STICKS, STONES, BONES AND WORDS - CAYN WHITE

A poet that has been around for a lengthy period now.  I first saw Cayn in his embryonic years where his on stage prose was put forth in a purely DIY way with a scrap piece of paper used, words fumbled but the end result effective.  Banter between audience and artiste was bold and brash, Cayn used to stand his ground when heckled and crack on with a fine spirit - I had no complaints at all.  I am keen to get Cayn a slot on one of my gigs again, in the meantime the good lad has sent me a couple of books to review - one of old stuff and one of things new. Here is my take on things borne from the here and now.

Despite the odd spelling error (the bane of every authors life in the DIY pit) and some obvious simplicities involving construct and flow, the assembly of textual arrangements that unfold are all done in a simple but very effective way.  It is with little difficulty that visions are borne within the grey gunk of wayward characters, losers, everyday wankers and many of life’s troublesome scenarios.  Having reviewed another book by Cayn, namely 'The Nonsense Files' which gathered together many old faves from times of naivete, this latest offering is a great example of progression made and how the creator of the somewhat melodic word is exploring matters with more profundity and a greater insight.  

Again, like all tomes of this type, it is better to read whenever the whim takes one, and to pluck a poem at random and duly contemplate.  I have operated in such a way, read the words over and over and have been quietly impressed by the passion, the emotion and the general wordplay.  There are sequences borne from tangible inner scars, there are episodes dredged forth from the rugged and unforgiving reality of life and there are spillages built around that great motivating force known as 'hate'.  We have offerings for all ages, some that bring memories of school years, in all their ghastly bully-tainted mis-glory and some that deal with matters that affect later life, again in a somewhat disarming and sobering manner.  We do have a mixed bag though, but the cruelties of life are always just within touching distance.  'The Future Must Be Better' tackles threadbare hopes and dreams of those on the cusp of failure, 'Just One Kiss' is a short, sharp dig at the spineless and unfaithful and 'What We Can Do As Men' is a tough bout of honesty aimed at the macho morons and unthinking hordes.

Overall there is much to impress and much to consider and the advancement of the scribe is plain to see.  I do hope Mr White continues to produce these small, inexpensive slices of observation and inner impressions, now all I need do is book the bugger for a ‘live’ stint. I plan to be very much absorbed.

GIVE ME A COUNTRY THAT CARES - JEFF (JEFFARAMA) DAWSON

Stood at a gig, a good fellow arrives and hands me a book!  A secret guide to the love life of German midgets perhaps?  A diary relating the trouble of a man living in the public lavatories of Rusholme?  No, it was a book of poetry by none other than that famed doofer Jeff Dawson.  For me, the world needs more gents like this, people who have a good heart, think about things then get up and give it a good shot.  Anything punk must surely be about ego-free action and striving to make a difference, that wreck and roll ethos is a shit-stained trick to keep knuckle heads down. Rise up folks, do your bit and get things moving.  This latest collection of prose was received and pondered over several sessions and in various situations - here are my thoughts.

The words here are borne from a passionate ticker, and a man who cares beyond his own region.  He is also a proud Boltonian, something which shines through via several poems such as '#Rooms For Manchester' and the delightful retro footy tickle 'Match of The Day'.  I do have a strong liking for 'Radio, Radio' as it holds on to an era that is being ground underfoot by more in-your-face media bilge water. It seems a loss of airwave appeal and innocence is the end result - bah.

It is blatantly obvious we have a man with robust socialist views here, views that abhor anything prejudice or imbalanced.  'Rise Again' and 'Divided Kingdom' are touched with disgust whereas 'Give Me A Country That Cares' says so much more and embraces a whole panorama of skewed injustice and may it be said, hope.  

What I like about this collection is that is can be picked up and taken in small doses, it is an ideal book to have in your bag and to pull out whenever the mood arises.  I have contemplated these prosaic potterings in bed, sat in a field, or whilst sipping a brew in a cafe amid the usual social kerfuffle.  People are at the core of what is borne, as well as personal appreciations of the plight of others.  From the empathy comes a ray of promise, from the depths of despair we are always given a reminder that we are human and as humans we need to up the caring game. I must also add that, in the midst of all that transpires, humour pays a timely visit, do not overlook this important facet.

This is a well-balanced book with many highs, other particular faves including 'The Thunder And The Bombs' because it reminds me not to be selfish and of course it brings back the vibes of such a quality recording, 'The Angler' because escapism is a beautiful commodity, 'The Only Band That Mattered' due to its youthful naivete and 'Long Live The Heyday' because it is tattooed deeply with woeful neglect and a tragic loss of innocent times.

In truth, there is something for everyone here, I won't stop turning these pages, it will be a pleasure to dip in, digest and move on.  Jeff Dawson (aka Jefferama) has a joyous ethos and a good approach to this idiot drama called life - please support, encourage (as if this fella ever needed any) and do a bit yerself and, most of all, care a little more.

THE NONSENSICAL POEMS 2005 TO 2023 - CAYN WHITE

Cayn White - spilling verse since the world went wank (well perhaps not that long).  This collection of poems brings back memories of watching a youthful weaver of words spill his guts out in tucked away discordant dells under the banner of The Polish Club and The Shay. Grand times and pure DIY which is a way that shall never be denied as far as I am concerned.  The tickling tales that were issued forth are brought together in a collection that still raises a titter and which as me raising my eyebrows at the surprising articulation.  The fact that I can remember some of these poems perhaps speaks volumes and the fact that I am still amused may say something about my ongoing mental failings.

Again I plucked a piece of prose at random, sucked on the scribbled serenade with glee and spat back many thoughts that ended up on some crumpled paper.  As I deciphered matters things began to make some semblance of sense.  'Picnic In Chernobyl' is basic but gets its point across 'Boring Poetry Night' sums up what I am sure many feel and will no doubt tread on a few toes whilst 'Don't Hit Send' is a cute piece that deals with the dangers of the digital age of communication.  'Porn Shop', 'Sponge Bob Must Die' and 'The Biscuit Poem' are forever engraved within the grey gunk and it doesn't take much effort to see the young artiste cobbling together his delivery on a stage gawped at by a gathering of spiky tops and half-sozzled boozers.

As I pondered and perused further, several favourites came to the fore, these being the pertinent 'Mr Negativity' (we all know one), the comical and cute 'Help! I'm A Giraffe' and the skin-crawling tale of a real house of horror 'Where Hygiene Died'.  Within the weft and weave there are hidden subtleties and sharp twists with the words at times perhaps forced into position but at others falling into place like that last satisfying jigsaw piece.

In summing up, these are snippets from what was and lay a foundation for what will be.  When read alongside Cayn's latest release matters come into their own, I would suggest to anyone and everyone to cough up a bit of dosh and support a real creator who isn't afraid to bear his balls, warts and other bits if the price is right.

SCRAPING THE BARREL - CAYN WHITE

I have a lot of time for Cayn White - he is a one man doofer who gets up, spills his lyrical wordery and gets his point made.  He has been at it for a ruddy long time now and this latest offering has been long overdue.  I have read through the tome a couple of times and found it to be an eclectic mix of observational scribblings with an insight into things many would regard as throwaway commonplace but which in fact, are nothing of the sort.  There is a sadness within the textual weavings, a poignancy and a sharp spirit that shines through whilst all the while we get good word manipulation and an ensnaring of a certain scenario or indeed, character.

As one flows through the book numerous favourites arise with 'A Bit Of A Boy/See That Girl' is straight out thinking with its street commentary on the usual lop-sided judgements, 'Brand Loyalty' is an acid spill on those trapped by the media sales machine, 'Sunday Best' a terse but delightful trip down memory land, and 'Glimpse Of God' is a naked horror show revealing what goes on behind closed doors.

Travelling forth through textual by-ways and the lonely inducing slants of 'Microwave Man' and 'Man Of The World' ring with insight, 'Funeral' is a touching subject beautifully dealt with in an honest and transparent way and the ghostly 'Voices' has an ambiguity one has to wrestle with.  To me the pinnacles arise from the latter leaves with 'Another Glimpse' of paranoia turning to poison which leads to a life of solitary suffering, a suffering borne from a sickness within oneself.  The final poem is another strong contender for the pick of the crop with 'Remember' an emboldened piece that deals with bullying, reckless careless disrespect and an ultimate end doom which sees the perpetrators get a taste of their own toxic filth.  It is a complete cycle delivered ideally and full-stopped with a damning surprise.

These are my brief but considered thoughts on a good effort that has taken a little too long to reach mine, and others, eager mitts.  My advice to this fellow is to keep at it (I know he will anyway), to make sure his next publication doesn’t take as long (breath not held) and that he keeps up his observations and saying it how it is (as if there is any other way).  Anyway, there ya go, if ya like DIY, honesty and some thought-provoking wordage – get this!

THE COLIN'S GODSON ANNUAL - A. J. SMITH

I have been blessed with the knowledge that Colin's Godson do exist and are sweet makers of darn interesting, merry and worthwhile music.  I have followed their journey and have been mightily thrilled along the way - imagine my upset when the end date was given and tunes proffered would be no more.  I was wondering where I would get my next angular fix from and pondering a session on some rich and exotic QC Sherry that had been sent my way from the Pygmy's of Planet Ex (it no longer exists) until...oh until!  News came my way of an 84 page full colour annual featuring tales of the said bands extraordinary escapades.  Even better was that I got sent a copy and was requested to do my bit via the written word - gosh, golly and gonads!  I awaited the parcel, it came and so did I (well almost) and I took my time perusing the pages and making sure I gave them a good going over!  I flicked, I fumbled and fuckin' smiled my noggin off as what I uncovered brought back some tuneful memories and many a titter.

The content present is done in the creators own style, the thread of the stories is kept throughout and our characters subtly given their own identity as each tale unfolds.  The charm perhaps comes with the certain surreal ambiguity tossed into the constructive mixing bowl with the reader kept intrigued due to the fact it is never certain what will happen next.  There is a loveable geekiness to all that transpires and a suggestion of people who have had too much time on their hands and too many hours to ponder the imponderable.  'Wasters' would be perhaps misinterpreted by many and deemed an insult but 'wasters' are creators of many wondrous angles and for me the case in point is argued for in solid style here and done so with colour and tangents aplenty.  If one is familiar with the CG vibes then of course this tome has added life but even if one has no experience of the tonal pleasures this portmanteau of adventures can still be enjoyed and used as provocation to go forth and seek the noise.

Yes, I am giving this a thumbs up, a DIY thumbs up at that and with the added advertisements of idiot and 'VIZ'esque intent then I am sure the appeal may ripple further waters than imagined.  I don't know what the initial run of copies was and whether or not is has sold out but I have been informed there may be more of the same on the way - if I was you, I'd start your collection off 'NOW'.

WALL OF PAIN - DAVE THOMSON

A tome that was scribbled back in 2004 and which has been laying on my shelf for quite a while now.  It deals with the eccentric and troubled record producer who opted for a painstakingly meticulous approach to record making much to the despair on many artists.   This book was released during the time when Phil Spector was on trial for first-degree murder but doesn't go into any depth with the said controversy.  Perhaps this is just as well as we can focus more on the history that built up to this moment and how the man came from nowhere and ended making such impressive, long lasting waves.

Primarily the book works through the rise, fall, rise and disappearance from the public eye of one troubled man looking for a way to make music that was based on a 'Wall of Sound' effect.  Prior to turning the pages I had a familiarity with some of the creators dabblings but I was still astounded to see a full history of the artistes that he had actually worked with - it is an impressive Hall of Fame.  Ike and Tina Turner, The Ronettes, Gene Pitney, John and Yoko Lennon, The Righteous Brothers, George Harrison, Lenny Bruce, The Ramones etc. etc, etc.  Throughout his work though perspective of the man under the spotlight is seen to be distorted and prone to exaggeration although it is more than a little obvious that Spector was a quirky character with dips into self-sympathy, frustration and mental turmoil.  He had a penchant for waving guns at people, throwing tantrums and exposing a vulnerability that saw him repeatedly try to prove his status and standing as a man.  A very uncertain person comes to the fore and even though the writer is a fan, the account still exposes a character with many flaws in his make-up and is one I feel that is far from a likable chap (in my personal opinion).  We are left somewhat hanging at the end, in an almost abrupt way, I can’t decide if this is a good or bad thing although we do now know where things ended up.

Although emphasis swings towards a chronological style rather than the personally preferred story-telling option this is an interesting read that once more reiterates that what 'they' want you to see is not what 'you' may get.  It is all about viewpoints and even I have fallen victim to making a judgement.  It is more than obvious Phil Spector struggled with his role, perhaps asked too much of a lifestyle that was destined to be invasive and with various personal problems over the years it seems tragedy was the only ultimate outcome.  My time was not wasted wandering the leaves here, I shall now dig out a few CD's and reinvest some moments with the fine vibrations created.

THE ANNOYING MEGAPHONE PIGEON - DWANE READS

Published by Piggyback Press this DIY collection of word wanking wizardry comes from the angular cerebral junction found in the noggin of one Dwane Reads, a man who is quite adept at taking the most obscure or overlooked aspects of life and turning them into to something most notable and worthy of a second thought (no easy thing, believe me).  Having witness the guy strut his verbal stuff on a couple of occasions I was keen to browse through the written material in my own time and in many different situations and did so with much eagerness of mind.

Initial thoughts came after many scribblings were pondered and as I turned each page and read the next textual construction I started, I believe, to understand the inner machinations of the composing creature at hand.  Tales here are varied and contain a certain ambiguity at times that forces you to revisit the rhyme and re-assess just were the author is coming from and where the hell he may end up.  I like this aspect, sometimes being too blatant is almost vulgar and takes away a particular mystique so many overlook as the key to pseudo-success.  Situations under the radar are many, from sitting on a bus, racing down a motorway, indulging in a bit of skip-ratting to doing a bit of happy shopping or finding oneself locked in a toy shop.  The people under the spotlight are equally varied from the loved and loathed to exhibitionists, drunkards, rebels, hen-pecked 'erberts and frustrated public sector workers.  Angles of quirkiness maintain extra interest with particular favourite moments for me being concerned with fish, nutcases, being muted, a pair of new shoes, clowns and public house sales.  There is a vast array of subject matter covered - all done so in an individual and perhaps anarchic way that makes this a most admirable collection to consider.  One of the most rewarding aspects is the fact that Mr Reads doesn't adhere to idiot guidelines and somewhat goes ad lib and gung ho with emphasis on a severe naturalness you can't escape from, for this aspect alone he should be applauded.

My overall feelings regarding this book is of a product that is best left always available, as it is one of those offerings you will  want to continually return to and nibble at.  It needs dropping into over and over again and will bring repeated pleasure and a feeling of DIY clarity that re-emphasises that anyone can get up and have a go at doing something for themselves for the sheer love of it.  That is a marvellous feeling and something we should be bloody well grateful for.  Good work all round, go get your copy and cultivate creation.

DOWN AND OUT AND UP AGAIN - REVEREND J ALUCARD

There are some right 'cunts' about, you had better believe it. There are some cunts that do nothing and some cunts that do as much as they can! The cunt who wrote this book falls into the latter category and comes out smelling of praiseworthy roses and looking like a right old champion. He is still a cunt though but I like cunts that do!

What we get here is a semi-self explanation of ones life, how the Reverend came to be, how he scrapes by and what means he uses to get from various A's and B's in life as well as a few X, Y and Z's. The textual twaddle is shovelled high with cute manipulation that shows a soul who has been tortured, will remain tortured but who won't lay back and just give in. Restlessness brings tales of peregrination, sagacity brings to the fore a thinking mans insight into a variety of situations and honesty makes this the most applaudable and appreciable read you could honestly ask for. What we find is a man out of sync with the system, a man tickled by the natural things in life, a man who is quite happy flowing to where he is going. Amid the peregrinations comes inside information on how to handle birds of prey, how to be an entertainer and how to deal with drugs and truly kick the enslaving fuckers into touch. The obsession with eclipses takes over and drags our wanderer here and there over the grimy globe and through his unflowered peepers we see a shit-stained reality given a strange hope, a hope that is built on simple mindedness and unpolluted clarity - what more could you ask for? It is a lucid perspective, someone trying to get through this mire called life and make some sense of the whole darn conundrum - go on lad, give it thy best!

ANGER IS AN ENERGY - JOHN LYDON

John Lydon/Johnny Rotten is a bugger.  A downright angular, awkward, unpredictable bugger who makes mistakes, has numerous flaws, tries to maintain a honest approach (oh the silly sod) and does things his own way, without thought for rules and expectations - and of course there ain't nothing wrong with that.

The book here is completely open and has our marmite man shooting from the hip, quivering his ever-twitching lip and saying things he may regret, he may be proud of but, at the time, he very much believes in.  Throughout the text we get a warts and all approach with many relatable tales about the gripes of life and the worries many of us are victim to.  This dude, for some inexplicable reason, has been put on a pedestal (no, no I think ye all miss the point) and yet still has the ability to ruffle many feathers (not difficult in a world of deceit) - and why not?  For me, the man is just another bloke striving to do things his way, with a mouth as a weapon and struggling to shake off the perpetual dross many like to fling out there.  In truth he does himself no favours and during the textual twattology is quite happy to hold his hands up and admit to his failings and his more positive aspects.  Some ramblings are delightfully cringe worthy, many are real heart wrenching snippets of a chap who, at the end of the day, is a human being with a caring old soul in a very antagonised frame.  I like that, I like the controversy that is created and I like the fact that even after all these years the bastard still has me wondering what contradiction he will come up with next.  A very important point that arises (and even now some still don't thoroughly grasp) is that Lydon loves music, loves stretching boundaries and hates being indolent and non-creative - and good fuckin' on him for that.  He his also fiercely loyal, has almost self-destroying wicked humour and never knows when to keep that yapper under the wrapper - what more can anyone ask?

So would I advise you to read this - well of course?  For what reason - well, to show that people are people, are far from perfect and can be very misrepresented by the whole media machine and the warped expectations of society.  Lydon certainly has put his jacksie on the line, he most definitely highlights here that he can be a right twat to get along with, be he also thoroughly indicates that he is trying as best he can to get things moving.  A pain in the arse, a pompous pudding, a pioneer, a paradox incarnate liable to upset the most genteel of people - the tale is a discombobulating account of someone pitched in at the deep end and striving for some sense of reason behind all the fuckin' madness out there - oh heck!

PUNK ROCK NURSING HOME - MARCUS BLAKESTON

Andy T opens proceedings with an insightful introduction that warns us about the hazards of a short memory and the pushing to one side of many a governmental atrocity that, in stark truth, has affected us all - for the worse. It is a heartfelt opening and we wonder what course we are on within the following textual journey.

What we basically have on our hands here is a bittersweet short story loaded with sadness, poignancy and a sub-textual message that hatred should be maintained for those that do more damage than many suspect. Once again we have an easy read with many cute touches, heart wrenching moments and an utterly believable storyline. The fact the author calls on his created history, takes a little of himself and adds to the equation, keeps the punks foul and consistent, maintains the natural everyday essence and immediately involves the reader with a futuristic yarn that is a little too convincing to be browsed by. The characters are ones we all know and although obviously caricatured to a limited extent it adds to the comical aspect of the yarn and nicely keeps one semi-smiling throughout (one's even called Fungal although I have no plans to grow old for sure). Blakeston has a simple off the cuff style that gradually and most assuredly lets you know he is well versed in what he writes about. He also has a textual talent that will only get better as time ploughs on if he keeps those fingers tapping the keys. The ageing rockers and their still rebellious ways shows old dogs still have bite and although I am a believer in moving forward many who love their trips down memory lane and keeping the nostalgia alive will appreciate this. The only criticism I have is that the punky people are almost too basic, too predictable in their ways and I would find it utterly disappointing if this is how many of the scene end up turning out (although as I look around me I can see no alternative for many). Freshness of thought and noise is a personal thing though and yet again I bet I am in the minority.