My brain is like a pinball, a few more lifetimes would do me good. There is rarely enough time and I am often unfocused, distracted and prone to procrastination.
This is my excuse for why The Devil And Daniel Kincade never came to be. That and a severe lack of money.
The Devil And Daniel Kincade was that difficult second album, the one that still hasn't been finished. It existed in concept and as a series of demos - an hour-long musical, telling the sad fate of Daniel Kincade, an impoverished would-be bank robber, who sells his soul to the devil for a chance to see how life could have been.
It came from a naive ambition, and as such, embodied a little glimmer of the magic that lurks therein. A childhood filled with tales of boxcars, macabre transactions at crossroads and notions of hell and damnation. The demos are unfinished, lyrically or musically inconsistent and sometimes no more than sound bites. The more complete tracks give some colour to what it could have been:
The play was narrated by a lost soul who is first seen in the opening act, lamenting the sad fate of our protagonist:
We then opened on a busy street in 1930s America, factory workers and vendors, join a chorus setting the scene for Daniel Kincade - down and out, laid off, pockets full of lint and dust.
Returning home to his wife, Elaine and their child, it becomes clear that Daniel will have to find some source of income to survive, a lonely night, a bottle of rye and .44. Daniel wakes with a desperate plan and heads for the city bank.
Daniel escapes through the rear of the bank and inot the long grass but is wounded by a gunshot. He runs on in vain.
Eventually Daniel collapses and awakes in a dank cell. Elaine visits and tells him of his failures as a man, that he has given up what good he had in pursuit of base things
Daniel is hauled to court and learns that the police and learns that the shootout he fled left countless dead. framed for the blunders of the law, he is sentenced to death by electric chair.
Daniel turns against the court.
Daniel sits alone in his cell and renounces all good.
In this silence and by pale moonlight, the devil appears to him and offers a deal - to be free in exchange for his mortal soul.
Daniel is released the next day. He heads straight for his home but discovers that no one, not even his own family take notice of him - for a man without a soul, is not a man at all.
The demos here grow scrappy and even I'm not sure what happens.
In concept though, Daniel eventually decides that the world would be better off without him, and so to spare those that had suffered because of him, he begs the devil for one last deal - the world as if he never existed at all.
The devil agrees and Daniel in reflection, decides that these things are not so bad after all.
Though The Devil And Daniel Kincade may never be, I hope these demos will provide some small entertainment in passing.
If not, may you find greener pastures a little further along the road.
It's a hot day. The sun is high and across the banks of the river, where children play, the stagnant water carries the detritus of late-night carousing ever on towards the sea. I stare at the blank screen before me, but all I can think is that I am too hot to think clearly and perhaps, underlying all that, is the vague notion that I might be a piece of shit. It has been a strange year so far, and my thoughts are muddled and unfocused. The definitions are blurred, desires confused. I decide to take a walk, pick through the garbage and the flowers that accumulate with a good life and rally some notion of the future, examine those moments that exist like slivers of gold - precious memories, a few hurtful things; little treasures of their own. In truth, I work too much. It has always been a problem. I stay up late, I daydream too often, and I can only feign an interest in the necessary things that exist in day to day life. I started out as a a misfit, and then I got a taste for it. Perhaps working too much would be easier to justify if it paid well, but in that moment, as we appraised the list of things we might never have, we hit the ancient speedbump of all sentient life.
"What am I doing with my life?"
And therin, lay the rump.
It took a long time for me to consider myself an artist. People would say it, give praise for my music or writing, but I would veer from the notion, afraid of the vague pretentiousness that it seemed to carry. Artists were self-absorbed, lacking in humility, ungrounded and ridiculous.
To say I am an artist now, is perhaps the best coping mechanism I have - it is an admission of guilt. I am an artist in as much as I lack the self-control to stop.
In the Tibetan Book Of The Dead (or in the Tibetan Book Of The Dead as recalled by Aldous Huxley, then poorly recalled by me) the soul travels out across an infinite void upon leaving the body. This expanse of nothingness is the true nature of existence, the tinsel behind the tinsel. It is vast, empty and absolutely terrifying.
When faced with this reality, the soul cries out - panics, trying to escape, leaping into any empty vessel it can find, desperate for reincarnation. The Tibetan Book Of The Dead gives the user of this existential interface this simple advice: "Oh noble soul, do not be distracted." For me, I can find no better allegory for my own existence. In reality, I don't know how to behave, I don't get the rules of the world we live in and rather than deal with it, I throw up my hands, shout 'I'm an artist' and bust out little dirges on the Ukelele. I wear loud clothes, tie ribbons in my hair, cross-dress and slip between projects like a soul searching for a body, only to emerge, restless and hungry for the next.
It is my nature - an act so often repeated that the mask has fused with the flesh beneath, and somehow, I try to make it look good.
In our culture, we identify art as a specialisation, as a skill, but this notion is confusing. Art is an expression of the ineffable, an attempt to translate something felt or seen, it is human nature, not a skill that must be graded or deemed worthy before it is allowed. The moment we put an artist on a stage, we create a division between ourselves and our relationship with art. We make it an activity that we can only participate in if we are 'talented' enough, an embarrassment if it is not our all-consuming passion.
We should let the word 'hobby' be reserved for stamp-collecting, art is an inevitable part of our lives. If you love the art of an artist, then help them and encourage them to keep going, but do not shift people into the realms of idol worship, or sanctify the world they inhabit.
It is in human nature to desire importance, to want to define our existence and to matter to those around us, but this desire has been hoodwinked. We are a culture obsessed with fame and the famous, we shed public tears for people we have never met but barely notice those that surround us. We live out fantasies on Twitter and Facebook as our own lives trundle on, attributing meaning to each faceless 'follow', as if any of these people give a damn about who we really are. At best, fame is an ugly by-product of success and success is a by-product of the struggle to not starve as we climb whatever ladder we are constantly being told exists. This same unbalance exists in all walks of life - a society in which, rather than each monkey getting a coconut, one monkey sits on a pile of a thousand coconuts, as the rest bow at its feet.
It is the lowest form of bullshit and we should be mindful not to be motivated by the want for such things.
The only certification required to be an artist, is the want to do it.
I walk a lot. Late at night, alone, beneath the stars.
I used to do this more. When I was younger, there were hours of restless wandering; early hours, always alone,the world like an abandoned playground. Room for thought.
It is only this year that I have found myself doing it again, it isn't healthy, but all the same, it cannot be helped and so, by the river, lights on the water, we ponder these things. We see them poorly, but believe we see them clearly and lose ourselves in the reverie of each clouded notion. "What am I doing with my life?" I don't know, and perhaps I never will, but we can swear an affidavit, make a gesture of some intent.
I am an artist, because I know no other. I create trinkets of work, little artifacts of my existence that you are free to appraise - love, hate or feel indifferent about. I will try to make them truly and purely, attempt to forge them without vanity, without the want to impress or the need to be successful.
I will make them because I have to, because they are a by-product of my memories and my existence, driven by an inability to explain the things that matter most.
I will make them for you, the people I love, not as gifts or scraps of affection, but as gestures you may not ever even see. I will not cry out your names in the street, but I will utter my gratitude for your presence, in each instance of my toiling and I will cultivate a space in my heart for each of you - for all the good times and for all the bad - a little garden where these precious things may grow. I will not hide the absurdity of my being, or act without full measure, for fear of seeming childish - time is too short for those things. We will revel in the chaos and melodrama of life, understanding that true love is the love that must be fed, or it will devour your heart.
And most of all, I will fail, but in that moment, I will embrace that failure, knead it into my being and form great vans to beat the air; peacock feathers and gilded ornaments, splendid things.
I will not go gently into that night, but I will not expect to be remembered either, for to believe anything lasts is vanity. For this short moment, we shall see what is real and true, and then this thing that is mine, shall be yours also.
I first heard about Donald Crowhurst from my father. He told me the story of a round the world yacht race and the characters that were involved, painted a picture of eccentric men, each of whom were driven to pursue something tantamount to madness.
He told me the story and it almost entirely slipped my mind until years later.
I was talking with my friend Tanja, who had been slightly obsessed with story and when she spoke to me about Donald Crowhurst, something rang a bell.
This was eight years ago.
Since he was a boy, my dad had been in the habit of reading a book a week and when I asked him again about Donald Crowhurst, he produced a book, "A Voyage For Madmen" by Peter Nichols. I read it in a single sitting, once again, captivated by the tale.
I wanted to write a song about it, about Donald Crowhurst, but no matter how hard I tried, all that I produced seemed trite and vulgar. In trying to translate the events, something fundamental was lost, everything I produced showed little insight and proved I knew nothing of it at all.
And how could I know anything at all? After all, Donald Crowhurst's tale end's in an enigma, one clouded with deception.
Donald Crowhurst on The Teignmouth Electron
In 1968, The Sunday Times Golden Globe Race was held, a solo unbroken yacht race around the world - the first of its kind.
Journeys were to be made alone, in a single voyage, without once touching land.
Not only was it dangerous as a voyage, but the immense mental strain would be arduous, too much for most.
There were nine entrants in the race and of these was Donald Crowhurst - an electronics engineer who had designed and built a navigational aid called The Navicator. Despite being knowledgeable about sailing he was largely inexperienced, as people said; a weekend sailor.
With his business falling into ruin however, he saw the Golden Globe Race and more importantly, the £5,000 cash prize as a means to save his family from bankruptcy.
Crowhurst's boat, The Teignmouth Electron was a Trimaran, an usual choice at the time. With his back to the wall financially and with time running out before the start of the race, many of the features he wished to implement were abandoned and so he set sail on the last day permitted from Teignmouth, Devon on the 31st of October. His boat half-finished.
Things did not start well, equipment failed and his inexperience on open waters meant he soon found himself making half the speeds he needed to. Crowhurst was no fool and within those first few weeks of sailing, he gave himself a fifty percent chance of survival.
With his house and business mortgaged to pay for the race, he was left with two options - quit the race and face bankruptcy and ruin for his family, or continue, likely dying in the process.
Then, however, a third option presented itself - one which might allow not only his survival, but a means of taking the prize money.
The route of the Golden Globe Race
In December 1968, Crowhurst began falsifying his progress, giving vague reports on his location, whilst forging a logbook that gave him a sudden lead on his opponents. In truth, Crowhurst's boat was severely damaged, sailing somewhere in the Atlantic.
By now there were only three other competitors in the race, a French man named Bernard Moitessier and two other englishmen named, Robin Knox-Johnston and Nigel Tetley (fascinating stories in themselves and well-worth reading about). In the public eye, Crowhurst's gain put him in a great advantage and it was believed by many that he would likely win.
Crowhurst's intention was to rejoin the race, slipping in as a runner-up, no questions asked. This
way his forged logbook would not be scrutinised and he could still
collect the cash for fastest time.
In March though, Montissier made an amazing decision. As he came to close to the finish line, Montissier turned his boat around, deciding that fame and fortune were of no interest to him. He dropped out of the race and continued on to Tahiti. His reasons for doing so, ""...because I am happy at sea and perhaps to save my soul."
Then in April, Knox-Johnston crossed the finish line, winning the race - however, having set off at a later date, Crowhurst and Tetley were still in competition for the fastest time. In reality, Tetley was far in the lead, but Crowhurst's false reports, put him hot on his tail. Beleiving he was losing the lead, Tetley pushed his boat on to destruction.
On May the 21st, Tetley's boat broke up and he put out a distress call, rescued the next day from his life raft.
By the 30th May, it was announced Crowhurst was the only
contender still in the race. If he crossed the finish line, he would win the fastest journey and now surrounded by a media hubbub, his logbooks would be
examined by experienced sailors. His deception
would be discovered, his life and family ruined.
He was in an impossible situation. The mental strain and the loneliness was unbearable, he had made a gamble and lost. Plagued by guilt, Crowhurst had been keeping a new logbook - one that would cast his story into a deeper tragedy.
Crowhurst's logbook
Excerpt from his final entry, July 1st 1969:
"Cannot see the 'purpose' in any game.
No game man can devise is harmless.
The truth is that there can only be one chess master...
There can only be one perfect beauty that is the great beauty of truth.
No man may do more than all that he is capable of doing.
The perfect way is the way of reconcilliation.
Once there is a possibility of reconcilliation there may not a need for making errors.
Now is revealed the true nature and purpouse and power of the game my offence I am
I am what I am and I can see the nature of my offence.
I will only resign this game if you agree that the next occasion that this game is played
it will be played according to the rules that are devised by my great god who has revealed
at last to his son not only the exact nature of the reason for games but has also revealed
the truth of the way of the ending of the next game that
It is finished-
It is finished
IT IS THE MERCY
It is the end of my my game the truth has been revealed and it will be done as my family require me to do it
it is the time for your move to begin
i have not need to prolong the game
it has been a good game that must be ended at the
I will play this game when I choose I will resign the game 11 20 40
There is no reason for harmful"
On the 10th of July 1969, his boat was found adrift, unmanned. His body was never recovered. An examination of the logbooks revealed that Donald Crowhurst had lost
himself in the journey. It is believed he took his own life, casting himself to the ocean with a single logbook and the ship's clock.
He left behind him a wife and four children.
Crowhurst on the Electron
Nothing I could write would make sense of this story, the act of trying was disrespectful.
Songs were written, drafts abandoned - ideas skirmished and unfinished, each one distasteful to me.
I abandoned the project.
Then, many years later, one Christmas, a friend of mine, gave me a copy of a film called Deep Water. Mark was an avid film lover and he had seen the documentary recently.
It was about Donald Crowhurst.
The documentary had come out years before (2006), in fact it had prompted Tanja to talk to me about it in the first place. I was reminded again about why I'd wanted to write the song. It wasn't about this man, or what had happened to him, but about
something larger than that.
The Teignmouth Electron was just a boat,
but Donald Crowhurst had staked his life on it.
Whether
or not his actions along the way were noble, he had risked everything.
To save his family from bankruptcy? Perhaps. You tell me.
I couldn't write about Crowhurst, but I could write about myself. I could write about the pangs of ambition, the weight of the past, our regrets, our hope for the future, the fear of loneliness - all those things. It was succinct and it was clear in my head.
It took me an evening.
The Teignmouth Electron single - photo by Emily Ings
The clouds are no ocean, the stars are no mask we may peer into shadow, we may claw at the past,
but to be lost on that motion, to be cast on that flood, to be washed in that silence, is colder than blood,
if the world was an ocean, And the stars were but dreams, And all men were sailors, with the heart and the means,
Then to follow that notion, to be drawn to that call, To be lost in that silence, would be the mercy of all, come lay me down, sweetly wash away, the fear in your eyes and hold, draw us down, in arms alone, all for to sleep and to pray,
All these words, All the woes, will soon be forgiven I say, come on home, to stay.
Harbours close to some few lonesome travelers, Silence clings to those who choose to pray,
we are the world and the world is the world we let in, We are the words and the world is the words we we let in, we are the way of a heart locked in timeless motion, we are the want of all dreams in an endless ocean.
For the cover art, I chose a picture of the ocean at Dawlish, it meant more to me than the waters of Teignmouth, though it was arguably the same sea.
The video was shot and cut entirely by myself. I had a very clear idea of it, I didn't want a narrative, or to see me playing the song as such. Music and words, conjur images - these are the things I saw in the music - inevitability, the passage of time. I saw it in the photographs of my family and the items I had been given over the years, each heavy with memories. The skyline I see each day from my window was the one I wanted to capture and so only one shot was filmed outside my house. Lights drifting in darkness, something reminiscant of restless wanderings, lonely journeys, hoping to return home.
The real Teignmouth Electron now lies in ruin on a beach in Cayman Brac, slowly reduced to debris by the elements. Donald Crowhurst is often spoken of as if he were a character from a film, his life dwarfed by the events surrounding his death.
Donald Crowhurst was a man who lost his life in a situation that spiraled beyond his control, one worsed by notions of fame and success - elements that were stoked by the media and people who stood to profit from his story.
For whatever reasons, whether he was no longer himself at all by the end of it, Donald Crowhurst could never return home, and I wish, at least in part, he could have.
As an artist I always endeavour to write as if my work will never be seen, as if it is only of value in its self. I attempt to find detail and reward in the process and not work with the mindset that i must prove anything, gain acceptance or praise from the people around me. I fear these notions are born of vanity will cloud my judgement and ability to produce anything of quality.
I often fail in these endeavours, and that is fine also.
This being said, The Teignmouth Electron is a film, a song and an idea which, to me, has been executed with a precision which I hope to refine some day, but am very proud of for now. The story of The Teignmouth Electron made me look deeply at myself and the people in my life who matter to me and I see some value in the result.
We are told we live in a culture which doesn't value music anymore, that art has met consumerism in a world of iPods and Youtube Vine, six seconds here, three minutes there. Though the technology is different, I don't believe this is a new culture or even that it is particularly true as a concept. We have different means to access art and a wider pool to draw from and I'm sure if we looked at the results, we would still find we are no-less a species obsessed with music and literature, film and art.
In ourselves though, we can give antidote to those ideas by how we see our own work, to cherish each step, through to the end. There is treasure here, though it may only be of worth to me, I am glad to have found it.
Thank you for reading my post and taking the time to hear my music. If you don't enjoy it, dear reader, I apologise for wasting your time.
Here's a video for my band The Demagogues single 'Cocaine Blues' -I wrote this arrangement based around the traditional song Bad Lee Brown or Little Sadie. It's a popular song and the most famous version is probably Cocaine Blues by Johnny Cash. Though the title was drawn from the beautiful ragtime version which i first heard on an Arlo Guthrie live recording, the song of course cut by his father, Woody, back in the day.
In this song, our anti-hero murders the woman he loves and attempts to evade the police, whilst in a narcotic-induced stupor. I felt the Cash version lacked the tonality of the songs themes and although i grew up with the Dylan version of Little Sadie (all of them) I always pictured the song in my head more like the end of I Am A Fugative From A Chain Gang:
"How do you live?"
"I Steal"
Our hero has fallen from whatever small grace was given to him, kicked down in the dirt, rubbing shoulders with the rats. He's not bouncing along, he's played the worst hand of his life and now the only deal left to cut is the one that puts him at the end of a rope. It's not a song of redemption, but a song of regret - the words of a drowned man.
When you want to sing these songs well (and I'm not claiming that I do) I believe you have to pull out the guts and climb inside. Whatever's left in there along with you, whatever bits that still fit once you wriggle between the bones - that's the essence that you want to keep, the way you see it, the way you always thought it should be.
It should never be an exercise in writing the best version of a song, that is vanity, but it should be an exercise in writing your best version of a song - the one that is truest to you. And this is what I always heard when those lyrics rattled through my head as a kid, or near enough as dammit.
It came together quickly as these things often seem to when they've been brewing behind the scenes, here's roughly what made sense at the time:
To make the video, we took advantage of circumstance. At that time Lizi and I were in Four Of Swords production of Jekyll and Hyde at Poltimore House, a dilapidated Georgian Mansion, deep in the Devon countryside. With the help of local filmmaker Darren J. Coles and the fabulous cast and crew of the show, we were able to slip in some filming between performances.
As always, I am indebted to the talent and kindness of the people around me, who have the patience to join me, as ever, on this strange journey.
It’s Christmas
Very merry, merry Christmas,
It’s Christmas
Though I wrote this in September
I'm so happy, I could just lie down and cry,
It’s Christmas
Very merry, merry Christmas,
It’s Christmas
I'm so very ecstatic at the prospect that,
I will now drink myself into the joy of alcoholic coma,
The great escape is on TV,
Oh my lord, we're just oh so very happy.
Thank you for Christmas, we are going to celebrate,
By spending money that we don't have, on things that we don't need,
Just like it says in the bible.
God is good, god is great,
Hallelujah
But lock your doors and say your prayers,
Steel thyself for a shock,
For last night I learnt a terrible thing,
Aled Jones did not sing in the snowman,
He just sang it on the album,
And if this is a lie, then what else is a lie,
And if this is not true, then nothing is true,
Christmas is a sham,
Aled Jones thou art a liar,
You believe in god and yet you lie,
I want all the children to awake on Christmas day and sing,
Aled Jones, thou art a liar,
Aled Jones, you lied to me as a child (when you were but a child)
Aled Jones, thou art a liar,
Aled Jones, you lied to me from the past whilst you were still but a child,
But in the spirit of Christmas,
And in the likeness of our lord,
I’d just like to say,
I forgive you,
Aled,
And if I can forgive you Aled, probably god might too,
I forgive you,
Aled,
And if I can forgive you maybe so will the other guy, who isn't as famous as you,
Busy weekend, popped on Riviera FM Friday night for a interview and to play a few tracks live - hopefully should be a recording up at some point.
Was a little tricky playing as my top E broke just before leaving and I had no choice but to put on a B string and tune it up to an E.
The result was a string so taut that it felt like playing on a razor blade - will definitely keep some spare E strings in stock from now on.
Saturday was a fun day of recording some demos with my newest band, The Demagogues. We'll probably get some better recordings done eventually but with the use of some pretty tasty kit, we got a few nice tracks down.
Just need to have them mixed and mastered now!
On Sunday we had a little photoshoot with Emily Ings, who took some gorgeous photos of the band.
I'll sneak a couple in below but hopefully it shouldn't be long before the band emerges from the shadows at last - watch this space!
Nothing very exciting but since I've been a little silent, thought I'd post a little of what has been occupying me of late.
Have been working on my latest solo album which is provisionally titled 'The Peasant's Songbook'. It's on slow boil at the moment but expect a preview single at the start of next year.
Shields Of Justice
Have also been working towards finishing Shields Of Justice - met today with some lovely people at Ashcombe Paintball site - who have graciously offered us use of their land for our fabled 'Vietnam Sequence'.
My second novel (or fourth if you count Cold Highways as three books) is nearing the end of its final draft, which is exciting.
Also on a rather exciting note, my folk band 'The Demagogues' is readying to unleash itself on the world at last, with work going into web trickery and recording at the moment.
I'm also working on a couple of secret projects, which will be revealed soon.
Here's a clip from a new little thing I'm doing - videoing a few songs and popping them on Youtube.
Flandyke Shore is a traditional song and this version is most similar to the arrangement by Nic Jones.
I learnt this years ago and have never really played it, so I think there are a few changes that aren't quite right - either way I was never able to play it to Nic Jones' standard so those limitations have created this arrangement.
Anyone interested in the tuning will want to tune their guitar to what I believe is called Cmodal - CGCGCD.
And for anyone else interested, to my knowledge (and probably defective memory) this song is a variation of Flanders Shore which came from a tune called The Ploughman's Love For The Farmer's Daughter, though the war that it features was a good hundred years before so it is probably older.
I have no idea why the light is 'springing from her clothes'
When I set out to do a one-sheet for my album, i didn't really know what it should look like. There are countless 'tutorials' out there, but what I really wanted was an example of an actual one sheet.
Unlike many of the other tutorials, I'll show you the one sheet I used, explain the reasoning for it's layout and link to anything that may be useful. I'll also not ask for any money, unlike those other tutorials that I won't stoop to name.
I used Word to do my press release but you'd have a better time with a program like Adobe InDesign.
Anyway, without further ado; here is my Press Release:
One Sheet
Now I was fortunate enough to have a few patient and kind friends who had seen one sheets before, and thanks to their advice, I was able to pull a pretty good press release together.
The most important thing I learned along the way was that basically, you want to tell the reader what you want them to write.
In the busy world of journalism, no one wants to fish about for information. Have a good, clear header that not only sums up the release but can also be used as a direct sound byte that they can use, should they wish to do so.
More often than not, you will see your own words being directly used to describe your own product - so make it a good tagline!
My Header
As you can see, I've made sure that a quick breakdown of all the important info is right at the top.
In this case my main points are - I'm releasing an album - it's great - when it's out - where to get it.
I've capitalised the album title and my name just to drive it into peoples subconscious.
Technically I'm doing this right now. Some would say this whole article is a shameless attempt to link to my music, but hey ho.
Album art and track list
Next up I popped a photo of the album's cover along with a tracklist. This is optional, as the people reading your press release will probably have a copy of your album anyway.
I used the press release to submit demos to radio stations too, so I made sure to include the length of songs was included here too.
A press release has to be eye catching and so it's a good idea to try and break up any big chunks of text wherever you can.
Try and imagine you're an underpaid journalist, who would rather be anywhere but in an office, on a Monday morning, reading your press release.
If it looks like you've transcribed a portion of the English patient onto a side of A4, you can imagine how unwilling anyone would be to read it.
If you haven't read the English Patient then just remove all the furniture from one of the rooms of your house and spend about twelve hours staring at a bare wall. That should give you a similar experience.
Anyway, onto the next portion:
The Blurb
Here is the meat and potatoes of the one sheet - the blurb. to be honest, I imagined that 70% of the readers wouldn't bother getting this far unless they were interested (much like this blog post).
By this part of the press release, you want to have already given all the information that is important. This is your chance to just sell a few more sound bytes.
Try and think of a few things that could feed an interview or article should it follow - any interesting facts about the project or the people involved.
It is always good to write from the perspective of a third person and make sure not to overdo how much you big thing up. No one likes an egotist!
I broke the blurb into paragraphs which i felt could also stand alone sound bytes, name-dropping the odd track and using a few chose words to steer the tone of the description in the direction I felt would benefit it.
I also had a lovely little quote which conveniently mentioned some of my favourite artists, in the vain hope that I too may get mentioned in the same breath.
Remember to tweak the tone to suit different targets. If you're of local interest, you may want to big that up when sending to towns nearby. Conversely, you may not wish to mention that at all if you're press release is travelling further afield.
Know your product, tell them why the people involved had the unique perspective that created it.
Closing Statement
Now, at the very bottom, you want to make sure the reader has links to whatever forms of contact or websites you're on.
It's also a good idea to reiterate the main points of your document.
Buy my album! That's what I'm saying here (feel it filter into your subconscious) I'm also taking the opportunity to feed them any links I may want them to visit.
Keep it straightforward and to the point. The name; 'one sheet' is literal to that degree.
Press Release
So there you have it, a quick breakdown of what went into my one sheet.
Remember there are no strict rules as to how it should look but in order for it to be effective, you want to make it eye catching and to the point. Don't make the reader have to hunt for any info.
For every twenty you send out, only one or two may get you anything, so don't be disheartened. It's also often hard to tell whether you've had any response at all, so just keep sending them out and see what happens.
If you visit my web page for my album; The Melody Of Distaste, I will slowly put up any reviews I received and where applicable, link to the sites that were responsible.
Please feel free to submit your own music to them as well - if they reviewed me then they must be open to submissions!
Also, please share this article with as many musicians as you can - no one should be charged for this information.
Obviously, it's great if you visit my site etc, blah, blah, blah, but I spent many hours sifting through countless pages of bollox before piecing together what I was doing.
I hope this will save you that misfortune!
Anyway, as always, feel free to comment if anything isn't clear.
Since there is very little in the way of images for the By your hand, I am spared EP, I thought it's about time they appear somewhere. I don't tend to mention my graphics work too much, but I'm a bit of a dab hand in the old photoshop.
I can't take credit for the original Cato logo though, that was a fabulous bit of design by Ren X.
The process involved a mix of media - all the illustrations were hand drawn by myself, many of the textures were created specially and for the under disc image, a 3D model was built.
Catherine and the Owl 'By your hand, I am spared' EP cover detail.
The photo that appears on the booklet back was taken by Emily Ings. Not much to say for the cover - i have uploaded the image at a massive size so anyone into graphics can see how it was put together.
Catherine and the Owl 'By your hand, I am spared' EP inner booklet detail.
The inside of the booklet was put together in photoshop using original illustrations which i had lazily done in pencil whilst watching the Die Hard trilogy (I know there's four but i didn't get that far). The original concept for the EP was sinking ships, but the band wanted the track 'Bergundi' to be the title track. The problem was, Bergundi was eight minutes long, and for fear of annoying people by putting it first, the track was moved to the end of the EP. The title was then chosen from a lyric in the song, hopefully letting people know it was the intended as the meat of the CD.
To reflect the original title - a sinking ship appears on the cover, then again in the centre. Representing the track Loose Lips, Sink Ships.
Reflecting each track in order is a lighthouse - for Inro (Inro being a Japanese medicine box, the original title 'Beautiful Genocide' was thought to have a whiff of the gas chamber about it.) A sinking ship for Loose Lips, Sink Ships. And a house by the sea for Bergundi (a location in the song lyrics.)
In Russian(ish) beside each image appears a choice lyric. 'If i were a free man', 'Cold, Coney Island soul' and 'This is the end, of the greatest love affair I ever had (with myself)', respectively.
The text that appears faintly in the background is from my own novel 'Cold Highways' - so there is no danger of copyright infringement should it be legible.
Here are the original untouched illustrations.
By your hand, I am spared illustration by Ben Tallamy.
By your hand, I am spared illustration by Ben Tallamy.
By your hand, I am spared illustration by Ben Tallamy.
The disc art.
Catherine and the Owl 'By your hand, I am spared' EP disc detail.
Not much to say about the disc really, as it's pretty straight forward - the texture was originally made for a web background but never used.
Catherine and the Owl 'By your hand, I am spared' EP Tray liner back detail.
The back cover was chopped together in photoshop - close inspection will reveal how the books, shelves and labels are all seperately put together in layers. The books were taken from an antique book database painstakingly cut out - shadows and highlights were then painted in manually to add depth to the image. The titles and extra text was then added to complete the image - lovely.
Catherine and the Owl 'By your hand, I am spared' EP tray liner inside detail.
The inside tray liner is a photograph of a 3D model I built for the project. The model follows the book theme - with old Catherine and the owl posters disappearing into a deep void (original posters designed by Ren X). Dunno why they're doing that, perhaps it's a metaphor for our career - I dunno.
The tiles on the walkways were hand painted using my great skills that were acquired by painting warhammer models as a kid. In retrospect i wish i had built the model much deeper, as the effect is not quite as i hoped. All the posters were supported on wire which a removed in photoshop later.
Catherine and the Owl 'By your hand, I am spared' EP model detail.
Catherine and the Owl 'By your hand, I am spared' EP model detail.
These two slightly ropey photos show slightly more detail of the model. The texture at the base was knocked together out of several photos of tunnels and tubes.
Catherine and the Owl 'By your hand, I am spared' EP model detail.
Catherine and the Owl 'By your hand, I am spared' EP model detail.
And here is a couple of pictures showing the exterior of the model and how it was crudely lit - light below came through my conveniently glass table.
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