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An old music track that I played & recorded many years back …

I added lotsa clips and Bazingas, and a classic bit of Airplane

The picture quality is crap, I know … all I could find in a hurry!!

A song I recorded maybe a decade back, with the help of my son, Kahl, and friends, Paul Dowie on guitar, and Paul Cotton doing the recording

The topic of UFO’s and alien overlords still haunts many, whereas I believe the aliens are definitely amongst us … they’re called Capitalists


Unidentified Flying Objectivity
There’s aliens about, so, watch out
It might be you
It might be me
You look alright, but I still got my doubts
Everybody’s suspect, no one’s innocent
All taking part in an alien experiment
Filling us with chemicals and changing our air
I wonder if you are aware

We are surrounded by aliens
In every town, there’s an alien
Don’t look round
There’s an alien
And there’s no running away

Everybody’s talking ’bout alien visitors
Contemplation of invasion
All they need is good solicitors
Legalising murder and mass starvation
Jobs as policemen and policewomen
They ain’t half funny
And they ain’t half-human
It might get better
It might get worse
When Earth becomes the nigger of the Universe

They don’t have tails
They don’t have tentacles
They wear nice suits and gold-rimmed spectacles
Changing slowly
Changing time
Changing bodies and changing minds
Taking over the population
Effecting a mass mutation
Your resistances will be overcome
Your disbelief at what I’m saying
Is the first symptom

We are surrounded by aliens
In every town, there’s an alien
Don’t look round
There’s an alien
And there’s no running away

Unidentified Flying Objectivity
There’s aliens about



My latest wee vid, done whilst trying out new editing software, as a learning exercise … and a long, slow fukken annoying process it was

I did the music on an old steam-driven prog … vox added on the laptop … rather lo-fi, but that’s the way I like it

After lotsa mistakes and hassles, I give up … this’ll have to do

The next one will be better … as I dumped that software and will start afresh

The words are from poem that I wrote, performed over a bit of music that I also wrote, and played, … they just fitted perfectly together somehow

“Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings” sounds like screen directions for a crap, porn film  … but it also has that ring of truth to it … Kids can ask the most naive and simplistic of questions that cut through the bullshit and flim-flam, getting right to the heart of the matter … the real questions which need answering


Many years ago, some 10-15 … I’m not at all sure … my son Kahl wrote and produced a lovely wee bit of squelchy synth dance … I then added piano and guitar noises and now, many years on, I’ve added some spoken word and some collage images to create this wee vid

Hope you like it


As I related in an earlier post,… … the mighty Chou Pahrot were a weird 70’s Glasgow phenomenon that only the truly stoned & deranged could and would appreciate

A cacophony of deranged syncopation and discordant mayhem which would take you to the point of teeth-gritting surrender, and would then suddenly drop off a cliff of feedback and bass to emerge as a beautiful violin melody of exquisite toe-tapping sensibility … and all done with a huge tongue wedged in a Clydesdale horse’s cheek

Their studio recordings were enjoyable diversions but could never even come close to the sonic assault of musical claustrophobia and joyous dementia that their live performances could induce

Here is a hissy, old recording of that experience that is worth the effort … if you dare

Not for the faint-hearted

Chou Pahrot – Live at the STUC Birthday Party, in 197?ish


Brian Miller was a friend,  artist, writer, designer and director who lived and worked in the town of Cumbernauld for nearly 50 years.

Sadly he passed away last August, but in his honour the Cumbernauld Theatre presented an evening of his work on January 28 2012.

This is a wee film tribute, beautifull put together by his son, Kevin

A facebook conversation can be quite illuminating

It started with a mention of Grodin guitars

Kenny Caird, a fine musician and regular FB mate of mine seemingly plays one … and rather beautiful it is too

So, I remarked that I’d been ignoring one of my own prize possessions, a Bond Electragilde guitar



The Bond was a limited edition and rather unusual guitar in that it features a rather unique “step-neck” (ie. no frets, just a sort of saw-tooth effect) and built in carbon fibre construction with lotsa onboard electronics.

They were built by Andrew Bond (d. 1999) in Muir of Ord, Scotland, in 1984. The company went bankrupt & ceased trading in 1986.

British guitarist Mick Jones ( of The Clash & Big Audio Dynamite)  used a Bond Electraglide. U2’s  The Edge used his extensively on The Joshua Tree, and Will Sergeant of Echo & The Bunnymen, and Dave Stewart of The Eurhythmics were also Electraglide users.


Another FB mate, Alex Frackleton, then remarked:


“I really do not understand this homo-erotic guitar worship you lot do … I mean basically it’s a hammer.”


I had to counter that with:

“In the hands of a fool, a hammer is a tool of brute force and even violence


In the hands of a man of passion, a hammer creates homes and knocks down prison walls, carves sculptures of the greatest beauty, has the delicacy to crack a walnut… without damaging the sweet fruit, and combined with the cutting edge of a sickle has the power to change the world for the better, for ever


And if Thor had had a guitar, instead of a hammer, he’d have been a lot more fun”


Then Kenny Caird added this wee gem of a poem, by – Clive James :


A guitar is a thief in the night
That robs you of sleep through the wall
A guitar is a thin box of light
Throwing reflections that rise and fall
It reminds you of Memphis or maybe Majorca
… Big Bill Broonzy or Garcia Lorca
A truck going north or a cab to the Festival Hall

And the man who plays the guitar for life
Tests his thumbs on a slender knife
Forever caresses a frigid wife
His fingers travel on strings and frets
Like a gambler’s moving to cover bets
Remembering what his brain forgets
While his brain remembers the fears and debts

Long fingernails that tap a brittle rhythm on a glass
Around his neck a ribbon with a little silver hook
Like some military order second class
You can read him like an open book
From the hands that spend their lives creating tension
From the wrists that have a lean and hungry
Eyes that have a mean and angry look

A guitar is a thief in the night
That robs you of sleep through the wall
A guitar is a thin box of light
Throwing reflections that rise and fall
A guitar reminds you of death and taxes
Charlie Christian outplaying the saxes
The beginners’ call and the very last call of all


With further annotations from Pete Atkins:



And, the actual song based on the poem:


And all of that is why I do like Facebook … for all its faults and annoyances, it’s a constant source of new information, entertainment, and the delight of meeting people who share my love of new music, new information, and the sharing of it all

Today, we laid Maggi’s dad to rest.

When we were younger, Eddie’s “party-piece” and favourite song was a Gene Autrey cowboy classic “Wanderers Of The Wasteland” which prompted me to nickname him Tex Coyle. The name stuck, and for many years the Friday night card sessions at Tex’s were our regular routine.


When I remembered this, earlier in the week, I realised that, much to my surprise, I still could recall all of the words, even though maybe 40 years had passed. Tex Coyle’s version had obviously made a big impression on me, even though it made me laugh back in those days of my youth

Last night, I sat with my guitar and sang it for Tex, one last time … AND I did Eddie’s version, which had different lyrics from the Gene Autrey version … and all the better they were too


We are wanderers of the wasteland
 My lop-eared mule, my broken down horse and me
 Always travelling going nowhere
Across the plains and o’er the hills go we.
 When I was young  /  I used to be
A high-falutin’, rooting-tooting son of a gun in Wyoming
 I loved a gal  / She loved my pal
So I packed my bag and saddled my nag
And then I started roaming

Now we’re only a lonely trio
 Without a friend, we trail along endlessly
 Three old wanderers of the wasteland
My lop-eared mule, my broken down horse and me.

Gaunyirsel TEX … Yeeeehah!!!

Part 1 of an expose of Rupert Murdoch and News International

by Colin Edwards and Innes Smith.

Recorded and mixed at Savalas Studios




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