The first Fosca interview appears in the e-zine Viva Paraguay.

From reading it back, it occurs to me that my worldview and perspective on most things is so massively different to the others in the group, that in future it’s probably best to be interviewed separately. The endless dilemma is trying to strike the balance between not going over people’s heads with outrageous thoughts and theories and run the risk of being misunderstood (as I’ve learnt only too well in the past), and overdoing the “common touch” line of rock interviews, saturated with swearing and unoriginal arrogance. One-to-one is usually best. The old Frank Zappa quote about music journalists being “people who can’t write interviewing people who can’t speak for the benefit of people who can’t read” holds as true as ever, and if I am to prevent Fosca towing the Great Dumbing-Down line and end up sounding like just another band I have to keep my social hermitage intact. So be it. I have to Know My Place.

It’s one of the great tragedies of the human condition. No one ever speaks like or looks like the way they write.

But as I type this, The Carpenters, playing on Melody FM, remind me “we’ve only just begun / we’ll start out walking, and learn to run…”, and I am instantly filled with confidence for the future and for Fosca.

Melody FM is a favourite radio station of London cabbies, being as it is pure back-to-back easy listening and MOR, the only pop station whose DJs sound more like Radio 3 continuity announcers, all cosy whispers and reassuring placatory tones, almost embarrassed to be breaking up the music. It’s a perfect antidote to the onslaught of noise that carpets the capital’s streets. And as its playlist tends towards the likes of The Carpenters, The Style Council, Abba, classic soul, Bacharach and Sondheim, it’s right up my street. One of my many soundbite answers to the question “what do Fosca sound like” is “Barry Manilow being fisted by Sonic Youth”: noisy packaging of anthemic showstoppers… I always thought that No Doubt’s “Don’t Speak” was more a showtune than the sweaty ska-rock that the band otherwise specialise in. On the way home from Fosca rehearsals, Sav puts on tapes of Bread in his car… “something mellow so I can come down from the noise.” It occurs to me that you can have both, and I start work on a new Fosca song, Weightless, to be given its world premiere at our next show at Club Revolver, Friday 30th January, Upstairs At The Garage, 20-22 Highbury Corner, London N5. Admission is £4 with a flyer (available by emailing me). Nearest Tube station is Highbury & Islington, and we take the stage at 9.30pm…

There’s also just been a Fosca Message Board set up on the Web for you to peruse and add to at your whim. Take a look, say something outrageous.

David Gray has devised a questionnaire for all four Fosca members, the results of which are available for you to read here at “6” as soon as I can type them up. He has also submitted his own thoughts on Fosca in a piece called “Last Night I Dreamed I Was Christ”, up shortly. We hope you enjoy your cyber-stay.

Today Pete phones me. Things are happening. He’s moved to E1, we’ve got people interested in managing us, and we’ve been asked to play again. And I STILL haven’t sent out any demos to venues unsolicited!

We next play on Friday January 30th, Upstairs At The Garage, Highbury Corner, London N7.

We’re second on the bill of a three band night, so we’ll probably be onstage 9pm ish.

When we played Blow Up, Jo, the co-promoter, asked me if I had a brother. My heart lept at the thought that Tom might have decided to show up after all… but that wasn’t like him. “Well, it was certainly someone with your eyes… do you know a…Kendall?”

Back upstairs I met Kendall, a young man I’d previous only communicated with via e-mail. In fact, I’m not even sure I’d ascertained his gender…. it just didn’t arise in our electronic correspondance. So right up till he introduces himself I have no idea even what sex to expect. This is a good thing, of course.

At first I actually think it’s Nicky Wire from the Manic Street Preachers… here to check out Fosca, or more likely Guernica, as Erol, the lead singer of that headlining band, is friendly with James Dean Bradfield among many other London-based indie names. Indeed, James came to Guernica’s first gig, when they supported Orlando at the Water Rats in 1996. I doubt he liked Orlando very much. James has always scared me the few times I’ve bumped into him. I have met Nicky Wire once, and found him charming.

But Kendall isn’t quite Nicky Wire…. there’s bits of my own face there too. It’s a weird feeling… perhaps we are related distantly. I certainly have lots of Welsh relatives. He also likes Fosca, and has come all the way from Wales just to see us play. He’s also dressed immaculately, in a dapper suit and tie.

Kendall is a real tonic.

Thursday January 1st 1998

I did in fact manage to go to a party last night, at Club V, the queer indie disco night that takes place Upstairs at The Garage, a darkened cave where Fosca played their first gig last September. Charley was there, her hair now an even shorter crop, as were her friends in the band Linus, Andy and Mike from the band Mouthfull, as well as Becky Craig, a Manics obsessive that I hadn’t seen for ages. I generally had a good time in the end, giving up to the effects of the alcohol… the queerest as well as the cruelest drug, perhaps, as it tends to blur the genders and weaker people can suddenly find themselves in bed with those they’d otherwise not look twice at. I do my best to succumb to the enforced hedonism of the night, and am even on the receiving end of a few offers (for once) but manage to leave at 3am by myself, thank goodness. Mainly because my room’s such a state. Getting home isn’t at all a problem, though. Not only is public transport in London free on New Year’s Eve, but there seems to be plenty of nightbuses about. I catch one home within seconds of leaving the club, and manage to sit next to George from the band Jack, whose eyes betray a successful night’s drinking without him having to say a word.

Fosca played Blow Up last Saturday. The newest number we did, “Half-Life”, came together so well it seemed to be playing itself. And we milked “Girl Selfish” to new heights of dynamic noise terroism… I managed to fall on my arse at one point. Must remember to do that again.

No other gigs booked as yet. But we now have four songs recorded for release soon. It looks like most people like “Limbo” enough for it to be the main song on the EP. Sav thinks we should hang on to “Leopard of Lime Street” as a separate single. But this is not our priority… we have to wait for the word from Geoff Travis, the kind man who paid for the studio time. He’s got a few label MDs to play the tape to first. So in the meantime we’re seeking out management and future gigs…

Studio memories… my own brother Tom coming down on the train from Ipswich to add a few guitar parts… the warm vintage Telecaster sound bursting out on the choruses to “Limbo”… the out-of-control noises in “Girl Selfish”.. the garage punk of “Action!”… Sav’s impromptu Hammond organ solo on “Leopard of Lime Street”… I still prefer playing live than making records, but the EP is a pretty decent start.