#pete phipps

[nedison]

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Broomstick Rhythm [Guide Vocal] - XTC (1984)

In honor of Andy's birthday today, here's another gem buried on last year's reissue of The Big Express. This is one of my favorite demos from the Fuzzy Warbles series so it's really cool to hear this (sadly unfinished) studio version by the band.

A great song for the changing season.

[comicwaren]

From Carnage Vol. 3 #013

Art by Fran Galán and Erick Arciniega

Written by Alex Paknadel

[sgtrock412]

Big Express rehearsals 1984. Dave, Colin, Andy and Pete Phipps (drums).

[alanmerrill]

Fragmented New York City Rants, 2005

  I do have recollection of being some places lately. It's a vague recollection though and time has blurred so much.  This year is going by at lightning speed.  Buildings, bars, clubs. Staircases and elevators lead to places.  Music plays on juke boxes, or live bands play.  People talk, shout, and laugh.  The scenes all seem fragmented, and I often feel like  I'm wandering through a dream.  But at the time it's happening it's all very real.  Then again, my actual dreams are very real, or so they seem.  Last night I reconnected with a long dead Opossum in a dream.  The Opossum had very blue eyes and fur.  It was a memory of a real animal I had seen in Dallas (Texas)  that died in woodshed next to a house I had stayed in.  The animal died, but it remains vivid in my memory.  It screeches in my brain sometimes, reminding me to  remember it. I'll never forget that hissing sound.  Who could forget such a beautiful animal?  I'd never seen or heard anything quite like it.  Of course these dreams follow much alcohol, so they  might be more delirium than dreams. 

I've been playing live music around New York lately.  At least once or twice a week.  Anyone familiar with my career knows  this is very unusual for me,  at least in recent years.  I have mostly kept to the studio,  and rarely make a live appearance,  limiting live concerts to my shows in Japan.  I am lucky to have found some people in New York and England  that I trust, to make music with. Dave Glover, Sal Bernardi Pete Phipps, Tommy Mandel, Jan Tilley, and Jon Paris. Good people. 

The Cutting Room, NYC. March 10, 2005. Tommy Mandel, Jan Tilley, Alan Merrill, Pete Phipps, Dave Glover.

I am actually enjoying being on stage.  People react well in the audience when I sing,  so I feel happy to have rediscovered  this particular avenue of pleasure.  Last week I re-recorded some of my early Vodka Collins  compostions in both English and Japanese.  The Vodka Collins "Tokyo-New York" album  that I wrote in 1971, recorded in 1972,  and released in 1973 is being reissued on April 20th, 2005 in Japan.  It's on the EMI label.  I wanted to have modern sounding versions  to go with the archival EMI reissue.  The swimming pool in my building is fixed,  so I went for a swim for an hour today.  There was a Yoga class in the next room.  They started chanting a single note.  I riffed a melody, singing around the single note.  They couldn't hear me, but I had fun.  There's not much else to do swimming laps.  You have to be creative to keep the boredom at bay.  After the swim I went shopping. It was late in the afternoon.  The girls at the supermarket check out counter are gorgeous.  They're all women from the Dominican Republic and are sexy,  and they love to tease me.  I don't know where they find these ladies.  I actually asked the manager of the supermarket  where he finds his employees.  Miss Dominican Republic beauty contests most likely,  I suggested. He laughed, smirked, but didn't comment.  I imagine they're the beauty contest entrants who don't win,  but come in second and third.  They are put here to torment me with their curves and eyes.  They wear tight jeans and shirts  that emphasize that wonderful genetic melange.  It's a mix that exaggerates the female form  in a extremely erotic way, visible even through simple  generic brand tee shirts and jeans.  Handing me my change, she presses the cash a little too hard  on my palm, holding my hand for a moment too long.  She then looks me right in the eye with a devilish smile.  It's terribly unfair. 

I have had crushing hangovers lately.  These ladies lighten up my day.  "Mister, you look rough today, been out partying?"  she asks me, popping her chewing gum loudly.  I actually managed to smile, thinking obscene thoughts,  looking first at her aesthetically pleasing olive complected face  and then directly at the perfect fit of her tan jeans. She sees me look, smiles and doesn't blush.  It conveys a blatant message without a word spoken.  I have at this moment become the archetypal male.  It disgusted me, the predictability of my reaction.  She says goodbye and waves at me.  "Come back soon," she says, knowing she has me.  I carry my bags out of the shop, muttering something to myself  under my breath about how I've become so comically depraved.  Then I laugh out loud in the street. 

People walking in the opposite direction look back, startled.  My private joke with the girl at the checkout line is lost on them.  I'm sure they think I'm a lunatic, and they just may be right.  Yes, I have brutal hangovers. The kind that when I actually wake up  (in my case at around 5 PM), I'm just happy to still be alive.  ----------------------------------------------

Written April 4, 2005