I never had Grandparents, they all passed away long before I was born. I've only ever seen one picture of my Dad's mum. She was killed in a car accident in Australia in the 1930's. I've not seen a picture of his Dad, who passed away in mysterious circumstances in a fire, I am not even sure of the year or the place. My Mum's Dad died at home in bed in 1948, Mum said his lungs gave out after being gassed in the trenches of World War one. Her mum made it to 1960. My sister Valerie, who is nine years older than me recalls my Uncle George taking her to hospital for an investigative procedure. He reappeared as everyone was at dinner and announced "They've butchered mum". She said it was the worst moment of her life as Nana, as she was known was by all accounts the most lovely lady who ever lived. But I was born two years later, so I never knew her. I always felt cheated that I never met this wonderful woman. I never heard anyone say a bad word about her. All of her children have passed away. I have a deep regret that I never properly talked to my mum or my aunties and uncles about her life. One of my favourite things in life is reading obituaries of people I've never heard of in newspapers. You find all sorts of wonderful people did all manner of amazing things. Sometimes, I realise that there are strange, tangential connections to our family that I'd never appreciated. I read one obituary of an Australian pilot, who fired the torpedo that disabled the rudder on the Bismark. He came from Blackall in Australia, where my Dad was born. I recalled Dad mentioning that he knew the chap. The bloke had told him that they were flying Fairy Swordfish planesm which had a maximum speed of 80mph. The German ship had automated anti aircraft guns controlled by Radar. These were calibrated to expect a minimum speed of 100mph for incoming aircraft. This meant that the old, obsolete Swordfish biplanes had a free run at the ship. They thought it was a suicide mission, but instead they flew in, fired their torpedoes and scarpered. The German sailors resorted to firing the main guns at them. They actually shot down one Swordfish, which was hit by the wake of a shell exploding on the sea. The pilots were told that they couldn't speak of this to anyone, as it gave the Royal Navy an advantage over the Kreigsmarine.
Two people, who could not be more different. My mums mum and my Dad's wartime mate. Unless you are a family member, or a wartime historian, you will most likely not have heard of either of them. Why should you have? But both were successful and both changed the world for the better. Without my Grandma, her children, grandchildren, etc would not have existed. The world would have been deprived of a BAFTA winning animator, an award winning documentary director, teachers, nurses, professors, a priest, a pretty decent comedian and a pretty inept musican. She left an amazing legacy, but perhaps her biggest legacy, one I sadly never shared, was that everyone loved her. My Dad's wartime mate's bravery helped knock out a warship that was a tool of one of the most despicable regimes in the history of the world. I have no real recollection of much else from the obituary, it was a while ago, but for his extraordinary bravery alone, I think we can all agree that the man was a hero.
What got me thinking about all of this is a friend asked me "Do you consider your career as a musician to be successful?". It was a question I struggled to answer. If he'd asked me about my career as a studio owner, I'd say yes without hesitation. What we've achieved with the studio is beyond doubt amazing. However as a musician, it is a harder question. The band play 4/5th tier grassroots venues and local pubs. Our videos usually geta round 1,000-5,000 views. Our gigs are well attended and we have a residency at The Dublin Castle, a venue so legendary that it features in many documentaries and is recognised as an iconic location. I love playing and it gives my life a focus that I wouldn't jave if I didn't play in a band. I've also work with some amazing musicians, which is a joy, so for me, yes it is a total success. But if I list all of the bands and artists I love, we are a million miles from their level of commercial success. If I measure the bands success in commercial terms, the answer has to be no. I would love to have a career that delivered millions of pounds, a global audience and an army of adoring fans, but that would only ever be a cherry on top. I suspect that the fun may go out of it all, as we would be forced to endlessly reprise greatest hits. People would ask when we'd be having a reunion with Pete Conway, who left the band in 1980 and I've spoken to three times since, or Craig Withecombe, who left in 1983 and I've not spoken to at all. I actually reached out to Craig to see if he fancied jamming with us for our 40th anniversary show. Although I never really got on with Craig, he is a wonderful musician and we actually worked together pretty well, despite not really being mates. He never replied. I don't know if he even got the message, but if he doesn't want a jam that's cool. We parted on the worst of terms. The point is that commercial success would have meant that we would have been forever bound in an artistic relationship neither of us particularly enjoy. When I see Oasis and before them, the Beatles, it seemed to me that the more successful you are commercially, the less creative and the more of a straight jacket you find yourself in. It's not just musicians. Can you imagine how much Billy Connolly must enjoy telling the diced carrots joke or John Cleese must enjoy random strangers reciting the Dead Parrot sketch?
One of my studios favourite customers was a lovely chap called Brian. He was my sisters art teacher at Harrow School of art. His son is Harry Melling, who played Dudley Dursley in the Harry Potter films. Harry auditioned for the role of Harry Potter, but was cast as the rather unpleasant character of his muggle cousin. Brian told me that initially Harry was fed up, but it actually worked far better for him as an actor, as unlike the main characters, he wasn't typecast and forever associated. He did however get decent royalties and a career. Brian said that in many ways, you are far better not getting the plum part in such a film. It also showed that Harry was perhaps a more versatile actor. Being British and being happy to play a baddy is a good thing in Hollywood.
Which brings me back to success. The more I thought about my friends question, the more it troubled me. Then I realised that the only real problem I had in answering it, was to not point out that the band was really only a part of a bigger picture. I met my wife when the band played at The Three Hammers in Mill Hill in 1985. The band gave me her and my kids. I started the studio, as we had nowhere to rehearse. No band, no studio and no job! My IT career was kick started by the need to repay the losses I incurred taking the band to Sweden and Finland in 1981, although that was financially a disaster, it was perhaps the best two weeks of my life and the legacy got me on the right track. Being dyslexic, writing and performing songs and lyrics and having a band transformed me from a shy, quiet, unconfident kid with anxiety issues, into a confident performer able to command a stage, and hold my own against anyone. As a dyslexic, when someone tells me that they love my lyrics it means a lot to me. Most of all though, the band has brought me so much joy and happiness in life. These days, often it is little, seemingly inconsequential things we do that bring the most happiness. Things like getting the audience to sing happy birthday to one of our fans and seeing them with a tear of joy in their eye.
When the band started, we were all terribly serious and wanted to be seen as 'cool'. Now we want to be the band that makes people happy and go home with a smile on their faces. And yes, I think we are very successful when it comes to that. That will do for me. Here is a little snippet of what we do with The False Dots.
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