skankdelvar

Ms Thorn is clearly unaware of the appropriate height at which one's bass should be slung if one wishes to avoid carpal tunnel syndrome. A hobbyist's error.

Well, that's f**king epic ... and you're right about your bass tone too. Reeks of the early 1970's. Nice work, Sir.

The rizzen wah wimmin gets luked at in pop music izz becos that's how Art werks. All uv Art is bessicly nekkid wimmin cuz that's what blerks like to luke at and its only blerks what historicly 'ad brass, like, so that's what penters pented if they wunted to eat. Only bit of art wi' a nekkid blerk is that sculpture Michalengeloze Devvid by Leonardo Der Vinchy and thats cuz 'e were a bit light on 'is feet, knowarrimean? Same wi' pop music. Pipple buy music by blerks cuzzit's proper music wi' a tune. Music by wimmin's allus a bit suzpect so they have to dress up nice, like, wi' baps out fer lads ser they'll luke at 'em and buy the rekkerd. Fair exchange is ner robbery, sam fairy anne.

Thanks for the link, Rob. Hope you're on the mend

Joking aside, one of these new Stylophone re-boots might get close. Stylophone Gen X.1 with Line Out, all-important portamento strip, LFO, sub-octaves and delay - £60 from Amazon and other stores. Review vids on YT

Not so much in Brobdingnag, Laputa, Balnibarbi, Luggnagg and Glubbdubdrib. NOI, just saying.

Nanker / Phelge.

In the event that no MP3 is forthcoming, simply insert an electrical probe well up your guitarist's chuff and intermittently actuate it with a Boss FS-5U Unlatched Footswitch, about £26 from GAK, Andertons, etc.

That's Father Dougal on guitar next to him, isn't it?

The piquant irony surrounding Mr Fingers' choice of stage wear during his employment in The Boomtown Rats is that he'd play a gig in his pyjamas, come offstage, get changed into normal clothes, go home, take off his normal clothes, put on a different pair of pyjamas and go to beddy-bos. His mother Mrs Dymphna Fingers commented at the time: 'He's got three pairs of sleeping jim-jams and seven pairs of stage jim-jams. Holy Mary, Mother of God,, that's ten pairs a week in the wash. I can't keep up. 'He should have gone for the 'big game hunter' look like his Da suggested. All I'd have to do is blanco his solar topee once a month and I could have a normal life. That Bob Geldof comes on like a nice lad but he's got shifty eyes, the little feck'.

IIRC Mr Fingers and Sir Bob had been bïtching about the matter for some time before Pyjama Boy deployed m'learned friends.

... and that's a bastard difficult lick to play correctly, IMO. Involves some very nasty stretches.

I'll raise you one Academie Francaise and Johnny Halliday. Wearing their distinctive cannabis garlands of office, three members of the Academie Francaise debate whether 'le twerking' can be a French word or not

The first foreign language pop song to impinge on my consciousness was Stasera Mi Butto by Rocky Roberts and The Airedales, heard on holiday in 1967. My childish enjoyment was in no way attenuated by its delivery in Italian.

The English National Opera company might take issue...

One doubts Sir Bob dipped into the till but there's some amusing stories about the recording of 'Do They Know It's Christmas' here on Rolling Stone.

... See also Fisher vs Brooker - A Whiter Shade of Pale: Authorship litigation

Geldof Caves In: Payday for Fingers Johnny Fingers and Bob Gobshïte in happier days The world reeled on Friday as the longstanding cash-driven feud between Britain's Favourite IrishmanTM Bob Geldof and formerly pyjama-clad pianist Johnny Fingers (real name John Moylett) came to an end in a welter of grudging agreement. Fingers has long claimed that elements of the Boomtown Rats' hit record 'I Don't Like Mondays' were of his composition, unsurprising since the song is more or less an extended piano solo with occasional instrumental stabs. By contrast, the world's whiffiest pop star has resisted requests to share in the deriving financial bounty, having insisted that the excessively pessimistic ballad formed entirely within his own head. The mordant yet ultimately meaningless lyrics certainly carry the authentic Sir Bob Geldof stamp of saying nothing very much in a loud, hectoring voice. Mr Fingers - long since accustomed to wearing normal daywear - has lived in Japan for some time and it was from the land of the rising sun that the spurned ivory tinkler launched his High Court bid to wrest sole composing credit from Mr Geldof. Eventually the matter was settled out of court and Mr Finger's name will be added to the copyright. Some might assert that authorship of the drab, overblown ditty which did as much as anything else to drive a stake through Punk's heart is nothing to be proud of; they would miss the point. It's all about the money.

TBPH, I stuck with it for a few rehearsals because the singer had a great voice and I was (in an act of characteristic treachery) lining someone up to replace the guitarist. Then I discovered the singer didn't want to gig so there was no longer any point in concealing my displeasure.

Indeed not, because you and your ensemble have collectively, consciously and deliberately re-arranged the songs as opposed to the situation where nobody knows how the song goes and everybody tries to follow a guitarist who can't remember the chords. I mean, sweet Jeebus, this 'what comes next?' thing even happened to me in a bass / acoustic guitar / voice trio. In a band where there were only two instrumentalists (him and me) the guitard played each song differently every time which seriously screwed the singer because she was reading the lyrics off her phone. That one ended when I screamed at the guitard: 'Will you please make your f**king mind up what chords you're going to play and in which order?' and he replied 'I can play it alright on my mandolin'.

Thanks for laying that out. That's pretty much what I do, apart from the time management plan (which would be entirely beyond me) and the notation (which makes my head hurt).

That and a couple of other things relating to The Weller's manner and his grasp on sanity led me to email him to confide that I wasn't a competent enough musician to join his band, warmest wishes for the future. I then changed my name and fled to Indonesia.

I once learned 30 songs in a week in preparation for auditioning with a Jam tribute outfit whose bassist was leaving. On the Saturday night before audition week I went to see them play in a bar just to check them out. The band's arrangements were spot on to the originals, no problem there Unfortunately the 'Weller' could neither sing in tune nor play anything beyond the most basic chords nor enthuse the audience. The only thing he got right was Weller's driven charmless-ness.

In the days when I still auditioned for covers bands I'd ask for the set list, the keys, which versions of songs (if applicable). I'd get the details, learn the songs, turn up and encounter exactly what the OP describes. So I started asking people in advance whether they did the songs as per the original arrangements or not. If 'as original', I'd learn the songs. If not, I'd tip up and busk the audition. The only problem was they'd all tell me they played the original versions when - in fact - they didn't. Because these people literally could not perceive any difference between the original and the half-arrsed racket they played. It wasn't that they'd deliberately rearranged the songs - they'd just never bothered to sit and listen to the songs from beginning to end, or to make notes and agree a structure and stick to it. This - along with the usual vortex of lies, madness and egotism - is why I f**king hate amateur bands.

I can see how that would be a problem. That pic looks like my hand but my pinky ends just level with the ring finger joint in the pic. I s'pose it's the extra couple of mill that makes the difference (Bishop > Actress, etc). If the frontman persists in his demands, refer him to this page and we'll explain things in suitably robust terms. Good luck with the project, chum!