Mike_the_Website_Guy

Paying for the inconvenience

she gets up in the morning dissatisfied.  Annoyed with herself she looks out the kitchen window at the Bullfinches feasting on the bird feeder, and wondersis life so bad? Why is this not enough for me?  She pours a cup of tea and butters a piece of toast, it’s delicious, she wonders again, what is it about so many of us, that stop us from enjoying our greatest commodity- time itself?  

She goes to the Doctor for her annual check-up, something that she has been doing since she retired from her job as a bookkeeper for a marketing firm.  The Doctor is behind schedule; he keeps her waiting for an hour and a half. Looking around the waiting room, she wonders what the Mother and her young teenage boy are there for? It’s obvious what the elderly man with his arm in a sling is there for.  His wife is there to look after him, but she looks like she can only barely look after herself.  She supposed that they were in their mid eighties, they were running out of time. She had a while to go before she would reach that precipice, what would she do between now and then? She couldn’t clearly see an answer.  Would she spend that precious decade and a half doing what she was doing, Just biding the time until there was none left? Checking her heart, checking her liver, making sure that the whole thing was tikkydeeboo so that she could do this?  Go on being only half alive, following the same patterns every day, avoiding inconvenience. 

She is a music lover. The town that she lives in hosts an Opera Festival every year, and although the music is not always as beautiful as Puccini, her favourite composer, she always makes a point of catching a few of the dress rehearsals in the hotel banquet room.   While she is there, she runs into an old friend from long ago, he is thin and frail, fighting a serious illness. He might be dying, yet she notices he is full of life. He wonders why an attractive woman like her never married, she tells him that she likes the order of her own company. 

He tells her that he has become a serious hi-fi enthusiast and that he only listens to vinyl.  He describes his prized ceremony of taking the album out of the dust jacket, and gently placing the needle upon the edge of the album.  And how much he loves foraging through old albums at record marts “They can tell a life story, one album had someone’s old wedding photo inside it” To her it all sounds so messy, it’s so much easier to play a CD or watch YouTube.  But with all life’s ease, she was beginning to feel numb.   She had her own Spotify Channel that only played what she wanted to hear. Then she remembered the first pleasure of listening to Tapestry by Carol King, letting one side play, before picking it up and turning it over, unfolding all those wonderful songs.  Alas, in the 90’s she deemed that vinyl was taking up too much room, and gave it all away, she wonders how can beauty take up too much room. 

Confronting herself now, she wonders, is her life too sanitized? Does she only walk on straight roads, without hills, or twists, or grass to mow? 

How could she fix this? Her life was too orderly and sensible.  Perhaps a turntable would be a good place to start, she wanted the beautiful inconvenience of what her friend described, and she was willing to pay for it now.

I’m definitely wearing one of them bloody masks the next time I get on an airplane; I don’t care how stupid I look. I mean every time I get on a plane I catch something. Going over to Ireland, I caught a cold off the baby sitting next to me, and coming back I caught the bloody flu, don’t know who I caught that from. But it doesn’t matter what the proximity is does it? I mean the bugs are all swimming around in the air aren’t they? They come out on the host’s breath and join in with the general bug traffic, into the cabin and from there through to the A/C where they are brought to the desired temperature of the cabin crew, back out again and up through the noses of everyone on board who is breathing. I saw a couple of people wearing masks this time and wondered what they did for a living, one guy looked like a musician, maybe even a singer. I looked at him once and drew those conclusions, but I didn’t bother looking at him again, so why not? Colds or flu are a nightmare for singers.

In spite of what you would think, I don’t like to draw attention to myself, and I care about what others think, even total strangers that I will never see again. But I must be moving into a different gear, because I am at the stage where I am willing to do this. I wouldn’t be walking around the cabin with it on though, would I? Just while I’m seated, that’s what that guy did, didn’t he? Oh shit I suppose not, you’d have to wear it from the start, before you get on the plane. Oh God I don’t know if I’m ready for that. I get enough attention as it is when I swing the bloody guitar up into the overhead, all 60 pounds of it in its travel case. All while that impossible traffic thing is happening, trying to get all the hand luggage that Clare had brought up above also, getting off the Canadian winter coat and finding the glasses and the book, standing and sweating profusely in the middle of a three foot wide aisle, while everyone else is impatiently waiting for you to get done. Trying to pull my arse in out of the way while stretching upwards. I think the mask might make that a lot harder, don’t you? Panting for air while looking like you have a compromised immune system, some kind of lethal disease. Ah shit I’m doomed; I couldn’t do that, could I?  

Any suggestions?

The good news is I am completely well now T.G (my mother used that one-‘Thank God’) and today I scouted my first gig in NY for nine months. 11th Street has upgraded its back room and made it even cozier, they got rid of the huge round table that used to trap people, and now they serve snacks as well as fine cocktails. They have installed a really nice new sound system also, I played the piano and felt the vibes, it’s going to be a lot of glee, like only the East Village can be, you can’t go astray, not a bad day for a Wednesday!!!  I advise that you get there at 8 p.m. for an 8.30 show. Fred will be there and Andriette and John, Kath had to be in England sadly for the funeral of her dear mother-in-law.

Tickets for 11th Street on Wednesday Feb 20th are available at the link on the Gigs page.  I look forward to seeing my NY brothers and sisters there. I love you enough to share your bugs, don’t I?  Pierce xxxxx

Friday, December 28th: Green Acres, Wexford
Sunday, March 10th: The Saint, Asbury Park, NJ
Sunday, March 17th: Joe’s Pub, New York, NY

I’m going around here, where am I going? Nowhere! I’m just looking for a place to stop, a place to park. It’s Christmas time in Wexford and the town is swamped with cars and dogs and buskers and shoppers, and them Christmas songs pouring from little horns overhead. There is an ice skating rink on the Quay, and a children’s choo choo train on wheels, all lit up and sparkling, only the bored driver sits inside, but it goes around just like me. I dropped Clare off in the Bull Ring, the most central place, and went off looking for a parking place. I have a gig here in town at Green Acres, that’s on December 28^th.

I drive up Cornmarket past Paddy Kelly’s furniture shop, it’s been there for decades, they used to sell clothes in there too. Manly stuff -wellingtons, corduroy trousers and sports jackets. Every summer my father would require a pair of summer trousers and a new sports coat, clothes suited to the hot weather (sic). However he was a bit shy about fitting things on, so my mother would go there and order an assortment to be sent down to the house. He would try them on in the kitchen and my mother and sister would pass comment, it was a common practice all over town.  Lovely people the Kellys, they seem to be surviving with the furniture thank God. 

I go back down Abbey Street past Whites Hotel, nice decorations in the bar, not that many in there though, down past Selskar Abbey from the 1100’s (no roof now, for tax purposes) and shit I’m off on the one way street roundabout again, back down past Dunne’s and on to the Quay again.

There’s a spot on the right-hand side going in the opposite direction, but I can’t swing over there because so much traffic is coming off the bridge. And on I go, shit I’m going up past the Bull Ring again – I am sweating now from a singular position.  God I have got to get rid of this car, I would do anything, and if someone said ‘you can park here but you can’t have the car back’ I would say ‘OK’ I swear. 

Up past Kelly’s again and and and…… what!!! There’s a spot, I pull in and put money in the meter, and think, ‘Now what’ll I do, what was I out here for?” 

Are you coming to Green Acres?  If you are home for Christmas and live within 40 miles, I expect to see you. We have a grand piano on stage and an upright out in the audience, Mick Egan will play guitar with me and we’ll sing together, and laugh and drink all kinds of fancy wine and beer, work off some of that dinner in the process.  Back to New York at the end of January with Joe’s Pub on March 17^th.  That’s one of the top five venues in America, in spite of the humble name.

I love you more than Paddy Kelly’s.

Merry Christmas.

Look, after a year of hurting and sometimes blurting, I just want to say to all my friends, no matter which side you’re on, you’re my friend and I still love you, and no matter what, if you’re my friend you probably love music, so let music be our language in unison, eventually we will learn harmony again. Px
Don’t forget, Christmas at home at Green Acres Dec 28th-tkts at Green Acres
and a very special St Patricks Day at one 0f the top five venues in America Joe’s Pub.

I’m back from County Clare, it’s four and a quarter hours from there to here.  Bernard, who was hosting the gig in the old reformed school house in Maghera, warned me that there were several Maghera’s and that everyone gets lost looking for his place.  This information put me into a bit of a panic, because Mike and I are now known throughout the world as the team who always get lost.  I went straight to Clare (my wife, not the county) with this issue and pleaded for help, she is pretty good at this kinda thing.  A day later Clare handed me my phone and said that she had programmed Maghera into it.  And yes there was one in Northern Ireland, and not to worry, this was the right one.  She had tried putting in St Stephens Church, which was next to the Old School House, but Mrs Google said NO!  Happy with Clare’s assertion that we were covered, I left it at that.

First we had to get to Limerick, that was easy enough, and then we turned on Mrs Google.  She sounded confident and even though she speaks with an American accent, she seemed to know her way around County Clare well enough.  She told us we were an hour and ten minutes away from Maghera, great said I to Mike, we are going to be early! 

The road signs began to indicate names that Bernard had mentioned in his warning about the different Maghera’s, there’s one up on the mountain too, he said, “Where there is an R.T.E mast, but we’re nearer to Tulla”  Said he, and I was heartened to have seen a sign for Tulla.  Now the road was getting narrower, and the sun began to descend behind the silhouetted trees and muddy sky.  Tulla became nearer and nearer, and I cheered Mike on. “We are really close now” says I.  “Only five kilometers to Tulla”  “wee-haw” Cried he from behind the wheel. 

Several clicks later Mrs Google gave us a new command “Veer slightly to the right in two minutes” What happened to distances I thought to myself, shouldn’t it be a hundred yards or whatever?  Then there it was, a kind of slide to the right, we took it and descended down a small hill.  This was a very narrow road, only fit for one car really, an S.U.V came towards us with the attitude that we were invisible, we pulled into the ditch, my passenger side buried itself in the wild thorny bush, we heard an aggressive thump, the S.U.V hadn’t bothered to slow down as he banged our side mirror back and went upon his way.  We had been climbing hills for a while on our previous narrow road, now we were climbing again on an even narrower one.  Bernard did say that he was a good bit out.  On we went for about fifteen minutes, and then Mrs Google instructed us to take another right in a couple of minutes.  This was a different matter completely, as soon as we turned on to it, we could see that it was a whole other class of ruggedness, we expressed some consternation out loud to each other, but like the good lapsed Catholics that we are, went onward. 

It was a down road, pitch dark with pools of mucky water and undisturbed rocks, in fact the road appeared undisturbed, like maybe no one ever went near it.  We kept going, Bernard did say it was a good bit out.  We came to the bottom of a muck hill in a swamp, and were on our way out of it while praying, when Mrs Google said “You have arrived”  “What?? Are you fucking joking me!” There was nothing, more of nothing than I had ever seen.  Empty black fields behind stark briary bush, scarecrow trees, Mucky ground, mucky skies, and a lonely moon that badly needed charging.  We were alone in the middle of a black and brown nowhere, and suddenly it felt a bit frightening, could we get out of there? And if we could, where were we? Why was Google maps saying that this was it?  I got out just in case, to take a look across the fields, maybe this was it?  Bernard did say he was a good bit out, Nope, not a light or a lamp to be seen for miles.

We needed to turn around and get out of there, how? Mike remembered that there was an old gate back there where we could probably turn. We were backing up through the slippery mud and deep puddles, when Mike said he wasn’t sure if it was front wheel drive or rear, panic again.  I got out and directed him, slipping in the muck and covering myself in it.  We turned around and made it back to the road, where a man was building a new house in the dark with a floodlit digger.  “We were in the middle of nowhere” said I to him like a broken man.  “Well you’ll have to go back to the middle of nowhere agin”  Said he in a thick Clare accent, pronouncing Maghera “Mowra”  I put St Stephens Church into google, and this time she recognized it because we were so near.  We found it! and now I have to stop and rest. Phew!

There were French people there from Bordeaux someone from Germany, a woman from Wexford, solicitors, accountants, film makers and musicians, and Sally the cute little Jack Russel, and Martin Hayse’s cousin who told us that Martin lived right where we had landed by mistake, in the middle of nowhere. This is a photo of the gig.  They say the Wesht is Besht.

I Have a friend who does a sock and a shoe, and a sock and a shoe. He was very annoyed when we all laughed at the idea, and I have to admit it’s a bit odd that we all thought it was so odd.  It’s such a minor thing, isnt it? Who cares how anybody puts on their shoes and socks, who ever said that there was a right and wrong way.  Non-one ever told me to put my socks on first and then the shoes, it’s not any quicker.  In fact if something were to go wrong, like the building catching fire, it might be better to have one shoe than none, of course you’d have to hop out of the building, but if the ground was hot, it would be helpful.

But what is so odd is our asuumptions that the way we are doing it, is the only way.  I remember being equally shocked when a friend of my Brothers said that in his family they did not put butter on the bread before the Jam.  He didn’t see why it was necessary, what had butter got to do with jam he asked.  I once told my Brother (the same one) that I hated if bread was soggy, never would put tomato’s in a sandwich, because it would get wet.  Then I explained that I never have food in my mouth, especially bread, when I drink tea or any liquid, he just didn’t believe me, after I insisted, he thought it was really odd.   

Of course, since then, I have found that there are many odd enough things about me, one of them is that I like to play in Parlours-not exactly the road to world domination.  Furthermore, I have no desire to dominate the world. I have had letters of disapointment from people who are great supporters, regarding this. “Just give it one more major push Pierce, please”  It’s hard to be a fan of someones music, if they are in a vaccum, it takes a bit of courage to say I like this guy that no-one ever heard of.  After my recent London gig (thanks to those who were there, great gig)  a woman with a London accent came up to me and said she had really enjoyed the show but. “When I called my Irish friend and told her excitedly that I had tickets for you, she said that she had never heard of you, I was gutted”  she then made an expression that seem to suggest she had been cheated by the (real) quotes and the blurb in the fancy brochure for Crazy Coqs-even though she loved the show, she felt unfullfilled because her excitement wouldn’t  hold water when it came to delighting about her experience, because I wasn’t well known. I gave her the answer that I always give about her friend “well she’s heard of me now!”

Bernard Dowd, who is hosting a Parlour show in his wonderful converted School House in Ennis Co Clare, has asked me to give his number out for anyone who might want to attend, knowing that I seldom play in that area he is saving 10 spaces, so here it is-Bernard Dowd in Ennis, Co Clare.  0874686578-I am playing there on Saturday November 24^th.

I love you more than my upright piano.  Pierce xxx

Tickets are on sale for The Hot Spot Greytones Dec 7th

And Greenacres Wexford on Dec 28^th……Christmas.

Blown away in Brighton.

I grew up by the sea, it lived across the road from us on the quay, upstairs in the sitting room with that blazing fire at my back, I often peeked past the curtains at its commotion.  From my bedroom on the third floor the seagulls announced the dawn with their yelps as they circled the Dutch coal boats in pursuit of their morning slop.

Now I am in Brighton U.K. where the seagulls play a much bigger part than they did in Wexford.  Their announcement of the dawn is like the sound of an advancing army, thousands of yelps, squawks and baby squeaks of laughter, many Brightonians would like to mow them down, or make them wear diapers at least. Sometimes you can hear the blood- curdling Banshee-like wail of a Fox as she fights with a Mammy Gull, I am told the Foxes go after their babies, and that sometimes the Gulls go after the Fox cubs. I go out and there is a baby Gull standing on the roof of the car, right in the middle, like an ornament.  I know it’s a baby because it is not white yet. They are beautiful animals, but they leave their mark everywhere, long brown splatters mixed with subtle feather clings to almost every available glass surface.  Shit- upon windows are more common than untarnished ones.

Down by the beach (if you don’t presume a beach to mean sand) they stand still in the wind, like a suspended sculpture, it feels like you can reach out and touch them, and they seem unperturbed by that possibility, a live animal meditates within arms length, floating into the weather.  I retreat to the café (pronounced Caff here) on the waterfront, there guarded by canvas windbreakers I consume a sausage sandwich and a cup of tea and think of what I should write to you.

I miss my American friends, how are you?  I will be back in January; I look forward to seeing you.

If you are in England, I have a great gig coming up between here and France. November 2^ndat Crazy Coqs in Picadilly Circus, the very heart of London-this is one of England’s great venues with a Grand Piano on the stage, it is the English version of Manhattan’s Joe’s Pub.

In the meantime I am writing and sleeping and looking and listening.

And I still love you more than fish……. and chips.  Pierce  xxxxx

To book tickets go here https://www.brasseriezedel.com/live-at-zedel/pierce-turner-nov-2018?date=157370711

Also I am heading back to The Hot Spot for a follow up to the last great gig there, tickets at the Hotspot- On Dec 7^th.  And Greenacres for a home town Christmas gig on Dec 28^th tickets at Greenacres.

Check out this interview that I did recently with KCLR 96FM, ahead of my gig in Kilkenny:

Just got back from a couple of gigs in the West of Ireland. 

Hit Cork City, then drove south west to Ballydehob, or as I call it, Ballydequityourjob!  ‘cos it seems like most people who live in this idyllic little haven have moved there with the wisdom of a Buddhist Monk. 

I am sure that the waiters in the little café across the Street from Levis Corner Shop, were hording PHD’s in their biscuit tins above in the attic. 

Joe from Levi’s found time to run this great spot, share the minding of his beautiful daughter Johanna, one year and three months old, going on PHD.  His wife Caroline had a lap top attached to her as she levitated around with the calmness of a Ballydehobian, doing some kind of computer work and minding Johanna, as well as helping with shop. Joe’s Mother Joanne, always seem to be leaving as she was staying, and you’d be mistaken to think she didn’t have the run of the place.  I asked Joanne could we put the TV on to watch England playing Sweden.  Caroline, Joe and little Johanna were at the Farmers Market in Skib (Skibereen) and like all TV’s, their TV didn’t like strangers trying to turn it on.  It didn’t even recognise Joanne. 

(Astonished by the sun)

“Ara don’t worry about it Joanne” said I, picking up the Cork accent.

“Ara no, I’ll give Joe a call”

I really didn’t want her to go through all this trouble for me, and didn’t want to interfere with Caroline and Joe’s fun at the market.  Mike and I went in to set up the gear for the gig, Joanne kept fiddling away, she was intent on sorting this out.  We were hammering out my loudest song “The Sky and The Ground” with the drum machine at full wallop, when Joanne came in a said how wonderful it sounded, because she is a Mammy, I half expected her to recoil from the volume, but no! she loved it, and said I should stop while I was ahead.

“You’ll be worn out”

Off she went inside to have another go at the Tellee.

“I figured it out”  says she, “It wasn’t plugged in! How the hell could it work if wasn’t plugged in”

It was 3pm and they were singing God Save The Queen.  I made up a salad and sat down to watch, thinking how great Joanne was for going through this much trouble for Mike and myself.  To my surprise Joe’s Mother sat down too, folding her arms she became engrossed with the proceeding, she meant business.  I wondered how long she would last, she lasted!

“Ara how could he miss that?  He shoulda just kicked the bloody thing.  Ah shur he’s way off side for God sake”

He was! And the bloody Ref didn’t even see it.

The Sun continues to be lost, it must’ve confused Ireland with Spain, dementia I believe.  Long may its little happy head be muddled, for we are a gladder people, if this goes on we might even play like the Spaniards and win the World cup.

Next week…Wexford, the centre of the universe.  The beautiful Green Acres even has Air Conditioning, not put in there for us mind you, it’s for the Art, but we get to use it anyway, so cool beer and wine with cool air.  I’ll have something new for you, and we will sing Orange Coloured Sun in the summer of our lives. 

Two more gigs added just added, The AKA Kilkenny Arts Festival in an Elizabethan Pub called The Hole In The Wall, only holds 50.  And an ancient Church in Cellbridge Co Kildare – where they serve free wine on a grass covered mound mingled with ancient gravestones, as only the Protestants could.

I love you more than I can remember.

Pierce xxxx

The Green Acres show will be dedicated to my dear friend Michael Carroll who sadly died last month, still a young man-Michael helped me hugely through I.T. snaggery he was such a special person.  And to his beautiful young family who must be so heartbroken.

We love you Michael-hope you are getting to the bottom of one of your great passions; the paranormal.

Wexford Town-Greenacres Selskar July 20^th-9pm tix at Greenacres

The Hole In The Wall -The AKA Kilkenny Arts Festival Aug 9^th-9pm Tix at tickets.ie

The Tay Lane Church Celbridge Kildare-Aug 24^th– 9pm