Thursday, 8 December 2011

Book Yer Ane Fest V - Reflections

Well, it would appear as though BYAF is over and done with. It would also appear that BYAF V has been pretty moich. I hope that everyone had an incredible time. It's pretty safe to say that this past weekend has been one of the more hectic of my life, made all the worse by losing my iphone on Friday night. Now, I know we shouldn't allow ourselves to be slaves to our technology, but an iphone really is a handy piece of kit, especially when you are the first contact for well over 100 people trying to come play a festival! I will also confess that I missed tweeting nonsense and hashtagging such ridiculousness as #occupybarstools and #andychainsawisatwopintgrowler. Anyways, I digress.

Abbie and I were delayed in getting through to Dundee for various transportation reasons and had to get the train, meaning that my packhorse abilities were once again required. Even then, though, I forgot stuff. I always forget stuff. Of course, there had been innumerable phone calls between the various members of the collective with all the drama that one would usually expect, and we eventually made it through, albeit later than we should have been. After quickly touching base with everyone, we pikied a lift from Jonny Domino up to our hotel to check-in before heading back. The stage was arriving as we returned and we fired on with getting everything sorted. By around 6pm, the doors were opened and we still hadn't done a proper soundcheck so we opted to keep the "venue" part of Kage closed until around half 6, during which Joey T did double-duty; performing soundcheck and having our only two song band practice before we opened the venue. When we did, a healthy amount of bodies poured upstairs while I nipped down for a cigarette before nipping into the band room to get changed. The rest of the guys jumped on stage and fired up as I slipped into my beautiful tangerine morphsuit. Let me by the first to tell you that it's hotter than the bowels of hell in a morphsuit, and somewhat claustrophobic also. I had written my cheque by this time anyways so it was all hanging out there for everyone to see. In for a paddle, in for a swim as they say. The set went by in a bit of a blur for me and 23 minutes or so later, we were gone.

The rest of my night, after getting dried off and changed, didn't get any less peculiar from then on in. I was running around trying to take care of bands, answer questions and all the things that (I think) I'm supposed to do, as well as trying to watch some bands. It's always bittersweet when you put a bill together that you're proud of and excited about but you don't get much of a chance to stand and watch them. Can't win 'em all I guess. The Day I Snapped were on when I got back upstairs and I think I caught about half of their set. I'm glad I did as I've known of these guys for ages and saw them supporting Against Me! years ago and we've always planned to do something, but nothing has happened until now. They've got a new record out now too. Our adopted wee brothers Maxwell's Dead were up next and were clearly mad stoked to be there. Their enthusiasm is probably the thing I love most about them and they were having a brilliant time. I suspect that Newccy Broon was also a wee bit steaming too.

Watching Mikey Erg! play in Kage was one of the more surreal experiences of my life. I spent most of the set standing at the side with Abbie and Jamie and I just couldn't really get my head around it. Kage was pretty heaving by this point and I started to daydream a little bit during Mikey's set, thinking back to the first BYAF in Mucky's, which started life in my imagination as a Joey T gig then grew arms and legs into being an all dayer. It seems now, four years later, that the head and shoulders of BYAF seem to have come to life also. Just surreal, surreal thoughts going round my head. It was great to see Mikey having such a good time on stage and I loved seeing him as I missed him in Gainesville. It blows my mind that I can think "aw, it's awrite, I can skip them in America 'cos we're putting them on in Dundee" and it actually happens. Moich. I've never had that thought before.

Next up were The Upstarts and it was amazing to see them play together again after so many years away. The Try Hards used to play with them all the time about 6 years ago and it's remarkable to think both how much and how little things have changed since then. I guess you could call it nostalgia, but I tend to shy away from that as much as I can, but it's important to look back at where you've been as sometimes it can show you where you still need to go. It was crazy. The whole evening seemed pretty crazy and surreal to me. The Slow Death were up next and I didn't see that much of their set unfortunately as I was trying to resolve a rather unsavoury situation that had developed. They were awesome what I did see of them though. I'll not go into any details about the beef other than to say that it was regrettable all round and not of my orchestration! Hopefully everyone has calmed down a little now and can reflect and move on. It's never good having the constabulary appear at a punk show, whatever way you splice it.

The Arteries absolutely killed it and showed exactly why they're one of the most highly-regarded punk bands in the country. By this point everyone had consumed the odd Red Stripengoo or two and was feeling pretty upbeat. Baz fired up the Entropy DJ set and I set about trying to enjoy myself. At some point thereafter, Abbie and I jumped in a taxi to take us to our hotel and I never saw my iphone ever again.

Saturday morning and I'm feeling a little rough. I'm also grumpy about my lost phone and have to get to Groucho's to try and play the in-store. We arrived late but thankfully Quinney was holding the fort and Billy Liar was playing. That instantly made me feel a little warmer inside. Andy Chainsaw played then I played a couple of quiet numbers to ease weary heads then was joined by Raphaell Lehmann of The Stay Gones to play "I Won't Forget You", a sad song of mine. That was a nice moment to share with friends in one of my favourite shops in the world.

We then headed to Kage to quickly get everything sorted for Third Floor Incident. As Uniforms were second on, I didn't catch much of TFI but they are solid dudes and a solid band. Our set was next and I think it's safe to say that we were all feeling a little less than our best. Our plan to get passed this seemed to be to play everything so much faster than we usually do. It works for us anyways, it would appear. We always seem to crack ourselves up on stage, just a quick glance or a ridiculous facial expression can have us (well, usually me and Jamie) in hysterics and this set was no exception, especially after Jonny whipped his shirt off. Matt Camino would certainly not approve. After feeling like my head was going to explode for 25 minutes, we came off and I went outside to die for a little bit before getting back on the horse and watching Clocked Out. Clocked Out are fucking amazing and people really need to listen to what this band has to say. Go check them out at

Glasgow pop-punk legends Beauty School Dropout were up next and were playing their first Dundee show in well over 10 years. I remember years ago getting my hands on one of Jacko's "Punk In Scotland" compilation CDs and falling in love with this band. I saw them in the old Westie at some point around the turn of the century and have loved them ever since so there was no way I wasn't going to watch their set. Again, perhaps I was flirting with nostalgia but the 18 year old in me would've been mad stoked.

I have to take a moment to say how fucking hard the members of the Make-That-A-Take collective worked all weekend. Everybody got stuck right in and we worked, on the whole, together as a team throughout the weekend and I definitely couldn't have done it without them. I feel there are exciting things afoot for a bunch of cowpunks; sometimes I find it hard to believe that what started as a drunken conversation at a house party gig has grown into what it has done. What that is, I'm not so sure!

Filthpact brought the rukus next and absolutely annihilated the place. Abbie was a little freaked out by Dave rolling his eyes back in his head but I explained that that's just the mind-warping power of blackened crust metal. I think she was a fan. The madness didn't stop there with Sunset Squad and Drive By Audio bringing the brutality. DBA in particular were insane. I think that it was probably also the first instance of planking on top of a human pyramid, although you really can't be sure. I can't over-state how fucking bonkers DBA are. They may not be to everyone's taste although I unashamedly and unapologetically call myself a fan. Sometimes it's healthy just to rock the fuck out.

We were initially going to have a half hour break but that was scrapped as we were beginning to run a little behind time as The Living Daylights got set up. The Daylights are undeniably one of the hardest working punk bands in the UK and it shows in the tightness of their playing and harmonies. Their latest record "What Keeps You Breathing" is one of the best punk records of the year and puts a lot of more popular American punk rock to shame. Sometimes people bitch about their homegrown scenes but just take a look at bands like the Daylights and see what you are missing. They played a blinding set and are some of the nicest "band dudes" I've ever met so, if you haven't done so yet, please check them out and give them your support. You can download their album for sweet fuck all from although chuck them some pennies and/or buy some merch when you see them live if you dig what they do.

Next up was a triple bill of Scottish hardcore. First up were Grader, arguably Scotland's bleakest hardcore band. While their TDON-influenced sound might not be to everyone's taste, there is absolutely no doubting how much they mean it and they bashed headlong through their set without let-up. There was some a little bit of beef when some folk got a little to into it at the front and some people perhaps let the standards of their behaviour slip a little, but I'm not one to judge on that front. That aside, Grader ripped and showed why they are one of the most intense bands doing the rounds just now. "Intense" is probably a good word to describe Departures too. I love their "When Losing Everything..." record and it's definitely my favourite Scottish hardcore record of the year. It was also years since I've seen them and I was mad stoked on them. Departures have a long historic connection to the Tayside scene and to have them play when they are undoubtedly well on their way to "bigger and better things" was a triumph of both unity and togetherness.

That left the almighty Kaddish to round out the trinity of SHXC and fuck me, did they do so. It's no secret that Kaddish are one of my all-time favourite bands and I just stand like a star-struck fanboy every time I watch them play. I'm more than comfortable with that. Abbie pointed out the similarities between watching Kaddish and the Mogwai show we went to at Perth Theatre earlier this year; people just stand in hushed, jaw-dropped awe.

Antillectual are one of the nicest, most articulate punk bands I've ever met. They built their current UK/EU tour around coming to play BYAF. That is fucking cool. They played an awesome set of intelligent and anthemic Propagandhi-influenced skate-core that definitely won the increasingly noisy and drunken audience over, paving the way for Bangers. I don't think there is a punk rock fan in the country who doesn't love Bangers and, even though they had been hanging around the venue for as long as we had having come up to party the night before, they pulled one of the best sets of the weekend out of the bag. This was the third or fourth time that I've seen them this year so sang along (and aloud) for pretty much the entire set. I also started the stagediving at some point, which no doubt stoked Kenny and Ope. That said, judging by the spectrum between damaged tile work and grins-on-faces, I'd say that they didn't mind too much. That and the fact they punted over 1000 tins of Red Stripe. We should get those guys to sponsor BYAF next year!

Having Leatherface headline the Saturday night of BYAF was a dream come true for me. I've loved Leatherface for years and had never seen them play so to see them do so headlining in Kage was yet another surreal experience. When we had our first BYAF sometime in the late spring/early summer, when we were throwing out ideas of who we wanted to ask to play and I blurted out "fuck it, let's ask Leatherface to do it", I didn't think for a second that it'd actually happen and then, there in that moment, they were onstage. I could have burst out crying, I was that stoked. I got involved in the crowd for some of the set and also watched some of it from the side of the stage with Abbie and the MTAT collective. It was almost something like experiencing a moment of pride, stokedness or accomplishment. Without sounding too dramatic, it's safe to say that, in common parlance, I was fucking stoked. After they finished, packed up and everyone grabbed a beer, it was down to the vans for merch buying, banter and loads of punk rock love. Abbie and I both cut big cuddles from Frankie Stubbs and he told us that he'd had an amazing time. Hopefully we'll have them back up here some day. I'd just like to say to Frankie and Leatherface, thank you so much, from the bottom of my heart.

Day three rolled around and I think it's safe to say that everyone at Fest was beginning to feel the excess of the previous two days. As always, Abbie and I were running a little late and got picked up by Luke. We arrived at Dexter's just as The Barents Sea were getting started. I grabbed a healing pint of Guinness and watched them. It was touch and go for a while as to whether or not The Barents Sea would make it to BYAF but I am so fucking glad that they did and they kicked off the Sunday with one of the best sets I've ever seen them play, despite Grant claiming that they were ropey! My pal Ewan Grant and his Algernon Doll project was up next and was utterly spellbinding. It's difficult music to describe but I'd maybe call it introspective looped acoustic lo-fi alt-folk pop or something along those lines. Words aren't always necessary to describe sounds and I just melted into it. Some of Ewan's banter was fucking exquisite also!

We ran an acoustic stage at BYAF for the first time this year and the first act to grace it was the one and only Andy Chainsaw; a more fitting candidate no-one could have picked. I played at both Andy and Sam's Gainesville and Scotland weddings and to see Andy playing our fest brought a little lump to my throat. We've been through the wars together over the years but I am proud to call Andy my friend and my bro. He was great and cheered me up no end. Punk rock soul warriors The Stay Gones were up next with their bruised blues-influenced punk rock that feels like a warm blanket being thrown over your shoulders. Raph and Michael are two of UK punks unsung heroes that do so much selfless work for the scene that absolutely deserves to be recognised. Those boys and girl sure know their way around a hook too.

Davey Nolan was next up on the acoustic stage and was a revelation. Chris T-T called him "the John Martyn of punk rock" and truer words have never been spoken. I've known Davey for a long, long time and to see him playing "Second Summer of Love" brought the hairs on the back of my neck to attention. I'd call his set "triumphant" and would heartily recommend everyone check him out. Go to to do so.

Wecamefromwolves were up next. They seem to be a somewhat controversial band within our local music community. I've known all of the guys in the band for years and whatever side of the fence you land on, there's no denying that they believe in what they do. I've spoken to all members of the band personally about the "issues" that seem to exist and I'm not going to get into that stuff here, but they were undeniably tight and rocking. I love that fact that all four members sing, it brings a different flavour to what you may expect from their recorded output. They gave it everything they had, were tight and rocked. Sometimes that's all you need, politics notwithstanding.

Dave Hughes played his 200th show on the acoustic stage next. I've known Dave for a long time also and while we may not always see eye to eye, I've got a great deal of respect for him and he and his wife Lisa-Marie are two of the nicest people you could hope to meet. I am also very jealous that he persued a career and possesses a doctorate in physics, whereas I did not. He played a great set of old and new songs and got everyone on side. It was great to finally have Dave on the BYAF bill after all of these years.

Fat Goth stepped up to replace Pensioner at the last minute and rocked it like the seasoned demons that they. Having collectively played in bands such as Laeto, Pensioner and Spyamp for years, they were always going to be a beast and they did not disappoint with a sound that I could call brutally cynical stoner-punk rock, but I won't. Some may chose to call it "metal in denial". I think it's safe to say that Fat Goth were one of the more pleasant surprises of the weekend and are thoroughly nice chaps to boot. I'm sure we'll be doing more with them in the not-too distant future.

Long-time cowpunk sympathiser/sufferer Kevin Thomson was up next. For those that don't know, Kev is an exceptional singer/songwriter with a style that fits somewhere in between Chuck Ragan/Dallas Green/Dave Hause. He has an emotional and songwriter maturity far beyond his years and he has been with us, drank with us and fought with us since we started the MTAT collective in my dad's spare bedroom all of those years ago. Kev treated us to some older songs, some newer songs and a brand-spanking new one for which he had the lyrics perched atop a barstool. He's heading over to Canada soon so hopefully he packs his trusty acoustic and goes over there to takeover the open mic scene. Maybe he'll hook up with our boy John Lindsay and do some recordings. Kev man, you have far too much talent not to see this through!

If people weren't already in an altered state of mind by this point in time, they certainly were when Esperi took the stage armed with guitar, drums, bass and an array of children's toys and percussive instruments, all played by one man in possession of more creativity than I have ever seen a single person exhibit. One fester turned to me and said "this isn't music, it's magic" and a more apt description I am struggling to find. Chris absolutely blew everybody's minds and looking around the room to see the jaws of punks hanging open in awe of the unfolding musical storytelling happening in front of them was both heartening and highly amusing. Chris is a genius and with any justice will be huge one day. Do yourself a favour and let a little magic into your life, it'll make it just that little more of a happy place to be.

Our boys 15 Minutes were up next playing their first public show since the inaugural BYAF. I say "public" as they treated us to a set of mostly covers at the aforementioned wedding of Mr. and Mrs. Chainsaw. Gain, who had been a paragon of virtue, impeccable host of Leatherface and workhorse all weekend, appeared to go between zero and burst in the space of half an hour and was utterly hilarious as the boys went through their set. Particularly memorable was "Remember"; Barry had given his inspiring call-to-arms of an introduction and was just about to kick in when Gain had a mind blank. We all laughed and hollered at him (with me shouting out the wrong chords!) before they blasted back into it. It may not sound like much written down but it was undoubtedly one of the personal highlights of the whole weekend for me. As I said earlier, we started this whole thing when we were still putting on shows in a flat or a house armed with acoustics and booze. This brought me right back to one of those long nights. We share these moments together and it makes us who we are. They finished up with "Your Still All That Matters To Me", closing with the lines "Be with me, walk with me, stay this young and fucked up with me...forever". I couldn't stay in my seat and jumped up along with Andy Chainsaw to sing the final refrain with them. This was another moment during which I could have quite easily burst into tears. You can find the video here;

Bonehouse immediately hit the main stage next and showed exactly why they are one of the best Scottish bands to emerge this year. Owen seemed to think that they were stinking but then those boys are always their own worst critics and I certainly enjoyed them. The crowd gathered at the front of the stage seemed to agree with me too. Sean got a lot of stick for his moustache, but the lad needs something to make him appear booze-legal. Dave still needs to sing with the mic closer to his mouth though! If you haven't checked out their demo yet, go to and do so.

John Harcus was next up on the acoustic stage, a last minute "surprise" addition to the bill allowing him to complete his hat-trick of BYAF sets having played with Joey T and Wecamefromwolves previously. John's songs are somewhat bleak but are beautifully crafted and passionately delivered. He's been playing in bands for as long as I can remember and it heartens me to see him playing by himself. He's made loads of great recordings this year, as he always does, and I think I love his acoustic stuff the most of anything he's ever done.

Our boys Shields Up absolutely destroyed the main stage at Dexter's. If I've said it once, I've said it a million times; Shields are pretty much the finest hardcore punk rock band in the UK. Everything about them is present and correct; they've got the songs, the passion, the drive and they just absolutely destroy it every single time. To know that these guys are my friends brings me immense pride and I can see them going on to bigger things in 2012. They deserve it as much as anyone and have the mentality to deal with anything that the future throws at them. I was down the front screaming along and they even inspired a little bit of Sunday evening chaos as Martin got the stagediving on!

Words almost fail me when talking about ONSIND; the are quite simply one of the most important bands in the DIY punk scene right now, absolutely essential listening. Sometimes making a noise is about more than just volume and as a two-piece acoustic pop-punk band, ONSIND's voice is being heard a lot louder than most others. A simplistic reading of their lyrics would paint them as a pro-feminist and animal rights band, which is undoubtedly true, but there is so much more to them than that. The bleed humanity, fight injustice and are truly revolutionary in a way that so many punk bands aren't. I don't want to descend into some kind of hyperbolic hero-worshipping rant, as that is exactly the kind of thing that ONSIND fight against, but I will say this; very few punk acts can make you look at things from a fresh and challenging perspective quite like ONSIND. If you haven't done so already, I urge you to please check them out. Bandcamp is probably the best place to do so as it has all of their recordings in the one place;

I then took to the acoustic stage for my fourth set of the weekend in order to say thank you to everyone for the overwhelming support we had received over the course of the weekend. What transpired was nothing short of overwhelming in itself. I kicked off by playing "Schoolboy Errors" then played "Wasted Getaway", a song that I wrote over ten years ago and barely play these days. I was touched when loads of people remembered it and sang along with me. Then I closed out with "Talk About The Weather" with what seemed like everyone in the place singing along. It absolutely blew my mind. As is customary when I play one of Gain's guitars, I broke a string just before the chorus and had to wing it the rest of the way through the song, eventually just pretty much sacking the guitar all together and singing along with everyone in full voice. It was an absolutely incredible moment, the likes of which are few and far between. You can find a video of the whole beautiful shambles here;

My boy Billy Liar was up next, playing his last Dundee show of what has been an absolutely incredible year. I haven't seen as much of Billy as I would have liked but that's because he's been pretty much constantly on tour and I'm pretty much constantly busy too; he's been all around Europe and the UK several times and has played massive festivals like Wickerman, Strummerville and Rebellion for the second time. I was outside for the start of his set with Papa Vest and came in to stand with Abbie, have a cuddle and watch Billy's set. I feel very big brotherly towards Billy and it was at this point that I knew my adrenaline from a weekend packed full of it was beginning to wear off. I could have wept there and then. Even though Billy experienced some guitar problems and string breakages (hardly surprising, have you seen how fast that boy plays???), I still thought he played an amazing set. I could tell he was a little disappointed in himself, but there was absolutely no reason to be.

Chris T-T was up next. He's out on tour with Franz Nicolay right now and they are on the road for well over a month. I'd never seen Chris perform before and he claims to have had an off-night, but I certainly enjoyed him. To my mind, he plays a distinctly English type of acoustic folk that may not have resonated too strongly with a crowd of weary punks who've been fed a steady weekend diet of brutal hardcore and punk rock, but I think he transcended these divides and won the crowd over. He definitely provided one of the more surreal moments of what had already been an incredibly surreal weekend by ditching his guitar on stage, hopping off it and walking around the venue quietly singing a traditional English folk song. It may not have been what we were expecting, but it was certainly striking. I was having camera issues during Chris's set and didn't catch the whole thing, but I definitely feel that he made an impression and gained some new followers.

Then it was Franz Nicolay to bring the curtain down on what was undoubtedly one of the busiest and most manic weekends of my entire live, Gainesville Fest included. In Gainesville we were just a bunch of roaster Scottish punks abroad to play a show and have a good time, whereas at BYAF we were the engineers of the festival. I'm not comparing BYAF to Fest, but there are commonalities between the two and, as such, my respect for Var, Tony and everyone at No Idea has absolutely skyrocketed. We only had 3 days and one venue a day to worry about, let alone multiple venues. To the people that have asked if we'd try and do something similar, I say this; one step at a time!

Franz had come up to Dundee the day before to watch Leatherface and seeing him meet Frankie Stubbs for the first time would have brought a tear to a glass eye. It'd be remiss of me to go into greater detail, but believe me when I say that both were very happy to make each other's acquaintance. Franz is a natural born performer and I could easily have watched and listened to him play all night. I knew that we were running past our self-imposed curfew but by this point we really weren't concerned. To say that it was a pleasure and a privilege to host Franz and watch his performance would be a considerable understatement and there are no words that could truly do justice to how I felt when standing with Abbie and Jamie watching the end of his set. Come the final chord, my mind was blown. I thanked Franz and we shared a massive cuddle and complimentary congratulations before I went and spoke to the remaining Festers to thank them for coming and supporting what was a massively big deal to our collective. Then Abbie and I went back to our hotel and couldn't sleep. Four days later and I still can't fully articulate my feelings about it.

None of this would have been possible without the help and support of so many people. The Make-That-A-Take collective; Jamie, Jonny, Gain, Barry, Quinney; Abbie, Bonnie, Joanne, Gemma, Pamela, Eilidh; Kenny Gray, Dave Crowe and all the staff at Kage, Brian Fury and the staff at Upstarts Music Studios; Dexter's Bar and staff; Dave and all the sound engineers across the weekend; all of the incredible bands for giving up their time and making space in their schedules to come and support Safe-Tay and our cause; everyone who brought food to feed the bands, provided places to sleep and shower; Dundee Backpackers Hostel; Papa Vest for all his driving around; everyone who came to BYAF and continue to support our community, everyone who travelled from far and wide and everyone who came and had one of the wildest weekends of their/our lives. There are undoubtedly people that I have forgotten and for that I sincerely apologise. Everything that everyone has done truly means to world to me.

As for monies raised, we don't yet have the exact figure as we still have some monies to collect. However, we will be keeping the Book Yer Ane Fest V - The Comp Parts I/II up for download from the MTAT bandcamp page until the end of the month. Each part only costs a pound and will serve as a poignant reminder of an amazing weekend. Also, any donations made to the MTAT collective through our bandcamp (in exchange for music, obviously!) between now and the end of the year will be donated to Safe-Tay. Please check out their website at

You can keep up to date with all the latest developments from the MTAT collective at

You can also check out a shit-tonne of videos from BYAF on Cowpunk TV here;

The MTAT bandcamp page can be found at
All monies donated between now and the end of the year will go towards Safe-Tay.

Thank you all for everything.

Much love,

Friday, 11 November 2011

Holy shit, we're putting on Dead To Me in Dundee

Make-That-A-Take presents...

DEAD TO ME (Fat Wreck Chords, USA)

It is our distinct pleasure to bring San Francisco's finest anthemic melodic punk rockers Dead To Me to Dundee for their first ever Scottish headline show and their only date north of the border on their 2012 European Tour. Last seen in these parts supporting the Street Dogs over three years ago, Dead To Me have continued to tour relentlessly and have crafted some of modern punk rock's most beloved records and, despite numerous line-up changes, have gone onto become one of the most popular underground punk bands in the world.

Their latest record "Moscow Penny Ante" dropped in October on Fat Wreck Chords and continues the traditional Dead To Me evolutionary curve. From midwestern punk rock, reggae, blues to old school hip-hop, history and a fine line in punk rock bangers, Dead To Me are a truly special band that will make you think and rock your head clean off your body. To have them in Dundee is almost unbelievable and this promises to be a very special occasion indeed.


Touring with Dead To Me, The Human Project are part of the new school super-tech, super-speedy skate-core movement, like a modern take on 90s Epitaph/Fat Wreck skate-punk. These troops come from Leeds and play full-blast, high-octane melodic punk not a million miles away from the likes of Strung Out/Propagandhi/Strike Anywhere. Perfect for a circle pit.


Fast and grumpy yet bleakly uplifting moody melodic punk rock from a bunch of cowpunks who are clearly old enough to know better but who still feel like chancing their arm. Have played shows with some cool bands so far and managed to blag a show at Pre-Fest in Gainesville, Florida. Think Banner Pilot/Bouncing Souls/OWTH and your not exactly close but getting there.


Youthful energetic gobby melodic ska/punk/reggae mash-up from four excitable young chaps from Carnoustie. Still disgustingly young yet almost veterans of this ska-punk malarky, Maxwell's Dead may well crack some bad jokes but they'll also get you skanking like the first time you got drunk and listened to Rancid.

Doors @ 7.30pm
£8 Advance Tickets
£10 On The Door

Poster/ticket links to follow.

Tuesday, 15 March 2011

I haven't been feeling my best recently.

I've been working so much and my belly is giving me grief again. I've been a very busy boy doing things I love and things I feel to be of value and importance, but I'm still feeling pretty blue. It was both my parent's birthdays recently and for some reason that always give me cause for reflection. I don't know why but it leads to big questions. It also, almost always, leads to songs.

I recorded some more songs with my friend John Lindsay recently. We did it in his parent's house in Luncarty this time, as opposed to in our flat. It was a pretty bleak day outside and we both seemed to be in reflective moods. This would be the last time we'd record together, for a while at least, as John is heading to Vancouver to further his audio engineering studies. It was also the day that he had to giveaway his pet degus, so it was also kind of sad. They are going to a good home though as the lady who runs the shelter is more than well-prepared. The place was very impressive can house somewhere in the region of 300 animals at any one time. I can't remember the name though, but it's on John's Hill Road in Alyth.

I think the songs we recorded are probably the most quiet and introspective recordings I've ever done. When I'm playing by myself at home, I do a lot of finger-picking and quiet guitar stuff, but I've never really recorded or performed any of the songs that I've written that way. I think the fact that I've spent the past eight years or so going on first at punk shows was conditioned me to the fact that some punks only respond to one style, maybe it's just force of habit. That and the fact I'm a goon, I suppose.

Anyways, we drank coffee and spent about four hours in total doing stuff, from setting up our little set-up (guitar and mic into mixer into laptop) to drinking black coffee to recording to buying Brewdog. In the two sessions we've done together, we've nailed 8 songs in 8 hours, even though there are two different versions of the same song. I'm pretty pleased with that and I like the songs. I suppose that's quite a good start.

'Break-Ups (Demos II)' features two brand-spanking new songs, the first recording of an old song (although I'm convinced there's an old Burst four-track demo somewhere, but I'm not sure we did it) and an alternative version of 'Tall Tales'. I can't know which one I prefer, but I'll probably play the noisy one when faced with obnoxious punx!

Godspeed youth.

You can listen to and download my new demos for free at

Tuesday, 1 February 2011

Next Make-That-A-Take Show in Perth

It's been a while since I've put on a show in Perth. The last one was on August 1st 2010 and was a night that I'd rather forget. All of the bands were rad, as far as I can remember, but I'll remember it more for the bad craic that went down afterwards. That happenstance doesn't need futher exploration at this juncture, but it was something that continues to play on my mind and reminds of a place that I don't want to be. In one way, it was a catalyst for introspection and reinvention. Sometimes you've got to lie in the gutter before you can look up to the stars.

My relationship with punk/hardcore has changed somewhat since the demise of Joey Terrifying. When we were a full-blown active concern, almost every spare waking moment of my time was spent trying to get things sorted for the band; booking shows, doing promotions, contacting promoters, doing interviews, writing songs, sorting out (or farming out) artwork tasks, checking schedules, keeping diaries; it seemed never-ending. Since we played our last shows in June of last year, I've been keeping myself occupied with infrequent Tragical History Tour endeavours, living with my missus, doing my best to acquire and retain employment, as well as the daily fight to stay sane and not lose the plot completely. Obviously, there was also Book Yer Ane Fest IV, which was a roaring success where we made over £600 for Safe-Tay. However, while my passion for DIY punk/hxc remains undimmed, my motivation for getting involved and putting on shows has suffered. Perhaps this was a defence mechanism; I put so much of myself into Joey T that perhaps I was trying to protect myself from further heartache, or perhaps I was just waiting for the correct moment to re-introduce myself.

Whatever the case may be, Make-That-A-Take has an absolute rager of a show booked for Saturday 26th February at Mucky Mulligans, Perth. Now, I'm acutely aware there exists a degree of unrest and dissatisfaction in the Perth 'scene'; there are plenty of people who are happy to moan about the state of things, to reminisce that things aren't like the old days, and that there is no scene at all of which to speak. To those people I say this; get off your fucking arse and off your high-horse (or facebook) and get the fuck involved. The people are still here, the bands are still here and there will always be those whose hearts belong to punk rock.

Sometimes I question why I even bother but I always come back to the same conclusion; that if I don't put on punk shows, no fucker else is going to, so if I want to see awesome punk/hardcore bands play in my town, it logically follows that I'm the one that has to put on the shows. I have no beef with that whatsoever, it's something I love and something that I've been doing for many years (and something I'll no doubt continue to do for many years to come).

It's a labour of love.

Whatever the apathetic think is inconsequential.

Make-That-A-Take proudly presents...

Quite possibly the greatest Scottish hardcore/screamo band of all time return.

Twiddly indie/skramz madness from Aberdeen.

Hardcore/emo 'supergroup' from Dundee featuring members of Archives/The Fall Of Boss Koala
Balls-to-the-wall modern melodic hardcore from Dundee/Perth

Skramz/gruff punk goodness from the best new band in Perth

DOORS @ 7.30pm
£3 TAX.

Wednesday, 19 January 2011

You Are Worth More Than You Earn

For the first time in a very long time, I am now in full-time employment.

It's not that I've been idle for the past seven years, it's just that my sources of income have been myriad and I've been living a hand-to-mouth existence, much like everyone else. I've slept on hundreds of couches, passed out on many a floor and covered many miles in the back of various bands to sweat and scream my balls off to a handful of disinterested midweek drinkers. This is the first time I've been happy at home, in a space that I can call my own and share with a beautiful, kind-hearted, supportive and loving woman. Now I have the employment and income to support dreams of progress.

I am no longer defined by my 'moichness'.

The past year has been a rollercoaster; there is absolutely nothing that is the same now as it was a year ago. Cliche though it may be, "a lot can happen in a year" ranks highly up there as one of the most insightful and true. As I move even deeper into my late twenties, I find myself asking the 'big' questions with greater frequency. I'm clearly never going to be a stadium-humping, continent-straddling rock'n'roll star. It's almost like those early Oasis songs lied to me. I'm perfectly at ease with this realisation but it does make one think "why in the hell am I doing this?" sometimes.

We've been running the Make-That-A-Take collective for around six years now and I think, in it's own modest way, we've achieved quite a lot. I couldn't put a number on the amount of shows that we've done, much like I couldn't put a figure on the amount of Guinness that has been poured down my neck at punk shows over the past decade. We put on shows because we love it and clearly there are very few other people putting on the kind of shows that we want to go to in our area. I guess a lot of it is borne from the thought "if we don't do it, who the fuck else is going to?". It's been like that since we were boys. As a teenager, there was no chance that any of the local pubs were going to put us on based on our youth, let alone the fact that we were a noisy punk rock band. So, with very few options, we put on our first gig at a birthday party in a guide hut. Yes, it was a musical abomination and we played the same songs three times consecutively, but to us it was the doing that was important. I'd like to think that somewhere deep in my heart of hearts, I still maintain that boy-ish defiant 'can-do' enthusiasm, despite the fact I'm a cynical late-twenty-something stuck in a town that I was dubious about moving to in the first place.

I have much to be thankful for.

I was having a smoke and a cup of tea with an old friend the other day and he asked me why I bother to continue to write and record songs, play and put on shows and generally stay involved with the music scene when it was apparent that I am "never going to make it". I think it depends on how you define success. Yes, we'd all very much love to make music and tour full time, to never have to worry about working hard to pay our bills and to live a decadent rock star lifestyle. However, once you can get past your ego, you've got to realise that that is never going to happen. It's not about crushing dreams, it's about being realistic and trying to maximise your own efforts to make yourself happy. At the level most of us are at (us being the Scottish underground music scene), we have to realise that most of our interests and tastes are niche. It's not like we've got millions of fans hanging off our every word. We exist within our own community, however small and hidden, and it is up to us to get involved and make the most of what we have. Of course we want more people to be aware of what we are up to, we all want our shows to be busier and we all want to make some money somewhere along the way, but that's why you work. Anyone trying to make a living from the DIY scene is delusional beyond belief, unless you are constantly ripping off and/or exploiting the scene. At a DIY level, especially in Scotland, to expect large-scale financial recompense is not only naive but also rather insulting.

I think we are worth more than the money that we make.

I work because I have to pay rent, pay my bills and keep us fed. I love the work that I do and feel that although it is very challenging, it is also very rewarding. As has been said many times before, working hard avoids hard work. Work pays for what I want in life. I am a man of simple pleasures; a good meal, a good show, a good book, a good beer, cuddles. Work, music, love.

I don't want the scene to be a chore; I have no interest in career-orientated punk rock. By all means, bands should horse on and make music videos, record overly-polished demos that they can never replicate live, enter ridiculous corporate-sponsored national battle of the bands competitions and talk about nothing else other than themselves and their aspirations all they wish; just don't expect me to be particularly interested. Also, don't come to me looking for favours when you've done nothing but disappoint me in the past. The DIY scene is small but active. Word gets around.

I have no interest in safe, NME-friendly government-approved rock'n'roll.

Now I'm off to work...

Thursday, 13 January 2011

Sometimes it's the first line that's the hardest.

Sometimes I stutter and can't get the words out, some days it just spews out of my head and onto the page. There are so many thoughts that it's hard to know where to begin. It's the special few that provide the nourishment, the encouragement and the motivation to keep going forward. Without kindred spirits and people to share your stories with, are they ever more than just restless murmurs inside your head?

You can stop the thought process.

Creation can be elusive.

Reflect; how much has changed in a year?


The therapists say be retrospective; at what point did things change? Sometimes there isn't a point, a milemarker; can it be constant? I used to be a young man and now I have developed, grown, 'matured', but have I evolved? Am I still chasing those boyish adolescent dreams or is this my lifelong path? I look back now and feel detached, like it was someone else committing the sins and paying the pennance, yet I know every story and could sing you every line.

At what point does repetition replace conviction?

Friday, 7 January 2011

New Tragical History Tour Songs

I recorded some new Tragical History Tour songs with my good friend John Lindsay yesterday. It's the first time I've recorded any new THT songs in well over a year and the first time I've recorded anything since the last Joey Terrifying songs we did for the Ska Mutiny Records Triple Threat CD. We set up in my living room and blasted through four songs, which took about five hours in total, stopping only for coffees and a quick trip to the doctor.

These songs are just demos. I don't know what I'm going to do with them yet but will probably stick them up online for download somewhere once John has mixed them. I've never been a fan of taking ages recording songs and my impatience inspired the name of Make-That-A-Take Records. I prefer just to get them blasted down. I'm just one dude with a guitar and a guttural voice, so how tech can it really be? Over the course of four solo releases, I think I've probably spent about the grand total of a day recording them. Maybe at some point I'll actually get my finger out and do a full-length. There are definitely some older songs that I could be doing with recording again. It seems that my songs aren't actually finished until I record them, as something always seems to change between the initial writing process and the recording. I guess that's just they way these things roll and is much the same for everyone.

The four songs I recorded include three brand spanking new ones and an older song that I wrote originally for the short-lived APP. I've got loads of songs that I've written but never recorded, so each time I do a new session, I'm planning on doing a handful of new songs and at least one that's been written but never recorded before. Maybe at some point I'll finally manage to persuade Papa Gain to lay down an acoustic version of 'Suicide In The Trenches'. Bleak as it may be, and as long ago as we wrote it, I still love that song.

Thanks very much to John for helping a punk out yesterday. He's a good lad. Here are lyrics for the new songs. It's your crossword puzzle, make of them what you will. It's the writing that's important, not the reading, right?

What I'm Doing Here

I must applaud the impeccable timing
of your decision to leave
Abandon all our dreams
As it tears me apart at the seams.

You've made your choice
But my brother,
I can't silence the voice.
It's the only thing I own,
The closest thing to home
And it keeps me from being alone
With these screams.

When what you want is gone
Do what you can to stay strong.
Keep on singing along.

When what you need is hope
Do your best to keep afloat.
Keep on singing your songs.

It's what I'm doing here.

Well, I hope you're right
but it feels like a Saturday night
That's gone too far
Spent too long in the bar
And we've ended up in a knife fight.

But I wish you luck
O my brother, I can't cover up
Just how bad I feel,
This is so surreal
But I guess it's all part of the deal

When what you want is gone
Do what you can to stay strong.
Keep on singing along.

When what you need is hope
Do your best to keep afloat.
Keep on singing your songs.

It's what we're doing here.

Tall Tales

I'd write a song about myself
but it's more fun to pretend
that I'm someone else
so I can tell tall tales.
Celebrate success.
Ignore the fails.
But you're right.
You're right, I'm not right.

But I will fight
every day of my life
to get some sleep tonight.
It's been like this for years,
write a song and fight back the tears.
But you're right.
You're right, always.

But I'm still here
And I'll face my fears,
But deep inside, I'm paralysed
When I feel you draw near.

So, what do think?
Was it cold down there?
How far did you sink?
Did you see me down there?
Were you well-prepared
or were you scared?
It's alright, it's alright

Because I'm still here
And I'll face my fears
But deep inside, I'm paralysed
When I feel you draw near.

Last Song For You

I was angry at the start,
never thought it would fall apart.
I thought love was a work of art.

But then, I looked at you,
saw you didn't have a clue
about the hell that we'd go through.
You couldn't care less.

I hope that you can tell
my sincerity as well
as my deep regrets.
I hope by now you know
sometimes that's how it goes.

This is our last dance.
The last song for you.

Now time brings with it change,
new rules to the game
and I don't know how to play.

I'd be happy staying sane.

I hope that you can tell
my sincerity as well
as my deep regrets.
I hope you're happy now.

I hope by now you know
sometimes that's how it goes.

This is our last dance.
The last song for you.

You're still priceless.

The Village Idiot

The village is missing it's idiot
now I'm so far from home.
I'm dreaming.

I miss the beer bottles
and the pointless brawls
but it's time to let it go.

Let it go.

Hold the sunrise 'til we're gone.
I'll send a message from the road.
It's the only life that we know.
Hold the sunrise 'til we're gone.

Now I've got a plan,
get together with my band.
It's time to hit the road, dreaming.

I dream of Transit vans,
eating beans straight from the can.
It's nothing, but it's our own.

At least it's our own.

Hold the sunrise 'til we're gone.
I'll send a message from the road.
It's the only life we know.
Hold the sunrise 'til we're gone.

The village is missing it's idiot
now I'm so far from home,
I'm dreaming.

I miss the beer bottles
and the pointless brawls
but it's time to let it go.

It's time to let it go.


Wednesday, 5 January 2011

Splatterpaint for a while.

Open up your brain and let what's inside pour out onto the page. Maybe we'll learn something from the experiment or maybe it'll just be a bunch of disconnected thoughts woven carelessly together under the guise of narrative.

Throw shit at the walls and see what sticks.

I'm looking for that gem in the quagmire, the needle in the haystack, the diamond in the dogshit, the illusive truth, a moment of silence.

It's easier now; I remember when we had to dig. The plethora dilutes impact, you'll never appreciate what you've got when all you're used to is abundance. Remember those that have nothing before declaring your boredom.


Freedom to bore yourself shitless and share it with others.

Freedom to eat yourself to death.

Freedom to hide away, freedom to say absolutely nothing at all. Do your best to remain docile.

"We regret that all our operators are busy at the moment. Please hold or try again later."

I'm sick of the same three chords, the same cycle of empty protest. Don't tell me you didn't see this coming?

I'm just circling dates on a calendar, counting down the days I defeat myself. The record is too short. I can't relax before I need to change it. It keeps skipping. I'm throwing my turntable away.

I'll call this modern art, for lack of a better expression.

Tuesday, 4 January 2011


Violence has been kind to me.

The first act of violence that I remember was self-inflicted. As a three year old, I was playing on my tricycle. I found myself a stick and figured that it would be a great idea to try and pass it through the spokes of my front wheel. Call it an early science experiment or safety test. As logically follows, the wheel jammed and I went flying over the handlebars, landing face-first on the offending stick. Part of said stick managed to work its way right up my nose and down the back of my throat, leaving me screaming in a puddle of my own blood. I like to think that stick is partly responsible for my voice, scraping my vocal chords on the way down my thrapple. I don't remember the look on my mother's face, but I'd imagine she was somewhat horrified.

I've always been good at terrifying my mother.

I was always getting into fights at primary school. There were three chaps in particular with whom I seemed to have perpetual active beef. I don't remember exactly how it all started, but I'd imagine my quick wit was a little too scathing for them, even at an early age. They were always picking on folk and, developing an early sense of injustice, I would stand up for those who wouldn't stand up for themselves. This almost always ended up with me getting punched in the face. I was prone to nosebleeds as a child so I'd often bleed Ric Flair-style. I liked the drama and it freaked people out.

My bloodletting ability served me well come high school. One lunchtime, when a bunch of friends and I were 'wrestling training' in the gym, I managed to knee myself in the face and my nose exploded. I was used to people finding me a little strange so thought nothing of walking through the recreation centre with blood pouring down my face. I tried to stem the flow with my white Offspring shirt, but it was a losing battle. Most people were quite concerned but one chap, a prefect two years older than I (and a total douche), laughed at me as he walked past. This bastard had been at a party thrown by my sister at our house and he'd poured cherry brandy into my goldfish bowl. At least Eric died happy, I guess. All I could picture was my dead friend so as he laughed, I literally saw red and grabbed him, headbutting the swine right in the side of the face. The image of my blood staining his school shirt remains. I'm not proud of myself, but that boy was a grade one dickhead, so I stand by my actions. He also never killed another one of my pets, although I suspect he continued to give my sister some grief. She can fight her own battles.


I remember once when she had trouble with a few girls at school. There had been some beef or other, probably because she's intelligent and goofy-looking with a big mouth (much like myself). I was a karate enthusiast at the time and was always entering various regional and national championships, so I took her upstairs in our house and showed her how to punch properly. This was a bad move. A few days later whilst having a barney about something or other, I whacked her in the back of the head with a pillow, although I was fantasising that it was a steel chair. Immediately upon impact, she swung around and levelled me with a perfectly thrown right hand to the nose, busting the bastard open again. The student becomes the master.

There were always fights on the school bus. In fact, I saw one of the worst beatings I've ever witnessed on that school bus. There was one girl, a member of the drama society, that always seemed to be a target of the bullies. This one time, she was just sitting there, probably too far up the bus for some peoples' liking. The first punch landed on her left cheek and that was it, like sharks to a bloody corpse. Six or seven girls starting weighing in about her, punching and kicking her from all sides. They pulled her hair back over the seats and yanked at it with all their might. As she was being dragged backwards and battered repeatedly, a particularly loathsome male punched her square in the face. The slap of the flesh was brutal. Nobody did a damn thing so I stood up and pleaded with them that enough was enough. Valiant though it may've been, it earned me a punt in the bollocks and a smack in the face. Strangely, the victim and I became friends for a while after that. That was around about the time she announced she was a lesbian, which came as a surprise to absolutely no-one. She definitely didn't deserve all the abuse she got for it. Who cares where people get their kicks? Mind you, we did grow up where we did.

I got bottled for the first time just after my seventeenth birthday. By the time I reached that age, most of my friends had left school and had jobs and/or went to college, so the weekends were the only real times that we got to hang out. It was handy that one of the crew didn't drink and that the other worked in a shop, as that meant we had a plentiful supply of pikied cigarettes and bottles of whisky. Nobody ever suspected the youth of stealing whisky, so it was nigh on bulletproof. Not that it mattered to me, I wasn't a thief and I wasn't the one doing the pinching. The only time I ever got busted stealing was when I didn't pay for a bottle of cola. I was so petrified that I apologised and paid for it; saved me a ban at least.

The party that wasn't a party, but a gathering, was just getting started when the doorbell rang. Those that attended Hardcore Friday knew not to ring the doorbell, but to just come straight in the side door of the house. This meant either gatecrashers or the police, and it was far too early for them. I went through the hallway and saw through the window that it was my favourite three bullies.

"Hain a perty th'nite Larry?"
"Naw man, just a few pals roond."
"We nae yer pals like?"
"Ah widdnae say so, naw."

Headbutt to the cheek.

The bastard had broken the left leg of my specs and barged passed me into the hallway, making towards my bedroom. Everyone in the room was terrified of these swine and they began taking bottles of beer from the box in the middle of the room and asking the girls for cigarettes. The boys, disappointingly, just sat there with their mouths gaping, too ripped and too paranoid to do anything about it. Anna stood up and got in one of their faces. The tall one grabbed her and went to swing, which sprung me out of my disbelief and into action. I forgot my fear and went crazy, shouting and screaming and ushering them outside. The adrenaline was pumping and I got all three of them outside. Eventually they left and we got down to our business; mainly getting shitfaced, listening to punk records and putting the world to rights (strange that a decade later, we perform the same rituals).

Gregor got battered by those same three boys a couple of weeks previously, so was too scared to walk his girlfriend to the bus stop, so being the gentleman that I am, I offered to accompany her. Bad move. This girl is a magnet for maniacs and as soon as we reached the main road, the abuse began to fly. She would snap into these frothing fits of rage and lose all sense of perspective, ranting, raving and goading people into conflict. I thought we'd had enough beef for one evening and managed to get her into the graveyard across from the bus stop until the bus itself went up and turned at the square. Thank Buddha we got rid of her when we did because she wouldn't have made what was to follow any easier.

Eventually, it was home-time for Anna, so I walked her home. She didn't want me to go alone as she lived right beside the park where our enemies hung out. I took Julie with me for moral support, although she was hardly the ideal tag team partner at 5 foot 2 and weighing maybe nine stone soaking wet. We walked on. We dropped Anna at her front door and hurriedly scuttled over the bridge in the park and back over the main road. We though we'd gotten by undetected when Julie heard noises;

"Dinnae worry, it'll just be the pubs emptying."
"I'm no sure likes."

Just like that, we looked behind us and our favourite three lunatics were sprinting down the road towards us. At this point, there was one choice; take a kicking or fight. I opted to the latter and charged forward, only to be met with an empty bottle of Grant's smacking straight into my cranium. The glass didn't break and I didn't bleed, I just slumped to the ground as Julie screamed at the top of her lungs. One of them, the legitimately psychopathic one, grabbed her by the throat and slammed her against the wall. I dragged myself up and jumped on his back, trying to claw his eyes out. It was at this point that I just lost it and we managed to fight them off. I think they were dumbstruck that they hadn't killed me with the bottle shot and they seemed to disappear, at least for a moment.

We stumbled down the road and thought we'd lost them. We were on the final stretch home when two of them appeared from the sheltered housing complex next door to the primary school. This truly was do or die time. I heard the sound of running feet behind me and knew that this was it; I had to fight. I spun round and, for the first time in my life, through the perfect spinning discuss punch, taking the lanky uncoordinated oaf clean off his feet. Kerry von Erich would've been proud. At this same time, I felt the punches raining down on the back of my head. I don't know how many times I was hit but I was beside myself, utterly flying on adrenaline and the thrill of the fight. My shirt was ripped from my back and I was bleeding from the lip, nose and eye by this point. It was primal, it was violent and I felt alive. I was drunk and crazy, half-naked in the street on an early December night and covered in my own blood. I'd torn my favourite shirt and had lost my hat, a present from Canada, somewhere along the road. My parents were home by this point and they led the charge of a dozen steaming teenagers into the street as neighbours turned their lights on and peered out of their curtains.

It took three hours for the police to show up. They were no use in moment like these anyways. I'd have to wait another two years until they caught me in the act. That's the irony of protect and serve; never there when you need them, always there when you don't.

A Brief Rambled Introduction

Thinking creates nothing but discontent. Internalising will eventually destroy you. We all procrastinate, discuss, enthuse, plan. All the pure intentions are worthless unless we act. The problem is knowing WHAT to do.

I've been told it's the writing that's important, not the reading. All I do is rattle off timelines and sit on a pink couch. I don't even know why I am doing this. It's the same old story on repeat, not skipping a single beat. It gives scope to embellish and refine details, to manipulate narrative and rewrite history. Don't betray yourself with over-confidence. The eyes tell the real story.

We are all writers, the custodians of history.

I've never had a boring year. Something always starts, something else always ends. I don't keep a diary anymore but I know that if you come out of a year happier than you were when you went in, then it was a good year. Last year was difficult, but we're here and we're together. That is more than some people can hope for and I'm grateful.

I've mad another promise to myself, one that I'll probably break, but the aim is there. I haven't been writing nearly enough. I have no band and it's driving me insane. Things are changing and it's up to me to get things done. I have been encouraged recently to some of my stories down and to actually do some serious writing. This is my attempt to do so.

It's not the reading that's important, but the writing.