Live Music Portsmouth- Blogged by Lyrical Monsoon

The best live music in Portsmouth is being discovered by the Live and Unsigned music competition. The UK’s biggest music competition for original artists works to uncover the best unique, unsigned talent in the region, such as Live and Unsigned Area Finalists Lyrical Monsoon, who have created a blog about their competition experiences for the chance to win a great prize.

Portsmouth Music Blog

Live and Unsigned finalists Lyrical Monsoon submitted their blog after all music contests Finalists were asked to write about their progression through Live and Unsigned to be in with a chance of winning a prize of £500 worth of recording studio time. The best blogs from the acts involved in this year’s Live and Unsigned music contests are going online for a chance to win. The best blog will be decided by which act receives the most likes for their blog on the Live and Unsigned Facebook wall.

We’ve had a great response from bands and acts wanting to share their experiences of the Live and Unsigned music contest, and now they will be shared with you, giving acts the chance to win time in a recording studio.

Live Music Contest

Throughout the weeks we’re going to put up music contest acts’ blog entries for you to join in the fun and read. If you like their blog, vote for them on our Facebook page by pressing the ’Like’ button or commenting positively on their work. The act from the music contest with the most support for their blog within one week of it being posted will be the winner of the recording studio time prize.

The best of luck to all bands and acts who have shared their stories of the Live and Unsigned music contest, get voting for your favourite.

Final Blog 13: Lyrical Monsoon

Live Music Portsmouth

So. There we were, sat in the pub, Thursday afternoon. Lovely day. Nice pint. Carl turns to me and says, “We’re playing Live and Unsigned audition on Sunday, remember?”

“No”

“I told you the other week, I’ve entered us.”

“No you didn’t”

“Yes I did”

“Well no, you didn’t”

“I did, but anyways, it doesn’t matter, we’re playing it if I have to drag you kicking and screaming”

“But isn’t it for like rock bands?”

“No, it’s for everything plus we’re a rock band, kind of”

“No, we’re a live hip hop band”

“Kinda counts”

“Fine”

*Later*

“Come on then, we’re off to band practice”

“No we’re not”

“Yes, we are”

“Don’t you tell me anything anymore? I’m a founding member of this band and I demand you consult me before making irrational decisions.”

“It’s not irrational”

“Fine.” Well I suppose those rules I put in place worked. “The first rule of band practice is, you do not talk about band practice.”

So we rock up to the retirement home for musicians. Yes, retirement home. Our band room is attached to the side of our bass monster James’ old grandparent’s house, and there are wing-backs everywhere. You know, those old chairs with the headrests either side to catch your head when you doze off watching countdown. Also, how much tea can old people/musicians drink? - There are 32 teapots throughout the house - I am not lying - and about 1,269 teacups and saucers. Hell, we could do a teacup symphony for our next round. And there are model spitfires everywhere. Hence retirement home for musicians.

So, James is ready, synth player Matt ready, Carl and I are ready with our mics, and Jacks’ in the bath.

“JACK. UNLESS YOUVE GOT STICKS AND POTS AND PANS AND A CYMBAL UP THERE STOP EXFOLIATING YOUR FACE AND GET DOWN HERE - WE’RE PLAYING LIVE AND UNSIGNED AUDITION IN TWO DAYS.”

“ARE WE?!”

“YES” - I suppose those rules did work - “The second rule of band practice is, YOU DO NOT TALK ABOUT BAND PRACTICE.”

So, finally, Jack’s fresh face comes downstairs and we jam. We play a few dittys, you know, a little warm up, which, as any musician would know, is never little. Next thing we know the old cuckoo clock is chiming 10:30pm and the nurse comes round with our medicine.

“Here you go,” she croons, daft old bat, handing us a tray with 3 cans of Carlsberg poured into 5 teacups, complete with saucers.

“Um, do you mind? You do know the rules of band practice don’t you? - The third rule of band practice is, no girls. So, if you’d be so kind....”

We play some more, and choose a song. Funky. A nice little beat I made about 3 years ago; jazzy piano, funky bass and nice tight upbeat drum loop. The boys took to it like little ducklings to water - pants at first but half hour later they were pro.

Suddenly, there’s this banging on the window, real hard - somebody was unhappy about something.      

“YOU DAMN HIPPIES! TURN THAT OFF NOW - SOME OF US ARE TRYING TO SLEEP!”

For some reason, we all look at each other, terrified, but Jack, calm as Richard whitely on countdown replies

“SORRY MATE, BUT WE’RE PLAYING THE O2 ARENA TOMORROW AND WE NEED SOME PRACTICE” (complete lie)

(voice a bit less irate) - “Really?”

“Yes, and if we win we get a recording contract”

“What, so you’ll be famous?”

“yea.”

 “well, by all means, carry on gents, sorry to disturb you! Just don’t forget me when the stars are in your eyes.”

“We won’t, goodnight!”

What a blag. Good old Jack. So, song sorted, neighbors happy, bedtime. “NURSE...”

Saturday - The Audition. I slept at Carl’s that night because my amazing alarm clock had gone to stay at her mums, and there was no hope for me. However, 10 years of friendship and 5 years of rapping with someone, you learn a few things. Carl’s got 49% reptilian DNA. That means, this dude heals himself like a superhero, and loves to get up early and turn over some rocks to find the best bugs, I on the other hand, do not.

“Schh, schhh, schh” is the noise that wakes me up. This lizard man is shuffling around the living room disturbing my sofa surf and after a few profanities I discover It is 8:45, and we are being picked up at 9.

“Why didn't you wake me up earlier? Did the early lizard not get the cricket or something?”

“I Tried, but you swung at me and swore - a lot”

“Sorry mate, you know what I'm like.” so I get up, check my phone.

“Carl.”

“Yes”

“its 7:30”

“No its not, its 8:45.”

“Carl, I swear to god, if you don’t leave me be now - ill poop on your sofa” so he leaves me. When I finally awoke at 8:30 this guy had been up the shop, done his laundry and informed me of the price of his favorite Yazoo. “only 49p Gav, on offer wasn’t it.”

I really didn’t care. “The 4th rule of band practice is, let sleeping members lie.”

The boys arrived, and we drove to Portsmouth. The nerves started to rise. Not for fear of performance, but fear of rejection. This is a rock show, not a hip hop show, what were we doing? Still - the soothing sound of Mr Wogan - radio 2, kept us calm till we got there.

Music Auditions Portsmouth

Portsmouth. Auditions. As far as I’m concerned there was like 200 of the same person pottering around everywhere. Each one of them, hair licked over their face with too much industrial strength axel grease, their little sister’s trousers on, barely held up by a home made studded belt, lip piercing which none of them can leave alone and all of them, each and every single one, playing electric guitars that were not plugged in. A cascade of ‘twinging’ and scratchy awkward ‘twangs.’ I hate that. Why not just bring an acoustic. Never mind. So, the clones were making me nervous. Our baggy jeans and big high top shoes did not go unnoticed. You know that scene, in Shaun of the Dead, where they pretend to be zombies and walk through the zombies, it was like that. I just kept thinking, all these bands, they don’t want us. We’ll be humiliated. I was wrong.

We signed in, sat amongst the clones, and I start to notice there’s this dude, Live and Unsigned staff, he looks like an angry young man, dealing with all these clones. He’s wearing high tops - damn - he might want to hear us - I feel a bit better. Angry man pops in and out with a clipboard - calling random band names. I’ve now worked out that that you can put any two random words together to make a band name. Chocolate Plant. Green Radiator. Salmon Rack. “LYRICAL MONSOON” - angry man had come to cast our fate to the wind.

“Come on boys, were up.”

*Cautiously,* “Um, Mr angry man, we were told in the emails we could have headphones for our drummer...?”

“I’ll just check.”..... “No, you can’t” - Argh! Panic rises, the door seems tempting. See, with no monitors, our drummer can’t hear his time keeper within the tune, he’ll go out of time, the bass will follow the drums out of time and it will sound like we’re playing in a tumble dryer.

“Don’t worry boys, it will be fine.” It’s alright for you mr cold-blooded lizard man.

Sat in the room afterwards, with all the other bands waiting to hear their decisions, we talked about our performance. Too much profanity here to speech it out. Jack thought it went well. So did James, Carl was happy and our singer Zoë (who is not longer with us) didn't say much. I thought it went bad. I played sound-boy too much worrying about everything. Zoë couldn't hear herself so didn't do herself justice. The boys just did their thing, and unbeknown to me, they did keep in time. Good lads. Halfway through the performance I dared to look up, and to my amazement, one of the judges was smiling, the other bobbing her head and tapping the table! Get in boys!

“LYRICAL MONSOON” - we head out to now an angry lady with clip board. “Well done guys, you’ve made it through.”

“No worries lads, I told you it wasn't for WHAT? NO WAY - WE MADE IT THROUGH?”

“Yes, congratulations.” I didn't listen to the next bit as I was changing my opinion of Live and Unsigned from ‘don’t like’ to ‘love’. Yea, they like our hip hop. Up yours rock bands.

We were all happy. It’s a nice feeling when a group of mates do something like that. It makes you closer.

Jack, ever the planner “So what we gonna do next lads?”

“Shut up, and just enjoy this feeling. Well done boys.

Time passed, Zoë left due to unknown reasons, we watched our video on youtube and slept in the wing-backs. We also found out the retirement home is damn strange. The lights work only when they want to, and the microwave is haunted. Yes, it is. Turned on, it does not work, unless you shout at it, or turn the kettle on. Understandable - electronics etc. But, for a laugh. We unplugged the kettle, clicked the switch and the microwave turned on. We all screamed. Like girls. WHAT? HOW WAS THIS WORKING? So, further tests showed, even when in two different rooms, the kettle still controlled the microwave. CARL TOOK THAT KETTLE 50 YARDS DOWN THE DRIVE TO THE ROAD AND IT STILL WORKED! We considered jamming somewhere else. We didn't.

            For the regional finals, I felt a bit more comfortable, maybe we did have a chance. Maybe, just maybe, they’d like us, and after reading the pamphlet, with the wide range of judges and their desires, I felt much better. We jammed, and accidently I opened this old project I had where I sampled the British airways theme - the flower duet from the opera Lakme. You’ll know it when you hear it. And damn, the rhythm buddies loved it. I loved it. Carl loved it. Cover song sorted. You want originality we’ll give you originality. And for our cover - the Mosquito song by Queens of the Stone Age - with a latin twist at the end.

Couple of practices later, James and Jack have a smug smile on their faces.       

“Lets play the song boys, Jack’s got something to show you.” uptight and boring as I am - I quote the 5th rule of band practice - “the fifth rule of band practice is, no surprises.” After shouting at them for 5 minutes Jack pulled out a whistle.

“Is that it, your big surprise. Damn, I bet you’d be happy if someone surprised you with a cup of tea in the morning”, and left it at that. What did he want to show us with that?

Through this practice, we got to the latin part of the song, and this amazing trill, pierced the air that little ‘summit summit’ we’d been looking for to fill out the song. I look round, and its Jack’s whistle. Amazing, what a genius. So we all bought whistles. We sold the tickets, contacted our local press, and got an interview on BBC Introducing and waited. Impatiently.

April 23rd. Regional finals. Matt picks me up - we drive to Carl’s, and wait for the rhythm buddies. No way that guy was waking me up at stupid o’clock this time. In the car, on the way, good vibes. Beautiful day. Portsmouth. Less clones. Beer. Sign in. The Monsoon Army arrives. 37 lovely Salisbrarian’s appear, crazy as ever, whistles in tow and even bringing Carl’s son, Max. Lovely little boy. Yea right. Anyways. No fear, no nerves. Confident. For once, before a show, I felt fine.

So we sign in, soundcheck, worry unnecessarily about connecting the laptop; the Live and Unsigned team were more than helpful. Backstage. Right guys, you have to stay here. You’re not allowed out, except to the toilet, and if you wanna have a smoke you’ll have to get me. I needed a beer. I needed a smoke. We snuck downstairs and got refreshments. We snuck outside and had a smoke. We’re naughty. Anyways, as we’re trying to work out when we’ll be called, the ever calm, Jack the planner chirps up.

“So boys, when the melody fades out, do I do a beatdown or drop out?” Simultaneously, we all shout,

“JACK, are you being serious? You’re joking right? Not now man, we’ve worked too hard Jack - plus we’ve only played it 4 hours ago and you were spot on!!!”

“Oh ok. But seriously though...” James talked him through it. Buzzing. We were all buzzing, like we’d been eating batteries all day. Nice vibe. Ready. Toilet. On the way back, I saw through a door down onto the stage. Massive. Good band playing. Not ready.

“LYRICAL MONSOON.” Here we go.

Music Contest Live performance

Waiting anxiously at the side of the stage, for the next band to finish, I need a wee. I always need a wee. Jack, James and Matt go out, I go to follow, but Carl grabs me. I know what he’s thinking. Late entrance. Now that’s rock and roll. In a hip hop band.

The crowd is dark, can’t really see them. Walk out on stage, looking for the Army, where are they? Are they here?

“What’s up Salisbury?” - my mic boomed over the headless crowd.

“WWWWWOOOOOOOOO” they replied. Phew, there they are. Ready.

“Welcome, to first class...” The sample sang out. We played. We played our little farmer town hip hop loving hearts out, hoping they would love it. And they did. The whistles went down a treat. The announcement was great. “We have been Lyrical Monsoon, thanks for listening. You can catch us at www.soundcloud.com/lyrical-monsoon. Remember, viewer discretion is advised and do not try this at home.” Get in.

            Backstage. Happy, buzzing now like we were chewing on power cables. We hugged, talked, analyzed every bit. Tried to sneak to the bar but it was closed. That didn’t matter. Normally, people don’t know how to take us, but everyone congratulated us, said they’d loved it. Funny that, they were in a room unable to hear. Still.

No tobacco left, that was bad however, and upon talking to the other bands and coming back down to earth, we realised the scary bit was still to come. The vote. The judges opinion. Damn, I knew I should have been worried about something. Thought of ways we could have boosted our vote. Greeted the judges. Complemented them on their nice shoes or groundbreaking hairstyles (that we obviously couldn’t have seen) but no. Well surely we played good enough to get through? Did we? Suddenly our performance didn’t seem that great.

Unsigned band from Portsmouth to the Area Finals      

Side of the stage. All acts there. The announcer explaining to the crowd, and us, what was about to happen. The judges picks come on the stage, then the audience vote declared. 37 votes should be enough, shouldn’t it? The bands get called out one by one. Random Words. Toast Shoe. Pepper Door. Grow Chair. 3 acts left, 2 acts left, 1 act left. He doesn’t call a name. Then I realize he has to do the whole suspense thing. “Who do you want to go through?” I hear whistles. I think “Don’t waste your time faithful Salsbrarians, the Monsoon has failed you this time.” Carl looks unhappy. James is pondering, Matt is twitching, Jack is cool as a cucumber in an ice box. Does he know something? I touch some wood, and actually mutter a short prayer, to whom I’m not sure. This Guy looks at me like I’m nuts. Maybe I am. “Well, the next band going through to the area” blah blah blah just get it over with so I can go drown my sorrows in the pub acro...

“LYRICAL MONSOON.”

YES YES YES YES!!!!! Get in. Carl was out on that stage quicker than a chameleons tongue. The rest of us grouped and that crazy dude was still lapping the stage with what must be the biggest grin I’ve ever seen his face hold. 

So, we’d made it through. Man, did we feel like kings. Well, kind of. This is the most we’ve ever done really. Biggest crowd, most pats on the back. Happy, we were ecstatic. Apart from Jack. He was cool as an eskimo in an igloo. Beer - lots of beer. Minibus, Salisbury, more beer.

 I peel my head off the pillow. My beautiful girlfriend congratulates me. I wonder what for. Then I remember. One more step till the O2. Maybe Jack’s speech to our irate neighbor wasn’t such a blag after all.

“The 6th rule of band practice is, if someone wants to play something, we’ll play it at least once.” What a bad rule. “The 7th rule is, one song at a time fellas.” That’s better. 

Our ever faithful band members decided this month was going be to a bit awkward for them. “I’ve got a romantic dinner tonight”

“James - taking Annie to Burger King is not romantic”

“Is”

“Isn’t”

“I’m having a nice bath night tonight”

“Jack you bath every night”

And on, and on. I felt like reminding them of the 8th rule of band practice; If band practice is scheduled, you must attend. No doctors notes here.

Finally we met. And what a bad rule number 5 was, thank heavens for number 6! Everyone wanted to do everything. From ‘Because I Got High’ by Afroman to ‘King Of The Swingers’ from the Jungle Book. It looked bleak. Whatever song we played - these were the answers

Jack - “Yea, I like that one”

Matt - “THAT WAS AWESOME!”

Me - “Yea, not bad”

Carl - “NO”

James - “mmmph”

The only answer that annoyed me was James. What does mmmph mean? What sort of contribution does that hold? And so it carried on like this - for another week. We settled roughly on a few choices, but nothing solid.

“Maybe we should all take our shoes off?” (James, this time, not Jack), and before I could line up the insult he came out with it - “the 9th rule of band practice is - no shoes, no socks.” Well done James, you have disciplined yourself. I’ve often thought about introducing a fine system to band, like James Brown, but having us take the mickey out of each other is much more fun.

After a while we had this idea, The Kaiser Chiefs - Modern Way. I had remixed it before - but it seemed to work with the band. The bass and piano had good interpretations, the drums were solid, the lyrics worked and we even got a reggae chorus in there, what else could we need? Right - sorted. Original? Well we settled on a little bit of classical. A Fur Elise remix, that has been in our rank of tunes almost from the beginning. Matt is an awesome piano player, making that work wasn’t a problem. The drums again were tight, and the bass, so simple but so effective, this song was a banger. So, finally, rehearsed and chosen. We were ready. On the Friday. The Friday before the show. Damn we pushed it.

Saturday morning of the area finals. We meet and have a run through, we mess it up. The ever enthusiastic Jack - “What about that other song boys?”

In unison - “NO!”       

So we set off. Three in one car, two in the other. Good vibes. Good tunes on the old faithful - Radio 2 - no Wogan however. We were in good spirits. We knew the drill, so the waiting around wouldn’t be a problem as we knew what to expect. We met the Slick Minded Individuals again, exchanged luck, and retreated to our little corner in the backstage area after soundchecks. The other bands looked a lot more serious this time, in suits, or masks, and all of them confident. Less clones, more characters. Less twanging. We heard some of them chatting last minute tactics, and I looked at Jack. “Don’t you dare”...

We went down, played our set. Ok, not too bad, hiccup or two but overall it wasn’t too bad. Maybe we did leave it a little too late... We talked a little about it, but kind of knew it wasn’t going to make the cut...

Backstage at Portsmouth Guildhall

And then, the most amazing thing happened. I had thought about this at the regional final but no one looked up for it so I decided not. This guy was jamming, (with an acoustic thank god because by now I’d have wrapped a twanger around his head!). Then someone else started jamming, this girl was singing, a guy who I can only describe as ‘Garth’ from Waynes World started drumming ON A CRISP PACKET and then I noticed angry boy. Sat there, no longer angry, he was smiling! Getting involved, that’s what we like to see! So we shuffled over and within 5 minutes we had about 25 people tapping, strumming, scatting, singing and (us) rapping away. Good Work.

Amazing vibes! That feeling, where so many people come together to do what they love, staring defeat or acceptance in the face was awesome. By then, we started another tune, and this group behind me started busting out these harmonies! These boys could have been a barbershop quartet! We hit ‘Hey Jude’ and it sounded so good! About 35 people all going “na, na na ...” Fantastic. Then we hit Billie Jean. That Quartet hit the bass, I beatboxed the beat and some people sung and played it, it was absolutely mindblowing. Angry boy might have left yet, but what he did see he liked. That alone was worth a 70 mile round trip.

So, this is the end of our journey. I won’t talk about the rest because we didn’t make it through and I don’t want to rub salt into our wounds, but we did well to get that far. You have a little insight into our eccentric lives. We got a lot of coverage, exposure, advice, met some wicked people, had a great time and above all else, reminded of the determination to drive for what you want. Not bad for a group who formed about 1 month before L&U started eh?

The 10th and final rule of band practice is, never give up.

Thanks to Angry Boy, all the Backstage Sound Team, The backstage ‘Jammin’ Massive,  The L&U Team and all The Judges (yes, even the ones who didn’t put us through), no hard feelings. Word of advice though. Prepare yourselves for next year.

Yours,

Lyrical Monsoon

If you like Lyrical Monsoon’s blog, you have a week to vote for them on our Facebook page  by pressing the Like button! Watch out throughout the week ahead for more blog entries from bands and acts sharing their experiences from Live and Unsigned 2011.

Don’t miss your chance to win great prizes!