2011

As the year creeps ever closer to relinquishing it's hold on us all I suppose this is the best time to reflect on it.
So in a small way I'd like to say thank you for the music and good times that the Ayrshire music scene has provided by compiling a little roll call of honour.
Prior to beginning though I would like to take the opportunity to point out that by praising one artist and excluding another doesn't mean that one is good and the other bad, but just that in my own personal opinion one may simply tick all the boxes a little harder than the other.
You got that?
Okay. Here goes.

Male artist - Ross Gilchrist.
I don't think many people would be surprised at my opting to give Ross the highest praise as I've been shouting his name from the rooftops since first seeing him play.
Forget trying to put what he does into a nice little box as a singular genre tag falls short of being able to hold him.
When people talk about genius I think of Ross.
In a year that has provided a multitude of great performances, fantastic releases and more surprises from local talent than I could have imagined possible it is Ross Gilchrist who is in my humble opinion standing on the shoulders of giants.

Female artist - Melissa Kelly.
While the mainstream falls over itself to shovel praise on auto tuned divas, or award technically gifted, but soulless sounding, women with plaudits it's a fact that the real talent is to be found in the performances that Melissa Kelly is known for.
It's earthy, it's raw, and when she opens her mouth to sing she conveys the real emotion that is required to make the hair stand up on the necks of an audience.
Modern rhythm and blues? Rock and roll? Call it what you want but this young lady is what people will call 'the real deal'.

Group – Rose Parade/Brown Bear and the Bandits/Fole.
It's not possible to praise one of these bands higher than the other.
If this was a race then then it's a photo finish that shows that none of them are edging ahead of the pack. All are equal winners to my ears.
There's a broad range of styles to get your teeth into and for those with eclectic tastes then they will find plenty to get excited about regardless of what one you choose to listen to first.

Under eighteen male artist - Sam Christison.
At fifteen years of age young Sam has just released his debut ep called '3 songs about you + 1 about me', and in doing so he has probably sent shivers down the spines of his more mature peers.
There are musicians in there twenties who have been playing for years who still haven't travelled as far down the road as Sam has.
I fully expect to hear a great deal more from him in the forthcoming years.

Under eighteen female artist - Anna Sweeney.
Tentatively stepping into the spotlight with performances that are grabbing attention Anna is quickly garnering a reputation as a precocious talent who is blooming into something rather special.
Early 2012 should see something being released that I'm sure will provide ample proof that she will deliver on all the current promise shown.

Best venues that supports local talent.
Jollys Sports Bar (Kilmarnock)/ Su Casa (Ayr)
Every month both of these Ayrshire establishments have been providing a platform for local talent to grow.
I've lost count of the artists that I have been introduced to while frequenting them.
It was in Jollys that I first seen Ross Gilchrist and Matt Scott. Su Casa were I met Jamie (Little Fire) McGeechan and seen Brown Bear for the first time.
I could go on and on.
Both deserve our support, as does any venue that ethically promotes local talent, so if I was to ask for one thing from local readers it would be that they support the evenings that they have as the time worn phrase 'use it, or lose it' comes to mind.

Album(s).
Ross Gilchrist – Feersum Enjinn/Roscoe Vacant and the Gantin' Screichs – Reckurdt
Both of these albums highlight just how strong the music scene in Ayrshire is.
Each of them in their own way are breathtakingly fearless and unapologetically pioneering in spirit.
While some bands and artists will tread a well worn path, Ross Gilchrist and Ross Morris choose instead to step away from being directly influenced and instead tear up the rule book and paste it back together to create something that while recognizable in places is still refreshingly original.
I doff my cap to both.

Record label.
There's no hesitation from me in naming Newtown Products as the label of the year.
This one man cottage industry embodies all that is good about the independent DIY scene.
The passion, the belief and the cojones to take the risk financially to bring original talent to the public is something that shouldn't be downplayed so I'm naming Andrew Meikle as my music scene hero of the year.

Honourable mentions for 2011 go to Jamie McGeechan for fighting the good fight to promote Ayrshire's many artists through booking them to play Su Casa, writing about them in the local press, name checking everyone as often as he can and doing all that while working tirelessly to further his own career as the the artist known as Little Fire.
He's the hardest working man in showbiz and if success was measured in respect then he is probably the most successful artist in Ayrshire.
I'm sure that my acknowledgement of his efforts and talent will be construed by some as sycophantic praise of someone who I now consider a friend, but I will not bite my tongue on the matter as everything said is true.
I sincerely hope that 2012 is the year where all his dreams become a reality.
Next is Matt Scott who I have had the pleasure of seeing live numerous times now.
From a friend initially introducing me to his live set - thanks Munro - earlier in the year, to the recent release of his debut ep I've been privileged to see him grow as a singer, songwriter and performer.
January the 11th of 2012 will see him start the year with his second performance at King Tuts Wah Wah Hut.
Get in there early for a ticket so that in years to come you can say you were there.
Last, but by no means least, is Masters of the Sea who probably played the most drunkenly shambolic acoustic gig I've witnessed this year - and that's saying something as I've seen the Girobabies - and still managed to sound better than most bands who turn up sober and intently try and entertain.
As is usual I am sure I've missed people out.
Oh well. It's a shame, but if you weren't mentioned feel free to pretend that it was an oversight rather than deliberate.

A coalition Christmas.

A rough and unedited draft, but I might not even come back to it. It is what it is.

From where I'm sitting I can see Billy touch the long radiator that runs the length of the wall.
At first he hovers his hands open palmed over it before he tentatively lets them settle against the surface.
If he's looking to feel some residual warmth emanating from the metal then he will be sorely disappointed.
There is none.
There rarely is.
Some of us who had previously kept up to date with government initiatives could have told him that under the new energy saving scheme introduced by the coalition the heating is turned off between the hours of nine am and five pm in all work experience facilities.
It's only on for an hour before we all commence with whatever they have arranged for us to do, and that hour falls far short of being long enough to fill the room with anything resembling warmth.
The political angle on this is that anyone putting in a solid days work wouldn't require to be housed in a continuously heated building as the effort of their labour would keep them warm.
Obviously none of those who supported the move had been north of Carlyle in December.
There's no point in mentioning any of this to Billy though.
All new arrivals need to find their own feet.
It's an unspoken rule.

He follows on his failed attempt at finding some heat from the radiator with a swift hand rubbing to conjure up some kinetic heat.
From experience I know that this offers little more than a moments respite from the cold.
Lastly he cups them to his face enveloping his nose and mouth and blows into them.
He looks like a fool.

During breakfast he had been quick to inform everyone who would listen that his six months referral to the facility was just what he needed to show future employers that he was just the type of man they should offer a contract to.
The silence that his comment drew from the men sitting at his table spoke volumes.
It hung in the air like an accusation of rank stupidity for what seemed to be an eternity.
The spell was only broken by a soft, but emphatically, uttered 'fud' that hung heavy in the air and was accompanied with some head shaking disbelief.
The mild force of it was enough to act as the catalyst for everyone to go back to eating their meagre portion of porridge.
A weak and watery facsimile of porridge that was the only option available.

Since then I had been watching him on and off all morning and calculating in my head how long it would take before the penny dropped and he realized the reality of his situation.
More than once I found myself thinking that he must the the only person alive who is unable to see the work experience facilities for what they are.
A modern day workhouse introduced by the government to provide free labour to their business partners from the pool of the unemployed under the pretence of providing training.
People seen it coming, but no one really did anything about it.
It was only something that would target the soap dodging scum.
Little did they know that as the economy contracted that they were just a year or so away from being the very same soap dodging scum they had previously looked down their noses at.
Six months claiming benefit uninterrupted automatically leading to six months in a work experience facility sounded fair when they were working.
Less so when they weren't.
Whose sorry now?
The only way to avoid the enforced period of labour was to opt out from the benefit system.
So no real option at all.

There were some riots in the sink estates when they started rounding up the long term unemployed, but with the introduction of the water cannons and rubber bullets they were quickly quelled.

With all this having happened Billy's lack of awareness of where he is seems to be rooted in real delusion.
He glances around and catches me looking at him and smiles.
I can sense that he is looking for a connection, a hint of camaraderie, but I don't have anything to give.

The clock above his head hangs like the sword of Damocles
The second hand sweeps downward and I glance across the room to where the charge hand stands and watches.
He's seen Billy to.
He's hard to miss him as apart from the guards he is the only man standing in the room.
Oblivious to the scrutiny of the charge hand Billy remains where he is and rubs his hands together again to generate some heat a second time.
He's smiling.
Part of me wants to stand up and say something, but gravity pushes down hard on me and my cheeks fill with shame as I know what the outcome is going to be.
There are only two reasons that you are allowed to leave your work station.
One is to go for a timed toilet break and the second to report yourself as ill.
Billy has done neither, and instead simply went for a wander.
In his mind I'm sure he is casually familiarizing himself with the workplace as no one else has volunteered to give him a tour.
It wont matter in a few minutes anyway.
I can hear some talk from a distance, the crackle of a message from a radio.
It's the cue for dark shapes to fill the periphery of my vision.
My focus is on Billy.
I'm locked into him.
Every single detail of him standing there is my world, my universe.
Dark shapes that quickly take the form of heavily armoured guards close in.
He turns to one and opens his mouth to say something.
Whatever it was is lost as the first blow from the lengthy baton connects with his face.
It's not like the films.
He doesn't roll with it.
He doesn't shrug it off and heroically retaliate.
He does nothing.
Instead his face bursts, his teeth shatter and his blood blossoms.
Before he can manage to make a sound another blow from another guard robs him of articulating the pain.
The only noise is the grunts of the guards and the sound of the abattoir.
The sound of the butchers block.
It's the sound of meat being struck.
A wet sound. A dull and lifeless sound.

The beating lasts seconds, maybe a minute at most, but it feels like it has lasted much longer.
No one has moved.
No one looks up.
Billy's unconscious body is dragged silently from the room and it is as if nothing has happened.
The tick of the clock sounds thunderous and is only equaled by the roaring of blood in my ears.
I can feel pressure on my thigh and look down to see a hand squeezing it.
I lose myself in the touch and close my eyes.
Concentrate on the heat and focus on the force of the pressure on my leg.
The hand remains there, pressing down, keeping me in my seat.
I breathe in and out, in and out, in and out.
When I open my eyes I keep looking ahead of me at the point below the clock where Billy had stood.
The hand lets go of my thigh.
The moment has past.
It's in the past and I'm in the present.

The hand quickly dips in and out of my pocket.
I reach in and find something hard and round and take it out.
It's a toffee.
I quickly pop it into my mouth and the taste fills my head.
Beside me I hear a voice whisper 'Merry Christmas'.
Before me the world loses its sharp focus as tears drop like bombs onto the work surface.

Chuggers

Dusted this off for x-mas for Jo Fraser.

Tis the season and all that.
The shops are full of people while retailers claim that it's the biggest downturn in business they have seen since last year.
So nothing much has really changed I guess.
Meanwhile everywhere you go the last minute shoppers are out in force buying anything that they can claim they took months to hunt down as they just knew it was the perfect gift for their nearest and dearest.
These desperados are only outnumbered by the Chuggers, or charity muggers to give them their full name.
The Chuggers are everywhere.
It can feel like you can't manage a straight ten yards in any high street without being accosted by one. Two or even three.
If there's a collective term for chuggers I reckon it would be 'cunts'.
Anyway, an aerial view of the high street would show shoppers navigating around them like shoals of fish.
You know that darting thing that you see them do on "The Blue Planet".
It's like that.
One minute everyone is striding along in the one direction.
Then the girl with the dreadlocks and a yellow bib turns her attention to the oncoming mass of shoppers and everyone, (bar the blind fella whose dog hasn't clocked the bibbed babe ahead) does the rapid right angle thing across to the other side of the street.
Just like those damn fish that I mentioned.
This attempt at evading them isn't really necessary though.
The truth is that the charities pick all these cool looking students to do the donkey work for them, and although they appear altruistic they're not.
The girl with the dreadlocks doesn't really give a toss about the planet, dogs, cats or abused children.
The guy with the smirk, goatee and lip ring is ambivalent about the homeless, cancer research and the learning disabled.
They all want one thing, and that's to hit on people of the opposite sex.
I'll accept that the female of the Chugger species is more subtle about it, but Jesus, she does love to bask in the attention of the males that she attracts into her honey trap.
It's all about preening and getting a reaction for her.
The outcome is less important. The attention is everything.
The guys on the other hand are just in it for the ladies phone numbers that they can procure.
These guys will hit on anything within a certain demographic.
Over fifteen, under thirty, female and fit seems to be the remit.
Nothing will deter them from their aim.
They will clamber over the girl in the wheelchair, shoulder charge the big issue seller into the gutter and kick the blind buskers hat full of change out of the way to get to the toned girl in the miniskirt and bare midriff (In December).
The ring in her bellybutton acts like a beacon that he has to home in on like a tractor beam from an episode of Star Trek.
Once in close proximity he will slip on a cheeky grin and attempt to get a date out of her with the opening line of "do you have a bank account?"
Not that the info given will matter, as for that split second he has forgotten what the charity is he's working for that week.
If pushed right at this point to say what one it is he may gasp 'Eh, it's for homeless dogs with cancer in a third world country'.
This is because the charity is secondary to getting that number.
It's all about the numbers babeeeee.
So do me a favour. Have a look in the mirror and be brutally honest with yourself.
Do you seriously think that you fit their criteria.
It's only at this time of year that they ease out of their comfort zone and consider asking us oldies and even then it's in a half arsed way.
I'm forty, stocky and look like a homeless bum most days of the week. I'm mainly invisible to the Chuggers, even at Christmas, yet for some reason I also do the body swerve across the street when I see them, but I'm going to try and stop.
From now on I want to just keep marching towards them.
If you are all with me, the too short, too tall, too old, too bald, too fat, basically everyone who is outside their narrow idea of what is attractive then we can really put the shits up them.
Imagine us all storming towards them, bearing down on them with our shopping bags and a determined look on our faces.
Let them cross the road for a change.
We have nothing to lose but our bank details........and a fiver a month to save the panda.
So whose with me?

Break the mould.

In amongst the deluge of crap that we all wade through on what seems to be a daily basis we can often lose sight of the more positive things that are going on around us.
One of those positives is that some people are wrestling control of their artistic endeavours from the parasitic scum who have been deluding people for years that they are the oil that is required to lubricate the machine that will provide said artists with success.
That's of course just spin, as any lubricating they are doing is around the artists ring piece so that the machine can then whore them out for an ass fucking.
More honourable men would just cut the bullshit out and call themselves pimps and be done with it.
Anyway one of the people who has apparently decided to put a closed for business sign up on their rear entrance is the American comedian Louis CK.
Instead of going through the normal channels of recording a show and then looking for a network to air it, and a distributor to get it out their on DVD, he has instead thrown his own money at getting it filmed and then put it up on his website to download for the bargain price of $5 (£3.22).
So far he's made over half a million dollars and I personally don't begrudge him one cent of that.
If he had stuck to the template and followed on from what has come before he would have gotten a fraction of that with what he lost out on going into the pockets of the three drink lunch bullshit brigade.
He wrote the material.
He delivered it to an audience.
He will have paid the camera men and women, the editors of the show and everyone else involved in creating it.
So in my eyes he made the an ethical investment and any cash he garners from it is deserved.
The only people losing out on this are those who had unnecessarily created an imaginary position to occupy in the process.
Forgive me if a don't shed any tears for them.
Go and find a real job fuckers.
Here's a link to Louis Cks website.
https://buy.louisck.net/
Someone else who I hope is looking for a new job is a Glasgow promoter who it would appear has been shown to be the greedy charlatan that they are.
I'll refrain from naming names as they might rear their ugly head in the new year to peddle their unethically immoral schtick under a different name, but at the moment the latest reports are that some of the venues that they have used have pulled the plug on them.
I sincerely hope that this is a sign of the tide turning.
A positive move would be that they are quickly replaced with individuals who will respect the work that the artists put in to entertain others and reward them for it.
The last, but by no means least, bit of good news I've had this week is that Johnny Navarro of Devilish Presley is branching out with a side project called Blacklistable.
Unlike Devilish Presley, Blacklistable will be a vehicle that will allow Johnny to vent his spleen on more political matters, but don't expect a Billy Bragg clone as I can assure you that this will not be what you will be getting.
Knowing Johnny's talent for spouting a vitriolic couplet or two I'm guessing that what we can look forward to is going to be more like a pissed of Woody Guthrie channelled through Bill Hicks.
Whatever it will be.....I can't wait.
www.facebook.com/Blacklistable
Oh yeah. Here's a joke.
What do you call someone who is paid to procures young men and women to entertain others?
A booker.
Boom boom.

UPDATE.
Though the comedian Louis C. K. may not seem like the kind of guy who derives much joy from the holiday season – let alone anything else – Santa Claus has brought him an early Christmas gift. In an interview on Wednesday’s broadcast of “Late Night With Jimmy Fallon,” Louis C. K. said he had grossed more than $1 million from his online comedy special, “Louis C. K.: Live at the Beacon Theater,” after 10 days on sale, and would be donating part of that money to charity.

Having told Mr. Fallon that he’d never had $1 million all at once in his life, and then dismissing his electronically earned largess as “a $5 impulse that 220,000 people had,” Louis C. K. explained that he would use $250,000 to pay for the special (as he has said previously), spend another $250,000 in bonuses to people who work for him and give $280,000 to five charity organizations: Fistula Foundation, which works with women injured in childbirth; Green Chimneys which gives outdoor and animal therapies to children; charity: water, which provides clean drinking water; the Pablove Foundation, which sponsors pediatric cancer research; and Kiva, which provides small loans to people around the world. The remaining $220,000, Louis C. K. said, would go to himself, providing a colorful pantomime suggestion of the physical improvement he planned to purchase with the money.

I've (not) got a ticket to ride.

I've been following the 'Big Man' story with some interest.
I'm not the only one here in Scotland to do so, and as the news has went global I presume that people from warmer climes like Iceland, Norway and Finland are also checking out our vigilante hero on youtube to.
Initially, and similar to the vast majority, I thought 'go'an yersel' big man. The wee toe rag deserves it', but then I stopped my knee jerking and thought about it a bit.
Yes of course the young man was in the wrong, and of course his reaction to the demand of the train fare was out of order.
I don't think anyone would dispute that, and there's nothing in what he did that I wish to defend, but was the reaction to his behaviour a bit over the top?
Could the situation have been dealt with differently?
I think it could have been.
I've read that all the ticket inspectors have had training in conflict resolution.
I didn't see any of it in practice so I'll presume that the ticket inspector missed that course.
His attitude was pretty poor and in no way helped to solve what was a minor problem.
In fact all he did was increase the tension and focus a great deal of negative ire on the young lad.
None of which is going to lead to a positive outcome for anyone.
It's easy to say that if he had just paid up then there would have been no need for what happened to be the outcome.
That's true.
It's also just as easy to say that the inspector could have called ahead and had the transport police waiting, and in doing this he would have avoided the delay, the assault, and the ensuing issues that may, or may not, lead to the 'big man' being charged with the assault.
That's also equally as true.
Out of the two options what one seems to be the best though?
I'm not going to tear into the inspector though.
It was a poor judgement call and I wouldn't want to do his job.
As someone who has used public transport a great deal through out my life I can assure you that there is nothing pleasant about getting the last train or bus home.
Seats are filled with those who are the worse for wear after their long night of hitting the bars and clubs, and very often the alcohol consumed is a catalyst for the worst of attitudes to be revealed.
I couldn't tell you how many times a ticket collector has walked down the aisle shouting 'tickets please' to everyone except the group of drunken middle aged men who are growling at anyone who casually glances in their direction.
This is equally the case for the lone brutish half wit who is singing the Sash to himself to.
These types seem to have a magical travel card that entitles them to a free journey, and in all honesty I'm not going to gripe about it as similarly I would think twice about approaching them.
I genuinely don't blame the guys on the coal face for choosing discretion over valour in those circumstances.
The thing is though..........if they can get off with it then why can't one lad on his own?
Was he the straw that broke the camels back, or just an easier target than those that I've mentioned?
I don't know the answer, but I do know that this is a fuck up and the events that unfurled aren't something to be celebrated.
I've been told that the difference between a return and a single fare is 10p.
If that's accurate then can anyone really say that they are honestly okay with how this was dealt with?
Even if someone had stepped forward and offered to pay for a full single journey for the lad it would still have come in as a less expensive outcome than the possible fine that the 'big guy' may get.
It would also be far cheaper than the court costs that you and I may have to collectively pay for.
That more positive intervention could also have provided the young man with an example of how a compassionate attitude is preferable to an aggressive foul mouthed one to.
So now in the cold light of day and without the need to bow to peer pressure can I ask if this is really the Scotland we want to promote to the world?
One that's full of people who are happy to make snap judgements and react on them?
I feel a bit sorry for the 'Big Man', the inspector and the lad who was a bit of an arse.
There's no winners here.

Aspire or die.

Thanks to Stu Who for highlighting this to me.

Debate is good.

Over the last few months I've been accused of not knowing what I'm talking about when I vent my spleen about what I consider to be the poor practices of some promoters and venues.
So as it could be entirely possible that I am a lone curmudgeon in my outlook I thought I would take the opportunity to ask a few questions so that I can ascertain if my stance is in fact a minority one.

The questions themselves are all rather basic and require a simple yes or no response, but please feel free to add comments and expand on your answers as you see fit.

1)Should bands be paid expenses - at the very least - for their performances?
2)Is it fair that venues expect band and artists to provide their labour for free while everyone else that works for them receives a wage?
3)Should promoters be able to block book venues without confirmed acts, and in doing so create a closed shop aspect whereas band and artists cannot secure gigs unless it is through them?
(Please exclude club nights from this.)
4)Should promoters and bookers publicly state ticket split deals?
5)Do you care as a music fan if the band/artist who has entertained you has been paid for their labour?

Face to Face and Rise Against – Split

What can go wrong when two of my favourite punks bands get together and cover each others songs?
Well plenty as I've have seen in the past.
It's not a sure fire way of scoring a winner and there's no guarantees that the end results will bring anything new to the table, but I'm pleased to say that Rise Against's cover of Face to Face's 'Blind' is as good as expected.
It's not a straight take on the original, and in adding a bit of their own style to it they've managed to create a great version of the song that doesn't eclipse the original, but instead compliments it.
The exact same thing could be said about the Face to Face cover of 'The Good Left Undone'.
If this release serves to highlight the talents of both bands to their own fan bases then I'm going to mark it down as a job well done.
Fans of both bands aren't going to be disappointed with this.

Kate Bush - 50 Words For Snow

Kate Bush has now reached the point where she is classed as beyond criticism as a performing artist.
Attach her name to a project and it's considered a seal of excellence.
She could sample goats farting and play them as a backdrop to a woman laconically berating a male partner about their lack of understanding of menstrual cramps and the album would be considered as a work of genius as long as she added herself doing an impression of whales communicating in the quiet bits.
Critics would fall over themselves to proclaim it to be the must have album of the year, and sheeple would echo their sentiments after listening to it just the once before then leaving it to gather dust with PJ Harveys award winning effort.
(Another album that I consider to be a piece of self indulgent twaddle.)
Don't even dare to say that you don't get it, as others who don't get it either will be quick to look down their nose at you, and then make some snide comment about your lack of cultured tastes.
Fuck them though.
Fuck them and their disingenuous and snobbish attitudes that they cling to.
It's not a healthy position for an artist to occupy in the mind of the public in my opinion.
It doesn't lend itself to allowing an artists to reconsider their material from a different angle.
It's not conducive to an honest reappraisal.
Keep telling people that they are the greatest thing since the invention of sliced bread and a point will come when they will believe it to be so, and when that point is reached they release albums like '50 Words For Snow'.
Yes, the empire has a leader whose a naturist it would seem.....again.
Here's the blurb from Kate's own website.
'50 Words For Snow' will feature seven brand new tracks set against the background of falling snow.
What does that mean?
I'm thinking of releasing an album called '50 words for a Kate Bush album' in response.
Basically it will just be me doing an impression of someone with tourettes over a backing track of the last Saturdays album being played backwards.
I've persevered with Kate's album for over a week and every single time I hit play I can see the x-factor panel asking Kate who told her that this was any good as she tearfully looks into the wings and whispers 'all my fans and critics said it was great'.
Meanwhile in my minds eye the vast majority of the audience cruelly snigger as she runs from the stage and the camera man captures a close up of her wounded and confused eyes accompanied by a quivering snot covered upper lip.
Up until 'The Red Shoes' Kate never missed a step.
Each album was a pop masterpiece that acted as a gateway for people to explore musical paths that they may not have previously considered.
The word genius was deservedly levelled at her, but now..............well c'mon?
Where's the mojo gone?

Sixx AM - 7

Motley Crue are playing tonight in Glasgow alongside Def Leppard and Steel Panther.
It looks like it's a sell out, but I can't help thinking that while these shows will give the bank balance of Nikki Sixx a healthy boost it's with his own Sixx AM that the real talent lies.
Starting off as a band who were formed to do a soundtrack to accompany his Heroin Diaries the project has jumped forward and taken on a life of its own it seems, and now with two rather excellent albums tucked under their belts they have taken some songs from both and used them for their current seven track mini album imaginably called '7'.
While some may think that's a bit lazy the truth of the matter is that they have stripped the songs down and reconstructed them with some soft orchestration backing the material and the results are very, very impressive.
The material is light years ahead of anything he has done with Motley Crue.
Far more mature and classic rock sounding for one thing, and while Crue have apparently managed to carve some sort of survivors niche for themselves there's a good chance that in twenty or thirty years time it will be this material that he is remembered for.
The main attraction to this is the blatant lyrical honesty that creeps into everything.
While it sounds lush and the arrangements are beautiful there's a sense of the desperate throughout in the words.
This is a man who is laying the past out and shining a light on it and seeking answers about how he can push into the future.
He's fucked up more than once and knows it, but his salvation is the light at the end of the tunnel.
A tunnel that he is slowly but surely working his way through, and as long as he keeps chronicling his journey as eloquently as this then there will be no shortage of voyeuristic fans who will be more than happy to follow him on it.
Motley Crue is the past. This is the future.