Hello I play guitar and write tunes in Swåp, Namo, Timber and play as a duo with Niklas Roswall.I also tour and make records with multi instrumentalist John McCusker and singers Kate Rusby, Eddi Reader and Kris Drever. Some my tunes have been covered ( Diamond Mountain by Sharon Shannon;the Seagull by Darol Anger) and I..ve produced a couple of records-(Eilidh Shaw and Fine Friday). That..s it. Oh and I teach guitar sometimes. AND I..ve been playing with the wonderful Sofia Karlsson and her brilliant band. AND I..ve just learned to play twinkle twinkle little star at suzuki violin class.
After you've finished here, you may like to hear this poem sung on myspace...
Poem 162 of 230, WalkaboutsVerse (please see my blog): TEES TO TYNE: FIRST IMPRESSIONS - SUMMER 2001
Where traditions are not so rare; Sea, country and works scent the air; A multitude of monuments, Planted tubs and patterned pavements.
The longish pedestrian malls; The remnants of defensive walls; Historic buildings are a gauge Of the respect for heritage.
Wheat, rape and pines in the fields; Estuaries guarded by shields; Long sandy beaches and wide scenes; Romantic-ruin go-betweens.
Rivers in parts licked by trees, Or fringed by boat clubs, wharfs, gantries, And crossed by practical delights - Varied spans, forming pleasing sights.
Fine churches headed at Durham; Football kits ad infinitum; Kept castles - one for study; Masonry behind masonry.
And, with moulding-works out that way, It’s somewhere for a longer stay..?
Ian, Thanks very much for the add, seen you a few times play with Kate Rusby and aslo your work on her albums, amazing stuff mate, quality guitar playing that i can only dream of, cheers for the add and all the best, Gary ;)
Thanks for the add, been following your career trajectory since we first picked up a copy of "Hootz!" too many years ago. Your collaborations just seem to get better and better, especially keen on your nordic stuff. Keep it up! TMSDC
Groningen horses drag me here, run wild in my brain, leap in the imagery of the artist Werkman, trot through my memories of wet streets, jump over bars to greet me. Their hooves clopping through the shit of war, they dart in the night along Guldenstraat, wake in me dreams of the sleeping fields, the swish of old tales gone out of our minds. Ther withers are broad as Uncle Loeks' back, their haunches like a woman’s arse I once knew. What do they think of it all, the fantasies in the Town Hall, the pall of depression over Europe? Stride on my sturdy Groningen beasts, may your cannon bones, your barrels, your flanks, roar with energy zoom across this yawning, dawning market square and treat these sobbing days as if they were not there.
