Red bricks guard the country pubs

So do us poor stay poor, as the rich get filthy?

With us spending our days

Lying under blankets

The security of youth

Fades and leaves you with a truth

Things always lean this way

But Thursday, ill be coming home

To shout out from the chimney tops

The red bricks guard the country pubs

Of some pocket pinching nobodies that dwell inside

Who’s got the plan can you speak up?

Who’s got a plan can you speak up?

Please tell me who holds these magic cheques?

Mr banker will you calm us in our beds?

We are sick of sitting barefoot

Whilst bedlam lies amongst us

The cities streets are were pressure builds in most countries

But Thursday, ill be coming home

To shout out from the chimney tops

The red bricks guard the country pubs

Of some pocket pinching nobodies that live a lie

Who’s got the plan can you speak up?

Because I don’t hear no words

Who’s got a plan can you speak up?

Just a little louder

I’ve had some plans but they’re sealed shut

I raised my fist

Asked some questions

Moaned for days

Then had a tantrum

If you want to be king you will find no way

Sick of acting like the one who always got short-changed

But on Thursday,

Ill be coming home, to reside in, my family abode

conductors conduct themselves in peculiar ways.

You were supposed to be on the 1.20!?

Brighton trains to London were cancelled.... Yeah, stamp my ticket you weedy power trip pussy cat, let me read my book in peace, the book that tires your eyes but works the mind, I didnt board this train to join a herd of sheep, I joined it to scream out of its windows and absorb the beauty of observation amid the sticky humid oxygen stricken chewing gum covered interior of this tin tub on steel lines. I have to halt myself from quoting Page 181 verse 11 to the onlooking passengers. . "a man offers to sell me a six pack of whoop-ass and a bottle of I know you can. I ask him how much? he says, you aint got enough motherfucker, but i bet you can afford some of that lonely shit"

I calm myself then grab my pen, scrawling this memo, I felt a little happy knowing... There isnt an app for that, there aint an app for that.

TRINCK!!

We should always be drunk. That is be-all and end-all, the only choice there is. To no longer feel the horrible burden of time, which racks your shoulders and bows you downwards to the earth, you must make yourself ceaselessly drunk.

But drunk on what? wine, poetry, virtue - whichever you prefer;

only get drunk.

And if from time to time, whether on a palace stair or in the green grass of a ditch, or in the gloomy loneliness of your room, you waken with your drunkenness wearing off or already gone, then ask the wind and the waves, the stars or the birds or the clock, whatever is fleeting, whatever moans or spins or sings or speaks, ask them what time of day it is; then wind and wave and star and bird and clock will answer you: 'it is time to get drunk! so as never to be the martyred slaves of time, get drunk without respite, with wine or poetry or virtue, whichever you prefer.' Charles Baudelaire [1864]

The Man, the myth, the one man blues powerhouse!!

http://www.myspace.com/johncramptonmusic

Musicians that never "made it" in the sense of being famous enough to fund their kids to buy them a two inch, bag compartment dwelling fashion dog and crystalized iphone covers, or get spotted leaving a dingy, back street brothel struggling to high heavens to find their way home after snorting copious amounts of who knows what, off the body of whoever, may be forgiven for portraying the illusion that such musicians have decided to just sit at home, or hang around bars telling tales about a time when things were different, and kids don't understand music these days and bla bla bla cough and a splutter, listen to this me old mukka. Well...... John Crampton is a very different breed of a man. If indeed he is human? a man that doesn't crave spotlight, nor gaze into the eyes of onlookers and bask in his glorious skills, or wait around to receive praise and mindless chit chat. No no no, this man is an unforgiving guitar shredding, foot stomping, hand clapping, deep voice singing warrior. The energy when he is beating down upon that steel guitar leaves one to think he pours red bull over his breakfast cereal. Whilst i would like to draw mass attention to the high energy of this blues guitar player I also have to put my foot on the brakes... because his songs really do sing to you, to the heart, to that button that says, its great to smile, everything will be just fine, times might be hard, but they have been hard before and will be for some time in the future, tonight is about purity, tonight is about tequila blues, tonight is about realizing that somebody is flying the flag for honest, hard working music that we all relate to, bourbon scotch, gin vodka, when you see this guy, he will have his hold on ya. Those that have witnessed the skills need no further explanation. Those that haven't !! you have some homework to do. . . .

Personal favourites:

Micklepage Stomp

Tequila blues

people make people better people

magicians continued....

Performers & The mesmerist......

My previous blog featured both Pianists that occupy their time from monday to friday playing vintage piano sets at The Mesmerist. Both vary in style, in character, personality and in terms of what they want to achieve with themselves. It is the start of a collection of images comprising all the performers and musicians that have graced The Mesmerist in Brighton, left their stamp on the venue, and even had people muttering the words 'I was there to see that'. It is with my unique film approach I have attempted to deliver a unique set of images. using both black and white film and color positive. Without repeating myself too much in use of the word unique, I will simply say that the events and people In all the portraits on this blog I have been fortunate to photograph, have this quality in abundance and it is within the surrounds of a place that embodies this notion that they were aptly photographed in action. Every Tuesday sees a group of up and coming magicians some of which hail from the only magic shop I currently know of in Brighton. I needn't tell people how good these guys are but simply urge forth a visit with an open mind and a keen set of eyes.

looking deeper inside....

Tom Arthur
Jacapo Gambini Rossano
Red-Air
Jacapo Gambini Rossano

snap, can I see it? I think I was blinking!! or at least if I wasn't it certainly won't be my best photograph!! sound familiar? every digital snappers nightmare, whether your spotting a moment in the street, at a birthday party, or a friend. Everybody seems to have the modern view that an image that eliminates imperfections is a perfect depiction of themselves, or seen as the most beautiful they can look, how they want to be seen, their face toward the world, the rough exterior they present to onlookers at moments they feel watched, scrutinized, thrown into the judgement system of society.

The choice of going back to film photography is not something new, but it does renew a sense that from the moment you click the shutter, there are elements of wonder, of chance, a taste that you may of captured the true depiction of somebody, their eyes, the gesture they use, without pretense, in its upmost organic form, an image people can refer to with honesty to say, i remember that, it was natural, at the time i thought i looked fat, never really saw in my eyes what i felt within my mind. an image that stands the test of time. Over these months I have photographed friends, musicians, performers, musicians and work colleagues.

Waiting for a rescue boat.

What is immediately apparent when using the the Goldy Objectif is that it is unique. How many graduates, salesman, marketing executives invest so much time into seeking what is unique? in an era where images haunt your every movement we all seek something that can stand the test of time, in that sense. Be timeless. Be forever, be seen, remember a singular moment, as oppose to a series of movements we congratulate ourselves on by purely turning on the laptop. As has happened before, one may not have to browse through 300 hundred digital images to best taste a special moment, do they?

Exile?

Its been a few months since my last blog... life moves so quickly, what was on everybody's radar back then is probably fish and chip paper as a wise northerner once told me. For me its been a time of transition and constant striving as oppose to laziness and nights of takeaways and t.v.

So................

For people who read this, you may of browsed the blog and wondered if creativity had left my side. That it truly hasn't. I sold my Digital camera to a chap I know will do it justice. Instead I have been shooting Medium format film and have no intention stopping with a rejuvenated love for the slightly dated methods of film and processing. It started when I finally loaded film into an old Gold Objectif pinhole camera. A camera where you play a game of chance with the results as its impossible to meter or focus, a camera that dates back to the 1930's.

Cafe Rouge Demo

I spent recent sunny days either practicing, recording, or mastering a collection of recent recordings me and my dear friend and musical compatriot Jacopo have written over the last five months. This song in particular carries a certain sound I have previously never been able to capture, one that tries to represent the thoughts i had when i wrote the words previously blogged about. I made a video to accompany this song, it comprises of images taken in the late 1800's in and around Paris. These were taken by a man named Eugene Atget. Many speculations are made as to his reasons for persistently documenting the early streets of Paris because he never lived to see the fruits of his images and how important they have become. It was said that he photographed everyday and did so very obsessively, it is due to this indescribable drive that we can see such marvelous photography of a time we otherwise couldn't bless our eyes with. It should further demonstrate and inspire those that fail with artistic convictions because of no obvious marketable destination.

"PITCH" -Cafe Rouge-[demo]

Manchester United Away strip 95/96

Manchester United

95/96 Away Shirt

The Dell

13^th April 96

Le Tissier v Cantona

By halftime United were 3-0 down at Southampton. Unprecedented.

The get ups.

Well if the saints stole their stripes from stoke, the devils nicked their kit from the interior trim of a 90’s Astra.

United were relieved to get in the dressing up room at halftime. The players claimed the grey kit was to blame for their dismal display because at a glance it made teammates a blur that blended into the crowd. Ferguson demanded they change the kit and they came out the tunnel in a blue and white striped number.

In the second half Giggs scored a conciliation but the game finished 3 – 1.

United’s record in this kit was as follows

Lost 4

Drew 1

After the game the grey was forever never worn again. They proceeded to win every remaining fixture and clinched the title on the last game of the season. United won the double, Southampton finished 1 place above the trap door.

Standing in the doorway of the rouge.

Over a period of maybe 13 years I have packed plastic bags full of journals that have poems memories, melody-less lyrics and some at times uneducated and bold statements on life and growing up. Throughout this time many of these writings have been proudly made into songs and over that period song-writing lets call it. the "recipe" has often taken different forms. The melody of the lyrics written can sometimes be the catalyst, even if its only one line that sums up the start of the idea, or the one word that has that hook you want to water and feed so it grows into something that hypnotizes the ear. Though lots of methods many songs have come around from sitting down half cut listening to somebody waltzing through guitar riff's or splashing their hands on the piano. As somebody who aspires to try and write something true but on a totally personal and unknown to many people basis I always had the idea that successful multi international selling artists had a special recipe of writing a song, that is different to mine. It hasn't taken all this time to realize that most people approach things in exactly the same way. What i learnt most from watching the recording's of THE ROLLING STONES during their writing of "Sympathy for the devil" was that genius doesn't lie within time frames. Mick Jagger approached the band with half of the lyrics but no settled melody, he constantly toyed with the lyrics. Trying to find the correct balance between music and voice, dynamic and structure. The finished song was stripped down to be very minimal. The guitars are a very small piece of the song, with so many musicians, its that trust in the song and not the importance of the individual that makes that one of their biggest songs.

Mick Jagger's seed for the idea. I know not of where that came, its sometimes interesting to here from a lyricist, which, on completely different scales of course we both are. Writing has to be impulsive, its not up for discussion or reason, its something you can hear in your head, its a dash for the nearest pen and paper, a matchbox a tissue, anything to get these words down, the tragedy that these things ring so true, and as a lyricist in the modern age, may never be heard nor written.

This impulse happened to me a couple of weeks ago whilst on a lonely day shift at work. Work is, for most people who have a love of thoughts and writing a great source of ideas because unless your locked in a dark room its a place to observe people, and writing has always been about powers of observation, painting a picture for people to envisage. Whilst stood at the bar I had noticed the re-occurrence of a girl appearing outside and across the street, she had appeared at a glance many a time around the same hour, she had a head full of curls that covered a lot of her face, and the smoke from her cigarette further masked her disguise, I cannot tell if the aimlessness of her task in smoking allowed her to peer into the direction i was standing or not. After the cigarette was gone she vanished and I began to hear in my head a sound that represented the feeling I get from looking at an old photograph by Eugene Atget. One of the noisy Paris streets that somehow appear so romantic. From that I dashed for a writers savour... {Till Roll} I wrote as fast as possible, Its now a song, its currently being recorded, here are the words.

Standing in the doorway of the Rouge.

I avert my gaze as she comes into view.

I wonder if it pleased her

To know how much she pleased me

Standing in the doorway

I glance at this till

But feel eyes on me

I see curly hair through

A smokey disguise

She’s standing in the doorway of the Rouge

I wonder if it pleased her

To know how she teased me

Parading her beauty

The truth is that I’m really just a fool

Don’t’ think my words directly bother you because

Ill find some other

Then cause her some trouble

So you get on your merry little way

Standing in the doorway of the Rouge.

I avert my gaze as she comes into view.

I wonder if it pleased her

To know how much she pleased me

Standing in the doorway

Would we dance for hours?

Trampling roses on the pavement

Catch some sunshine on our knobbly knees

Just do whatever it takes

To make us feel free

Leaves in the winter [Demo]

Monday was spent recording this song in my kitchen with a dodgy set of leads stemming from my laptop to guitar pedals and balancing my laptop on top of a bongo drum for the vocal track. Granted it could be better... but it didnt take five years its just a taste of things to come. Thus far me and my band-mate Jacopo Gambini Rossano have been writing music acoustically for about 6 months with a view to produce a collection of songs we can then use to form a band and take over the world *jokes.

I do not have the brain power to understand how to upload simply an mp3. So its a video format. I suppose a fringe benefit would be you can do several other things whilst listening to the track. I recommend moisturizing.

Nostalgia rises up from the locket on a necklace

Funny i guess, that we as people seem to consume everything so quickly that we often never truly enjoy things for what they are without comparing it to something better. Everything seemingly a competition. His girlfriend is prettier than mine, his car is faster, he is wittier than me.......

Its hard to see a way out of such a catch 22. Without these feelings, we would never strive to be anything better than the very least we can be, no ambition, not living, just surviving. On the other hand the dilemma lies within a feeling of discontent, as we evolve as people we are not looking forward, but often ruing what has happened and could of been made better. It occurred to me during a return to my northern roots of Shaw and Crompton over the festive december period that the beauty of both awkwardly impossible scenarios is, that it spawns another rare and proud. That of nostalgia.

Many of the residents in any one area will talk of discontent within their surroundings, with very few of them actually taking advantage of some of the worthwhile beauties on offer. I have been, and probably always will, try very hard not to be one of these people.

Oceans are romantic, we are littered with idealism's which draw connotations toward living by the sea, on the beach, in tropical climates, in clean living, in prosperity. However, as i walked the hills that over-looked the industrial towns of Lancashire, I couldn't help but feel a sense of naivety for not appreciating the beauty of towns that i have had so many great experiences in. A place were industry once thrived and stabilized the community, brought it together, gave people a reason to be proud, to have an outlet, to become common folk who appreciate the simple pleasures in life. Stereotypes can be something one tries to shake off with great shame that it may mean those stereotypes reveal who you are as a person, and thus remove anything unique or mysterious about them. But I realized during this particular visit that nobody can ever change where they came from, and the effect that place has on your views, personality and imperfections. After all its what makes us what we are.

My grandmother is 77, she is fearless, and has recently got a tattoo.