Ian Thomas

I sing minor songs in major keys with few chords and many words. The words come from my imagination and the music comes from my memory. Check them out - they'll make you fall off the planet, or make you want to make love to Rita Hayworth.

I woke up one morning with a song in my head, but I didn't know how to get out of my head and onto the street. I decided I would have to learn to play the piano if I wanted to get the song out of my head, so I did that. Then I wrote down the words and found that it wasn't just one song, it was more like a hundred, maybe even more, so I made up different songs from that one. I liked the songs, so I sang them to the people I was living with. The people didn't like them, but I kept singing them anyway, until they threw me out of the house with nothing except a harmonica holder and a brown kettle. Now, I needed to make some money - quickly, otherwise I would starve to death. I played poker until I had enough money to buy a guitar. Then, because I had forgotten all my previous songs, I had to write new ones. They weren't as good, but they were better than what you read in the Cork Examiner, and that was good enough for me.

In the bathroom, on the street. Sometimes in public.

Mother, Father, Uncle, Maternal Grandfather. Also Spike Milligan and Robert Johnson.

Guitar and mouth.

Don't use guitar strings as dental floss, and always carry a stopwatch. Life is not easy.