SINGING BIG CITY LYRICS BAREFOOT ON A BEAUTIFUL BEACH IN JANUARY

The last couple of nights, I've kept trying to nail the vocal to 'Staying Alive', and it's been fighting me all the way. No-one's going to believe me, but the Bee Gees white trouser clad lump of NYC camp disco glitter trash is but a hair's breath away from being a dark southern blues of complaint. Said you wouldn't believe me.

Anyway, somehow singing the thing in the Manatee F1 along Villajoyosa Beach, with the sidedoor wide open and all the waves crashing in about twenty feet away just removes any sense of blues any human could be feeling. Whenever there's a gap in the singing, the mic compression fetches up the waves til they're mingling all around the acoustic, tamborine and shaker. Halfway through verse two a North African guy with missing front teeth walks by with his wife, smiles back at me and you can hear me almost lose it totally.

And 'I'm going nowhere' is now transformed into 'I'm going down to the beach, man!', as I leg it off the sea wall, and down the sand, to sing the end with the waves splashing around my feet. There's this inherent contradiction in singing these big city lyrics barefoot on a beautiful beach in January that cracks me up. Maybe I'll listen to the thing tomorrow, and it'll sound daft, but today it's sounding just fine, fine, fine, but perhaps a little bit too happy for it's own mental health.