Welcome to this months blog post.

Here is a short extract from the forthcoming book ‘A Hero’s Journey Through the Music Industry’ on how Nizlopi embraced House Concerts through the UK House Concert network and how important it was in the band’s early development and understanding of how to create a rapport with their audience.

The Weaponless  Secret, (and problematic pronouns).

During his time studying in Brighton, Luke discovers the Healthy Concert or House Concert network (not nearly as boring as it sounds), and more commonly referred to as ‘Gigs in Digs’. The idea is beautifully simple and in recent years has been picked up by some of the smarter record labels as a way of developing certain, younger ‘fledgling’ acts, giving them the chance to play in more intimate surroundings where they have a chance to develop their craft and learn how to build a rapport with an audience. This is how it works. Create or join a network of like-minded people who want to attend or host gigs in people’s homes. Alcohol is not always a fixture and if you do bring a bottle you are “invited to share it with the other guests”. Its not that the house concert crowd are puritanical or anything (far from it) but setting some guidelines around booze can prevent it being seen as a “piss-up at my mates place with some geezers playing guitar, innit”. You don’t have to live in a Palace, even a bed-sit will do – and more often has! Bring in interesting and talented artists of all kinds with one aim, you all have a great time, et viola, you have a house concert. It really is that simple.

Chi Energy.

The idea was developed by the remarkable Paul Chi, a cross-dressing, improvisational singer-songwriter from Manchester. It is an amazing concept and works incredibly well. Imagine it, unique or quirky artists set up in a kitchen, a lounge, even a bedroom. The audience are inches from the performer, no stage lights, roadies or even a stage gets between the player and the listener – literally no smoke and mirrors here. The rapport between the artist and the performer is beautifully intimate and delicately alive with possibilities – for those prepared to take the leap.

Paul, originally based in Manchester, so the legend goes, gave David Gray one of his first gigs in a little bed-sit. He later relocated to Brighton and found a natural home for these concerts on the south coast. It was during these early days of experimentation in that environment that Luke and John were able to develop their incredibly personable style of talking to the audience and engaging with them in the most natural manner. It was this easy openness with a crowd that won them huge numbers of fans wherever they played. The audience felt as if they were listening to an old friend and indeed being heard by that friend for it was always a two-way street. This often served them well, but I recall one curmudgeonly old industry cynic commenting, (after an amazing gig in London, in what surely must be the world’s smallest but most remarkable music venue, The Betsy Trotwood pub in Farringdon), that he didn’t like “those tricks they use, talking to the audience”. If talking to the audience is ‘a trick’ I would urge more artists to spend time in learning it if they want to master the art of connection in performance. Luke and Jp always tried to remove any perceived barrier between themselves and their audience – connection was key.

I recall my first-time seeing Paul Chi perform, in the delectably cool bar The Bombay Rooms, in Kemptown, Brighton one mid-summers night. As mentioned previously, he is a cross-dressing-improv-singer-songwriter (and truth be told, normally such a description would have me running for the hills, but the boys insisted I would love him….and they were on the same bill, so no running away that night!).

Paul is the “opener” for the show (often known as the death spot). I can still see him now, attired in a pretty pale blue frock, standing motionless before the microphone, guitar in hand, long silver-grey hair glinting in the arc spotlight, livid lipstick lips frozen in a razor’s smile, eyes fixed in an almost catatonic stony glare. He stands there for what feels like an eternity, not moving, not singing, not playing, not doing anything but staring at the crowd. As a sometime live performer myself I am in torment for this lone artist on stage who seems frozen to the spot, a rabbit in the headlights of an oncoming truck. It’s almost as if he can’t remember the words. But then it hits me, of course, for the improv singer there are no words…not yet. Then someone lets a glass fall to the floor, as if they need to shatter the unbearable nowness of this painful metal-aching silence. And now the song has begun. “Cut me with your glass…” he begins. These are the only words I can recall from that night, and I am struck by the immense bravery of such a performance and such a performer. The tranny it turns out, has balls! (Is it still ok to say “tranny”?) And we have been friends ever since.

[Side note on the word Tranny] – I just googled the use of the word Tranny and found this quote from Ru Paul, ‘”I love the word tranny,” …the word was not being redefined by the transgender community, but only by “fringe people who are looking for story lines to strengthen their identity as victims”‘. Sincere apologies if this causes offence to any reader, but I am with Ru Paul on this one, I still love the word.

Room With a View.

Later that night after the gig we accompany Paul to his apartment and things get even more surreal. He very kindly has arranged for us to stay in his tiny flat while he stays at his girlfriend’s place (yes, Trannies have girlfriends). Luke and John are given the lounge and I get the bed – in the bedroom. His bedroom is incredibly small (beggars can’t be choosers and we are “on the road”) and it doubles (or maybe even trebles?) as his:

1. Wardrobe
2. Office
3. Sleeping area

The only way I can describe it is a spectacular blend of ergonomically erotic efficiency and riotous juxtaposition. The bed is approximately the width of the bedroom itself (did I mention it was a small room?) and to make the most of the space it is arranged so one end actually protrudes from a small wardrobe whilst the other end is capped by his office desktop, where reside his computer and printer.

Lying down, my head is actually in the wardrobe, and I find myself gazing straight upwards at the heavenly constellation of Paul’s dresses, tresses and skirts and costumes festooned celestially above me. Sitting up too quickly results in my head being draped  in various petticoats and flounces,  like some Victorian pantomime Dame but with the added bonus of being literally “at work” once I am upright (and disentangled from skirts etc) as my feet and legs are already under his desk and computer as they literally straddle the last third of the bed. Teleworking trannies rule! (Oops, there’s that word again…please, someone let me know if  its still ok or not?).

The House Wins.

In early 2005 the boys decide they would like to return to their roots and do a House Concert tour and get back to some really intimate gigs for a change of scene and also to help popularise the growing House Concert ‘circuit’. With that in mind, Jp sends out an email informing the fanbase of their intentions. Now, unbeknownst to us, it just so happened that the journalist Nikki Marshall, from the Guardian (a UK national newspaper of repute), had signed up to the Nizlopi mailing list when she caught the boys at one of their legendary Glastonbury gigs a couple of years earlier and this email caught her attention. I’ll let Nikki take up the story from here…take it home Nikki.

‘I first caught Nizlopi in a wee tent at the Glastonbury festival two years ago. There was John Parker, aka Jp, playing double bass and doubling as a human beatbox, and Luke Concannon, a charismatic guitarist leading singalong about earth movers: “I’m Luke, I’m five, my dad’s Bruce Lee / He drives me round in his JCB.” I took home their album, signed up to the mailing list, and have followed their progress ever since.’

And then I got the email.

            “Jp here,” it began. “There’s a lot going on for Nizlopi at the mo but we really want to do a short house concerts tour, by this I mean play in people’s living rooms acoustically and charge on the door… If interested either email us or give us a call. This is a great way of having an intimate musical experience in your home.”

            It was a gig-goer’s fantasy. I got in touch and Jp explained that the band had hooked up with Healthy Concerts, a Brighton-based network promoting gigs in digs (smoke-free and booze-lite, thus the “healthy”). It was the brainchild of the dress-wearing ad lib artist/guitarist Paul Chi, who would play support.

            We settled on a date and I guaranteed 25 punters paying £7 a head. The next few weeks were dedicated to DIY and fretting about whether everyone would fit in a room more suited to seating four. Turns out I’m not cut out to be a music promoter: asking friends, family and cheek of cheek, the neighbours to fork out the cover charge was excruciating – but this was a concert tour, not a band booked for a party. Pre-gig nerves? You don’t want to know.

            But as concert experiences go, it was peerless. No stage, no distance, no crappy sound system, though still a queue for the loo. When the bedroom is both dressing room and cloakroom, everyone is backstage. And rock god posturing goes out the window when at any moment you might be upstaged by Nelson the Labrador (he liked the tunes but wasn’t so keen on the applause). Not that there was any danger of such antics: the band were mainlining the connection with the crowd. They played their hearts out, then stayed on for the after-party. And me? I danced as though I was in my own living room.

Courtesy of Nikki Marshall and the Guardian

The Guardian, Wednesday 26 January 2005