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Hello Folks The Anointy newsletter is back! Yes, I know it’s been a while, but in the last few days, at least two people have asked what happened to it. One even said they enjoyed reading them. That’s all the encouragement I need, so put the kettle on, grab a penguin (a real one) and read on… SOHO DAYS, CAMDEN NIGHTS Pleased to report I’ve finished my new book. Contrary to my previous claims, it’s 100% done and dusted, in the bag, a chicken wrap. It’s called Soho Days, Camden Nights coz it’s set in Soho during the day and Camden at night, and it’s all true apart from the bits I made up. But I haven’t quite sussed the strapline yet. It’s either: The Ups and Downs of a Music Biz Wannabe or How Everyone Got Famous, Except Me. I think it’s the first one coz it does what it says on the tin, but the second one may draw reader in more, although it may over-promise too. I did flirt with spelling it Soho Daze, Camden Knights, but decided against. Initially, it weighed in at 90,000 words, but after several rounds of edits, it’s now a leaner, fitter 80,000. so runs faster, does press-ups, and is hopefully more page-turnery. Here is a photo of me holding said manuscript.
The book is a follow-up to my first effort, Anoint My Head – How I Failed to Make it as a Britpop Indie Rockstar, but hopefully works as a standalone too. It’s another day job versus the dream kind of story with Horace now working in a Soho picture library rather than a Soho record shop, and this time he’s trying to live the dream vicariously in Camden as a band promoter rather than a rockstar. Ex-Pointy Birds manager Ricky pops up again as he begins his stellar rise, as do a host of bands you may or may not have heard of (one uses a kiss-cam these days). There are also snakes, pigeons, gangsters and mud — so something for everyone. Essentially, it’s another trip back to the 90s, but if Anoint My Head was set in the pre-Britpop era of baggy, shoegaze, and grunge (88-94), Soho Days, Camden Nightsfocuses more on the period post-Britpop (95 to 01). So the same but different. Anyway, I’m excited for you to read it and think it’s the book I wanted to write, a bridge to what will be a third and final instalment. It’s also a bridge in the sense that if Anoint My Head was about trying to become who you want to be (and failing), Soho Days, Camden Nights is about crossing back over that bridge to who you might actually be (and then ignoring that). Less coming of age, more coming to your senses. But the primary intention is to make the reader smirk, titter or laugh along the way or money back. Cover reveal to come in the next newsletter. The design is still in the works, as is the question of who’s publishing and when, although some exciting conversations are happening. There is also a plan to reissue Anoint My Head with a fancy-pants new cover, and there is a collection of short stories ready to rock ‘n’ roll, too. So yes, that’s the book news, and there will be more book news very soon. In the meantime, Book Three is writing itself…
As reported in previous dispatches, about nine months ago, I formed a Cure tribute band with some fellow swimmers at my local Lido. (Does every Lido have a Cure tribute band, Dad?) The idea was simple: imagine seeing The Cure in a pub. I could do a half-decent Robert Smith — and we share a bum chin. So over the next few months, five imaginary boys met up at a rehearsal studio in a converted gents’ toilet on Kentish Town Road and had too much fun playing our favourite Cure songs — Primary, Lovesong, A Night Like This, Just Like Heaven. There was chemistry in the air, along with a residual pong from the studio’s former usage. A gig was booked at The Dublin Castle with Blur tribute Popscene, and we knocked a set into shape, grew our hair, and squabbled over the name. Friends were overly enthusiastic — possibly hoping for a laugh at my expense — while nearest and dearest had concern in their eyes. (Is Dad having a midlife crisis/nervous breakdown?) Well, if I was, it was going to be a fun one. I had new distractions: to wig or not to wig? (Answer: no wig—too comedy.) Would I remember the lyrics to Charlotte Sometimes (yes) and pull off the solo in Lovesong (no)? I booked singing lessons, bought spray-on black dye, nail varnish and lipstick, and took a crash course in make-up application. Excitement, jeopardy, the very real risk of making a fool of myself in front of everyone I knew. And then, on a hot, hot, hot night at the end of May, The InCureables took to the stage in front of 200 people crammed into the back room, some peeking through their fingers. We launched into opener ‘Shake Dog Shake’ (a la The Cure in Orange), heads began to nod, and then 15 songs later we finished on ‘Friday I’m in Love’ with people singing along (a feat I never managed with The Pointy Birds). A glorious night, sealed with a thumbs-up from said nearest and dearest. (So are you a drag artist now, Dad?) Maybe I am. Here is a pic.
During the soundcheck, I asked Popscene’s “Damon” if he was enjoying the ride. “Not half,” he grinned. “We’re being offered shows all over the gaff.” And the same has happened to us — gigs in Harrow, Manchester, Windsor, Stoke…the Royal Society of Psychiatrists have even asked us to play their annual lunch next summer — they like our name. Last week we played Feeling Gloomy’s 20th Birthday — a stricter test in front of proper Cure fans wearing Head on the Door and Disintegration T-Shirts but the Gloomsters loved it—even singing along to the final bass notes of ‘A Forest’ —eat your heart out, Radio Ga Ga. I never thought I’d be playing gigs again at 56 and I know being in a tribute band is cheating — we’ve been handed the answers courtesy of Bob, but the suspension of disbelief between band and audience is terrific fun and at least tribute bands are helping keep small venues alive, because audiences want nostalgia, and a tribute night sell tickets. But crossing to the dark side has also deepened my appreciation for new music. Gigs should be about discovery too and new bands that lug their amps through the rain to play songs no one’s heard yet to dwindling audiences are heroic. So go support your local music venue. Because once they’re gone, they’re gone. And you never know—you might stumble upon tomorrow’s Robert Smith. Or, failing that, you can come and see the pretend one. Talking of which, if you are in London vicinity, we play Harrow Trinity on Sat 4 Oct and then our last show of the year is headlining Downstairs at the Dome* (op Tufnell Park tube) on Friday 14 November, supported by Nontaines SC (the UK’s first Fontaines DC tribute from Sheffield) and excellent new band trainboy —nostalgia and discovery in one evening! Incredibly it’s en route to selling out but there’re still some early bird cheaper tickets available if you click link below.
More shows to follow next year. Also, @TheInCureables (with an e) are now on Instagram, Facebook and YouTube, where you can watch footage, heckle, follow, etc. And if you want to book The InCureables for a stadium, pub gig, or puppet show, get in touch. What else? Something daft. Not long ago, I went to a friend’s 60th at a fancy-pants restaurant. During the reception drinks, I recognised a woman among the guests who swims at my local lido. “Hey there — I didn’t recognise you with your clothes on,” I said with a wink. It’s a thing us Lido swimmers say to each other outside of our happy prison. “I beg your pardon?” she replied. “You swim at the lido?” “No.” Luckily, the dinner bell rang to take our seats. Double-luckily, I wasn’t seated next to her. But it really did look like her. You can have that one, Richard Curtis. Enough of my yakkin’. I’ll leave you with some things I’ve enjoyed of late MUSIC — LCD Soundsystem at Brixton Academy, The Bug Club at The Moth Club, The Clientele at Fitzrovia Chapel, Olivia Rodrigo at Glasto (with Bob!) and Chappell Roan at Reading (love her new single The Subway) BOOKS — Cowboys and Indies by Gareth Murphy — the epic history of the record industry and the best title ever for a book. In Cold Blood by Truman Capote. Always been on the list, but it oozes masterpiece from the opening paragraph. The writing is too good, and I’m such an amateur. Luckily, I suffer from delusion; otherwise, I would give up. TV/ Film — Anyone got suggestions? Loved The Ballad of Wallis Island and, of course, White Lotus. Halfway through Mixtape, which features The Cure! COMEDY — Loved the Electric Head and Hasan Al-Habib at The Fringe, but not that comedian who came on and said, “Are there any straight men in the audience today?” I was in the front row and the only one who put my hand up. The next 52 minutes were long. SPURS — Never boring. Sad to say goodbye to Ange, but we’ll always have Bilbao. And hello, Thomas the Frank Engine. Lastly, talking of tribute bands, special mention to the fab band Field Music, who recently announced after 10 albums they were forming a Doors tribute band, THE FIRE DOORS, to help subsidise their band. The story went viral with stories in The Guardian, Rolling Stone and Richard Osman and Marina Hyde discussing it on their Rest is Entertainment podcast as a watershed moment in music. Meanwhile, I was straight on the blower re a joint The Doors v The Cure gig. Watch this space… Better go, these lyrics to ‘Fascination Street’ aren’t going to learn themselves. Until next time Andy / Horace / Robert x PS, if you got this far, and you feel so inclined, can you reply with a quick thumbs up to say you got this? Then I know these emails are actually reaching people and not going into the abyss. *And in full circle coincidence, the Dome is the same venue where the pointy birds bowed out 32 years ago in front of 8 people (see page 325 of Anoint My Head). And if you haven’t read it yet, you can buy a copy now as a paperback, ebook, or audiobook.
‘Captures the time and the aspirations of a young band brilliantly. A great eye-opener into the absurd thought process of what it might take to headline Glastonbury!’ Steve Lamacq BBC 6 Music “All the fun of youthful dreams and the poignancy of disappointment – plus a remarkable A-list cameo. Magnificent.’ Phil Harrison Time Out / Guardian ‘If This Is Spinal Tap is the quintessential rock mockumentary, Anoint My Head is the closest you’ll get to that in book form.’ Loz Etheridge God is in the TV ***** ‘Anoint My Head is a great read which rips along at pace and would make an excellent dramatisation or comedy series.’ Iain Key Louder Than War ***** ‘Hilarious warts-and-all story of a Britpop band whose big ambitions did not meet their talents’ Dan Carrier Camden New Journal ‘This heartwarmingly tatty ‘Withnail & I’-tinged must read for every soul pining for just one more chance to see another bunch of over-ambitious sonic terrorists preening themselves in an under- ventilated gigging sweatpit.’ Simon Williams Fierce Panda Records ‘Very good read. Some really good memories I had forgotten about. Great days. I hope it goes on to sell millions!’ Saul Galpen Nude Records ‘Super-evocative, proustian and a wonderful walk down memory lane’ ‘A healthy measure of Nick Hornby with a dash of Adrian Mole had he joined an indie band. Just the tonic for these serious and uncertain days. Bottoms up!’ Josh Levay Pointy Birds keyboardist
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