Dave Ellis-Charge Interview
I had the opportunity to speak to my good friend Dave Ellis about his amazing life as well as the all out heaviness, and originality of Charge, and everything in between! Dave was one of the very first people I got into contact with when first decided to start this whole thing, and in the midst of him accepting my proposal to publish this piece, I realized just how special this dude really is. This is more than an interview. This turned out to be a piece on his incredible life, his wonderful legacy, and the legendary heavy rock band that finds itself amongst the greatest of company. Dave's way with words is nothing short of pure poetry. Maybe he'll find the time to write that book one day. I hope you dig it because its a total trip, enjoy!
What was growing up in the UK like?
Growing up in the UK was fantastic. My childhood is fondly remembered as being a time filled with days of finding my way, discovery, adventure and awe. It was a whole different country, different world, back then. I was born in May 1945, days after the end of the 2nd World War. It was a time of family, ration books and austerity but also a time of renewal, of rebuilding, of people coming together; of football and cricket on the radio Saturday afternoons and Dad's constant quest to 'win the pools' as he'd eagerly tick off the results at 5 pm on the dot and of the sounds and smells of Mum singing songs as she cooked the evening meals and the 'special' Sunday roasts made with fresh vegetables harvested from the back garden; of old and new friends and neighbors gathering daily in each others smoky parlors and kitchens for tea, biscuits, fags and gossip; a time of listening to and learning from my revered grandfathers, both quiet, stern men who's thoughtful, distant gazes spoke of things witnessed but never talked about in company and, least of all, in front of children. It was a time of long summers and peace and hope for a better future. I miss those days.
Did you go to many shows at clubs in your local area?
Not in my early teens. Maybe the odd visit to a youth club and a few school hall gigs featuring a local band. I used to spend a lot of time hanging out in a coffee bar called the Cartoon Café which was tucked away down a narrow little ally just off Gosport Town centre. It had the best juke box and was populated by the coolest, most stylish Teddy Boys anywhere on the planet. Every other guy looked like Elvis, Ricky Nelson, or Gene Vincent with artfully teased, Brylcreemed ducks and quiffs, trendy motorcycle leathers and drain pipe jeans or smart, tapered suits with velvet collars and crepe-sole shoes or the newer 'winkle pickers' as we called the pointy, Italian styles. It took me a long time to pluck up enough courage to actually enter the place such was the reputation of said clientèle but enter I did and it eventually became my go-to place for catching the vibe of the day and all the latest records.
When did you first begin playing music?
I think my interest was always 'tickled', so to speak, but when I was about 10 years- old I began listening to the Top 20 on Sunday afternoons in Singapore. My Dad had joined the Royal Navy by then and we were lucky enough to be able to accompany him on his first overseas posting. Quite an adventure for any kid of that age. The Top 20 once a week, my Mum and Dad's records and, later, the occasional film was all that was available to me and, though I listened to a ton of it, only the odd one or two tunes started to worm their way from my ears to a deeper place inside me. It started with Bill Haley's 'Rock Around The Clock' and 'Shake Rattle And Roll'. Corny then-but it had something. I wasn't quite sure what it was but... it definitely had a new and spicy flavor I liked. A lot. It wasn't long before the storm hit and the dam broke. Little Richard, Eddy Cochran, Jerry Lee Lewis, Fats Domino, Buddy Holly, The Crickets, Everly Bro's, Chuck Berry, and... Elvis Presley. Elvis brought it all together for me, the whole delicious dish, in a single, 2 minute song: 'Hound Dog' with its two guitar solos, the second more balls-to- the-wall than the first, by the legendary Scotty Moore. That was my epiphany. I had to have a guitar. Dad eventually got me one that Christmas, a little acoustic with a very questionable neck. The train was rolling, unstoppable, going fast and going somewhere and I was aboard till the end of the line.
Who were the most influential people to you growing up before deciding to start your own band(s)?
The first 5 years of my life I'd have to say, Mario Lanza. My Dad played him a lot. I couldn't understand much of it but the emotions the music stirred within me were enough. Another of my Dad's favorites, Paul Robeson. My word. Astonishing. I'd lay in bed and hear 'Ol' Man River' leaking quietly, comfortingly into the darkness around me. Such a rich baritone. It was like listening to a mountain speak. Nat King Cole was another exquisitely gifted voice I'd often fall asleep to. The second 5 years, as mentioned earlier, the rock n roll train had started rolling but there were other memorable names already tucked away in my luggage: Musicals like The King and I, Oklahoma, Seven Brides For Seven Brothers and more like Leonard Bernstein, Montovani, Brenda Lee, Billy Cotton, Doris Day, The Drifters, Platters and The Andrews
Sisters. Quite an eclectic list I suppose. Moving on, the next five years were even more staggering with Duane Eddy, The Animals, Kinks, Beatles and Rolling Stones to name a few. With the advent of The Shadows the Fender Stratocaster loomed ever larger in my dreams and growing ambitions. I learned some chords from a school mate and life-long friend, Ian Duck, who would later go on to join Hookfoot (Elton John's backing band) and become a much respected musician himself. Then I left home at 15 and joined a military band to see, as it turned out, the parts of the world I really didn't want to see.
I'd lay in bed and hear 'Ol' Man River' leaking quietly, comfortingly into the darkness around me. Such a rich baritone. It was like listening to a mountain speak”
You served in the British Army, can you tell me about your service? And upon returning home you then put together Relative in mid 1969, correct?
Oh yes, ha ha, when I signed up for the Queen's shilling, guitar in hand, one freezing cold January day in 1963, I didn't have a clue what was in store. The only advice I got from Dad was, “Keep your nose clean and look after number one.” Which, as it happens, was fairly astute of him. It was the biggest wake-up call ever, trust. It wasn't really a very wise call to make either, for an inherently shy, small-town, wannabe rock n roller and I don't think I ever fully recovered from the jolt to my somewhat fragile system. I know I'll never forget it that's for sure, especially the first day, being thrown into a room full of kids from all walks of life, from the length and breadth of the UK; England, Wales, Ireland and Scotland. Some of the accents baffled me at first. Getting to know each other, us 'newbies' had some touchy moments, differences so to speak, after which, we then had to get to know and be accepted by the 'sweats' and overcome yet more differences.
It was interesting. 26 weeks later, with luck, you 'passed out' and officially became a 'real' soldier. When I read or hear the bleating about 'bullying' in the Forces these days, I nod and grin. The experience taught me many valuable lessons, the most important of which was how to stand on your own two feet. It broadened my outlook on life no end. It was constant music 12 hours a day, longer some days when the guitars came out and I formed a rock n roll combo outside of 'duties'. I was selected on second trombone for the church band on Sundays and did some wonderful gigs in Winchester Cathedral and parades through the town were special, too, with all the crowds lining the streets, waving and cheering. Titchfield Bonfire Night was another memorable festival. Being in the band one was considered 'cool', a cut above the rest of the riff-raff and we often received preferential treatment which was, to say the least, well... cool. I liked it. My rock n roll combo came together quite quickly.
I became good mates with a Liverpudlian named John 'Doc' Dougherty who had a good voice and ear and a knack for picking out chords and we were soon doing covers of Buddy Holly, Cliff and the Shadows and Chuck Berry to name a few. We did our first civvy gig at what was then the Tropicana Club in Winchester. I remember it as a terrifying but exhilarating experience performing 'live' for the first time. The guitar I had was a twin pick-up, double-cutaway Hofner Colorama in a nice cherry red that my parents had bought me for my 14 th birthday-my first electric guitar. It had a headstock style much like a Strat with the tuners all aligned. I loved that guitar and wish I still had it. I often wonder where it is now. My first overseas posting came a year later in the May. I was going to a place I'd never heard of called Penang, a small island off the coast of Malaysia. Leaving home the first time had been a tad hairy but nothing quite like going to Gatwick, boarding a jet and flying 11,000 miles to the other side of the world leaving, not only your home and family, but country as well!
That was definitely leaving and seriously hairy. When we finally touched down and stepped out onto the Singapore tarmac, the heat and humidity felt as if someone had wrapped you in a hot, wet towel and, as I remembered from my earlier time there, we crossed the canal by the “bridge of a thousand arseholes” (nicknamed because of the stink). There seemed to always be a smell of rotting vegetation in the air, which took a bit of getting used to. We travelled from Changi airport 500 miles up country in the back of a 3-tonner which, if you've never had the pleasure of army transport before, can be a uniquely buttock-clenching experience in and of itself. I remember being awestruck by the surrounding jungle and people living in straw huts. It was eye-opening. As it happens, I liked Penang. Our barracks (a couple miles outside George Town) had white, airy buildings and comfortable accommodation. The rehearsal rooms were thatched, open huts that we called 'bashers' and I was soon to become intimately acquainted with them for eight-hours a day, surrounded by interesting and dedicated musicians of all musical skills and persuasions. It turned out to be some of the finest schooling I ever had.
There are always drawbacks of one kind or another and the one drawback I and many others had was our band sergeant. The first problem: we had too many trombone players. Being a newish arrival, the sergeant wanted me to change to clarinet. The pain! To go from beefy bass riffs to a weedy reed instrument was not my idea of a good day at the office and things went swiftly downhill from then on.The off-duty rock n roll band started up again. I teamed up with another mate from Portsmouth, named Curly Cowan on 2nd guitar and a Geordie from Redcar, Frank Walton on skins. Nobody wanted to play bass. We called ourselves The Phantoms and began playing the beach clubs, some with settings like a Hollywood movie with beautiful moon-lit white sand, palm trees, the works. Both Curly and Frank were ordinary squadies so that didn't go down to well when the 'real' band found out.
I was slumming it and this was frowned upon. I was in the sergeant's jazz band playing the banjo parts on guitar as well and they'd get the posh gigs like the Officers Mess Club and the civvy Shell Club where the American off-shore oil rig workers hung out. It was a cool experience doing those gigs but... it wasn't rock n roll and it was time for me to make some changes. My mate, Doc, was in the bugle section and had got a band together. I wanted some of the action so I left the 'real' band and joined the bugle section where I was far happier and had more time to rock out. Andy Anderson, another lad from the 'Pool', a keen drummer (and, as I later discovered, a friend of Ringo Star) joined me. Andy had a great ear and helped me with my tone-deafness. We'd spend hours in his room picking ever harder Shadows and Ventures tunes to cover like Stardust, Autumn Leaves or Nirvana and I became a much better player for it.
Rest in peace, Andy. I owe you. It was around this time that I traded in my Hofner Colorama for another red Strat-type Hofner, a V3 I think. This one had 3 pick-ups and... a whammy bar! I was slowly moving towards a real Stratocaster. I'd already picked up the Fender catalogue and was browsing in a daily dream of owning one in the not too distant future. At 160 odd quid, a small fortune back then, some hard saving was in order. Eventually, Doc and myself ended up again in the same band, the Travelers, and the gigs began to improve. We got marked for 'special service'... in Borneo of all places, 2 tours. At first, I thought they were taking the piss, but no, they were very serious. Between the four-day patrol army stuff, we were chosen to hop around the jungle in a Wessex helicopter to 'entertain the troops' wherever they were and, boy, were they in some odd places. It was a bit dangerous; like Apocalypse Now only not so much gun-play. Hey, one can't complain. What teeth-grinding, butt-clenching fun we had and we met some of the craziest guys on God's green earth.
Dudes, gospel. RAF pilots are outright nutters and should wear public health warnings by law. How we all survived in one piece is no small miracle. After we completed our first tour we got back to Penang and I took the plunge and ordered a Strat. It would take the longest six weeks in history to arrive from America and when it did, I was in the middle of the first James Bond film, Dr No, and Ursula was emerging from the sea like a goddess in an exceptionally well fitting bikini. The doors to the camp cinema were suddenly thrown open, shattering the ambience and blasting the screen with light. Andy shouted at the top of his scouse voice, “Dave, your Strat has arrived!” Howls of protest ensued as I excited the cinema doing a fair impression of Hussain Bolt. When I first opened the velvet-lined case, it was another defining moment. I must admit I was a little disappointed it wasn't salmon pink like Hank Marvin's but, hey, didn't Buddy Holly tote a sunburst? My word. It was a work of art. Leo got it right.
Too scared to touch it, jaw agape, I stood admiring it for so long the guy in the shop worried if I was ever returning planet-side to pay him. A couple doors down from the guitar shop was a photographers so, I carried it straight there to have a picture taken. Oh, the feeling of holding that guitar. Magic. When our posting to Germany finally came in early 1966, I must admit, I breathed a sigh of relief but going from active duty to more ceremonial stuff was a total drag. The Queen's Birthday Parade was coming up, our first big gig in Germany, at the Berlin Stadium, with 600 fellow bandsmen and buglers joining us from across the Commonwealth. No pressure then. My days, I'd never seen so much bullshittery. Gone was the mad exhilaration of tear-arsing about in low-flying helicopters, only to be replaced by the mundane routine of polishing everything, ironing everything, buffing everything and repeating, ad infinitum. You just cannot understand the intricacies or grief involved in ironing an army great coat. Berlin was a fantastic city. The rock n' roll band did exceptionally well. We managed to get a local guy and big fan, Klaus, to manage our gigs for us and the club scene was magnificent.
We'd have the latest records shipped out to us from England so we could learn the tunes before anyone else did. Competition was fierce amongst local bands; set- lists were sharply updated and the gigs were long. We'd start playing around 9 or 10 pm and keep going till chuck-out time, usually about 4 am. Oh, to have that kind of energy today. Before long, it was time to ship out for home and our next posting. By this time, I was in a serious relationship with marriage in the offing and under a bit of pressure to return home for good. Our next posting was active again and would be in Northern Ireland and, in truth, I didn't much fancy going there (I had a bad feeling about the place) so, the long and short of it, it was time to hang up my trusty SLR and I left the army.
Can you tell me about those early days playing as the outfit 'Relative'? Which I understand was a name you based off of the novel 'Groupie'. Even in our correspondence prior to the interview you mentioned literature. Has this always been a prevalent element that's inspired you to create as well as write your own music?
Relative came together in a rough and ready sort of way really and formed because of my brother, Pete. I was still trying to adjust to being a civilian again, newly married and finding life less than satisfactory. I was ducking and diving doing menial jobs, not playing any guitar and, in general, feeling quite pissed off with the world. Being abroad for so long had left me well out of touch with the local music scene. I didn't know a single band or muso and had no real desire to seek any out. Then, I ended up working in the same factory as Pete, Canda in Portchester, as a pattern cutter and things were about to change. Pete had a mate, Des Law who wanted to play drums, and he pestered me to give it a shot with Des and form a band. I reluctantly thought it over for weeks and eventually agreed.
Well, to put it delicately, the first rehearsal wasn't exactly what I had expected. A funny little guy, I think his name was, Roger, turned up with a Hofner violin bass and little amp. Des had a drum kit of sorts but nobody knew any songs or could actually play. After an hour or two thrashing around, brother Pete standing by eagerly looking on, brow creased, nodding sagely, I didn't know if I should laugh or cry. I couldn't disappoint him after getting his hopes so high. Des and Roger were keen as mustard to get going. I looked at the Hofner bass for a while and said, “Same time next week then?” Blimey, it took a while. I don't remember how the name Relative came about. I don't think it was inspired by a novel. Probably, it came about as the band did, quite randomly or was plucked from a conversation maybe. We spent most of our time in the rehearsal room and did very few actual gigs.
I do love books and reading but my song writing began back in The Phantoms and out of necessity really. Playing such short instrumentals you needed to have a lot of tunes to make the end of the gig. If we were short, rather than repeat ourselves, I'd try and come up with the fillers at rehearsals. I think we all tap in to the same energy when we create music, create anything. All creation is beautiful. I think of it as a universal energy, a vibration floating in the ether that has always been there ready to connect the human spirit and give our souls nourishment. You just have to make the connection. An author has his frequency, an actor his, a carpenter or bricklayer has their respective frequencies. Music is ours. Have you ever had a song that just seems to come from nowhere, writes itself, more often than not in minutes? That's the best example I can come up with of universal energy.
"An author has his frequency, an actor his, a carpenter or bricklayer has their respective frequencies. Music is ours."
In late '71, Relative became Baby Bertha, which also had a release on the enigmatic label, SRT Productions. While we're on this subject, how did the deal come about for both Baby Bertha, and then Charge later in the beginning of '71? What inspired both of those names?
Indeed. Roger and the Hofner bass departed after months rehearsing and, as luck would have it, Des had a mate who could replace Roger and in stepped 17 year-old Ian MacLaughlin with his Gibson EB1 and the biggest speaker cabinet we'd ever seen. It was like the monolith from the movie, 2001: A Space Odyssey, except it was red and we had to hump the thing around! So, a new band member meant new gear was needed. Obviously. New big gear. Des bought a gold Hayman kit with a huge kick drum and I upped from a small combo to a 50 watt Sound City amp with matching 4×12 cab. Ian also went Sound City but insisted on two 4×12 cabs! The new gear transformed the sound we were developing, gigs were starting to come in and this seemed as good a time as any to change the name. As was usual, we'd just toss ideas around until something we liked and could agree on turned up. Baby Bertha emerged from the ether. I don't remember who suggested it but I liked the BB ring to it and that was that.
Inspired by bands like Free, Fleetwood Mac, Cream, The Who and Deep Purple we shaped up into a reasonable sounding band. I think we saw the advertisement for SRT Studios in one of the music papers, Melody Maker or NME. The deal they were offering was a day in the studio plus a vinyl cut of your recording for a 100 quid. Okay, that was still a fat wedge to cough up but the temptation was there. I'd almost written enough songs for an LP so we thought it was a viable idea to have a go. The same deal was available a year later for Charge. I managed to have the presence of mind to obtain the original 4 track master tape of Baby Bertha, too, I'm pleased to say. Something I failed miserably to do after the Charge sessions. Looking back, maybe that was a good thing.
It's very fascinating, you guys are not the only heavy, obscure English group to have taken up the SRT deal at that time. Dave Richardson was definitely supporting the local talent by giving them an opportunity like this. Can you tell me about those sessions with both outfits? What were those experiences like being in the studio bringing life to your music?
Absolutely. SRT supplied a very valuable and much needed service for unknown bands like us, a chance when little other chance was available. I'm sure it served its purpose and made many a dream come true. I know it did mine. I found the experience of recording mind-blowing; so awesome, you never forget it. My favorite photos are of artists I follow working, creating, in a recording studio. Black and white photos are best. Raw. No bullshittery. It adds a special ambience, an atmosphere color doesn't have. The studio was a long drive so we left at 4 am to arrive on time. In our enthusiastic rush, we were a bit too previous. The studio wasn't even open. It was cold, overcast, barely light, so we headed off rather urgently to find sustenance, somewhere to grab tea, breakfast, and warmth. The Baby Bertha session was the best of the two we did at SRT. That day was a first for all of us.
The adrenalin was pumping and nerves jangling. You could feel the room buzzing with energy and excitement. Des and his kit were shielded off by buffer panels and the rest of us set up as if we were on stage. The engineer/producer said to play as if we were doing a normal gig, same volume, the works. A nod from the guy behind the glass and we were on the clock. I was feeling it. Living the dream. Time zipped by like all the good times seem to do. A quick play through, 1 take, On to the next. Two covers as fillers. Done. I think I did one overdub of all the vocals and that was it. It went so smoothly I was ecstatic. 'Cloud nine tiptoe I did', as Yoda would say. We ordered fifty copies of the vinyl for family, friends and promotion. They were quite cheap because they didn't have cardboard covers with fancy pictures and stuff (far too expensive) just a paper sleeve containing the precious vinyl. Good enough. The Charge session was a different time and band altogether and better explained later in more context.
"A nod from the guy behind the glass and we were on the clock. I was feeling it. Living the dream. Time zipped by like all the good times seem to do."
Upon returning to SRT to record the Charge LP, you guys were essentially told to 'turn it down'. The irony, as if you were a teenager again playing too loud in your bedroom, ultimately devastated the quality, the overall power, and furious attitude that was Charge. What state of mind did that leave you and the band in? Is this something you find yourself wondering about from time to time?
Oh Lord, yes, what a day! We'd been working on the new stuff and had gigged a good portion of it already, so we eagerly booked a return to SRT the following January – a year to the day almost since the Bertha recordings. It would be Pete's first time in a studio and he was bursting with excitement. We were a song short at recording time and I'd been up the previous night riding a speed and caffeine buzz, furiously working on writing and finishing the last song right up till the van arrived to pick me up. I had planned on re-writing the lyrics but ran out of steam. I was not rested or in good shape. We rehearsed the new song in the back of the van during the trip up to SRT. When we finally entered the studio, I felt confident we'd smash it out the solar system. Then we noticed the changes that had been made to the studio and my heart sank. The main studio floor was basically the same, but the control room had been moved upstairs with a tiny, narrow staircase leading up to it. All communication with the engineer/producer was over headphones; no visual queues at all. Pete was isolated and we were told to set our gear up in a semi-circle. We were all miked up in no time and got the drum sound sorted without a hitch. Okay, so far, so good. Then came the killer. We fired up as per normal and immediately was asked to 'turn it down'! Turn it down?
Turning down was not even included in our vocabulary. The volume was our sound! We did as asked, naturally, looking at each other in total bewildered disbelief. What do we do now? Without our sound? I was using a Watkins Copycat Echo Unit and Cry Baby Wha pedal and tried to overcompensate for the lack of volume with the effects. The sound was weak and insipid, well, piss poor to be honest; no spicy harmonics or over-tones or sustain! Nightmare. A lot of the songs we had ready featured long, improvisational passages where we'd normally go frantic and lose our collective bonces. Pete was at his wits end trying to hear us. I mean, we sounded like a tranny radio playing in the corner somewhere – in mono. I'd face him and he'd try to lay down his drum parts to my miming through the song. We struggled gamely on and, after a fashion, completed the backing tracks leaving a narrow margin of time to get the vocals down.
Then it was sing, run upstairs to listen, then back downstairs to sing again for each take, hardly conducive to giving it your best groove or vibe and by song 3 or 4, I was completely knackered, running on thin air, but we had to finish the project by midnight and the clock was ticking. We eventually completed the demo on time. As I recall, the journey back was fairly subdued. We all were pretty disappointed, not so much with our efforts, but with the sound, myself in particular. It was my baby so to speak and it sounded nothing like I'd imagined or hoped for. I was, in truth, gutted. Later, after a couple fat blunts, I could listen to it but, in truth, it was soon relegated to the bottom of my record pile. We went 'big time' though, and ordered a hundred copies.
Then came the killer. We fired up as per normal and immediately was asked to 'turn it down'! Turn it down?
Can you tell me about the four songs featured on the LP? What inspired you to paint these powerfully, vivid landscapes? 'Child of Nations' is a fever dream of nearly 17 minutes. I only wish I had a time machine, so I could go back to that 100 mile stretch between Hastings and Southampton to see you guys play. What was that little bit of 'road life' like for those few years leading up to mid '75?
Yeah, ha ha! A time machine. Wouldn't that be the dogs bollocks? Can you imagine popping back every now and then? Making the odd adjustment to your life here and your music there; undoing the cock-ups, undoing the mistakes and bad decisions? Recording all those special moments it wasn't possible to record back then? Catching all the gigs you couldn't make for one reason or another? Mate, let's be up front here, muso's need more than one life! To get to your question, though, the four songs that made up 'Child Of Nations' were supposed to have been a complete anti-war album in its own right; my 'Dark Side Of The Moon', Pink Floyd's heavily influential, now legendary, LP I was industriously doing my best to wear out at the time. 'Friends', the song I wrote the night before the recording, was meant to be part of it, a love letter home from a squadie on the battlefield but, as is evident, the lyrics refused to co-operate and remain as they are today.
Soldier Boy cried out for another verse which I finally added when we re-recorded it in 2016. Dark Side made me realize I wasn't limited to writing 3 or 4 minute songs; there was no limit and it opened the door for different ideas and more experimentation. A 'Fever Dream' pretty much sums up where my head was at during the writing of those songs. The South Coast circuit was brilliant in the 70's and we were busy hoovering up all it had to offer. Gigs were plentiful with varied responses from polite applause to ducking beer bottles, glasses and the odd unfortunate punter sent partially into orbit by our biker fans who, it must be said, were fairly intimidating and had very possessive natures and somewhat short tempers, especially with any riff-raff who got bolshy or out of line. Luckily, those times were few and far between.
How did the cover art come about? I understand the original SRT release was manufactured without outer sleeves. Was this something special for the Sommor/Guerssen label?
Yes. The cover art for the Sommor/Guerssen vinyl edition was, in fact, one of our original gig posters. I think some college kid who our roadies knew designed it for us and, though I've tried, I've been unable to find out who exactly it was. I still have one of the original posters in yellow and black. We decided it would make a suitable cover design. The original idea was to have a guy killing the 'beast' with a huge spliff instead of the spear. I think we were out-voted on that one, ha ha! You can only get it with the Guerssen vinyl though.
What have you been up to during these insane times? I know you mentioned in our previous correspondence that you have another music project you've shared on your SoundCloud? Can you tell me a little about that?
I just threw up a load of demo's I've done over the last few years. Nothing too exciting. Just ideas really and some covers for fun. Since the world pantomime started, I've done little music, a lot of reading and writing but, mostly I've been getting down and dirty in the communal gardens, getting back in touch with the earth. It's inspiring for my neighbors and has certainly helped lift their spirits as well as mine. I can switch off out there, lose myself preparing the ground for the new season. I've learned a lot, too. Last summer, I demolished an untidy bush unaware it was infested with fungus. I then lost the skin off my hands and feet for six weeks. That was interesting in a painful kind of way. However, the clocks have just gone forward an hour this weekend which is a sure sign spring is on the way, thank goodness. It's been a long drag of a winter for everybody I think.
"The original idea was to have a guy killing the 'beast' with a huge spliff instead of the spear. I think we were out-voted on that one, ha ha"
What have you been up to during these insane times? I know you mentioned in our previous correspondence that you have another music project you've shared on your SoundCloud? Can you tell me a little about that?
I just threw up a load of demo's I've done over the last few years. Nothing too exciting. Just ideas really and some covers for fun. Since the world pantomime started, I've done little music, a lot of reading and writing but, mostly I've been getting down and dirty in the communal gardens, getting back in touch with the earth. It's inspiring for my neighbors and has certainly helped lift their spirits as well as mine. I can switch off out there, lose myself preparing the ground for the new season. I've learned a lot, too. Last summer, I demolished an untidy bush unaware it was infested with fungus. I then lost the skin off my hands and feet for six weeks. That was interesting in a painful kind of way. However, the clocks have just gone forward an hour this weekend which is a sure sign spring is on the way, thank goodness. It's been a long drag of a winter for everybody I think.
Is there anything else you would like to further share with the readers?
Yes. I'm amazed and excited at how, today, with the internet, musicians from across the globe, from all cultures, can instantly communicate, learn, collaborate and cooperate; both male and female, each with a voice, their own individual take filled with their world, their experiences, their own sounds and influences. What a fantastic opportunity for musical and intellectual creation? They start so young today, too, which is wondrous to see and hear. I can't imagine the love, the hours, the dedication and tolerance for pain those talented kids have put in already at such tender years. Nor can I imagine what these musicians and artists will become, innovate or create in their own unique futures. I predict, that whatever it is, it will be Guthrie Goven stunning and comparable to, possibly beyond, even the beauty of Mozart. Today our fave players, whether it be guitar, bass, drums, horns, keys, mouth harp, triangle, tambourine, orchestra or singer-are on tap. Any genre, any combination, any time, day or night. Man, there they are; chatting in their homes, their studios and rehearsal rooms; nursing their prized instruments, recording, producing, mixing; giving lessons, tips, educating; spreading the love. And most, I note, for the price of a cup of coffee. Astonishing. You can do a complete track on your phone now! What? I've seen sci-fi Star Trek stuff become commonplace. The knowledge available out there for the enquiring mind is a gift, at our fingertips and the touch of button and is incredible. 'Seek and ye shall find' on super steroids. Boy, I wish I'd had this stuff in my day.
As good as it is now, I'd like to be around in twenty years, hear what's coming down the pike and on the turntables then – and I hope it is turntables! It will be nothing short of magic, I bet. You must laugh a lot for a long life. Laughter is as important as your daily dose of music, sunshine, fresh air, and vitamins. Us acting like arseholes and taking ourselves too seriously, which we normally are prone to doing these days sadly, is cured by laughing, trust. You get one life. This is it. It's not a rehearsal. If you want to live, really live, there are no safe spaces and no guarantees you'll get a fair shake. Get out there, take the bull by the horns, grab every opportunity with both hands and hang on tight. Don't waste valuable time on bullshittery, trivialities and nonsense. Listen to and trust in your gut feeling, your intuition.
It is your constant guide and is invariably never wrong. Ignore it at your peril. I think picking up a guitar was the best decision I could've made. It changed my life, sent me out on the long road where I've been fortunate enough to meet some of the kindest, funniest, cleverest musicians, ordinary, everyday people and life-long friends living on this wonderful blue marble. I've had a great life because of music and the
limitless patience and support of my amazing, ever-expanding family. I can't imagine how things might have turned out otherwise, definitely not as lucky or interesting that's for sure. If there are any readers out there playing guitar for the first time, learning how to tame the beast, stick with your dream, put the work in, learn from your faves, write your own stuff, aim for your own sound and play from the heart. Always. It's a win-win outcome every time, even if sometimes it may seem like a loss. Never say never because you never know. For the fans, old and new, and their incredible and continued interest in Charge over the past decades, a very warm thank you. Also, a big thank you again Dakota and Jukin' Bones for giving me this opportunity. It really has been fun and a great honor. Horns up, people. Stay strong and keep on rocking.
"You get one life. This is it. It's not a rehearsal. If you want to live, really live, there are no safe spaces and no guarantees you'll get a fair shake. Get out there, take the bull by the horns, grab every opportunity with both hands and hang on tight. Don't waste valuable time on bullshittery, trivialities and nonsense. Listen to and trust in your gut feeling, your intuition"
For a copy of the Charge 2016 edition CD, contact: Jane Maclaughlin at
janybmack@gmail.com
https://guerssenrecords.bandcamp.com/album/charge
https://guerssen.com/catalogue.php?format=ALL&genre=ALL&field=ALL&field_text=charge
Dakota Brown
