Heading away into the distance but not quite out of the garden a scheme of molehills. Despite theinclement weather and the use of distorted guitars the mole wars are both hotting up and somehow cooling down. The damage is not insignificant but a useful consequence is that we now have a whole load of extra fine, clean and sifted soil with which we can bathe the young potatoes now bursting forth in the rabbit-proof compound. It may be, that for a short spell the sensible thing would be to declare some form of truce with the moles and take full advantage of the situation. Man and mole in partnership, the way that some religions see things happening in heaven I suppose with lions laying down with lambs and ferrets fiddling about with foxes and so on.
Some of the negative side of my attempts to copy the Beck bolero-ing thing.
For no good reason I'm coming around to appreciating Jeff Beck more than I ever did in the last thirty years. For ages I've dismissed him as some Spinal Tap ner' do well but recently I've changed my view and decided he really is a creeping genius. His peculiar tonal range, sporadic bursts, use of weird scales and inventive phrasing is wandering across my consciousness and creating in me a strange new and totally unrealistic set of ambitions. I want to play like Jeff but not with that haircut, it stops well before that. Of course the fact that my fingers are like a pack of Walls' best porkers and that my music brain is stuck firmly in the key of E and one big fat blues scale pattern isn't going to help much but any frog can dream (?).