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  • Merry Christmas To You.

    It’s Christmas Day. I’m sat alone watching Doctor Who and wondering when the call will come for me to take on the lead role. I’ve been hard at work on the present I am making for a number of my closest friends.
    Last year because none of us had any money we decided we would all make one another gifts instead of just buying things for the sake of them. I obviously can’t say what it is I am doing in case they happen to read this post before I get a chance to deliver on it but it’s pretty cool and I’m quite excited.

    That being said, I have made a little Christmas video featuring the poem I performed at the Old Trunk Winter Tales & Ales reading earlier this month. Regardez:

  • Reflections on gigs.

    Is it just me or have people stopped caring at gigs?

    Last night I went to see Placebo at Brixton Academy, it was essentially the latest in a number of gigs I have attended this year that have nearly been ruined by the audience. I don’t know if it is just me growing older and more cynical with the world around me but I fucking despise people, especially at gigs. As far as I am concerned the actions of the following types of people I am about to outline represent a massive disrespect to both the band they are supposed to be a fan of, and have paid over the odds for tickets to see as well as the rest of the audience including the most important member, me. I know I’m not the first person to bring it up and unfortunately I won’t be the last but certain activities at gigs really get on my wick (or really grind my gears depending on your cultural references for methods of outlining one’s annoyance).

    iPhone photographers

    Don’t get me wrong. I am an iPhone user, as well as being an Apple sympathiser. I am on that damn thing morning, noon and night. I have an online rep to uphold you see. When I step into a music venue, cinema or other suitable area of general deluminated reverence I put that little bastard in my pocket on silent and try to avoid the habit of checking on it to see if I’ve been retweeted or if Mummy has text me. What I certainly wouldn’t do is text, tweet, update or Instagram during a gig, while a band are onstage. I watched someone do it last night, as I remember seeing someone do it at Arcade Fire at The Roundhouse last month. I say I watched them do it because when there’s a light glaring in your face more powerful than the bounce of the strobes and floodlights onstage then it can be somewhat distracting. There are certain times when it is an absolute joy to be able to ignore my phone. I don’t do it enough and it’s for a limited period but shut it down. In addition there is absolutely no point in trying to video the band from anywhere in the crowd. They have production crews and documentary filmmakers for that. It doesn’t matter how thin Apple are able to make their telescreens (that’s right, getting Orwellian about this now), they aren’t able to make a way to stop any audio captured on video being tinny and awful. Nobody sits reminiscing the drunken gigs they attended on a cold Monday in December again. You will never need that footage. If you want footage of Placebo playing live then do yourself a favour and get hold of a copy of their Soulmates Never Die DVD from 2003. That’s how to experience a gig on a screen.
    Last night I watched parts of the gig through four different smartphones being held up within five feet of my face. It’s unnecessary and selfish. Be tall and block my view, don’t be a twat with an arm aloft saluting the generation who don’t have a place and don’t give a fuck.

    Conversationalists
    Once the band are onstage your conversations can wait. There is nothing you have to say to your weedly little smarm haired, double denimed mate that can’t hold out for an hour and a half. If I can hear you over the band then you’re doing it wrong. Get out of the way. Go to the bar as your inane fellatio-suggesting mime actions imply. Hang around at the back with the dads who are mad their garage band never made it to the Academy. Just fuck off.

    Coupley couples
    Gigs are not for being a couple. They’re for dancing about and having a drink and enjoying the music. Do you remember the music? I hate it when people are clung to each other like Care Bears trying to get their rocks off. This is no place for you. Go and carve your names into a tree and hold one another beneath its crisp empty boughs and weep at the general beauty of your courtship.
    I was at the gig with my girlfriend last night. I don’t think we touched other than jostled shoulder contact. We were both just enamored by the band. I fell in love with Brian Molko all over again and Kate later commented that the drummer had muscly arms. That’s how you do it, not clung around someone’s neck like an Angora scarf while society condemns you. Keep your hands where I can see them.

    Rubberneckers
    If you’re going somewhere then move, quickly, out of my path, and don’t tread on my feet. I hate it when someone walks in front of me with three pints and then just stops, craning their head about in the darkness looking for the two mates who wouldn’t dare do them the favour of either making themselves known or just going to the bar together so they are out of my way.

    I appreciate this blog post makes me come off as a curmudgeonly old man but I feel like that is what I’m becoming and if time and nature have anything to do with it then it will most certainly be the case. It feels like everyone’s attitude to music is going along the wrong lines. There’s no respect for music as an art form or for those who perform it and it feels as though that is something that has come about because of the way we take in music. It is everywhere. There’s no specialty to it because it is everywhere. The way we can receive music is better than ever but it appears to have devalued the way we look and think about it and that’s a real shame. With so many options it is impossible to treasure things in the way they once were. When I was ten years younger I could rarely buy myself new music so I made damn sure I really wanted to invest my (sort of) hard earned cash in Five’s in Rayleigh High Street. Now the shop is gone (although it still shows up the rest of independents by rocking up Leigh). Now I have fourteen days worth of music crammed onto a device that fits in my pocket. I’ve lost track of what any of it means and I think most other people have too. We don’t value an album as a piece of work, it’s pulled apart by Shuffle settings and being wanked over adverts for department stores, insurance companies and party political broadcasts.

    Can we just go back a bit, please?

  • How Paul Schiernecker Ruined Christmas

    The following is taken from my reading at Old Trunk’s Winter Tales & Ales event, and it is mostly factual:

    Twas Christmas day in the Schiernecker home
    But Paul was busy texting on his mobile phone
    You see while the turkey was to be roasting
    He wanted to be in the pub raising a toasting
    There was a girl going he wanted to impress
    In the hopes he could crawl inside of her dress
    Mother Schiernecker agreed he could go until three
    But then he was to return to the family
    Because that’s what Christmas is really for
    Not spilling your beans up inside some whore
    “Mother please” he yelled from the door
    Throwing a coat over his shoulders, shuffling on the floor
    And heading out into the snow
    At last to the pub he could go
    Now I should take a moment to explain
    This pub was a link in a national chain
    But for legal reasons I cannot say
    It was a Wetherspoons anyway
    So eventually Paul Schiernecker got to the bar
    To find his share of takings in the tip jar
    He’d been working there sporadically
    When he was home from Uni and needed the money
    But it didn’t matter how much time he put in
    His wages always ended up behind the bar again
    So he had a double whiskey to get things going
    Followed by several pints to keep himself flowing
    And he thought he was being entertaining
    Regaling the punters with tales of his flailing
    And slurring false promises into the ear
    Of the girl he lusted for who amazingly still stayed quite near
    And didn’t run for the fire exit although it must be stated
    They were exceedingly well illuminated
    It was only when covered in Tequila, lemon and salt
    He realised his own time keeping fault
    Because while he had been trying to woo
    It had already struck half past two
    And he had a thirty minute walk to find
    And that was if he could make it in a straight line
    Which isn’t an easy task you see
    When you’re up to your eyeballs in whiskey
    When he made it home Mummy could really tell
    Because his eyes were lit up like the fires of hell
    And he couldn’t really articulate
    How he could possibly be late on such an important date
    So he attempted to sit at the dining table
    Instantly regretting the Johnny Walker Black Label
    He had imbibed trying to seem sophisticated
    And to convince the girl they should have dated
    A starter was presented that made him feel pale
    Avocado halves drenched in prawn cocktail
    Because even with so many options of food
    It’s fun to have a first course from 1972
    But of course the last thing Paul really needed
    Was the pink and green he was about to be feeded
    So he abandoned the festivities to kneel
    In front of the porcelain and to God he appealed
    “Oh what was I thinking, I was showing off
    Thinking I could handle the mixed drinks that I coiffed”
    So he abandoned Christmas dinner and headed to his room
    To nuzzle in blankets and find a pillow to spoon
    Mother Schiernecker was really pissed off
    “Paul Schiernecker ruined Christmas” she scoffed
    Before sitting with her unusually well behaved offspring
    Who couldn’t compete with the madness Paul was offering
    Despite their abilities to break hearts and bone
    They were perfectly docile, they were far too stoned
    Several hours later with a bad head
    Paul awoke in the glow of TV on his bed
    Still dressed in his jeans and Christmas jumper
    He said “Jesus, this headache is a thumper”
    But of course Jesus could not call
    Partly because it was his birthday but mostly because he’s fictional
    So Paul looked up at the television
    Feeling more cut up than a circumcision
    To see Pauline Fowler collapse in the snow
    “First Arthur now this, how low can they go
    Mark drove off into the sunset on his bike made of AIDS
    And Martin smashed in Sonia’s barricades
    I give up on soap operas, I live my life for me”
    And he went downstairs to apologise to Mummy

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  • Submission

    Today I have submitted my third novel The Stamp Collective to five literary agents in London. The hopes are that this will be the one to get me noticed and dragged out into the limelight I feel I am owed.

    The Stamp Collective is a story very close to my heart. As I have been redrafting it recently it made me realise just how truly close to home much of the content was. It talks about love and loss and about family and there are so many little indicators thrown into it that I can’t help but love it. i have the upmost faith in it as a story. I honestly believe it is the best thing I have ever written. 

  • The Revolution Will Be Staged

    Last night I was lucky enough to get tickets to see Russell Brand’s new stand up tour Messiah Complex. I’ve been a fan of Brand since I was introduced to his 6 Music show years ago by a friend and I’ve followed through the trials and tribulations as he rose to become the significant figure he is now. What a lot of people seem to forget is that he isn’t some joker in the pack, although he plays that role very well, he is a very articulate and astute comic, writer and commentator and his stand up is beginning to be streamlined more towards his thoughts on the world around him more than simply an excuse to try and maintain his perceived status.
    I first saw Brand live at The Roundhouse in 2007 where he commented on the fact The Doors had played on that stage and talked about the inevitabilities of ‘nut-brush’ when conducting a FMM threesome.
    Of course he hasn’t completely separated himself from the ‘Shagger Of The Year’ he was awarded by The Sun newspaper for two years running but his thoughts have become a lot more focused. The bizarre antics of his past are material, and he has honed his craft into a captivating show.
    You leave wondering exactly why it is you trust a man to run your country when he can’t even perform a suitably upright thumbs up. According to Brand it’s because he “ain’t good at sex”, to which he added a lovely mime of George Osborne licking the PM’s bumhole. It was a lot more like political satire and less like playground antics than it sounds, really.
    The stage is his natural platform and he controls it completely. When walking out into the audience his approach is met like that of the messiah, women expose flesh and men reach out for a grasp of the man like he can cure their ills. Russell Brand is a figure in himself, he’s dressed himself up as being both a prophet and a jester and it works. You want to believe that the world can change but he isn’t the one who will nobly step forward to bring it about. Instead he is just pointing out all of the wrongs in the world. We are all more than aware of the majority of them but the way Brand takes apart the most recognisable of consumerist mascots, symbols and slogans is as cutting as it is whimsical.
    The real question is where he can go from here. How long will it be before his rank as the town cryer of injustice is slayed by the press as the result of him fucking it all up again. He has a self confessed self-destructive streak and the concern is that all of his talk and all of his showmanship and bravado will amount to nought if he were to implode once more. We need Brand more than ever, and he knows it.

  • What NaNoWriMo 2013 Taught Me

    It’s the last day of November which means it is finally time for me to have a day to not really do a whole lot. Unfortunately in my world these kind of days do not exist. I don’t know how to not do anything. It makes me anxious. On this day of not doing a lot I have recorded five songs, written two articles and started work on a Christmas project that I cannot yet detail. I have also tidied my room for the first time in a month, made myself dinner and booked a table for lunch tomorrow.

    That is all a complete aside to the actual subject. This year I decided that writing one 50,000 word novel was not enough of a challenge and so when I finished on 17 November I decided I probably had time to get another one done. Rather than taking the time to do some much needed editing I hit the MacBook again, turning from the travel diary of my first project to a fantasy adventure that in my head is the first of three books I have been planning to write for ten years. In a way this made it easier because I should have most of the groundwork down after ten years of thinking about it. The story in fact changed completely as I wrote it. Rather than being my usual ten chapter book from one character’s perspective I realised it became much more interesting to both read and to write if it covered off the way different people looked at the events that were unfolding. I don’t want to provide too much detail in case anyone else ever reads it but essentially this meant creating entirely new characters and scenarios around the basis of what I had. It was fun to do, and it meant I didn’t get bored of one character. I could essentially abandon ship on anyone who got boring for me. That’s point one of what NaNoWriMo 2013 taught me; there is always room for other characters.

    I managed to do a lot of my writing during my daily commute. It turns out that people on the Southend Victoria to London Liverpool Street line are not fans of writers. I base this on the loud tutting I often got when I sat with my laptop and tried to create something instead of formlessly refreshing my Facebook feed like everyone around me seemed to be doing. It turns out that without the Internet as a distraction writing is an awful lot easier, or at least the periods of my travel were my most productive. As soon as I was home there were far too many distractions. I found myself taking train journeys just so I could write for longer. So point two is an inability to Internet is very beneficial.

    I have also found that after a while people don’t want to hear about what you are doing. I always try not to be one of those terribly self involved and cliched writers who tell everyone about their protagonist’s struggle against blah blah blah. I would tell people my word count when they asked and I updated a few too many milestones along the way but it was for my benefit. It’s my record of my achievement. When I finished my first novel, in June 2012, people were amazed and supportive. Now it is old hat. They know I can do it, the challenge has weakened. It’s expected that I will write and that I will meet deadlines. It’s a scary framework to operate under so my next point would be don’t bother people with it.
    They’ll read it when it is published but they have their own petty concerns to be getting on with.

    I would like to thank those who have been especially supportive during the last month. Kate has been an absolute gem as usual and on top of that I’ve spoken to Haley, Hollie, Sam, Adam, Luke, Ben, Joe, Lee, Nat, Paul, Stacy, Ian, Emily, Emma, Amy, Jess, Feyza, Andreas, Jamie, Jane, Hannah and my dad about it as I went along. The people in the NaNoEssex group were also really cool to chat to and I am genuinely looking forward to reading some of their work going forwards. The Alex in Southend did a top job of holding space for us to put on Write-Ins and meet ups on Sundays. It’s been a solid month and it looks like I’ve got some freelance work emerging as a result. 

    It’s nice to be a winner.

     

     

  • NaNoWriMo – Day 20

    I am growing slightly concerned that I’m losing the plot, and not just the plot of my second book this month. I’m at the 23,000 word mark for Sue Key and it has got even more surreal than I had originally pictured.
    The idea was to write the start of a three-part fantasy series I’ve been waiting on writing for five years. Instead it has got a lot deeper and more involved than I was expecting. This could be a good thing. I may have hit a stride. My decision to write different chapters from different character perspectives is a departure. The subject matter is a departure. My main concern is that naming a race of goblin-like creatures after my favourite cheese may have been a slight oversight.
    It will all work out in the redraft though surely.

  • NaNoWriMo – Day 17

    Today I have started work on another book. I’ve already completed NaNoWriMo so if I manage to get any of this new project done I will be over the moon.
    It’s the first of a three-part fantasy series I have had in my head for five years. It’s inspired by the great adventure and fantasy books I read as a child – Carroll, Tolkein, Lewis. It’s a complete departure from my NaNoWriMo project and different to anything I have ever written before. I’m very excited about it all. It’s a real race against time now.

  • NaNoWriMo – Day 16

    In just sixteen days I have managed to write 55,952 words. I have now completed the first draft of Yallah! 

    Looking at it now I am not sure I want it to be published. It’s very fresh to my experiences and I haven’t really written it with an audience in mind. That being said I would like to complete something this November that I can publish. My moustache sure as hell won’t be counted so I am left with just one other option….

  • Arcade Fire @ The Roundhouse

    There is a lot to be said about a stadium-sized band taking on the intimate venue that is The Roundhouse, and when I use the term ‘stadium-sized band’ I’m not just referring to the high number of personnel. Last night I got swept up in the glitz of The Reflektors whistlestop tour, the front Arcade Fire have chosen to adopt in order to get through some intimate gigs before plowing on with the World tour they will no doubt carry out early next year.
    For them it was a special event, and not just because one of their favourite British bands took to the same stage in 1976. It’s a chance to dress up and to make more of a celebration than is possible when your songs are getting caught on the wind and dragged out across Hyde Park for slack-jawed cider-drunks in straw porkpie hats to churn back at you in off-key retorts. The joy of going to see The Reflektors is that it wasn’t a gig. It was an event.
    As my lucky date and I got out of the queue and onto the red carpet we knew we were in for something a little different. In the entrance stood a six piece mariachi band playing cover songs. The walls were lined in glitter. The fans were lined in glitter, with strips of black across their eyes. Designated facepainters were on hand and everywhere dripped with the vibration of contact.
    We headed in and got a gin. There was still an hour before the band were due onstage. Standing to the left of the shielded stage we could make out the glittering mirrored backdrop and the lights of roadies performing a soundcheck. The stage was supposed to be covered by a black cape which had ‘The Reflektors’ on it in lights.
    Slowly the room filled. The queues of people waiting from the door all the way back to the petrol station by the Proud galleries took over the space. Leaning against the wall was a man in a hood and a skeleton mask who turned out to be Win Butler. He watched us all and then went out into the lobby to sing a cover of Reflektor with the mariachi band.
    DJ Don Letts continued to play dragged out mixes of Led Zeppelin, Bob Marley and The Clash until the band took to the stage and the crowd erupted. The cape dropped to the floor and there they were, coated in their own designs and with mirrorballs overhead the band burst into the opening of the seven minutes that is Reflektor.
    ‘We are The Reflektors from Canada. The one place you finally get to suck it to to French!’ said Win.
    From then on I was lost to the trance of Flashbulb Eyes complete with steel drum accompaniment to match the mood adopted by the band for their new album. This slowly dropped into the intro of PowerOut. When the song finally dropped fully the crowd went wild and red lights bounced across painted faces. From then on it was very Reflektor heavy; Joan Of Arc, You Already Know, We Exist, It’s Never Over (Hey Orpehus) and the intro of Porno which bled into Afterlife. The band then composed themselves and played Haiti, taking it back to Funeral once more before the powerful Normal Person.
    Win put his papier-mâché head on and Will sung Bored Of The USA, a song they dedicated to Don Letts. I was in awe. The pure joy of seeing Arcade Fire cover The Clash live was lost on most people but I punched the air and sang along. This was followed by Here Comes The Nighttime complete with silver confetti. This was the moment when the gonks took out their iPhones en masse to try and capture it. Bobbing and weaving between the light from the screens I watched the band I love salute, wave and walk off in a hail of feedback.
    They returned for Sprawl II and Supersymmetry, the former played live without a sequencer for the first time thanks to the ten person band on stage. If you’re not able to perform your own song live without ten people then you’re doing something right.

    I’m glad I got to see them in such an intimate venue and I am even happier I got to share it with her.

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Paul Schiernecker

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