Click me .. to listen, for free, to The Red Telephone Boxes' Graveyard EP.

 

 

 Songs from the past brought to you by Derelict Roller Disco Records - purveyors of music made for the courageously & resoundingly unhip*

 

"If only I could be a whimsical alchemist,

Melting down those winter blues into white gold

More worthy of my muse."

- Black Cabs & Brandy

 

 

For a while, I resided in Liverpool with a wild child called Amy, not far from Penny Lane (you might have heard of it).  Eddie Rocket's Diner, Bold street, became a favourite haunt.  It was like stepping onto the set of Back to the Future, and the novelty of the individual jukeboxes beside each booth never wore off.  Being a non-carnivore, this is likely to be the last time you hear me waxing lyrical about a 50s-themed burger bar franchise, but I never came away with any spare twenty pence pieces in my pocket (and I recall their fruit crumble was very pleasing).  

 

On my jukebox : some notes

҉ This Is It (2000) ...was my third song.  Be gentle.  The words are 'abstract' or, if you prefer, half mad.  A somewhat prophetic title?  The crystalline electric guitar part is lovely, I think.  That's Thom, my littlest brother.  Clearly, I'm still exploring possibilities, and finding my voice - still learning how to breathe.

҉ After The Rain (2001) ...is the sound of These Four Walls: Thom, playing a blinder (he's a pro on the jazz front); Rich, lord of the low frequencies / backing vocals (his fretless fury now startles the citizens of Tokyo); Gautam (a thoughtful contributor, and a gentle soul), percussive things.  And me.  We set out to make a kind of coffee shop indie-pop all-night eatery folka-cola, I seem to remember.  There was one snag, though: I wrote the songs.  Ahahaha.  It was very much a family affair, our band.  Rehearsals were L O N G, so - acting beyond the call of duty - Mum brewed the tea, and made the midday sandwiches, while Dad assumed the role of roadie, and provided the comedy.  Good days.

҉ Going Blonde (2003) ...has stayed on my set list, albeit as a less frenetic reincarnation.  Thom's on flugel horn here, and the backing vocals are Richie's.  I put this version down to commuting.  I was forever sprinting along the train platform, always with a coffee in my hand.  Always with the sun in my eyes.  ; )

҉ Wolf in a Woollen Coat [acoustic taster] ...comes from a place east of midnight, and comprises the sounds of authenticity: splinter-throated words fraying at the edges; 'distressed' chords; ANGRY fret buzzes!  Thom's trumpet part - its improvisatory, muted soulfulness - is, to my mind, something a bit special.

҉ (A Simple) Tree House [acoustic taster] ...virtually wrote itself when the crunch mutated into a crisis, and Woolworths - a sort of clumsy but loveable hippo? - disappeared, never to resurface from the murky depths.  Slightly unsettling moments of dissonance, almost inaudible at times, underscore the lyrics.  My brother had his bass clarinet (a secondhand Internet purchase if ever there was one) shipped over from California in a state of disrepair, and then stuck the beast back together with superglue.  You can hear the air circulating; I like that!  Peter the Great's brief was to help me construct a fuller arrangement of this - more of a grandiose gesture, perhaps, like the tree house itself - for The Red Telephone Boxes' Graveyard EP.

҉ Calling Heaven (2000) ...with brother Thom on electric guitar.  One of our earliest recordings: the first few faltering steps, and crumpled wings.

҉ Healing (2001) ...later formed itself into a song I still play called Christmas Island.

҉ One a.m. / S.O.S (2003) ...were part of a solo effort - Sketches of Space - made for friends.  Thom put a bit of flugel horn on the latter.

-BJB

 

No music?  There may be a strip to click nearer the top of your screen.

One guitar; one microphone; one primitive, palm-sized recorder; one track; one take; one midsummer morning; one Sunday; one permanently puzzled man; one conglomeration of uncertainties; one alternative self. 

 

  Black Cabs & Brandy

 

 

S.O.S 

 

*Just kidding.  Or... perhaps I'm not.