the X Factor!

Stop the Itinerary, I want to get off!

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So, there we have it. Another weekend, another show, and, for me, another journey through the hell that is the gig itinerary. Firstly, a 5 a.m. get-up, followed by a 7.15 a.m. arrival at airport parking, and then check in for my 8.45 am flight for Hannover from Alicante. Did I say 8.45? I meant delayed. My flight was posted with a one and a half hour delay, but in the event proved to be a full two and a half hours late! I had my first train booked for 14.06, normally plenty of time, but no, it was not to be. Even a 2 hour delay would not have troubled me, but that extra thirty minutes was crucial. It sent my day into chaos. My train ticket was non-changeable, my card had maxed out and I was at the mercy of the train staff, as I attempted to negotiate the five trains across Germany to the backwater of Meuselbach-Schwarzmulle, or whatever the hell it was called. Something double-barrelled. Meuselbach Tyler-Moore probably. I began my train journeys only an hour behind schedule, immediately coming face to face with German bureaucracy, in the form of a disgruntled train guard (they’d been on strike that week) telling me I was on the wrong train, I was reserved on the earlier one. Tell me something I don’t know, Herr Konductor. I explained about my horrendous flight delay, but he just replied in clipped English; “That’s not my problem!” Not a good start, but I refrained from explaining my position with aid of a fist in his face and thankfully he stamped my ticket, albeit reluctantly. On my arrival in Gottingen, I discovered that the connections did not automatically follow my pre-arranged pattern hour for hour, so I had to get a revised itinerary, after talking nicely to the platform staff. This at least ensured that I would arrive at my destination, but now a full two hours later than planned. At least it gave me an hour to chill in Miki’s old University town of Gottingen. I had a hot brownie (is that legal?) with Ice-Cream in her honour. Well, that was my excuse anyway. Suffice to say, I reached the hotel at 20.30., ate and showered in thirty minutes flat, and was on my way to the gig with the guys at 9, having barely had time to say hello. We actually caught up on news during the gig. The saving grace of this debacle, as always, was the show. A packed marquee in the town square cheered and jumped up and down to our 75 minute set, which we delivered with a verve that belied our travels (The guys had not had an easy trip either)
I was really happy with the show. Amazingly, after 5 hours sleep and a 14 hour travel day, my voice held out, and I felt it was one of my best performances. A brief rest in the dressing room with multivitamin drinks, and a few autographs signed, it was back to the hotel for bed, grabbing scant hours of precious sleep before yet again embarking on another train marathon. Eight trains today, beginning with breakfast at 7a.m. in the hotel. (The owner had to be woken to make it, as apparently they don’t start until 8, and that was when we were leaving.) I think it’s something to do with the fact that the majority of guests were over Eighty, and the extra hour was to allow for the crash cart and CPR. Then Rudi, our promoter dropped me at Meuselbach station, a little one-track one-shack affair in the middle of nowhere, where I spent a captivating twenty minutes watching a couple emerge from a motorhome in the car-park- the guy changing his trousers and shaving alfresco out of a bucket at just 6 degrees centigrade. They’re made of stern stuff here in the East. As I write, I am on my fifth train and its still the morning. I’m on the ICE trains now, which are a cut above the Thomas the tank engine stuff. All has gone smoothly so far. Fingers crossed it will continue. I will return to you, dear reader, when I board the Frankfurt to Dusseldorf express a little later.
An ICE Train earlier today...


Just a little bit later….
Aha! Well, you find me able to put pixel to screen a little earlier than anticipated, having located a power socket between the seats. So the laptop is raring to go. My conversational German, insofar as it pertains to travel, is rapidly becoming second nature. If you can forgive my appalling grandma, I mean grammar, I can ask for all sorts of things. Is the train after this one the Frankfurt train? Which platform do I need? Where is carriage one going to be? Why can’t you get me to the Airport on time? That sort of thing…
Anyway, ”mustn’t grumble” as the neighbour says in The Small Faces’ “Lazy Sunday”, Though I must say this is not really my idea of a lazy Sunday. That would be relaxing in the sun with Miki, eating brioche and curd….
But, as usual, patient and attentive reader, I digress. It was with deceptive ease that I negotiated the changeover between trains in Fulda, I barely broke into a sweat, and found my seat in seconds. German efficiency oiling the wheels of the transport system. Except when they go on strike. Tomorrow.
So, I’m safely on my sixth train, only another two to go, and with any luck, I shall be able to rendezvous with lifelong CHRISTIE fan Reiner in Dusseldorf before boarding the flight to Alicante.

A little bit later still…..
And so it came to be that I made the transition at Frankfurt Station without incident, insinuating myself onto the train amongst the great unwashed. I use the term specifically, because when you are herded into these metal canisters, at close proximity with your fellow man, you are party to intimate knowledge as to whether they are unwashed or not. Thankfully, I had a seat reservation, but all around me, chaos broke out like a rash. A confused American tourist (is there any other kind?) came out with a bewildered, glazed over look when a harried father of three told him his seat was taken.
“Really?” he asked, “where are the unreserved ones?”
“I don’t know!” answered the nonplussed, but clearly fluent in English and reservation-replete German.
And so it continued, from the comfort of my very own seat, I could marvel at my shoulder being used as a butt-rest, large luggage blocking the corridor, hemming me in, and unfeasibly fat German women with bags protruding at obtuse angles, hell-bent on navigating the carriage, and to hell with whoever lost an eye in the process. I have a new take on the acronym for their train service, ICE; Incredibly Cramped Exasperation.
Of course, it being Germany, you might be jostled black and blue or harried out of your seat when you arrive at your destination, but at least you’ll be on time.

15.00 p.m. Dusseldorf Railway station.
Ironically, after a day of impeccable timekeeping, my eighth and final (or so I thought) train of the day was five minutes late. My ironic smile not withstanding, I eventually boarded it for the five minute journey out to Dusseldorf Airport. Upon alighting to the platform, bone-weary, I heard cries of “Kevin! Kevin!” and looked up to see Reiner, number one Christie fan and old friend rushing up to greet me. He gladly took my guitar for me, and I gladly let him, exhausted as I was. We made for check-in. Except I’d forgotten one thing, I had one more train to catch. The Mag-Lev into the airport. Nine today, Fourteen in the space of twenty-five hours!! Am I insane? Probably.

Anyway, check-in out of the way, Reiner and I sat and discussed old times over coffee, he reminding me it was around three years since we’d last met, and he showed me a few photos of him and Jeff Christie, when they’d met up recently at a T.V. show Jeff was filming. He also insisted on phoning a couple of Christie fans so I could say hello!
Sadly, I didn’t have a great deal of time as I had to catch my flight to Alicante, but getting to meet old friends helps the journey a little bit more bearable.
I landed in Alicante on time, my guitar came off the belt reasonably quickly, but then I had to suffer a forty-five minute wait for someone to come and take me to my car. It’s times like this, after 39 hours of almost continuous travel hell, that you really wish you’d paid premium rate in the airport car park. The ability to just get in and go home (I would’ve been nearly there by the time the guy came to take me to my car) is beyond price.
But the most priceless thing is the welcome I get when I pull up outside the gates from Miki. It’s nice to be missed, and it’s nice to come home.

The Complexity of Simplicity

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I find myself wanting to articulate in these pages, dear reader, a struggle in which I am currently engaged. It concerns the Art of Songwriting, and make no mistake it is an Art, one which any Songwriter will tell you, you are never fully the master of. My struggles began the other day when I composed a new song called "Why" which you may come to hear on our site in the coming weeks, but it has reached its zenith with a song I have had "on the back burner" for nearly eighteen months in acoustic demo form. It is called "The Long Walk Home" and it has a haunting simplicity. My problem, put simply, is this; How can I maintain the beautiful simple quality this song has whilst turning it into a finished article. How much should I add? Does it even need a drum beat? If I leave it so empty, will it lack an indefinable something, or has it already got the indefinable something that may be lost if I over-egg the pudding? The problem lies in the fact that the emptiness of the demo conveys the emptiness of the subject; it is about a man, lost in the arctic wilderness, finally realising that he will die there. If I go in too heavy-handed, it will lose its delicacy, its gravitas. Miki believes very strongly in this song, and has convinced me that I should spend a great deal of time and effort on this song in an endeavour to get the balance right. I think the song deserves it. I confess, I too often settle for a finished result which is often less than it could be, in my eagerness to jump into the next project. In the words of American novelist Stephen King; "Talent is cheaper than table salt, what separates the talented individual from the successful one is a lot of hard work."

Divine Inspiration

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I seem to have hit a creative streak again, following our return from wandering around Europe. I'm managing to write a little of my novel every day, and I'm coming up with a lot of song ideas again, and finally getting around to finishing some of the unfinished ones I've had lying around for months. We have a new Song of the month for October; Click here to have a listen. It's called "The Heretic's Song" and it's about my disenchantment with organised religion, the hypocrisy of both christian and muslim, hopefully done with a little humour. The lyrics are printed below, including the original last verses, which don't appear in the song, because I wrote some new ones following visits to Canterbury and Chartres on our trip!

I've also renewed contact with an old friend from America, who was instrumental in getting the TUBELESS HEARTS album "Three" into production back in the nineties. I've been thinking about sending him some sort of compilation of my recent solo stuff, and it got me considering putting a proper "homegrown" CD out through the website, raw, as it were, I write 'em, record 'em, churn 'em out! It's got an immediacy that I like. If I can find somewhere to print and package it properly, I think it might be the way to go. Other recording news: Look out for my collaboration with GRAHAM OLIVER which should be out on Angel Air records early next year, and also a project with BC SWEET, where we're hoping to record six Sweet classics in slightly different styles, plus six brand new originals. All in all, a busy time in Studioland!!!
I'm off to Germany this weekend for a show with BC SWEET, enjoy The Song of the month!

The Heretic’s Song

Took a trip to Jesus Disneyland today
Tried to buy the T-shirt but my faith got in the way
Gonna wash in holy water, take a plastic Mary souvenir
Costs an awful lot of Euros, to get your plaque put up in here.

They polished up that church’s gold-anointed crown
When they see that coach load of malades would hit the town
Gonna wash in holy water, take a plastic Mary souvenir
If you could make a small donation, you’re cured, we’ll get you out of here

Help me Jesus, help me please,
Why must we climb these wretched steps upon our knees?
Do you like to, see my pain?
Why does the church endorse such monetary gain?
Hey Mohammed, what’s the score?
Since when did Islam preach a terrorism war?

Thought I’d wander down to Chartres for a while
Checking out the labyrinth while I’m walking down the aisle
Gonna wash in holy water, take a plastic Mary souvenir,
Say it doesn’t cost a Euro, if you wanna spend some time in here

Went to Canterbury cos I’d heard a tale or two
Got to the doorway, said its seven pounds to you
I cannot touch the water, they save it for the chosen few
Since when did crashing God’s house, constitute a pay per view?

Help me Jesus, help me please,
Why must we climb these wretched steps upon our knees?
Do you like to, see my pain?
Why does the church endorse such monetary gain?
Hey Mohammed, what’s the score?
Since when did Islam preach a terrorism war?

(Unused Verses)

Took a trip around the stations of the cross
Seen all those Roman's trying to tell the world who's boss
Gonna wash in holy water, take a plastic Mary souvenir,
Gave birth to all this mass religion
Control humanity with fear

I headed down to see them roll away the stone
Looked out for Jesus, but I was left alone
Saw a Christ on every corner, as I headed home for lunch
You can wait all day for Jesus, and then three come by at once.

Words and Music Copyright Kev Moore 2007

Enough, Already

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Firstly, I need to say this; I wholeheartedly support all efforts to locate the missing girl, Madeleine McCann.
Secondly, can we please draw a discreet veil over this unseemly farce? The Portuguese police seem to be run by Brian Rix. The daily claims by the judicaria grow more outrageous with every re-telling. Are the Mc Cann's guilty? Possibly, but since when did wildly dramatic accusations by the press become standard legal procedure? When you add into the mix the distasteful "sales push" on the find madeleine site..ONLINE SHOP!! WE NOW TAKE PAYPAL! you have a hysterical circus that does no justice to poor Madeleine. I fear she is being turned into a grotesque kind of cult. It smacks of the mass hysteria in the wake of Diana's death, the millions in some "group hug" grieving process. The headlines say everything; PASSED FROM FRIDGE TO FRIDGE, HIDDEN IN A DEAD ANIMAL'S CARCASS. For pity's sake, dead or alive, give the little child some dignity. Then, only the other day, we enter realms even a fantasist could only dream about; The McCanns claim they are innocent and are prepared to go to jail to prove it! You couldn't make it up. Only somebody is making it up. The loser in this reprehensible charade? Madeleine McCann.

Back and Barking

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A-ha! Yes, that's right, I have returned, or more precisely, Miki and I have returned, from our epic trip around Spain, France and the UK.I know its not really an excuse for being absent from these diary pages for so long, but by way of an apology, let me direct you to Ten Weeks in a Box, our account, in words, sketches and pictures of our wonderful trip. Each day, we'll be publishing an extract from our travel journal so you can relive the highs and lows of our trip, including one or two rants from me when I got a little stir crazy!

I will try and post on here regularly again, but its a busy time right now. I'm working hard on a novel, and also some new songs for BC Sweet, as we plan to do an album next year. After rattling around in a seven metre motorhome for the past few months, Miki and I are downsizing our driving for a while!