Those of you who knew me in my twenties, especially, could probably testify to that.
And now, I find myself in the online equivalent, which seems to be Twitter. At least, in Britain it seems to be the online equivalent. Perhaps in, say America, it’s the equivalent of being on the sofa, in the sitting room. Or more precisely: on the couch, in the living room.
Either way, it’s where I seem to be increasingly hanging out, swapping pleasantries, links and plastic cups of warm white wine with some very talented, interesting, funny and inspiring people all over the world.
So: while I want to continue to use this blog to talk about gigs and other career things I’m up to, if you can’t stand the heat silence, and/or are interested in other things that fill (or at least: pop into) my brain – such as horse puns and what I think of Nick Clegg* – then you’re best off checking in with my Twitter feed. Or even better: joining Twitter, and following me. I will follow you back. Promise. And then we can talk about Nick Clegg and puns til the cows – sorry, horses – come home.
Just a quick bloggy posty thingy to let you know that I haven’t dropped off the face of the earth. I have merely been concentrating on my new top secret non-musical-yet-still-creative project. And it’s two months since I wrote that post announcing my NTSNMYSCP, so, you know, at least that proves I have some dedication to it. Which is something.
In the meantime, on the music front over the next few months: I’m going to be doing several gigs at Prism (v lovely bar/restaurant in the City), and am heading back to Dubai to perform at a charity event at the British Embassy. Hopefully this time, I’ll look directly in front of me more, and not up quite so much.
All these gigs are solo ones – and while I don’t play piano like an ex-Guildhall jazz machine (and I mean that in a nice way, all you ex-Guildhall jazz machines), I’m absolutely loving accompanying myself on gigs. It’s something of a new move for me – until the end of last year, all my performances were as a singer accompanied by at least one other person – and I can only thank a) my mum and dad, who had a piano in the house, and encouraged us to have lessons; and b) Isobel Forbath and Peter Wilson, who were my piano teachers as a kid. Mrs Forbath being the ’starter’ teacher every small child needs; and Mr Wilson being the later one, who told me it was OK to write all over my music books if I wanted to – something which it never occured a girly middle-class swot to do – because they were, after all, *my* music books; and who also moved repertoire beyond Chopin, Mozart, etc and into the realms of such gems as ‘Wives And Lovers’, by Burt Bacharach, whose lyrics left me gobsmacked as a becoming-vaguely-radical sixth-former. If you don’t know them, here they are in all their glory, as sung by Jack Jones. This one’s for you, Mr Wilson -
