How To Make Money With Your Hobby


Millions of people all over the world collect stamps as a hobby,
and the number is growing every day.

It is indeed an exciting and rewarding hobby, and it can also be
extremely profitable.

The price of stamps vary with supply and demand due to the number
of collectors increasing. The price of stamps is steadily rising,
as the supply of stamps diminishes and more people want to
acquire them.

Most people start a collection for the pleasure and education
just like any other hobby, but this hobby offers a financial
reward as well, as collections experience a steady increase over
the years.

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Sensible Stamp And Coin Funding

The truth that there are far more stamp and coin dealers than
stamp and coin brokers, that few rich people hold portfolios
of these collectibles, and that few hobbyists ever live lengthy
enough to get rich from their data, tells us something. It
tells us that this sort of funding, probably the most
accessible for the average individual, one of the crucial probably
lucrative and one of many safest, pales in comparison to most
different investments in return and is just too advanced for most individuals
to attempt. But there appears to be widespread curiosity about
this fascinating subject, and as one who profited from a pastime
assortment and discovered a lot concerning the subject, I feel certified to
give you a great introduction to accumulating as an investment.

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Abram Wilson Quartet at the Lighthouse, Poole, 16.11.2010

It is with a happy heart that I can report the recovery of this, one of the files that I accidentally deleted the other day.  Thanks to the Dune Music website for having published it...

 

 

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Abram Wilson, trumpet
Peter Edwards, piano
Yuri Galkin, double bass
Saleem Raman, drums

 

I was once told that a music concert can’t be too short.  I have always been able to see the wisdom in this point of view.  Listening to music, and I mean listening attentively and critically, is a tiring business.  It’s no coincidence that when CDs came out most albums stayed at around the old vinyl duration of forty to forty-five minutes.  I believe that this is the optimum amount of time that the average listener can maintain the level of concentration needed to really get the most out recorded music before listening fatigue sets in.  Such fatigue is slower to set in when attending a live performance, and yet most gigs do not last more than about an hour-and-a-half or two hours and usually include an interval for the audience to rest their auditory nerve.  The Abram WilsonQuartet's performance at The Lighthouse, Poole was no exception to this general rule.  But - and this is a big but - the gig was in fact way too short!  I could have sat there well into the night to hear this excellent quartet perform their fine mixture of jazz and blues with an aplomb and humour (yes, humour) that is sometimes lacking in an art-form that can, occasionally, be taken too seriously by all concerned.  That is not to suggest that Mr Wilson’s quartet do not take what they are doing seriously, but rather that their enjoyment is contagious.  Add to this Abram’s penchant for providing anecdotes concerning the origins of his numbers, which are often rooted in his childhood experiences, and even the most judgmental of audiences cannot but warm to him and his music.

 

The set, which mainly consisted of music from Wilson’s latest album, Life Paintings, kicked off with ‘Obama’.  No prizes for guessing who it’s dedicated to!  It was nice to have Abram speak about the American President in such a positive way in his introduction to the number.  Obama (the man, not the tune) has come in for his fair share of flak lately for apparently not leading America (and, by extension, the rest of the free world) into the ‘brave new world’ that his administration seemed to promise.  While it is not my intention here to enter into a political debate I would say that while the first black American President may not have done anything to fulfil his early promise, nor has he overseen any major political disasters, unlike some of his recent predecessors.  This can only be a good thing, and his moderate leadership, particularly in terms of foreign policy, is a breath of fresh air in itself.  Anyway, back to the music.  The number was a good start to the set with its march rhythm suggesting the serious and heartfelt faith that Wilson seems to have in the President.  Abram had suggested that we might also ‘hear Michelle too’ and the lightly swinging second section certainly suggests a feminine sympathy, whether from the First Lady or otherwise.  With the extended soloing by all performers I was left musing over the fact that while a recorded album of jazz may be a wonderful thing in itself, and Life Paintings certainly is that, it can only represent a digest of what a live performance can offer.

The performance of ‘Eyes of the Belladonna’ was, we were told, about an intimidating actor whom Abram had met during his  six month stint treading the boards.  This imperious-sounding woman had caused him to become tongue-tied and feeling slightly belittled.  I could sympathise with this straight away.  Not an hour earlier I had introduced myself to Abram in the restaurant area of the venue and had gibbered briefly at him before almost walking into the man as we parted!  He was, of course, understanding and, I can see now, ready to empathise with my position.  Our post-show conversation was more relaxed and he spoke of how important it is to him and his music label, Dune, to extend live performance into the regions (although Bournemouth and Poole do have a healthy jazz community; see, for example, www.bournemouthjazz.org).  I should probably make it clear that I did not approach Abram in a ‘I’m your biggest fan’ kind of way, but because we have already crossed paths in cyber-space.

I am most at home behind a computer keyboard, or with a pen and paper in hand.  I write.  It’s what I like to do.  I also use social networking sites, and it was on Facebook that I began following the Dune Music page, and it was here that I began to understand their mission.  The ethos of Dune is an evangelical one: to spread the word of music appreciation and encourage all to enjoy and partake in it.  Unusually for today’s world any profit motive seems to be balanced out by this community-minded approach.  This is a good thing which other, perhaps larger, labels could learn from.  No more evidence is needed than the knowledge that the quartet had spent the afternoon running a workshop for local young people and that Dune’s roster includes Tomorrow’s Warriors, a platform for fresh young jazz talent.

One has to admire Dune’s and Abram Wilson Quartet’s commitment to forwarding the cause of music, then.  This attitude spilled over into the gig and, although the average provincial English audience can be somewhat reticent when it comes to letting go of their inhibitions and just enjoying the moment, the ice quickly began to break.  The beautifully warm and emotional trumpet of Wilson’s playing on his duet version of ‘Even Though You’re Bad for Me’ with pianist, Peter Edwards, soon saw to that.  Edwards’ playing, although more cerebral than Abram’s passionate blowing, certainly worked very well in this context.  Indeed all of the musicians in question communicated well and provided a cracking performance all ‘round.

In a rare departure from the Life Paintings album the first set ended with the tribute to Thelonius Monk from Wilson’s first album, Jazz Warrior.  Edwards’ mimic of Monk’s angular style did not go unnoticed!

The second set opened with ‘Chasing Mosquito Hawks‘ and a lesson in pronunciation ( it’s moz-KEY-doe, not moss-KEET-oh, apparently).  For the naturalist, mosquito hawks are American dragonflies.   As I just mentioned the ice began to break in the first half of the evening but it was well and truly shattered with the New Orleans stomp of ‘Snake in the Grass’, and it was during this that the audience began to visibly move, tap, nod heads throughout, and whoop and cheer after each performer's solo.

The second set was over far too quickly and It was at his point - after a couple of other numbers - when the set closed with the freight-train rhythm of the delta blues number, ‘Life Ain’t So Bad’, from the Ride! Ferris Wheel to the Modern Day Delta album,featuring Wilson’s blues vocal, that I began to question my belief in the wisdom of the ‘a concert can’t be too short’ axiom.  By the end of the evening I had almost lost all feeling from my waist down thanks to the painfully uncomfortable bench seating.  But the intimacy of the small venue and the life paintings that Abram used to describe the inspiration for his music on the Life Paintings album, not to mention the music itself, made for an evening that transcended mere physical concerns.  It led to an elevated feeling of inclusiveness and personal engagement that may have been lost in a larger venue or with other musicians.  I only wish that it could have lasted a bit longer.

Jazz, Tea and the Ceremonial

I love digital.  And I love music.  So I've been thinking to myself, I have a pretty large CD collection, which I've uploaded to iTunes.  I subscribe to Spotify, and that means I'll never have to buy another CD again.  So far, so mundane.  But now my collector gene is getting restless.  What should I do?  And this is my answer.  I step outside of the digital.  I go back to a time before CD and mp3.  That's right, I get into cassette tape!  Oh no, wait a minute, cassette tapes were rubbish.  I get into vinyl.  That's better.  More precisely, I get back into vinyl.  
I came into my teenage years just as CDs were becoming mainstream.  That meant I had several years of collecting small shiny, silver discs alongside large, rich velvety black discs. Oh yes, and I bought a few cassettes as well (I had a brick-like Sony Walkman, what do you expect?) Anyway, long story short, I have a small collection of, mostly, rock lps.  During the interim of my teenage years and now I have discovered the complexity, the joy and the art of jazz.  I was given MoodSwing by Joshua Redman as a birthday gift about ten years ago.  There it sat, on the shelf, a wallflower at the end of the long line of rock and pop CDs.  I never listened to it.  

 

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A couple of years later I found a CD in the bargain bin in my local record shop (you remember them).  It was called The Birth of the Cool. I'd heard of, but never actually heard, Miles Davis.  The cover picture was wonderful.  This tall, confident black man in profile, holding a trumpet to his lips with a look in his eye that said he fully expected the world to sit up and take notice.  Of course the low angle of the shot gave the impression of height.  The photo is cropped just below Miles's belt-line and the background is dark, which means there is no definite scale.  All of this was important, I felt that I was holding a holy relic of a bygone era upon which was depicted some pagan deity.  
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This time I was brave enough to put the disc in the tray and hit the play button on my Hi-Fi.  Brave is the right word.  The reason I'd never played the Joshua Redman album I'd been given was because I was afraid of what I might hear.  Something, I was sure, that would lift me out of my comfortable world of music that had clear chord progressions and verse-chorus-verse structures populated with strong back-beats and finite, precisely rendered solos.  Above all I'd heard a nasty rumour that much jazz music was instrumental: no lyrics.  Aaarrggh!  No mortal could experience such a thing without their head exploding, surely.  Especially not albums full of the stuff.
To say that I was instantly converted would be imprecise.  Not a lie, exactly, just... imprecise.  On one level I was hooked and I wanted to hear more, but I could not claim, at that time, to be able to explain why this was.  I think that I would still struggle to pinpoint the moment when I began to abandon my previous preconceptions of music as merely entertainment, a 'soundtrack to a life', so to speak, and realise its value as emotionally and intellectually fulfilling art.  But Miles began this awakening and Miles is still the central musician for me of the art-form that is jazz.
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Such an expressive, satisfying and collectible form of music - of art - needs to be heard at its best, then.  And this is my point of return.  I began this post as a collector of music and have distilled this to a single musical 'genre', infinitely diverse in itself, that will form the basis of my move into vinyl.  And, surely, this is only right and proper.  A storage format that is lossless and that, reputedly, preserves the integrity of the recording in a more faithful and 'warmer' way than 'cold' and 'unemotional' digital reproduction.  'Ah', you're thinking, 'but you've already professed a love for digital, you're a fraud.'  You'd be justified in levelling that accusation at me.  Here, then is my defence.  
As I grow older, and hopefully wiser, I find I appreciate the ceremony of life's everyday events.  Just one example is that, being English, I am of course a tea drinker.  Rather than just pop a tea bag in the cup and pour on boiling water I allow myself the indulgence of having loose-leaf tea made in the pot with all due ceremony and meticulous attention to the task in hand.  (Don't ask me whether I put the milk in first or last - I won't tell.)  This way of uni-tasking is, I believe, not only a pleasurable way to make the most of the small, intimate moments.  It is also a form of mental and practical rebellion in world gone mad with multi-tasking where one hears music on an mp3 player while not really listening because one's attention is diverted by trying to cross a busy road while drinking coffee from from a disposable cardboard mug.  The ceremonial aspects of playing a record, or making tea, are a way of being truly and intimately in contact with what we are doing, and with ourselves as people.  As thinking, emotional beings.  When I buy my record player and put my first new record purchase on the turntable, drop the needle and sit back I will already be in emotional and intellectual contact with the music that is yet to emanate from the speakers.  I will be prepared for music, with or without lyrics, that will, for a brief time, help me transcend the drudgery of hectic digitised existence.  An existence which I don't resent, but which needs to be tempered with slow, thoughtful appreciation of the world around us, of art, of jazz.  And yes, I did eventually listen to Joshua Redman.  And no, my head didn't explode.  Not literally, anyway.

The Loveable Rogues' Gallery

What is it about our love affair with those cheeky, chirpy (often Cockney) chappies who sail the stormy seas of nefarious wheeler-dealing? Always selfish, usually on the wrong side of the law, rarely repentant, they do not, at first glance seem to be characters to engender our sympathy. And yet, in their fictional guise, we love them, whether on the page, on TV or in films.  Over the years there has been a whole host of such characters, from the smoggy streets of Dickensian London to the far reaches of the galaxy.  They have turned up in gentlemen's clubs, high-rise tower blocks, space-stations and everywhere in between.  In an ongoing series I shall be looking at them in their many and varied locales.  So, let's begin with one of the most lauded small-screen creations from the 1970s, 80s and 90s...

 

THE LOVEABLE ROGUES' GALLERY, NO.1: ARTHUR DALEY

 

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As rogues go they don’t get more lovable than Arthur Daley.  Played by George Cole in the long-running TV series, Minder, he first oozed onto our screens in 1979.  He was always by far the best thing about the series, even though the programme was ostensibly about his hired muscle of the title.  A role played first by that ubiquitous 1970s actor, Dennis Waterman as Terry McCann, and, for the last three of the original ten series, by Gary Webster as Ray Daley, Arthur’s nephew.  The less than equitable relationship between Arthur and Terry is pitch perfectly conveyed in the now legendary opening titles when the pair pull up at Daley’s used car lot, Terry steps out of the car and looks the motor over, giving Arthur many a suspicious look along the way (note the old Thames Television logo at the beginning of this video):

 

 

Arthur was a dodgy used car salesman who would try his hand at any get rich quick scheme that came along.  What made him such a sympathetic character was his gross naïvety.  One couldn’t help feeling sorry for Arthur when, as viewers, we could see his fall coming at the end of the episode long before he did.  What separated Arthur from many other fictional dodgy dealers was that he was always the anti-hero and never the reluctant hero.  He wouldn’t, under any circumstances, allow his better nature to decide the day.  Always selfish and convinced that he was hard-done-by, was Arthur.  Even at the suggestion of his dealings being in any way less than honest he would play the sensitive, easily hurt innocent.  Yet this did not stop him from trying to swindle even his friends.  This scene shows Arthur in full flow, seeing only the £ signs.  His plan? To pass a Lotus Eclat on to any mug who’ll buy it - even if that mug is his own friend, Dave, who also owns Arthur’s club, the Winchester:

 

 

So popular was Arthur in his hey-day that in 1982 he was even the subject of a successful pop song by The Firm (a band that also gave us the now infamous ‘Star Trekkin’’), done in a faux Chaz & Dave style with all the Cockney bells and whistles, cor blimey! I love this video because it has the chart countdown at the beginning, giving a real taste of the times:

 

 

So this is what The Lovable Rogues’ Gallery is all about.  Arthur Daley takes his rightful place at the top of the list, although there are many others contending for his crown, and I’ll cover these periodically over the coming months.  Only fitting, then that I should leave the last word to Arthur.  This was the last time we saw Arthur, or at least George Cole in Arthur’s camel coat and trilby.  It was shot a week after the final episode:

 

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