I’m on a plane from Oslo to Monte Carlo. It’s the last few dates of the Bryan Ferry tour – no more gigs until the end of October, and I have to say that comes as a relief. The collective noun for a group of musicians should be a ’grumble’, and I am ashamed to say that I’ve been conforming to the stereotype recently. Not that I’m complaining – I am continually counting my blessings for being able to make a living out of music. The locations have become evermore luxurious (the last leg of the tour culminated in a few days off in the Algarve), but the gigs have, for me, become difficult purely because I’ve run out of ways to make it interesting for myself. And this is playing challenging, brilliant music. How the hell do people cope having to play for Girls Aloud all year? Luckily I had Chris Spedding to talk to and ask advice. He told me that even if you’re bored of the notes you’re playing, they are still good notes and the audience will enjoy it, so basically – act if necessary. Of course he’s right, and I’m always touched by his encouragement. But I don’t want to act – I want to be emotionally involved in every note I play, and recently there have been times when the music has contained about as much feeling as the buttocks of a man who has been set about at length with a carpet–beater. Maybe I’m just a spoilt brat. Anyway, last night was fun – a festival with hired equipment that didn’t work too well, my amp emitting a constant buzz that was louder than the guitar itself. This, along with a few glasses of wine, inspired reckless acts of abandon such as invading the viola player’s riser and dancing with the backing vocalists. I also, for once, came to the front of the stage for my solos – but that was because my amp sounded so awful that I just wanted to get away from it. At breakfast this morning Bryan came up to me and said “You were really great last night. Pissed, weren’t you?”

I had a wonderful few days in the studio, producing and writing with Iarla O’Lionaird for his next record. His singing is indescribably beautiful, and although at first its serenity seems utterly at odds with his frenetic, wildly enthused personality, I really think only someone who truly loves and enjoys life and other people as much as he does is capable of expressing such honesty and depth of feeling. His lyrics are all in Gaelic and some of them are taken from traditional Irish sources. One of the most interesting aspects of working with him is that he translates each section of the song for me, and describes how there need to be little touches in the music to reflect the meaning – a meaning which only a very few listeners will be able to understand.

In the meantime I had some legal issues to sort out with the new album, and did my first ’proper’ interview related to it, which can be found at rockfeedback.com

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”).

This month started with a stint in Ireland. First a few more days in the studio with David Holmes; we really seem to have found a rhythm now, and are able to turn out a new tune on a fairly regular basis. He also took me to see the opening night of a play about ’the troubles’, in the heart of West Belfast. In attendance was Gerry Adams, who had a disturbingly pop–starish allure of some kind. I kept wanting to go up to him and discuss his 80s period and ask him why his lip–synching was always so unconvincing. Strangely enough the lead actor in the play, a friend of David’s, used to do Gerry’s voice for the BBC back then! After that, I went to Dublin for a gig with Iarla O’Lionaird. There was the usual slightly tense atmosphere as the traditionalists in the audience struggled to come to terms with the fact that I had a computer onstage, but that made it all the more exciting. Unfortunately the sound guy kept screwing up the monitors, which looked to the audience like it was my fault (”serves him right for having all those machines…”) and I kept wanting to stand up and scream “I’m innocent, I swear! This stuff all works fine!”

Next was a fantastic 4 day session with Bryan Ferry, recording tracks for an album that I’m not sure I’m allowed to describe in detail, so I won’t. Suffice to say it was done in a splendidly traditional way, with a roomful of musicians actually playing together, live, learning songs on the hop and nailing them within one or two takes. Bryan was demanding, restless, funny, inspiring, driven and altogether rather thrilling to work with. As usual in the studio I ended up drinking far too much coffee (which usually I don’t touch) and thus got virtually no sleep for the whole 4 days. Luckily something good seems to happen to my playing when I’m in such a hazy state and instead of getting uptight I can get to the heart of the music better. Unfortunately I look like hell and everyone is worried about me.

Straight after the luxury of basking in rock–legend–associate status I went on the road for an extensive 3–date solo tour of the UK. I was joined by my good friend Holger Theunert, a genius artist who did the cover of Scene Memory. Even thought the gigs were tiny I really enjoyed playing on my own after so long as a sideman and made a vow to do it more often. It takes a lot for a roomful of people to sit quietly through 45 minutes of instrumental music, and it was encouraging that everyone did (except in Newport).

When I got home from that I realised that I hadn’t had a single day off in 3 months! So since then I’ve been taking it easy, getting ready for another burst of activity this week. But there was time for a few gigs – Ed Harcourt in Belfast, in the rain, with no crew, a band that had never played together before and a clutch of the finest songs available to humanity; and Ronan, one in the middle of a lake which meant he couldn’t do his usual ’go out and shake the hands of the front row during the guitar solo’ move, so he went round and shook the band’s hands instead which I thought was quite witty. When he came to me I pretended to faint with excitement. I also tinkered in the studio, most successfully with a really brilliant artist called Tina Grace who has collaborated a lot with Nitin Sawhney and is now doing her own stuff. And lastly had a very exciting/scary meeting with a major label about my next album which features guest singers. The plot thickens.

In Brussels, having just played the Werchter festival with Roxy Music. It’s the third date of the tour and I’m having a great time, revelling in the intricacies of the songs and my science–experiment setup. There were only 2 proper rehearsal days with the whole band. Previous to that everyone had been rehearsed separately. That was very strange, and the only analogy I can think of is an omlette. Imagine cooking all the ingredients on their own – frying the eggs, melting the cheese, boiling the milk – then throwing it all on a plate. I don’t know what you’d call it but it wouldn’t be an omlette. Getting a band together is a bit like that, but by now things have congealed properly. Sometimes Bryan will suggest a few refinements after the show (he gives incredible attention to detail) and that is always helpful. I’ve never really toured at this level before, where it?s flights every day instead of the tourbus and my stage clothes go in a flightcased wardrobe to be ironed and presented to me minutes before stagetime. It feels grown–up. On bass is Guy Pratt, a great player and very funny man (he has his own stand–up show). In catering the other day the waitress asked to see his meal ticket. He pointed to Bryan and said, ’There he is!’

One thing I’ve noticed recently is that the more I lose myself in the music onstage, the less happy I look! I think this is because when I’m truly concentrating there isn’t room to consider any kind of rock and roll fakery. To me, all the great performers evolve their own styles instead of subscribing to what a musician ’should’ do (Bryan is a great example of this with his joyous tango poses), or chasing applause, and my style just happens to be… non-existent! If I sense that I am giving even one per cent of my attention to the audience, or how I look, I feel like a shallow, pathetic arsehole. I remember my composition teacher at music college saying to me once, ’Leo do you think you could try and look less like you’re having a shit?’ and that’s the only time I decided to make a permanent change to my demeanor. Being onstage can be a constant battle to be true to what is important – music, emotion – waged against smoke machines and one’s own ego.

Of all the people I play with, I find that battle easiest to win with Iarla O’Lionaird, with whom I had a lovely concert in Prague a couple of weeks ago. A very hippyish atmosphere on an island in the middle of the river. But my camera got stolen out of my luggage on the way back. Lucky, in a way, that they didn’t take any of my effects pedals that were in the same case. There were also some European gigs with Ronan which were utterly drunken (after, not during) and rather good fun.

I much prefer being in the studio to playing live. It really feels like a good, worthwhile days work (compared to being on tour where you spend a whole day waiting for an hour or so of effort) and the buzz from creation is much greater for me than that of applause. Luckily this month I’ve had some very rewarding sessions. One was with Bryan Ferry, adding swathes of texture and melody to some great band tracks that had been recorded in the 90s. One of them he was dissatisfied with because it sounded a bit ’pub rock’; I asked him to remove all the instruments leaving just the vocal, under which I made a new backdrop of sinister static loops. He seemed to love it, so hopefully that will see the light of day. I also had a week in Belfast with David Holmes working on his new record after a long break. It’s really coming together now and features some beautiful emotional things alongside the more driving stuff. As with Eno, the relationship with David as a collaborator gets better and better, as a little code of communication develops and understanding deepens. And I certainly don’t have to worry about whether I’m throwing enough shapes.

Dublin Airport, St Patrick’s Day. Hordes of people are storming and fleeing the country in equal measure. My flight has a 4 hour delay. Paninis are expensive. Last night I played with Iarla O’Lionaird; we were invited by the headliner Martin Hayes who is probably the best fiddle player in the world. Mandolins, bagpipes, harmoniums, they were all there. My laptop stuck out like a porn stall at a church fete. Predictably, the scepticism of the audience was as tangible as the enthusiastic curiosity of the other musicians. Strangely enough though as I packed away my stuff loads of people came up to me to say well done and ask nerdy questions (I like that). A big promoter offered Iarla a gig, but ’without all the electrics’. Iarla’s reply: ’Have you ever heard of Bob Dylan’?

The past few weeks I’ve kept focusing on my own stuff. I did the music for an American documentary and the soundtrack should come out this year. I recorded the whole thing, 8 tracks, in 2 days. I find deadlines very inspiring. My record with guest singers is being mixed (not by me). There are a couple of tracks still lacking vocals but I intend to stir up some interest in the album in the meantime. Also ’Scene Memory’, out in July, is having some remixes done by friends and colleagues. It feels funny having all this work being done on my behalf – very flattering, but slightly disempowering too as I am at the mercy of other people’s schedules and I feel guilty about nagging everyone too much.

There’s not a great deal of paid work around at the moment, but that is pretty sure to change by May. I’m very lucky to have become involved with so many great artists, and slightly spoilt by never having had to do ’bread and butter’ gigs. When work is quiet it gives me time to do my own thing. But this is the longest dry spell I can remember. The music industry really is in crisis at the moment. The old cliché about under–investment in new artists is hitting professional musicians hard. Here’s how it works sometimes: my agent calls to say there’s a new signing to Universal who’s a ’priority’ act. This person is usually utterly anodyne and generic. There will be a tour of radio stations with a guitar player then they might put a band together. Half the time it doesn’t even get that far because someone changes their mind. When it does, that artist gets one chance. If their first single doesn’t make the top 40 the entire project is dropped and the album might never be released. I could name you 5 artists I have seen this happen to in the last 6 months, and I’m not even looking. Even with serious, proven artists like Ed Harcourt I have seen tour support dwindle. In the early days the label might send you to America for a few weeks at vast expense and, in the absence of a sustained campaign, completely pointlessly. They then point to all that wasted money as justification for not promoting the next album properly. Remember that all this comes out of the artist’s royalties in the end anyway. The consequence of this under-investment is a pervading blandness and general dumbing-down as terrified and unprofitable majors pour more and more energy into safe bets. Of course the upside is that so many groundbreaking artists are doing it on their own and it has never been easier or more rewarding to cultivate this DIY attitude. But it won’t be a bloodless revolution.