About Me

My name is Mark Dellow.    I was born an only child on September 19 1956 in Manor Park in East London,  and after a couple of moves,  spent most of my childhood and teenage years in Upminster in Essex.     As a kid,  I grew up listening to the likes of Dusty Springfield and The Monkees,  until in 1968,  whilst listening to The Monkees' fourth album,  "Pisces,  Aquarius,  Capricorn & Jones Ltd.",  I came across a couple of tracks  -  "Daily Nightly" and "Star Collector"  -  which used something called a Moog Synthesiser.    At the time,  even at the age of twelve,  I'd already started to become interested in the idea of actually playing music as well as listening to it,  but in those days I was still driving my parents and the neighbours mad with my snare / bass drum / cymbal kit,  which at the time I thought was terrific.    After a few listens,  I realised that this synthesiser thingy was pretty interesting,  and I started listening to other synthesiser stuff,  such as was around back then.    One of the first "proper" synthesiser albums I listened to was Wendy ( or in those days,  Walter ) Carlos' "Switched On Bach".    And does anyone remember Tonto's Expanding Head Band and "Zero Time"?

Then,  in 1970,  things changed.    Fresh from the ashes of Atomic Rooster,  King Crimson and The Nice,  a revolutionary new band emerged on the scene  :  Emerson,  Lake and Palmer.    Suddenly,  electronic music had taken a quantum leap,  and my musical tastes quickly followed suit.    The lesser-celebrated but also revolutionary Curved Air crashed onto the music scene at around the same time,  and as their second single "Back Street Luv" soared up the charts,  the die was well and truly cast as far as my musical direction was concerned.    I joined forces with some of my high-school friends,  and by the age of fifteen I was playing in my first high-school band.

One band led to another  ( for full details,  see Bands ),  and because most of my erstwhile employers did not share my conviction that the music was more important than anything else,  one job led to another also.    In the first ten years of my working life I was a clerk,  a driver,  a civil servant,  a newsagent and a glass-cutter,  depending on which year you took the snapshot.    As 1980 heralded the final death-knell for the halcyon age of prog rock,  the new decade held several changes for me;   Cannon,  the semi-pro band I'd been playing with for seven years,  split up,  and shortly afterward in July 1983 I got married and  "settled down".    A little over a year later my son Richard was born,  who sixteen years later was to become a drummer in his own right.    By early 1984 I'd started work as a mini-cab driver,   having always had a love of driving and having gone through more jobs by this time than an employment agency,  and I spent the next eighteen years in the mini-cab industry,  first as a driver,  then a controller,  then a manager.    With a new family and a new job,  slowly but surely,  the band became a memory and the organ a piece of furniture.

And that's pretty much the way it was for the next sixteen and a half years.    My children grew up,  but I never really did,  and early in 1998,  I decided that I was going to go out and buy all the musical equipment I could never afford when I was younger.    It was purely an act of self-indulgence;   at that time I had no particular thoughts of joining or re-forming a band,  until in the Spring of that year,  the ex-members of Cannon got together for a drink,  and I got talking to Pete,  the Cannon drummer.    It turned out that we both quite fancied the idea of being in a band again,  and since the other ex-Cannonites were not up for it,  we set about finding the remaining band members.

The full story of the four years that followed is detailed on the bands page,  but to abbreviate that part of the story,  the band  ( or what remained of it )  finally separated in early 2002.   We produced a lot of good music during that time,  but the problem that dogged us from the start was that of finding a suitable vocalist,  and ultimately it was that which got the better of us.    The final demise of the band was a source of great sadness for me personally,  but life does go on,  and I decided that rather than go straight out and look for another band,  I would instead set about recording some songs that I had written over the last four years,  but that had never actually become band material.    A couple of months later,  I gave up my day-job and set about the task in earnest.

It hasn't been a piece of cake.    The problem of never having found a long-term vocalist in the band was one that I found myself having to address all over again.    The music hasn't been a problem  :  when the band broke up,  we all remained on friendly terms,  and the other musicians have been kind enough to assist me in the various projects I've undertaken since then.    Tracy,  the more recent of the two vocalists in the band,  has also been kind enough to help out on various occasions,  but since having another baby she's obviously had her hands plenty full.    So,  when Tracy was no longer available,  I advertised in the Loot for a vocalist to help out on one particular song,  "Where You Are",  and after sifting through over thirty replies,  I found Abigail Deacon,  for whose help I am also extremely grateful.    It didn't take me long to realise that advertising for a singer was no easier now I was on my own than it had been in the days of the band,  but at least it had one virtue  :  rather than trying to find a single vocalist who could handle a very eclectic assortment of material,  this way I could pick different vocalists for different songs.    It's a long process,  but ultimately a rewarding one,  and I'd like to think that the material I've recorded over the last two years has been the better for it.    At the time of writing,  I'm still recording a number of ongoing projects,  and still looking for vocalists  -  for fuller details,  take a look at the  "Covered Up"  and  "All My Own Work"  pages,  and if you're interested in singing on any of the tracks that still need vocals,  mosey over to the  "Answering An Ad"  page.

The other thing I've been promising myself I'd do since the age of about thirteen is to write a book.    I've tried a few times over the years;   there have probably been about four or five serious attempts,  each of which has reached various stages of development,  but none of them have ever been finished.    So,  this time,  I vowed that I was going to do the job properly.    The result  -  though not quite the end result yet,  as it's still work in progress  -  is  "Choices",  or at least that's it's working title.    As mentioned on the home page,  the first draft is now finished  ( as of August 2006 ),  leaving me the task of doing the necessary research and re-write.    With the first draft having taken nearly four years to write,  I'm not making any rash predictions as to how long the re-write will take,  but as with the music,  watch this space.

People often ask me why I do all this,  and here are the answers.

Why do I write music?

I write music for the same reason most other songwriters and musicians do  :  to express thoughts and feelings,  either in music or in lyrics,  or both.

Why do I still write music,  regardless of the fact that that music doesn't get played on a stage any more,  at least not for the present?

Because I still have thoughts and feelings.    When I tire of writing music I hope someone will do the decent thing and put me out of my misery.

Why do I choose to spend my time recording my songs rather than finding another band?

Playing in a band is a fantastic experience,  to be sure,  and feeling the warmth from an appreciative audience has rightly,  in my humble opinion,   been described as being better than sex.    But a gig is a fleeting thing,  and the high is quickly gone.    The music needs to have a longevity,  and by recording it,  I hope to achieve that,  if only for my own satisfaction.

So this is not a commercial thing,  then?

Yes and no.    On the one hand,  I'm unemployed,  so if someone wants to pay me wads of money for the music and / or the book,  I have no objections.    But,  marketing yourself is a full-time job in itself  -  I know,  because I've done it.    Hours spent on the phone,  knocking on doors,  sending out demos  -  it's a phenomenally time-consuming business,  and because it is a business,  you have to take it very seriously,  or not at all.    I gave up work to write and record music,  and to write my book.    I didn't give up work to become an agent  -  if I'd wanted to do that,  I would have done it for a living and got paid very nicely for it,  thank you very much.    At some future point I may take a break from the music and the writing and actually devote time to selling it ... but not just yet.    For the time being,  what I do sell,  I'll sell via the website.

So if there's no money involved,  why spend so much time recording and writing?

Because I love them both with a passion,  and because I believe firmly in two axioms  :  first,  if a thing is worth doing,  it's worth doing right.    If I was paying someone for studio time,  I probably couldn't afford to be so picky about every last little detail of every song  -  but hey,  it's my time,  my songs and my studio,  so I can spend as long as I like getting it as near perfect as my skills and equipment allow.    Secondly,  be true to yourself  :  if I'd remembered that during the sixteen years or so that I didn't play a note,  I might already be rich and famous.    I'm not about to make the same mistake again.    Do what you believe in,  and never,  absolutely never,  give up.

But no more playing in a band?

Watch this space.    If the right thing came along ... perhaps.    But,  with literally half a ton of keyboard equipment to lug around,  it'll take something pretty special to persuade me.    With the last band I had the luxury of rehearsing in my own studio at home  -  that may not be the case next time,  if there is a next time,  and if I'm not only going to be lugging all that gear to gigs,  but to rehearsals as well,  there's going to have to be some incentive over and above the simple desire to play the keys.    I can do that at home and not have to strain anything.    Of course,  it may be the case that at some point,  financial pressures dictate a different course of action,  and I'll cross that bridge if and when I come to it  :  the idea of playing in a band for the sake of earning some money is not the worst thing I can imagine,  by a very long chalk,  but for the moment I'm content to do what I do.    On the other hand,  if there are any professional bands reading this who are short of a keyboard player,  please don't feel you can't ask ... !

This is all really just an exercise in self-indulgence,  then?

You be the judge.    There's one single over-riding reason why I write and record music,  and why I write the book  :  because I want to leave something of myself behind.    I want there to be a permanent record,  something that people could listen to in a thousand years  ( if there still are people in a thousand years )  and know something about the person who wrote and played it.

But it's self-indulgent in the sense that it's not intended to be commercial?

Of course I want people to like what I do.    No-one intentionally produces crap.    I  like what I do,  and I have complete faith in it.    Do I write either the music or the book for the specific reason of seeking other people's approval?   -   No.    Do I like it when people do say nice things about them?   -   Of course.    I'm only human.    First and foremost I write for myself,  but it's always nice to be appreciated.    Someone once said they wanted to use one of my songs,  "Lost In You",  at their wedding.    If I ever need to remind myself that I'm not the only person who likes my stuff,  I remember that.

Has the fact of having the website online made any difference to any of this?

In some respects,  very much so.    The response to the site has far exceeded my expectations,  not just in terms of the amount of people who have visited it,  but also in terms of the percentage of those people who have sent me positive feedback about various aspects of it,  in particular the original music.    It's still way too early to say whether any of this will lead to anything bigger,  but it's certainly opened up a few new avenues.    Given that this has all happened in a relatively short space of time,  I feel it gives me even more reason to be optimistic about the future.

So what does the future hold?

If I knew the answer to that question,  I could sell it and retire on the proceeds.    For the immediate future,  I'm going to finish the final draft of the book and get the songs recorded that I set out to do when I gave up the day job.    I should think that will keep me out of mischief for quite a while yet.    If there's an offer of a band,  well,  who knows,  but I'll deal with that when I come to it.    I don't know what's round the next corner,  and I like it that way.    While you don't know what's in store,  there's always hope,  and there's always a few surprises  :  not always good ones,  but that's what life is all about.    Whether I end up getting rich and famous remains to be seen,  but for the time being,  I'm doing the things I love,  and I plan to carry on doing them for a while yet.

They say that one of the things that separates us from the rest of the animal kingdom is that human beings have the power to choose the manner of their own death.    That isn't always true,  of course,  but if I had the choice,  I'd choose to die like Tommy Cooper  -  doing the thing I love more than anything in the world,  and giving a lot of other people immense pleasure in the process.    What more could any man ask?    But if we can choose the manner of our death,  then we can certainly choose the manner in which we live,  and in that at least,  I'd like to think I've made the right choice.    Time will tell!