Get Back Into Rockin'

...IT'S YOUR ONLY WAY OUT.

You find me a week late. Sorry about that - You know how it is. Hanging about, going to beautiful places with beautiful women and generally buggering about.

It's been one hell of a three week period though. Thrills, spills and A HELL OF A LOT OF ILLUSTRATION. Man I'm slow - there's barely owt to show for it. Toward the end there'll also be an anthology update where I tell all you lovely folks what the deal is with my pet project DOCTOR WTF?!

Anywhom.

Yes - the jolly Crabcake crew are back in town. Unfortunately the Emperor Gary is forced to sentence them to death. This is the kind of hijink that can accidentally lead to death. Although not in all cases - for instance I was once torn apart by rabid dogs and here I sit as plain as the day on my face. Curious. A good place to catch up on Crabcake is at THIS LOCATION. Alternatively just glare at the obnoxiously patchy colours at THIS LOCATION

Those two images were doodled by me in a local jazz cafe whilst watching people improvise. It was bleeding lovely to do some freehand scrawling for once - maybe that shows. You can oggle at larger versions here and here. Also pay some mind to my one link into that wonderful world - Mr Richard "I'm Quite Lovely" Jenkins.

- This is possibly (not to oversell it) the most important thing I've ever drawn up to this point. The full details of it lie at the deviant art page but it's basically a tribute to Carlos Ezquerra. Co-creator of Judge Dredd and Strontium Dog - cancer survivor and the most inspirational and hardworking comic artist in the modern history of comics. I fucking love him basically - and I was incredibly chuffed to contribute to a fan comic dedicated to him. The whole thing will show up eventually and I'll make a note to remind you when it does. It blows my mind, featuring some of my favourite artists from the small press scene (mssrs Ghostpockets, Feist, Kevin Levell etc) and also some of my comic heroes (D'Israeli, Bryan Talbot etc). Yikes. I'm not saying much - I'm just saying that it legitimises every drawing I've ever done.

Yep. This is the sound of me selling out. Well - no, not really - it's an advert for a local credit company that my mother works at. If that's selling out then what ISN'T?! Nice to do some proper "freelance" work as it were and I'm grateful for the opportunity. See the full thing here.

Yes glorious children yes. The time is at hand - and do you know what time that is? IT'S SURREALIST DOCTOR WHO BASED COMIC ANTHOLOGY TIME.

I've got together a gorgeous roster of talented artists and glorious writers whom I now owe several pints each. Or will do - when the thing is done. Logo above designed (to a point - still needs an exclamation mark) by Matt Brown.

artists

Cathy Smedley

Chris Nolan-Rennie

Cthulouis/Louis

Davey Cavendish

Filip Roncone/Flip-R

James Feist

Liam Byrne

Mike Bunt

Mitahane

Neil Roche/Bhuna

Me

writers

Adam Page

Arron Ferguson

Derek Hammill/The Enigmatic Doctor X

Emperor

Greg M

Jasmine Woods

The Legendary Shark

Matt Brown/Chilipenguin (Also the logo)

Oscar M/Ozebane

Martin Collins

Matthew McLaughlin/Locusts of Death

Richmond Clements

Rob Phillips

Van Dom

one-offs/other

Alex Ronald (Contributing a picture, back cover?)

Carl Pearce (Contributing a cover)

Simon Gough/Spidermanfan2099 (Potential colour)

Still looking for more artists - who will materialise shortly I'm sure.

Like that spaceship. You know the one.

There should be further updates on the 12th of October. Be lucky - !

ART BE HERE
NOISE BE HERE

LAVA CRAB BE HERE

O - x

Bladecatcher

welcome to the beginning of the end.

This fortnight's theme is, without a doubt, the good lady Jazz. My colourful confidante without whom life would be a lot less ... Jazzy. It was her birthday in the last week and so I done various things to tickle her fancy. She's also now taking photographs and spewing phenomenal poetry which you can observe over at at the old DeviantArt.

So - I took one of her MORE DISTURBING poems and gave it a bit of a drawing. Lovely isn't it? Lovely and DISTURBING. Here's to you former birthdayJazz. You can see the bigger thing over on ... you know. Whatever it's called.

....did you think I was ever coming back? Those things, those time-consuming things, were all for The Sci-Fi and Fantasy Society of Sheffield - presided over by young lady I'm fairly familiar with. Lovely. They're designed to be stuck about and put on and off and within and without - so - I HOPE THEY USE THEM WELL. The full parade can be seen at this location.

This final wee beastie is the head portion of an Exquisite Corpse jam (as well as being a rather fat tribute to auld Jack Kirby). The other two portions of the body FOR THERE ARE ONLY TWO will be down by the right honourable Carl Pierce and Mr Ghost P Ockets himself. Will post the results when it's complete. Fantabulous.

The other news - as signalled by the TARDIS above that I haven't yet drawn is my new anthology venture which will include such big names as Richmond Clements, James Feist & Alex Ronald AND MAYBE YOU - message me if you want to get involved. It's non-profit, and it's all about the majestic alternate universe Doctors that may or may not exist. Here's the inside skinny. Jaysus.

Will return on the 20th with much more (including new Crabcake for certain as well as exciting stories FROM BEYOND SOMERSET) - !

ART BE HERE
NOISE BE HERE
WALRUS PARLIAMENT BE HERE

O - x

Motor City Is Burning

...best get at least four extinguishers. Don't you think?

Well the epic gate saga is now over, the wound heals dryly and the gate has since been drunkenly re-conquered. It is not the boss of me. DO YOU HEAR THAT, GATE - ?

YOU

ARE NOT

THE BOSS OF ME.

So there's that. I wish I had more art for you this fortnight but due to a secret secret project that soaked up a lot of my time like a sponge (very worthwhile too - you will hear about it and see it soon I assure you) I've produced very few non-secret works. Additionally there's a new chapter of the 'Nothingman' saga completed and ready for your little earlingtons on the Crazy Fox Machine myspace. It's only got five lonely plays - go and add some numbers to that why don'tchye - ?

This is a segment of a much larger drawing in unprovoked tribute to my favourite ever band ever CHROME HOOF. Who are not only glorious but COMPLETELY GLORIOUS. I urge you to stick their frenetic timings and shardy punkprogdoomdisco into your head and dare you not to be swept up in a frenzy of bopping and agreeable headshakes. Hoof hoof hoof hoof - need I say more?

This one was, for a few weeks, secret - and depicts a scene from a saga so indescribable that you can only follow these green words and go and see for yourself. Dave Thomson = wow. See the bigger bugger in yonder artbarn.

Drawn by the always-excellent James Feist - a rising-star in small press comics (not my words, gentlemen but those of Pete Wells). Coloured quite patchily by your friendly neighbourhood hole-hand. It depicts Hellboy and his BPRD comrades - fighting the supernatural with the supernatural for...WHY NIGH ON FIFTEEN YEARS IF NOT MORE THAN THAT. A bigger version can be seen at this location.

Finally - a Feral Gargantua jam (join us, join us - !) about 'Careers in Space'. Whereby I decided that only worthy profession to spacify was my own - archaeology. So here they are - a hapless archaeologist with their own wee Portakabin attached to them lovingly via oxygen hose. They trowel away at a mighty alien visage and groan at the endless laser context sheets aching to be filled out. It's a noble occupation. The bigger picture is here.

That's it then - I hope you've had as a good a fortnight last as I have - watching my wounds seal up and wondering if soon a face will poke through - and GAZE INTO MY OWN.

"What do you want?!" I'll stammer - watching it's beady eyes bloodily blink.

"I've come to warn you - " It begins in a shrill tone " - not to follow the pointing finger of the arm of Engon Falgrax - !"

Before it has time to explain I bludgeon it senseless on the edge of my desk.

"Sod you handbeast. Sod you."

ART BE HERE

AUDIO BE HERE

THE LAST SANCTUARY OF THE ELECTRIC MONKS BE HERE

O - x

I Feel Like Makin' Love

...it would be infinitely preferable to what I'm currently doing. Which is as tragically silly as it is hard to type.

The saga, or "gategate" as the media is currently calling it, is a very new one and can be adequately defined by the diagram above. I split open my left hand in a gloriously nerdy way on the large, blunt spikes of a fearsome gate. Whilst intoxicated on scrumpy no less. Eight stitches and a minor panic later and you find me in the position below.

I feel like Nightcrawler. So, no art this week (the last fortnight I've been working on secret secret projects anyway and this whole one-handed typing business is A RIGHT BORE) only injury. I'll return in a fortnight with healed hands and a bumper art special. Promise.

Live long and prosper - !

ART BE HERE

AUDIO BE HERE
DAN SHANDY BE HERE

THE WOUND BE HERE

O - x

Goodbye Cruel World

...hello kind blog.

Sorry there's not really a lot to report of the last fortnight. Apart from the fact that I fucking graduated.

Powerful imagery there. Our future is in safe hands. Hands bedecked in purple finery. All sorts of jiggery pokery went forth at the ceremony. Well - lots of trumpets and stupid hats anyway. Being honoured had never felt so overcooked. Thanks Sheffield!

This, my first image of the fortnight - is some sort of glorious douchewizard being a douche to some hovering shit. It's for an anthology being put together by the fantastic Bobbymono. His own efforts have served my lolgland well. The full picture (and a clearer look at the 'Wizardjugs' poster hanging within) can be seen here.

An accidental Who image. They do happen quite frequently. This was originally for a Feral Gargantua contest on those scary-ass Real Ghostbusters action figures and kind of spiralled into Who territory. Who is the mysterious Doctor though? Not quite Pertwee - maybe a future one. His taste in purple is impeccable though. Ruminate on the subject whilst looking at all the FINE DETAIL over here.

Finally - the third page of the current part of Crabcake. Their parade route through the Volian Supercone city ends up at the Emperor's Palace. The mysterious G. WHO BE HE? HE BE YOU? Don't think so, your name doesn't start with a G. Why would I write a story about you? Is it because I love you - ? DO I LOVE YOU?

FIND OUT IN THE NEXT THRILLING INSTALMENT.

The full version of the page can be seen at this address and a handy catch-up to the whole shebang can be witnessed in flashtacular slidyness on my new art portfolio website. Get yourself one, it's free - !

Finally - a little gift for my long-lost friend-for-all-seasons Christopher L. Nolan-Rennie (the L stands for LUCY IN THE SKY WITH DIAMONDS). It's Kratos and Sackboy Kratos just...chilling out. Having a bit of a chill out. The full thing can be seen here in all it's SHIT PROPORTIONS and if you fancy a challenge you can colour it. GO ON. COLOUR IT.

Well that's it. Sorry there's not a lot - you know how it is. Also - how morbid was the title? I bet some of you just skimmed it through to see if it was some kind of suicidal diatribe. Don't be stupid. Without life there isn't art and WHAT

WOULD BE THE POINT

OF THAT.

I will return on the 9th of August fresh from some funky shenanigans and hopefully will have finished my ULTRA SECRET AND ULTRA DETAILED PROJECT.

ART IS HERE

AUDIO IS HERE
SHANDY IS HERE

LAMBHAT IS HERE

O - x

Black Ribbon

Alright there folkingtons?

OW BE YON (as we say in the westcountry) - it is all well and good - the archaeological job has kicked in and I achieved a 2:1 degree. Hooray for me. That was the easy bit - now comes the hard work. Actually sod it I'll just draw.

That lonely fellow is, of course, Wally. NOT FUCKING JURA. NOT FUCKING HOLGER. NOT FUCKING CHARLIE. NOT FUCKING HETTI. NOT FUCKING VALLI. NOT FUCKING EFFY. NOT FUCKING WILLY. NOT FUCKING HUGO. AND ESPECIALLY NOT FUCKING WALDO. You wonder why the poor bugger is here portrayed with such clear existential sorrow. The one and only thing a man has to staple himself to this orb, his name, and the boy has eleven of them. Actually that's probably a good thing. Cheer up you shit. Go here to see the bigger thing. All hail Martin Handford.

Dear dear dear Northern Oak - a grand auld folk metal band and a very very decent set of human beings. So much so I did this practically on a whim. The singer is here on blogspot and is a shit hot poet. Check out the larger thing over here. Go on. It's barktastic.

This is Mer-Man. He's a Victorian gent. I don't have a great deal more to say - only that I'm not happy with how it came out and everyone seems to think it's the gravy. The dog's gravy? I don't know that I agree and I worry that if what other people think is good is what I'm not convinced about then I AM ARTISTICALLY DOOMED. Oh well. Back to the drawing board.

HAH. Bigger thing here.

This was drawn by a very solid gentleman by the name of FUCKIN' JOE RICHARDS who is a metal gent and a scholar. I love colouring his stuff - and have done it

on several other occasions

The larger (and sadder) Dan can be witnessed over in this direction. Just pray the adverts don't start chatting at you. Some people may find it delightfully Harry Potter - I just find it annoying. Especially as I'm TRYING TO LISTEN TO RUSH.
Now - now, this one was partly for Feral Gargantua and partly for the 2000ad boards but mostly because I have long drawn Dreddface and I wanted to crack at him again. Some people have been calling this drawing all sorts of beautiful things and I will carry their compliments (against the wishes of the Dalai Lama) to my grave - but I was very happy with it. It took me an hour to do - and the process seemed to me quite pure and straightforward. ARGH SPOTIFY ADVERT WHAT THE FUCK. Why does Teeside University need to advertise on Spotify?!

Shit that - I've lost my train of thought now. I'll be back on the 26th shoving more of my art down your gob and gabbling all the goss from graduation.

Tarra for now then - !

ART BE HERE

AUDIO BE HERE

DAN SHANDY BE HERE

TURTLEDUCKS BE HERE

O - x

Godzilla

"With a purposeful grimace and a terrible sound

He pulls the spitting high tension wires down"

Welcome to the big fat "I've been the Glastonbury" blog post. Afore I get on with description after description of sun and dust and bands and cider I'll just shove two images from the last fortnight all up in your face. For that is how I do.

This is Axe Cop versus Thor of course and has since been called 'awesome' by Axe Cop's co- creator Ethan Nicolle. Which is an attestation that I will naturally have inscribed on my back. The excellent Axe Cop (for those not in the know tis a comic written by a kickarse 6-year-old and drawn by his 29-year-old kickarse artist brother) can be witnessed here - and the story of why Thor has an axe and why he's involved can be read (as well as the full image) here.

This (as you can just about work out) is the second page of the second part of my majestical Crabcake saga. Here I start to introduce the sexiest thing known to man: continuity possibly related to time-travel or some other similar hijink. Did you feel that? It was you orgasming at the thought. I'm sorry. Also to throw some actual plot progression into the mix the commander general Alan Vitriox announces their arrival at some gaudily-coloured whale-tailed destination.

"WHERE'S THAT THEN?"

That question and some others can be seen to be answered in page 3. Coming to an early July near you. The bigger picture, naturally, is at this anthro-porn-filled-location.

That there is a sign. A sign that says "Glastonbury 40". Why it says that I have no idea - although it may be slightly related to Glastonbury festival's 40th anniversary. I don't know - I'm not a doctor.

The hardest part is Wednesday. The stress of getting onsite and dodging queues of people WHO YOU JUST KNOW WANT TO CAMP IN EXACTLY THE SAME SPOT AS YOU. It was made more hectic this year by the shit-ton of new people. Of which there were a shit-ton. They had been camping in wait like crouched tigers in cars. Once settled though - Wednesday falls into exhaustion and belated exploration - those shit-ton cease to be competitors and start to become fellow festival-goers. Relaxed, positive and often up for grinning smalltalk. I've lost count of the amount of smiling strangers I've talked to at past years - this was no exception. The lovely buggers were everywhere. I avoided the football and climbed the tallest point at the festival - a hill behind the Park field - it's here I heard the England goal - bellowing at me from a hundred thousand joyful whoops across the panorama. A far more spectacular way to experience it than sweltering in front of the main-stage screens.

Possibly my favourite new structure at the site (next to the new jazz n' blues bar; Bourbon Street) is the Ridge & Furrow ale house. A two story half-pub constructed by chainsaw carvers last year - staffed by people in medieval dress serving local ale and often with folk music. Shitting lovely. It was here I met a curious woman who claimed to be called Stella Fairy and dreamt of a franchise of two-story fairy shops with an adult section at the top linked by a fireman's pole. What fairies would want with adult paraphernalia I shudder to think - but I admired her ambition. And wings.

Here we are - my first celebrity sighting. Bodger and fucking Badger. Majestic aren't they? Badger is wearing a Never Mind the Bollocks shirt. As I snapped this two girls wandered by

Girl #1: Oh my god is that Bodger and Badger?!
Girl #2 (very nonplussed): Everybody knows Badger loves mashed potatoes

and they kept on walking. I somehow found this interaction ridiculously funny. The rest of Wednesday I do not recall. The exhaustion drove us early to our beds and so we missed our first TENTROBBERY - a torch blared through my flap around two and I told the offensive light to bugger off. Nowt was taken from me but those around had money nabbed, and in one incident - the iPod nicked from their very ears. Spooky.

Various sights from a wander around the former 'Lost Vagueness' area which has all manner of funky art and curious arenas designed to intricately capture that elusive 'Glastonbury moment' in the form of bizarre anecdotes. It is a shame that the area becomes a swarming mass of indecipherable movement at night which the time of its awakening.

This will have to represent Friday (what happened on Thursday -? Much drunkenness and another of evening of enjoyment at the hands of bluesman Aynsley Lister) as I did not take any pictures of Gorillaz or The Black Keys or Hybrid or any of those bands that we so drunkenly watched with the assitance of a fine bag of rosé. Here we witnessed an unknown band on the Bandstand stage command the crowd to roll on the floor with their hands and legs in the air in a glorious scene akin to a miniature Life of Brian. Gorillaz were bloody amazing and got quite a panning for playing so much of Plastic Beach. Sod the critics - the whole thing was heightened by the appearances of Lou Reed, Mark E Smith, Snoop Dogg (that rascal) and Shaun Ryder who doffed his cap quite excellently to the recently deceased Frank Sidebottom. Rest his giant fibreglass head.

This is the only image from the best night - Saturday. The new West Holts stage was headlined by the RIDICULOUSLY RIDICULOUSLY RIDICULOUSLY GOOD George Clinton Funkadelic/Parliament band who effectively had a massive onstage party. Possibly the greatest performance I've seen at the festival - it's the best stage by miles. Seventy-four fucking miles. The atmos was not ruined by a dancin' punchin' leary Elvis baby man who needed several security guards to restrain him. We then moved back to our haunt of Bourbon Street for some absurdly groovy blues from the absurdly groovy Oli Brown band to whom me and Mr Jab Rimmer danced the bloody night away.

Sunday was as hot and as sweaty as EVERY OTHER BLOODY day this year. I didnae mention the days so much because there was much sweating and sitting down and going "god it's hot" to strangers and friends. It's good to have a hot Glastonbury - because at least in the night things occur then - people rocket from their sweltered shells and BEGIN TO DANCE. John Otway (pictured above) is probably one of my new favourite people - he, along with Dr John, Adrian Edmonson and the Bad Shepherds and a mass singalong to waterloo sunset made my sweaty Sunday afternoon one to remember.

The winds drove away the cruel heat and the inevitable noodles lead me to Craig Charles doing a bit of Funk & Soul DJ (as well as some truly majestic cheesy dancing) at an area called Cubehenge that I'm sure you can adequately visualise. I then trekked onward past the betwatted masses admiring what can only be described a truly bog-standard band - and I watched Arthur Brown (above) do his bloody thing at 68 with as much zest as a mad mad panda.

Then brief Stevie Wonder and home - but I would like to briefly mention one of my favourite Glastonbury thing wot I stumbled upon moons ago in old Lost Vagueness. THE DUKES BOX what a fucking thing - the band sit in there and you request songs of them in the manner of a traditional duke box. It. Is. GLORIOUS. I encourage you to seek the elusive box out.

What is Glastonbury?

A farm. Sometimes playing host to an enormously famous and vastly sprawling eclectic arts festival based around the core values of green futures and eco-based equality companies Water Aid, Oxfam and Greenpeace. Mostly it is known for being host to hordes of corporate-approved superbands and flash-in-the-pans that attract thousands upon thousands of musical retards who think Scouting for Girls are the best thing that happened since MOZART FUCKING DIED - which make it appear to unknowers as just a fatter corporate shindig like Reading or Leeds. Which it clearly isn't. It never was and it never will be a music festival. Those who dollop their betrilby'd forms in front of the three pop stages are depriving themselves utterly of what makes me love Glastonbury festival. I love it so utterly that were I to cop it at this moment I could think of no better place to summarise the happiest days of my existence than that sprawling valley - the dust and the mud and the moments and the people. I'm always happy there. The retards swarm - the terrible bands play - and I grin on, knowing that for a week out of the year I am home.

See you with more art and less melodrama on the 12th of bloody July

ART IS HERE
AUDIO IS HERE

FLAT CAKE IS HERE

O - x