This month I was lucky enough to be in the house band for Hal Willner’s Jarvis Cocker Meltdown festival. The 3–hour show consisted of Disney classics reinterpreted by a host of guest singers. As is often the case with Hal, it was a hugely ambitious undertaking and brilliantly chaotic. There were only two days to rehearse. I turned up on the first feeling slightly nervous and set about trying to tune my hurdy–gurdy quietly, which is impossible. Then it was straight in at the deep end, with sheets of music flying at me in quick succession from each of the three arrangers who were putting the whole thing together. Their diverse characters ranged from New York firebrand jazz legend to gentle Tokyo classicist. As the second day drew to a close I was happy because I was getting to play loads of accordion, hurdy and guitaret, and we had managed to get through most of the set. Only one problem – so far hardly any of the singers had bothered to show up. Then with half an hour to go Grace Jones, Shane MacGowan, Pete Doherty and Kate Moss all walked in. We cancelled our taxis. Pete Doherty ran through his song then came over and said he liked my guitar. I handed it to him and he started playing a beautiful, much more effective version of the song we’d been doing, which Hal heard and told him to do at the concert. The next day, at the RFH, charts were still being handed out and music being rehearsed an hour after doors were supposed to have opened. As time ticked on Grace announced that she wanted a special riser brought on. As she prevaricated and time ticked away, I looked over at Hal. He was rubbing his hands together and smiling. As for the concert itself, there are too many highlights to mention really. It was enough of a thrill to be playing with such great musicians and a proper orchestra. But piling through “An Actor’s Life For Me” with Nick Cave was pretty memorable. Now and then in the unwanted gaps between songs one of the arrangers would come over to me and whisper urgently, “play something!” so I had the brief honour of improvising hurdy–gurdy to a packed RFH. Another time I found myself duetting on accordion with David Coulter’s musical saw. I kept expecting someone else to come in but nobody did. It was an incredible evening and I learnt a lot from Hal’s method of creating magic, which seems to be assembling a load of talented people for an unlikely cause, lighting the blue touch paper and retreating.

One of the performers that night, Baba Maal, invited me to play on his album the next day. When he had come in to rehearse, he initially found it hard to lock in with the quite rigid confines of the arrangement. I got to know exactly how he felt when I walked into his studio and found his band in the kitchen playing music that I loved but had no idea how to fit in with. In the end John Leckie the producer was looking for an entirely different flavour for the song, and the evening turned into quite a normal overdub session. I was also briefly in the studio with Ed Harcourt, working on some bonus tracks for his upcoming best–of. The tunes, as ever, were beautiful and we’ve known each other so long the parts were down in no time. A few great Ed moments too – when he walked in he hurriedly unpacked all his latest musical toys, and finished off by triumphantly producing a giant Indian headdress, saying earnestly “I thought we might need it”. He also insisted on speaking to me between takes through a vintage mic and amplifier with reverb, at huge volume, hiding underneath the mixing desk. The fabulous–sounding 60s American amp I brought along electrocuted me, the producer, his assistant and the technician. Lastly on the studio front there were an other few days in Belfast with David Holmes, doing the last few tracks for his long–awaited album. This time I brought Jon Hopkins with me, who brings an elegant magic to everything he touches.

A couple of festivals this month. Firstly the Isle of Wight, where I played alone on a little bandstand. I was glad to be there and had a great time camping, but the gig rather made me want to never do anything like it ever again. Then Glastonbury where I played with Ed and then The Waterboys. I’d never played with The Waterboys live, but Mike Scott invited me to join them for the songs I did on the album and it was really exciting to headline a stage, and come on with no rehearsal (except 10 minutes in a van with Mike). The mud was quite extraordinary, and only bearable when viewed through an alcoholic haze. I was pathetically underprepared too, arriving with binbags tied round my legs. By the time I’d found a place selling wellies I had sacrificed 2 pairs of shoes to the quagmire.

Two days later I found myself in New York taking out my mud–splattered pedals in the David Letterman studio. It was a strange juxtaposition. Letterman keeps his surprisingly small studio extremely cold – so much so that my fingers went numb (good thing I was playing slide). Once again the entire thing felt rather impromptu, being shoved on with minimal rehearsal, and all over in 5 minutes. It was only when I watched it back that it really clicked that I’d been on Letterman. One minute he was rabbiting away, then he said “Bryan Ferry”, and the next thing I saw was me! After that I stayed in New York for a couple of days to make a video for the first single off my next album with Bingo Gazingo. I took him to Central Park and round the East Village and filmed him accosting members of the public with his poetry. For an 82–year–old he has such incredible energy, and it can’t be because of his diet (ice cream and milkshakes, half of which end up down his shirt). One of the many highlights was when he stood in the middle of a playground and bellowed “I wanna put my iTube in your YouTube!” I also interviewed one of the other singers, Phoebe Legere, in her extraordinary apartment full of art, clothes, and fallen masonry. It is the only place I’ve ever been which one could describe as being ’littered with accordions’. She gave me raspberries and told me to sit out on her rusty fire escape (5 floors up) while she did the interview with the cameraman (she didn’t want me to hear).

Finally, yesterday I did the Diana tribute concert with Bryan. Surprisingly little to report, except that mercifully Wembley Stadium doesn’t seem quite as huge when you’re actually onstage. The only thing that threw me off were the troupe of models sachaying right over my pedalboard during the intro, which certainly didn’t happen at the runthrough. It was also eerily quiet onstage, adding to the unreality of it all. I just kept thinking “God knows when I’ll make it back here again, just enjoy it! Enjoy it!” and tried to balance the tragic desire to look vaguely ’stadium–y’ with trying not to play any wrong notes during the solos.

I’ve just got back from a few days in Ireland working with David Holmes. These are intended to be the closing sessions for his album which we realised to our horror we have been working on (on and off) for seven years! Though this is evidence more of David’s perfectionism – and the amount of soundtrack work that we’ve had – than idleness or lack of inspiration. He had brought back a huge amount of new instruments from LA and I hardly touched a guitar the whole time, instead being required to coax melodies out of an array of obscure vintage keyboards. The only downer was that the inflatable bed I was sleeping on had a slow puncture, meaning that I spent half the night sinking gradually to the ground before having to pump it up again. Automatic pump though, luckily. Ah, the luxury.

Speaking of luxury, there was possible a little too much of it during a recent leg of the Bryan Ferry tour, in the form of a private jet. I won’t deny the convenience (goodbye check–in, goodbye baggage reclaim, hello kindly German captain with a windswept hairpiece), but the band all felt rather guilty. My friend Steve who has been touring with Air, with his typically magnanimous and warm–hearted resolve, has vowed to come up with a plan to offset our carbon emissions. That’s Chris Spedding in the photo by the way, not the toupéed captain. Further Ferry–related guilt ensued from my reluctant appearance at the Countryside Alliance benefit. Now I certainly support the countryside in the face of unbearable pressure from supermarkets and government alike, but many of those present struck me, frankly, as little more than single–issue, bloodthirsty braying toffs. At a recent street festival in central London there were a variety of stalls selling (relatively) local farm produce, yet at the Alliance festival, not a single example of local produce on offer, and all the backstage catering was provided by a big company. Incidentally, Bryan’s recent ’run–in’ with the press was an absolutely scandalous episode cooked up by malicious reporters with no basis in fact whatsoever. We all know that certain sections of the media are just plain liars, but it really hits home when it’s a friend of yours in the firing line. The highlight–stroke–nadir for me was when the Observer (of all papers) solemnly but suggestively printed a 25 year old photo of Bryan with – shock, horror – a moustache!

Anyway, I mastered my new album too. It’s called ’The Unrest Cure’. Mastering can be something of a dark art, in that you can quite easily spend a grand and come out thinking that it sounds exactly the same. This time however the contribution was immense. The record is stylistically all over the place but mastering has really brought everything together, and listening through at home was the first time I let myself think, ’wow, it sounds like a real album’! There were then a flurry of meetings with people in glass offices making promises you really hope they intend to keep. Apparently, the first step when getting a campaign together with a big label is to ’get a buzz going in the building’, which means making a cd of the best 4 tracks and sending it to absolutely everyone who works there, so that they’re all eager to help out and stuff. Sounds pretty reasonable I suppose, it’s just so strange to think that it’s my record they’re talking about. I have to keep reminding myself.

I also got further underway with my next one, a folky follow–up to ’Honeytrap’, with the help of percussionist Martin Barker and bassist Tim Harries (one of my favourite musicians and a huge influence who I met when we were in Eno’s band). There are now 14 tracks on the go, and the editing has given me something to do in the days when I’m on tour with nothing to do until soundcheck, ie every day. That has made a big difference psychologically. Finished off producing a few tracks for the Smoke Fairies too, which you can hear on their myspace.

I’m in New York, and I’ve woken up too early. It’s a flying visit with Bryan Ferry for a guest spot in a concert of sea shanties, presided over by Hal Wilner (I worked on the album, Rogue’s Gallery, in April last year). I walked into the rehearsal to be confronted with a stage full of legendary session musicians backing up an avant–garde duet between Lou Reed and Laurie Anderson. As seems always to be the case in New York, everyone was incredibly laid back and genuinely welcoming. Anthony (from Anthony and the Johnsons) featured in one of Bryan’s tunes with violin, trombone and pots and pans abounding. Everything was so quiet and intense onstage, completely and blessedly, refreshingly different to the maelstrom we’d got used to on the tour! Bryan works so well in that stripped down environment and he really enjoyed it. Afterwards I bumped into Michael Stipe who didn’t remember inviting me to feel his heat patch in 2004. I was quite offended.

Bryan’s tour ended in much the style to which we had become accustomed. There was a rambunctious final show in Newcastle so we ended on a high, but I think everyone in the band was knackered and looking forward to being at home for a bit. With the exception of a couple of tv shows (including Jools Holland, at which the set was so dark during our number that I played a dreadful clanger that luckily they can edit out) and a trip to Stockholm all has been quiet on the Ferry front which has left me time to catch up on other things.

I finally finished the album with guest singers so it should be out for Autumn. The last track features KT Tunstall. She’d had it for a while, but when I went round to her house to record she said she’d not had time to come up with anything and would have to do it on the spot. She then proceeded to blow my mind by coming up with an absolutely brilliant tune, writing a verse, recording it, then the chorus, then a most un–KT–like spoken word section, then effortlessly stacking up some immaculate 7–part funky harmonies. I was completely staggered. obviously everyone knows she is talented, but to see it all happen up close was seriously impressve. This album has taken 2 years, almost to the day, to complete. Although I’ve released 2 other records in that time, and despite the obvious benefits of having the likes of KT and Brian Eno involved, this is the last time I involve so many other people. Waiting for and relying on others has been quite a nail–biter. But now it’s on with mixes, artwork and consent forms.

It has been a month of expensive purchases. First came a hurdy–gurdy which I had to have specially made. It is truly an instrument of the Gods. I felt like it was time to learn something new and have been trying to get to grips with the thing. Playing melodies on it is fairly straight–forward but combining that with getting a good rhythm out of the wheel thing is like patting your head and rubbing your stomach whilst completely pissed. I also bought a load of new gear for the studio (and spent hours helping my friend solder it together). Any nerves about the wisdom of lavishing so much cash about quickly disappeared during the inaugural session with the marvellous Smoke Fairies. Suddenly, everything sounded ’like a record’. The studio was good in the first place, but now it’s as if all the tools have been sharpened, making engineering ideas much more achievable. It feels equivalent to only having been allowed to play a guitar that was impossible to tune properly, then being given a really good one and hearing all your ideas come into focus.

There was another lovely session for King Creosote, but the highlight of the last few weeks for me has been getting started on the follow–up to Honeytrap. I did a couple of days recording with a percussionist called Martin Barker, who plays all manner of unusual instruments, some of which he makes himself, in a unique and powerful way. Most percussionists who use exotic instruments skirt dangerously and half–heartedly around ’world music’ territory, but not Martin. His contribution has opened up all kinds of new possibilities. In one case what he did was so good that I realised the song was crap by comparison and would have to be completely rethought. It was so cathartic to finally get round to recording these ideas that have been swimming around in my head for months, and now I am just itching to get back into the studio and carry on.

I’m in Charles de Gaulle airport, about to get on a plane to Amsterdam. It’s week 5 of the Bryan Ferry tour and the end is just about in sight. It’s been great, but after this amount of time touring begins to take on a strange hypnotic quality as the days, venues and bottles of wine begin to blend into each other. Playing the set every night has never got boring though – it’s always a challenge and there is a good balance of discipline and freedom. One of the very admirable things about Bryan is that, even in the heat of the moment, he can pinpoint and remember very subtle elements in the music that he wants to change, which get addressed in soundcheck the following day, so every night is a bit different. That’s the discipline bit (along with the fact that a lot of the songs have completely bonkers chord structures, and trying to change guitars between songs in a hurry without falling over). The freedom bit entails trying to keep the improvised solo sections fresh, while remaining true to the emotion and melody of the song. A bit like walking around a statue finding new angles to look at it from. It’s particularly good when you’re able to channel emotions that have built up during the day into the playing; the audience always seems to pick up on that somehow. A definite highlight so far has been the Royal Albert Hall show. There’s just something about the place that, despite being imposing, is indescribably calming and benevolent. Often London shows are particularly fraught but this time everyone was relaxed and on top form. It occurred to me at one point that I couldn’t be sure when (or if) I’d be playing there again, so I’d better enjoy it.

It is a bizarre existence though. You are rendered something of an overgrown child, being cooked for, told exactly where to go and when, spoilt really, then plonked down when it’s all over wondering why you’ve forgotten to pay the bills, and how to cook pasta. One of the great pleasures of the tour has been listening to Andy Newmark and Chris Spedding, two legendary players, talk about their experiences and how they have navigated their way through the twists and turns. Andy was saying one night how he always assumed he’d stop playing drums at some point and do something ’sensible’, and it’s only now in his 50s that he realises he’s probably doing the job for life. Chris nodded and said “I know, disgusting isn’t it”.

I nipped home for a couple of days between gigs to work on the new King Creosote album, which is being produced by my old schoolfriend Jon Hopkins. This entailed both laptop guitar sounds and dusting off my bouzouki, mandolin, and a knackered 12 string that I bought off a busker years ago. The music is absolutely beautiful. Working with Jon is always an interesting experience. He is both an exceptionally expressive classical pianist and a devious programmer, so the guitar parts we work on are painstakingly worked out – one minute we’re gabbing away about music theory and the next considering how loud a certain note should be played in context to deliver the right feeling. Pretentious but effective. I also signed my record deal with Mercury. As I sat in a small glass office committing to all this I wished I’d hired a trumpet player to do a fanfare or something – these moments don’t come along too often. I did go and buy some champagne though. And loads of new studio equipment. And a new guitar. A really good management company have said they want to represent me too, so once this tour is over I’m looking forward to pressing on with the next part of the journey.

I’m on a tour bus with Jarvis Cocker, somewhere between Vienna and Amsterdam. It’s the morning after a night spent singing Beatles tunes until 4am and the air is still thick with tall stories, cigarette smoke and stale farts. The shows have been going well so far; Jarvis is playing only his new material, which is strong enough to rebuff the occasional heckle for Pulp tunes. We finish every night with a cover – last night was Paranoid (though it was very nearly I’m Too Sexy). The support band is different each night; in Italy Jarvis thought he’d be nice and go and watch a few songs, but the audience recognised him and turned away from the band en masse to try and get autographs. During the day I’m working on string arrangements for a band called The Envy Corps.

The year started in South Africa with Ronan. Probably my last gigs with him for quite a while. Although I respect him as a performer and like him very much as a person, the music does rather depress me. There is satisfaction to be had in doing a good job, but then you can get that playing music you actually like too. Still, I am grateful for the work, and for the very generous treatment the minstrels (as Ro’s tour manager calls us) receive. I explained all this in response to a question from the agent’s wife over dinner, after which her 8 year old daughter bellowed, “what, so you don’t like the music?!” well within range of everyone, including Ronan. Inexplicably omnipresent during the trip was a friend of the promoter, ostensibly there to help out, but who in fact turned out to be an arms dealer with an extremely dubious past in the apartheid–era police force and a wife who seemed mortally offended if she was unable to convince you to get drunk with her. The promoter himself, a delightful and apparently extremely well–connected and powerful man, seemed only too happy to stoop to the level of being hassled about all the tiny things tour managers hassle promoters about. It was all very mysterious.

Between these two trips I went to Paris with Bryan Ferry to do a live TV show, worked a lot on my new album, and produced some vocal sessions for Sylvie Lewis, who wanted to redo parts of her latest record. I really enjoy working with singers – it’s something I haven’t done for quite a while. Sylvie’s songs are very classic, almost instant ’standards’, and it was satisfying trying to get the vocals to be personal and characterful, and finding the right combinations of microphones and compressors to match. I also started work on a record with Katherine from the Smoke Fairies, which is going to consist of instrumental versions of hymns. I’m doing my acoustic and ambient things, and she plays banjo, lapsteel, slide and a few other bits. I’m trying to do as much as possible from memory instead of consulting my hymnbook, and it’s a lovely nostalgic feeling working with all those beautiful tunes in the absence of words I never really connected with anyway. What with all that and finishing off writing the follow-up to Honeytrap, I’m getting a bit worried about spreading myself too thin; I seem to record a lot and then not take as much of an interest as I should in promoting it, but I just love recording music and have virtually no interest in trying to draw attention to myself afterwards. It’s exciting having all these ideas bubbling away at the moment.