Interviews

Taking the Syvret Letter out of the equation for a minute, by far the most talked about subject in Jersey in the last two weeks is the satirical music styling of Hedley le Maistre.

Hedley has been drip feeding the awaiting masses a series of songs that give the listener a unique insight into island life, from talk of road works to a night on the town. Hedley’s even penned an anthem for Jersey.

It all started with ‘Back in Jersey, ay’ a song about, well about a night on pull really. It follows our heroes attempt to get laid and resultant disasters that follow him from each club.

‘Back in Jersey’ was written a while ago and Hedley was encouraged to put it on My Space by a number of friends who had heard him playing it. He told us “Ah only posted ‘Back in Jersey, ay’ on the old mar-space at the request of a couple of local leds who’d heard me howlin’ it at a local gatherin”

Fans of Hedley, and they are growing in number by the day (his three songs have been listened to nearly 7 thousands times so far), will be pleased to know that, in addition to the three songs on My Space, there are many more to come.

Hedley told us “Ah’ve got a few more tucked up mah sleeve, ma boy...other than thet ah’ll just wait and see what happens.”

As it was raining, Hedley agreed to take a break from the fields, put down his guitar, and help the BBC with their enquiries.

THE INTERVIEW

BBC: So Hedley, where in the island were you born?

Hedley le Maistre: Ah don’t want to give too much away ‘bart ma particulars, if thet’s okay with you ma cock. Ah’ve heard all abart them rapparazzi and qwuart frankly I wouldn’t want them trapisin’ over ma fields with their cameras droppin’ their crisp packets and empty coke cans and the lark. Let’s just say ah’m St Ouens through and through, me. Thet’ll do.

BBC: Can you imagine yourself living anywhere else in the world? If so, where? And why?

HM: St Mary’s is quite narse in the summer. Ah suppose St Peter’s at a push, though thet’s getting’ a little too close to tahn for ma larkin. Marnd you everywhere’s a bit too close to tahn these days.

BBC: One of your comments were "s**t the bed and call me Glenda, I've hit the two thousand mark!" Back in Jersey has now reached over 4,800 listens. Are you surprised by the interest your music is generating?

HM: Well yes it’s very narse and a real surprass to have thet many people lissenen in! Ah only posted ‘Back in Jersey, ay’ on the old mar-space at the request of a couple of local leds who’d heard me howlin’ it at a local gatherin’ and before ah knew what was happenin’ it had gone arland-wahrd! Ruddy marvellous thing the internet, ay? Enough to turn one’s trahsers brann.

BBC: How do you plan to cope with this sudden local fame?

HM: Ah’m not too interested in fame, me. These celebrity tarps seem like a silly bunch of buggers, though ah wouldn’t marnd doin’ a duet with thet Narinda Pallot when she gets back from prattin’ rand in London.

BBC: What inspires you to write a track? 

HM: Whatever’s on mah marnd thet day; thet’s what tends to come out. Ah’ll be shovelling muck or geldin’ a hoss or something and all of a sudden one’ll hit me an’ arm straight on that guitar of mine and bangin’ it out for all to yer.

BBC: Is there a secret stash of tunes that you plan to drip feed us with? Or are you writing as your go right now?

HM: Ah’ve got a few more tucked up mah sleeve, ma boy...other than thet ah’ll just wait and see what happens. You can’t force these things, as mah Uncle Micky used to say, before the constipation took ‘im.

BBC: What are your greatest concerns for the island?

HM: Ah feel sorry for them young ‘uns lookin’ to start up homes over yer, what with them greedy buggers overseas buyin’ up all them properties just to have somewhere to air their farts come June. Not much for the kiddies to do over yer either - ah caught a bunch of them siphoning diesel from mah tractor the other day – they wouldn’t be doin’ that if you gave them a park for all them skates they keep whingin’ abart.

BBC: How do you feel about island events such as the Battle of Flowers?

HM: So long as they’re not run by ruddy morons ah’m all for ‘em. One more thing to stick in the travel brochures, ah suppose. The tourists must get sick of lookin’ at all them photographs of sand and cows.

BBC: Did you support the decision to bring Jodi Marsh over?

HM: Did I buggery! What a waste of good taxpayer’s money! If they were so desperate to get one of them celebrity tarps over then they should have got that Dimmock woman with the green fingers or that little Scottish doctor who’s always sticking her nose into other peoples’ muck. At least they’ve half a brain between them. That Marsh girl was all make-up and udders. Marnd you, ah suppose the Bettle IS all about the float, and let’s face it - she would.

BBC: In your opinion who would make the ideal ambassador for the Battle?

HM: That fella who always ended up going down the hill in a bathtub from ‘Last of the Summer Warn.’ Now THET’s talent worth celebratin’. Either ‘im or that one that reads the news – whassisname - Pexman. He’d be good.

BBC: Would you support the idea of a 13th parish? If so what would they call it?

HM: Ah thought Grouville WAS the thirteenth parish. Ah suspect you’ve got yer sums wrong mah cock.

BBC: Did you support the lifting of the No Dancing On A Sunday Law?

HM: It’s been lifted, ‘as it? Incredible isn’t it, what passes fer progress these days. No wonder the arland’s youth is in such disarray. They’ll be having sex in the streets next, you mark mah words.

BBC: There are calls for you to stand for the States. You up for it?

HM: Ah give it some thought, for a wharl there. Trouble is it’s an awful long trek in on the old tractor each mornin’ just to sit there lissen’n to them dronin’ on abart this and thet warlst makin’ a general balls-up of it all.

Ah’ve an uncle slipped into a coma having accidentally left the ray-de-oh on during a larve States debate a few months beck. Took three of us to drag his todger down a length of electric fencin’ before he finally came rand. Mumblin’ gibberish for days, he was. Don’t think ah’d fancy thet marself.