I’m on a flight to South Africa for some gigs with Ronan, reflecting on what a weird and wonderful way to make a living this can be sometimes. The itinerary tells me that there are to be a mere 5 shows in 12 days. This has been a month of manic travel and, once at the destination, unprecedented and disconcerting idleness. I went to LA to work on the soundtrack to the next Oceans movie with David Holmes and ended up effectively getting paid to sit around and go shopping a lot. For a restless chap who takes pride in his work, these seemingly cushy situations end up being pretty taxing, so I usually bring some editing to do on my laptop. Basically I was there for the first 10 days of recording, during which the priority was laying down drums and bass, and generally working out whether the overall feel was right – a crucial and delicate stage. So I did play now and then, and got some work done on David’s solo record in downtime, and got to hang out with wonderful people like Zach Danziger (who drums on my next record) and Woody Jackson (an amazing guitarist and genius professor of unusual instruments). I was also happy to witness once again the unique phenomenon of the Hollywood session musician, whose reputation and equipment precede him – the latter in the form of at least 6 man–sized flightcases that ominously appear a few hours in advance of the session so that every eventuality is covered, even if all that ends up being required is 4 bars of tambourine. I don’t mean this to sound in any way derogatory, it’s a quite simply awe–inspiring level of seriousness that is above and beyond anything you’ll find in any other city in the world, and they all have the musical skill to match. But it’s kind of funny too.

After the LA trip I went straight to a rehearsal with Jarvis Cocker to learn 15 songs in an afternoon, having not slept for 3 days. Interestingly, despite feeling utterly drunk with fatigue, the musical bit of my brain was functioning well and a few days later in Barcelona, the gig went great. Jarvis’ band is really loud, the bass player in particular has the most unholy tone I’ve ever heard, and that helped give me the confidence to shake off first night nerves. A lot of the sounds I came up with were drenched in reverb and feedback, but it still felt very exposed. Afterwards Jarvis asked me how it had been, and I said I thought I should be asking him the same question. I didn’t make any mistakes, but the brain was a little too much in ascendance over the heart, and I’m looking forward to redressing the balance next time.

There have been a couple of engagements with Bryan Ferry. First, 2 days filming for a possible TV show about his new album. The band piled into a recording studio festooned with wires and cameras and set about publicly re–learning the tunes we’d recorded back in August. I dislike cameras peering up my nose while I’m trying to play the guitar, but this time it was amazing how discreet they were, and how quickly we all forgot they were there – which makes me wonder about which candid moments they’ll see fit to include (a couple of close calls when we realised every word we said was audible in the control room). But most of all it made me look forward to the tour next year – especially with Chris Spedding, Guy Pratt and Andy Newmark in the band. Earlier in the month, we went to Moscow for a private show. This was completely bizarre. Some heavy government–types had hired out a small club and scattered it with a few tables and 20 or so of their closest and apparently most humourless associates. Mild applause greeted each legendary showstopper. The atmosphere was decidedly odd. If I’d been Bryan I would probably have gone mad but to my lasting admiration, all he had to comment on afterwards was a noteworthy guitar solo and some dodgy backing vocals!

I’ve also had a couple of meeting with labels – about my new album (which seems to be coming out on a major, bullshit notwithstanding) and a follow–up to Honeytrap on Just Music, which is now nearly written but not recorded. A couple of gigs with Ed Harcourt which felt like slipping into a comfy old shoes, some TVs with Jarvis and an overdub session with Herbert Gronemeyer, and that concludes a month that has left me both satisfied and disorientated. In the middle of all that a really good radio station, Chill FM, devoted a show to my music; doing a few voiceovers I realised how far away I feel already from stuff I wrote not that long ago. It made me even keener to press on with new ideas next year, despite being very grateful to have travelled so much this year and been involved with so many great projects.

Thanksgiving Day in New York, pissing rain. I’ve spent the morning helping distribute clothes at the Bowery Mission, after my flight home last night got cancelled. I came over to work on a track for my next record with a singer called Phoebe Legere. She had sent me a wonderful demo and we had to try and recreate it in a better studio. This is never an easy task for a singer, especially working on very intimate emotional things with someone you’ve never met before. So I booked a really homely–looking studio and hoped for the best. Phoebe is technically an incredible singer, so the only thing to worry about was recapturing the emotion. At times I felt more like a director than a producer – it was more about acting than anything else – and we both ended up enjoying it. After quite an intense session, when it came time to leave she said goodbye as if she was just popping out to the shops (when in fact we have no plans to meet again), which I thought was rather lovely. Yesterday I met up with the venerably eccentric octogenarian poet Bingo Gazingo and My Robot Friend to discuss Bingo’s album (see previous entries). As we walked down the street he recited poetry at the top of his lungs, frightening passers–by. After a particularly filthy and insane rant about Eminem (”crush my balls against the wall and fuck me like Biggie Smalls”) he turned to me and in a completely matter–of–fact tone and said, “Now you tell me that won’t sell 10 million copies!” Bingo was on better form than when he came to London to record with me (he flooded his hotel room, and the porter who broke the door down found what he thought was a suicide note, which was actually some lyrics from a song called “What a Life, Some Shit”). To see him smiling away listening to his songs on headphones was wonderful, even when he cantankerously pronounced one track “so–so”, and said that another had a verse missing. I’m still trying to improve the mixes; I just bought a new bit of gear and ended up using it way too much, so I’m redoing the whole thing.

I’ve been working a bit with Jarvis Cocker this month, doing a few tv and radio things before a tour next year. It all happened very suddenly with a call to drive up to Sheffield to rehearse, the night before I was due to go to South Africa with Ronan Keating. I walked in to find that I would be replacing Richard Hawley, who is one of my favourite guitarists (and who I’d been on tour with briefly last year). They all grew up together, and I felt very ’London’ somehow, in a bad way. But they were all really nice and I guess I fitted in. Jarvis is such a genuine person, and a delight to be onstage with. For my money he is one of the greatest dancers in rock and roll. He acts out the lyrics so brilliantly, I have to keep myself from grinning all the time. Michael Stipe does a similar thing, though rather more studiously. A few years ago, Ed Harcourt did a US support tour with REM. On the last day, Stipe came up to me and invited me to feel how hot this heat patch he had on his pelvis was. It was indeed extremely hot. He said, “You’re a great guitarist”. I said, “Thanks, you’re a great dancer”. He said “Thanks, I also sing”.

South Africa was interesting. Johannesburg is apparently rather dangerous and our hotel was more of a self–contained gated community. A few of us got a guided tour round Soweto and invited some of the people we met to the show. The show was in aid of people like them, but when they turned up security didn’t want to let them in! Nice. More champagne! They got in eventually. I must say though, Ronan is a very effective front man. There were quite a few acts on the bill and many different types of audiences over the 5 dates, and unlike many of the others he won them over every time. As always, the level of commitment from the front filters down through the whole band.

Before that I went to Kilkenny to write and produce with Iarla O’Lionaird (house pictured above). In spite of his extremely sweet and time–consuming children, and a trespassing cow rampaging round his garden, we got plenty of work done. He usually sings in Gaelic, but wants to start using English more. His words, when translated, are beautiful but seemed at first to suffer from a loss of mystery. I suggested that he sing as if he didn’t understand what he was saying (just as the average listener experiences Gaelic), taking a syllable at a time, and that proved very fruitful. I should also mention that the man possesses a greater number of pump organs than is strictly necessary.

Lastly, apart from a little solo gig which reminded me that I have records of my own that I should be trying to promote, I did another week in the studio with Herbert Gronemeyer. It was a very valuable experience once again, especially because I realised I sometimes assume I’m expected to do more than is really necessary – almost as if not using my laptop and pedals to get all manner of sounds amounts to laziness – when in fact on this occasion they just wanted me to play some rock guitar! Nevertheless they were extremely specific about things lilke phrasing and fingering, which had to be balanced with a certain ’roughness’. The whole band played together and we’d often do over 20 takes. This can be hard – if you’ve played it right already and they’re still trying to get the drums, you’re under pressure to keep getting it right. And if it’s you they’re working on, you can feel a bit guilty making everyone else play it again! But there’s always someone in the control room keeping track of everything, making notes on who played well when (all the takes are kept), so once again I found myself worrying about nothing – probably because, usually, I’m more hands–on in the studio. Most of the time thinking like a producer means you play much better, but sometimes it can catch you out. Like last time, Herbert’s ’guide lyrics’ sung in nonsense English proved disturbingly memorable along with his solid–gold melodies, and this new language is going round and round my brain (”siggaluuv… bevooooryougo!…. ahsaymasayluuur……. siggaluuv… ooooopencoat!…. ahseddamooorow”).

The last few days of September were taken up with sessions for Herbert Gronemeyer, a huge star in Germany but perhaps better known over here for his role in the film Das Boot. His writing process is extraordinary – the music comes first, and he scats nonsense words over it in rough English which leads to some very amusing working titles (I was relieved to discover that ’Naked Love’ would one day be changed). Nothing strange about that, most people evolve lyrics this way, but at the last minute with all the instruments recorded he writes completely new lyrics in German! It’s actually a bit odd playing with no clue what the song is about, and made me realise how much I subconsciously try and respond to lyrics. Herbert is very warm, clearly extremely intelligent, and somewhat impish. The German drummer was utterly silent the whole first day until 11pm when, after we’d done about 10 takes of the same song, the last few of which had broken down into ’joke tango’ versions, suddenly screamed at the top of his lungs “Aaaaaarrrrggghh! Stop that fucking polka shit!” He opened up after that and turned out to be a very sweet man. The session felt a bit scary though for some reason. One of the great things about the job is that every time you walk into a new situation it can feel like your first. But I usually prefer to play in the control room so that I can get a picture of the whole sound, and here I had to be in the live room on headphones that didn’t work too well. And when you have to communicate by shouting through a talkback at a reflective piece of glass, both producer and muso can come over as awkward twats. But it was all fine in the end.

Then I had a couple of days overdubbing on the new Waterboys album. Mike Scott sent me an incredibly sweet email in advance, referencing specific sounds on my own records that he wanted me to emulate. He is so inspiring to work with – very gentle but firm about getting the right take, and unable to sing at anything less than 100% intensity. You’ll ask him to show you how the bridge goes, he quietly obliges by reaching for an acoustic, then he opens his lungs and becomes a complete rock star. Every time I played something he particularly liked, he’d say “ooh, you’re a villain!” in his indulgent Scots brogue.

After that came a couple of private shows with Bryan Ferry. One was in Hong Kong, to mark the reopening of the Mandarin Hotel, essentially playing in the lobby. We were there for 5 days and it was more like a holiday really. I tried particularly hard during the gig in an effort to justify the whole thing to myself! Also performing was Dame Edna Everage. She struggled a little with the rather humourless ex–pat audience. Afterwards she made a beeline for my friend and I, with a cry of “Ah! Young people!”. I kissed her hand and asked how she found the performance. She grimaced and said, “A bit difficult to be honest, a lot of inscrutable people”. I arrived back in London at 9pm and had to go straight back in with the Waterboys at midnight! It felt quite rock and roll. The next day we (Bryan and band) went to Stockholm to perform in front of the King and Queen of Sweden. A massive gala dinner, from which us humble minstrels were kept well away in a most heavy–handed manner (I was actually grabbed at one point on the way out of the loo). The highlight for me was playing with the other guitarist Chris Spedding, a complete legend who has worked with just about everyone and plays like a rockabilly demon.

While I was recovering from delayed jetlag, I did a gig with Ed Harcourt. It was my birthday and I could think of no better way to celebrate than by playing wonderful music with great friends. Ed got the crowd to sing me happy birthday which felt lovely, but seemed to last a miniature eternity. This week I finished off mixing the Bingo Gazingo record. Mixing is not my forté by any means, but I think I’ve done it justice. Mixing on a computer is a bit of a misery, so much peering and clicking. I also worked on the soundtrack to a computer game with Brian Eno, which consisted of him sampling some of my laptop guitar sounds and playing them on his sampler. It made me want to do a whole record that way. But everything had to be very concise because there is only a limited amount of memory available in the game – which is an interesting condition to have imposed on you! Brian likes that kind of thing though. One sound turned out particularly well and he said it made him want to dribble.