George Patterson

Singer: The Roaring Forties, father of two and soon to be husband. send him money please, and fight the system that treats you all so meanly

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George Patterson THE BIG BAND RADIO SHOWS NOW ON LINE

After many requests, George Patterson and Anth Kaleys hit radio show The Big Band Theory is now on line to listen too, every sunday at 11 o’clock sit down with a cup of tea and have a laugh with these two, great music, great banter. tune in
http://www.mixcloud.com/theroaringforties/

WATCH THE VEGAS BOYS..

WATCH THE VEGAS BOYS.

The Vegas Boys by The Roaring Forties http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0BRc-P1zf7Q

The Roaring Forties

Voted Best swing wedding Band three consecutive years running by Southern Brides, The Roaring Forties are available for weddings, the problem is, they only play swing, how is this solved, how can they give people the excellence of the band and other songs to fulfil the needs of all guests at a wedding without starting a new band,?? wait a minute, that is exactly what to do, so they have, “The Vegas Boys” is the name, with added 60’s, 70’s 80’s 90’s and noughts songs, coupled with taking the break away and doing the siege of ennis, the formula is now completely correct, well, as good as it can get at the moment. So, there you have it, a great wedding band from the bones of The Roaring Forties.
https://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Vegas-Boys-Wedding-Band
http://thevegasboys.blogspot.ie

Available on line or from gigs, this album is great.
REVIEW OF THE ROARING FORTIES NEW ALBUM: HOT PRESS
There Ain’t Nobody Here But us Chickens

NUNMBER 6 IN THE IRISH ALBUM CHARTS

BY COLM O’HARE

HI OCTANE CORK SWING – JAZZ
“It don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got that swing” This lot certainly have that swing, in spades, Inspired by the jump / swing era of the 40s (Louis Prima, Louis Jordan etc) and updated to a sound more reminiscent of a style popularised in the early 80s by Joe Jackson and his Jump’n Jive Album, The Roaring Forties blaze through a set of Jazz standards and a couple of originals with equal parts technical chops and sheer joyous enthusiasm.

Vocalist George Patterson leads the band through lively and superbly performed versions of familiar numbers such as ‘under my skin’, ‘That old black Magic’ , ‘Lady is a tramp’, Route 66 and the Gorgeous Ray Charles ballad ‘You don’t know me’.

The playing and arrangements are impeccable,
tenth anniversary celebration of a terrific outfit.

SWING TODAY AND WHY BY GEORGE PATTERSON

 

This generation is marked by parental divorce, skyrocketing incarceration, and a generally bleak view of the future. The reflected anger in Gangsta Rap, Metal, heartbroken Alternative, and other aggressive or bitter popular music today makes perfect sense, but how in the world did Swing, of all things, suddenly become mainstream? Surely clarinet and a drum kit with only four heads can’t appeal to an audience who has grown up with Hendrix-style guitar and electronics governing nearly every instrument in a popular band. And though Swing has been dramatically changed to fit modern tastes, the old-fashionedness of it all still exists.

Does Generation X have anything in common with those who lived in the Swing era? Howe and Strauss maintain that they do; they argue, in fact, that this 13th generation in many ways mirrors the “Lost” generation born between 1883 and 1900. “On one side,” they write, “take the young Lost Generation…and line up all their barnstormers, jazzmen, admen, newsies, and rumrunners. On the other, take the 13th Generation…and line up their cyberpunks, rappers, Wall Streeters, telemarketers, and inner-city gangsters. Compare the two. What you’ll find are enough parallels to persuade you that 13ers aren’t alone—and that others have gone down a similar life-cycle path before them.”

This “Lost” Generation was born too early to be the youths that embraced Swing from 1935-1945, but certainly set the stage, as they were the ones who most likely produced and enjoyed early jazz up until the late ’20s. It’s important to remember that the early Jazz which influences today’s Squirrel Nut Zippers was no less revolutionary than Swing: as Stowe writes, Swing had its critics, “though not generating as much moral opprobrium as 1920s Jazz had” because of the ultra-moral ’20s climate and the radical break from musical tradition that Jazz embodied. If today’s Generation X truly does sense some sort of connection with their parallel “trouble generation” from the turn of the century, it’s no surprise that the influence of early Hot bands is so prominent in today’s definition of popular Swing.

Yet the question remains, why Swing? Generational comparison can only go so far, and in this case an attempt to liken 13ers to the Jitterbuggers of the Swing era misses the mark by being a little bit too early. Isn’t there something to tie the Retro movement to Swing other than a familiar and snappy name?

A brief passage from Howe and Strauss opens the door wide for speculation. While discussing the relationships between 13ers and the “G.I.” Generation (the authors’ term for the Swing Generation that fought World War II), they write that “13ers look upon G.I. seniors as builders of big things that worked well in their heyday, as natural optimists comfortable with progress, as corny parental figures who gave to their own (Boomer) children the kind of Happy Days ’50s experience 13ers often wish they had received.”

If we take a moment to see the world through the eyes of a 13er, the attractive nature of Swing makes sudden sense. Howe and Strauss’ portrait of the 13er world is oppressive and complicated, and, because they come from the first widespread generation of latchkey kids and children of divorced parents, it stands to reason that today’s young people might long for a simpler era. And in a retrospective look at American culture, one of the simplest-seeming is the Swing Era. Nostalgia for old music is the only way anyone could listen to Swing (which, as far as being a form of Jazz is concerned, is basically obsolete and dead), but with the 13ers fueling the Retro Swing movement, it’s possibly something more than that: it’s grasping for an easier time, when decisions were black and white, one’s life direction was easy to plan, and the music embodied a fun that was purer than anything today.

Of course, the Swing Era (especially the War Years) was not much simpler than today, more likely not at all. But the fact of the matter is that 13ers didn’t live then, and rely on secondary information (namely grandparent’s stories, films, and the era’s music) to create their impressions of the late ’30s and early ’40s. To understand the popularity of modern Swing, an analysis of the Swing Era’s current image among those who listen to its music is invaluable.

Simplicity in Swing Music

Homecoming: the only scenario that Swing’s Wartime artists portrayed.
After attaining such a prominent place in American culture, it was inevitable that Swing would both be musically influenced by the shadow of war that hung over the era, and it was especially sensitive to soldiers and to the families that they left behind. Out of respect for the difficulties which those involved in World War II were experiencing, Sweet and sentimental Swing songs became even more prevalent.

The soldier always returns in Swing lyrics. Consider the wistful sentiments of vocalist Helen Forrest, singing with Harry James’ band on “That Soldier of Mine”: she’s naturally sad to be alone, but is significantly proud of her far-away love. Later in the song, she proclaims the unifying scenario of sentimental War Swing: “I know he’ll come back.” Separation was just as hard for the soldier himself, but, according to Frank Sinatra and Tommy Dorsey on “Just As Though You Were Here”, the distance that tore wartime families apart can only strengthen the love the man feels for the one he left behind. The devotion of men and women in love is incredible in these works, especially to a 13er who almost certainly has experienced or knows someone who has experienced the breakup of parents, and wishes that this kind of love still existed.

Other wartime influences on Swing created an image of the conflict that made service in the army seem simply not so bad. Goodman’s “Bugle Call Rag”, while a pre-War work, still creates, for a modern audience that doesn’t know the song’s date, the abstract impression of a setting where being in the military has its rules and bugle-call lineups in the morning, but still has plenty of room for the fun that was Swing. A song with lyrics, such as the Andrews Sisters’ “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy”, confirms such an impression outright through its lyrics: the captain obligingly drafts a full band to play with the enlisted bugler in the army, a move that makes everyone happy.

What these songs don’t mention, and 13ers overlook when listening to such songs and marveling at the simplicity of it all, is that World War II, like any war, was a horrible experience that few people would have gone through, given the choice. Not all war music is deceptively uncomplicated in this manner, for most of the songs from the Civil War are melancholy and depressing to say the least: in “Johnny Has Gone for a Soldier”, for instance, there’s little chance of Johnny ever returning home, and his sweetheart knows this. And even though it wouldn’t have done anyone any good to write Swing charts about life in the trenches or the wistful feeling one gets when his foxhole buddy is shot dead, wartime Swing recordings don’t portray the conflict as it actually was to modern audiences: in music, fighting was the right thing to do, not such an unpleasant thing to do at that, and something that one was certain to return home from.

The “Swing Kids” Phenomenon

As I have already mentioned in the soundtrack analysis, “Swing Kids”, with its authentic soundtrack, carefully choreographed dancing styles, and historical information solemnly posted before the film’s opening and closing credits, seeks to tell a story which might well have occured: the plight of German youth who listened to Swing music despite strict Nazi regulations forbidding the “nigger-kike music.” While the film doesn’t claim to tell a documented true sotry, it does intend to re-create an atmosphere that actually existed and a situation that must have inevitably developed.

The protagonist, Peter, spends all his free time in 1939 Hamburg happily jitterbugging at the Swing dance hall with his friends by night, practicing his use of American slang, and symbolically urinating on Hitler propaganda posters. Peter and his friends are also under enormous pressure to join the HJ (the compulsory Hitler Youth organization) and contribute to the Nazi cause, but nothing could be more odious to this group of kids: when one of their old Dance Hall buddies named Emile (whom they had always considered the “Original Hepcat”)is spotted wearing a brand-new Nazi uniform, one of them sneers that “No one who likes Swing can become a Nazi,” and later, “A Hepcat can’t be broken.”

After stealing a Nazi-confiscated radio, however, Peter and his friend Thomas are forced to join the HJ and construct an elaborate facade: HJs by day, Swing Kids by night. Another Swing Kid named Arvard, who is too crippled to join the HJ, however, berates them for selling out. “It’s almost like being a Swing Kid,” he angrily mutters, noting their matching uniforms in place of their three-piece suits.

The clear distinctions between good and 
evil in “Swing Kids.”
Of course, the facade cannot last: the Nazi propaganda machine finally sweeps up Thomas, who begins taking the HJ more and more seriously until he turns in his own father as an enemy of the government. He becomes annoyed with Arvard’s anti-Hitler attitude, finally asking Peter, “see what that music’s done to Arvard?”, referring to the Swing that’s led him astray. Arvard, dismayed to see his friends becoming Nazis before his very eyes, cuts his wrists with a broken record and dies, rather than remain in a fascist world. Shortly thereafter, when Thomas nearly threatens to turn Peter in for subversive behavior, Peter responds with an ultimatum: “If you side with the Nazis, we’re at war! You and me!”

The once-close friends are destined to have one last meeting, however: that night Peter dons all of his Hepcat clothing and goes out for one last night of Swing. As the band plays a stirring version of “Bei Meir Bist Du Schoen”, Peter finds his freedom once more, dancing furiously by himself. But inevitably, Thomas and the HJ invade the club, beat up the band, and throw the Swing Kids into labor camp trucks. After icily saying to Thomas, “it doesn’t matter…I know who my friends are,” and singing at the top of his lungs as they pull away, Peter resigns himself to his fate, even as Thomas realizes the folly of his choice, calling out “Swing Heil!” to his friend one last time. But it’s too late.

“Swing Kids” is a manipulative film to say the least, and it’s easy to see how a 13er could get wrapped up in it. On one hand, there is the utter goodness and redeeming force of Swing: the looks of joy on the dancers’ faces are enough to indicate that Swing is the ultimate happiness in the lives of German youth. On the other hand are the Nazis, the purest villains of the twentieth century. Swing and fascism are polarized throughout the entire film: as Arvard says, “no one who likes Swing can become a Nazi,” and the moment Thomas takes a serious step towards Nazism is the moment that he ceases to be a Hepcat.

The film is guilty of an oversimplification of pre-War Germany, where joining the Nazi party wasn’t exactly a black-and-white issue. In the film, either you do or you don’t, and if you do, you’re evil; a real German youth in 1939, however, would have had much more to think about. It is easy for a viewer today to watch “Swing Kids” and proclaim that he or she would have undoubtedly followed Swing and never sold out to the Nazis, but in reality no one can be so certain. Ironically, a Gestapo agent in the film sums up the faults of “Swing Kids” when referring to Peter’s sarcastic and exaggerated obedience to Nazi laws, refusing to touch any of his dinner which came from another country: “How I envy the youth…with them everything is so clear: one way or the other.” The statement applies to the youth of the film as well as the youth of today who embrace it.

A Final Note

A final question remains to be asked: Swing disappeared once; does its modern resurgence indicate that it has become a “classic” in American culture and will remain with us just as major works of symphonic music have, or will it exit with the generation that needs the simple happiness they see in it? It’s an unanswerable question, but, no matter what happens, “Swing” will always mean something to everybody. Swing musicians themselves couldn’t define it; Louis Armstrong vaguely refered to Swing as “my idea of how a tune should go.” Swing bands may evolve into new and different entities, and Swing’s centennial celebration in 2035 may feature music nothing like what Goodman and Ellington performed, but one thing is certain: as far as Swing is concerned, Americans know, and probably always will know, that it don’t mean a thing without it.

 
 

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After noon shows are the way to go,

not up late, time to go home

not hanging about in that drunken orgy

that late night revelers cannot escape

THE ROARING FORTIES …….. PROBABLY THE BEST FORTIES IN THE WORLD

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I was born on the 16th of June 1960 at 6 O’clock in the morning, that’s 16/6/60, that’s three sixes, that’s the sign of the Devil.  I include the time six am to help placate myself and to prevent frightening religious sorts, that’s 4 sixes, the sign of nothing, just a coincidence, a bit like me, and a bit like my life actually, a set of coincidences, you will know what I mean later. It has come to my attention recently that three sixes is actually not the sign of the devil at all, it is in fact 616. This is much to a small town in Russia’s dismay after changing one of its major roads name from 666 because it was a very unlucky road, why it was unlucky I don’t know, perhaps it was the road equivalent to clumsy, but it definitely was unlucky because they changed its name to, would you believe it, 616, and on top of that the name was changed around about the time the discovery of the devils true mathematical alias was made, now that’s a coincidence for you and also very unlucky. Can you imagine how expensive and time consuming it is to change every map in the country to facilitate the change of a road name and then to change it to an equally inconvenient name. Some one probably got sacked for that, maybe it was he or she was the unlucky one and hopefully now the road is happy and living a normal unhindered life. I was born in Saint Georges Hospital in Ilford Essex, that makes me an Essex boy, and for some reason I’m proud of that.

Anyway, I digress, second Youngest in a family of 5 my mother was a housewife, no formal training, met my dad at 17 and got straight down to having kids.  My father was an Industrial consultant, His grandfather (he was raised by his grandfather) invented the machine for putting the tops on coca cola bottles, that’s pretty cool, he was an inventor, he made little money for that. George Ewing Patterson, (my namesake) born in Ireland, somewhere on the Shankill road, family of 7. He was the 3rd oldest out of 5 children, all boys, him or his family were never concerned about the troubles (they were Methodist so would be protestant), it was of no importance to them, they just wanted to live their lives and that’s why most of them moved to England, Uncle Jimmy on the other hand, moved to Canada, worked for Marlboro Cigarette company, a really good job.  But he fell to the evils of drink and became an alcoholic, going off on benders all the time and being a terrible worry to his family, I met him once, he was very nice, he came over to England, he is the second oldest and Ironically the only one still alive, pickled and preserved I would assume. The ones that moved to the UK stayed; later on in 1980 one of Dads nephews (Uncle Billy’s son, my cousin) was shot dead in Belfast by the I.R.A (Irish Republican Army) for being in the RUC (Royal Ulster Constabulary) the funeral was on the television, I did not go. Dad (born 1926) was the first to move to the UK, in about 1945, joined the army engineers corps, met my mum at a bus stop in Ilford while he was out with a mutual friend, mum was with her sisters, he married her the same year, was demobbed (compassionate) just as his unit was about to go overseas because mum was ill and pregnant. My mothers obsessive worrying would make her very ill. and he got a job in King Georges hospital, Ilford as an engineer. They moved in with her mum and started life together for 22 years. He got a good job at fords of Dagenham where he did very well, he left there to become a engineering consultant, a time and motion man, In 1961 he set up and started Lee jeans in Galway, they wanted him to stay and be managing director but he didn’t want to, he liked the diversity of different projects, he went then to shell and helped them with their manufacturing plants and designed more efficient petrol pumping systems for them. Clever bloke my dad, or who I thought was my dad. He helped design double-glazing that fitted over existing windows and, him and mum settled down, bought there own house, had 2 children, Laurence (my brother) Lorrainne (my sister, spelt with two R’s and two N’s, not sure if it was intentional or a spelling mistake). 8 years after the birth of my brother and 12 years after the birth of my sister I came along, my mum, brother and myself are all born in June, a common birthdate for children of the 60s for some reason, although I don’t want the images these few sentences will place in my minds eye, and yours too if your reading this, but it means we were all conceived (oh god there they are). I remember catching my parents having sex once, its one of those things that stays with you for ever, awful.  We were all conceived In September, why September?  You may say why not, its ok if your planning a summer baby I suppose but I was actually a mistake and that makes me think my mum and brother were also mistakes, A planned for summer mistake baby maybe. It is most likely that the nights start drawing in around about September and there was not a lot else to do and there was a slip up.  There was another baby after me but mum was taken to hospital and nothing else was ever mentioned about it, I was five at the time, it was Christmas and mum was taken out of the house at 4 in the morning on a stretcher with a bad tummy (I say tummy to emphasise that is my greatest memory of that occasion, “mummies tummy is not well”). I don’t know how far gone she was, in those days if a baby died before birth then it was not so devastating as it seems to be for people nower days, every one was a lot harder in those days, war and death, TB and various anonymous diseases killed people, the man across the road had gangrene, but it was always spreading for some reason and every few months he had a bit more of his body removed, that was weird, he would be dead now I assume, or just a head. Life, although still precious, did not seem as precious as now. Any way I was the last child, mum: family of 9 brought up during the war, was evacuated but escaped back to London, Goodmays and stayed with her Parents, she remembers watching dog fights in the sky and the sound of the doodlebugs, planes that were unmanned and only had enough fuel to reach London or where ever the target was, mum would hear them run out of fuel and then wait for an explosion and hope it wasn’t her house that got it.  Grandad was a cabinet maker, lovely old man, he fought in the first world war, he was in the Artillery, he was on the front horse and controlled the six or eight other horses attached behind him that pulled the cannons across the countryside, I remember Grandad as being the bravest person in the whole family, uncle Tommy second, trench warfare, wow. He died when I was about four he was 74, smoked a lot, I remember he stayed with us once but seemed a bit senile and slept in my bed and all night just reliving the war and narrating it. Nan (May East) looked a bit like Winston Churchill, lived until she was 96, had bad knees and was in a wheel chair for the last 30 years of her life “come ere lully boy an give yer ole nan a kiss” . The last few years she lost weight and started walking again, I always thought that was sad, she as wheelchair bound when she needn’t.

The first six months of a child’s life in the 60s was pretty much spent in a pram (well mine was) outside the front or back of the house, sleeping up and preparing for the crap that was to come. we had a front garden so it wasn’t like I was on the street.  It was claimed by the medical profession that a baby does not gain actual consciousness until after the first six months of his or her life, I found out two weeks ago that a catholic baby has to be 25 weeks in the womb before he or she can be baptized, its not considered alive until then and cannot be buried in a church, but abortion is not sanctioned before then, I know that’s a very contentious issue but still strange. 25 weeks is also the limit time scale for abortion to be carried out.

I always remember Ben Elton saying he used to stand outside the Catholic Church on Sundays with his lad out in his hand and when the mass had finished and every one was walking out he would start wanking and shout give me money or I’ll kill the lot of them. That would be my kind of humour, illegal but very funny.

Life, I like conspiracy theories, I know for sure the Americans blew up the two towers in order to invade an innocent country for oil and to rouse the people to back them, I know that it’s the central banks that run the world spurred on by greed and that the American war of independence was rallied by American bankers to prevent sterling being used. America, did you know that at any given time in the world 1 percent of America is in Jail and that only 30 percent of Americans have passports. I also think that religion was invented to keep the population at bay, that’s pretty much it isn’t it. Don’t knock it though, it does actually do that. I remember the Jehovah witnesses calling one morning to a flat I shared in Haverhill, Suffolk, they said to me can you tell us what god has done for you today, I said “well at the moment he’s stopping me having a shit and a shave. Meanwhile my flat mates were in the living room shouting throw your crutches away Samuel and step out from behind the curtain son, in a deep south Mississippi accent, it truly did sound like we had an evangelist church going on in the front room, The Jehovah’s left, not happy, we were young, we learnt eventually to be careful because people blow themselves up in your presence because of things like that.

Catholics. All I really have to say about religion is: Once some one said to me  “if you don’t believe in God then leave him alone”. Prior to that I would spend ages trying to convert people from being religious to being neutral, I am neutral, I do not know if God exists or not, I reckon it’s a good idea to try to believe, belief is a great thing to possess in your life, it is the prelim to willpower and does seem to help a lot of people get through life, but religion is one of if not the only cause of war in all of history, but then is war bad, I don’t want to go to war but then again I would happily die to save my loved ones so who knows. We are a warring species. We are a brave species, I read recently that during the last cold snap, (December 2010) in England London that a man fell of the platform of a station and knocked himself out on the railway line, a train was coming, instinctively people started to panic and call for the train to be stopped with little effect, then, one man jumped onto the tracks and pull the other person out of harms way, with one second to spare. I don’t think I will ever forget that and would love to think I would be that man, how fast was that train going how much of a risk did he take, what was his calculation and I am so glad a train was not coming the other way too. A brave man, so much he deserves a mention by me in this book. Peter hargreeves 34. Well-done Peter.

When we are in a dangerous situation you will find that time seems to slowdown, it all goes into slow motion, the reason for this is that our bodies actually help us by giving the effect of slowing time down and how it does that is by increasing the frames per second that we see in, we normally see the equivalent of about 13 frames a second which is why a wheel seems to rotate backwards at a certain speed, its going too fast for us to see in its real time, but when we are in danger our mind triggers 30 frames a second so that we can see a lot more of what is going on and that gives us more time to save ourselves. Interesting.

Mum and Dads house before I was born was a stop gap half way house for Dads brothers when they came over to settle in England, uncle Tommy, uncle Billy and then Uncle Wesley, the youngest, he came over about two years before I was born, mum looked after them all like the dutiful wife, I came along, big gap between the last one, Laurence, 8 years.  When I was born Uncle Wesley was still living with us, he was lovely to me and used to take me out and buy me things and take me to the parks and shopping in toy shops, huge stores with many and varied toys and games, radio controlled planes and matchbox cars and dinky cars and rockets that you catapulted into the sky and steam engines, all well made all in lovely boxes, well presented, built to last, I had a bazooka once with white bombs that were fired by a huge spring, A Johnny seven Gun with hand grenade launcher and a secret Sam case, that was a spy case with a camera that worked and was concealed inside the case with a button to operate it, I have included some photos of me with it, photo taken by my brother on Christmas Day 1965. Uncle Wesley worked evenings in bars and clubs as a flambé chef, they are the chefs that cook by the side of your table. He also worked in the Ritz in London Later when I was about one or two he bought a blue ford zephyr and got a flat near to where we lived. I loved that Zephyr, Dad had a green spitfire, British racing green, its also known as Naiper green as a Naiper won the Gordon Bennett cup in 1902,  the race was due to be held in G.B the following year but at the time, motorsport was banned(!) So was held in Ireland, early cars were more of an Irish flag shade of green in thanks of Ireland letting them race there. I would go and stay with uncle Wesley, I used to sleep in his arms, I remember on many occasions taking his cigarette out of his hand while he was asleep before it set fire to his vest, mum used to make lorrainne clean his house with her, lorrainne hated that, I used to play on the floor with cigarette cards of battleships that uncle Wesley had, mum has always been fanatical about a clean house, she washed every where all of the time, even above the doors, we were never allowed friends in because the house came first, I suppose she felt very privileged to own one in the early 60s so wanted to keep it new, it was a masonette, windows sticking out the side of the roof front and back, popular in those days.

My earliest memories in my life were from the age of two, my memory is crap now at 50, if I am standing on the stairs I cant remember whether I am going up or coming down, people’s names evade me. Just yesterday I was trying to remember this guys name who works with the band I play with, he engineers for us, and runs a disco.  Then it came to me. George, that was his name, I couldn’t believe it, I actually forgot some ones name that was the same name as my own that was a new low for me.

I laughed about it but it is a bit worrying. All the time I meet people, now sometimes there would be a chance that I would not know there names because they may just know me through my band but there are lots that I should know there names and they must go away thinking I am so ignorant, especially when I cant introduce the person I’m with to them because I cant remember their name.  I think generally you know when someone can’t remember your name, so please except my apologies in advance everyone, please feel comforted by the fact I am going through turmoil over it. It’s a shame our memories go, memories are what life is about. Some people would blame Drink, they say alcohol kills brain cells and sometimes you can wake up it the morning and know which ones are dead.  but actually what it does is stop the actual production of brain cells, that’s worse, that means when cells die as they naturally do then they are not replaced, ever.  That should be a deterrent but is it?  No of course not, I have a hangover right now, thank god for soluble aspirin! Anyway what was I saying, oh yes? It is May 1962, I am two years old and in Goodmayes hospital Ilford, children’s ward, I had to have my tonsils out and it required me to stay in over night, mum and dad have gone and I am by myself for the first time in my life.

Nurses were lovely, the other children were saying “hello Georgie” in sweet sycophantic little voices, I remember thinking Christ almighty, get these kids, they’re being so nice to me and holding my hand and walking me about, they were six or seven I was two, could hardly talk yet but could understand every word that was being said. That’s an amazing thing to remember I think, children understand a lot of language but cannot talk it back, or answer, taking into consideration what I was saying earlier about minimum attention or education for the first six months and then being able to understand a year and a half later, amazing, I wonder from what age children understand now, especially as they are more frequently being taught in the womb. I wonder if they will ever be able to stick a book and a light up there, the world taken over by babies, equal political rights, little suits on.  when will the first 2 year old be sworn in to run the US.  I hope it was all children that were left alone for six months in those days and not just me, that would be a real bummer if I found out that mum just wanted an easy life for a while and all other kids were being taught to read and going on holidays and baby schools, my mother always struck me as being a bit mental, I am told I am very much like her. As soon as the nurses all went they were bastards to me, pushing me over, swearing at me telling me to shut up and fuck off, the other kids, not the Nurses, kids can be wicked.  For all parents out there, don’t worry about that sort of thing, babies, two year olds, they don’t like being physically hurt that makes them cry but rejection and alienation isn’t a bother for them, I knew the other children in the hospital changed and I knew they were not nice but it meant very little to me if anything at all. It didn’t prevent me from continuing to try, as parents we inflict our own adult emotions on children, they don’t have adult emotions. Over night I was taken into the operating room and my barely used tonsils were removed. Tonsils, first line of defense, loosing mine so early meant that I had to build up a good immune system quick, I did, I wasn’t an ill baby, the home environment now has to be so clean, why? Because the cleaning product manufacturers tell us it has to be, we need to have an immune system but kids are enveloped in such a clinical world that the swelling gene never gets to kick in, so then one day when a stray bit of dust gets into your lungs, the swelling / inflammation gene suddenly kicks in because it doesn’t know what to do and low and behold we have asthma, that’s why there is so much of it, if we do not have dihorria three times before the age of three then our immune system cannot check itself and we leave our children open to all sorts of things, I suggest you let them use the fork they dropped on the floor or don’t fuss too much, I admit it is difficult to know what’s the best thing to do just use your common sense, also people, please go out and learn things, read a dictionary, look up words, read books, exercise that muscle you call a brain, stop being whitewashed by the news and television. Enjoy it for what it is but please know that it is all only for entertainment, even the news. When I got home that day there was a big plastic red fire engine and ambulance waiting for me, I remember I had to lie on the settee and just hold them; I wasn’t well enough to get down on the floor with them.  I got great toys when I was a kid, scalextric, but old one, bakelite cars, illegal nowadays, not the cars but the manufacturing process of bakelite produces to many toxic chemicals, brilliant material, your mum and dads door knobs were probably made of it, brown marble looking. I can’t believe I’m going on about Bakelite.

First day of school, Gilbert Colvin, Barking side, Essex, my mum took me there, it was raining and dark skies with thunder and lightening, lots of lightening, it was a brown day. I had shorts on, I didn’t get long trousers until I was 10, summer or winter, and not long knee length shorts, short shorts, almost hot pants if I remember correctly, I refer back to my previous statement, we were a lot harder in those days.

Gilbert Colvin was a grammar school: The original purpose of medieval grammar schools was the teaching of Latin. Over time the curriculum was broadened, first to include Ancient Greek, and later English and other European languages, as well as the natural sciences, mathematics, history, geography and other subjects. I was learning math’s at the age of 5, English literature and language, but this was all to be short lived for me, this was the start of my realisation that the third child has to fend for himself, and is basically let alone and allowed to juggle knives. In the 60s the mother (well my mother) would put her husbands welfare before anything, it suited mum and dad to stay in Ilford while Laurence and lorrainne were growing up. So 1965, September 3rd. School seams great, the rain had not stopped, it was lashing down. The doors to my classroom were opened by my teacher, they opened straight onto the infants playground, I remember so much about that place, I remember going around looking for things that had right angles, it really was a great school, one of the teachers was an old woman, if you got your spelling wrong she would pond on your back with her fists as if it were a drum, tat was weird and even at the age of 5 we realized that it was inhumane and wondered what good it did apart from defeat our respect of her and although I do not remember her name I remember that woman as a horrible old woman, and she looked like my nan. I would never want to be remembered as that, she must have been very unhappy, her husband probably beat her a lot. (the font just changed back, bloody technology) I used to avoid her classes, I t did make me make sure I new how to spell but that passes and I am rubbish at it again noow.

I’m sitting on a train in Stanstead airport, the plane was a day late, I am spending two days with my children but now that’s only one day because although the airline would replace the cancelled flight from yesterday it would not replace the return flight tomorrow, that’s annoying as the cost would be 254 euros. So I had to take a day late flight and now I am in the snow in a train that is stopped at faulty points for the last hour, I am getting a bit fed up as every minute spent here is a minute not with my children, I have been up all night checking the flights, they finally get me here and now I am on good old English rail waiting for what? A man to come all the way out and pour boiling water on the points.  Even when we do get going it’s a good half an hour away. One bit of snow and this hi tech world falls flat on its face, and on top of it my Mac is playing up. The skype font on my contacts just changed, as I was looking at it, trippy!

So, the school bell has rung and the doors are open and I am the first to walk out of the classroom There was a large brick raised garden that separated the infants from the juniors. Roses grew there, as I walk out of the infants to go through the juniors playground, something I had to do to get to the way out of the school grounds I remember seeing my cousin Richard, playing football, I figured him and his friends must play for the school team or something as he was still playing at home time. He waved at me and I waved back and went home. It was still pouring out of the sky, I was watching the lightening streak across the clouds, it really was a big storm. I crossed the main road by myself and finely got to the house, I had to climb the wall to get to the back garden as the back gate was bolted and being five I wasn’t allowed a front door key yet, in fact  I never ever got a front door key. I went in through the back door and looked for mum but couldn’t find her, I went to our bedroom, I shared a bedroom with Laurence, we had single beds and they were situated head to head, Green covers and blankets, no quilts yet, they were still only on the continent, that’s why they are called continental quilts.  When they first came out in England they were too small and didn’t cover enough of you and not being tucked in at the side made you feel unsafe, you could fall out of bed at any minute. So I walked in and mum was there, kneeling down by the side of laurences bed holding Uncle Wesley’s hand and softly stroking uncle wesleys hair who was in Laurences bed, so there you have it, 5 years old and I was completely aware of what was going on in the whole world, why would mum be doing that, the reason mum was doing that was because it was 11 o’clock in the morning and I should have been in school, but luckily or unluckily for me I had mistaken the play time bell for the home time bell, I wondered why there was no one to meet me at the gate when I came out, that was why. Mum rang the school and apologised for me coming home but also questioned as to how it would have happened, god knows what she thought about me catching her and uncle Wesley, She didn’t say a word, I can still see the image in my minds eye, so clearly. It’s all these things that make us who we are I suppose, me, I have been on one occasion only and at the beginning unfaithful to three of my girlfriends, one who was later my wife, she will be shocked if she reads this as she has never known. Mandy at a works party, a one off drunk thing just after we had first met, sorry Debbie, nothing else ever occurred in 18 years of us. It was agreed that I would go back to school again tomorrow. I was pretty independent even in those days, I would always be out, around friends houses, those friends could be any age, old age pensioners, friends my own age, 17 or 18 year old girls that I fancied, I would hold hands with them, they would think it was cute I would be happy, I had a fantasy before I went to sleep that I would save them from an attack by the Germans or who ever I chose it to be and would have to kiss them to help them get over their fear of the event, or take a bullit out of them, and then they would love me. is that normal, I don’t know, I doubt it, bit too late now, forty years later. I am sure a Psychiatrist would have something to say about it. I digress.

Second day at school. “George Patterson, where is George Patterson, there you are, now don’t ever do that again will you, theres a good boy, hold jennys hand and go to assembly”. We sang the okey kokee (I thought for years that it was the okedokey) Big line of kids going into assembly, lunch time dessert that day was strawberry custard on bananas. Thick skin on the custard, nice.

Suddenly and apparently for no reason we stopped seeing Uncle Wesley. I don’t remember drawing conclusions, I didn’t push that happening out of my head but I kept it quiet. I didn’t want mum and dad arguing. If they ever did and dad tried to make a hasty exit out the front door, he wasn’t a great confrontationalist (unless he was driving) mum was big enough to drag him away from the door and pin him down on the floor and sit on him, me, lorrainne and Laurence would sit at the top of the stairs watching and hoping one of them didn’t die. In fact I only remember that happening once, maybe that was all to do with uncle Wesley, dad , Wesley or what ever the fuck I should call him, its always a long answer when some one says oh what did your dad do, its not simple, I say “ well, my brother and sisters dad is a consultant, he was my dad for eighteen years until I worked out that his brother uncle wesley was in fact my dad, he was a chef, ex merchant navy, he eventually married my mum when dad finally divorced her, he’s dead now, Wesley, so is the other dad I suspect”

Dad was doing very well in his career, lots of money coming in, My dad was very good at his job, he used to earn 175 pounds a week when the average wage was 7 shillings and sixpence. When I think about it now, Dad probably had an inkling about Wesley. Him and mum decided to move, start afresh I think. I didn’t want to leave my school but that was not a consideration for them, I was doing well, but not destined to be a life long part of a single community,  or curriculum for that matter.

So it was summer and I was moving away from all my friends, the ice cream van man when he found out let me go into the van and choose what ever I wanted for free. I had some munchies and an ice cream.

I don’t remember any realization about uncle Wesley not being on the scene, I asked my mum recently (ten minutes ago) about it and even at the age of 80 she still said oh erm, I don’t know, he moved somewhere, got a job or something. Its pretty obvious what happened, Anyway Dad started staying away for longer periods of time and I went on a summer holiday with mum to the Mediterranean on a cruise, the Hms Regina, even when I was a kid that sounded like a rude name, I actually think it is the actual name of a penis isn’t it. Not sure, will look it up later and tell you.

2010

We all make mistakes, I know this well.  No matter how old we are, normally alcohol induced, I was arrested the other night, It was a Friday night to be precise at two in the morning, I was coming home after a show in Cork, Ireland, I was just strolling, happy out, just about to cross the road, I noticed a long line of traffic, I started to cross noticing that the lights they were all stuck at had now changed to green, I got up to the line of cars and noticed they had not moved, so I had to maneuver to go around one of them, then I noticed that all the other cars had actually gone and this one was still stationary, it was of course a police car , with Irish Garda in it, I realised Immediately that they had remained in place because I was crossing the road, completely needless, I was doing nothing illegal.  I was doing no harm just going home, Next comes the mistake, The driver winds down the window, and I say “why didn’t you move along with the rest of the traffic” I then moved to the back of the car and made my way to the pavement, the second Gard was out of the car like a flash, and preventing me from continuing. My second mistake whilst feeling rather disgruntled that these people were standing in front of me when in the city center there were marauding mobs beating the living daylights out of each other and immigrants mugging people walking home. And these two are focusing on one of the people walking home.  I said, bloody hell lads what are you going to do arrest me, they handcuffed me behind the back and put me in the car. I have never really had a great respect for the law, spiteful people on average, I was put in a cell for two hours, and then let out at 4 in the morning, the officer on duty in the station, asked me if I was ok, I did not answer, he asked me for a phone number, I gave it and they rang it right away, I put my phone in my pocket still ringing, the officer said “if you walked in front of a police car in England you would be arrested too”. I didn’t bother to explain that I didn’t do that and that in England they would just tell you to go home, they would not have hung about looking for some to pick on either, well. Some would but not like in Ireland, I didn’t answer them because they were not worth it and I could not trust them. I now have zero respect for them. I later found out those two Gard were found dead, handcuffed behind their backs in their car with a pipe going from the exhaust to the window. Gassed. Obviously they had bigger problems than I thought.  That last bits not true but it felt good writing it!

It’s not my first interaction with the authorities.   It was the year 2000, I was being taken to court by an ex girl friend of mine, I went from an 18 year marriage (ten years married and eight living together) ending into a relationship with an absolute lunatic.  She was an absolute nightmare, Kim Jennings was her name, I was mad about her, she unfortunately was just mad, her sister was in an insane asylum but I think they put the wrong one away, she was cute looking I thought at the time anyway, but was evil, she would physically attack me with the speed of a cheetah, a rabid animal, biting and tearing and kicking at me, and actually on me, not touching the ground, she did not care what she did, my family thought that one day they were going to get a visit saying I was dead. I used to end it with her but she was always sorry and we seemed to have some kind of pattern, I thought I loved her but of course I didn’t, I could not have, I really gave it a good try with her, thinking it would change but she really was lethal and probably still is, she was a new age traveler, a crusty as I now know them, master shoplifter, mother of an equally insane daughter and ex of another new age traveler, her parents were working class aspired to middle but with earned money so she was able to go off traveling in a van all over England and Ireland, staying at camps until being moved on, I of course saw that initially as quite romantic until I saw the film snatch.. One night I called the police because she was about to destroy the house yet again, I had moved into my own place because it was too tempestuous with her in the same hose constantly, I was giving her another chance to make it right but she was not capable. They sent her home, she rang the next day pleading with me not to press charges against her I said, I won’t, she was sorry, I said just leave it a few days, she would stand by the wall to the neighbours house screaming “rape rape” at the top of her voice at any given time day or night, if I should in any way upset her, my alarm bells don’t work very well I think. Anyway, she was very good at sex, her father used to own a video shop and when she was young she would “borrow” porn films every day and watch them, so as you can imagine she had a lot of “ideas” for the bedroom, and various other places. Poor demented soul, her father was a freemason, her mother confessed to me Kim was a troublesome child and she used to throw her about a lot as punishment. Sex isn’t everything, it’s a lot but not everything, no matter how good they are at it, it doesn’t make up for violence. The person that you meet in life that you can communicate with is probably the best one to be with, when the sex eventually subsides or diminishes, it should never end but it will become slightly less important to you as you get older, what I am saying is it is important to have some one you get on with and can talk to.

The Police visited me the next day and asked if I wanted to press charges, I said no, I had spoken to Her and she is upset, I apologised for calling them but felt I needed to assert the importance of her actions against me to her at the time and that is the level our relationship had come to, I am more than happy to admit when it is me who is in the wrong and I did take some of the blame for me and her but in hindsight I did little if nothing wrong and did not deserve what she was about to put me through.

He said he understands. He came back later that night to say that even though I have not pressed charges that she had, devious little shit. So off I went on a set of court cases for alleged assault, I stayed in Ireland to face them knowing that it was all a storm in a tea cup until I came across Judge Patwel who after listening to The Jennings girl tell him how when she first saw me that night I tried to force her to have sex with me, and dragged her down a flight of stairs face down I realised I had a bit of a fight on my hands, I had no idea on top of that that this Patwell character was an infamous hanging judge always taking the woman’s side, and at the end, even though it was obvious to every one in the court including the prosecutor who later apologised to me through my solicitor saying it should have been thrown out of court and she was obviously lying,  Patwell gave me a six month sentence, saying I was one of the most dangerous people he had ever encountered, I appealed it right away and it was squashed by the next judge  about 8 months later, a rotten 8 months of dread and worry, paranoia, trauma and terrible upset that some one would lie so intensely to get me into such serious trouble, I was warned though, even by her, she said one day in Cambridge, “I will stay loyal to you but don’t ever cross me, you will not like my wrath” ( I remember thinking at the time, how I hadn’t watched the film “The wrath of khan” for a while and might rent the video that night) those words rang in my ears for a long while, it was a terrible trauma I put myself through after that, I was always well thought of, nice person and now I found myself constantly  justifying my existence to every one, what did they think, did they believe her, the judge did so therefore he must be like that, of course I wasn’t but even so, an awful time I had. If there is one person in my life I regret meeting it was Kim Jennings, Her daughters father is a bit of a loon too, birds of a feather she said he used to beat her and her daughter but I doubt if that was true either, he’s just a bit of a mountain man.  I surprise my self every time I tell that, its amazing the things that can happen in your life that are so far away from the real person you are, I was so stupid to have given that so many chances, I think it was because I wanted it to succeed after the failure of 18 years married. When she was nice she was the nicest person, as extreme a person as her violence was at the other end of the scale, a swinging pendulum always comes to mind two ends but always dangerously sharp, I now know of course that it is all part and parcel of an insane individual. Well, I was able to close that page 10 years later by sending her a message about what I thought of her on her facebook page then blocking her. She will without a doubt run about like a headless chicken screaming rape for a while but so what., she deserved it, stupid cow, well that’s all that deserves; pack it away for another time. I should introduce her to Dave McAllister

Keyhole syndrome

I suffer terribly from keyhole syndrome too, Keyhole syndrome is when you get to the front door of your house you suddenly need to pee, and its real, big time stuff, drop everything your holding and run for your life and, sometimes I don’t make it, luckily, not being Jewish I kept my foreskin and by holding the end between your finger and thumb you can contain a lot so there by help minimising spillage and or total catastrophe, but some times that doesn’t work out too well either and there’s a huge explosion, and then a tidying up process and then back down all the stairs to pick up what I have dropped, put all my clothes in the wash along with the toilet mat and then check I haven’t split my foreskin, all very time consuming, and embarrassing, humility is good for the soul.  I now abide by the number one over 50s rule “see a toilet, use it” that works,  (are biographies meant to be this personal?)

A warning from the wise, When you need to pee do it as quick as possible, don’t hold it in, its not good for the prostate or for your kidneys.

Dave McAlister

June 1980, met a girl, nice enough, pretty, had a child, she moved down from Scotland after her estranged husband had left her and gone to Australia. I thought nothing of it, we got on well had fun and laughs and sort of got on really well, I suppose we started going steady, until one day I couldn’t find her, then I found out her husband was back, very strange, it turns out he wasn’t in Australia at all but in Scotland hiding from the underworld who wanted him dead, that wasn’t frightening at all, but me being the savior when she finally did contact me not knowing what to do I said I would help pay for her to stay in a hotel until he goes away again if that’s what she wanted, it was, I was 20 and working at stradishall prison looking after the boiler house, it was only up the road from where I lived and I was doing anything until an appropriate job came up.  Dave McAllister was considered to be one of the 10 most dangerous men in the country, he was Scottish but grew up in Haverhill, I had never heard of him, he punched me so hard that my eye swelled up and bruised instantly, I did not know I was supposed to research women that I went out with, I never learnt from that, I should have.  He robbed a bank in Linton and let off his shotgun so when they eventually caught him (nationwide manhunt sort of thing) they threw the book at him, he asked to see the two arresting officers to thank them for arresting him and helping to start the process of putting it all behind him and to apologise to them, they of course obliged, partly out of fear Iwould imagine, they came to see him and he beat the living daylights out of both of them. He was very very charismatic and charming. He probably still is, I hope he doesn’t read this! I went through it with him, whilst in jail he was the best man for Ronny kray when he married. There was a documentary on the television about him, his charisma is so great that he managed to escape twice from a high security prison, once in the boot of a girl who worked in the offices at the prison, he wooed her in order to get out. He then went on the run, he sent a letter too the local police station with a list of every one he was going to kill, I was the top of his list, one of the detectives said to me if I was to apply for a gun license it would be granted, and if Dave was found dead that not a lot of investigating will be done. They put me and a couple of other victims of his in protective custody, hid a load of armed police all around town and waited, he eventually rang his wife and she kept him on the phone until they triangulated where the call was coming from and then sent in armed police to grab him, and that’s exactly what they did, real gun to the back of his head stuff. He did 15 years in jail, that’s a lot, I don’t think he was best behaviour candidate, they just thought he was too dangerous to let out. Poor bastard he was so nice but a psychopath. He blamed me for everything that went wrong in his life for a while, I blame his wife of course, pretty much as soon as I met him I stopped my relationship with her, very naughty of her to do that. To me and to him.   Then he would suddenly be my best friend and if he was in my company and thought someone was treating me badly it would make it known in no uncertain terms that he would not tolerate it, one day he would want to kill me the next he would be crying in my arms, then the next morning I would go outside to find my tires slashed, by one of his minions.  He will be about 55 now, in and out of jail. His ex wife married again. He went around my mothers house a few times and just chatted with her at the front door, very nice and then he would on another occasion tell me next time he would kill her.  But secretly he quite liked talking to her. I remember on one occasion he had found an umbrella he thought was mine and had mangled it up and then gave it too me, I said no its not mine, he said don’t fuck with me or I will kill you right here and now, he had my blue crow bar up his sleeve, I said bloody hell Dave, just do it then will you, I think you have put me through enough, instead of threatening me just do it. Don’t get me wrong he was terrifying but that was the only thing left to say to him, we had had every other type of conversation to be had about his marriage and me meeting his wife and what it meant to him, to me to her to the wall, his fist, what he was or wasn’t going to do to me, my family, dog, car, cat, newspaper, umbrella (I lied, the umbrella was mine) there was nothing more to say, we had all the talks a thousand million times, covered every angle and the only thing that had not happened is me or him dying. Havent seen him for years, it would probably all pick up from where it left off, although this time I would apply for the gun licence. I should introduce him to Kim Jennings.

2010

TREVOR.

Sugar, the most addictive drug in the universe, my new diet consists of sugarless food, which of course means alcohol too, I discovered spiced rum and ginger beer, now that’s a sugar rush when your on a sugar free diet, Myself and Orlagh were on a “break from the diet night”, it was December and we were in a pub in Cork, called the Roundy bar, it was in the middle of a really cold snap. Minus 5 or 6 outside. Frank owns the roundy and is a pretty cool dude, well liked, jolly but not fat, about 45, looks after himself as is admired by the girls, We generally go in to see him if he is working behind the bar, very interesting pub, (INSERT HISTORY)  Three spiced rums later and we were having a scream, the bar is thus shaped that from where ever you sit you can communicate with most people who are there. It was cold and we were all having a neat time, as always there, (this isn’t an add). I am back on the train coming from stanstead airport to cambridge, it’s the 18th jan 2011, my sons 20th birthday, on my way to celebrate it with him. I just saw a stag deer out of the window, it took my breath away, first time I have ever seen one in the wild, in the essex countryside (strange I thought). Full set of antlers too, grey in colour, or gray if you’re an American reading this, (they get easily confused). Suddenly this grey (gray) west highland terrier cam in and plonked himself infront of a couple sitting behind us, we were at the bar, filthy dirty (the dog) but really cute, frank said hello and told him that he can’t be in the bar and gently tried to shoo him out of the front door but the dog was having none of it, it looked as if it were going but then ran behind the bar, we all laughed at the dog outdoing Franks wits. The dog came out again and straight back to the same place he was before. Frank gave up eventually and the dog stayed, warm and content. We all agreed with him that the dog should stay, it was too cold out for a little street dog. He’s at home right now, Trevor is his name. I’ve taught him to sit, lay, give me his paw and stopped his inscesant barking. He’s cute, don’t want a dog but he’s here to stay I think, will keep you informed about that.

WHY IS IT ALWAYS YOU GEORGE

Luck probably. I don’t know why the most dangerous man in England was the husband of a girlfriend who said she was separated, I didn’t know that circle of friends was of that caliber, I don’t know why I get thrown out of a pub for what’s considered being in the toilet for too long, I was kicked out of a club for sticking my two fingers up at a bar steward for not replacing my pint of beer away when I was not standing next to it for 5 minutes and was also on my way out of the premises in disgust anyway, I have not been thrown out of many pubs or clubs, I have refused to attend some after not being satisfied with the attitudes.

I got into trouble for saying “she’s Spanish and does not understand what we are saying” about a member of staff in a bar and was accused of racism that was then believed by all the bar staff which really backed up my statement that she didn’t understand me.

PART 2 TO FOLLOW

Detergent

Lemmy and a night to remember

MEETING BOB DYLAN

MEETING GEORGIE FAME

WIFE AND BITTERNESS taking my family

Got kim off my chest

Conscious competence

Fathers ashes in the boot

FIGHT IN A BAR

ARRESTED FOR LITTLE REASON

OUTSIDE MCDONALDS DRUNK

WHY IS IT ALWAYS YOU GEORGE

The new single from George Patterson & The Roaring Forties off of their album “There ain’t nobody here but us chickens.” a great song from an awesome band. available on iTunes http://itunes.apple.com/us/album/there-aint-nobody-here-but/id499022256

 

 

 

ALBUM REVIEW

Roaring Forties “There aint nobody here, but us chickens” review.

By Derek Crowe

Farmer Brown maybe saddled with a bunch of predisposed poultry, that seem to prefer their own company, but this third album from “The Roaring Forties” is filled with infectious energy that would have even the recently departed Bernard Mathews tapping his toes.

Although the intro reminds me of the film Poltergeist, the voice of George Patterson does a fair impersonation of a Crackerjack presenter as he introduces this medley of swing.

The first and title track of the album is a cover of the old Louis Jordan number, which sets the tone for the rest of the album, defying you not to wobble your wobbly bits, and slides delightfully into “That Old Black Magic”. The music was written by Harold Arlen, with the lyrics by Johnny Mercer, and, although first published back in 1942, the Forties treat it as pristine, as Ken Marshall’s intricate saxophone, weaves a tonic shade of colour, throughout a number that screams black and white.

Mr Patterson demonstrates his originality and profanity, as his self penned “What Will Be, Will Be”, changes the mood slightly, ably assisted on backing vocals by Hailey Murphy. The song is non-threatening, piece of pop that will remain in your head for the day, then ends with an interesting slide cello, which adds a dollop of cream to this soup for the soul.

“Out of Sight” provides Roy Kelleher and Anth Kaley the opportunity to introduce their arrival on this album, with sharp trumpet, punchy keyboard and effortless vocals. A melancholy ditty, again written by George, lends itself well to the overall project, being well arranged and sympathetically produced.

“I Get a Kick out of You” is a song by Cole Porter, originally featured in the Broadway musical Anything Goes and the movie of the same name.

Originally sung by Ethel Merman, it has been covered by performers including Frank Sinatra, Billie Holiday, Peggy Lee, Marlene Dietrich, to name but a few, but here, we are dragged along, kicking back, proving that this hard working Band, really know how to work an audience.

Now, the title of this belting track, may appear to sound as if the father of his kidnapped daughter plans to pay her ransom by installments,”Five Months, Two Weeks, Two Days”, is an outstanding piece of rip-roaring fun, which the Band obviously love performing.  All members throw themselves headlong into this musical bedlam with Gary Foote’s lead saxophone, tearing reeds, akin to a long felt itch being deliciously scratched.

Eddy Arnold’s “You Don’t Know Me” gets the Patterson treatment, and you can just imagine him as he leans on Anth Kaley’s piano, fluttering his eyelashes at the pianist from behind tinted sunglasses. Again Kelleher and Marshalls playing intertwine effortlessly, allowing the green shoots of Dan Walsh’s brushes sprout spring like in the background.

Another Of George’s originals, “Lucifer” gives us a brief glimpse into the psyche of Cambridge’s answer to Randy Newman. Again, a heart rending story of loss and regret, with Hailey’s vocals supporting and almost sympathising this number, a song that would fit seamlessly into a long walk home from a smoky jazz club.

Karl Rooney displays wonderful dexterity and insight as his saxophone introduces “Lady is a Tramp”. A less harsh statement towards womanhood, yet the Forties take this Tony Bennet classic and forge their own tramp stamp on an arrangement that begins a tad muddled, but like emptying a jar of marbles onto a square tray, everything and every note, eventually takes its place in its own proper order.

A subcutaneous take of the Cole Porter classic, introduced in the musical Born to Dance, “Under my Skin”, swings along at a leisurely jaunt, and is punctuated by Patterson’s variation of accents from both side of the Atlantic. (I swear I heard Ken Marshall’s sax talking to me at the end, but as yet have not been brave enough to decipher what it said!)

Call it “Route 66”, Will Roger’s Highway or the Main Street of America, whatever floats, but the Forties give it the Big Band sound, with close harmonies that would not sit out of place on any thoroughfare, the big notes being punched effortlessly by a wind section that seems as comfortable playing as they would be breathing.

The penultimate track “Oh Marie” is kicked all over the studio by the irascible Jon Kenny, who teams up with Patterson, and between them, on this lovely wee barber shop, come across like Sooty and Sweep on mescaline. Great fun!

“Jump Jive” really brings out the best of the Forties… half notes, staccato, and forced sharps blend superbly with keyboard, drum, trombone, trumpet, vocals and saxophone accomadating each other with sublime indifference.

In conclusion this album, really accentuates the enthusiasm of this Band, who not only enjoy performing but seem very comfortable in each other’s company. It’s a trip back in time to an age just emerging from a second World War, its positive; it’s renewing, energetic to the nth degree and ultimately, a delightful recording which defies one not to smile.

On a personal note and having listened to this carefully I can’t help feeling that a cover of Chuck Berry’s “C’est La Vie”, would not be out of place on this cornucopia of swing.