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If you thought the property market has little to do with football. Think again! A recent study by a magazine shows that about 20% of prime country homes are bought by footballers.

If you have been under the impression that the only property that football is concerned with is its pitch, think again or question an estate agent in places like Cheshire or Surrey.

Country Life, a rural set magazine, annually analyses prime country homes that are sold for more than 2m. But the point to notice is that 40% of such properties are bought by entrepreneurs, 20% by people employed in the service sector and 20% to professional footballers.

The top end of the Cheshire property market is dominated by players from Manchester United, Liverpool, Everton, Blackburn and Manchester City. A Real Estate Consultancy firm working on a confidential document for FA claims that footballers spend an approximate 85m a year on homes in Britain.

All this results in the growth of small industry of buying agents and support companies. There are also developers, which specialise in building footballers homes. The Allos group, headed by an Iraqi developer Mayod Allos, has constructed houses for Jamie Redknapp, Graeme Le Saux and Ian Walker; plus is currently working on three current Chelsea players.

Even footballers holiday homes generate work within the property industry.

posted by eyidzgl  # 9:18 PM 0 comments

So now you've decided to record your songs. Good for you, except that you will need people to play the instruments for which your music calls for. If you can play all the instruments on your own, then all the better. You will have less people to argue with! Other wise, you will have to hire (read: bribe with beer/food/hockey tickets) session musicians and vocalists to play and sing for you, putting you in the producer's chair.

Your songs are only as emotional as the performers who play them. It goes without saying that you should hire the best performers your budget will allow. But if $100/hour for a professional vocalist is a little steep, here are a few ways to help encourage the best from your session players.

1.) Always praise, never criticize.

The is THE most important rule in my book. The only way any session musician could ever get comfortable at your studio is if YOU put them at ease. That's one of your jobs as a producer.

When trying different versions of a take, tell them how you would like it to sound, instead of what they did wrong ie: "That was great, but let's try to hit the high note a little stronger" instead of "you know, you were a little off on the high note, it didn't sound that good".

Always start with praise, then with a correction. Keep your vocabulary positive. The best producers make the artist feel as if they can do nothing wrong.

2) They Can Do Nothing Wrong

Remember this rule while you are writing or recording. There is no "wrong way", there is only "a different way". Don't tell people that their way is wrong. Remember that music is an art, and there are no rules in art. When a performer is playing something you don't like, correct them by saying "let's try it this way too". Don't start off my saying "nope, you were wrong, do it the right way".

3) Let Them See The Light

Ambiance, atmosphere, vibe: whatever you call it, they need it. I guarantee that you will get a much better performance if you have water on the table, comfortable chairs, maybe a few candles, a towel, mints, and candy. Have you ever tried recording in an office with harsh florescent lights and hard wood chairs?

4) Take Your Time

If you're recording at your own studio, you have all the time in the world (which is an evil thing in my opinion). Let the artist relax, "get into the groove", talk a little and get comfortable with the other people in the control room. A tense artist's performance will always sound 'artificial' in the final song.

Don't be worried if it takes another 10 minutes to finish the take. Each performer works at their own pace, and the best thing you can do as the producer is to respect that and adjust your pace to theirs. Unless you have a record company breathing down your neck. Then everyone has to work at THEIR pace!

5) Ask For Help

Artists love to be listened to. It's always good to ask them for their opinion. Whether you actually listen is up to you. But once in a while, a simple question like "What do you think? Do you want to keep that take?" can do wonders for their performance. It helps keep them involved in the project and make them feel less like a "hired hand".

Obviously, if it was the worse singing you've ever heard and they want to keep it, just mention that you will do "one more take as a safety". And then, when they're not looking, use the better take instead and auto-tune it to no end. This is a little producer's secret, but don't let the artists know!

6) Know The Words

Make sure that you, the engineer, the assistant engineer and everyone else in the control room has lyrics to all the songs. The best way for your studio team to find their way around the songs is with the lyric sheets. Another good idea is to USE THE WHITEBOARD! That's why it's there. If you don't have one, get one. Write down the chord progressions, lyric ideas, timing marks, track listings, McDonald's lunch orders, everything.

7) It's MOSTLY About The Music

I've heard people say "it's ALL about the music". Well, in my books, that's not the truth. I'd rather say "it's mostly about the music". Because you have to remember, it's also about having fun, having a good time, writing and performing the best you can and above all, sharing your talent and gift with others. Try to make it less of a job, and more of a passion and you'll find yourself doing it for the rest of your life!

2005 Richard Dolmat (Digital Sound Magic)

posted by eyidzgl  # 5:32 AM 0 comments

The First Kiss

It was a few days after Christmas, 1969. I was loaded down with cash from grandparents, uncles, aunts, and others who years before had given up trying to figure me out. Im talking about tens of dollars and it was burning a big hole in my pocket.

Little did I know, this gift of cash would be the first domino to fall in a chain of dominos that would lead to the gift of euphoria.

I received a call from my close girl-type friend, Shirley, completely out of the blue. She was going to Willowbrook Mall with a girlfriend, and wanted to know if I would like to join them. Reluctant at first, I felt that hole burning where the cash was pocketed. I wanted to buy the Crosby, Stills and Nash album released the prior June. After a little more thought, the first domino fell. I met them at the corner of Bloomfield and Ridgewood Avenues to pick up the bus that would drag us out to the Willowbrook Mall.

I didnt offer to drive them in the family car because I couldnt. I was only weeks from turning eighteen and I did not have my license yet. I was afflicted with Boring Oldest Brother Syndrome, BOBS), a disease that attacks the maturity system; for example rendering one to postpone getting ones drivers license for as long as one possibly can. Its quite crippling really.

Happily, I met them at the bus stop.

Shirley introduced me to Sue. It took, oh lets see, about 3.7 seconds. Nope, I think less. Im pretty sure it was when I heard the ue sound of her name that I instantly felt something deep inside my chest, a ping right below the top of the rib cage, like an electric shock only it didnt hurt; it felt really goofy, really exhilarating.

She was beautiful. Her hair smelled like the freshest Breck shampoo for color treated hair I had ever laid nose on. And she was awash in Shalimar perfume, sending my olfactory glands into nasal nirvana.

During the bus ride to the mall, surprisingly I was overcome by an eerie confidence that pushed me to new heights of flirtatious wit. I was on top of someone elses game and loving it! By the time we had arrived at the mall, I was hooked. Oh boy was I hooked. We had giggled our way into some kind of magic. And the very best part, as I would learn later from Shirley, who by then had been ordained the puppet master of Bobs love world, was that Sue didnt just like me, she LIKED meas in capital lettersLIKED me!

How quickly ones fortunes change when suddenly plunged into the throes of youthful romantic chase. We walked the long winding caverns formed by nameless boutiques and anchor stores, laughing and smiling and teasing and touching and laughing some more. To the casual observer, it was probably nauseating but I didnt care. I was dominoing into a wonderful new world. I bought the CS&N album. The girls replenished their perfume stock. Before we knew what hit us, it was time to go.

As the bus pulled away, my mind was dancing in heaven. But by the time we arrived back and disembarked where the adventure had all begun, heaven had turned to hell. It was all too good to be true. Rejection was moments away. Such was the fragile nature of my life.

The bus sputtered away from our stop, dumping an ominous black cloud of monoxide in its wake. But all I could immerse myself in was Sue, who by now was wearing a dazzling array of seventeen fragrances she had tested on her delicate soft wrists for me to blushingly critique. The air about her was a beautiful collage to the finely tuned nasal passages of a teen boy in fresh mushy pursuit. Unfortunately it was a wondrous moment that could not last. It was time to be noble in the face of her pleasant rejection with an empty smile, and cherish the fond memory of the mall.

I took the lead step in the dance of disengagement.

Well, I guess I have to get going. As clever a line as I had ever led with.

Yeah, its dinner time and my brother is picking me up at Shirleys in ten minutes.

Hey Shirls, can you give me a call later after din? I asked, trying not to tip my cards too much.

Yeah, no problem. I think we have something to talk about. She was so obvious.

Oh yeah? You think? I coyly replied.

Yeah, we need to talk too Shirls? Sue added.

My heart sank at the foreboding potential of their pending conversation. I reached deep inside to maintain the high road.

All right then, I guess thats that! Everyone needs to talk! Everyone is talkin! Not a very good job. I probably needed to reach deeper.

Unfortunately my old friend panic had made himself at home in my thoughts. Was this going to be as good as it gets? Was my breath killing her? Was she just now realizing the lowliness of her affection?

I had to say something but what? What could I possibly say to rescue this sweet moment from the clutches of rejection like all the others?

I found it.Okay then catcha! My rescue skills needed work.

It was really nice to meet you Bob. I had a really great time.

My inner voice wallowed, Yeah right. And I have a nice personality too. Isnt that what you want to say? Go on. I can take it!

Me too, Sue. Take care. I answered. Oh well, I was noble.

I turned to Shirley.

Hey Shirls, talk to ya later!

With shoulders drooped, I started my trek home in emotional upheaval, feeling exuberance and dread simultaneously. The days events played over and over in my head. I forced myself to think about something else, like hockey fights, but to no avail. The feel of her warm wrists kept interrupting. I was in bad shape.

I barely ate dinner that night, which set off all kinds of alarms at home. Moms inquisition began: was I feeling okay, did someone steal my money at the mall, was I depressed about school starting in a few short days?

Nope, I am just falling in love for the very first time. Thats all. There is nothing that can be done. My heart must travel this journey alone. It will find its waysomehow. Thank you though for inquiring. I indulged my inner self.

I excused myself from the table to retreat to my sanctuary, where I listened to Suite: Judy Blue Eyes about forty seven times, waiting for the puppet masters call. Finally, the phone rang.

Hello?

She really likes you. She got right to it, a trademark of her no nonsense style.

Oh God! Really?

Yeah. She thinks youre really cute and funny.

Suddenly another voice.

Oh my precious Bobby. My little lover boy.

Damn! It was my little brother Steve. He could become a real pitbull of pain if I didnt squelch this immediately.

Hold on Shirls.

I placed my hand over the phone.

Hey Stevey hang up or Ill chop up your GI Joe! I screamed at the top of my lungs. I didnt like playing the GI Joe mutilation card but I was desperate to stop him in his tracks.

I listened into the receiver.

Click.

I removed my hand and continued.

Sorry about that. So where were we? Oh yeah, cute? Cant I ever be rugged or athletic or something? I asked despondently.

To me cute was a notch above nice personality. Oh, hes so cute as in hes so cute to like me but I could care lessthat kind of cute.

Forget rugged. She said cute and meant it in a good way.

In a good way, I repeated.

Yes in a good way. Look she LIKES you!

Are you sure?

Yes, I just got off the phone with her! She wanted to know about your situation.

What situation? I have no situation. Ive never had a situation. Im situation free!

Thats what I told hernot in those words exactly. I smoothed it out for ya.

Smoothed what out? I dont need smoothing.

Dont make me laugh! You need plenty. I told her you were just coming around from a terrible break-up from over a year ago.

Oh thats smooth Shirls!

Yeah, I thought you might like it. She thinks you are sensitive and likes that.

I took a deep breath.

Wow now what?

I was a fish out of water, pathetically incompetent in such matters. Maybe I could get advice from my younger brothers. My mind was racing.

Listen! There is a get-together tomorrow night at Shnookys house. Sue is going and wants you to come over.

Shnooky lived in this weird world where her dad publicly called her my little Shnooky; hence the nickname. Visiting her house was like walking onto the set of Father Knows Best.

Are you positive? Really? She wants me to go?

Yes! Dont you get it ... she LIKES you.

Are you going?

Yeah but not until later. Gotta baby-sit till 9:30.

What should I do?

Well you could call her for starters and talk to her.

Talk to her? What would I say?

Shirley was losing patience with me.

You know Bob I dont have time for this right now. Just go. Just be there.

Just be

Gotta go. Catcha tomorrow night. Good Luck!

Click. Dialtone.

My life line was gone in an instant. I was swirling in a sea of uneasiness. I wondered what should I do now?

I immediately ditched the idea of calling her, why take the chance of saying something wrong. So I went to bed counting the hours to Shnookys instead.

After a long day of worry, 6 p.m. finally rolled around and time to get ready for the big get-together. After showering with my English Leather soap-on-a-rope, I toweled off and sprayed my arm pits with Right Guard, enlarging the ozone hole over Antarctica by about fourteen square miles. Next the goods were crowbarred into two of my cleanest, tightest fruit of the loom briefs for precautionary purposes, as the nights activities could easily trigger an embarrassing situation. After tucking the apparatus in real nice, I put on my favorite faded jeans, held nicely in place by my cool surfer belt. I threw on an undershirt, my best blue long-sleeve oxford shirt, tag still attached, thick matching crew socks, desert boots, topping it all off with an old washed out navy blue crewneck sweater. The sweater served a few purposes. Primarily, I was under the delusion that it was a look. It also might make a useful cover up should the double binding underpants fail to conceal things in the event of a situation.

Once dressed, I had to work on the face, no easy proposition. Apparently, during the prior night while sleeping, no less than four pimples showed up and five long wispy dark chin hairs. A quick buzz from my trusty rotary bladed Norelco and the chin hairs were history. A splash of British Sterling, well more like a dunking, and I was smelling pretty damn good. It was a skillful blend of the natural fruity notes from Prell, the woodsy undertones from the English Leather soap, the bold sporty scent from Right Guard, and the raw sexual energy of British Sterling, coming together in a circus of sensuality as harmonious as a Schoenberg symphonic poem.

This odor thing was very important because it was going to have to mask the pungent stench emitted by the two pounds of Clearasil I was about to cake on the pimples.

With pimples buried, hair combed, and lips glistening in Chapstick, I was ready to go out and conquer the night. I managed to get to the dinner table in time to down some grub, avoiding eye contact and communication with Steve the entire time. Successfully accomplished, I raced upstairs, gargled, brush my teeth and popped some Sen-Sen for added fresh breath insurance. I was as ready as I could be.

At arrival, I greeted Mrs. Shnooky, and made my way downstairs to the finished basement.

There she was. We made eye contact immediately and I smiled a grin so big that I could feel the plaster-like Clearasil on my zits cracking. She looked so beautiful.

We sat close and talked awhile, staring into each others eyes the entire time. I could smell her hair. I was melting. At one point she took my hand in her hand. It was like nothing I had ever felt before. Her hand was warm and soft; her fingers silky smooth to the touch. It wasnt just skin a felt. It was flesh; wonderful, living flesh. Instantly, alarms were set off from my brain to every nerve ending in my body. I began to shake uncontrollably. I had three thousand layers of clothing on and I was shivering like a chilled baby. I would learn later on in life that I got the shakes with every new hand I held.

Hey are you okay? she asked in the sweetest disarming voice I had ever heard. I inhaled her breath. Electricity instantly shot down to my toes.

Yeah, I just have these shakes for some reason. Im not even cold.

Thats weird.

Youre tellin me?

There was an awkward moment of silence. Then she spoke in a whisper.

Hey, I need to talk to you about something in private. Want to take a walk outside in the snow?

I stared blankly. I didnt hear a word she said.

We could walk over to the country club. Itll be fun. She stopped talking and studied me for some kind of response. I needed to say something but what? I played the tape back over in my mind until I found some key words to play off of.

You want to take a walk? I nervously repeated.

Oh God the touch of her hand was so nice, I pleaded internally please dont let go ... please dont let go please, oh please, oh please, dont let go.

I mean sure. We can walk and talk. I mean you can talk while we walk or I can she squeezed my hand, squinted at me with her bright blue eyes, and saved me from myself.

Come on lets go. She said calmly, leading me by the hand up the stairs.

We threw on our coats, gloves and hats, and exited out the back door. Once outside, she put her arm around my waste, and in a reflex reaction I put my arm around her shoulder. I had never hugged a girl before. I started to shake again. Even though it was about twenty degrees out, even though we were swollen from layers of thick heavy clothing, even though I was shaking spastically, and even though my Clearasil was flaking off in crusty chunks, I felt like we were one being.

We continued to make small talk, during which I was able to get her to laugh as we trudged through the snow, crossed the freshly plowed street and walked onto the country club golf course. I didnt want the moment or feeling to end. It was really dark out, although the dry white snow brighten the way by reflecting what little light passed on by. It was hard to tell from the drifting snow but I think we were walking across a green when she suddenly stopped and turned to face me.

Youre shaking. Poor baby. She lifted her arms up and grabbed the collar of my coat. I placed my arms around her waste.

Remember, I wanted to talk to you in private, she whispered, her minted breath filling the crisp night air, dancing into my soul.

Here it comes, the nice personality speech. I was so short on confidence of any kind. I decided to gallantly cut her off at the pass.

Yeah, I remember. Hey, look. You dont have to say But before I could be gallant, her glossed lips puckered and headed my way. I instinctively closed my eyes before contact. Then, as if swallowed by the Earth, she stepped off the lip of a giant sand trap we unknowingly had been standing precariously above.

In my effort to grab her as she slid down the slope, my feet went out from under me. I rolled down the hill in hot pursuit, crashing into her at the bottom, some eight feet below. We both began to laugh as she rolled over on top of me. And we laughed some more. Then we laughed a little less, and a little less until the only sounds one could hear were those of our silence and stare. And then she leaned down and kissed me.

What I remember most was that our teeth smacked into each other. I feared I had chipped one of her upper incisors. So I pulled back. She smiled. No blood. Nice whole teeth. Undaunted she tried again. This time we were fine.

For more hours than I wish to reveal, I have wrestled with capturing in words what I had felt at that precise instant. After many awkward, empty attempts, I realized I have neither the vocabulary nor the ability to do so. But thats okay. I think what I was attempting to do is akin to capturing the majesty of the Grand Canyon in a picture taken by a cell phone camera. It can not be done. And for those who have tried either, they understand what I mean.

I will leave it at thison Tuesday, December 30th, 1969 at 8:23 p.m. life for me had changed.

posted by eyidzgl  # 12:57 AM 0 comments