“Just write something!” was the psychiatrist / psychotherapist’s advice to the 33 year old – then clinically insane – Robert Pirsig, creator 12 years later in 1974 of “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance” (ZMM) . One of countless points along the madness<>genius spectrum in the history of the creativity in human thought and action, throughout historical time.
“It is not written” opined T E Lawrence to his Arabian & Levantine friends before helping them write – enact – their own chapter of history together. Carpe diem, etc.
“The Tao that can be spoken is not the true Tao.” eventually dawns on anyone trying to express clearly in words, written or otherwise, anything of consequence in the world and our human experience of it, beyond any artificially closed system comprising an abstraction of it. No objective model of the world is the actual world. Not even science. “The finger pointing at the moon is not the moon.”
There is no substitute for direct – active – participation in the world. And yet we need to communicate our aims and desires as well as our experiences of it with each other and with the rest of the living world. The dialectic between the world and our perceptions of it is as old as thought itself, neither is a substitute for the other. Symbolic language is only one communication option.
[It might not be obvious yet, but this post is a music review. Bear with me :-)]
So, I have many times pointed out that my personal mix of intellectual modelling in language and real-world participation involves “communing with nature” (going for walks, etc) and experiencing the emotional experience of the poetry and the “visceral experience of live music”. The more visceral – a punch to the gut, a tug on the heart-strings – the better.
So I do often wax lyrical about those poetic song-writers and musical acts I experience. I’m a “good news in public, bad news in private” kinda person from my 50+years of people management experience, so when it comes to constructive criticism of creative acts, I prefer to give it to them in person, face-to-face. It does mean my musical “reviews” can be a bit stilted – I’m no music critic that can deliver the brutal honesty in public writing of say Julie Burchill (@BoozeAndFagz), a long term hero of mine, now “The Halfling” – on her last legs these days – I like think she’d approve of the cruel pun. You (she) never lose it.
Which brings me to another problem with my music reviews. My basis for comparative references are from those heady 1970’s London days and direct experiences of the creativity of local performances ever since in the 21st century, wherever in the world I’ve lived or visited, from Perth / Melbourne / Brisbane to Austin / Nashville / New Orleans to name a few. Contemporary popular big-name acts pass me by unless there’s a more immediate local connection with those direct experiences. Could probably name exceptions on one hand; Muse, QOTSA, Foo Fighters, Gary Clarke Jr. say, other than those with folk-blues-rock-based psychedelia and/or Americana heritage from those earlier acts.
It’s the immediacy and creativity that turns me on. Woe-betide any covers show-band that doesn’t have an original twist in their performance or in their choice of poets.
Night before last I saw a 3-original-bands local gig and like most in the last couple of years I enjoyed the experience but decided I had too many other writing priorities to actually write a review here, especially one with my limitations. Might drop a mention in the odd footnote or social media thread, to encourage the creative, but whose gonna read my reviews anyway.
Last night however I got into a whole string of connected conversations in the local bar which included regulars and neighbours, but also my recently deceased mother, the latest work on psychological reality from Mark Solms and the fact that the latter conversation I was having with Stephen McCartney drew in curiosity from Sim and Abbie. Sim being a local musician and member of an original band – Middle Management, who I have mentioned here previously.
I imagined I’d be blogging about Solms’ latest this morning, but in fact I lent my half-read and annotated copy of “The Only Cure – Freud and the Neuroscience of Mental Healing” to Stephen.
So, you ask, what about the 3 bands on Wednesday night?

Partly intrigued to make my first visit to Cafe Etch, as I say I like to support local creative efforts. What I didn’t know is it had been the first venue Sim’s band performed.
I was there to see The Dirt, on the strength of seeing Jack and his Japanese wife as part of a musical project Jack promoted as “The Northern Lights Conjuring Festival” at Pealie’s Barn nr Northallerton last summer, which included another local band Avalanche Party, sadly since defunct after “almost making it”. More on The Dirt later.
Both the other bands were advertised as known original locals, though I hadn’t heard of either before. All 3 might be damned by my faint praise, but I enjoyed the experience, and encourage all to continue to get out there.
Sound and image-wise State Laughter put me in mind of Arctic Monkeys, a reference I can summon thanks largely to Josh Homme (QOTSA) interest in the Yorkshire (Sheffield) band. Not a big fan of that particular pop-rock style, and a bit rough, especially their first 3 or 4 numbers. In need of more practice and experience, and better balanced mixing. Excellent, extrovert bassist on a 5 string, fast-fingered riffs below the guitar and even funky at times – just too loud for the overall balance of vocals and lead in such a tiny setting. School report? State Laughter showed promise, room for improvement.
Lurcher, Hartlepool band I understand, I enjoyed more. Not so loud for starters, and a lively drummer I couldn’t take my eyes off, suspect there were some non-4/4 time-signatures in there? Gentle giant front-man a little nervous to start with, but engaging and suggesting ‘we should “not-practice” before gigs more often‘ as he settled into their groove. Apart from the rhythms, a bit thin and one-dimensional in terms of instrumentation. Bass did his job supporting the off-piste drummer, but the sole / lead guitar was an electric-12-string Squier through a couple of effects that didn’t vary enough to keep things interesting. Interesting and unorthodox combination, but maybe not interesting enough. Suspect they will grow on you, and overlook the thin arrangements, once you get to know their songs, which you never do on a first hearing.
Headliners The Dirt ooze Jack’s commitment, energy and authenticity. A gut-punch of shouty-lefty-anger in the style of Sleaford Mods or Benefits. The other half of this two-piece genre is the trancey beats and psychedelic drones behind the political diatribes and here The Dirt are no different. Their main characteristic is that Jack starts off a live electronic drums motif into a loop, which his guitarist wife synchs and picks up in a 5 or 6 loops footswitch, alongside a few pre-programmed rhythms she can switch between. He’s then free to perform (viscerally rant and leap) whilst she lays the guitar over the beats. Now, an absolutely beautiful semi-hollow Rickenbacker, and at least 40 other effects and pedals at her disposal as well as the loops board, and yet disappointingly restricted range of sounds created or even inputs from the pick and fingers? A good mix of old (previous album) latest (new album) and new (as yet unrecorded) numbers, all with the psychedelic warbling groove in which to lose yourself. Sustainability, though, will require more variety in the sound.
#RequisiteDiversity
Now back to “Just Write” 🙂
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[More links to come to references above and below the line here.]
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Non-Dialogue in O’Connells / proper dialectics?
Aged audiences at gigs?
Mum’s collected writings / Mum’s death?
Yvonne’s latest book?
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