How the Housemartins Gave Me Back My Mojo

Back in 2009 I got all excited on these very pages at the news that the original members of the Housemartins (my favourite band, lest we forget) had reunited for the first time in 22 years to do an interview for the UK music magazine, Mojo.

I clearly wasn't alone, as the posts that I wrote on the subject (yes, there was more than one...) remain some of the most well read in Mint Custard's brief and inauspicious history. Many hundreds of people (I know, unlikely but true) have googled the Housemartins mini-reunion and arrived here hoping for either a concert announcement (I've long given up hope) or the chance to read the article online.

Sadly it isn't available anywhere, a fact that made me get off my bony bottom and write to the people at Mojo asking them to post it online or at least give permission for me to reprint it here. Frustratingly, they just ignored my email. I received an automated 'please don't bother us' and nothing more. Then I tried to find the author, David Hutcheon. I Googled and Googled but (apart from finding out he writes lots of articles about world music for The Times which I can't access because they have a paywall) again, nothing.

So now, given that the interview is almost two years old, and given that no one is going to make or lose money from it and also because I would like to improve the lives of the hopeful souls who just want to read an interview with the 4th best band from Hull, I'm going to do what most people on the internet would have done in the first place and just post it anyway.

If you are David Hutcheon or indeed anyone from Mojo and you'd like to send me an angry letter packed with threats then you know where I am. For everyone else (and with apologies for the limitations of my scanner) please enjoy the final reunion of Hugh, Paul, Stan and Norman; the mighty Housemartins.

Radio Days

O’Brien, Selway, Yorke, Greenwood (yes, both of you), a word in my office if I may. Chop chop. Come in, come in. Sit down all of you. Shut the door will you Yorke. Now… this King of Limbs business. I have to say, I’m a little disappointed in you… all of you….

Now now, don’t start with your ‘it’s too early for reviews, it’s a grower, you need to give it a few listens’ rubbish. I’m not interested. Well actually that’s not fair. I am interested. I’m a fan as you know. I’ve had many a wobbly lipped moment standing on windswept winter beaches with my walkman on listening to you chaps and I still spend quiet moments wondering what the Just video is about. No, I haven’t dragged you in here to tell you that King of Limbs isn’t enough like the Bends or that I’d rather it was a bit more Kid A than Amnesiac. If I’m honest, I haven’t even given it a listen yet. I will, of course, but – and this is why I’m mad at you, I’m a bit busy listening to everything else that got released this week.

Oh yes Mr Greenwood, yes there were other things released this week. Many things. Many good things. Things like the Lovely Eggs' splendid new album Cob Dominos. And the rather marvellous Let England Shake by PJ Harvey in which she imagines herself as a song correspondent from World War One and unexpectedly samples Winston ‘Niney’ Holness’ Blood & Fire amongst other party tricks. And then there’s Hotel Shampoo, Gruff Rhys’ long-awaited follow-up to Candylion. Let us not forget that Mr Rhys been quietly going about his business collecting miniature shampoo bottles from hotels for over 15 years in preparation for the launch of his long player. No spur of the moment look-at-me from him. It’s been planned for months. See it’s there, in my calendar. 14 February. Gruff. Next to “Eggs (Lovely)” and “Peej.” I’ve been waiting, you see.

The thing is gentlemen, you are Radiohead. That’s Ra-di-o-head. Yes that one. You are a band who could record the sound of yourselves farting into a bell jar and send the ‘alternative’ press and the blogosphere – whatever the hell that is – into a tizzy with the promise that you’ll stick it on your website for sort-of-free. Look at the knicker-wetting you caused at the Guardian. They ran a live blog about how excited they were about King of Limbs arriving in their inboxes that got more hits than their live coverage of the uprisings in Libya and Bahrain. Pillocks.

You don’t have a record label. You don’t have companies whose financial future depends on your every utterance. You are critically acclaimed and commercially successful millionaires. You can do what you like, when you like. You could release new music on the day World War 3 is announced and people would still be saying ‘have you heard track three? It’s better than Hail to the Thief but not a patch on In Rainbows. Oh-my-god-we’re-all-going-to-die.’

Anyway, my point is, look around you chaps. Spare a thought for others. Don’t you think maybe it would have been nice to see PJ at number one? Or to have radio stations saying that Hotel Shampoo was their album of the week? Or just to have people talking about how ace the Lovely Eggs are and playing their songs on the telly and the wireless? Couldn’t you have released it on Kate ‘n Wills’ wedding day or how about Good Friday? Nothing nice ever happens on Good Friday…

But no, instead you just couldn’t wait could you? Oh civilisation as we know it would have crumbled if you hadn’t gotten your new mini-album – now, now Greenwood, be honest – 8 tracks is not a full album - out into the world. Anyway, the damage is done now and there’s nothing to be done. Just bear it in mind for next time eh? Sorry Yorke, what? There won’t be any more Radiohead albums? Pull the other one mate. Now, get out of my office, you scallywags.’

Beat the Retreat

Those with long memories might remember my interview last year with the lovely Rani Cameron. She's an Australian comedy writer and performer now living in Somerset in the UK who spends much of her spare time writing, directing, producing, filming, editing and performing in her own sitcom.

It's called Retreat and if you haven't heard of it until now that's probably due to it's self-proclaimed status as a zero budget sitcom. Funded completely out of her pocket and the goodwill of the people around her Retreat has been a labour of love for Rani. Fortunately it's also rather funny as you can see from the first episode which has been on You Tube since last August.

Filming finishes on another low-stress episode of Retreat

The good news is that she wasn't deterred by the strain of putting together that first episode and a freshly completed 16 minute second episode is now available online. If you'd like to check it out go to vimeo.com and search for 'Retreat Episode 2' or just do the clicky thing with your mouse here. I laughed after 4 seconds so Rani and her crew must still be doing something right... Congrats to the team, and here's to Part 3 sometime soon.

Dan or be Danned

There was a time, not so long ago, when just about every post on Mint Custard was announcing some Daniel Kitson show or other. In a way it’s been nice not to have to try and keep up, but then again it has now been a whole year since my dark corner of the world was brightened by Kitson’s little miner’s hat lamp of comedy.

Anyway, the good news is that Daniel’s long promised Edinburgh 2009 show The Interminable Suicide of Gregory Church is finally here. In the vein of his C-90 and 66a Church Road, this is a theatre piece rather than stand up. This isn’t to say it won’t be funny but judging by the blurb there will also likely be dollops of poignant, pithy and portentousness:

Gregory had fifty seven letters to write. He’d never written that many letters, not in one go. In fact, he’d never written a single letter and it was taking significantly longer than he’d anticipated. He’d started, full of optimism, curiously enough, at 9 am and now here he was 8 hours later half way through letter twenty four. He glanced at his watch and then at the noose hanging over his head.

Gregory sighed. Had he known how long suicide letters take, he thought, he wouldn’t have cancelled the milk for the morning.

The story of a death postponed by life.

Having already played in New York and certain corners of the UK, The Interminable Suicide of Gregory Church is in Australia and New Zealand from now until April 2011 and will be followed by another jaunt around the UK in May. Dates, details and web-links for tickets are below, assuming I haven’t cocked them up. Which is possible.

AUSTRALIA/NZ

24-25 Feb Darwin, Browns Mart Theatre

28 Feb–2 Mar Brisbane, Powerhouse

4-6 Mar Adelaide, Town Hall

8–12 Mar Auckland, Herald Theatre

15–26 Mar Sydney, Seymour Centre

12-24 April Melbourne, Fairfax Studio, Arts Centre

26-27 April Perth, Octagon Theatre

UK

3–4 May Brighton, Pavillion Theatre

6 May Durham, Gala Theatre

7 May Sheffield, Crucible Theatre

10 May Lincoln, Drill Hall

11 May Birmingham, MAC

12 May Bath, Ustinov Studio

16 May Norwich, Arts Centre

18 May Scarborough, Stephen Joseph Theatre

19-20 May Edinburgh, Traverse Theatre

21–23 May Bristol, Tobacco Factory

26 May Newbury, Corn Exchange

28 May Hull, Hull Truck Theatre

30 May Nottingham, Playhouse

31 May Manchester, Royal Exchange

For us Melbourne folk, Kitson’s show is taking place as part of the 2011 Melbourne International Comedy Festival, the program for which is launched this Saturday. A cursory glance through list of shows acts on the website suggests an absence of star names this year, which is a shame in terms of generating casual excitement. Still, given many of my favourite shows in 2010 were by local acts perhaps it just means a cheaper March and April than I’d anticipated.

Stay tuned for reviews and news about the festival, and please please please please - if you have any suggestions for me to go and see or if you’re a local act and want to talk about your show for the benefit of all 3 regular Mint Custard readers feel free to leave a comment, or email me at mintcustard@gmail.com. T’ra.

Booze Clues

It’s my birthday next month. It promises to be an inauspicious, milestone-free occasion, to be marked only by me, a few friends and a night in the pub. I slung a few invites around last week for this minor event on the social calendar and whilst most were happy affirmatives, a couple of people mentioned the pub wasn’t a great idea because of febfast.

For those who don’t know, febfast (febfast.org.au) is an Australian charity promotion where participants are sponsored to give up booze for the whole of February to raise money for charities that support young people with drug and alcohol problems. For the less altruistic, febfast also promotes the benefits of giving up the plonk for 28 days – promising abstainers thinner waistlines and fatter wallets.

Now I don’t mind a bit of abstinence. Last year I challenged myself to 365 days without buying a single CD or DVD. Under my own rules (the best kind to bend and/or break) I was still allowed to buy vinyl records, and to download my monthly e-music subscription (3 albums). However, all casual buying was out.

This was more of a big deal than it sounds in this meh-so-what-who-buys-CDs-anymore-anyway-you-old-man era we live in. For one, I don’t really download music and for two, buying CDs is a form of minor therapy. Even a browse in a record shop at lunchtime can calm my jangling nerves so going a whole year was interesting. I managed it though and felt quite good at the end. I have a nice little pile of LPs to my name and hadn’t added anymore little plastic CD boxes to the piles in our spare room. I didn’t raise any money for charity, but then again I didn’t try and make people feel guilty or spoil anyone’s birthday.

I don’t know who is behind febfast but I bet their birthday isn’t in February. You can imagine the meeting that led to this: a few do-gooders with hangovers around a big boardroom table. ‘What about Opt Out October?’ ‘No’, says Alastair, coughing gently, ‘definitely not October.’ ‘Parched in March…?’ says Phoebe, hopefully. ‘Oh no, March isn’t good for me’ says Jacinta, without saying why. ‘Nothing in November? Spitting Feathers Septembers?’ says Rupert, declining to mention his upcoming tour of the Loire valley in June etc... until they all stumble with glee upon the alliteration opportunities of Feb and Fast and the realisation that no-one they knew was an Aquarius/Pisces rising.

The thing is, it’s not even a fast… not boozing is not the same as fasting. If you take away the roasted peanuts, crisps and pork scratchings then you’re getting closer but a fast? Not really. Try getting away with that on Yom Kippur if you’re Jewish. ‘Well yes Rabbi, I suppose I am eating an enormous tasty pie, but at least I'm not washing it down with a carafe of vino tinto.’

Apart from trying to spoil my birthday, it’s also a bit mean to hold febfast in the Australian summer; especially for those of us at the southern end. Seriously, the weather is insane here. The average temperature in Melbourne in February is 26 degrees. That’s only because we have night time, otherwise you could probably add another 10 degrees. Trying to stop people drinking booze in February is actually tantamount to a human rights violation - especially because the weather is crap for the rest of the year.

I understand the need to promote healthy living and appreciate that plenty of folks are susceptible to the lure of fitter, leaner, healthier bods after the excesses of Christmas. This is fine in the northern hemisphere where January and February are shit anyway, but not here. February is when those long lazy summer evenings feel like they will never end. Being shitfaced, or at least a bit merry is a big part of that. Imagine telling Europeans and North Americans not to drink in August. No, I didn't think so.

So, people-who-invented febfast, where does that leave you and me? Well, since your reasons for this are good ones it's difficult for me to tell people to desist from desisting. I don't want to do a Bill Drummond (who, along with KLF partner Jimmy Cauty made a perfect cube out of 6,250 cans of Tennents Super, put it on the back of a truck and then drove around on Christmas Day 1997 handing them out to homeless people. For their troubles they were given a bollocking by a refuge worker for sabotaging the one day of the year when people can't get alcohol, perhaps get sober and maybe decide to go home. But it was still art.)

That said you really should have asked me first before booking this during my birthday month, so I'm still grumpy with you. The thing is, I don't actually drink that much but since you started it, I'd like to propose feb-fest, an alternative where people drink every single day in February, keeping little online tallies of their binge drinking. Get people to sponsor you the same way - using the handily prepared sponsorship forms available at febfast.org.au - and give all the money you raise to them too. Skinny people - put on weight, shy people - have more sex, drunks - enjoy more company and people who will listen to your stories. Everyone's a winner with feb fest. Especially the Birthday Boy... arriba!

Compost Mentalis

Recycling is - I’m sure we all agree – a good thing. You get rid of stuff you don’t want, someone else benefits. Less crap gets manufactured; fewer things get buried in enormous holes. Win win win win.

The key element here is that you get rid of stuff you don’t want. I emphasise this particular point to the mean sods who stole my compost bin out of our garden on Friday. I may applaud your clandestine commitment to the ecologically sound disposal of organic matter and kitchen scraps, but I was using that, you gits.

Let’s be frank here - who steals a 240 litre compost bin? The last time I had a look in there it was full of worms, ants, woodlice and several species of spider. Oh yes – and about a year’s worth of decomposed stinky mouldy food. This is not a flat screen telly. I know thieves like to wear gloves (I’ve seen The Bill) but seriously, you would need gloves to protect your gloves from that mountain of stink. Because of you that same fetid pile was left out in the 30 degree sun for two days, gathering flies like squirrels collect nuts.

Still, every silver lining and all that and I must say that the enormous mound of muck that I shovelled back into our new compost bin (only $30 from Bunnings, you thieving knackers) was showing the anaerobic benefits of a good turning come Sunday night. That said I hope that wherever you rehouse our really-rather-average compost bin becomes a weed-ridden jungle with potato blight. It’s the least you deserve for putting the mental back in environmental.

The Lovely Eggs, Oeuf Course

Folks, its been too long. Time to set feeling sorry for myself and my broken arm aside and start 2011 proper. And what better way to start than with a song. Not mine, obviously. I'm a talentless tone deaf lump. Thankfully the Lovely Eggs are none of those things and to prove it they have released the best song of 2011. Already.

It is called Don't Look at Me I don't Like It and it is flipping ace. If you don't believe me (and frankly why would you?) have a listen at their MySpace page. Better still why not watch the equally wondrous video, which features both old lady knickers and living legend John Shuttleworth.




My thanks to Mr Flange - a long time friend of Mint Custard - for introducing me to my new favourite band. They have cheered me immensely during my temporary incapacity and as you can see they even prompted me into some one handed typing. My love only grew when i learned they have also recorded a Twin Peaks tribute EP. One song features the rather brilliant couplet Leland Palmer's invited me for tea, but then I see a denim jacket lying on his settee... which is as close to genius as you need from a husband-wife combo with marvelous haircuts. The Lovely Eggs. Lovely.

Don't Look at Me I Don't Like It is on sale on 31 January, and will be followed by the album Cob Dominos on 14 February. Check out the Lovely Eggs MySpace page for more details. Or don't and live a less sparkly life.