Tag Archives: Idle Eye

Idle Eye 191 : The Showgirl

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It’s time to scotch a rumour, now that we’re safely ensconced inside a new year and you’re vaguely listening again. And, unlike the usual ephemera that does the rounds on the social (only to rapidly disappear up its own euphemism), this one concerns yours truly and the highly improbable premise that things have taken a turn for the better in my private life. Worse still, that it may involve a certain Jenny Vegas, who has been in my employ for a few months now and, to be perfectly honest, really not my type. This kind of hearsay is not only unhelpful, but also deeply unprofessional; to the point where I had to make an awkward call to Miss Vegas in person and make an complete tit of myself:

Me:  Jenny, can you talk?

Vegas:  That you, Dougie?

Me:  Er…no. It’s Idle Eye. From the Broken Biscuits shows.

Vegas:  Aw, hiya! Did ya have a fab Chrimbo?

Me:  Yes, thank you. It was most pleasant.

Vegas:  What you doing calling mi in’t middle of t’night?

Me:  It’s 10.15, Jenny…AM. And there’s something urgent I need to run past you.

Vegas:  Is it Hollyoaks?

Me:  No, not exactly. It’s a bit more delicate than that.

Vegas:  Gi us a clue then. An don’t tek all day.

Me:  I’ll come straight to the point. There are certain, how shall we say, insinuations flying about at the moment about you and me. Have you heard anything?

Vegas:  In…sin…yer wha?

Me:  Insinuations. People are talking.

Vegas:  Eh?

Me:  Look, this isn’t easy for me. But the word on the street is that we’re somehow…entwined.

Vegas:  I only ‘ad a few Lambrinis…an’ a whiskey chaser. I were holdin’ back!

Me:  We’re not talking alcohol, Jenny. This is the hard stuff.

Vegas: I don’t do that neither. Not since rehab.

Me:  Ok, I’ll spell it out. They’re saying you and I are a couple. Romantically. As in going out together. And you have my full…

Vegas:  Whose seyin’ that?

Me:  No one in particular. But you know how the rumour mill works.

Vegas:  Yew…an mesen?

Me:  That’s about the sum of it.

Vegas:  Are yer fookin ‘avin a laff?

Me:  Deadly serious, I’m afraid.

Vegas:  Well, Mr Eye! Altho’ I am a woman of great bewtay, talent an intelligence, not to mention a consummated professional, I don’ av time for owt like tha. An even if I did, I do have mi reputat…repit…image to think abaht, yer naw.

Me:  If it’s any conciliation, it was nothing to do with me.

Vegas:  That’s right, never is wi you blorks. Nah piss off, I’m busy…

And that was that. Whilst I’m no stranger to the odd rebuke, this was one of the oddest yet; particularly as I shall be working with Miss Vegas for the foreseeable future. But if you ask me, the lady protests too much. They usually do, the little minxes…

Broken Biscuits No.8.

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BB8 was the usual heady cocktail of madness, hilarity and confusion, only this time we had an angry poltergeist along for the party as well. Not that anyone heard or saw anything, mind, but she was definitely there. And it is a she; we checked.

David Farnan stepped in for James Cook (who sadly couldn’t be with us) at the eleventh hour, and knocked out a repertoire of effortless, self-penned acoustic swagger: with a vocal rasp that would have Liam Gallagher running for the hills. Lovely stuff!

Now here’s a challenge: I defy anyone to listen to the attached Jenny Lockyer song and not well up at the end. She has that rare ability to fuse humour and pathos in equal amounts, all mixed in with a touch of the surreal and a voice to die for. And I’m delighted to announce that she’ll be joining us yet again for a big show in April next year. More on that another time…

Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without a seasonal address from our very own Jenny Vegas. Unlike the politicians, she cuts through the crap and tells it like it is, all dressed up as a sexy Santa. This is how you get the word out, Theresa: think on it! Actually don’t (can you imagine?) In the meantime, we wish Cabernet Vegas all the very best in rehab, and let’s pull a collective cracker for little Chardonnay, whose tag gets removed in January. Huzzah!

As promised, Idle Eye also had a pop at something seasonal. No hats though, just a rather sad, out-of-character cameo as a Pizza Flyer Delivery Boy in the style of Alan Sillitoe. No jokes, neither. Because who wants them, FFS? There was some other stuff, but unless you were there (and let’s face it, you weren’t) there’s not a lot of point banging on about it. Wasn’t too bad, though.

Well, that’s it for 2016. It’s been a curious journey – from blog to book to the live shows – but I wouldn’t have it otherwise. I’ll write up one of those End of Year thingies after the Big One, but not until: I’ve got a £10 Majestic wine voucher that runs out today & I know where my priorities lie x

Idle Eye 190 : The Big(ger) Picture

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X:  2016 is coming to an end. I think it’s time you and I had a chat about what you’re doing.

Me:  Sure. What about it?

X:  Well, for starters, what exactly are you doing? A year ago you said you wanted to be a writer. Now it’s all about these shows and you haven’t written the blog since August. You need to be clear about your end goals because no one else is.

Me:  I wouldn’t worry about that. No one reads it anyway and I needed a breather.

X:  That kind of attitude will get you precisely nowhere.

Me:  I’m already precisely nowhere. Which is why I’m doing the shows.

X:  Okay, let’s take a different tack. Are you making any money from them?

Me:  Absolutely none. In fact, I fork out quite a bit to make it all happen.

X:  So what’s your projected business plan then? Because it’s not looking too crash hot at the moment.

Me:  I don’t have a business plan. Actually, that’s not true, I do: the plan is to keep doing stuff until something gives. Sort of like ‘paying your dues’ when you’re in a band.

X:  Bands don’t ‘pay their dues’ any more, for god’s sake! Your head’s somewhere in the 1970s. And if you don’t come up with something a little more concrete, so is your career.

Me:  I quite fancy a 1970s career, now you mention it. It was all a bit more clear-cut back then.

X:  If you’re not going to take this seriously, don’t come crying to me when you can’t pay the fucking bills.

Me:  All right, all right! Jeez! Well, the way I see it is as a package. The written stuff feeds the live stuff and the audio stuff, I get to meet some great people along the way and eventually I sell the concept.

X:  Who to? Santa? The Magic Fairy Godmother?

Me:  If you’re not going to take this seriously, don’t come crying to me when I can’t pay the fucking bills.

X:  I am serious. Who on earth is going to shell out for your ‘concept’, seeing as it’s doing so well right now?

Me:  Santa.

X:  And what if Santa only wants one of your acts? That Jenny Vegas, for example: you seem to be putting your back into that one.

Me:  You’ve just proved that my concept works in a single sentence.

X:  How exactly?

Me:  Because you mentioned Jenny Vegas.

X:  So?

Me:  Until today, she’s only been part of the shows. But now you’ve put her into the writing, and we’ll probably record this as well. And then I can sell it all on to Santa as a multimedia extravaganza and buy a house in Beverly Hills.

X:  You wrote this, not me!

Me:  Are you saying you don’t exist?

X:  You’re really not at all well, are you?

Me:  I’m fine. The back’s playing up a bit though.

Broken Biscuits No.7.

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BB7 then. Last time we did Hastings, it was Brexit; this time it was Trump. So unsurprisingly, we were given the full might of the elements in return. Horizontal rain and the tail end of a hurricane did their darndest to whip our scrawny arses into submission, but we weren’t having it, no siree; the show had to go on…

Kate Tym, our compere, kicked off the night with this and had us all squirming in our seats. Really, Kate? Really? And just as we were trying to rid ourselves of the mental image of a President Elect’s ginger moobs, The Magic Wizard cast his spell with the finest drone pop since…well, Tiger, actually. Dan Laidler is back, on form and not before time, ably assisted by a couple of blokes he found in Wetherspoons.

David Quantick singlehandedly proved that by changing one word in Bob Dylan’s Wikipedia entry, the entire course of music history as we know it could be seismically altered. In “The Day Bob Dylan Went Disco” we got our Judas moment all funked up; because that’s what he would have wanted.

Idle Eye adhered to the old mantra ‘something old, something new, something borrowed’ etc… There was a bit of quality swearing from his potty-mouthed satnav, samples, spot fx and a rather fetching new teeshirt kindly donated by Magda Archer. Yes, his life is crap; get over it.

To round it all off, Jenny Vegas allowed us a rare glimpse into the rigours of being a consummated professional. Her acting coach, Ophelia Cordelia Bagshaw-Smythe, clearly had her work cut out. Sadly, what happened to Miss Vegas did not stay with Miss Vegas but she soldiers on regardless, bless her…

Windy’s Farm hit the big screen this time. Bloody huge, it was too! Our thanks to The Palace for putting it all on, to everyone who ventured out on the gloomiest of Sundays, and to Brooklyn Lager for aiding and abetting. The last show of the year will be at the wonderful SeaFiSh in Bognor Regis on 15th December, hope to see some of you there. It may or may not have a festive theme, but I’m trying not to think about that just yet. Bah! x

Book Update No. 16

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lunar_twits mr_reynard tyranny_sex vox_humana windows_soul

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Remember this? If you can’t, please allow me to bring you up to speed: almost exactly one year ago, following on from an intense yet successful Kickstarter campaign, Amateur of Life and Death was released into the world via my very own little publishing wing, Ward 10 Books. Twenty brilliant artists from disparate disciplines and locations all contributed two illustrations, it was beautifully designed by Ursula McLaughlin and it became a hardback as we raised £1000 more than I had originally pitched for. It sold quite a few copies to begin with, but then came the inevitable slowdown and the impenetrable wall of the big stores was never adequately scaled. This upset me at first, but it lead onto the alternative route I have adopted since April; live performance and the Broken Biscuits shows. Which I adore, but the book is still a very real thing, still available and I am immensely proud of it.

As we prepare to enter the season of goodwill, may I humbly suggest the above as an adequate token of affection for a loved one, a colleague, a pet, an accountant or anyone else who knows you. It is quite easy to wrap, has pictures if you don’t like the words, and it fits under most doors. Simply click on the link below and I will sign it & send it to whoever you wish. If the link doesn’t work, could you let me know in the comments please? I’m a bit shit at this stuff which is why I’m not rich.

I thank you x

paypalbutton BW

Broken Biscuits No.6.

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And they just get better and better. Always lovely to do a gig in the manor but oh, Crystal Palace, you surpassed yourselves! Have a biscuit. Let’s break it down, because that’s what you know and love:

Sadly, Michael Legge couldn’t be with us for this one, but the unstoppable Jenny Vegas kindly agreed to take another day off her Bernard Matthews tour of Norfolk to join us once again. And this time, we got the full Manky Shanka, yes we did! God only knows how she manages to walk to Jobcentre Plus every morning.

Jenny Lockyer‘s hilarious, delicate and beautifully delivered songs ranged from a five-year-old’s wry observation of her mother’s appalling driving skills, to the quite brilliant Agnetta Askeholmen doing a ditty about a little dolphin and a magic fish; and anything in between. She’ll be joining us again in Bognor so if you missed this, for God’s sake get a train ticket now. Mmm, Southern.

Joe Duggan kicked off the evening leaving no stone unturned. I’ve tried to give a flavour of just how varied and powerful his work can be in the below edit, but to get the full hit you really need to be there in the flesh. He is blessed with not only the words, but also a voice that soothes on the one hand and kicks off with the other. An extraordinary talent.

Idle Eye went sonictastic for this one. Samples, vocal fx and not one but two wonderful guest speakers (Callum Hughes and Penny Capper) helped disguise shoddy writing and bullshit delivery from the main man. I’m seriously beginning to wonder why I continue to put on this utter no-mark; he’s a sad epitome of a waning talent, clinging onto the coat-tails of a rising star. Pathetic.

Next up, we’re back in lovely, lovely Hastings – 20th November at the newly restored Palace. Right on the seafront, right on the money. We’ll deliver, I swear to God. And if we don’t, Donald’s contact details follow below. Usually replies within 24 hours:

donaldrossskinner@notsurewhatsgoingonhere.co.uk

Broken Biscuits No.5.

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4.5 hours in a Triumph Herald filled to the roof with kit was always going to be interesting, but oh was it worth it! Regather Works is a great venue, so perfect for our bizarre little cabaret. But bizarre doesn’t even begin to cover it – before we knew what was what, (A Whiff of) Chester Le Flange burst onto the stage, the man himself as the pope and accidental guitarist Ollie Quiche as the Test Card, and had a startled audience eating out of their hands by the end of their first number. No mean achievement.

In case we’d forgotten where we were, The Yorkshire Teabaggers let us know. In style. With innuendo, a pinch of smut and sweet, sweet harmonies. Lovely to catch up with David McClelland after a 30 year hiatus (hit the audio tag for more of his work with Idle Eye), and we were all treated to a drink on the boys after the set. Of tea, bless ’em! Tread with caution if you’re looking them up on the Twitter, mind.

And then there was Jenny Vegas. The inimitable standard bearer of celebrity culture, she has survived the mire of her dysfunctional childhood to become the Face of Dave’s Tyres, a recorded songstress (Only If You Care/Ooh Baby) and author of the bestselling novel Love and Nuts. There is no one quite like her, except off of the telly.

Idle Eye banged out the hits as per, because we have hits and we’re not afraid to use them. And Dan Laidler‘s Windy’s Farm, despite the palaver of assembling a screen the size of Wembley Arena, was riotously received again. People were crying; they were, they were. If you’re reading this, Dan, you know what to do…

We’re back on home turf for the next one: Antenna Studios, Crystal Palace on 29th October. With a line-up so skillz, you’ll never believe we didn’t resort to bribery or extortion. Because we did with the others x

IE Audio 29 : The Wicker Man

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Quality undercoat for exterior stone and wood. With Martin Kemp from Spandau Ballet.

Idle Eye 189 : The Wicker Man

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I was in Wickes on Croydon’s Purley Way the other day. Not somewhere I would normally frequent, but I needed a quality undercoat for exterior stone and wood, and the local options were beyond lamentable. Visiting one of these places is a bit like going to an airport departure lounge: the sheer scale intentionally dwarfs any notion you may have of thrift, as eight-wheeled juggernauts filled to capacity with power tools and decking thunder their way towards the checkouts.

I weaved through the aisles, keeping as low a profile as I could muster, but then I noticed a well-dressed man hovering uncomfortably in the distance. He turned, looked up and in a flash was standing next to me in front of the two pack epoxies. It was Martin Kemp from Spandau Ballet:

Martin:  Sorry to bother you, but don’t I know you from somewhere?

Me:  I doubt it. I don’t come here very often.

Martin:  No, not from here. Aren’t you that bloke who…

Me:  Martin, keep your voice down! I’m trying to get this over with as quickly as I can.

Martin:  Sorry. What are you looking for?

Me:  Undercoat. For exterior stone and wood.

Martin:  You’re way off base, mate. You’ll be after the Home Decorating section, it’s on the other side of the building. If you go down the end …hang on, let me take you.

Me:  Thank you.

So Martin Kemp from Spandau Ballet and I made our way across the absurdly complex labyrinth, stopping only for him to pick up a couple of shiny aprons from Kitchenware and a retractable chalk line set from Building and Joinery.

Martin:  You’re probably wondering why I’ve got two aprons, aren’t you?

Me:  To be honest, I’m not. But I reckon you share cooking duties with your partner, and that you’re probably a bit OCD.

Martin:  They’re both for me, actually.

Me:  Ah. Are you going to tell me or not?

Martin:  Take a wild guess. Look at the colour.

Me:  I really haven’t got time for this.

Martin:  Bright metal. Quite valuable. Think Ancient Egypt.

Me:  Gold?

Martin:  Bullseye!

Me:  So you’re about to buy two kitchen aprons that happen to be the same colour as your 1983 hit record? It’s a bit tenuous, Martin.

Martin:  So what? There’s still a few people about who’ll get it. And anyway, what’s so special about your stupid paint?

Me:  There’s nothing special about it at all. Except I didn’t have a hit back in the day called ‘Quality Undercoat for Exterior Stone and Wood’. And if I did, I probably wouldn’t be here now.

Martin:  What about the chalk line set?

Me:  Oh no…not True?

Martin:  Oh yes.

Me:  No one’s going to understand that reference. Even I’m struggling, and I work in the trade.

Martin:  Yeah, whatever. Have a nice day.

And with that, he was gone. Still trying to figure out how he knows me, mind.

Broken Biscuits No.4.

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Komedia Brighton, you are a one! We got ourselves proper scared about this, and it turned out to be brilliant, lovely and the best fun EVAH. Where to start, though?

With Joss and Nick Hollywood. Because they transformed the space into a Lynchian, dystopian playground of circus animals, 50s neon and technicolour weirdness, all spurred on by Joss’s extraordinarily eclectic playlist. The boy may be fifteen, but he has carte blanche to DJ at my funeral. I’ll be posting a short compendium of clips on the Facebook page soon, be sure to check it out.

And then the acts. Kate Tym was just superb – taking no prisoners as per, she kicked off about kids, sex, Joanna Lumley, death and Take That. In that order. There are no words. Except hers. Jules Oliver‘s subtly surreal, hilarious set (who else could segue a loathing of falconry into an Essex Brides Magazine party featuring Spandau Barry?) had us all wondering when she was gonna crack. Not once, not once… And James Cook rounded off the night with a truly inspired collection of songs from his solo career. Just himself, a laptop and two guitars. Wonderful stuff!

As for Idle Eye, I’d like to thank Kate and Louise Yates for turning a six post run into something far more entertaining, Donald Ross Skinner for letting me take a piss over his 80s credentials, and to all the friends, family and those I’ve yet to meet who made the trip and helped make the night what it was. Because it was really quite something.

Now, a few weeks to regroup and then we’re off to Regather Sheffield on the 2nd October for BB5. We have a line-up in place and once again, it will not disappoint. I’ll throw something up here when the flyers are done, but if you happen to be in the vicinity and fancy a (very big) laugh, put the date in your diaries. We’re going comedy-tastic for this one, which is appropriate: my worthless degree came from Psalter Lane x