Stop talking in class, this is important.

crane brothers blog fun

Because Tim told me to, I've set up a new blog site. If you follow this link, Tim will stop calling me names. Bad names.

cranebrothersblog

I hate to sound like your dad, or the NHS, but it’s come to our attention that growing numbers of you are incapable of enjoying the Crane sound in the way it was intended. Since we’re a family show, and mixed with nothing but love (and gallons of Leon‘s sweat), it saddens us that more and more of you can’t just use Crane recreationally, but are abusing it like one of those awful lifestyle drugs, like caffeine or TV.

Now we’ve all witnessed the pitiable sight of some poor unfortunate staggering around in the street after a gig, desperately trying to remember lyrics, butchering melodies and tromboning anything in sight, having completely forgotten who they are, or why they’re wearing a ridiculous green visor. It’s easy to feel sorry, or maybe even superior to these people, after all, no one made them listen to Crane Brothers, it’s their own fault, right? But did you stop to think for a second that not too long ago, that person was just like you?

Out they’d go for just a few social Cranes, the occasional one at home, and really it felt completely normal - why not? But as time passed, and the gaps in between got harder to bear, it began to seem like Crane was their only friend. Now if you were to be honest with yourself, and think about a day, a week, a month without Crane, would you be able to handle it? Probably not. Now suddenly the thought of you with your arms around that unfortunate, sneering at passers by, doesn’t sound quite so impossible, does it?

Pretty heavy stuff to think about we know, but really there are simple steps you can take to make sure this doesn’t happen to you, great ways to enjoy Crane Brothers responsibly while minimising the risk and maximising the fun!

Before we get to that however, let us take a minute out to tell you Andy’s story. Now some of you may know Andy already, perhaps you’ve seen him on stage with us (he’s our trumpet player), or maybe you’ve endured one of his infamous 17 hour solos at the guerrilla jazzathons he enjoys so much. What you might not know however, is that behind that cheery likeable exterior, lies a dark story that could have ended entirely different for the Kiwi Hornblower.

Growing up on a farm somewhere in New Zealand, Andy Watts was just your normal Kiwi kid. He liked climbing trees, splashing about in paddling pools, and intimidating livestock. So far so normal. His whole life was mapped out in front of him - school, a good job, retirement, senility. Fate however, had different plans for Andy.

While out riding his sparkling silver Chopper one summer’s day, he had stopped to admire a rare butterfly. Distracted by the sound of music drifting across the lush pastures, a curious Andy forgot all about the rare insect and followed the mysterious, alluring sound to a huge barn, the kind you’d imagine people tumbling around in a romantic novel. Pleased as punch to discover he’d stumbled across a local am-dram group’s re-enactment of a popular film of the period, accompanied by a jazz trio performing the soundtrack, he hid behind a convenient hay bale to watch the action unfold. Now there’s nothing wrong with that you might say, cinemas were but a beautiful fool’s dream in New Zealand around then, so how else could people find their entertainment, legally? The problem however, was that the ‘film’ of the week was Last Tango in Paris, and the young, impressionable Andy witnessed a hell of a lot more than he should have.

What made it far, far worse though, wasn’t the faithful, but frankly obscene depiction of one of Brando’s finest cinematic moments, but the intractable link Andy’s still vulnerable mind made between the furious jazz accompaniment and the ‘action’ taking place before him. With no chance to find out the facts of life for himself, perhaps from a late night documentary or a generous hooker, like the rest of us, Andy realised two things that day - that jazz can do strange things to people, and he had to get Paris.

Now what happened after really is another story, but suffice to say, the long term effects were that Andy is now completely incapable of just saying ‘no’ to jazz, and he speaks perfect French.

Having given you a slightly clearer picture of the man, you may be thinking, what on earth does this have to do with enjoying Crane Brothers responsibly? Well I’m glad you asked, because essentially it comes down to choice. You have the choice to use “some of the most awe inspiring music ever created by human kind” (South Grimsby Messenger), in the manner in which it was intended, and it will give you hours, perhaps even years of infinite pleasure, or you can abuse it and end up like Andy, permanently scarred.

It’s not all doom and gloom though. We’ve got some great plans for the coming year, and some new recordings on the way, and day by day, gig by gig, Andy is learning that jazz really isn’t the only way and that it simply isn’t acceptable in polite society. So, if you got a chance to talk to him at the next gig, just throw a supportive arm around him, and let him know that you understand, you don’t condone it, but you understand.

Now we’ve got all that preachy stuff out of the way, here are some great ideas as to how you can still enjoy the Cranes, but in a safe and fun manner. Firstly, why not listen to the Cranes while out taking a healthy stroll, after all nature is natural, and so are the Cranes. The brain will release good endorphins or such, and the music will make the walking less dull. Why not occasionally try listening to other bands, by all accounts there are a few kicking about, so the law of averages would suggest that at least a few of them are nearly as good as us? You never know. Finally, instead of just walking by those poor souls outside the gigs, why not take a minute out to talk to one of them and get to know the person and not just the condition. Don’t invite them back to your house though, there’s no telling what those crazy bastards will do.


Many thanks, and happy listening,
Adam Crane
 

Crane Brothers were asked to play the gig of a lifetime - on top of Ben bloody Nevis! Great news of course, but there was a whopping great catch, we had to carry our gear all the way to the top. Human mules no less. It was in the name of a good cause you see, I don't know which one, but a good one. Maybe the environment, or sick puppies.

Playing our boss tunes for charity? No sweat. Scaling Ben Nevis with Leon's six foot gong? Not so easy. I needed to think up some kind of test, a way of finding out if I had the stamina for what would be gruelling, to say the least. It'd have to be something that put the body and mind through such extreme punishment, such intense levels of trauma that if endured, 'the wall' had not only become a mere state of mind, but had been mounted, then mocked for its pitiable height and poor construction.

I thought long and hard. A triathlon? Too much organisation, and I don't have a bike. Rock climbing? Way too dangerous, and I'm scared of heights. Then it hit me. There really is only one way to find out what you're made of. One way to push your mind to the brink of dementia, step up to the abyss and hope to the gods you don't slip.

I sat myself down. I was sweating rivers - second, third, then fourth thoughts tried my resolve. Was this really a good idea? What if I didn't come out the other side? What if this was my Peter Green moment, and life was never the same again? I steeled myself - this wouldn't do - yes it nearly killed my soft adolescent brain way back when, but that was then. Surely I'm strong enough now?

I thought of those sick puppies, gritted my teeth, screwed my eyes shut and raised the volume on the radio. As the sound waves began to nudge my ear drums, my knuckles turned white and a low groan began in my throat.

But wait! It wasn't so bad, I mean he was just a guy talking on the radio. What had I been so afraid of? For how long now have I given Radio 1 the silent treatment just because of this clown, and all along he was just a guy on the radio. Just a guy on the radio.

And then it started. Waff waff waff waff, I'm Chris Moyles, waff waff waff waff, bollocks, waff waff waff waff, more bollocks, waff waff waff waff. Tears began streaming down my face, the sheer weight of bullshit pressed on my chest and breathing became nearly impossible - my feet tried to push my body away from the impact. But it was too late, his voice had hijacked my soul and was giving it a sound kicking.

The poor faces of the sick puppies swam around my disorientated mind. I tried to hold on to something dear, family, friends, memories of seemingly endless summer days playing football. But it was hopeless. The relentless onslaught of total and utter shit coming out of that buffoon's mouth melted every ounce of humanity within me, and in a last act of desperation, of a body fearing for it's host, my hands grabbed the radio and threw it clean through the closed window.

The paramedics were very kind to me. I could have been in trouble for the radio through the window incident, but when I told them what I'd done, they gave me an extra shot of morphine. As I slipped into an ocean of calm, and the worried faces of the medics turned into a Dalmatian and a Basset Hound, I suddenly felt nothing but unconditional love for Chris Moyles.

Adam Crane

I read with interest your letter in response to an interview I gave recently. Now I can't claim to know the real reasons which prompted you to write such a hilarious critique of what I said, but as you didn't actually have to guts to send it to me, then I can only assume it was a personal joke between you and your friends, assuming of course you have any friends.

Now you may be feeling quite proud of the fact that you've elicited a response from me. After all I am a very busy person, unlike you I suspect, but I want to be clear as to my motives. You see it's people like you who wish to make it difficult for people like me, talented people, and although this is the price you have to pay for greatness, I don't think you should just be allowed to get away with it.

In fact, when I was singing with Stevie Wonder, not too long ago, he told me that talent can sometimes be a burden, which must be carried with great humility, and that amongst the masses who want to be entertained by gifted people such as ourselves, there will always be a few filled with resentment and bitterness, possibly as a result of their own shortcomings and insignificance.

Not I'm not calling you insignificant Adam, I'm sure someone loves you, but the underlying tone of sarcasm and self-righteousness in your letter did suggest that you may be in that minority, leading me to believe that perhaps you wish you were in my position.

This prompted me to take a closer look at 'Adam Crane', if indeed that is your name. Now I can see that you are in a band, which would suggest you do indeed crave the limelight, but I cannot help but notice that you are in fact only capable of playing the bass. Now don't get me wrong, I have heard some great musicians playing the bass, and done correctly it can be a very sensual instrument, but judging by what I've heard, this is not the case for you.

This leads me to think that you probably spend most of your time wishing that either you had a voice as good as your singer's, or that perhaps you could play the guitar so people would notice and admire you. This is a quite common malaise of the bass player, and I don't hold it against you, I just wish you didn't take it out on me, when all I'm trying to do is heal a broken world with the power of my remarkable talent.

Now, you cited my song Governmentalist in you letter, but what you failed to mention was that I wrote that song after a personal request from, now president, Barak Obama. Aside from the fact that such a great man would come to me with such an honour, and not you, you might have noticed that after requesting my help to win the election, he is indeed now president. Are there any conclusions to be made upon this startling chain of events? I'll let you answer that one.

So, in conclusion, I think perhaps you should spend less time writing letters you will never send, and more time trying to get your own life together, and who knows, in a couple of years we could be having a good old laugh about this at the Grammy awards. Maybe.

ps. I quite liked your idea for the 'globe percussion'. So much so that I have had one made, patented it, and started selling them through my website. I've already got orders for around 4000 and will probably go on to make me quite a lot of money. Thanks for that.

Lots of love and sympathy,
Joss

pps. Up yours.

I read with interest your interview in the Guardian the other day, in particular the part where you told the, rather divisive journalist, that when you make music, you're not just making it for England, but "for the world".

As  a musician myself, I envy your ability to transcend musical and geographical boundaries, and rise above the role of mere chart topper to that of a global benefactor. Like a musical Santa Claus, all year round. What does concern me however, is that despite the difficulty of this selfless act of spreading your message of universality and verisimilitude all around the world, is 'the world' actually that grateful?

I mean, I'm sure there are kids in Botswana flagellating themselves until your next gig there, or a Fijian fan club plotting to kidnap and force you to play your new song Governmantalist over and over, while they conceive babies in the warm glow of your humanity. But for every breathless fan in Chad, there must be a few thousand pitiable souls in Guatemala who couldn't care less.

The fact that you clearly don't let this get to you, inspires me pretty much on a daily basis. And it's your ability to write music for the whole world that I'd like to emulate with my own band. So far, I think we've only really been writing songs,  great songs I hasten to add, but in light of your loftier ambitions, they're relatively provincial in their outlook.  

So if you don't consider it a little impertinent, could you perhaps give me some pointers as to how we too can make music for the whole world? Since I've never seen it personally, well, some of it, and quite a bit on Google Earth, but not all of it, then I'm not quite sure where to start. Clearly this can't be achieved overnight, so I'm thinking an intensive programme of Michael Palin's trips around the world would get us going in the right direction. Maybe scattering copies of National Geographic around the practice room would give us a better idea of our potential audience? We might even get one of those spinning globes, fill it with dried peas and use it for percussion.

Forgive me if this all seems a little demanding, I don't expect you to get back to me immediately, those classics won't write themselves. But if you could find time to pass on just a little of your wisdom, I promise we'll put it to good use.

In the meantime, I've started correspondence with a village in Papua New Guinea, and I've been promised, I think, that they'll play any new songs we've written with our new 'worldly vision', and give us some feedback as to how we're getting on. Also, Leon, our drummer, has promised that for the next gig he'll wear a sombrero, which will no doubt help us reach out to a potential South American market.

Keep up the good work Joss, and remember, just because those kids in Guatemala don't care now, it doesn't mean they won't!

Lots of love, respect, and positive vibes,
Adam Crane