mostly david ephgrave

While writing my new show's progressing reasonably steadily, in my heart, I know it needs to be the last project I do alone for some time. I guess it was my choice - though it often doesn't feel like it - that most things I do now are self-generated, but they all leave me needing to draw on a reserve of self-belief that's fragile at best. I have to ignore so much negative reinforcement to keep going, which is hard when the personal problems I've suffered have much the same impact. The truth is that what I do is increasingly lonely, and isolation triggers the false narratives my past can dredge up. I think my abandonment issues are understandable, but it doesn't stop them from dragging me back. And recent events in my life have reinforced my lack of self-worth, making it harder to ignore them. I didn't deliberately set out to be a solo performer. I was in a band and a double act and sought healthy collaboration. And while being an actor inevitably requires forgin...

The Proclaimers are a band I've developed a soft spot for (like that patch on the top of a baby's head). And of their music, two songs often make my early-morning playlist: 'On Causewayside' and 'There's a Touch'. While the songs are stark opposites, they both ignite the part of me that loves being in a band and make me tempted to call up some friends to see if we can cobble something together. Playing with other musicians is something I've taken for granted when you consider how often my work has put me in that position in the past, and it's such a distant prospect in the current circumstances. Pandemics and live music make unhappy bedfellows after all. I only stumbled across 'On Causewayside' recently while shuffling Proclaimers music on my household's trusty privacy-infringing Amazon Alexa. It stood out to me for several reasons: firstly, because Causewayside is a part of Edinburgh I've stayed in a few times while on the Fringe, wh...

It was nice to sing through the songs from my show today to exercise that part of my brain (and voice) again. A pleasant byproduct of Edinburgh last month - though surely it was longer ago? - was I was singing every day, which meant my voice was in good shape; I may have lost my hearing by the last week, but I could still hit the notes, though whether they were in tune I couldn’t pass comment. I don’t know why I forget it so easily but I’m always happier when I look after my voice; it’s a simple thing, but it’s very important to me. It’s nice to not have to stretch to sound good and to feel you have command of your abilities. That’s why touring with Buddy was good at first, as singing and playing regularly kept you match-fit; you had the luxury of a band to play with, plus the intrigue of a new town and venue to keep things interesting. It’s even better when you work on your own stuff as singing through a few songs feels like opening a window wide to let the fresh air in. That’...

Despite being a busy one for me - relatively speaking - today’s show was hard work as, try as I might, I couldn’t seem to get them on board. It wasn’t that they weren’t enjoying it, but they barely vocalized it, which wasn’t helped by the fact they were spread out across the room with no sense of cohesion. There were some nice moments - my favourite being when it sounded like someone’s watch fell off their wrist, which I pointed out by working it into the punchline I was delivering mid-sentence - but it's ultimately hard work when you’re throwing your all into it to be confronted by near silence. I was particularly pleased with how the songs sounded; probably due to a combination of my voice feeling rested from Monday’s day off and my guitar still sounding bright from its recent restringing. It’s been enjoyable to play so often and to reconnect with some of the music I’ve written. It's a shame I had to drop ‘It’s For You’ to give the show r...

One notable thing I took from watching Bill Bailey live in Stevenage last night was how he often uses music just because it's good without feeling the need to do anything comedic with it. I found this encouraging when considering how to approach this year's show. Perhaps the main reason I’ve used my musical ability so sparingly in comedy in the past was because I was trying to distance myself from the actor / muso rut I found myself in, plus I didn't want to force-write a load of funny songs. While I’ve written the odd comedy song in the past - the most prominent being Ukulele Girl that I co-wrote with Chris Hollis, which featured on Spandex Ballet’s album ‘Seriously, Don’t Release This’ and occasionally in Glyn’s and my live work - they were composed for my own amusement, with no intention to foist them on the outside world. When I used to do solo acoustic gigs - or even when I was in Big Day Out - it was always the banter that was fun...

This week, for the first time in a few years, I got my acoustic out and played through some of the songs I wrote, and it felt like a light went on in my head. Admittedly it was a little painful on the fingertips - which is embarrassing for someone who has spent the vast proportion of his working life playing the guitar for money, though to be fair, this could be partly due to how long it's been since I changed my strings, but though I was a little ropey and out-of-shape it still made sense to me, and felt like I’d neglected a massive part of myself by leaving it so long. I guess it has a lot to do with absence making the heart grow fonder, as I had grown tired of the whole actor / musician thing for taking up the majority of my time while stifling my creativity…but it wasn’t just that. There was a sense of comparative simplicity compared to the frustration I’ve been feeling with my show as I remembered how music comes relatively easily to me and is more instinctive, and that ...

Whenever I put together a show, the music I choose to use - both in and around it - has always been very important to me. The songs I settle on are never there by accident, as they’re an essential way of contributing to the feel of the show as a whole. Admittedly, I’ll often go for something by The Beatles or Paul McCartney as their music is something I’m very passionate about, but invariably I’ll pick something obscure I suspect the wider public won’t be aware of, but I think they'll like. 'Hey Bulldog' is a perfect case in point. The song was only cut by The Beatles as something to do while shooting a video for the single ‘Lady Madonna’ in the studio, and was if anything a bit of a toss-off, but despite this it has long been a personal favourite; consequently, it’s been the play-out at every single Mostly Comedy that’s ever been. It doesn’t matter how many times I hear the song in that context, it still has the same impact. I love the...

Yesterday, in an attempt to break the tedium while waiting for a parcel to be delivered, I decided to treat myself to a little musical interlude by pulling out my acoustic to play through a couple of songs before having a jam on the piano too. The last time I’d played the guitar was almost a month ago, when I took it to the Sun Hotel for that night’s Mostly Comedy, after receiving a text from Phil Kay asking if he could borrow it for his set. Knowing how manic Phil can be, my impromptu busk after tuning it up for him felt like saying goodbye before it was sent to battle, perhaps never to return, at least not in one piece; I prayed to the God of Contents Insurance for a little mercy, before sticking it in a guitar stand on-stage to await its final destiny. For someone who’s earned a living (of sorts) from music in the past, I felt guilty for how long I hadn’t even taken my acoustic out of its case. Like my other guitars, it has remained untouched at...

I had a worrying moment prior to Thursday’s Mostly Comedy, when I couldn’t remember a chord to the song Glyn and I were performing that night. This wouldn’t usually be a problem, as my musical ability is such that I’d normally be able to plug the mental gap (*smug face*), but the fact I was accompanying myself on the ukulele instead of a guitar or piano and am less familiar with its shapes, plus I'm severely out of practice, made it harder to retrieve the missing chord from the dim, dark recesses of my brain. The bizarre thing was, I'd remembered the song perfectly when I'd rattled through it the previous day. Then something about the stress of the set-up meant that when it came to doing a sound-check, the second chord vanished from my memory; the more I tried to remember it, the further it wriggled from my grasp. This made me panic, as I was the one who wrote t he song ; if I'd forgotten it, there was nobody to turn to: it would be gone forever.   My fi...

I went to see Finding Dory at the cinema tonight, and found myself at the edge of tears when a crucial scene was underscored by Louis Armstrong's What a Wonderful World.  The people at Pixar are experts at the art of tugging your heartstrings, of course, but that wasn't the point. I have a soft spot for the song that means it always touches me; there's something in the tone of Armstrong's performance that sounds like a genuine smile in his voice, which makes it all the more affecting; it's the perfect marriage of vocal and emotional intent. There are certain songs that always have a powerful effect on me. Two that spring to mind are Don McLean's achingly beautiful Vincent and Paul McCartney's spellbinding Golden Slumbers. Both make me sit up and take note, and marvel at the perfection of their vocal performance; when I listen to Vincent, time stops, and Macca's delivery of the word 'home' in Golden Slumbers is like an audio home to me, that nev...

Like the rest of the music-loving planet, I was shocked to wake up to the news that David Bowie was dead. It didn’t and still doesn’t compute. I had no reason to think he was less mortal than the rest of us, yet somehow, irrationally, I almost believed that he was. It wasn’t just his breakthrough early-70s hits and those accompanying videos / TOTP / Old Grey Whistle Test performances that made him seem otherworldly; it was also his face. No-one had looked or sounded that way before him, and it’s a fair to say that no-one will again. I can't imagine anyone not respecting him for what he did. As a Beatles fan, I’m used to people taking the devil’s advocate route and saying they were overrated; contradicting a generally perceived opinion is an easy card to play. But not with David Jones. His constant reinvention and reinvigoration - combined with his recent dodging of the limelight - created a persona it’s impossible to knock. He even managed to rise above the soulless 1980s (and th...

I’ve got into the habit of playing a handful of YouTube clips of songs that put me in a good mood, when I’m in the bath in the morning. This is not without risk. I keep my mobile on the window ledge above the bath: reaching up to it with the driest hand that I can muster, to switch from one clip to another. It’s my personal take on an extreme sport. If only there were other ways I could do it, such as listening to a playlist I’d set up in advance or - God forbid - an ALBUM, there’d be less chance of me making an insurance claim in the near future. What can I say? I like to live dangerously. The music I choose tends to go around in cycles. I’ll listen to the same few songs for a week or two, then move on to something else. I’m quite careful about my selections, never wanting to play anything so maudlin that it makes me want to slip my head below the surface. I’m like the priest in Father Ted who listens to the Theme from Shaft to lift himself from depression, without the co...

I like to think of Shazam as just one stressed and overworked person, frantically flicking through their iTunes library. No sooner have they correctly identified a song, than another call comes through. The workload is tremendous. By setting up the service, they created a rod for their own back. They used to love music, but now it just makes them uptight. To do it so quickly would take considerable talent. I could probably name every Beatles song from a few bars (smug face), but that means being familiar with 214-ish tracks. Imagine having to recognize any recording ever made. We're talking Aswad, B*Witched, Chumbawamba, everything . How it works is a mystery. I’d look it up, but I don't want to destroy the magic. I once managed to convince it that me playing my acoustic was a song by ELO though, which is a small source of personal pride.

It suddenly hit me this morning that for the past decade I've completely neglected my music.  The problem is I've mixed things up in my head. I said to myself recently that I wouldn't play any more, as I no longer really enjoyed it. I've since realised that it's not music as a whole that’s the issue; more the type of music that I’ve been playing. All the tours I've done as an actor / musician have lifted my musical ability, but stagnated my writing.  Part of the reason is I always used to be in a band. Even when I was the main writer, I still disguised my input by being surrounded by other musicians. This gave me more confidence in my material, as well as the motivation to see a song through.  I've always worked best to a deadline. The minute the band finished, I no longer had the reason to write. The fact that I was always working also gave me less time to even consider doing it.  I got out my acoustic t...