Back on the Beat

Remember the days when albums were called Jammin' or Plunkin' or Greppin'?

Well, I havent blogged for a while which happens here in Greece where real Life keeps plucking at yer sleeve and comely ladies keep hoving into view with the sort of smiles and chat that have one thinking "What'm I doing closeted with this frinking keyboard - outside with you, lad, and smell the ouzo!"

Here's me looking terribly serious over a solo I can play in my sleep.

But customers don't pay for that; they pay to see one "take risks" and "push the envelope" and "explore the outer limits of the harmonies" - or at least that was how one delightful young man put it. Les femmes are less wordy: one hefty lass from oop t'north Lancashire took a swig of her Mythos beer, gave an enviably sonorous belch and growled, "Yeh, baby."

More anon as Life assaults me.