The Lightyears on Wikipedia

The Lightyears now have a page on Wikipedia – which is great, ‘cos it means we now officially exist.

Click here to visit The Lightyears’ Wikipedia page.

Wikipedia is a collaborative, user-generated, multilingual online encyclopedia – or, in other words, a free encyclopedia that anyone can edit. This means that you can add information to our page if you so desire.

Do bear in mind though that additions to any Wikipedia page have to be “notable” in some way, as well as being verifiable by a reliable internet source. This means that, whilst the time you had a pint with us in The Eagle was lovely and everything, it probably doesn’t belong on our Wikipedia page. However, the time we headlined Shea Stadium with The B-52s should be included (it’s an oversight that it’s not on there already, come to think of it).

The Hub – London – 29/03/09

Things We Love/Hate About The 80s

The news today is that Spandau Ballet are re-forming and becoming the next in a long line of former stadium acts to get back on the road for a mammoth nostalgia tour and the opportunity to perform once again in front of their legions of screaming fans. Take That, Spice Girls, The Police – it’s all the rage these days.

The cynics consistently interpret moves such as these as transparent attempts to make a fat pile of cash without having to do anything original. “They’ve just got mortgages to pay”, they cry. But so what, I say? Musicians are normal people like anybody else (well, except Mariah Carey). They should be allowed to pay their mortgages if that’s what they want. I mean, when Wispa bought out the Wispa Gold back in the ’90s, people didn’t go around saying “No man, that is WAY cynical. It’s just the Wispa executives trying to pay off their mortgages”.

Anyway, that’s not really the point I’m attempting to make here. What I’m more interested in discussing is this – which elements of the ’80s would we all like to bring back and which should remain forever buried?

To start everybody off, here’s my tuppence worth:

’80s STUFF WE SHOULD BRING BACK
– Marty McFly
– Michael Jackson making decent music
– Supergran
– The Dukes Of Hazzard
– Paul Daniels
– Jim’ll Fix It

’80s STUFF THAT SHOULD REMAIN HIDDEN FOREVER
– Shellsuits
– Shoulder pads on anybody except superheroes
– Thatcherite government
– Me wetting the bed

OK, I’m done.

……Contributions welcome!

Chris Lightyear

Lightyears invited back to South Korea

Following the news that we’ve been invited back to South Africa next year to headline at the international rugby Tens Tournament in Cape Town, we’ve also been asked out to South Korea this June to perform at The Queen’s Birthday Ball in Seoul. 

The QBB is an annual fund-raising venture that takes place at The Grand Hyatt Hotel and consistently raises huge amounts of money for Korean charities. The theme for the event changes every year, with past themes including the Chelsea Flower Show, Phantom Of The Opera and Harry Potter.   

This will be our fourth consecutive year performing at the QBB and we’re honoured to be invited back. Last year’s trip to Korea figured in my Top 50 Moments Of 2008 so we’re hoping to have an equally successful trip this time round!

Click here to read my Korea 2008 tour diary.

“The Lightyears – back once again by popular demand”
THE SEOUL TIMES, SOUTH KOREA

Fame for fame’s sake…?

The internet is awash with articles about the death of Jade Goody, notorious entrepreneur and former Big Brother phenomenon. Never before has somebody experienced a gradual death quite so publicly – and inspired such a storm of media attention and public debate in the process.

Whilst Jade wasn’t exactly my cup of tea, her death was undeniably tragic. However, I can’t help but feel that there’s something terribly crass about the whole affair. The press are patting themselves on the back for “creating” her and, for the most part, transparently ignoring the fact that they spent most of their column inches slagging her off. Huge swathes of the general public are paralysed by an apoplexy of hysteria over somebody they have never met. Goody’s wedding was televised a couple of weeks ago and a million people tuned in. What does this all mean? What does it say about our relationship with the media and with the people it portrays?

You can’t help but admire Goody for her skillful manipulation of the press; however, if she can be considered the puppet-master controlling the papers, the papers can in turn be considered the puppet-masters wielding our strings. Ultimately, we’re the schmucks getting screwed at the bottom of the food chain. We are absolutely lapping it up and, as long as we continue to do this, the tabloids will continue to churn it out. 

Whereas back in the good old days celebrities were recognised and celebrated for a specific talent, nowadays they have morphed into unimaginative circus freakshows, kept afloat by a paparazzi interested almost exclusively in getting pictures of people flashing their pants. Paris Hilton, Jordan, Tara Palmer-Tomkinson – for me, these people are “Notorieties”, not “Celebrities”. The old maxim that “all publicity is good publicity” is truer now than ever. For instance, there was a time when being photographed staggering drunk out of a taxi into a strip-club would have ruined a celebrity’s career. Now it creates that career. Fame breeds fame for fame’s sake.

This, to me, suggests that the whole notion of celebrity is on the verge of eating itself. And how long can a species which cannibalises its own young survive?

Chris Lightyear

ps. this Sunday 29 March I become a “celebrity” myself when I return to my theatre roots to perform alongside a cast including supermodel Anne Diamond, Big Brother’s Nikki Grahame and supermodel Jen Hunter at the launch of Body Gossip. Click here to read more!

Chris Lightyear to star in Body Gossip premiere

I have been asked to star alongside a cast of celebrities in the world premiere of revolutionary theatre event Body Gossip this Sunday 29 March at The Hub in King’s Cross.

The Lightyears will be performing after the show – including a batch of new songs not yet heard live – but in addition to this I will be donning my theatre hat to join Anne Diamond, Big Brother’s Nikki Grahame, Mikyla Dodd (A.K.A. “The Fat Girl From Hollyoaks”) and more besides in dramatising monologues written by real people about their thoughts on, and experiences with, body image.

This Sunday’s launch event sold out several weeks ago; however, if you missed out this time, never fear – plans are afoot for repeat events in the future. 

Visit the Body Gossip website for more information.

It’s rather important at this stage that I point out at that, yes, this does technically make me a celebrity now. However, I won’t let my new status as disgustingly famous affect me as a person. Please, if you see me in the street, don’t shy away. Don’t feel intimidated by my presence. Come and ask for an autograph. Yes, there is a chance I will strike you down for wasting my time, but imagine if I don’t! What a thrill that would be for you.

My very own Rock Supergroup

Writing consecutive blogs about Guns N Roses and Michael Jackson has got me thinking about my rock supergroup. To be taken seriously in muso circles, every self-respecting, self-aggrandising rock fan should have their own supergroup, just as they really ought to be able to reel off their Top Five “Track One Side Ones”*** on request.

I’ll cut to the chase. Whilst I’m on the subject of MJ and GnR, the King Of Pop (circa 1987) would take on vocal duties whilst Slash would provide lead guitar. As tempted as I would be to include Axl in the line-up as well, I believe that supergroup regulations forbid any two members to have come from the same original band and, in any case, you can’t have two frontmen. Well, unless you’re The Beatles. Or The Libertines. Anyhow, I digress. Since the band would OBVIOUSLY be piano-led, I’d have to employ Jerry Lee Lewis on the ivories and have Ben Folds waiting in the wings to fill his shoes when the inevitable happens. Tim Commerford from Rage Against The Machine would play bass and Zeppelin‘s John Bonham (resurrected) would be my stick-man.

And so, I hear you cry, what kind of music would this pure pop/hard rock/hip-hop metal fusion/50s throwback leviathan pump out? Well, exactly that – heavy riffing, face-melting, boogie woogie hook-laden pop with wicked dance moves.

And I shall call them “Dangerous Killing In The Name Of A Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin’ On Heaven’s Door” (yes, it works).

Coming to a stadium near you.

Chris Lightyear

ps. please do comment back with your own supergroups and we’ll see if we can out-do each other like Top Trumps.

*** “Black Dog” from Led Zeppelin IV, “Taxman” from Revolver, “Jackson Cannery” from Ben Folds Five, “La Breeze” from Simian’s We Are Your Friends and “Slam” from Pendulum’s Hold Your Colour (if you discount the 53-second opening prelude, which for these purposes I do)

Have we been played?

Last week Michael Jackson came out of hiding to announce that he was playing ten shows at the 02 Arena. These were to be his last ever performances in London. This is it, everybody said.

This is it, at least, aside from the other forty gigs that were later added to meet the enormous demand for tickets.

Even once you set aside the question of whether the lovable old fruitcake will actually make it to show number 50, consider this – have we been played? Surely they knew all along there’d be more than ten concerts. In hindsight, wasn’t the whole “This is it” schtick just a clever ploy to sway the floating voters?

By which I mean that, whilst MJ has a legion of loyal fans over here who would spend their life savings to watch him perform in a swamp, the promoters must have also realised that there was a large portion of the public who might go either way – casual of fans of his music (for who in the WORLD isn’t at the very least a casual fan of Michael Jackson?) who had asked the inevitable question “Will it be any good? Will it not just be a bit like watching a marionette operated by a one-armed stroke victim?”. 

Scarcity, as we know, drives up demand. The dudes sitting on the fence were given a cunning nudge in the right direction: “Well, I wasn’t that bothered about going to see him until I discovered there were only ten shows and he’d never be playing London again. I have to get tickets now. I mean, come on, this is IT! ”

As I write I am currently trying, and failing, to secure my tickets to see the King in the flesh. Maybe it was never meant to be for me.

If only “Jim’ll Fix It” was still around.

Chris Lightyear

The King & I…

Here’s the news – Michael Jackson is coming to London. No, not to dangle infants out of hotel windows, shop for priceless Ming vases or anything batty like that. He’s coming here to perform. That’s right – ten shows at the O2 Arena in July of this year. 

I am very excited. Michael Jackson is one of my favourite artists of all time and, although in recent years he has morphed into a character of the most riveting strangeness, he remains pop music’s greatest achievement.

Who knows whether he’ll actually be any good but, as my fine friend Ben pointed out to me on the phone but half an hour ago, “Smooth Criminal” done half-arsed will still be FREAKING SWEET. Let’s just hope we can get tickets.

I’ll be interested to see if this prompts a renaissance in the UK’s love affair with Michael Jackson and, more importantly, whether it will ultimately help shift the focus of his legacy back towards the music and away from the scandal. MJ is a nutcase in the fabled mould of the great Victorian eccentric – reclusive, enormously wealthy, gloriously weird. Back in the late 1800s, such eccentricity was actually celebrated. Now we slap a straitjacket on it and call it “mentally disturbed” – or worse, as in the King Of Pop’s case, we collectively condemn it for appalling and fantastical crimes with, seemingly, the sole purpose of selling newspapers. 

What I mean to say is that Michael Jackson may be as mad as a box of badgers but that doesn’t necessarily make him a pervert. We have an grossly unattractive tendency towards iconoclasm in this country, owing to the strange belief that because we make celebrities famous it’s our prerogative to lay waste to their careers – we giveth, and we taketh away (Matthew, XXVI: 4). This has been created by the media and is a total falsehood. You wouldn’t tell a stonemason that, if he failed to build your house to your satisfaction, you were entitled to stone him to death. That’s just bonkers.

Anyhow, before I lose myself yet further down the road of shamelessly defending the reputation of one of my musical heroes, I’ll simply say this – shamawwwwwwwwwwn people!! And I’ll see you at the O2.

Chris Lightyear

We are staying in JACK BAUER’S hotel…

TUESDAY 3 MARCH, 3pm (Brass Bell Restaurant, False Bay, South Africa):
I am dressed in shades, boardies and flip-flops. I am starting to look quite tanned, having spent a decent amount of time on the beach over the past few days. I am exhuding an easy, care-free demeanour on account of the sunny weather and the leisurely pace of the Cape Town lifestyle. I am drinking a crisp gin and bitter lemon. The afternoon waves of the Indian Ocean lap hungrily at the walls of the famous Brass Bell restaurant in False Bay, where we’re enjoying a few cocktails and a plate of delicious fried calimari.

Bearing all this in mind, I find it very hard to reconcile the fact that, glancing across the road to a world news poster nailed to a lamp-post, I can read the words “SNOW SHUTS LONDON”.

That’s right – were we at home right now, we’d be building snowmen and perhaps even doing some sly a-wassailing. Yesterday London experienced its most severe snow storms in 18 years. The whole of the capital ground to a halt, which in theory ought not to have affected us all the way out here in South Africa, but as it happened we were waiting for Tony to leave Heathrow and come out to join us in Cape Town. The airport cancelled a staggering 800 flights. Only six actually left the runway and Tony, the jammy rascal, was on the sixth. Which was just as well, as tomorrow night we’re headlining at the Speedway 105 Cafe and we’d been rather relying on Tony’s presence to complete the line-up!

It’s been a wonderful few days. Aside from a few casual, sun-kissed meetings and the odd telephone interview, the business end of the tour hasn’t really started yet. We’ve made the most of our long weekend of freedom with afternoons on the beach and evenings on the town. Yesterday we took a day trip out to Hermanus, a beautiful coastal resort about an hour outside Cape Town, where we walked along the cliffside and Andy cooked us a traditional South African braai, complete with fresh steak, calimari and a dollop of local hospitality.

Yesterday evening I was interviewed by a journalist from The Argus, one of Cape Town’s foremost daily papers (click here to read the article). I conducted the interview strolling along the sand, listening to the ocean and watching the sunset. If only, I thought, I could conduct all my interviews from the beach. What a life that would be…

WEDNESDAY 4 MARCH, 9pm (Speedway 105 Cafe, Cape Town)
Tonight we are playing our first fully-fledged show in South Africa – a headline slot at the Speedway bikers’ bar – and I’m delighted to report that there’s a full house in. What a genuine pleasure it is to visit a new territory, set up camp in a new venue, and watch as the place fills with an audience of complete strangers. I’m excited about performing again and it’s great to have Tony back on the team.

The Scandinavian motorbike club from Saturday night have returned, which I find extremely flattering, since by their own admission they don’t normally listen to anything except Motorhead and AC/DC. Could be an interesting audience. Will we win them over? 

Well, yes, as it turns out. Although for a while it’s looking dicey. We decide to split the evening into two sets, starting with 45 minutes of Lightyears originals and ending with a set of dance numbers. We chuck in “Beat Alive”, “She’s The One”, “Fine”, “Sleepless” and “Emily” too. The crowd respond really well to our songs and the first official airing of “Johannesburg” proves a hit as well. During the break I’m standing at the bar waiting for a beer when the bikers’ ringleader taps me on the shoulder.

“Do you play heavy metal?”

Jings. Should I lie? Mainly we’d been planning Jerry Lee Lewis, Van Morrison and The Monkees for set two. Is there any way in which “I’m A Believer” could be considered metal? Probably not.

“Erm, d’ya know, I’m afraid to say we don’t. It’s not really our ‘thing’.”

“Come on,” he replies, throwing back his big scary Norwegian biker’s head. “Led Zeppelin! You must do some Led Zeppelin! It is the classic of all times.”

I heartily agree with him that, yes, it is the classic of all times – but sadly it’s just not in our repertoire. He’s pretty persistent though and so, by the end of our conversation, I’ve agreed to ‘see what I can do’. I have no idea what I mean by this.

Racking my brains, I remember that last year, when we were on the bill at the launch of State music magazine in Dublin, I played a set of ‘Easy Listening Heavy Metal’ on the grand piano, comprising a whole host of rock classics performed in a lounge style. And one of them was “Black Dog” by Led Zeppelin. Was this a good idea? Would the bikers appreciate the irony?

Dash it all, I thought. I have no choice. This is the only thing we do that even vaguely resembles Led Zeppelin. It will have to suffice.

And so it is that, twenty minutes later, to break up the set, I make an announcement. 

“The extremely fine ladies and gentlemen in the corner there have requested some Led Zeppelin, and we’ve never been a band to let people down. So here’s ‘Black Dog’ – Track One, Side One from the classic album Led Zeppelin IV……”

I’m glad to say that the ensuing performance – although perhaps not quite what they were expecting – prompts enthusiastic applause from the petrolheads and I come to the conclusion that we’ve got away with it. This is later confirmed when we encore with “New York, New York” and it brings the house down. Andy’s brother, Dan, confesses to me after the gig that the sight of twenty leather-clad bikers singing their hearts out to Frank Sinatra brought a tear of joy to his eye and was something he would never, ever forget. 

THURSDAY 5 MARCH, 1.30pm (The Table Bay Hotel, Cape Town):
Today we check into the hotel where we’ll be staying for the remainder of the tour. I’ve been looking forward to this moment. By reputation, the Table Bay is the finest hotel in Cape Town and, in fact, one of the top hotels in the country. It’s a glorious day and the sun is beating down as we arrive outside the front entrance and unload our luggage and instruments. Spotting our guitars, the concierge immediately saunters over.

“Hello sir, how are you today?”

“I’m extremely well thank you,” I reply, absolutely meaning it.

“You’re musicans, right?” he points out, astutely.

I nod in agreement and this prompts a barrage of stories about previous musical residents of the Table Bay. “We’ve had all kinds of bands checking into the hotel over the years,” he explains.

“Who was the last musician to stay here then?” I ask, testing the water.

“Snoop Dogg,” he begins, casually. “We’ve had Kanye West too. And Maroon 5 were here last month. Plus we’ve also had Counting Crows, Robbie Williams and Michael Jackson. The Table Bay is the only place Michael will stay when he’s in Cape Town. I’ve met him personally.”

He can see I’m impressed. But he’s not done yet.

“Oh, and Keifer Sutherland. Keifer Sutherland often stays here. Nice fella.”

We are staying in JACK BAUER’S hotel. 

Rock and roll.

THURSDAY 5 MARCH, 7.30pm (The Toad In The Village, Noordhoek, Cape Town):
We are at The Toad In The Village, a bar/restaurant in the rather quaint Noordhoek, owned by legendary former Springbok captain, Bob Skinstad. We’ve been invited along to the launch party for the ‘Noordhoek Vikings’, one of the teams taking part in the Cape Town Tens Rugby Tournament this weekend. This will be our first proper experience of hanging out with large gangs of rugby players.

We turn up early and take our designated seats at a long, wooden dining table by at the far end of the room. The other half of the table is empty. It transpires that we are to be joined shortly by six or seven professional rugby players from the ‘Sports Illustrated Legends’ team, a side headed up by Bob himself, along with Robbie Fleck, another former South African international who is also involved in organising the tournament. The guys are coming along tonight to meet the rest of their team-mates and sink a few* lagers.

We’ve been there for about 15 minutes when a group of enormous blokes appear through the main entrance and head towards our table. As they arrive, I stand up to introduce myself to the guy at the front. The blood drains from his face. 

“Who are….. what is…. erm…?”. He seems shaken. “What position do you play?”

Odd greeting, I think. My next thought concerns how powerful, almost debilitating, his handshake is. He still looks a bit freaked out. Then the penny drops. Blimey. They think we’re on their team. 

“Oh gosh, gosh no. Hah! No. I’m not a rugby player. Golly. No. Imagine that! You’d probably snap me in half. I mean, look at you, you have arms like anacondas.”

Actually, I didn’t say that last bit. But I did think it. Danny later tells me that he was transfixed for the entire evening by the sight of me sitting next to a bloke whose biceps were WIDER THAN MY HEAD. I could have climbed inside his arms and made them my home. “You look so tiny,” Danny kept saying. Yeah, whatever mate. I could play rugby. I just choose not to.

By the time I have finished shaking hands with all seven of them, the bones in my right hand have been ground to a fine powder. I may never play piano again.

FRIDAY 6 MARCH (Hamilton Rugby Club, Cape Town):
Earlier this evening we sat down to a truly delicious dinner on the harbourside near the hotel. Tanned, rested and fully settled into laid-back Cape Town life, we sat round the table beaming at each other, soaking up the warm night air. John summed up the feeling most succinctly when he said: “I can’t ever remember being this happy”.

Despite being so chilled out we could almost have sat there until sunrise, we decide to head over to Hamilton Rugby Club (where the Cape Town Tens are kicking off with an evening of hardcore boozing) to show our faces and generally get a feel for the vibe of the tournament. The matches themselves don’t start until Saturday but, as the recreational side of the event is generally considered equally as important as the sport, we figure it would do us good to get a taster before things kick off for real tomorrow morning.

When we turn up we are greeted by a sobering sight – 600 huge rugby players, standing around, necking pints and challenging each other to violent drinking games. Once again we are suddenly made very aware of how much we stand out. Feeling like Year 7s who have just accidentally wandered into the Year 11 common room and are met for the first time by that bewilderingly unfamiliar cocktail of sweat, Lynx deodorant and Tizer, we head cautiously for the bar, trying our hardest not to make eye contact with anyone. 

We are mere seconds from our destination when the mission fails. We’ve been spotted. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen one of those wildlife programmes where leopards are filmed hunting gazelles, but this is pretty much a human equivalent. Looking back over my shoulder I see young Danny Morriss being picked off from the herd by a man off such terrifying visage that I can actually feel my sphincter tightening. He seems to be trying to engage Danny in conversation, although the sounds coming from his mouth are definitely not words and his only other method of communication is to squish Dan’s immaculately-engineered mohican with his enormous hand until it’s entirely flat on his head. I am genuinely torn between the two conflicting instincts in my gut – one is telling me to stick by my friend and wade in for rescue, the other is telling me to sod Danny and run away screaming like a tiny little girl.

For the first time, I am beginning to feel quite nervous about this weekend’s gigs. These people will be our audience. Will they accept us as their own or will they weed us out as the namby-pamby pretenders we are? And if they do accept us, will we have to drink our own urine through a plastic funnel as part of some kind of dreadful initiation ceremony? At the moment, they’re curious about us because we’re quite demonstrably outsiders – but maybe once we’ve been up onstage, we’ll have more authority.

“Do you think it’ll be better once they know who we are?” I ask George, praying for the answer ‘yes’.

“No mate,” replied George, “it’ll be worse. Because they’ll know who we are.”

***

Will we survive a weekend boozing with rugby players? Will Cape Town rock to the sweet sound of The Lightyears? Stay tuned for Part 3 of my South African tour diary, coming soon to www.TheLightyears.com.

* a “few” to me is approximately three. To a rugby man, it is somewhere in the region of twelve.

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