5 Things I Have Learned From Touring With Rory Gallagher's Band


5 Things I Have Learned From Touring With Rory Gallagher's Band

For the last two weeks I've been living out a childhood dream of mine.


I grew up on Rory Gallagher's music, so when I got the call to join original RG band members Gerry McAvoy and Ted McKenna on tour, I jumped at it.  

So. What have I learned from working with my hero's band?

  • You should always try and meet your heroes. They're probably just as awesome as you thought they'd be.
  • You need to be pushed constantly. Being in a band means egging each other on and drawing out the best performance from your colleagues.  I've never been pushed like I am being on this tour.  I swear my fingers were an inch longer before I started this. 
  • The most important thing is the show.  Not your guitar tone, not the drive, the soundcheck, the merchandise, or settling up at the end. Give it 110% or go home.  If you're still able to stand up when it's over, you're doing it wrong. 
  • Time limits and curfews are not important. Alright. sometimes they are... but remember the last point? Haven't finished what you wanted to say? Keep going until you've hammered it so far home that it's undeniable.  90 minute sets? Don't make me laugh...
  • Success is happiness with a job well done, and done with love.  The most important one in this list. These guys have seen and done more than I ever will.  The look of joy while they are playing is still the way I remember feeling when I started playing at 11 years old. They talk about their heroes with the same reverence I talk about them with. Our down time is spent mostly talking about music. Every moment on stage is carried out with true conviction, sincerity, and flat out old fashioned elbow grease and passion for the art.  It's truly a powerful thing to be a part of.  




Too Much Shit, Elevators, And Self Importance Lasers

I just dropped my bags at my hotel in Miami.

By bags, I mean a backpack filled to the hilt with the heaviest things I could find in my apartment hanging off one shoulder,  an electric guitar hanging off the other,  one acoustic guitar (made of metal) in a bulky case,  and the other bulky guitar (made of bricks)  draped awkwardly over my suitcase which in turn includes just enough underpants, a pair of newly purchased shorts, just enough t-shirts, a token flannel (I mean, I am in Miami, then on to Jamaica?!), and my sponge bag with toothbrush and deodorant (I hope).  The rest of the suitcase is filled with CD's for the merch table on this cruise.  Priorities.  I may end up looking and smelling like a victim of a poorly organised music festival in 1971 by the end of the week, but hey - at least people can buy an assortment of musical frisbees from me. 

My reason for hopping on the blog machine here wasn't to complain about how much shit I did or didn't bring with me, more to complain about how strangers interact with someone who is obviously carrying too much shit in a crowded place, such as an airport. It may seem foreign to many modern travelers, but sometimes you have to move larger items with you from one place to another. 

When traveling light and observing others undertaking the sweaty, frustrating task of maneuvering an overpriced, precariously overpacked luggage trolley with one broken fucking wheel with one hand, and carrying a poorly designed un-stackable convex guitar case with the other,  I automatically give them a wide berth, perhaps even let them ahead of me. If something falls off (BOUND to happen), I may even run to help them at an alarming speed, so as to unwittingly make them feel like I am about to steal their unwieldy belongings right at their time of crisis, with a smile that is meant to say "LET ME HELP", but in fact comes across as "I MIGHT STAB YOU AS WELL AS STEAL THIS". 

Not once have I ever stood behind them waiting for a lift, and then BARGED in front when it arrives to ensure my place.  I swear I saw it coming.  I felt his pink and grey argyle sweater draped over his neck and fake tan burning a hole in the back of my head with fully charged self-importance lasers.  One of the other folks waiting for the lift even piped up, offering a "how rude!' to the man on my behalf, AND THEN PROCEEDED TO GET IN THE LIFT, THUS FILLING IT UP AND ADDING TO THE PREDICAMENT.  I thanked the man loudly, while leaning into the crowded (yet mostly smiling and amused) lift, before pressing the button again, muttering something to the effect that he must be a fucking surgeon off to an emergency dickhead transplant or something. Whatever. Sounded better at the time.  

Finally got down the one level needed to access the hotel shuttles. Took my bags off the trolley outside the correct and corresponding stop, well and truly frazzled and irritated. Surely this is the end. Nope. Immediately I did the most British thing possible: 

Man: “Sir, are you using this cart?” 

Me: “Hi! Sorry, no. Please, all yours.”

Why the fuck I led with an apology I’ll never know. Tends to be my default. Anyway. 

Cue hotel shuttle that comes roaring up to the curb, and then keeps driving before screeching to a halt 150 feet away from where I am standing, trolley-less, bewildered and dazed and entirely too warm.  This is going to take two trips, and faith that the airport system gives you sixteen and a half seconds to claim an unsupervised bag before a SWAT team swoops down on ropes from a helicopter and blows up my underpants. 

I made it on the bus. Sat down, all bags accounted for, when a lovely gentleman to my right says “Blues Alive At Sea Cruise?”  I looked at him and said:

“uh, oh yes. YES. I AM. GOD. YES. THANK YOU. THAT IS WHAT I AM DOING HERE”.  I was totally unaware at this point in my journey as to what in the actual fuck I’d left the house for this morning. Normally its milk.  It was a bonus to re-discover something more exciting was afoot. 

“And who are you playing with?”

“um, Davy Knowles.”

“AH! Fantastic, I said to my wife here, that looks like Davy!” His wife nodded in agreement.  I had no idea how I looked right now, aside from possibly deranged.

This man during the short trip to our hotel had assessed the ridiculous state in which I had entered the courtesy shuttle, and as we pulled up to the Marriott, quietly and politely said: 

“How about I grab this guitar for you, I have a spare hand.”

My dear man, I didn't get your name, but you have NO idea what that meant to me.  



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Spotify Playlist #1 - From The Ground Up. My Influences.

WHAT ARE YOU UP TO NOW, KNOWLES?! Well. I'll tell you. Stop shouting.  

Once a month I'm going to be making a short playlist of songs on Spotify that I feel have changed me, shaped me, and influenced me and my music. I have then chosen corresponding songs from my own catalogue that I feel really show those particular influences.  Hopefully, it's a little interesting, and you can spot the impact that these great artists have had on my writing, singing, and songwriting. HOPEFULLY.   Please note - for full versions of the songs you will need a Spotify account.  

Just click that big old button above to head to the playlist! 

As always - open to suggestions and comments - leave them below! 

Here we go! Episode 1!  

1. Dire Straits - Telegraph Road / DK - What Doesn't Kill You

2. Million Miles Away - Rory Gallagher / DK - Million Miles Away. (duh!)

3. Into White - Cat Stevens / DK - Amber's Song

4. Son House -Death Letter Blues / DK - First Words Of A Changing Man

5. Free - Heartbreaker / DK - Work A Little Harder

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On Our Wedding


I got married last weekend. Oct 7th.  It was a momentous day. 

It started off by absolutely pissing it down with rain. The kind that is so heavy everyone reassures you by saying things like;  "It can't keep it up like this for long", and "It's just a downpour, it'll clear up in a minute".  

It didn't. 

It didn't clear up until 15 minutes before our outdoor ceremony was due to commence.  I was busy pacing the floor in the tent where the reception was to be held, rehearsing my vows over and over. Our bartender (who was setting up for our guests and watching me and my nervous excitement) walked over and offered me a tic-tac. I thanked her. She offered me the whole pack. I declined. Said I didn't want to rattle the whole way down the aisle.  She laughed. I laughed. It calmed me down.  The rain stopped.  The ceremony began.

Amber has entirely ruined Otis Redding forever for me. She walked down the aisle to 'That's How Strong My Love Is' and as soon as I heard that music come on and saw her walking in my direction, I lost my shit. My best man, Lenny, realizing what was happening, even poked me in the back and told me to hold it together. I couldn't. She knows what she's done. She's proud of it too.    

It's true what they say. It was over too fast. The day and the evening shot out from under us like a magician pulling a tablecloth.  But it was beautiful. Indescribably beautiful. Made so, not just by our surroundings, but by the people who surrounded us.  

We're lucky, Amber and I. We've been lucky a long time. 


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The Man On The Flight To Madrid.

Generally, I absolutely adore flying. 

Even in these days of heightened security (fine with me, these days some people have silly ideas, and if turning up half an hour earlier helps stop them, I don't consider that an inconvenience at all). I still consider it a luxury.  The feeling of being in-transit and no-where at all. Partaking in the miracle of human flight. Anticipation to meet the destination, familiar or otherwise.  It's a wonderful thing, and one that I'm lucky enough to do very often.  More often than not, I carry a guitar, a rather expensive guitar, on the flight with me.  More often than not, there is NO problem in doing so. Perhaps I am practiced at flying, and see the worst in others that aren't.  Perhaps in my old age I am growing increasingly intolerant of rudeness and fools. 

It was an ordinary flight, from Zurich, Switzerland to Madrid, Spain. Lots of European holiday makers, a few businessmen. Also the lead singer from The Darkness. He was a lovely chap, and we talked about watches for a second while we waited to board after he spotted my Dad's old Rolex on my wrist. I never go anywhere without it. I found my seat next to the aisle. I popped my guitar in the locker above me, placed my book in the seat pocket and settled in, a steady stream of folks still bumbling down the plane. It's a busy flight, but certainly not full. 

Que German tourist and his family. His nationality really has little bearing on the situation, only that I want you to hear his accent in your head while you read this. For a family of three they carry little baggage. Still, I hear him huffing and umming as he scrambles for a place to put the bags. There is plenty of room all around him. Stressed and fraught people don't see though. He looks at me, says something in German. I recognize "Guitarren".  I muster up my best reply: "Es tut mir leid, sprichts du Englisch?" It works. 

"Is this your guitar?" He replies 

"Yes sir" 

"Ah. You see. I have a problem. I cannot fit my bags." 

"Well, there is plenty of room behind you, and under your seats"

"But your guitar takes up a lot of room," He doesn't really hear me. 

"I suppose a little more than a suitcase yes, but less than two. It is my only piece of luggage". I'm starting to get defensive, unsure of where this conversation is going. 

He looks at me, more than a little frustrated. Sternly he says to me:

"I cannot fit my bags up here. What can we do about this?" 

I lose it. 

"Sir. What on earth would you like me to do? Your bags are no more important than anyone elses. It is first come, first served. I am not about to move my expensive guitar, which I am more than entitled to carry on, while there is plenty of room for your baggage elsewhere in your immediate surroundings"

I turn my head, pick out my book from the seat pocket in front of me, fully aware that he is glaring into the side of my head.  I hear him mutter something to his wife in German, he turns around to look for a space, finds enough of it immediately (including able to fit one of their pieces in front of my guitar, with no problem at all) and they take the row behind, still muttering about me.  I turn around to make him aware that while I do not understand his words, I understand the meaning.  

If there were suitcases above my seat, would he have had the same reaction? I think not. Because it was something he did not value, or understand, he felt that it did not belong. That his collection of underpants and socks, swimming goggles and toothpaste were far more important because they were in a familiar and conventional and uniform rectangular carrying case.  The unusual frightened him and he took that fear out on someone else.

I spent the rest of the flight fairly pleased that I had educated him on this (at least until his next flight), while he had only been inconvenienced in so far that two of his bags were immediately across the aisle rather than above his head. It was a minor victory for musicians worldwide.

I smiled, ordered a gin & tonic, and settled into my book. 

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It's Been A While

I'm sorry folks, it's been a little while since this page was updated last (christ... I have a new CD out since then!),  I'll do better - promise.

There has been an astounding amount going on, sometimes in a dizzying "I'm self-employed, how the hell do I keep up with this" way, sometimes in a "who needs a cuppa?" way, but nearly ALL in a "this is PROPER exciting" way. Make sense? I'm sure you've felt a similar way before.  Perhaps involving less tea though. 

First off - we had a wonderful foray back into the world of European touring last month,  with shows in the Netherlands and U.K - it's not going to be long before we're back in both those areas.  Amazing to see so many folks turn out for us.  Honoured, and overjoyed. It was a great tour.

Special hats off has to go to Euro-budget airline EasyJet, who not only let us onboard with valuable instruments (as well they should), but proceeded NOT to lose OR BREAK any others that we checked in to the hold. Astounding work on their part, truly.  

So, here I am, cup of tea at the kitchen table at home (home, for those of you who don't know,  is a strange place where you keep your collection of cats and records and visit them for a few days a month), plotting the next moves beyond shows in Switzerland, Spain, and a bunch dotted around the US.  

The moves are going to be EXCITING. As are these blog posts. Get ready for a mental ride, because I have some WORDS to show you on here. 




Three Miles From Avalon - Album Release Show

Last Friday I had one of the best gigs of my life. 

It's a beautiful, yet slightly daunting feeling to release an album. This is the fourth full-length studio one I've been a part of.  There's a sense of vulnerability involved. There are pressures, both from those you work with and self-inflicted along with expectations that are slightly blurred and easily confused with blind ambition.  Ambition, I think, can both give you the drive and life-force to push forward and yet somehow, simultaneously cripple you with doubt.  

Photo by Kristine Walton

Photo by Kristine Walton

I'd heard of this venue before,  many artists I admire play here.  Without doubt 'SPACE' in Evanston, Illinois is one of the very best clubs i've set foot in.  It's a gorgeous and well thought out venue.  There was a bloody turntable and record collection in the dressing room for gods sake.  Sold.  The perfect place to do a record release party.  Warm, intimate, and vibey. 

We decided to film and record this show.  Sometime the 'red light' syndrome comes into play at these gigs. Get your mind out of the gutter.  'Recording light' may be a better term.  This time I was determined to ignore the camera crew and the Pro Tools rig. Aside from pleasantries, and vague detail-ironing, I kept away.  I wanted this to be about the band, and the audience.  

What an audience.  With us from the first note to the last. I remember walking through the crowd as we were cheered for an encore.  I remember looking down and smiling.  What a beautiful feeling.  

What a band, too.  How fortunate am I to play with such marvelous musicians, who every night, dig deep and pour themselves into a little tune I wrote? Marvin, Michael, Andrew.  I love you like brothers.   

Anyways. I think we captured something quite special that night.  

Here's our setlist.  The whole of the new album from start to finish, some acoustic tunes, then some old favourites. 

  1. Ain't Much Of Nothin' 
  2. What You're Made Of
  3. Falling Apart
  4. Never Gonna Be The Same
  5. Gov't Row
  6. Oxford MS
  7. Three Miles From Avalon
  8. What In The World
  9. First Words Of A Changing Man
  10. As The Crow Flies
  11. Stay
  12. Roll Away
  13. Riverbed
  14. Catch The Moon
  15. Come Home
  16. Gotta Leave
  17. In A Little While 





Direction (with a little artistic license)

It was the end of the school year,  and the exam results had come in. The young boy hadn't done too well.  He knew it. 

He wasn't particularly worried about the actual results.  It was more the explaining to his teachers and parents he was nervous about.  

"Maths. You got a C.  That'll pass you, but you could have done better couldn't you?

"Yes Sir"

"Life Skills. You got a D. Not so good."

"I know. I'm sorry".  The boy was wondering at what point in his life any of those 'skills' he had been tested on would come into play.  He wasn't even sure this was actually a legitimate subject. 

"English Literature. That was better. B. Well done"

"I like reading" 

"Art. D. What happened?" 

"The teacher didn't like me" 

"Well perhaps he would have liked you if he'd gotten to know you, or indeed seen any of your artwork. You'd have had to have turned up to his lessons for that to happen though, wouldn't you?" 

"Yes Sir. Sorry Sir." 

The rest of the results filtered in. History, English Language, French. Not so good all around.  Maybe enough to get him into the university the boy had half-heartedly picked out. He'd chosen Philosophy as a direction there. Mainly because he liked arguing. His teacher stood up from behind the big wooden desk and walked out into the corridor, obviously unexcited about bringing the boys parents in and letting them know the poor academic performance of their offspring. 

"If you'll take a seat" he said to them, gesturing to the two empty seats either side of the boy. 

"It seems," he continued, "that your son hasn't quite performed as well in his examinations as we'd hoped from him.  Have you talked about his plans after leaving this high school?"

Both parents shot a look that expressed both disappointment and total lack of surprise. The boy shrank down in his seat a little further.

 "Well yes.  He's very into his music, and he's met a gentleman in the music industry who is very keen to offer him help.  He's met with us a few times, and we trust him.  He wants him to take a gap year and move to England to pursue his music." 

The teacher looked at the parents. Then at the boy. Then at the sheet of paper in his hands.  He cleared his throat.

"Well. Let me put it this way. Your son is not a model student, he dislikes studying, has a short attention span, talks too much, and under performs during exams. He hasn't turned up for many of the classes he chose to take this year. "

The teacher paused, and a wry smile started to appear on his lips. He continued. 

"However. Your son is also not a mathematician. Nor is he a painter.  He certainly isn't a geologist, physicist or chemist. I can't much picture him as a great philosopher either.  Your son is a musician.  I've seen him play.  The joy he has for it is obvious.  I whole heartedly recommends he takes this gap year and makes the most of whatever opportunity he gets in the field and direction that makes him happy." 

The boy couldn't believe his ears. What had he just gotten away with?! This was too good to be true. 

It still is. 





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THREE MILES FROM AVALON! Listen to NEW music, and read reviews!

Well,  it's not long until the new record 'Three Miles From Avalon' is out! 

We've already premiered TWO tracks with the fantastic folks at both AMERICAN BLUES SCENE, and BLUES ROCK REVEIW,  and garnered a GLOWING review from American Blues Scene... I'm pretty giddy with excitement.  Here's a bunch of links for you to check out! 

If you haven't checked out these tracks, you can listen to 'OXFORD MS' HERE...


...you can read the REVIEW here...



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Off Again!

Man this has been a busy few months! 

But after a short break at home in Chicago, it's time to load up the van again and head out on the road.  

We've got some very exciting gigs in the books,  Alexandria VA at the Birchmere with the marvelous Samantha Fish,  multiple shows with total guitar hero Johnny A,  and some return shows to familiar venues, with familiar faces.  It's lovely to become friends with folks you see coming out over and over again to our shows.  I feel very privileged. 

On top of all this,  the release campaign for the new record 'Three Miles From Avalon' is really gathering pace, we have a tremendous publicist,  Steve Karas, on board,  the album is now mastered for VINYL, and the test pressings sound like everything I wanted this album to sound like.  You can pre-order your copy HERE - and get two tracks immediately, and access to whole bunch of other things.  You should totally do it ;) 

So, head on over to our TOUR DATES,  and I hope to see you at a show soon! 




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(Perhaps) Unwanted Advice

I am writing this from  a depressing casino in Black Hawk CO. It was a good point to stop on i-70 heading west on our way to California (yep. Driving from Denver to San Francisco).  Silver lining here is the lovely man behind the check-in counter said: "we don't get many Brits here,  I will upgrade you".  Marvelous gesture, incredibly kind of him.  I do, however, wonder what the rooms I booked looked like... 

What an ungrateful sod I am. 


I've done a few interviews recently for some of these shows this tour, and I get asked a lot "where do you see your career in 5 years?" and "what advice would you offer younger musicians coming up?"  Thought I'd share my (perhaps) unwanted views and advice. 

Answer to Q #1.  My goal throughout all of this, every show, recording session, late night jam, and sleepless night with my mind whirring about music, has all been about being the best musician I can be.  Chasing an inward vision of how you picture yourself sounding. It's hard to vocalise what that is,  but each day is about striving towards it.  My 5 year plan? To still be doing it.  Flat out.  Would I like to play to big crowds every night? Sure! But sometimes the small, sweaty clubs are way more fun. Would I like a little more recognition? I'd be lying if I said no,  I think anyone likes a good pat on the back for hard work. But as soon as you think you deserve more, there is something catastrophically wrong. Work hard, and enjoy yourself doing it. 

Answer to Q#2. Make sure your motives are in the right place. Don't do it for that proverbial pat on the back,  or for the dreams of rock-star grandeur.  You will be on an emotional rollercoaster in your career. You will play incredible shows in front of thousands cheering you on,  then spend the same night in a motel on top of the blankets in fear of bed bugs. The next day you may drive for 5 hours, to play a dingy room for 3 people. Again, don't think you deserve better. Work for better.

If you write music, make sure you write honestly.  If you don't believe what you are doing whole heartedly, how can you expect anyone else to? Personal relationships are hard to maintain (unless you get very lucky with an understanding spouse!),  and you start to regret not paying more attention to your Maths teachers at school. It's exhausting (I sporadically suffer from Sleep Paralysis in times of high stress, low sleep touring),  and at times demoralizing. 

But my god.  Do it the hard way and love every aspect.  Don't try and fast track yourself into reality television.  That's not being a musician.  That's thinking you deserve more than what you haven't earned. Let's not make that the new normal for artists. 2 or 3 years in the clubs is not 'slogging it'.  That's the bare minimum.  

Play because you simply can't bear NOT to,  sing because you think you have something to say,  and become a musician because, quite simply,  in your heart of hearts you have absolutely no other choice. 






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Things I learned on my drive to PA

Today I drove from my home in Chicago to Pittsburgh PA. It is a long drive.

Here is a list of things I learned in that time.

1. Ohio is bigger than you think.

2. The highway authorities put cones and speed restrictions all along i-80 for the sole reason of making you swear profusely - not for the understandable reason of road maintenance.  I saw not one example of an individual or group thereof maintaining any portion of road. 

3. Prince died.  Devastated. We lost another one. Another visionary, who left this world better than he found it. I have close friends who have worked with him. They couldn't say enough nice things about him.  My heart goes out to them, and to his family and friends. He was a genius in the true sense of the word, and he will be sorely missed.  I got to my hotel room, and switched to the first news channel on the TV.  All I heard was Nancy Grace and her irritating timbre speculating on how he died.  Maybe shut up, Nancy.  Maybe just be sad he's gone, but happy he lived.  Drop the sensationalism and have some humanity.  We lost a great man. 




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No Place Like Home

I'm traveling through Dublin airport again,  on my way back to the Isle Of Man.  

I'm accompanied by my usual traveling companions, sans guitar.  Old worn leather backpack, passport, boarding passes. Coat that is far too warm for the inside of an airport.  I refuse to carry it though.  I'll never get the attire right for aeroplanes or airports. 

I've lived in the States for a long time now,  but as soon as I touch down on this side of the Atlantic,  there's always that lovely warm familiarity that hits me.  Things start to look like how they did when I was a kid. People talk funny - a bit like me.  It's raining. The chocolate isn't shit anymore. It's the little things I think. I could do without the crap bubblegum Euro Pop music that blares out on every tinny little speaker though. 

I'm lucky enough to have two homes.  At least that's how I think of it. Hell, right now some folks don't even have one. I'm lucky. I have a wonderful life in the States, a nice, cozy, apartment in a nice part of Chicago. Lovely friends. A marvelous Fiancee who frankly puts up with way more than she should. I have a pretty cool job too. I like it. It suits me. Like I say, I'm lucky. I'm happy.  Things are good. 

Doesn't stop me from missing home #1 though. The original home. The one that you don't get to choose.  My home #1 isn't better than yours, or anyone else's.  I don't think it matters where home #1 is. This one just happens to be mine, and it is rather lovely. Lots of open space, green (it rains a lot) , the sea, friendly people (although I heard crime is spiraling out of control at the moment there.  A gentleman appeared in court recently for fishing in a designated worm-dangling reservoir 30 minutes after it had technically closed.  I hope they throw the book at the bastard). It's pretty idyllic really,  and i'm sure I mention it a lot, but I feel very lucky to be from there. 

I'm also lucky to do an enormous amount of traveling. I spend more time doing that than playing the shows i'm traveling to get to.  So really, I guess i'm a professional nomad. It's brilliant. I wonder when someone will turn around and find me out.  I'm not sure I can hack a real job.   

I get to meet a lot of people while nomad-ing.  I like people. They are inherently good, with the odd total arse thrown in that makes you squirm.  They're put there to make sure you appreciate most people aren't like them.  

When meeting new people one of the icebreakers is always "where are you from?". What a great question. I like that one. 

We're all from somewhere. We may have moved elsewhere. Some of us may not even remember what it was like where we're from. But we carry it with us. Everywhere. It's a lovely thing. That's why it breaks my heart to see a huge portion of the world forced out of their home #1, then get treated like pests when they try and scramble a life together in possible home #2. I'm sure they didn't want to leave home #1. I guess it's hard not to when you fear for your lives on a daily basis though. I'm not going to get political, don't worry. It just breaks my heart.  

So, here I am. Laden with coffee, entirely too warm in a huge coat, and feeling very fortunate and grateful to be going back to my home #1.  Missing home #2 (i'm always missing one or the other),   but my problems are few, my shoulders are light, and my heart is full.  

I'll send you guys postcards. 





A World Of Good

Something really lovely just happened, something that makes me feel a little bit giddy about living in this day and age. 

I think we all need a bit of validation in what we do every now and then,  it may be a tiny bit self indulgent and egotistical, but it's a natural human reaction.  

I can't imagine my work is much different from any other job that an individual enjoys doing. Sometimes it does feel like you work in isolation a bit,  especially when I'm working from home. The goals are less tactile and immediate than being on the road, where its more along the lines of 'get there, do the best show you can'. It's easy to lose a little confidence and motivation when you're working from a desk with a guitar. 

But today I did my first Live Stream Facebook Video and it felt GREAT.  So many lovely people tuned in, and it was truly heartwarming and inspiring to chat for a while,  play a few licks and answer some lovely questions. 

Just wanted to say that it gave me a good boost, a little of that validation that (I think!) we all crave, and spurred me on to do better - knowing you're not shouting into a cave and hearing only your own voice coming back at you.  It's nice to know folks listen.  

What I'm trying to say is Thank You. You guys are the best, and let's do it again. If you're not a friend of ours on Facebook,  come and join us.  We're a friendly bunch. 









Well, I've gone and done it. A couple of blogs after I complained about 'the acquisition of things',  I have only gone and acquired more things.  

This one was worth it though. And in all fairness,  I got rid of a whole bunch of stuff to make room for it. 

1966 Fender Telecaster

1966 Fender Telecaster

That is my 1966 Fender Telecaster.  Not a 'relic' not a copy, but a real 1966 Tele,  played to shit. Why?! Because they just don't build them like this any more.   

It barks, it bites, the whole thing shakes when you play it.  

I'm not worried about bringing this thing on the road either. In its 50 years it's seen a lot more than I have,  and I'm not going to be the one who puts it in a cupboard at home, just to say I have one. No. This bugger is going to be played and played. 







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This is it...

It’s a new year,  it’s certainly the time most of us pull up our socks,  vow to lose weight, be more considerate,  spend less time on Facebook etc… 

Well, I think my Facebook/real life balance is pretty good,  I think being considerate is a year-round thing,  and I’d certainly like to lose a little weight,  but I think the enormous amount of work ahead of me is going to take care of that slightly-tighter-than-it-used-to-be wasitband.  

I do have resolutions though,  Stress is a big problem for me,  and I have noticed a patch of grey hair either side of my head start to grow.  So dealing with that is top of the list. A lot happened to me last year.  Things that changed my perspective a little. I’ve perhaps realised that if I can get through that, stressing about the little things is perhaps something I can deal with. Those grey hairs already growing can’t be reversed though. 

With the fog clearing a little,  with my mind finally starting to click and whir into action,  what am I looking forward to doing in 2016?  Well, our recent partnership with Intrepid Artists International is already a fruitful one,  with tours planned all over the US (and plans for beyond!) already in the books,  and more arriving each time I turn my email machine on.  I’m excited to get back on the road,  with the best band I’ve had,  and play to as many of you as I can.  NOTHING beats being on tour. It’s all i’ve ever wanted out of music,  the chance to play it every night.   We have a bunch of new music slated for release this year,  some REALLY bluesy stuff,  and some music influenced by my Island Bound film project.  I love all sorts of music,  so it’s fun to return to my roots,  and by that I mean both my initial musical and homeland ones! 

So,  take a peek at our tour dates,  come out and say Hi, let us know what you think of the new material.  In return,  I will work my socks off in 2016,  try and get to as many places as we can, play as best I can,  and hopefully by the end of this year I will be a better musician,  a wiser person,  and a happier one.  It’s certainly a good start I think.




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Home For The Holidays

Slightly tired male,  late twenties,  a little heavier than he probably should be, shuffles off Aer Lingus Flight 136 into Dublin Airport.  Dressed in a pair of jeans, navy blue wool sweater and long, WW1 style great coat.  Wrapped around his neck is a blue scarf, and on his back a worn leather satchel.  He is entirely too warm,  and questions why he thought he’d be outside more between Chicago and Dublin. 

After clearing the usual, but always surprisingly casual security checks, off he goes into the swarm of other folks going back to their homes for Christmas.  Families with excited kids, and visibly stressed parents awkwardly blunder through the middle of the airport avenues, as only 4 people who are all physically attached to each other can do. The rest do their best to fill in the spaces,  meandering in and out of each other’s footsteps. 

There’s a bittersweet feeling, and you can see it on his face.  The excitement and anticipation of seeing those he’s missed,  the sadness of leaving behind loved ones to travel (an occupational hazard for those who live abroad, you're always leaving someone, no matter where you go),  and the deep sorrow of knowing someone wouldn’t be attending this year. Or any year from now on for that matter.  There’s also an uncertainty as to how he is going to deal with that sorrow over the coming days.  

With a couple of hours to kill before his next and final flight, he entertains the idea of having a drink,  despite it being 5AM in Dublin.  He also knocks around the notion that it’s 11PM back where he got on the last plane, and perhaps acceptable - taking that and other things on his mind into consideration.  Sense prevails, although not always, and he turns to a coffee instead.  

He’ll be home soon.  Maybe he’ll lose a little weight there. 



The Acquisition Of Things

As a general rule,  guitar players are obsessed with gear.  The market is flooded with different (yet remarkably similar) guitars,  amplifiers and effects pedals.  Especially effects pedals. 

The Internet has made it worse. There are whole forums dedicated to bitching and arguing over which pedal will give you the closest sound to a particular style of effect manufactured only in March of 1972,  and even then the units made at the beginning of March were way better than the ones at the end.  Stubbornly and aggressively defended,  should someone dare to question or disagree.  That is, until something new comes out (preferably in a handprinted box - they sound better), or one of their favorite players comes out in saying they like the ones made at the end of March better.  

Is this a fun hobby for a lot of people? Yes, of course it is.  Does it detract and distract from actually playing and making music?  I think so.  I've been guilty of this,  but i'm making a conscious decision to change my ways. 

I've sold off most of my pedals,  keeping only the ones given to me by lovely companies (morally wrong to sell these,  though some guitar players do),  and the units I feel are, and may be, useful.  I own 15 total now, down from a number considerably larger.  My live pedalboard is now down to 4 and a tuner.  The bare minimum I need to do my job.  

I'm recording a new album at the moment.  The whole things has been done on the same amplifier and the same guitar.  A big dream for many players is the almighty endorsement deal.  It was mine too.  I've been lucky enough to work with PRS Guitars for many years now (and happily no contract, and aside from some royalties on a short-lived model I had a bit of input in, no money either - a good thing in my eyes.  Money makes things more complicated), and I have yet to find a nicer bunch of folks.  I'm very lucky, they have been a tremendous support.  However,  one can feel a little hemmed in, and perhaps like you're putting all your eggs in one sonic basket.  I do not want to come across ungrateful,  and perhaps I have been greedy in my excitement of being a young musician (although the young part of that may not apply any more!),  but out of all the beautiful instruments they have provided me,  perhaps only three of them actually see regular use. Is this fair, or right?  No, and it makes me feel guilty when I look at them.  I've toyed with the idea of sending the unused ones back, but have held off in fear of offending. Perhaps they would be better served given to someone who needs them more than I.  

What i'm trying to say, in a very long-winded manner,  is this year has taught me a lot.

I'd rather be swimming in the joy of the few, than the obsession of the material many. 



Back On The Road

This is only a short run,  a few nights around NY,  but god it feels great to be out and about. 

This is what it's all about.  Straight from the airport to a TV show,  in bed in the wee small hours. A belly full of laughs,  the bittersweet, strangely reassuring feeling of being transient.  A gig to look forward to tonight,  one day at a time,  any more than that is tough to deal with.   

No distractions (although maybe this is the distraction?),  just music, music, music. 

I like this. 








Update From The Studio #3

The last day. 

Man,  that went fast.  8 tunes, 3 days.  Very happy.  Great studio,  great engineer and great band.  I'm a lucky guy. 

For the most part,  I only ever played one guitar and one amplifier,  the no longer rented (now bought) Fender Telecaster and my Bludotone Bludodrive, 'Mabel. Only pedal I used was a tuner and my Pete Cornish boost for one solo. My trusty old 1934 National guitar made it on a track too. Only other effect was the Fulltone Tube Tape echo our engineer, Anthony used on my solo tone.  This was definitely done in the true spirit of what we set out to do.  Minimal fuss,  just simple, raw, great sounds.  Trying to capture performances.

Michael Coakes,  a friend of mine and a fantastic photographer,  took some cracking photos,  again in the spirit of our 'vintage vibe' recording.  Check out these polaroids.

Cheers,  and can't wait to share the new stuff with you!