Proud to call her a friend

Now, this may come as something of a surprise to you, but I love music. I love good music and I especially like good, well-produced music, and even more so if I happen to have known the person who made said music since I was at university.

Let me introduce you, dear friends, to ziggiville. The new album i n t c, to which she contributes her stunning and ever-awesome vocals (awesome in the real sense of the word), is, I have to say, a work of art. In fact, it’s more than that: it’s a masterpiece. Should it get the publicity it most definitely deserves, it will blast a hole in the stomach of commercialism bigger than Jupiter’s Red Spot. And a bloody good thing, too. Too many people think being in a band is an easy route to big bucks. Umm, no. Let me clarify that. It ain’t. So, when I hear a new band on, say, Graham Norton or Parky or whoever and look around for the talent, all too often, I’m left looking long after the band’s slot is over. There is no talent, you see, and that’s the problem. Marketing. That’s what it’s about in the 21st century. Call me a cynic if you will, but there are not actually that many genuinely great bands out there and the UK isn’t playing ball, either. Once the hub of a thriving music business, before it became the money-driven industry it has since become, the UK’s efforts at producing good bands seem to have been lagging somewhat, these last few years.

This is where ziggi comes in. Now, as I said, I’ve known this girl a long time. Consequently, I’ve seen how hard she’s worked in that time and, believe you me, making genuine, REAL music is no easy task. You may be genuinely talented (enter David Bowie, stage left, as a prime example) but, unless you’re prepared to put in the hard work, you’re stuffed. If you have a thin skin, forget it. If your work is precious to you and you would never think of adapting, forget it. Not a chance. Nah-ah.

What irritates me is when bands are pushed to the forefront and they don’t even look like musicians. I mean, what’s happening, lately? Some bands (naming no names, though the temptation is truly overwhelming) look as if they’ve just got out of bed and seem bewildered to find themselves on stage, as if (and I might be going out on a limb, here, so forgive me if I’m wrong) they have no idea what they’re doing there.

A natural musician is a real find. My good friend ziggi (I should add, this isn’t her real name – just in case you were wondering) is one such find. If the music press pass this one up, I will be forced to come to the conclusion that the people who run them and even those who write for them must be certifiably insane. This music can pack out stadiums. Let ziggiville prove, once and for all, that real talent shines through among the dross and it lasts and never leaves the person whom it inhabits.

I’m going off on one. I can tell. But, though I would usually apologise, not this time. I’m not the least bit sorry for telling all who’ll listen about ziggiville and I’m even less sorry for the blatant and unashamed plug which follows: for lyrics the like of which you have no hope of finding anywhere else, go here If you don’t do it now, I’ll follow your every move until you do. And ziggi won’t leave you alone, either – she’ll haunt you wherever you go. So, step to it.

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