“Unhung” is our new single. It’ll be out in February on Spooker Rekkids and we just can’t wait so here is our Jon playing it live with some top, talented, and lovely folks at Field Music’s Brighter Sound residency. Thanks to Daisy Lawrence, Andrew Lowther, Dan Wild-Beesley, Francesca Ter-Berg, David Brewis, Peter Brewis, Andy Martin and of course all of those beautiful people at Brighter Sound for making this happen.
Our Jon looking for his key on the ceiling. Give it up son. You’ll never reach it. Pick one up off the floor and pretend it was yours along.
Thanks to Rachelbywaterphotography for taking this at Field Music’s Brighter Sound residency.
By trains and planes, at length Wear here.
Riverside studios, it’s Sugartime!
Warmth and creativity dancing in the air.
Born of our hosts’ wide smiles and bopping shoulders.
Such that even sibling squabbling soothed.
Or one of them at least.
And they’re off.
From hey heys to oo waas.
Through drum battles.
And they’re doing it!
Via drones and growls and emergency trombone.
Earworms wriggling in negative space and seeing just fine.
They might you know!
Finding time for a culinary tour of the world, a wedding and trips to the library.
Ahhh it’s getting tight!
The charidy shop sweep will have to wait.
And it’s done!
Ten songs in five days.
Satisfied grins and big hugs.
Truly, Miss Christine. We did live our dreams!
“Hey! True things is super!” Not my words Lynn. The words of The Crack magazine.
Blushing over here at the very kind words from The Crack, Narc and NE Volume. God bless the music press. Where would we be without you?
For Ben, the ultimate Tetris challenge.
Belfast’s groovy streets of roastiers from Root to Branch.
Homeward by ferry via bonny Scots. They’d jump on the lorry’s roof in the stories but not me.
I’d be a pretty shoddy action hero, to be sure.
Resisted the urge to fosbury flop off portside too.
Take that l’appel du vide. Call on!
Ta ra Ireland sure.
Breakfast with the Robinson’s.
Plenty fair, home prepared, delivered with love and care and craic.
Painted curbs and bunting for it’s summer and the drums pound and the parades are on the march.
Seal matey and frisbee tekkers on the beaches of castlerock.
Small Town America. The crib of Nel and many an other, swollen in paternal pride.
Annie’s doors open to all and all states of consciousness welcome.
Awkward English silences noted for their absence.
I’ve to meet a shy Irishman yet.
“I know you boy!”
But he gave us a big cuddle anyway and off he shuffled.
From geordieland by Freebird to the green jewel.
Temples grand on castle shaped rock.
Worship and Whitman forgotten for bridal and choral joy.
And the spookiest of spooky green rooms.
So it was.
Pizza Pom, shades of Boro’s Europa and supper of confused confessions of striding home and creed.
Where does an English agnostic catholic sit in any room ever in Northern Ireland.