Losing Track Of Time

LOSING TRACK OF TIME This is my first album, originally released in 2021. Growing up in the 1960s every young boy dreamed of being in the Beatles, or failing that in a band - any band. I was no different. I got my first guitar, an enamel toy with plastic strings, in 1964, but a real acoustic guitar arrived for Christmas in 1969 and I was immediately hooked. Since then I have been in a number of “bands”, all similar in the fact that they were pretty rubbish, but also in the fact of being great fun. The Bed, Matilda, The Boiler Brothers, Legal Tender and The Lazyboys - all bands that, if there was any justice in the world, would today be legends of rock. My first live gig, with Matilda, was on Valentine’s Day in 1973 at All Saints Church Hall in East Sheen, just across the road from Shene Grammar - the school in south-west London we all attended. This was memorable for the first appearance of my rather debilitating habit of throwing up with nerves before performing live. Later, after university in Leeds, I joined The Boiler Brothers (so called because we wore white boiler suits and furry boots made famous at the time by Pete Townshend) and later still, when I started my career as a journalist in Marlow, it was Legal Tender. We only played a handful of gigs but one, in a Southall pub, took place in 1981 just a day before rioters burnt the place down - and there is absolutely no truth in the rumour that they only did so because they had heard we were about to perform again the next night. Nothing then happened musically for me until 1996 when I met up with some old school friends and formed The Lazyboys - who certainly lived up to their name. We only played a few gigs, rehearsing in a room in Wandsworth and earning the alternative name of The Sausage Lot from the landlord of the pub we spent most of our lunch breaks in. It was the lockdown that kickstarted this musical stroll down memory lane. Sorting out the junk in the loft I came across an old, long-lost Waitrose carrier bag, filled with song lyrics and chords that I had written with my old friend Peter Monteith, scratched out on the back of assorted bank statements and brown paper pay packets (Remember them?). Over the years I had tried to record some of the songs, tinkering with various multi-track tape recorders and not really getting anywhere, but now I decided to invest in Logic Pro, watch a few YouTube tutorials and dive in the deep end. The bulk of the songs on this album were those originally written between 1977 and 1981 with Pete, firstly in Leeds, while we toiled in The Boiler Brothers (me on guitar, Pete on drums) and later in Marlow, when we both worked as journalists at Chiltern Newspapers and played in Legal Tender. I first met Pete in Leeds in 1977 after I had spent the summer working in New Orleans and becoming intoxicated with the gumbo of that wonderful city’s musical styles. Pete and I hit it off straight away and our shared love of music led us to try to write some songs together - mostly in the front room of my flat above Eddie’s fish and chip shop in Autumn Avenue. Pete came up with most of the lyrics and we wrote, me hunched over my guitar, and both drinking copious cans of Colt45 beer. After 1981 life saw us move in different directions. I gave up journalism (for the first but not last time) and returned to New Orleans to work as a bartender in the famous Gumbo Shop restaurant, while Pete went on to edit Broadcast magazine and later run Ofcom in the East of England. He also played in a number of bands including Trampoline and Norfolk group The Vintage, for whom he still drums. He has probably played thousands of gigs over the years - sadly, I reckon I’ve only managed about 35 in total. When I first contacted Pete to let him know that I was planning to record some of our long-lost songs I imagine his first reaction was probably one of bemused amusement. His second, however, was one of alarm: “I hope you are doing some judicious editing in your selection,” he said, “as there’s one or two of them that are not just politically incorrect these days but possibly illegal.” Well, he probably has a point - especially one of them, which I'll definitely leave in the loft. In our defence, we were very young and it was the 1970s so perhaps we can be excused some questionable overly aggressive lyrics and dodgy subject matters (which were largely reactions to relationship issues). Hopefully we are marginally more mature now. This album features six of our early collaborations - and there’s more to come. The first track on the album is called The Night Watchman and was inspired by (but not actually about!)
a girl who lived opposite me when I was living above Eddie’s fish and chip shop in Leeds. These days the lyrics seem decidely voyeuristic and somewhat stalker-ish but were meant (M’lud!) to be more about a longing for the unattainable. AwayDay is also about relationship difficulties and how, especially when you are young, breaking up and getting back together is all part of the game. Hey Wot Ya Doin’ was inspired - if that is the right word - by a guy I shared a house with at Leeds University. In order to protect the innocent I will call him Pike (“Don't tell him!”). Pike was a tall, good looking Maths student from Devon and irritatingly for the rest of us he was a genius, on his way to the most untroubled first-class degree imaginable. He was also an incorrigible womaniser. It was a not uncommon scenario on a Sunday morning when, as the rest of us were feeding our hangovers with greasy fried egg sandwiches, Pike would descend the stairs with a sheepish grin on his face and his latest conquest in tow. She would be treated to the best breakfast he could muster and a nice cup of tea before disappearing out of the door never to be seen again. We were always aghast, a mixture of disgust and awe at Pike's behaviour, as we made our way wearily to the pub for lunch. Happy days.  The next song, Driver, came about while I was working on the buses in Leeds (a bit of poetic licence here as I was only a lowly conductor). The anti-social hours I had to work definitely made holding down a relationship difficult. Dangerous Eyes was triggered after meeting an old girlfriend in Marlow one Christmas time in the late 1970s and noticing that her eyes matched the colour of her brand new car - a Mini Cooper if I remember correctly. It’s about the battle with temptation that might have followed. I’d Rather Be You is a typical bit of angsty, self-loathing jealousy - written, of course, totally from our imaginations. The last of my “historical” songs from back in 1980, Jenny, was written shortly after I met the wonderful woman who would later become my wife. I know it’s not Layla or Wonderful Tonight or Something but it means as much to me. I didn’t then write another song until after I had started recording this album, when another great friend, Neil Morton, sent me the words to World That Cannot Touch, a moving lyric about the lockdown, and suggested I try to write some music for it. I have known Neil for over 35 years and we have often - during our days working together on the sports desks of The Times, The Independent and The Guardian - engaged in lengthy discussions about music and our previous lives trying to hold down a chord but, strangely, we had never collaborated over the fretboard. Until now. I like to think that Neil's interest had been rekindled after listening to some of the early demos of songs for this album (but you'll have to ask him that!). I'll leave Neil to explain the background: “The idea for the song came from a phone call we received around Christmas from old friends in Liverpool. We hadn't spoken for some years but they preferred a conversation to merely exchanging cards. It stirred memories of happier times instead of the dark ones we've all been experiencing. Vocal distancing, I suppose. “The lyric has its sombre side, understandably. There's anger at the missteps by our leaders and the human cost which will surely lead to a reckoning. But the song ends in hope – that the world can safely touch again. “I'm thrilled at how Ian has captured the sentiments musically – the chorus is especially pleasing. It's a finely sung melody and his guitar work shines throughout.” It was an exciting project for me working with Neil's lyrics (and thanks for your kind comments) - especially as neither of us had ever written a song this way before. We hope you like it. Warning: There may be more of this new collaboration in the future. Neil, a former sports editor of The Independent on Sunday, is the man behind an excellent online music blog called Here Comes The Song (herecomesthesong.com) which has become essential reading for anybody interested in songs and songwriting (It even features some blogs by yours truly). Neil is also a former member of the 1970s/early 80s Liverpool bands Breakdown and About Time, playing guitar, singing and writing many of their original songs. The next track, Glove Shack, is expanded from an instrumental I wrote in 2020 for a short film about the local heritage centre where I volunteer in Yeovil. The title comes from the centre’s name - the Community Heritage Access Centre (CHAC) - which, among other things, highlights the area’s history as a centre of glove-making. Finally, as I had decided to call this album Losing Track Of Time, to reflect how long 
I had dithered over making it, I thought I’d better come up with a title track. It’s about however fast time is going by (and boy is it accelerating!), it’s never too late to try something new - witness this album. 
I hope you enjoy listening to it. Lower Odcombe, Somerset
July 2021 All songs written by Peter Monteith & Ian Tasker Except World That Cannot Touch by Neil Morton & Ian Tasker Glove Shack, Jenny and Losing Track Of Time by Ian Tasker