Wednesday, October 29, 2008

Beresford Greene Speaks (eighth fit)....

Hello Folks!

The number of times that I've had conversations about this beggars belief. As though I would have any answers! The fact is though, that I have sought, and listened to, advice for so long that I do have some things to say on the subject. First of all the quotes from others:-
A) Remember, no-body dies. {Meaning there's no real penalty if you do mess up}.
B) Use your imagination. See yourself in place, making a huge success of it.
C) We become fit at what we do. Practise Practise Practise!
D) Practice is only so good. It can make you seem stale by the time you achieve autonomy.
E) We don't just have to do. One can practise in the mind. See the instrument, the lyrics, your fingers. Hear your voice even
though you aren't actually singing.
F) Imagine yourself to be loved & adored by everyone
G) Don't use drugs. They will mask yourself from yourself but not the others.

My answers go something like this:-
a) I will die. Of shame and embarrassment, of bitter smallness & envy of those who don't. (Mess up).
b) I see only failure in my minds eye. I cannot twist my fate, not even in my mind.
c) Practise is boring me - so I will be boring everyone when I perform.
d) I will have to take the whole kitchen with me, to retain that familiar ambience. {OK so you practice in the bathroom}.
e) In my minds eye I see my future failure in advance. I will be standing there miming!
f) If everyone were to love me at once I'd get ripped to bits. Why I haven't always managed that even on a one to one basis!
g) I might as well be drunk. That way at least I won't remember it.

Practice in the kitchen will make you fit to perform - in the kitchen! Over practise will mean a loss of spontaneity. Nerves can rob you of your mind. If there just isn't an answer I will just have to find another hobby.
There now aren't you glad you asked me? You didn't! Someone did.

A new priest at his first mass was so nervous he could hardly speak. After mass he asked the monsignor how he had done. The monsignor replied, 'When I am worried about getting nervous on the pulpit, I put a glass of vodka next to the water glass. If I start to get nervous, I take a sip.'
So next Sunday he took the monsignor's advice. At the beginning of the sermon, he got nervous and took a drink. He proceeded to talk up a storm. Upon his return to his office after the mass, he found the following note on the door:

1) Sip the vodka, don't gulp.
2) There are 10 commandments, not 12.
3) There are 12 disciples, not 10.
4) Jesus was consecrated, not constipated.
5) Jacob wagered his donkey, he did not bet his ass.
6) We do not refer to Jesus Christ as the late J.C.
7) The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost are not referred to as Daddy, Junior and the spook.
8) David slew Goliath, he did not kick the ---- out of him.
9) When David was hit by a rock and was knocked off his donkey, don't say he was stoned out of his head.
10)We do not refer to the cross as the 'Big T.'
11) When Jesus broke the bread at the last supper he said, 'Take this and eat it for it is my body.' He did not say 'Eat me'.
12) The Virgin Mary is not called 'Mary with the Cherry'.
13) The recommended grace before a meal is not: Rub-A-Dub-Dub thanks for the grub, Yeah God.
14) Next Sunday there will be a taffy pulling contest at St. Peter's not a Peter pulling contest at St. Taffy's.

I hate to get too heavy, especially in print. {It is print isn't it? Maybe cyber-print-eh}. A word in my ear from Steve, the Regnum Club manager, even had me asking Brenda if she was guilty. Perhaps he thinks I have some influence. That's a first. It seems that there are those who have seen fit to bring their own drinks with them. We must consider the low costs to us of the room that we use. Yes I know it's easy to find fault. However set against the backdrop of past experiences, this venue is a peach! {More accurately a mushroom}. Only the (now defunct) Gribble Inn was better. The fact is that the Pubs & Clubs (♣ ♣ ♣) want to make a profit, & since they do this by the sale of drinks means that they are expecting us to buy! The Regnum Club isn't very different in that regard although the drinks cost a lot less than even the most spit & sawdust hostelry. It might be better not to bring your own refreshment, or at least don't wave it in his face.
Please, therefore, I beseech thee all, don't ask Steve for more than he really wants to give us.

I'd like to think that you would all want to join me in an overdue word of praise for our resident MC, David Crackers. Some will think that I'm being a bit of a creep, but he won't ever know what I have said. You see David is a writer who cannot read ordinary text. FACT! He is gifted on the one hand, while it is so that he does have another hand, it is also so that he can't spell with it. So sayeth Ken, (who says he knows about these things). For what David does so well & so prolifically, spelling is not an issue. This is because Crackers is a writer of songs. When his eyes alight on any kind of glyph he sees only the crotchets & quavers.
A word of appreciation for such an artiste is not out of place. Every week David brings his very own brand of enthusiasm to bear on the proceedings, thus extracting some of the most positive performances ever seen at a Folk Club anywhere. Neither does this emotional drain come cheaply for him. Sometimes this poor man is so exhausted after such a session that he is moved to crying. Sadly this is so. For a big man with an enlarged heart, he's real "♦" fella. A round of applause please!

What may come as a surprise to most of you is that I was once lined up to become a professional cricketer. With due respect to those North of Watford, or worse, this should be pronounced "CREEKEET." This is because the only County that really knows how to play it proper is Yorkshire. The fact that none of them will find this at all funny is evidence of the majesty with which they revere the game. I was telling Paul's sister about this just the other day when she was here on a visit. I also told her about the golden kerbstones that one finds down here. In fact I gave her a "♠" {To dig one up!}. I digress. The fact is that it turned out that I wasn't too good with the Willow, and was advised to get a job singing. Now I'm not one to boast but well really .....!

Did I FORGET to tell you? My mnemonic system {from last week}, fell apart when I diverted from Sainsbury's into Lidl. I managed to get Peas, Humous, Beetroot, Nuts, Hamburgers, & Flour. I never did manage to get the stuff home because the car broke down. It ran out of P for PETROL! ♫ ♪♪♪ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♪♪♪ ♫ ♪♪♪ ♫ ♫ ♫ ♪♪♪ ©

How many of you have seen the recent series of BBC programmes by Alan Yentob on the subject? I suppose you might expect me to know quite a bit about it. If you're not a guitarist perhaps you don't care. Even if you are, the "popular" nature might alienate you. I don't think that I want to be associated with all of it . No I would not. In truth, even though it was initially attractive when I was a lad, I do not favour the electric guitar as such. It's a beast that needs much taming. Without much doubt though, it offers one real gain: - Amplification without feedback.
A second advantage is that the signals can then be processed so that they no longer even sound like a guitar. I find very few of these "voices" truly attractive to my ear. However, the first hour of the programme contained at least one gem for me: - Cine footage of the great gypsy jazz guitarist, Django Reinhardt. There is said to be only four minutes of black & white movie in existence. I had never seen so much as an inch of it. So it was fantastic for me to see Django in action after waiting all these years, Whoever said that "a picture is worth a thousand words" got it wrong. A movie picture of any guitarist is priceless and cannot be equalled by any number of words. I ♥ my guitar!
{I have some video of the Les Paul story & if anyone is interested I'll make you a DVD copy of it}.

Speaking of love, I have a new girlfriend. You'd think I'd have learned wouldn't you. But I've done it again. Fallen hook line & sinker for her. She is constantly in my thoughts. I cry with passionate admiration every time I see her. I call her "Mew." A younger woman too. A blonde yeah, but she ain't dumb. Nope! I am besotted, obsessed. Holly my cat, is furious, but only has herself to blame. "MEW" she mewed, "why MEW?" From being my most, {don't say only}, endearing & dedicated fan, she has taken another male escort. His name is Tennessee. He comes round to call more like a faithful old lapdog. He sings to her just as I used to. She sometimes sings with him, then they do "The Tennessee Waltz" together. She never did that for me. Then she abuses him wickedly. It is shameful at times. I did feel sorry for him; that is until he attacked my guitar picking fingers. The injuries threaten my whole career, let alone my relationship with Mew. I - L♥O♥V♥E Muriel Anderson!

"From a JACK to a KING"
"That's all Folks!"


1770 words

No comments: