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The Lightyears join a superband

A couple of weeks ago, a curly-haired musician named Josh Ward (who we’ve played with a few times in the past and who has been known to wake up on our kitchen floor after Lightyears parties in a sticky puddle of champagne dressed like a sheep) was stopped in the street and asked by a camera crew what he would do if he was given free text messages for life.

Josh’s reply was simple: “I’d text all my musician friends and form a superband”.

Today, readers, The Lightyears joined that superband.

Earlier this evening we took part in an enormous jamming session in a warehouse in East London with around 40 other musicians. It was filmed by T-Mobile as part of their new ad campaign and will soon be appearing on television screens across the country.

As I happened to be the person who wrote the jam that was filmed for the final advert, I’m likely to feature in the advert quite a lot. Just as well I dressed up for the occasion eh?! You’ll probably recognise me if you see the ad because I’ll be wearing the same outfit I donned for our recent performance at Wembley Stadium (the one Danny quipped made me look like I was “out of My Chemical Romance”).

Nobody really seems to know which direction this whole “superband” idea is heading in, but I have a feeling it’s going to keep on getting bigger…. stay tuned for more!

The Myth Of The Great British Summertime

Today’s blog doesn’t really have anything to do with music. In fact, I’m slightly ashamed to admit that it’s no more than a rant on what is effectively the lowest common denominator of talking points in this country – the weather.

Whilst on tour in the USA last week (where we were subjected to some pretty varied weather conditions) I found myself explaining to a number of Americans that whilst for them rain is merely “a bit of a bummer”, for us it is practically a way of life. That’s accepted. And so I was somewhat taken aback to arrive home and find that Brits are still banging on about the apparent demise of the (if you ask me, virtually mythological) “Great British Summertime”. 

Every year it’s the same: “What an awful summer we’re having!” Brits cry. “Isn’t it dreadful? One week of sunshine and then nothing but rain and clouds for months on end. Whatever happened to The Great British Summertime?”. People actually sound indignant, as if they’ve been cheated out of the customary eight weeks of blistering heat that they signed up for when they decided to remain in the UK. “I don’t put up with over-priced public transport, abnormally high teenage pregnancy rates and that berk Jonathan Ross only to be subjected to this frankly mediocre weather all throughout July and August!”.

Don’t get me wrong. I love Britain. It’s bloody brilliant here. Our art and culture are second-to-none, our countryside is beautiful, the people are industrious. The fish and chips are mindblowing. We invented Wotsits. I could go on. But the weather… well, the weather is – and has always been – a little bit rubbish. Surely it’s not only me who’s spotted that?

British summers are typically a bit sunny, a bit rainy, a bit cloudy. Non-committal, in other words. Some years deviate from the norm, of course – apparently last summer was awful (not that I noticed) and once in a blue moon we get a summer that breaks records like in 2006 – but when those years are the exception rather than the rule, why does everybody always feel so let down by the consistently mediocre weather?

Sure, if your idea of the perfect summer is the Caribbean, then yeah, I can understand your disappointment; however, if this is the case then I recommend you spend your summer in the Caribbean rather than Dulwich. 

OK. Now I’ve got that out of my system, I’m off to relax on a sun-lounger in the drizzle and shout at today’s copy of the Daily Mail.

The Piano-led Power-Pop Revolution!

Top-dollar Philadelphia act Jukebox The Ghost have just been added to the bill for our Union Square gig this Thursday 30 July. This is awesome news, for this jaunty piano-led power-pop 3-piece (sound familiar anyone?!) are one of the finest acts we’ve ever played with.

Jukebox supported us at the Clapham Grand back in 2007 whilst gigging in the UK and since then have toured with Ben Folds and gone from strength to strength. Check them out here.

If you’re in Manhattan, make sure you get down to Union Square at 5pm this Thursday for a rare opportunity to catch Jukebox and The Lightyears on the same stage…

The Great AEG Hologram Debacle

Does anybody else think that AEG Live, the company responsible for booking Michael Jackson’s gargantuan run of shows at the O2 in May, got what was coming to them?

Against the star’s wishes, AEG extended MJ’s initial run of 10 shows to 50, virtually overnight. Michael himself wasn’t happy about this but it seemed he had no choice in the matter. It was obvious to everybody that he was going to really struggle to make it through 50 concerts – the people knew it, the media knew it and the insurance companies knew it. As a result, AEG were only able to secure insurance against a small proportion of the concerts they’d booked and now they are in the hole for something like £300 million. 

It has recently emerged that the company are offering fans a “souvenir ticket”, featuring a hologram of the great man, as an alternative to a refund. I’m sorry, but what?! A hologram? You used to get tat like that free in cereal packets in the 1980s. That is clearly the result of a group of executives sitting around a boardroom trying to figure out how they can exploit the memory of Michael Jackson just to save themselves a few quid.

Now, I don’t want to come across as naive – businessmen exploit musical talent for financial gain all the time (that’s why we have a music industry and it’s also the reason bands are able to get their music out to millions rather than just hundreds, which is clearly a good thing) –  but I think in this case it’s a little crass. The problem, however, is this. I wish I could say that the fans will see through AEG’s hokey offer. I wish I could say that devoted Jackson-ites will boycott the scheme on principle. But they won’t. And AEG know that. 

Personally, I wouldn’t accept a shiny ticket for a concert that never happened created by a desperate corporation as a suitable memento for the loss of the world’s greatest entertainer. Mind you, maybe that’s just sour grapes from one of the schmucks who failed to get a ticket in the first place. 😉 

What I will say is this – if you can’t decide between a refund and a souvenir ticket, why not join me on my soapbox and take the cash? Then, later on today, in place of framing AEG’s ground-breaking hologram technology and hanging it on your wall, why not bust out a huge ghetto blaster and strut the streets of your hometown playing “Speed Demon” on full blast and grabbing your crotch? That’s a better tribute to the King Of Pop than anything that could have been dreamed up by the suits at AEG…

The King is Dead… Long Live The King!

Michael Jackson was always destined to become a legend, and now he can properly begin that process.

Traditionally, pop stars have struggled to grow old gracefully. Marilyn Monroe, Kurt Cobain, Buddy Holly et al all figured out that if you die young, leave a good-looking corpse and, most importantly, don’t go a bit mental and start dangling babies out of first floor windows, you’ll find it a lot easier to live an unblemished eternity in the hearts of millions when you die.

Not so for poor old Michael who, to use a Presleyan analogy, suffered a harrowingly public “big fat burgers on a toilet seat” phase. However, now that he is gone, fans can mourn his death, the media can start pretending that they never slagged him off whilst he was alive and the King Of Pop can pass happily into legend, where he belongs.

Shamon people.

There’ll never be another Michael.

RIP Michael Jackson, 1958 – 2009

The Things We Do For The Queen

When asked to perform an a cappella, barbershop-inspired medley of classic British seaside songs, most indie-rock bands would respond in the following manner: “Are you crazy? Of course not. We are enigmatic, sexual beings. We are totemic idols for the baying masses. We want to be revered the world over for our raw, lithe magnetism. Never would we jeopardise the integrity of our reputation with such foolish and trivial japery.”  

The Lightyears, on the other hand, responded something like this: “YIPPEEEEEE!”

And so it was that, two weeks ago in Seoul, South Korea, we found ourselves performing barbershop versions of “Summer Holiday”, “Beautiful Briny Sea” and “I Do Like To Be Beside The Seaside” in front of the British Ambassador and over 500 esteemed guests at The Queen’s Birthday Ball dressed in red and white striped blazers, bow ties and boaters. It was quite a spectacle. Expect it to turn up on YouTube sometime in the coming weeks and possibly threaten our entire future in the fickle arena of rock and roll.

Mind you, Chris Martin once said said that “Rock and roll is doing what you want” – and we certainly wanted to do this. It wasn’t easy, but not even the constant threat of nuclear armageddon could throw us off our course. 

Funnily enough, when we arrived home we discovered that, as is so often his habit, Ben Folds had beaten us to it on this occasion. His recent release, entitled “University A Cappella”, features many of his best-loved songs performed live by college a cappella troupes. Very interesting stuff, especially if you’re already a BF fan. Read about it here. 

And as for us, prancing about in foreign countries dressed up like a cross between Dick Van Dyke and a stick of rock, well, on that matter I have but one thing left to say… Integrity? Schmintegrity.

Sometimes you’ve just got to slap on a candy-striped boater and make like it’s 1924.

Rock & Roll – The Miracle Diet

Here’s an interesting story I heard today. It’s about Claire Richards, who was one of the blonde chicks out of Steps. 

Steps were one of the biggest pop acts of the ’90s. They toured the world, sold over 15 million records and achieved 14 consecutive Top 5 singles – a feat equalled only by The Beatles.

Then, one day, the band broke up.

And Claire Richards got fat.

Really. Bloody. Fat.

She went from a Size 8 to a Size 20 in just a few months. Astonishing, you might think, although when you sit on the same couch for five years eating McDonalds and crying, it’s amazing how easily you can pile on the pounds. 

Turns out that, very admirably, she turned her life around by sticking rigidly to a balanced diet and a structured exercise regime. All credit to her – and hoorah that the idea of Steps reforming one day for a reunion tour hasn’t been jeopardised.

However, reading Claire’s story fostered inside of me a very disturbing thought.

Are The Lightyears keeping me thin?

If we were to split up tomorrow, would I balloon out like a fatty-bom-batty? Would I lose all control and start binging on oil sandwiches and lard pavlovas?

The solution is obvious. I have to keep this band together, at all costs. Even if it means swallowing my pride and agreeing with everything the other guys say. “Yes, Tony, it’s true – animals do have feelings”. “Yes, George, I realise now that you’re right – it really is hilarious in The West Wing when they make jokes about federal co-operative legislation”. I simply can’t afford to encourage any arguments. My arteries depend on it.

So. Hmmmm. If I get fat, will you guys still buy my 2013 solo album, 10,000 Pianos?

Of course you will.

You wouldn’t abandon me just because I need a Stannah Stairlift to get out of bed…

Would you?

Some guys have all the luck

So, somebody told me this story today and I decided I had to pass it on.

The story comes from a Radio 2 DJ who apparently told it on air this morning. It is 100% true.

There’s this dude, OK, who’s really into Harley Davidsons. He’s a fanatic. He’s owned a particularly beautiful Harley most of his life and has kept it in mint condition. He loves this machine.

One day he decides to expand and get a side-car. ‘Course, he doesn’t want any old side-car – he wants a Harley side-car, the real deal. After weeks of phoning around dealers in the UK he discovers that the only place he’ll find what he wants is America. Cue another lengthy process of calling around dealers in the States. Eventually he finds a company who have what he’s looking for. A genuine HD side-car, ready for exporting.

The American chap on the other end of the phone asks the guy a few questions about his bike, including the chassis number. He says he needs to go away and make a few enquiries and then, mysteriously, proceeds to call back every twenty minutes or so with more questions – “What colour is it?”, “When did you buy it?”, “How much did it cost?”, “Who sold it to you?” and so on. Our protagonist is nonplussed. Did they really need to know all this stuff just to sell him a side-car?

A couple of hours later he receives his final call from the American dealer.

“Go and look underneath the seat on your bike sir. There’s something there I think you’re gonna want to see.” 

Still none the wiser, the Harley enthusiast goes outside to where his bike is waiting on the drive and lifts up the seat. Underneath a message is inscribed into the metal: “To Elvis, from Johnny Cash.”

A week later he sells the bike for three and a half million quid.

Yikes.

So, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to lift up the bonnet of my Peugeot 106 to look for the following inscription: “To Celine Dion, all my love forever, Rick Astley”.

Whatever happened to the rockstars?

Sean Adams, editor of the website DrowedInSound, claimed in a Sunday Times article yesterday that today’s “rockstars” are a pale, diluted imitation of their ’60s and ’70s forebears, “hopping into bed with the media, the Man and the Establishment” to inflate their own fame, ticking the boxes of rebellion rather than actually rebelling, seeking attention and notoriety for its own sake rather than plugging the cause of the avant-garde and using their music to change the world.

D’you know, I think he has a point. Winehouse is a formidable vocalist but as a rockstar she’s a bit of a shambles. The Libertines were ground-breaking but since their split Doherty has essentially been clumsily resuscitating his rockstar status by crashing in and out of rehab (as well as in and out of bed with Miss Moss) and smacking up in public. Martin and Bono promote admirable causes but they’re not exactly revolutionaries – everybody agrees that Fair Trade is a good thing and so the pair of them are really just mouth-pieces for the liberal middle-classes.

These days the term “rockstar” is applied as often to comedians (such as Brand and Boosh) and politicians (OK, perhaps only Obama gets this particular treatment) as it is to musicians and as a result the epithet is beginning to lose its meaning, argues Adams. When will a new breed of musical renegade step in to fill the shoes of legends gone by? And, more importantly, will the desperate, profit-seeking music industry allow them to shine?

As for The Lightyears, well, I wouldn’t want to appear hypocritical and we are certainly doing everything we can to keep the rockstar spirit alive. Last week I stayed up past midnight TWICE and one of those times I didn’t even brush my teeth before bedtime. 

Live the dream people. Live the dream.

Things We Love/Hate About The 80s

The news today is that Spandau Ballet are re-forming and becoming the next in a long line of former stadium acts to get back on the road for a mammoth nostalgia tour and the opportunity to perform once again in front of their legions of screaming fans. Take That, Spice Girls, The Police – it’s all the rage these days.

The cynics consistently interpret moves such as these as transparent attempts to make a fat pile of cash without having to do anything original. “They’ve just got mortgages to pay”, they cry. But so what, I say? Musicians are normal people like anybody else (well, except Mariah Carey). They should be allowed to pay their mortgages if that’s what they want. I mean, when Wispa bought out the Wispa Gold back in the ’90s, people didn’t go around saying “No man, that is WAY cynical. It’s just the Wispa executives trying to pay off their mortgages”.

Anyway, that’s not really the point I’m attempting to make here. What I’m more interested in discussing is this – which elements of the ’80s would we all like to bring back and which should remain forever buried?

To start everybody off, here’s my tuppence worth:

’80s STUFF WE SHOULD BRING BACK
– Marty McFly
– Michael Jackson making decent music
– Supergran
– The Dukes Of Hazzard
– Paul Daniels
– Jim’ll Fix It

’80s STUFF THAT SHOULD REMAIN HIDDEN FOREVER
– Shellsuits
– Shoulder pads on anybody except superheroes
– Thatcherite government
– Me wetting the bed

OK, I’m done.

……Contributions welcome!

Chris Lightyear

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