Here are a few clippings of critical responses to A Coat Worth Wearing, all from March 2017. Most of the reviews dealt primarily with aspects of the production and the performances on the album. To the extent that the songwriting was discussed it was often with reference to other tracks or albums. I’m always interested […]
I had the pleasure of meeting Steve Askew though my friend Paul Littlewood when Paul booked us both in to play Steve’s night at Cafe INDIEpendent in Scunthorpe. A few days later I had a chat with Steve for a series of podcasts he publishes via Mouth Magazine.
My first CISV experience was an interchange with Norway in the summer of 1989. Within four short months the Berlin wall was breached. My life’s contribution to world peace was apparently off to a promising start.
We’ve reached the halfway point in this blog series – this being the fifth of nine tracks. I’m not going to offer any discussion of the lyric for Danse Macabre. Anything it can say, it can say alone.
A native of the East Riding I met described our southernmost patch of the southernmost county of York as ‘only just’ Yorkshire. It’s an attitude echoed by many in Sheffield if asked about the anomalous Hallamshire district I grew up in. And on a scale of one to full blown Hallamite I’d say I’m about a four. So we’re talking pretty homeopathic concentrations of regional identity compared to some.
As the lyric emerged I had hopes that it could evoke a timescale longer than a single human life. The title was the last thing to come to me and I liked it precisely because it seemed to strengthen this possibility.
I believe it was still customary in the seventies to put children out in the pram for a period each day whatever the weather. And I suppose I must have made my earliest explorations, stumbling across rough concrete paving slabs into wet grass, rose hips and what not.