Archive for the ‘Songwriting’ Category

The mystery of the peacherine

Thursday, July 25th, 2013

Rarely does this site delve into genetics, not least because of the total lack of any qualifications in that area among the Moogiemedia team. However, an intriguing series of events, leading to a most illuminating office discussion, has persuaded me to extemporise on the matter.

It all started when I found a peach on the work minibus. I say ‘peach’ but it was relatively hairless for a peach, yet not so hairless that it was obviously a nectarine. (more…)

The next song: three hot ideas

Wednesday, July 3rd, 2013

Trying to get back to some songwriting. It’s hard trying to settle on an idea to develop. I’m not short of them and perhaps that’s the trouble. Contenders so far include:

The story of Giuseppe Petazzi who designed the Fiat Tagliero building in Asmarra, Eritrea (then Italian-occupied Abbysinia). Probably the most remarkable petrol station in the world. (more…)

Of pomegranates and posts

Monday, April 22nd, 2013

First of all I’d like to apologise for not posting for a while. I’ve been taking a bit of a break from gigging and songwriting, and for much of March I was away in Paris and some of the cities of the Hanseatic League, namely Lübeck, Hamburg and Copenhagen. I’ll post some pics soon.

However, I have a couple of interesting pieces of news to report. First of all the Moogieman band is being beefed up with a keyboard player so you can expect some more rocking gigs soon. Second, I’ve recently completed a song about a Pomegranate. It starts:

Oh Pomegranate,
Most inscrutable of fruit,
I’d travel the solar system
To ingurgitate your wisdom
And caress your glowing orb.


Who were the troubadours, and what about the trobairitz?

Tuesday, March 13th, 2012

A monthly celebreation of local songwriters, poets and general ne'er-do-wells

Some of us singer-songwriter types like to liken ourselves to troubadours. Some of us even call ourselves troubadours. This Saturday Moogieman, along with local performers Ric Wade and Roxy Brennan, and the enchanting chanteuse from New York Cal Folger Day will be taking on this designation (or in the case of the female performers, ‘trobairitz’) for James Bell’s monthly night at the Isis Tavern, by Iffley Lock.

But who were the troubadours, and what about the more obscure trobairitz? Since the gig was first advertised I’ve been surprised by how many people were unfamiliar with the term ‘troubadour’, though most were able to guess that trobairitz was the female version. (more…)

My origami Christmas tree

Friday, December 16th, 2011

origami Christmas Tree design.

I came across this design while doing research for my work Christmas tree competition. We ended up building a white 6-tier version plus trunk topped with a small stellated dodecahedron. The whole thing is about 80 cm high.

I’ve been booked to play a few numbers at the Isis Tavern tomorrow and I was trying to come up with a Christmas-themed song to go with my Fruedian–Yulean semi-prose poem.

While folding one of the tiers I had the idea of writing a song (more…)

Big in the Bailiwicks

Monday, October 24th, 2011


Well just Alderney so far, which is in the Bailiwick of Guernsey, but we’re on our way. The trip to Fort Clonque – a mid-nineteenth century British coastal battery connected to the mainland by a narrow causeway – was a resounding success. Eleven of us, connected to one degree or another through Oxford’s famous Catweazle Club, flew out there at the beginning of October to enjoy some sea, sand and songwriting, and to play a gig at the Campania, a pub in the main town, St Anne.

The gig went down well and was a good chance to meet some locals, who were friendly and welcoming, if slightly bemused by our performances. But we were also charmed by the lanscape, some of it picturesue like the craggy cliffs and beautiful white beaches, some of it post agri-industrial like the abandoned farm machinery, steam cranes and water pumps, and the extensive Second World War coastal fortifications. (more…)

Killer squirrel on the loose

Monday, August 9th, 2010
Killer squirrel with machine gun, wearing military-style beret

A friend of mine is obsessed with killer squirrels. The idea of a marauding squirrel leaping out of the trees to attack unwary passers-by intrigued me so I decided to  write a song about it. You can listen to a newly recorded version on myspace.

It turns out, though, she has more reason to be obsessed than I’d initially thought. Back in 2006 the Metro reported on a squirrel in Florida called Bruce (after Die Hard star Bruce Willis) who carried out a ‘week-long reign of terror which saw him take on three women, a toddler and his father, and several police officers,’ surviving a beating and being pepper-sprayed before he was finally apprehended. (more…)

Going short

Tuesday, July 27th, 2010
Louis Bleriot with resplendent moustache

Famous aviator Louis Bleriot. My ditty on his moustache signalled a decline in the length of my songs from which I'm yet to recover.

Are my songs getting shorter? Or is it just that time passes more quickly as you get older? No, really, my two latest compositions are both under 1min 30s (although my newest one, Economy of Love, should be extended to around 1min 45s when it’s recorded).

What I’m concerned about is whether there’s been a fundamental and irreversible shift in my songwriting. I’ve long believed in short songs. That’s not to say that all songs should be short but that brevity is an aspiration for me.

In fact one of my mottos is: ‘musically and lyrically, get to the point and get to it quickly’.

Typically, my songs have weighed-in at around 2mins 30s, which should be long enough to tell a story but short to enough to avoid digression. It’s also a radio-friendly length. (more…)

Rocking to the roquet

Monday, July 5th, 2010

An improvised desk-top game of croquet, using hoops made from paperclips and balls made from the wax skin of Babybel cheeses, has ended in an acrimonious dispute over the rules. (more…)

Don’t piss on my espadrilles

Sunday, June 13th, 2010

I was in the toilet of the Wetherspoons near Faringdon station, standing at one of those long trough-like urinals when it occurred to me there was a significant danger the flimsy cloth uppers of my espadrilles could easily be soaked by someone else’s splash-back. (more…)