Rob Manuel

Running web projects I don’t get a huge amount of media requests and when I do I often feel really weird about them. Being interviewed by someone is giving control of your own mouth to other people and my experience is generally that nothing good comes from it as it only annoys your peers who feel hard done by that they’re not getting any attention.

But then Word Magazine got in touch and I had to say yes as A. I’m a subscriber and have read pretty much every issue since launch and it’s hugely flattering to be in something like this and B. It’s run/staffed by a number of people I’ve worked with in the past including David Hepworth (sub to his blog on RSS you won’t regret it) and more recently Fraser Lewry.

The interviewed was conducted by James Medd – who I think should write a book about red hair as his Guardian feature on the subject was great, and photography by Muir Vidler – who in himself is a very interesting chap currently putting together a series of photos of contradictory people, e.g. a Jewish person with a swastika tattoo.

Anyway – you’ll have to clicky a few times to make this big enough to read.

Photoshoot

I had a fun photoshoot with Muir Vidler – he encouraged me to pull silly faces which is pretty much how I entertain my wife so it wasn’t too hard.

You can see the rest of the photoshoot here – which at the very least should give the b3tans some new material the next time they want to photoshop me chained to a radiator and being pissed upon.

BTW: The downside of this feature is that I wasn’t able to read this issue of Word – everytime I picked up the magazine I was flooded with anxiety and put it down again. Hope I didn’t miss anything good that month. Thankfully normal service has resumed and Word have stopped producing issues with me in them.

After reading David Hepworth’s ’50 odd gigs’ I couldn’t resist trying my own list. I haven’t seen as much live music as I could have and it was a real struggle to get to fifty, and I had to be a bit cheaty and use a few festivals and support acts, but I’ve only mentioned stuff I could say something about.

1. Kunt & The Gang, in some Soho pub, 2009 – impressed that he did the entire set via plugging his iPod into the PA, and selecting each backing track with his thumb. Thereby freeing him from the expense of splitting profits with a band or hiring a van and equipment. Canny.

2. MJ Hibbett, Venue 205, 2008 – Hibbett was doing his “my exciting life in rock” autobiographical show. It was funny and great and reminded me of Guy Pratt’s book My Bass & Other Animals.

3. Seven Seconds of Love, Dublin Castle 2005 – Joel was asked by his agent’s wife why he swore so much on stage, and it was suggested that a cleaner mouthed Veitch would be more successful.

4. Youth of Britain, Dublin Castle 2005 – for the encore I shouted that they should play Beer, Beer, Beer, the track written by me and recorded by the band as a favour. Daniele Davoli, their keyboardist laughed and shouted back “fuck off Rob.”

5. Lemar, T in the Park, 2004 – did a sweetly sung version of The Darkness’s I Believe In A Thing Called Love that made me realise Justin Hawkins is a sincere little songwriter hiding behind comedy outfits.

6. Graham Coxon, Kentish Town Forum, 2004 – he played much of his “Happiness in Magazines” album and the seats were sticky. Some of his younger fans looked like members of The Libertines.

7. Miles Hunt, Resonance FM, 2003 – when we used to run B3ta radio we got Miles in with his guitar. He sang Circle Square and was very nice and mentioned his girlfriend sang my I love you kitten song on his answerphone.

8. Duran Duran, Wembly, 2003 – the reunion line-up. Guitarist Andy Taylor stands on a different part of the stage and appears to be in an entirely different band to the rest of them. And in a couple of years he is. Surly Taylor and sweaty Simon Le Bon gaves us lol fodder for literally months afterwards.

9. Sisters of Mercy, Kentish Town Forum, 2002 – Eldritch’s set consisted of dry ice, a tape recorder and two turnips throwing rock poses on guitar. A mid 20s fan, all on his own, wearing a leather jacket, one leather glove and a bandaged arm mouthed all the lyrics.

10. Pulp, Brixton, 2001 – around the time of the unconvincing “We love life” campaign. They were knackered and the fun was gone.

11. Rockbitch, London, November 2001 – naked gothy women playing bad metal. Holding guitar with your minge hanging out doesn’t make women look elegant.

12. Toby Slater, The Monarch, 2000 – Toby wore bandages over his hands which worringly suggested he’d been self harming.

13. Duran Duran, Wembley, 2000 – reduced to a duo of Simon Le Bon & Nick Rhodes it was a lacklustre affair. There were flyers up for a fan meeting called after a B-Side “Secret Oktober” which might be fun if menopausal women are your thing.

14. Robbie Williams, Wembley, 2000 – I wasn’t that bothered about going but had free tickets as I was working on his website. He made disparaging remarks about Liam Gallagher & Nicole Appleton on stage and played such a stunning gig that I left almost a fan.

15. Crispian Mills, supporting Robbie Williams, 2000 – his sound was mixed so low that I could hardly hear him. But from the look of it, he was giving it his all. Poor chap.

16. Miranda Sex Garden, The Monarch, 2000 – a reformed line up, not that it matters to me as I never knew them back in the day anyway. Singer Katharine Blake kept making references to a sugar daddy giving me the distinct impression that they can afford to put on a show thanks to the patronage of an old git she’s having sex with.

17. Beck, Reading festival, 2000 – he didn’t stop dancing. It was like watching Prince. One of the best performers I’ve seen. Shame he’s a scientologist.

18. Black Box Recorder, Reading festival, 2000 – singer Sarah Nixey had a crap barcode tattoo on her arm. I didn’t notice what Luke Haines was doing as she was quite pretty.

19. Elastica, Reading festival, 2000 – Justine hopped around trying to gee up a tired band who were having none of it.

20. 2K, Barbican centre, 1997 – every nerd in London turned up for the KLF’s comeback event. We were given t-shirts and bags and went home feeling elated but confused.

21. Hothouse Flowers, Barbican centre, 1997 – some kind of reunion gig, it might have been billed under the singer’s name – I forget now. I was dragged there by some Irish guys I once knew – Greg, if you read this, get in touch.

22. Orbital, Wolverhampton Civic, 1997 – They played a ravey version of Belinda Carlisle’s Heaven Is A Place On Earth. The place errupted.

23. Garbage, Reading Festival, 1996 – Shirley Manson kept squatting down and grinding over her microphone, like a stripper.

24. Sonic Youth, Reading Festival, 1996, a sound like an orchestra of vacuum cleaners. I left the field before it made me go insane.

25. Kula Shaker, Reading Festival, 1996 – played a version of best Beatles b-side ever, Rain. They rocked. Not a fashionable opinion I know.

26. The Divine Comedy, Wolverhampton Civic, 1996 – after every song the crowd asked him to play the Father Ted song, “My Lovely Horse”, which he refused. The boring twat.

27. Stone Roses, Reading Festival, 1996 – final disastrous gig before they split. I witness a fan stomping his Reni hat into the mug shouting, “what the fuck has happened to the Stone Roses?”

28. The Prodigy, Reading Festival 1996 – Very stop / start with the beat.

29. Julian Cope, Reading Festival, 1996 – played a really enjoyable greatest hits set that won over an unsure crowd. Big silly hat helped.

30. Black Grape, Reading Festival 1996 – it was rumoured Shaun wouldn’t show because of a fatal overdose.

31. Marcella Detroit, Wolvestock, 1996 – an extremely out of place appearence for this ex- Shakespear’s Sister, in a free festival in Wolverhampton. She was jeered at and was a bit arsey with the crowd.

32. My Life Story, Wolvestock, 1996 – riding high on their almost hit “12 reasons why I love her” they did a lively pop show with lots of pretty girls playing violins and someone running around the stage holding up placards for the lyrics.

33. Ozric Tentacles, Wolvestock, 1996 – smelly crusties cheered. The only act playing that day that had a real following in the crowd.

34. Dinosaur JR, Wolverhampton Poly, 1995 – played so loud my teeth vibrated. Only recognised one song – their cover of The Cure’s Just Like Heaven.

35. Mega City Four, Wolves Poly, 1994 – some bloke spent the entire gig spitting at their singer Wiz.

36. The Orb, Leeds University, 1992 – There were lots of lights, and students pretending to be on pills – most of them were probably on cider – but nothing to see on stage.

37. Spiritualised, Wolverhmapton, 1992 – Their music was so slow most people sat down cross legged, except 1 guy down the front who did Bez-style baggy dancing. Future wife of Richard Ashcroft was on the keyboards, sporting, what my sister would have once called “an inverted plait”.

38. Sunscream, Leeds University, 1992 – bloke asked me after the gig what I thought of it, trying to be clever I said “about as relevant as Saxon”, chappy then tells me he’s the keyboard player and wanders off.

39. Five Thirty, Wolverhampton, 1991 – Short, wore very tight sixties style trousers and were very rock and roll.

40. Chapterhouse, 1991 – stared at their shoes and chubby teenage girls cooed at the front.

41. The Catherine Wheel, Wolverhampton, 1991 – I chatted to the singer Rob Dickinson in the loo and he said my questions were like a journalist’s. At the time I thought that was a compliment, in retrospect I could read it differently.

42. The Wonder Stuff, Aston Villa Liesure Center, 1989 – the last gig the Rob “The Bass Thing” Jones played. Miles Hunt kept hugging him during the gig – I don’t think he wanted him to leave. Jones died a few years later of a heroin overdose.

43. Wrath Child, Wolverhampton Civic, 1989 – hair metal glam rockers – they pulled some poor guy out of the audience and made him get naked. He had a very small penis.

44. PWEI, Aston Villa Liesure Center, 1989 – a member of the band had broken his leg and had this great electric chair that rose to the ceiling. That’s how to do it.

45. The Cure, Birmingham NEC, 1990 – so many people, boys and girls, dressed as Robert Smith. If I had a camera and a time machine I’d love to see a few photos of this.

46. Jesus and Mary Chain, Hummingbird, Birmingham, 1989 – I remember the intro tape better than the short set – they played the wonderous John Trubee’s Blind Man’s Penis.

47. The Perfect Disaster, Hummingbird Birmingham, 1989 – there was this song “time to kill” where every phrase was time this, and time that. Hearing the studio version for the first time today it’s a lot less goth than I remember.

48. Fields of the Nephilim, Hummingbird Birmingham, 1988 – attracted an older than I was used to crowd (I was 14) and I found it a bit frightening. Including someone with a spiders web tattoed on their face. The mosh pit was violent and people were chanting for a song called “Power” which the band refused to play.

49. Popstars R.I.P, Finchfield, 1988 – the first and only time I attempted a gig, we played a friend’s front room, I had such a panic attack, I spent the whole time tuning my guitar. Nobody ever suggested we should play again.

50. The Waterboys, Hummingbird, Birmingham, 1988 – first ever gig I went to, didn’t really know the band but a girl from school wanted to go. She wandered off when we got there and I danced alone.

Had a lovely time today, our four year old son Angus stayed with a friend and we got to lie in for once – we picked him up for lunch time (daddy! I don’t want to go!) and dragged him off to Camden Square for a quick picnic where he and his chum raced on scooters and played hide and seek.

Falling out of the picnic bag are leaflets given to us by a friend yesterday, they’re promoting National Art Hate Week 2009 at the Tate Modern – there’s a fantastic line on the back, “If a child offers you a painting during National Art Week you are to turn away in disgust.” Mind bogglingly wrongheaded, but I recognise the name of one of the artists, Billy Childish. My friend Dave once told me he’s one of the Stuckists, basically the spotty unloved friends of Damien Hurst & Tracy Emin, the ones who didn’t make loads of cash from the patronage of Charles Saatchi. They’re all extremely bitter that they’re poor.

“Oh they’re the Luke Haines of Art then?”, my wife says referring to Haines’ completely brilliant biography, “Bad Vibes: Britpop and My Part in Its Downfall.” “Exactly”, I say, “He did something similar himself once, in 2001 there was his National Pop Strike.”

My wife wants to work this afternoon, so I decide to take the elder son off to The National History Museum. I claim, “He does alright for parties and running about parks but surely he needs stuff to fill his imagination?” The truth is more that I fancy looking at some dinosaur bones.

Son is a bit weirded out by the museum. Everything in it is dead. “Why are they all dead daddy?” And most guilt making of all, “Why isn’t the panda moving daddy? Is he dead?” On seeing a baby seal he’s almost in tears, “We miss him so much.” The whole place is like a dead zoo of taxidermy.

This being less than a complete success we go into the nice bit with – thankfully alive – butterflies and learn how to tell the difference between moths and butterflies. Generally speaking, when moths land on a leaf they’ll sit with their wings spread whilst butterflies will put their wings up. Fantastic fact and if you’re reading this blog post waiting for me to stop rambling and get onto the bit where I get mugged then, sod it, enough scene setting I’ll get on with it.

6 o clock, me and my son are about 2 minutes from the house in Kentish Town and a woman calls out from a car.

“I wouldn’t normally ask a stranger but my car is nearly on empty and I need £3 to get enough petrol to get home.”

Is she a scam? I weigh her up – she’s not asking for much money and she’s also attractive and is displaying a lot of skin. I figure sod it, give her the money, if she’s a crim then I’ve got a story I can blog and if she’s not, well I’ve got a story that not everyone is a bullshit con artist.

I look in my wallet, I’ve only got £10 so I give her that. I say, “This can be an experiment in giving money to strangers. But can I take your photo?”

She doesn’t flinch. I say “smile”. I can’t stop myself grinning foolishly, I’m so going to blog this if she doesn’t turn up.

clicky for biggy

“Is coming round at 8:30 ok?” she asks and takes my business card which I’ve hastily scribbled my address on.

“Absolutely. I trust I’ll see you there.”

I get home and the first thing I do is tell my wife. “What do you think – does this photo look like a criminal?”

“She just looks normal”, my wife replies, “She’s sunburnt and yes, wearing that dress would be the best way to a pull a scam like this.”

“Worth £10 though”, I say, “Just to find out. She doesn’t look like someone who needs to be criminal to survive. I mean, she’d get a job in PR.”

“She could just be lazy”, my wife suggests, “Do this five times and you’ve got enough money to get pissed up or buy some coke. Maybe she’s been made redundant in the recession.”

I post on twitter and almost universally people think it’s a scam. There’s absolutely no way she’s turning up for 8:30

8:30 comes and I’m feeling nervous and excited. Part of me wants her to turn up to prove the twitterers wrong and part of me wants her not to turn up as this story will work so much better with the photo.

By 9 there’s no sign of her and I start writing this post and tell people I’ll post the photo if I hear nothing by 9:30. It’s now 9:39 and yes, I’ve been scammed.

I’m £10 down and I’m reminded that comedian Richard Herring recently blogged he was mugged for a £500 iphone whilst wearing a Hitler moustache and spent an alarming afternoon in the back of a police car looking for a black man whilst worrying that the police thought he was a right-wing nut case. He finished his post asking newspapers to buy his story for £10 more than he lost so that over-all he was in profit from theft.

I want to do the same thing, but at a lower scale because I’m only an internet micro celebrity and not a famous comedian. Therefore I want to raise £20 via PayPal. Give me your cash. My PayPal address is [deleted]. I promise not to spend the money on petrol, I can’t even drive.

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Update: Thanks to @pretprieel for £5. You are a beautiful man and if I had breasts I’d let you take a photo of them. However – I’m still £15 off my total I require to make a profit on being scammed, so anyone for any more please? All donations, however small, gratefully received.

Update2: Thanks to Ben Gott who lives in Connecticut and writes, “Just read your post, linked from a friend on Facebook, and figured I’d throw you £5, too. This sort of stuff happens here all the time—especially at rest stops along the highway.” Huzzah! That makes me at 50% of my total. The internet WILL win this battle. (It’s really making me giggle, using this scam to basically panhandle. I’ll stop if I reach £20, I promise.)

Update 3: Ha ha – Alasdair MacLeod has given me £1.56. C’mon on internet. We can do it!

Update 4: Ah fuck it. I’m bored of asking for cash, it feels dirty. I’ve raised £11.56 which is probably slightly less than the £10 I lost once the PayPal fees are factored in. Anyway, I’ll use the money to pay for ingredients for a Spag Bog which I mentioned in a previous post and you lot were demanding my recipe.

Update 5: £1.57 from Cr3. Thanks Paul. But please stop sending me money, I’ve stopped begging now. TOTAL: £13.13