Good day and good after, It’s been a while since I’ve used the internet, which I’m kind of happy about, I spent a while in solitude with my dog, barack, trying to teach him how to eat properly, he just ain’t go no manners, that pup.

    Enough about me though, I‘m just an intro, you’re probably wondering what that lads have been up to, I know I have. Haven’t made it down to Kilkenny in a while either but when I did I caught up with a few of them. I met Danny with his face in a bowl of soup in the Yard café, he was surprised to see me, but I’m not paying for the dry cleaning. He told me about a little festival they played in Blessington named Knockan  Stockan, man oh man, sounded like a complete disaster. Rumour has it, the lads were headlining on the main stage, but the band before were allowed to cut 40 minutes into their set, during Stuck In The Mud, their forth song, some wizard of a sound engineer decided to turn off all the microphones. ‘Curfew’, he said, but only to himself, not to anyone who might have liked to know about it. Then they found out Eoghan’s keys had been turned off long before the vocals, I guess this is guerrilla engineer tactics to slowly wean a band offstage without using old fashion communication. So hats off to Knockan Stockan. They did say the countryside was something special, and they highly endorsed the usage of Jamaican Rum, but not of 29cent cola, I agree boys, I agree. Danny told me he’d just come off the radio with Sue Nunn. Sue’s apparently got more muscles in her tongue than miss universe has in her whole body, but they kept things to a sort of musical conversation, playing Louise and I’m Just a Man. There’s a man named…scruffy, or scrappy, or shaggy, one of them, he’s got it on a recording machine so keep tight and they’ll get it to you.
    I met Conor swapping the engines of two Mazda 323’s. He said he liked Knockan Stockan, said he jammed out a bit of Jimi with T-Balls and The Machine before a Jaguar Bass nearly hit him in the head and they turned the stage lights off on him. He gets some funny kicks. Conor had the kind of peace that a man receives when his second child is born. I asked him what was new and he told me that Rory Broderick was after putting five new valves into his Fender amp and giving it a sort of colonic irrigation. He sure was beaming, said the amp is singing like a new born polar bear with a robin in its throat. This I’ll have to see, I thought. So I followed him that night to Ryan’s bar. Last thing I remember, I was waiting for them to play while getting to know this famous Jamaican rum they were telling me about, and for some reason I ended up falling asleep trying to find the bottom of one of those big green industrial wheelie bins. No harm done. They said the gig was special, that they tried out a new stage setup, a sort of symmetrical projection of bass by having Teeno in the middle and Eoghan and Thompson to his respectful right and left hand. I was sure sorry I missed it, and because of a mishap with a fake credit card and man who looks uncannily like me, I missed their gig in Langton’s the following night where a bunch of funky hostel dwellers kept the dance floor alive for them. But I caught up with them on Sunday in the unlikeness of a trad festival in their local Thomastown haunt, Murphy’s. Most of the heads were either severely or tempting hung-over, so I settled in nicely after sleeping in the back of a car. I didn’t see any trad, only someone try sing a sean-nós song to echoes of ‘cúnas’, but the River Valley Band are their own form of traditional. So who’s complaining? I like their new setup, they only had one speaker when I saw them, but they kept the floor beer stained and I’m pretty sure I saw one girl’s breast fall out because of her dancing. Better out than in, is that the saying? Good job to the sound engineer, I think his name was Kazzazerz, they could have used him at Knockan Stockan. Thompson was playing in bare feet, I asked was it because of Christy Dignam’s ’closer to god’ theory, he said he needed to keep some clean socks for the morning.  There you go. After the gig they jammed all sorts of requests and repertoires until the boys in blue came and cleared out the pub faster than I could get up off the couch, which probably explains why they left me in there. For good times, try Murphy’s times.
    That was the end of my stint, I had to go back on the road and try lock down a deal on a house up in Cashel. I met up with Uncle Dave before leaving though, he still had a clenched fist over the Wicklow incident but he said there were a few things loosening its grip. Kimberly, for one, was going to have her date locked down for a September release, Mick Minogue is sketching up the artist’s portrait, and there are some big strong hands helping out the lads in a seven or eight date tour of the country to promote the single, plus a bit of Omnipresence in our fair media. I should be happy, he said. I was happy. Happier now the smell of Jamaican rum was washed out of my clothes anyway. He said he was knocking on the door to the Fringe Festival too. I won’t be missing that one. All the all, the camp is still there, the fire is getting bigger, there’s a few folk coming down from the mountains for food, shelter and warmth and another few folk coming down to offer gifts in return for their children to have some friends to play with. I’ll be back with firewood and tales and maybe play a bit of Loretta Lynn or Nathan Conway with them soon.  Which means you will too, hope to see you on the road. Until then,
Billy. R. Sands.

Here's a rough version of a song-to-be, it's recorded on my phone, a sony ericsson, the chunky one with the circles.

And here's the words, I say tweeted instead of treated on the recording. It's got nothing to do with twitter, i assure.

Enjoy,

Thompson.

If you’re feeling like something new,

I got just the girl for you,

Bet she’d make you rethink the book

With just one look,

Don’t use lipstick, her hair is curled,

The girl’s a mystic, out of this world,

Someone told me she’s twenty nine,

Don’t waste no time,

Bet she’d drink you under the bar,

I hear she plays a mean guitar,

If she tells you her lips are wet,

Play hard to get,

 

All the girls are driven mad,

The boys all say she’s the best they’ve ever had,

She wouldn’t be seen, not in your wildest dreams,

Every time I meet her I think, ‘girl, you’re bad’,

If you’re looking for something new,

She’s the man for you,

 

Jack of diamonds, ace of spades,

She’s seen all the cards been played,

Take a gamble, take a shot,

Raise the pot,

I hear she came from New Orleans,

Here she’s treated like a queen,

And she’s playing with her new toys;

The Irish boys,

Keep your distance if you’re shy,

Don’t think you’ll see eye to eye,

This one gives it all up front,

Oh boy she’s blunt,

 

All the girls are driven mad,

The boys all say she’s the best they’ve ever had,

She wouldn’t be seen, not in your wildest dreams,

Every time I meet her I think, ‘girl, you’re bad’,

If you’re looking for something new,

She’s the man for you,

 

She got extras added on,

All of her bad bits are gone,

There’s nobody could be her match,

Quite the catch,

She’d be wearing eight inch heels,

Still as cute as a baby seal,

More than able to chew a bone,

A danger zone,

So if you’re bored and feeling brave,

Try and catch the crest of her wave,

But her water’s not here nor there,

So boy beware,

 

All the girls are driven mad,

The boys all say she’s the best they’ve ever had,

She wouldn’t be seen, not in your wildest dreams,

Every time I meet her I think, ‘girl, you’re bad’,

If you’re looking for something new,

She’s the man for you,

Hi Everyone,

I just want to say a big thankyou to everyone who came down to the gig last night in whelans. The night.. was absolutely amazing. There was a full house last night and lots of great music. I could.. not have hoped for the night to have gone any better. Myself and the lads have worked hard over the last while and it was great for it all to come together on the night and to play in front of a full house in the main venue in whelans.

I have to say a big thankyou to a few people though who all were part in making this a Brlliant night. Jacqui Carroll, Jac thanks a mill for everything. Jacqui interviewed the lads on the night and was there all night filming away and recording the lads live. Thanks a mill Jac your an absolute star.

NC lawlor who loves the lads music just as much as I do. We played in the frontbar sessions with him two weeks running building up to the gig and I have to say there were a good few people last night that came along who saw the lads at those sessions. we loveya man. Thanks a mill.

The Hot Sprockets who played a blinder before the lads, they are a great bunch of guys and I hope last night was the start of many gigs with them They really rocked the place last night, Thanks a mill lads.

Also to Terry and all the photographers who came along.. last night.. to snap away, Terry.. you got some great shots looking forward to seeing the rest of them.

and whelans of course, I have worked in whelans for years now, it was one of the first venues I worked in doing the photography. They have given me so much support and help with The River Valley Band. They have given us Resident slots which. we hope to do one in March and a few in april. We also hope to build.. up to an andre..ws lane theat..re gig during the summer. So Thanks a mill to Joe and all the whelans crew for all your help and support.

Again though, a big thanks to everyone who came to see the lads play last night, the reception you gave them was amazing and everyone cheering for more after the gig, you gave myself and the lads a very special nght. We will have photos and video soon so check back soon and have a look.

Thanks everyone

Dave

Here we are again, back in the blogroom wiith Billy Raver Sands. Let me apologise firstly for being away for so long. As it turns out, i had a lot of loose ends and not enough tight starts so i became a sort of business man for a while. Just taking care of things, that's all, nothing too serious. Making the walls of my home stronger, changing strangers into friends and stretching me achin' back. The speed of the world, it's only as fast as you want it to be, a sloth or blue lightning.
     But hell, i'm back as a man of leisure, running around ain't my cup of meat. These old legs do best when they're resting on mahogany. I went back to the happy valley and caught up with my good river valley friends. They look the same, apart from the odd cut or bruise, but it all adds character they say. They've been in Dublin, under the bright lights and into the deep dark wood of Whelan's front bar. If you've ever been to Whelan's on a Sunday night, you'd know of a national treasure there named N.C.Lawlor who plays a slide guitar like he's got the devil lighting a fire under his leather. He's been supporting the river valley band and letting them make some big noise in little space. For such a mean sound he's got a good heart. I didn't see the gigs, on Sundays i like to go to my Grandmother's house and indulge in her homemade whiskey, you won't get a sip like my grandmmother's whip, poor old Jack.D would taste like holy water in comparrison. Mind you, i'm making a point of going this Saturday night to Whelan's main venue, where mr.Lawlor and The Hot Sprockets will also be sweating on the boards. You'll have to pay eight euro if you go, my admission will probably be a flask of grandma's whip. Hope to see you at the bar, that's where i'll be spending most of my time, talking to a statue about women and cars and how cars make better wives but women are better to ride. Don't hold that against me ladies, blame the auto-industry.
     If you don't make it this Saturday night, don't fret, the band will be making plenty of appearances in Dublin. They're only laying foundations now and soon you'll have to walk around their sculptures to get to work.
     I went to get a sneak preview of the new tracks and found Eoghan sliding around on the ivory of a wall piano, i won't tell you what kind of dreams came after that. Then stuck in the mud, one of two new editions to the album, came bouldering down from the second floor and played on my inner city like a harp from hell. If i get behind a wheel to that i'll probably knock down somebody, and it will feel good...until the song ends.  Roll on summer. I barely made it through the winter. How about you? Ireland seems to keep its head down during those months don't it? Everyone just kind of waits for the days to turn into days again and the outside world to be a comfortable place to sit in. It'll do you damage being cooped up inside a stonehouse finding waves of entertainment to drowned in. Be like Thoreaux, only with a rock and roll kind of silence and more frisbee. It's going to be a hot summer either way, the land is going to get burned and all the fickle creatures of winter woes will quiver in flaming flickers of summer's amicable carnage.
More fool to winter.

Roll on.

Bill

So, you're probably not going to believe this, but i was in idaho the other night and i got talking to a man at a fruit and vegetable stall with one ear. He was only buying things that were red. I cast my voice toward his remaining ear and said, 'you know that's going to make one hell of a stinkin' dish', and he says, ' it's the colour, i need to KNOW red'. I asked him why he doesn't just take a few peppers out on a date. He was a serious looking son of a bitch but he laughed at my remark. We swapped stories and i told him i looked after The River Valley Band, he said he had a friend who was big into them and that i should go down to his studio and talk more. I bought him a tomato and went back to his place, real messy kinda place, couldn't find your shoes if you dared to take them off. Well there was his friend, strumming away on the floor, looking like he walked out of a picasso painting, and i asked him if he knew Charles The Beatnik. Well sure as heck he did and he started plucking that rickety old nylon. I gave old red the words and proposed to make a quick music video to lighten the mood before we started squashing up chillies, and sure as heck the man could sing. Sounded mighty like our Danny too.

Here's what i captured:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YYVk_M2ZZKE

Things get better, things get worse, things turn into things, things are generally very versatile in their ability to conform to most and every verb and execute it with shining opposites and counterparts.

Things are things.

How are things? You gotta stop and check every so often. It's all well in bad staring at a tv, or keeping your head on a warm shoulder at night, or keeping yourself behind a wall that's barely tall and thick enough to keep out any winding truth...but there're things at play beneath it all that are best to stare in the eye so that next time you don't have to build your wall as high. There's a fox in the ditch and you're driving by and the radio's blasting and he's changing his eyes and it's more than spectacular, more than just nature, and you've heard the song thousands of times. You're the creature that locks himself down, that bleeds to lick wounds to slide off of the hook when the  first alarm sounds.

Be calm. Things get better, things get worse, don't give attention to the flux. It's a forest, a desert, an ocean bled dry, a picture, a portrait, a smoke ring gone by, it's a needle, a pencil, a pillar, a bone, it's the veins of the ever that you call your own. Come frost on our pavement, come blessings or curse, things will get better and things will get worse.

But that's all a given, a gift from above, an image of freedom for freedom to shove, our thoughts score the cards now, the umpire of bones making juice from his muscle to sell to the pardoned, and on goes the game with it's players more hardened, on goes the killing of factory wardens, on goes the presence of ignorant burdens, on goes the soft-spoken trying to get words in, on goes the ghosts ambling sideways in glasses, the fast, friendly passes that hang in no instant, arguing back with the ghost of saint vincent that neither are equal, that none speak to sway, that both are impartial to worms in the clay, that one will come nowhere and one will come first, for all things get better and all things get worse.

So where do we go from here?
The same place we always go of course, everywhere and none.Two days left of summer, then it's back to parenting our schizophrenic weather child, the windy bad moods, the stormy tantrums, the deep dark clouds that he plays with and having to turn the giant light out early so the little runt might go to sleep. Mind you, there might be one vice to carry us through the condo of winter, a vice named Drunk in the Wine Cellar. It was redeemed on Sunday, july 27th, wearing a diamond suit and a new haircut. All mixed, mastered, mashed, melded, moulded, morphed and meddled with. So the boys threw a tea party and nodded their heads like toy dogs on car dashboards. It wont be long before their coming to a town near you to offer up thier services in folded cardboard pockets. The schedule looks good. August will host two gigs in the kilkenny region amidst the post production, september will be a hiatus to plan an irish tour, and the future is, as always, unknown.

So don't stray to far on whatever scent you sniff out, keep in touch, you and me, just like it always was, you'll be the pauper and i'l be the pauper too and we can make obscene gestures to the prince as he prances past us.

Until we dance to the same packet of biscuits,

Your squire,
billy the kid.

Good evening socialites and streetworms, i hope you're all eating light and laughing hard. It's the end of june, where's the party? Don't be so miserable, it's no time to be in the company of your bedroom walls, wrapping sellotape around your hard formed opinions to try make them waterproof when you stick your head in the grand currents. We're scattered like the coming leaffall, makin', breakin' or just playin' with the change in our pockets. I met those river valley bandites on the weekend, theywere smokin' cheap cigars, playing poker and singin' about a horse with glanders and a heartbroken optimist. Now i ain't an optimistic sort, but i felt a whole lot better after hearin' that, and sure enough, when it comes to a town near you you'll feel the same. The guys are playing in Ryan's Public House on Friary Street on july the eighteenth, you'll hear some new screams there. Drunk in the wine cellar has been held hostage it seems, i was kickin' on the machino's door sayin 'COME ON! JESUS CHRIST, YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO HAVE IT AGES AGO!', but he just looked at me calmly and said something profound about the unimportance of the passing of time...scarily calm. Still, half of the tasty pancake is home soon, and he'll be out with his pen and syrup to get the engines back in full steam and serve your order. So, keep your boots shiny and your hair slick and your stomach flabby and your bras full of strange gels and whatever other else crazy kind of all styles and sorts you seem fine to stick your neck out for and stay laughin. I'm billy raver sands, saying goodnight june.

Hello earthly neighbours, it's your friend Billy, i hope you've all been keeping a good balance of your feet on the ground and your head in the clouds.

The Rhythm & Roots festival fell upon us last weekend, let us run through its maze of wire mesh and shooting sparks while picking up any tokens we could find, then it took off again to leave us with that 'someone just passed away' feeling, and we're all the more appreciative of the good times for it. The man behind the curtain was John Cleere, a pensive, well dressed, strong headed man. The kind of man that could carry a festival on his shoulders while not spilling a drop of his drink, he deserves the tipping of a great many hats and i sure hope he gets them in full.

On the first day there was sun. It was also Eoghan's nephew's birthday (who later would get naked, wield his mighty staff and rub his bum off us all), so as luck would have it, a great big bouncy castle was planted outside the shack. I can still see that big clowns head on top of it, you could see it for miles, even when it wasn't there, and for a minute i began to empathise with those poor folk who have coulrophobia (a fear of clowns). I decided that the collective noun for clowns would be 'a fear of clowns', but more of that to come. After the initial amusement that such rubber playhouses deliver, we wore our illegal smiles out to a tidy spot named Woodstock in Inishteeg(that's the phonetic version). We all took the one car to save the environment...and it worked. We saved it. But that environment is a sucker for trouble and no doubt it'll be back in danger before we hang our capes up. We passed a frisbee between us and i took some photos of the guys, you'll find them across in the photography sectshun(also phonetic), i recommend a look, they're a handsome bunch indeed, if i wasn't so in love with the smell of my sweet Fanny Beerd (sister of the great Richard), i'd have probably fainted from lack of blood in the right places. The time eventually clocked itself up, we found ourselves in a public house named Kytlers, all cooped and squashed up like a man's hand in a child's glove, caged in a corner where two entrances, two exits, the restrooms, the bar and the dinner tables all congress and confuse and everyone who's to and fro-ing has a clash of heads. God bless them all i say, for putting up with such conditions for as long as they did, i'm surprised the guys even continued playing, although looking back it probably would have been quicker to play their set than it would have been to get through the crowd to the door. There was an old lady there who was standing up front having a showdown with the speakers. We'd never seen anyone so old embracing loud music, i think maybe it was jesus, or some saint just passing through to get a glimpse of something real. We went outside after and found a patch of grass to consider all things considerable. My boy Liam told me of himself and a young girl who have a special acquaintance, but it turns out that they have very different definitions of special. Back at the Inn there was a hootin'anny brewing and we took some back seats to watch the show. As it turns out, the show is only for the public eye and all that was happening here was people keeping to themselves, keeping secrets or exchanging glances, save the few free spirits who flew among everyone with their front and rear showing and their sides covered. If not for them, things would be terribly grey and hard to chew. We eventually got kicked out, or hoaxed out, and set out for a bed and some cake, not before a child loaded on licquor tried to fish a fight out of Conor's streams. A brave child, i'd never fish in waters where i didn't know what was swimming beneath, not without a mighty rod anyway.

That was that, we lay down to dream for the time to pass quicker and set us up on a new stage. The last thing i remember thinking was if the clown and the old lady and the drunken child were all connected in some way, that maybe the old lady was a hit singer who had her dreams crushed and set up a bouncy castle company that played an audible-to-children-only recording to drink licquor and kill all bands who have the balls she once had, did i mention she was a tranny granny? Well there you go. Until the next sealing of the wax, i wish you many laughs, high hopes and indigestion-free breakfasts.

Mr. Raver Sands.

Good evening to young and old, this is the voice of Billy Raver Sands, active participant in The River Valley Band. Me and the boys have been working with a man named Alan Dawson in a studio not far from the crossroads. He's a good man, he drinks really, really good coffee and sometimes can be confused for a lion. A coffee drinking lion? Madness, i know, considering how often they sleep.

All's well between the studio walls. Again, we waited until the country slept and then we laid down 9 tracks. The names of which are these...

Fight in Slow Motion, Hamburger Hill, Don't Change Your Name John, Clauduledus, Close to Impact Blues, Empty Eyes, The Kid, Charles the Beatnik and Greedy Farmer's Blues. We done a jam version of fight in slow motion, but that might only be accessible on the basement tapes. It's a real home in that studio and the woman of the house is the all seeing eye that we must press our songs through. It's easy to push a song through an ear but this woman's eye is like a hundred ears. A song gets put under a lot of pressure in that process, if there's one quirk or glitch it'll show up and tear the paint like a vandal with a nail in a multi-story carpark. The good thing is we recorded it live so what you hear and feel will be all of us playing together, without mother metronome or daddy dubbing. The songs are being left in the den and after our venture in the rhythm and roots fields we'll go back, wipe our feet and tie the ribbon on your gift. I'll put up some photos i got of the boys when they were taking each others clothes off or pretending to be ugly, if you look close, you'll see the music in the backround.

In the meantime, find yourself a patch of grass or the shade of a eucalyptus tree and forget about everything. We newly observe ourselves, but nothing is different and nothing has changed. (Youtube taught me that)

Billy