10 QUESTIONS - CORIN ASHLEY

corin

Who?

Hey, I said at the start of this that it wouldn’t all be boring famous people (Famous people reading this; I don’t mean you’re boring I mean the other famous people. You know who I mean, yeah, them). It’s about people I love or who have had some impact on my life. I first met Corin in 1997 in a club in Boston. His band, The Pills, were supporting The Boo Radleys and, from what I can recall of that long drunken journey into night, we became the best of friends, bonding over Beatles, booze and Baudelaire ( the last being fiction of course, included merely for alliterative kicks). We’ve seen each other a few times since then, Corin and his family have visited us in London and Cardiff and Mary and I have been over to Somerville, Mass to stay with them. A couple of years ago, just after I killed bravecaptain with a swift but meaningful blow to the back of his screwcurl head, Corin organised a few gigs up and down the East Coast. Some were acoustic sets in Coffee Houses and some were normal club gigs. Corin played bass, organised everything and I got drunk and played out of time, forgetting words, tunes, chords and my own name along the way. (I didn’t play again for a long time after that, didn’t do any music. I bought a camera and started sticking images together, waiting for the sounds to return). Otherwise, we make do with transatlantic mails, phonecalls and the occasional random telepathia. He also introduced me to Al fucking Kooper! Serious, we went to his house and everything (’Martin, are you sniffing my records’? Al said to me at one point. I was).

Corin was a member of Boston power pop band, The Pills. He released a solo album full melancholic self doubt and beauty . He also does an ace ukulele version of ‘Head Over Heels’ by Tears for Fears, a song we both love. He lives in Massachusetts with his wife, Darcey and their son, Harrison (The Bee).

I love him.

1. Where are you? Describe your immediate surroundings.

I’m in my stu- stu- studio-otherwise known as the spare bedroom upstairs. I’m surrounded by a Jawa’s phalanx of outdated gear: an RMI electro piano such as Linda McCartney played with Wings, A Hofner bass just like the one her less-known husband played in some band, an analog 8 track recorder, guitars everywhere, thousands of albums and books teetering on over- burdened shelves, a morass of wires and a Fender vibro champ. I’ve got a poster on the wall from when the Pills played in Barcelona and a painting that you gave me.

2. Which Beatle wife would you be?

Oooh, that’s a rough one. I’ll discount wives who were not wives during the Beatle years, so no Olivia or Barbara. I mean, Patti was so cute, but did you read her book? Oofa. Linda had the best marriage, but the worst British accent. Cynthia, I think, is the one to be- even with the shitty end to her marriage. She was there for the all the best parts. Could I be Astrud instead?

3. “Why count the days..” writes Dostoevsky in ‘The Brothers Karamazov’,

“..when even one day is enough for a man to know all happiness.”

What would be your perfect day?

I’ve had a number of perfect days with you and Mary, so I totally dig on old Fyoder’s sentiment (and his travel guides are ace). Actually, lately I’ve been getting really fruity for trees. Me and the wee man have been doing these Sunday hikes in the woods near our house. There’s this big reservoir in a grove of pines and we take our trusty bulldog Pretzel for protection against wild beasties. It’s just beautiful back there: there’s a certain quietness that is unique to a pine grove and the way the sun shimmers through the tops of the trees is very magical. Harrison loves to walk along the edge of the reservoir and he has so many questions, but we usually end up talking about trees. He can identify pine, white birch, dogwood and “the mighty oak”. When we come out of the woods, there’s a huge open space called the sheep fold where people bring their dogs to run. Sometimes, there are a hundred dogs there and one expects to see Steve Winwood in a tweed overcoat with a bunch of Irish wolfhounds. Anyway, if we can find a poo- free spot, Harrison and I lay down and describe the clouds to each other and let Pretzel romp himself into a froth. After a couple of hours, we go home and tell Darcey about our adventures and that’s a pretty perfect day. Sometimes there are snacks.

4. You have been given a box containing infinite song components.
Which of these components would you use to construct the perfect song?

Oh man, I wish. I’d take two parts “wild mercury sound”, a splash of “teenage symphony to God”, the sound of Christianity vanishing and shrinking, a spoonful of truth and then hopefully, somehow add one part originality. That last ingredient is where I always fall short.

5. What was the best job, outside of music, that you ever had?

For 5 years, when I was in my early 20’s, I drove tourists around in big orange trolleys and gave tours of Boston and Cambridge- a fine balance of historical ephemera and ludicrous humor (Ted Kennedy jokes= tips). I was in a continuous loop for 5 years and had this amazing relationship with the city where I got to know every nook and cranny, every meter maid on the route. All the restaurants would give us free food to mention them, it was great. I gave thousands of tours and I think I still hold the record for making the most tips in one day ($304). We had our hats overturned for tips and a little sign above asking for them (which I would do the drum fills from “Won’t Get Fooled Again” on to make sure nobody missed). At one point, I realized that I had become the greatest trolley tour guide in the world. I could get away with unbelievable things on the trolley. Tourists would just do whatever I asked; I convinced a group of guests to follow me off the trolley to go swimming fully clothed in the reflecting pool at the Christian Science Center. I got a whole group of people to yell out “We’re not wearing any pants” during a live newscast the Governor was giving on the steps of the state house. I would stop the trolley and take the whole group for ice cream. One time, when the trolley was full, a blustery red-faced woman yelled at me and said “I demand a ride” and I told her there was a broom in the back. Her husband died laughing.

I was also playing in a band that did a lot of shows in New York at the time and I would get home, take a shower and go directly to work, so I would occasionally have to pull over to “adjust my mirrors” and go vomit in an alleyway before continuing the tour. The entire trolley company was crazy drunkards and many of the ticket sellers were Irish girls with very flexible morals. One time I was giving the tour, looking at the guests in the mirror above me, when in the back row I spotted a familiar face. I kept looking back and discovered Robin Williams sitting in the very last seat with a hoodie on. I made the secret Mork from Ork handshake sign at him and he put his fingers against his lips. I continued with my regular routine and at the end, as he exited, he whispered “You’re a funny motherfucker” in my ear and put $50 in my hat.

6. You live near Boston which, as we are all aware, was named after the ages ago rock band. Have you ever bumped into a Boston?

I do not like the rock band Boston, I do not think they are wicked pissa, no suh. However, when I first moved here, at the tender age of 18, my Mom and I went to the Hard Rock Cafe- we are simple country folk so looking at Prince’s purple cape & boots is quite exotic for us- and I recognized Tom Scholz sitting at a nearby table. Up to that point, the only famous musician I had ever spoken to was hometown hero Daryll Hall and it went well, so I figured I had a knack for it and went over to say hello. I nervously approached and introduced myself, said that I had just moved to Boston to go to music college and he was relatively gracious and wished me luck. We talked briefly about how he made the first Boston album in his apartment with cables running out to a mobile truck to transfer the tapes. It was a perfectly valid interaction, but I didn’t know what else to say. There was an uncomfortable eternity where I tried to “hang” and, grasping for straws, I said to the man who took 8 years between albums “So, what are you working on now?” and he looked right at me and said “Right now I’m just working on trying to eat my lunch” and I slithered away humiliated.

7. I’ve had this headache for weeks now, I’ve taken pills, given up my piano lessons and tried not to stress too much about money and stuff.
What would your advice be?

Despite your magnificent 3-D coiffure, I have long feared that your head will be your un-doing. So much good comes out of it that I can’t recommend a replacement unit, you may just have to soldier on with the one you’ve got. Have you seen a cranium doctor? Regarding worry, there is a case to be made for that being quite reasonable.

8. I know you’ve visited the UK a couple of times. If you had to describe this country and it’s people to an interplanetary researcher what would you say?

That’s a pretty big question. I mean, you know I love you little spotty buggers, but how to put it in words? You know, when I saw that travel show about the guys fishing in Cornwall with their little day boats, I wanted to live there. And when we played in Aberdeen and I spent the night in a hammock surrounded by rabbits, I wanted to move to Aberdeen. And when I saw Leslie Ash in the garden shed in Quadrophenia, I wanted to move to Brighton. And the first time I was ever in Liverpool, it felt like coming home. And certainly there is no more exciting city than London. I guess the question is really more about the people and I suppose you must have as many douchebags as we do, but I’ve never met them. There’s a certain something to English people that can only comes from there having always been an England. You have better table manners than us, for one thing, and the sense of sarcasm without malice is most endearing. Ultimately, you have to respect a culture that reserves a warm spot in their collective hearts for complete loons.

9. What is your favourite time of day?

Whenever I see an e-mail from you in my inbox! Let’s see, I have gotten up to pee at 4:11 AM every night for the last 25 days, so that must be my favorite time of day. I really like that little zone right before I fall asleep when everything gets all cosmic and half- dreamy.

10. The football season is drawing to a close. Tragically, Manchester Utd have won the Premiership. What do
you think of Liverpool’s chances next season?

I feel like Kevin Garnett and Leon Poe’s knee injuries prevented the Celtics from being serious contenders against the Magic in the semi- finals (although it’s arguable whether they would have had any chance at all against Cleveland if they had won the series). Coach Rivers’ reliance on his starters and reluctance to use the bench led to Paul Pierce being ineffectual in game 7 and, coupled with Ray Allen’s inconsistent performance throughout, really blew their chances and fans have a right to question those decisions. I mean, we have a strong bench and two starters with injuries. Why wear them out?

And I still want a Liverpool scarf!

May 25, 2009Post a Comment

The Fleet Foxes

 

 I guess I was always gonna fall this band. As a devout disciple of Melancholia in most of it’s forms, the uplifting sadness rung from the lusty throats of these young, bearded Americans with their premonitions of death, their graves, Red Squirrels and Blue Ridge Mountains has captured my heart so completely. Mary and I have a copy in the van and as soon as we set off it’s on. A couple of months ago we stayed in Norfolk for a week and hung about in ancient graveyards, walked through the poppies and crabbed off the pier and it was the Fleet Foxes album that was our soundtrack, so aptly suited to the ghosts, half seen in the twilight; and the Windmill, cheerfully sturdy beneath sixteenth century skies. 

We drove down to brighton to watch them play, drank beer on the seafront (well, I did) and walked through the lanes. Afterwards I bumped into three of them and tried drunkenly to trick them into coming out drinking with me but I was a wee bit slurry and was soon having my head bounced off the kerb by their driver. They are a powerful band live, full throated and sweaty and my only disappointment was the absence of ‘Tiger Mountain Peasant Song’, a song that I will take to my grave.

The album landscape puts me in mind of Dylan’s ‘John Wesley Harding’ where open fields, towns and strange meetings dominate and yet seem intangible, ever shifting, glimpsed through the miasmic cobwebbery of the vague. Lyrically, I find only secrets and puzzles, songs about dead boys and Meadowlarks drift past, like a scene taken from Alexander Sokurov’s trippy film, Russian Ark and at the end I’m none the wiser about who’s dead, who isn’t or who is related to whom. The melodies never stay around for long, there’s always something else about to happen and as a musician I love the way they work their chords. The whole thing makes me want to try just a little harder.

I put my order in for the vinyl the week it came out on eil.com and Amazon but nothing’s come through yet. I hope they haven’t deleted it already. 

Because thataways Melancholia doth lie. 

Oh yes.

August 6, 2008Post a Comment

Frantic scenes at the marketplace, beach head of the global economy..

Look at it. A face worse than death. That’s what rampant capitalism looks like, my friends. The pressure up there defies my somewhat limited descriptive powers so I’ll say only this; it will take you and yours down, like a malevolent gravity clocking in at four hundred thousand Newtons and rockin’ concrete kecks. Look closely though, my brain is working out percentages and share options at unimaginable speeds. My wires plugged hard into the matrix, my eyes seek out only what they can get and my hair is big. Be in no doubt brothers and sisters, my hair is huge.

Worse still, the war on poverty (mine) is being fought on two fronts. My hangover was shocking. The previous night Marylou and I had driven down to Brighton to watch The Morans (circus troupe, aka The Guys, collective noun = Cackle) perform in a play they had written themselves called ‘Love Tournament’which was very funny. So funny indeed that I heroically attempted to drink myself to death in the pub later. We didn’t arrive home until gone half four and I had to be up at eight to make beautiful things and put them into bags. Mary was shattered, at seven months pregnant a girl needs her sleep so she got her head down for a while on top of the bubble wrap under the stall table while I slept behind my sunglasses.

With only seven or eight weeks to go before the due date, we still haven’t found anywhere to live. We discovered a new development in Bow opposite the sprawling foetus that is the Olympic Village. That was one of the incentives to living there; to watch it grow and come to life and then crumble and become a ghost. A bit like a Victorian Novel only with Javelins. We managed to miss out on a couple of large spaces and were let down on another. The stuff we do at home is now verging on the light industrial and we need space. What estate agents refer to as ‘roomy’ and ‘massive’ and ‘large’ bears no relationship to reality whatsoever in London. We have found a place that is perfect for us but it involves loans and commercial leases and viaducts and the council and ‘premiums’ and surveyors. We need to settle soon and start concentrating on what’s going to happen in October. Marylou is fine and well and the baby is kicking seven bells out of her from the inside.

I’m still writing songs but I can’t see a time when I’ll ever finish them let alone record them. As for the current recordings, check out the ‘News’ section.

August 5, 2008Post a Comment