I hoped to give you a little update on how Jazz Cow is moving forward. Paid animation work has been keeping me busy recently, which, to be clear, I'm not complaining about, but it has slowed me down.

I’ll continue my focus on what animation looks like in 2026. Despite what certain big-tech evangelists claim, there still isn't a big red button labelled "Animate". No button to press and have a film spat out which feels alive, where you actually care what happens to the characters. (And if there is, it spits out horrors like Critterz).1

But how does it work today? Are animators still drawing twenty-four pictures for every second of film, on thousands of sheets of paper?

These days, it's much more common to draw directly into a computer. And for a show like Jazz Cow, our team wouldn't be drawing every frame, but it's still a load of work.

For Jazz Cow, we’ll use “2d rigging”, which is how most animated shows are made. “Rigging” might sound a bit technical, but hang with me a bit longer.

This basically means building a digital puppet, a skeleton of reusable parts. Your beloved cartoon hero reduced to a pile of spare limbs in a digital Tupperware box, waiting to be assembled like flat-pack IKEA furniture.

Ah, yes, I must move Jazz Cow’s leg slot ‘B’ to recreate the emotional struggles of being a cow in a human world.

So we’re not redrawing every frame on paper, but we still draw far more than you’d think.

Often, young people ask what software I use, as if that is the key; it’s really not. Extraordinary animation has been made with nothing more than a pencil and paper. Software merely helps you work faster. (I may talk about the actual software one day, but for today it would be a distraction)

It not so far from Cut-out animation, isn’t new, you have Show like Mr Benn which over at animated has done a great post on. This 1950s a cardboard Captain Pugwash with little slots for movable arms.

It goes right back to the first surviving animated feature, The Adventures of Prince Achmed. To be brutally honest, I find the whole film a bit lifeless and dull, I freely recognise that it was a staggering amount of work and a major historical achievement, which probably just means I am a bit of an uncultured philistine.

But the idea goes back even further. Toy theatres, where entire tragedies unfolded on a stage the size of a shoebox2 . These shows are full of life and really exciting to watch. If you ever get the chance to see one performed, go. You will not regret it.

What’s changed isn’t the idea. It’s that we can now make everything less mechanical and more life-like, much bit closer in feel to traditional animation. It's commonly used on most 2d animated shows today. So yes, the software helps with this. But it’s not smart; it has roughly the emotional intelligence of a confused Silicon Valley tech bro standing in a farmyard for the first time. It does not know the cow is sad. Or the panic of discovering your keyboard player has broken his hand 20 mins before the show.

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You can build the fanciest digital puppet, and it will lie there, dead, until some vitamin-D-deficient animator leans over it and breathes their own private griefs and joys into its little digital limbs.

Which is, appropriately, exactly what the word animatio

n has always meant: from the Latin anima — soul, breath, life itself.

And when it works — when it actually works — you stop seeing the drawings at all. You stop seeing hinges, or slots, or rigging, or whichever expensive program did the tedious bits. You just see Jazz Cow, hunting for his keys like it’s the single most urgent crisis in the known universe.

Which, of course, it is.

I used to think animation was just drawings moving to tell a story. It isn’t. It’s acting, performed by people who never appear on screen.

Nostalgia of trying to find out about animation

I had a few animation books, and I always loved shows that went behind the scenes. My local library, a grey, concrete block, hardly a natural home for books, provided a few more. The internet and DVD bonus features weren't on the horizon yet, so you made do with whatever you could find.

There wasn’t much of it around when I was young, but I lapped up every scrap. The odd show here and there. Channel 4, during the school holidays, would sometimes show an American series about Hollywood special effects, shot on what looked like a stolen CCTV camera1. But the main event was Rolf’s Cartoon Time. It was the first time I could put a name to geniuses like Chuck Jones and Tex Avery. It really opened my eyes as I got to see how the cake was made.

Then, like too many presenters from that era, it turned out Rolf was a proper wrong’un.2

Which does rather kill the nostalgia. You're halfway through a fond memory, this cheerful Australian bloke painting enormous murals with a decorating brush, singing songs about marsupials, and then History taps you on the shoulder and murmurs, "Yes, well. Unfortunately."3

Someone may do serious evil and yet still leave something worthwhile behind. The good won’t cancel the harm, but the harm can’t wipe out the good. Both facts stand side by side.

As Ted Gioia observes in his essay When Bad People Make Good Art

“Wagner created art that was wiser than Wagner himself.”

The miracle is not that flawed people make flawed things. The miracle is that flawed people sometimes make things better than themselves.

The appeal of these behind-the-scenes of animation hasn’t aged well but fortunately today we have others options for learning.

So, how does animation actually get made?

Once the voice is recorded, the actor’s tone, rhythm, comedy and emotion have to carry everything, since we don’t have their physical presence on screen.

Then comes the storyboard: every shot, every angle, every visual decision. We time everything out in what’s called an “animatic”, which is like a filmed storyboard set to the soundtrack. That goes to the animator. And then something slightly odd happens.

The animator acts.

Animators tend to be, introverts who would rather spend fourteen hours in the dark with a tablet than be in the spotlight. And yet here they are, performing. really getting inside the mind of the character, It’s not performance for attention, but performance for legibility.

Imagine an animator hanging off the side of his desk pretending to fight a Space-badger. In a normal job, Erika from HR would be called in to intervene. In animation, she never finds out.

You can see me talking abut it on “The Christian Reeve” podcast.

But why the acting?

Imagine Jazz Cow has lost his keys. To animate him convincingly, you have to step inside his mind, what does he want, what does he feel, how does he move? The animator thinks like an actor, translating psychology into a visual performance the audience can instantly read and feel.

Or look at the wonderfully subtle animation of Roger in One Hundred and One Dalmatians by Milt Kahl, he doesn’t just move, he seems genuinely alive he has understood the why. He doesn’t just mechanically move around on the chair, the little pause as he looks out of the window and thinks before he picks up the pipe, the stretch not rushed. The character isn’t moving. He’s thinking. All just paper and pencil!

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Conclusion & reflection

Animation isn’t moving drawings. It’s deciding, beat by beat, what a character is thinking, and convincing the audience to believe it.

These days there are tons of resources that can help you understand animation. What they don’t prepare you for is the shock of realising your childhood heroes are more complicated than you once thought.4

I’m often asked for practical animation resources, so I may also put together a dedicated post for that. In the meantime, Aaron Blaise’s Acting for Animation feels like the practical companion to everything I’ve just described.

If all of this has made you curious about what’s really happening behind the curtain, you’re in luck. In the next post, I’ll dig into more parts of the animation process.

I watched a thoughtful YouTube piece by James Cary. He’s a sitcom writer who brings those writing skills to Jazz Cow and also runs The Situation Room, where he dissects how sitcoms really work.

At this point, I fear this post won’t be far from being like one of those irritating “reaction video” people who talk over the original and add nothing of value. So watch the whole thing, and if something I add is useful to that, see it as a bonus.

James identifies three Hallmarks of sitcom: place, family and conflict.

Jazz Cow works because it does those things, it traps characters in place, has a core cast, and uses that friction to generate comedy, something modern life is steadily losing.

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1. Home. Fixed. Inescapable.

I’ve touched on this before. Jazz Cow is rooted in a very specific place. It connects, oddly, to David Goodhart’s idea of “Somewheres” and “Anywheres.” Somewheres are stay in the same streets, same people, same recurring humiliations. Anywheres are mobile; as long as there’s WiFi, they can be anywhere.

This framework is used to explain political divides, but a better question is: who’s funnier?

For sitcoms, Anywheres are a problem. If a character can grab their laptop and runaway to Lisbon, there’s no story. But Somewheres are stuck, then everything has to happen in the same constrained space.

Jazz Cow works because they are rooted in a place1. The rock keeps rolling back. Every time.

2. Family. Or whatever passes for one.

James once drew a chart showing how Jazz Cow’s characters are basically a family tree. I should dig it out at some point.

I should confess a personal weakness: I am, by most reasonable definitions, pathologically sociable. I tend to treat strangers as friends who simply haven’t been introduced properly yet.2 Which is where Jazz Cow becomes slightly dangerous for someone like me. Its world is rich enough that you can get distracted by a swarm of bit-part characters. And people in Jazz are funny as this this clip demonstrates.3

So Jazz Cow does what good sitcoms must do: it stays anchored to the band.

Bit characters still matter. Bugs Bunny debuted in a Daffy Duck cartoon, Count Duckula spun off from Danger Mouse. Interesting words do Expand.

The Simpsons does this perfectly. Total sprawl, cameos, endless eccentrics, but always returning to Homer and his immediate world. Expansion is allowed, but centre is never lost.

Jazz Cow needs that same discipline: characters may orbit, but the band remains home.

3. Conflict. (Only works when you can’t escape.)

Anywhere can avoid conflict and quietly disappear. Friendships become optional subscriptions.

For somewheres it’s unavoidable as people are interdependent. It reminds me of something a Cartoon Network exec once said at the Annecy Animation Festival: “All cartoons are sibling rivalry.”

The “Somewheres”, fumble through the mess left behind and still show up to the gig on Friday because there is, quite simply, nowhere else to go. Jazz Cow’s band sticks together through a shared mission: spreading the gospel of Jazz while fending off technocrats.

This is also how real bands work.

Duke Ellington’s orchestra, for example, was famously tight-knit, he acted like a father. One musician I spoke to, who once played with Ellington, described him as extraordinary at guiding players away from drugs and making sure they were fed.

Without it, you don’t get a band. You get casual workers passing through each other’s lives.

Jazz Cow understands that instinctively.

The Village (Vanguard) Effect

We’ve spent so long pruning our social circles that we’ve forgotten how to actually live with people. We call it “protecting our energy,” but that’s just a posh way of saying we can’t be bothered with anyone who’s a bit of a faff. Dr Popp would be chuffed.

In The Village Effect, Susan Pinker explores remote Sardinian villages where people regularly reach a ripe old age. Their secret? It seems that real human contact does more for your health than a trendy health drink. She contrasts it with George Burns’ joke that

Happiness is a loving family located in a completely different city. It’s the ‘American Dream’

If the goal is living longer, we might need to trade polished independence for something messier: interdependence. Yes, even enduring your neighbour’s bagpipe practice. That’s basically the entry fee.

Comfort is a creative dead end. When people are stuck together, they have to figure things out—through the chaos.

That’s why the real frontier isn’t found with tech bros optimising our friends, it’s proximity. Think Village Vanguard, (or in Jazz Cows case Connie Snots) tables slightly too close, no escape routes, everyone participating.

If we lose our ability to put up with our fellow Homosapiens, we will end up forgetting how to enjoy the chaos on TV because we’ve spent too long fleeing from it in real life. That would be a disaster—particularly if immortality turns out not to depend on supping from the well of eternal youth or clever technological fixes, but instead, as Pinker implies, on the ancient virtue of putting up with irritating people.

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On a different note you can here me on Robert Mitchell’s Podcast from last week. Thanks again.

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Your 3 Wishes Ep.4 - John Lumgair

For this episode - our fantastic guest is John Lumgair is an award-winning animation director, 2d animator, compositor, matte painter, toon boom harmony rigger, and has done motion graphics and illustration work. His (very freshly chosen) three wishes lead to well - many more thoughts - which in turn need another pod of their own …

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4 months ago · 3 likes · Robert Mitchell and John Lumgair

Consider three scenes.

An evening in the park with pals, watching the sunset, laughing over tales of the day's escapades. Or maybe you're at a gig, everyone caught up in the same moment. Or pilling out of the cinema, shaken or stirred, itching to dissect a shared experience.

Notice what’s missing?

Our phones. That miraculous tool of connection has disconnected us. Each one of those moments would be ruined by a screen.

Origin story

Jazz Cow has sat in a drawer for over twenty years, before smartphones2 which is either a story about patience or procrastination, you choose.

It started with late-night chats with friends, bonkers ideas, and flipping through The Illustrated Encyclopaedia of Cartoon Animals. Most animals were effortlessly cool. Most had superpowers.

Why not a cow?

No venom. No claws. Frankly, no aerodynamics. And yet — why not the power to play jazz? Silly, yes. But also, surprisingly serious.

Centre vs. Margin

As you know, at the heart of the show is a collision between two worlds. Forgive a bit of repetition from previous posts.

Jazz Cow maps onto the concept of the Centre and the Margin3.

Popp World is “the Centre”. Clean, orderly, ruthlessly convenient. It protects us from the terrifying danger of having an original thought.

The Bohemian Quarter is “The Margin.” chaotic, improvised, handmade. It grants enough freedom for creativity and gives voice to the excluded.

Theory is always a bit wobbly.

If a concept fits too neatly, you should probably be suspicious.

Jazz Cow, being a cow, in the human world, is the ultimate marginal leader. Yet, he’s better read and more human than most.

His rebellion isn't just about being on the Vanguard; it’s also about saving what we’ve lost. Shared attention. Real presence. Doing things together, badly, in the same room. Jazz Cow pushes forward while also reaching back. Jazz doesn’t reject tradition; it lives it, reinvents it.4

Yet, Popp World is radical in its own way. It sprints into ethically murky territory while gleefully whistling a tone-deaf version of Rocket Man. It has no interest in the past, and an unhealthy interest in marginal ideas like trans-humanism. The Margin and the Centre each contain their opposite, like those funny dots in a yin-yang symbol.

In fact, the Bohemian Quarter is an oasis right in the centre of Popp world, like Asterix’s village surrounded by the Roman empire or a Medieval mappa mundi putting Jerusalem at the centre of their world.

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The Cost of Revolution

Back to the park, the gig, the cinema: real, shared attention on something outside ourselves is vital to our wellbeing. Phones and convenience have hollowed it out.

Jazz Cow and his band might be zealous Luddites, but I’m not.

Next-day delivery can get you out of a scrape. GPS has probably saved a few marriages. I’d also defend the right to win an argument by Googling the answer mid-sentence to my dying breath.

But we have to ask: is there a version of modern life where we keep some of the gadgets without losing our souls? Jazz Cow’s world is the perfect place to poke at this because it’s built on contradiction and things that refuse to fit neatly (a pretty accurate mirror of the rest of us). The absurdities aren't just decoration—they’re the point. Even Dr. Popp may have lessons worth hearing. (Shh, don’t tell Jazz Cow.)

Final note

I should confess that Jazz Cow’s own creation story is a rather faithful illustration of its themes. It is not a tale of the most optimised pipeline. It is a tangent-filled road, several dead ends, and an extended stay in a drawer.

Real life, as it turns out, is haphazard and considerably messier than Instagram will ever admit.

Dr. Popp’s world is powerful — stupendously, dopamine-dispensingly powerful. The doom-scroll is winning most days. I won’t pretend otherwise.

And yet. It was Frodo who carried the ring. Not because he was the obvious candidate, objectively, a poor choice, but because he kept going anyway.

So, unplug occasionally. Look at the wonder of the world as it actually is. Invest in real people, who will annoy you, which is proof they’re real. Write songs. Make things badly. Keep doing art.

A cow is counting on you.

Charles Dickens is my favourite namer: Pecksniff, Pumblechook, Honeythunder. Ridiculous—until you get a certain point in the (audio) book and it’s just a name. I remember as a child being at my uncle’s house, giggling helplessly with my brothers at the mere title of the BBC’s Martin Chuzzlewit.

Names aren’t just jokes—they shape the texture of a world.2 I don’t have to go full Tolkien and invent an entire language. Jazz musicians’ playful language gave us more than enough to work with.

Jazz Royalty

Jazz fans have always been good at naming. It has its own nobility — Duke, Count, King, Empress3. Though curiously no Sir. So I knighted Sir Spud “Pooper Scooper” Thompson, only to discover that Miles Davis’s gravestone already reads “Sir Miles Davis.” A mystery for another day.

Pseudonyms

Jazz musicians often moonlighted under new identities to dodge contracts, reinvent themselves: Charlie Parker became “Charlie Chan,” Fats Navarro was “Slim Romero,” Nat Adderley “Buckshot La Funke.” So are the characters in Jazz Cow even using their real names?

Just going for a chuckle

Sir Spud. Pooper Scooper. I remember sitting at my parents’ table with , snorting at the sheer daftness. Maybe there’s a backstory, but mostly, it’s just gloriously silly.

Childish? Certainly—like Connie's Snots, an obvious riff on Ronnie Scott's Jazz Club. Even that has layers: a nod to Connie’s Inn, a wink at Paris Blues, her younger years or maybe an in-joke. Who knows?

Then there’s Hank “Papa-Moose” Brown. “Hank,” as American as it gets. The Papas are everywhere—Papa Jo, Papa Too Sweet, Papa Egg Shell—so why not another? The “moose” hints at “Moose the Mooche,” but mostly it’s fun to say. Say “Papa-Moose”, pleasing, right?

Character traits & Word play

Jazz is full of Busters. Puddingface isn’t about looks—it’s about what he eats.

Dr Popps’ coder, Bash808, uses his username—a hints his job and the Roland TR-808. The Mayor? Needs no explanation. Victoria? Positively posh. Stickler? Can’t abide rule-breaking. Sometimes a name says it all.

Valentina. Where it came from, who knows. Valentina Avitia, Mexican Revolution fighter? Her fondness for Valentina Salsa? My Funny Valentine drifting through her dad’s head jsut before she was born? Whatever the source, it works, and that’s enough.

The Third

I’ve always been tickled by parents naming kids after themselves. Denzil Ambrose III? The third! George Foreman took it to operatic extremes, naming most of his children George! I think my old friend Jonathan Taylor coined this gem. I can’t hear the name without picturing the wonderfully named Curtly Ambrose playing cricket with a tin of Ambrosia Custard.

Animation and stories

Connections flow from cartoons to jazz and back: Billy Strayhorn was nicknamed "Swee' Pea" after the Popeye character, while Johnny Hodges, another Popeye fan, became "Jeep". Meade Lux Lewis began as "The Duke of Luxembourg," a reference to Alphonse & Gaston mercifully compressed into "Lux". Kenny Davern once christened a record producer "Yellowfeather," explaining:

you know the cat who chases the canary? When you ask if he ate it, he protests innocence — but if you look closely, there’s a little yellow feather at the corner of his mouth.

And like all jazz stories, you can’t be sure what’s true. Louis Armstrong, with his wonderful nickname Sachmo4, told many different versions of the same tale. Contradictions didn’t matter. Storytelling did.

Can I Have a P, Please, Bob

Rhythm matters more than meaning. Names should sound musical. The letter P is pleasing, inherently funny. 5 did warn that giving all your characters names starting with the same letter is a recipe for confusion. But we think it’s worth the risk.

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The Jazz world has always delighted in language; there is so much on my cutting room floor—slang, subculture, lyrical in-jokes. I may write more on that another time.

Names are slippery, sound like music, and sometimes just make us laugh. If you’ve enjoyed this, share it with friends for more stories, curiosities, and playful little discoveries. You might forget a name—but you won’t forget the fun.

I’m also gathering all posts about this music in one place, hoping this building gets the recognition it deserves. There are already quite a few articles—I'll list them at the end and keep adding as the story unfolds.

Context

A lively band of local heroes—historians Geoff Simmons and Lynda Cazeaux, designer , musician , Morris Hardcastle from the Cinema Theatre Association, and a few local storytellers—are on a mission: to secure a Blue Plaque for this legendary building! Once home to countless musicians such as the Beatles, Jimi Hendrix, and Paul Robeson, it also holds a key place in film, TV, and entertainment history.

My film was only a tiny part of the evening. Morris, dressed to the nines as cinema’s commissionaire uniform, delivered a rousing history of cinema architecture and a reminder that films are made to be seen in a cinema (hear, hear). In the golden age, the magic didn’t begin with the projector’s whirr; it began streets away, when you spotted the building glowing like a spaceship.1 As Lynda put it, these were “temples of entertainment at a price within their reach”, built to transport working-class audiences somewhere they might never otherwise go. We also heard of ambitious plans from Lee Newham about some fantatic murals they plan to do.

The Hall of Mirrors, where we screened the film and heard the talks, may have felt glamorous to us, yet it wasn’t even the main attraction back then. It was just the queuing space. Entertainment was taken seriously back then.

As well as films, the Granada hosted jugglers, wrestlers, musicans, heavyweight boxers, roller skaters, lions and bears. (Yes. Lions. A boy was once bitten by one. Imagine the insurance.)

Publicity

Publicity wasn’t an afterthought bolted on by a social media manager with a Canva subscription. It was part of the show. Sometimes, it was the show.

For one Western premiere, Roy Rogers shipped his horse Trigger over from California. For other Actors arrived in costume. Shopkeepers dressed their windows around new releases, once even staging a tortoise competition. Prizes were given to babies born on premiere day. For a week, a cinema employed only female staff. There were enormous birthday cakes. It was theatrical. Communal. Gloriously over the top.

I can’t do justice to all the speakers here if you get a chance, hear them for yourself.

A few tips for micro-cinema

• Programme around place — research your venue and embed its story (cinemapper.com is a great resourse). Lets get creative!

• Tap into local memory — let personal and communal histories shape the screening.

• Connect locally — partner with nearby groups to find new audiences.

• Publicise with flair — but not necessarily shipping over a horse!

• Document it — ephemeral screenings need their own archive. My lack of pictures is a problem!

In this hall of mirrors, film, space, music, and history reflected the past. And if you are local why not talk to your local councillor about getting that blue plaque.

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Updates on the music video

• Feb 2026 Screened at Animatex.

Articles and podcast about it.

Robert’s Substack

Little Black Book - Jimi @ Granada Pt.3 - In Pictures.

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9 months ago · 1 like · Robert Mitchell

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Little Black Book - Jimi @ Granada Pt 2 - The Animation! OUT TODAY!

Please enjoy Jimi @ Granada - the animation…

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10 months ago · Robert Mitchell

Robert’s Substack

Little Black Book - Jimi @ Granada Pt.1

Late in 2024 I was watching one of Dr David Olusga’s tv shows about two different homes - linked in history across distance. Being a fan for years I had expected nothing more than to be greatly educated and probably surprised (having seen the one on the houses in Bristol). But this was different…

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10 months ago · 1 like · Robert Mitchell

Robert’s Substack

Jimi @ Granada - Video/Podcast

A video/podcast - with plenty of stills and photos from the Jimi@Granada animation and some of its inspirations! If you have not seen it check out the album page (with embedded video…

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8 months ago · 2 likes · 1 comment · Robert Mitchell and John Lumgair

Part 1

Part 2

The city that doesn’t forget

I was listening to Adrian Tchaikovsky on ’s podcast. I must confess I’ve not heard of him, but all his guests are worth a listen.

Tchaikovsky talks about why city-based stories are richer than travel-based ones. In a city, you can’t run off if you make a hash of things. People have history. Relationships overlap. Consequences follow you about.

And that, dear friends, is why the Bohemian Quarter matters. Heroes return home. Jazz Cow returns here. Every alley, stoop, window and balcony remembers. Identity is tied to place, whether you like it or not1. The characters are known to one another —and nothing disappears into the void.

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The City as Theatre of Perpetual Embarrassment

Aristotle, that wise old bean, reckoned a perfect story has one plot, one day, one place. Fewer locations, more intensity—and cheaper than building a new city every episode!

Small communities are ripe for plot twists and gags, characters thinking they’re unseen, authority figures missing the obvious, and private moments spotted by the wrong person. Le Building, directed by the multi-talented French team, is a perfect example of how a tiny setting can super-size the humour.

In comedy, characters often dodge real consequences. Fall off a cliff and show up fine next episode. But no one ever dodges their flaws. Episodes reset — you might get flattened by a heavyweight, have your face mashed into concrete, or watch a child realise they’ve locked themselves out… in just their socks. But reputations don’t reset.

A Mash-Up of Cities and Lives

The Bohemian Quarter is a mash-up: Harlem’s brownstone stoops where Jane Jacobs’2 “eyes on the street” catch you tripping over your ego, London’s chaotic charm, a garnish of New Orleans (French Colonial balconies, paddle-stamers and parades for no earthly reason).

Click Here to explore my VR image of the Bohemian quarter.

The Quarter thrives on weird: Post-modern buildings, rogue street art, and strange DIY guided only by enthusiasm. People build what they believe in, especially if it looks ridiculous. All fenced in by Dr Popp’s glass towers.

Art Deco sets the tone—once it ruled the city, until Popp arrived with his wrecking balls. The quarter clings to its Jazz Age glamour, Deco facades with Egyptian motifs, 3 as if Cleopatra had dropped by for tea and a bourbon.

Harlem's jazz heroes lived within spitting distance of each other, their stoops serving as stages for conversation and consequence.

It was a place where proximity bred invention. Albert Murray, who lived in Harlem, captured that spirit perfectly:

“that Harlem for all its liabilities generates an atmosphere that stimulates people-to-people good times which are second to none anywhere in the world. (Life in Paris is better celebrated in story but not in song and dance.)4”

He describes a way of living that turns daily life into art, but then adds something even more telling:

“the very existence of Harlem’s fantastically knowing satire, its profound awareness and rejection of so much that is essentially ridiculous in downtown doings.”

It’s a sentiment that sums up the Bohmian Quarter’s cheerful refusal of the machine-world values peddled by Dr Popp. This sensibility shows up not just in words and music, but in the very look of the place. In old photos, you see neighbourhood adored its signs—hand-painted, neon, the more the merrier. Magnificent clutter!

When Dr Popp's propaganda appears, local artists transform it into something funnier, occasionally bewildering 5—much like Streatham's knitting ninjas, who wrapped lamp posts in wool under cover of night, then vanished. Did they run out of wool? Relocate? Encounter something sinister? Nobody knows.

The Lesson of the Tiny Window

Just as Harlem’s stoops allowed jazz heroes to witness and respond to each other’s antics, my old block in Streatham has its own tales. Summer doors left open, local kids sneaking in to watch me work, neighbours of every nationality, the architecture had taken it upon itself to orchestrate these interactions.

One afternoon, a kid locked himself out. Suddenly, the whole block mobilised: neighbours hovered, argued, and eccentrics peered from balconies. Only one tiny window would do—if we unscrewed it. One neighbour grabbed the screwdriver; I heaved the young lad through, then had to call through the letterbox to pry him from his toys long enough to let his mum in.

In a city, you can’t run off. Every slammed door, every argument, every locked-out child leaves a mark. Windows remember. Stoops remember. And Jazz Cow? He remembers too.

Conclusion

An alternative world flourishes in the shadow of Popp World: people truly living, creating, and doing foolish things. Shared spaces lead to plot twists and gags—characters thinking they’re unseen (they’re not), private moments witnessed by someone sat on a stoop who absolutely shouldn’t be watching.

I realised the Bohemian Quarter, is a lesson in interdependence, played out at a tiny window. My home influenced the design of the show just as much, if not more, than Harlem.

The Bohemian Quarter and my old South London block teach the same truth: a city is a theatre of perpetual embarrassment. Architecture, history, neighbours—they all collide. Jazz Cow thrives here: messy relationships, stubborn creativity, misfits, music, mischief—and no one ever truly gets away with anything.

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First, thank you for staying loyal and marching with me on this odd little adventure.

Stories aren’t Point A to Point B; that’s a bus route1. Stories need detours, roadworks and the occasional pothole. I often joke that I’m the Grand Old Duke of York (not to be confused with a twisted ex-royal)2, endlessly marching my animated troops up the hill, almost getting there but never quite reaching the top, then marching them down again.3

Right now, Jazz Cow is neither up nor down, that’s perfectly normal. The Flintstones, K-Pop Demon Hunter, and Adventure Time spent years lurking in the shadows before reaching the screen.4

Maybe it’s the setbacks themselves that actually lead to a more interesting personal perspective, and result in a more original show; they would certainly make for a more compelling making-of film. But honestly, I’d much rather dive in, I’m ready to go!

It’s a miracle that any show gets made. The industry, bless its cautious heart, has taken what you might diplomatically call “a thorough kicking” in recent years, and now behaves like a Health and Safety officer who’s just seen someone using a ladder improperly. Hence the reboots. Meanwhile, streamers have mastered the art of shifting all risk onto filmmakers, they want to see more and more before they commit. Eric McConnall, one of our team, recently told me that back in his Pinky & the Brain days at Warner Bros., you could scribble an idea on a napkin and end up with a series. For today’s titans of Tinseltown, the napkin would need notarising, scoring, all-star casting, and probably a cinematic universe, all self-funded and with a built-in audience of millions to tap into.

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So, where are we now?

The gist is: I had a potential investor on board… and now I don’t. Back to square one, kind of. I don’t move in moneyed circles, and if I did, I’d stick out like a cow in a china shop. But it’s not doom and gloom. Connections are still regularly forming. I’ve had positive chats with a distributor, and I’m cautiously optimistic. For this route, we’ll need a short animated clip, and luckily, it’s nearly ready and looking splendid. There are some fun moments in there too, character-led comedy is slow-brew; viewers need to care about who’s being ridiculous and why. Consider the clip a cheeky sneak peek.

This is a still from it. This shot went a bit pear-shaped, and a glitch rendered Pooperscooper Thompson far too big, frustrating, but a mistake that made me smile. I can see growth serums and some giant steps in the future, but that's not this current story!

I won’t unleash it into the wild yet. “One must keep one’s powder dry,” as those splendidly moustachioed military types would say—the kind who’d charge up the hill behind the Grand old Duke without flinching. But, then again, maybe I should. William Goldman famously said, “No one knows anything,” and never has that rung truer. Those preaching “build in public” would simply say: go for it.

The other thing is that, with Hollywood's current state, plucky souls are exploring all-new approaches5. I’m keeping my eyes peeled to see where this leads. History shows that times of collapse can spark exciting opportunities.

So yes, there have been Ups and downs. But humans need a chuckle. Science even suggests that laughter and music can cure illness. Perhaps Jazz Cow should be prescribed on the National Health Service, come on Mr Streeting (the UK’s health minister for those that don’t know), let’s follow the science.

So here we are: two steps forward, one step sideways—but progress nonetheless. The story isn’t over. Act III approaches.

The Art of Not Seeing What’s in front of your face

Too busy scrolling to spot something marvellous tucked away in plain sight in South London’s Tooting? Robert Mitchell, one of our Jazz Cow musicians, learned that Jimi Hendrix played the Tooting Alhambra back in ’67. He even dedicated a track to it on his album Little Black Book—and wanted us to make the music video.

- Record scratch. -

Granada in Tooting? Music history, architecture, and Jimi Hendrix? It was as if someone had plucked a few favourite books from my mental bookshelf.

A Tale of Two Alhambras

The Alhambra is one of my favourite buildings, so my ears pricked up when I heard Tooting had its own version. Turns out… It’s a bingo hall.

But don’t be disappointed! Step through the Art Deco facade, and you’re in a theatrical, luxurious space—a Byzantine church meets hall of mirrors with slot machines. Beatles, Sinatra, and Jerry Lee Lewis1 — all played there, and local historian Geoff Simmons is begging the council to slap a blue plaque on the place so locals might notice. What did the council say? Well… more on that later.

The Planning: When Buildings Go Psychedelic

So, what would a music video be? Obviously psychedelic, and psychedelic poster art is often Art Nouveau on a sugar rush. That got me thinking: could the same thing be done with other styles? Like wandering into a kaleidoscopic cathedral—maybe the building itself was the trip.

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This was the animatic (a moving storyboard), the blueprint for production.

The Shoot

Although it’s an animated video, I wanted some live-action elements, so I organised a mini shoot. In a lovely Jazz Cow connection, Luly’s daughter joined us as a runner. She was super helpful and proved to be an expert paper thrower. It was also great to see the band in the light, since the last time I saw them was at a gig cut short by a power outage.

Animation Production: an Adventure in Chromatic Tomfoolery

It’s a bit audacious to attempt this on a shoestring; luckily, our aesthetic thrived on ramshackle charm. Those hand-drawn posters and zines from the 60s counterculture had a tactile, unpolished "handmade" quality.2

I aimed for a colour scheme that makes colours bounce, placing complementary colours of the same value side by side, so your eyeballs go a bit skewiff.3 Naturally, cranking up the chroma means you need some order, or your audience will drown in a rainbow soup. The trick is finding the sweet spot—vivid enough to throw your retinas a distortion party, but just shy of the visual assault that sends viewers reaching for the nearest bucket. I hope I've achieved that.

Another danger is looking like the contemporary plague of AI-generated psychedelic imagery: too precise, too shiny, and augh! What I wanted was something closer to Yellow Submarine, which came out the year after the Hendrix Granada concert.

As the work was so much, my friend Amin, who loved the ideas, swooped in to assist with some of the illustrations, helping me bring this vision together.

Round up

It’s the sort of project that makes you remember why you got into this business in the first place: because sometimes, just sometimes, some of your random interests align like planets, and you get to make something gloriously, unapologetically bonkers.

And that, my friends, is how Jazz Cow led me to a psychedelic ode to a bingo hall that once hosted the greatest guitarist who ever lived. If that’s not worth a blue plaque, I don’t know what is.

But what did the esteemed council have to say about this modest proposal?

Here we encounter classic bureaucratic reasoning: the building, they inform us, is listed; therefore, there will be no plaque. Yet they display a remarkably relaxed attitude toward graffiti artists and general decay—a couple of screws are hardly going to wreck the building. Computer says no—a kind of bureaucratic nonsense that a certain cow might well revolt against.

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LITTLE BLACK BOOK (Vol1) Blueprint (Of An Infinite Gift)

(WhirlwindRecordings CD WR4842/ Vinyl WR4842LP)

https://whirlwindrecs.lnk.to/LittleBlackBook

23 Nov ALBUM LAUNCH - CRAZY COQS

https://www.brasseriezedel.com/events/little-black-book-debut-album-launch/

“If you wanna talk about influence, man, then you’ve got to realise that influence is not influence. It’s simply someone’s idea going through my new mind.” —Jean-Michel Basquiat

Basquiat nailed it: influence flows through gloriously imperfect humans1 —creatures who might have Eureka moments while cleaning the loo. Marshall Vandruff called our influences “art parents,” those who nudged and shaped us and changed our artistic nappies. We carry pieces of them, but we are not clones. We tinker, reshape, deconstruct, and sometimes respectfully disagree, until ideas become unmistakably ours2. Influence isn’t imitation; it’s conversation.3

Today, we tip our hats to those who came before—good manners demand it! As I said before, the Bohemian quarter is a reflection of its imperfect citizens, and I’ll dig into specific influences on this later, but these four span the whole show.

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Film Noir.

The Bohemian Quarter oozes Vichy-France vibes, betrayal in the air, windows slicing light, and figures hiding in shadows, and i this context Jazz Cow is a Film Noir anti-hero.

From day one, Jazz was linked with the dark, moody style of film noir. Miles, Duke, Lester, and Louis all found their way onto Noir soundtracks. Raymond Chandler tapped out stories to bebop; Dashiell Hammett wrote The Maltese Falcon to jazz. Hardboiled detectives and jazz fit together. 4

But jazz is colour, and comedy needs colour too. How do you marry it to Noir? I poked around Edward Hopper—but it was the next artist who truly helped.

Aaron Douglas.

As a teenager, I stood outside London’s Hayward Gallery, eyeing the poster for Rhapsodies in Black, an exhibition of the Harlem Renaissance—a movement of Black artists, writers, and thinkers in 20s New York. But, alas, the ticket price was more than I could afford, So Instead, I grabbed a leaflet, which I still have.

In fact, I even cobbled together my own poor man’s catalogue from dog-eared newspaper clippings.

I may have missed the show, but its artists left their mark on me all the same. Here, I focus on one of the artists, Aaron Douglas. His translucent bands of colour showed me a way Noir needn’t stay trapped in black & white, darkness could become luminous without losing its mystery. Those layered hues are the key to making it pop!

Modernist Design.

Reid Miles’ Blue Note covers scream classic jazz—bold blocks of colour, clever typography, tinted photos, and playful cutouts. He channels the spirit of Matisse, Picasso, Saul Bass, and Miró, turning shapes into rhythm and style. For me, it’s helped with bold cutout shapes in windows, title sequences, and split screens.

Irv Wyner, Classic Animation design.

There’s something slightly unseemly about animation referencing animation; it’s almost incestuous, eek! Before long, you’re many generations removed from actual observation of the world. The trick is going back to reality.

Take Irv Wyner: reality was his starting point, not his destination. His work’s jaunty angles, bold geometry, and vibrant colours don't concern themselves with literalism but chase what works.

This philosophy, shared by Maurice Noble and Philip DeGuard, observes reality, then cranks it to eleven. From them, I’ve learned that colour can be your character's emotional barometer, perspective can serve story, and reality is raw material waiting to be refined. Comedy emerges naturally when you exaggerate genuine observation. Design serves the story.

The trick, as with most worthwhile endeavours, is knowing when to stop turning that dial, before the signal becomes pure noise. We exaggerate, but only with purpose, like a jazz soloist who knows exactly when to break the rules.

In runs a shaggy interloper, the director’s unruly Old English Sheepdog, running into the shot, and accidentally making ad history as the first Dulux dog. This fluffy creature’s accident brought the magic. It became a marketing hit that made the ad fellas feel pretty clever.

You see, film’s full of happy accidents, a sunbeam breaks through at the perfect moment, or a classic car parks in just the right spot.

But in animation? Nothing happens by accident. Every lamp post, costume, and prop is designed. Nothing’s free. I’m not complaining, it's part of the fun1. We may miss a free random dog, but, hey, we get to design everything. When it all clicks together, the story sings.

Right then, picture time! As I promised in my last post.

Our cartoon characters are the real stars. At some point, I’ll cover their evolution, the team behind them, and their influences. Today, we’re focusing on thinking, which creates the look. Hard to imagine anyone saying, “The characters, jokes, and story were fine, but that wonky tree in scene 2 stole the show.” Yet in animation, it matters. As I push this show forward, and others come on board, we need guardrails to keep the visual unity.

Humour me as I explain the logic, after all, I’m building in public.

Shall we have a look, then?

At the heart of Jazz Cow is the conflict of two worlds, and their design reinforces the themes of the show.

• The Bohemian Quarter is a chaotic human place of luddite misfits and creativity.

• Popp World is an ordered place of convenience, safety, and uniformity.

The Look of These Two Worlds

Two places are both shaped by the beliefs of their residents over time. Each detail speaks of the people who call them home.

For now, we look at what drives the Bohemian Quarter’s folk. Freedom, self-expression, music, independence, art, poetry, chess, slow food, sunsets to jazz solos, resistance to tech and bookshops. This is Jazz Cow’s neighbourhood, human, chaotic, imperfect, a little broken, and alive.

Nothing’s planned. No one agrees, not even on parade dates. Cars spill out everywhere. Street signs point the wrong way. And yet… somehow, it works. Sort of.

So what kind of world would these people make? Here, everything’s repaired, not replaced. Handmade beats factory-made, even if a bit wonky, and no plastic.

In the next part, I’ll go into the visual inspirations and the joyous art of cranking our observation of reality up to eleven. Because, in the end, isn’t that what the Bohemian Quarter is all about? Taking the world as it is and making it sing a little louder.

Just like that shaggy Old English Sheepdog who wandered into the Dulux shoot and accidentally made history, the Bohemian Quarter celebrates the unexpected, quirky details. Animation may be planned, but sometimes it’s the little imperfections that show we are human. Here’s to designing with intention… and embracing surprising, fluffy dog-like chaos.

Then this week, I received a call from Luly Perez’s agent with the terrible news that she had died.

I had been so looking forward to the prospect of working with her. I could already picture the recording studio crackling with comic energy. Playing the role of both mother and cheeky comic opponent to the rest of the cast. When funny people meet around a funny script, something magical happens.

During a particularly chaotic livestream last autumn, Luly was extraordinary. She roasted my poor friend and collaborator Chris (whom she had never met) for his tea-drinking habits.

and gleefully mocked Dr. Popp (played by Silas Hawkins) over his dubious Russian culinary traditions.

What you wouldn’t know from her performance is that the tech wasn’t yet working - no one could hear each other clearly, it was noisy, and there was chaos in the room. And yet, Luly filled in the gaps, improvising, keeping everyone laughing. Her positivity was infectious. You need upbeat, encouraging people when starting new things.

She described herself as having performed since birth. As the first granddaughter in a huge family:

“I held a privileged place in my Latin family, showered with attention, expected to sing, recite, act and entertain at every family celebration.”

It was while studying economics at university in Venezuela that she discovered theatre. In fact, she skipped her graduation ceremony, where she had been chosen as the speaker, to attend an audition; she got the part! She went on to study at the Ateneo de Caracas, and went on to do more theatre, television (especially soap operas), and film, always her greatest love.

Finding an Afro-Latina actor-comedian in the UK isn’t easy, but my vision for Jazz Cow was always that Valentina, our lead vocalist, would be Afro-Latina. Jazz, as Jelly Roll Morton said, carries “the Spanish tinge”, and I’d long imagined a Celia Cruz or La Lupe-type character: shy, brilliant, caught between cultures. Meeting Luly felt like discovering a missing piece. A poetic twist: her late husband was nicknamed “Mr Pop”.

She leaves behind her young daughter, Kassandra Keane Perez. I can only imagine the heartbreak of losing both parents. Our thoughts and heartfelt condolences are with her.

As for the visual influences on Jazz Cow’s world, it will have to wait. And that’s probably just as well. What started as a single post now looks like it wants to stretch its legs, maybe even scatter itself across a few instalments.

We’ll see where it goes from here.

Even in the armpit of Popp World, there is hope. That's the spirit behind our hero, Jazz Cow, and it's why I think it's time we made optimism fashionable again.

I’ve been guilty of a bit too much doom-posting lately. Maybe I let Dr Popp set the tone. Because actually, I’m a fairly upbeat chap—ask anyone. Our hero, Jazz Cow, may conceal his hopeful nature beneath a veneer of cool cynicism, but he's secretly an optimist.

After all, it's only optimists who fight hopeless causes. As Albert Murray says in The Hero and the Blues:

...without the completely romantic presuppositions behind such elemental values as honour, pride, love, freedom, integrity, human fulfilment, and the like, there can be no truly meaningful definition either of tragedy or of comedy. Nor without such idealistic preconceptions can there be anything to be realistic about, to protest about, or even to be cynical about.

The ideal allows us to make sense of the bewildering parade of bad news stories that confront us. Big Tech may try to shape us into gloomy souls who use that idealism as a shield, but resist.

Humans: brilliant enough to split the atom, foolish enough to think that was definitely a good idea.

Comedic characters are fools of their own making, doubling down on mistakes with heroic commitment. And we say, “Yes, that’s me.” We laugh at Del Boy's dodgy deals, Homer’s lazy craving, and Ron Swanson’s grumpy growls. But when push comes to shove, their surprising sacrifices for loved ones keep us invested.

Quite a few animated sitcoms today, while hilarious, are lacking in what the more sentimental types would term “heart.” BoJack Horseman, narcissism and addiction certainly create pathos. But when it comes to actual redeeming features, the cupboard is almost bare. Cheerful Mr Peanutbutter appears, tail wagging, to gently show you that you can be clever or cheerful, but never both.

In the great Rick-off, Casablanca’s Rick Blane (Humphrey Bogart) has more in common with a Jazz Cow than with Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty), who’d rather belch nihilism than sacrifice a thing.

What’s left feels a bit lopsided, all the flaws in technicolour, but none of the heart. Human nature is a magnificent muddle. We’re both tender and terrible.

Of course, for a cartoon, if I had to choose between perfect people and imperfect ones, I’d take the flaws every time. Luckily, I don’t have to choose. Life’s generous like that.

Jazz Cow might say he’d save his own leather before getting involved, but we all know the truth. He can’t let his human friends fall to The Machine. He might prefer to sit Connie Snots playing his sax—but when it matters, he shows up. Even for the cobbler. Fighting algorithms with rhythm sounds mad…

It’s not so mad. The Estonians sang their way to freedom. Music fights tyranny. Rhythm has power.

There is hope. People aren’t all bad—not even Dr Popp (he has his moments). Mark Twain said,

“Everyone is a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody.”

Quite right. But lately, we’ve been staring at the dark side so long, we’ve forgotten there’s a bit that still catches the light.

As C.S. Lewis said:

“You cannot go on ‘seeing through’ things forever. The whole point of seeing through something is to see something through it. It is good that the window should be transparent, because the street or garden beyond it is opaque. How if you saw through the garden too? It is no use trying to ‘see through’ first principles. If you see through everything, then everything is transparent. But a wholly transparent world is an invisible world. To ‘see through’ all things is the same as not to see.”

There’s the rub, my friends! Perpetual cynicism is a bit like strolling through Kew Gardens in dark glasses—you might feel like a sophisticated jazz musician, but you’ll miss all the colourful flowers… and, frankly, you look like a complete muppet. Jazz Cow knows it. His band of misfits knows it. And deep down, you know it too.

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Tucked behind our questionable decisions, hope sits quietly, unshaken by the darkness. Calmly sipping tea, watching the Jazz Band play the theme tune to the apocalypse.

“Do let me know when it all falls apart.”

It’s that marvellously daft little fight against the odds.

So, shall we make optimism fashionable again? Life’s bonkers, but we might as well show up with a song in your heart and a pencil behind your ear. We could all use a bit more fun, couldn’t we?

I’ll be revealing the curious corners of Jazz Cow’s world—plenty to explore, and a few secrets worth spilling, perhaps even revealing some of the inner workings.

Optimism isn’t naïve. It’s the bravest, daftest, most brilliant choice we can make. Let’s choose it again.

Why did I request a Coke in the first place? With impatient queues forming behind me, I blurt out “Coke”—it’s one syllable and the first soft drink that comes to mind. Do Coke and Pepsi even taste that different? It’s the sort of admission that sends soft drink aficionados scrambling for taste-test videos on YouTube.

Anyway, I settled at our table in Wetherspoons when I heard “Ghibli-fy,” a word unknown to me a mere week before. This felt inevitable, thanks to Bushell’s Law, which states that, given enough time, all discussions will drift toward the topic of AI. With this had the added pull of an animation theme.

For those who missed the internet craze—lucky you! Social Media’s been flooded with photos turned into Studio Ghibli-style art. Why Ghibli? Hayao Miyazaki, its founder, called AI art “an insult to life itself.1” Enter Sam Altman of OpenAI, playground bully taunting, “I’ve got your lunch—fight me!” .Everything then gets Ghibli-fied.

His site claims it “boosts creativity,” as if photocopying the Mona Lisa makes you da Vinci. Button-clicking a trend isn’t creative—it’s forgery without the inconvenience of mastering the actual skill of forging.

I couldn’t put it better than this clip:

• https://x.com/i/status/1905028866940268708

To tech bros like Altman, Miyazaki is a naive, dusty old fool. Spending over a year on one shot is something a spreadsheet head can’t fathom.

Altman’s questionable moral philosophy seems bent on dehumanizing us, turning us into the “Alt-men” of his cult2. He acts like Dr. Popp, sipping his own Kool-Aid.

What Altman can’t get is that AI won’t replicate true magic. As I write this, sitting on the Tube and seeing people—the trembling fingers of an old lady reading the Metro, a hunched man’s peculiar movements, a girl nervously tapping her ice skates—I see how great artists like Miyazaki distil life’s details. AI can’t make your soul do that little jig of recognition—the one where something deep inside you nods and says, “Ah, yes, this is real.”

It’s humanity versus machine—Jazz Cow versus Dr. Popp. Jazz Cow may take it to extremes and shun all tech, but Miyazaki uses computers when it’s appropriate. Modern Tools helped many people create beautiful films with no hint of Altman’s soulless automation!

When animation first hit TV, budgets forced shortcuts. Looney Tunes’ high-quality chaos became too pricey, so studios adapted—quality dipped, but the joy and laughter endured.

AI seems like the next cost-saving step. Can it assist without stealing our soul? AI animation tools remain unpredictable—more like a drunk intern than a reliable assistant.

As OpenAI churned out static images, the animation actually came from other AI tools—still too unpredictable for real storytelling. But that may change. I recently worked with an AI company that’s making tools much more controllable and that feels more like a traditional animation tool. I'm loyal to my talented team—code can't replicate them. Any AI I use will be about working smarter, not ditching creativity.3

For years, we’ve heard about fake news, mostly linked to politicians. But here’s a cheery thought: Who ruled Florence in the 15th century? no clue. Yet we know Da Vinci’s masterpieces. If you zoom out far enough, Politicians fade into oblivion, yet art wins.

If we trade genuine creativity for automated knockoffs, we lose something vital that can’t be quantified on a spreadsheet. Watch Spirited Away and experience wonder in ways an endless scroll of fake memes can’t.

Miyazaki fears AI signals “the end times,” a loss of faith in ourselves.

Can we reclaim wisdom before it’s too late? If we do, maybe tech bros and traditional artists will find common ground—like Tom and Jerry setting aside their endless chase for a well-earned afternoon nap. Or perhaps we take the hard line, rallying behind our sax-wielding philosopher cow as he sounds the alarm: “The machines are coming!” The question is, are they marching to war or just popping into Wetherspoons for a pint and a chat? It is in our hands.

Speaking of pubs…

As a kid, I once made a fake ID for a friend so he could buy a drink. His grand plan fell apart instantly when he confidently asked for “a pint of the usual,” blissfully unaware that “The Usual” wasn’t a brand name. That’s worse than ordering a Coke and getting a Pepsi. The entire pub howled with laughter.

Now, if you fancy a fake Coke, go ahead—the bubbles will still tickle your nose. But when it comes to art, we should be more careful. A dodgy ID only cost my friend his dignity for an evening, but fake creativity could poison culture for generations. So, let’s take risks. Let’s back the real thing. Let’s champion art in all its forms. Even comedies about cows. Especially comedies about cows.

Just to keep you in the loop, I’m still at it, meeting people and making moves to bring this show to life! If you want to chat about that just drop me a message.

Keep it real

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3

For a more in-depth discussion of AI in filmmaking by , it's fairly old in AI terms but remains the best I’ve seen.

Intelligent Jello

An Armchair Taxonomy of AI Filmmaking

“AI filmmaking” is an awkward term. It raises more questions than it answers. Try it in conversation and someone will invariably repeat back, “What’s AI filmmaking…

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3 years ago · 24 likes · 11 comments · Mike Gioia

The end of 2024 was, to put it mildly, a busy end of the year with so many unforeseen pressures from every direction. I‘ve not shared in ages and didn’t exactly know what is right to share at this point. Before getting into that I want to take you back about 15 years or so, there were two models presented for modern success —Apple and Google. Both are eerily like Dr Popp!

Apple, ever the mysterious master, only unveils their gleaming products to the applause of their fans. Google, on the other hand, flung out half-baked products with the motto: “Fail fast, fix later.” A professor of journalism, Jeff Jarvis, waxed lyrical in The Guardian about the genius of Google’s approach and how it should be applied to everything including journalism. At the time, I nodded along, this “Google approach” was the way of the future. But in hindsight, applying it to journalism was one of the daftest ideas of the era—not to mention a Pandora’s box for fake news and other digital skulduggery1.

The Google model may have duped me when it came to some industries. But when it came to my world, animation, I listened to the experts who clung to the old orthodoxy. The rule was clear: don’t put your idea online, just whisper it to broadcasters behind closed doors. Against the advice of the animation old guard, people were starting to build in public and were putting their ideas out there, gathering an audience. The game had changed, but I was still playing by the old rulebook, the updated memo had long since been sent out—but was lost in the post.

So late to the game, in 2024 I dipped my toes into the whole “building in public” malarkey, and let me tell you, it’s a bit weird. I’d much rather stay tucked in the shadows. I’m the odd sort of person who likes to get dressed before leaving the house, and this whole "let’s share everything as it happens" thing feels a bit like going to Lidl in your pyjamas, I know many do it and I respect that, but it’s not for me! But, I get it. Putting yourself out there, and showing the world your work in progress can create a real sense of momentum you can test and improve. But I can see how people are tempted to jump ahead and boldly proclaim what tomorrow holds. As for me? Well, I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, and frankly, I’d rather not be one of those rogues who promises the moon and ends up delivering a soggy biscuit. So, cautious optimism it is!

I thought, "What can I share right now?" Honestly, I’m still figuring out what’s professional to share, but I reckon this little tale is safe enough. After wrapping up my Kickstarter campaign I got invited to pitch Jazz Cow at an event in the States. On the second day, the animation crowd was ushered into a particular part of the room. “Ah,” I thought, “a cosy little chinwag around a table” Instead, we faced with the entire room. I looked around at my fellow animators, and I could instantly tell I was in the company of some serious heavyweights. “Right,” I thought, “this is clearly for the bigwigs. Best I blend into the scenery and preserve what little dignity I have left.”

But, no! The organiser pointed directly at me and said, “No, John, sit here!” And where was “here,” you ask? Right next to a very prominent industry pro, whose work I guarantee you have seen.

As the pitches began, each person presented their ideas with carefully prepared slides. My turn approached, and listening to everyone else’s polished presentations, I thought, “Yikes, I don’t have slides! I’ll have to wing it! Time to channel the spirit of Jazz Cow, improvise, and hope my good looks and British charm are enough to carry me through.”

So, I stood up and, to my utter astonishment, there on the screen were actual slides. Prepared slides! For Jazz Cow! The room was laughing, leaning in, and genuinely enjoying themselves. It went well and I have some good leads on the back of it.

Later, I discovered that the others were also put on the spot and had to roll with it just like I did. Guess I wasn’t the only one feeling I’d gone out with just my pyjamas on. It turns out, it was a pretty exciting moment and I got very positive about some of the leads that have come of the back of it.

Ad executive, often talks about “increasing your surface area”—putting yourself out there so you can attract opportunities from the most unexpected places. And, I’ll be the first to admit it, that’s exactly what happened to me. After a year of doing podcasts, talks, meeting all sorts of fascinating people, and generally being dragged kicking and screaming in the street with my pyjamas on, I’ve found it easier to build an amazing team and that it's opened doors I didn’t even know existed.

So, here’s to 2024 with its ups and downs! Looking forward to a year of more adventures and, who knows, perhaps a triumph or two. With a bit of cautious optimism, Jazz Cow will get off his starting blocks.

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Feel free to share this with anyone who might like this.

So I missed the target, what now?

While it's extreamly disappointing we didn’t hit our target this time—I’m very thankful for those who helped.

This month, I’ve heard the same four words repeatedly: “This has to happen,” from so many unconnected people. It’s as if a secret society in a Bond villain’s lair decided this was the phrase of the month. People seem to say it because it speaks to them and it seems to answer some unspoken itch. Sometimes, you think you’ve lost the race, but the crowd are cheering you on, and you just have to keep running, at least for a bit. The campaign has opened up exciting opportunities. So maybe it will happen through a different route; I’m not sure yet.

It’s been quite a month not just exciting stuff but also things that would make many would crawl under the nearest duvet. If the Kickstarter alone weren’t enough to keep the blood pumping, there have been all kinds of unexpected pressures thrown my way, all while other work has been busier than normal. But here we are! What doesn’t kill you, right?

You might say I'm thumbing through the Procrastinator’s Handbook. There’s a heap of other work to tackle, not to mention a well-earned break on the horizon—and let’s be honest, even your inbox could use a bit of holiday from me. But once the dust settles and I’ve caught my breath, I’ll be back at it with Jazz Cow. Perhaps a fresh Kickstarter, maybe a new funding avenue, or who knows—something altogether unexpected might bubble up. For now, though, I’m giving things a little room to marinate.

I might look like the chap who's still running the marathon when everyone else has gone home, but I've got this sneaking suspicion there's more race to run. The crowd's still chanting, "This has to happen!" So, I'll keep you posted right here on whatever turn this adventure takes next.

So please sign up if you haven’t already here

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“Look at me! Here’s a selfie filter to look like a duck! Sip this sugary gingerbread frappalate and instantly feel a vague sense of belonging!” 

Dr. Popp, offers you the app for algorithmic bliss. But wait! Hold that smartphone! Jazz Cow is busting through with his Sax, to remind you how to live a real, messy, gloriously unpredictable human life. Remember that?

While our devices tuck us in at night, Jazz Cow, our Luddite hero, is out playing real music in real places. His ragtag rebels—artists, poets, and cobblers—still believe in messy, face-to-face conversations. They won’t ditch their street vendors, second-hand bookshops and fringe theatres to get Dr. Popp’s tech utopia, is convenience worth sacrificing creativity and well-being? Jazz Cow says no!

Here is the thing, now, it’s urgent. We have just 12 hours to support Jazz Cow’s mission to reclaim creativity, in a world dominated by tech. The countdown is ticking.

12 Hours To Save Us From Tech

Still on the fence?

We’ve did a little flow chart, so you can see why this matters—remember we don’t have long!

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Need more persuasion?

We’ve got a cracking cast lined up, bursting with comedic talent. On our script is James Cary, (Miranda, Bluestone 42, & Shaun the Sheep) Pair that with our partners from LMS Animation Studio (Epic Mickey, Castlevania & Captain underpants), and advice from storyboard artist Eric McConnell (Rick and Morty, Adventure Time, & Pinky and the Brain), and we’re all set for something truly special.

Of course, no revolution is complete without a killer soundtrack! Jazz Cow brings the UK jazz scene straight to your ears, featuring the incredible talents of Heidi Vogel, Robert Mitchell, Dominic J Marshall, and LayFullstop.

So, can we reclaim our creativity and humanity in a world ruled by tech? Jazz Cow believes we can—but only with your help!

So, when your lead character is a sax-wielding jazz rebel, the soundtrack has to shine. But how do you make that happen?

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We just have 30 hours left to support our Kickstarter. Here is an overview. Of the show. We have a long way to go but even a small amount can add up.

Please support the Jazz Cow Kickstarter.

…back to the article

Earlier in the year I was standing in line outside a buzzing bar at the Bricklane Jazz Festival when I struck up a conversation with a young man from Mexico. He flew all the way to London with a wishlist of contemporary jazz musicians he was eager to see.

UK Jazz is porous, shape-shifting, and wide open. At any moment, anything can happen, with every genre tossed into the mix. One musician was even playing what looked like a love-child of saxophone and a computer keyboard! The UK jazz scene is a hotbed of collaboration and fusion, with musicians frequently popping up in each other’s bands.

And this is precisely why we’ve teamed up with the brilliant people at Influential Music, who are at the heart of this new jazz scene. They’ve helped us assemble a musical team that captures some of what’s happening. Let me introduce a few stars from their roster we are working with on the soundtrack:

• Heidi Vogel: A powerhouse vocalist, gracing stages from Royal Albert Hall to Jimmy Kimmel. Evening Standard describes her “mighty, vibrato-rich note with a life of its own.”

• Robert Mitchell: A jazz maestro and global icon, his keyboard skills are so renowned that he even got into ’s history of Jazz. He’s a living legend and one of Britain’s finest, according to The Wire.

• LayFullstop: A Manchester-based hip-hop and soul artist who mixes nostalgic soul with UK hip-hop, delivering smooth, 90s-tinged R&B with a jazzy twist. NME calls her a “jazzy delight.”

• Dominic J Marshall: Genre-bending virtuoso, blending jazz, hip-hop, classical, and more. Jamie Cullum says “he combines a great heritage with something refreshingly new.”

As if that isn't enough world-class talent, we thought we create an album, as if starting an animated sitcom on a shoe-string budget isn't enough! So we want to show a case of the underground talent.

So we created a purple limited edition vinyl. It will have the sounds from Jazz Cow, the soundtrack, but also music inspired by the show. Featuring other trailblazing artists from Influential Music, including:

This album takes you on a genre-bending adventure, honouring the rich roots of jazz while daring to push boundaries. Whether you’re a die-hard jazz fan or just dipping your toes in, this collection is an absolute must-hear for anyone curious about the ever-evolving world of contemporary UK jazz!

But you won’t get your hands on a copy unless we reach our goal.

Get your vinyl here

Now about my clickbait title, sorry I couldn’t help myself. I’m not convinced jazz is replacing TikTok just yet. In fact, Dominic J Marshall was disappointed by how many young people aren’t even listening to music properly. “Phone speakers just don’t cut it for a true experience”. He connects the absence of music to one of the key reasons behind the mental health crisis, and I couldn't agree more.

But as LayFullstop points out, we need to have that moment of waking up when we realise we don’t have to be running after the whims of the algorithm.

They might not be leaving TikTok behind, but as the buzz around jazz grows, more and more people are stepping out to embrace real life. This can only fill us with hope! Disconnecting from their phones, listening to music, and truly living—the perfect gateway drug to joining Jazz Cow’s resistance.

So why wait? Jump on board with Jazz Cow’s resistance while there's still time! The Kickstarter ends soon.

Please Sign up to the Kickstarter

Watch them here:

Kickstarter

We’ve shifted gears from Left-handed piano to explore a topic that everyone on the internet love to talk about —technology and AI. Now, let’s tackle how this all ties into Jazz Cow’s anti-algorithm mission. Robert brought up Graham Lee’s, Human Being: Reclaim 12 Vital Skills We’re Losing to Technology, where he talks about how we’re slowly “de-skilling” ourselves. And with AI on the rise, creativity needs to be front and centre in the conversation because, let’s face it, creativity is endless. AI can never give us a Miles Davis or a John Coltrane. Those legends were shaped by life experiences, stories, and struggles. In a world where we often overlook the unsung heroes pushing boundaries through sheer persistence.

You can hear a section of our interview here.

The clip Robert made reference to.

We also got chatting about storytelling—one of Robert’s great passions. He’s a huge fan of Uzumaki, the brilliant Japanese manga that’s recently been adapted, and he couldn’t help but weave in a few references. He talked about how crucial it is to hear stories from all around the world, and that they have the power to connect us and break down prejudices. Music, art, storytelling—they're not just entertainment, they’re tools for peace. They help us understand one another a little better.

I seriously can’t wait to have him on board for Jazz Cow. His creativity, his insight—it’s exactly what this project needs. Behind the comedy of Jazz Cow this show explores an urgent issue: Can we reclaim our creative spirit in an age ruled by tech? From what Robert is saying, it seems we have to. So, if you’re as excited as I am, check out our Kickstarter, support the project, and grab some awesome rewards. Time is running out, Let’s make this happen! and share with some friends.

Kickstarter

Of course, with any summary, things will inevitably be left ou, so consider this more of an amuse-bouche than a full banquet. So just a heads-up, some brilliant team members haven’t been mentioned, but their contributions are every bit as vital! Do have a peek at the about page too.

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I’ve popped this in as ordinary text at the bottom. If this is a bit small print!

Jazz Cow Kickstarter

What is Jazz Cow

An Animated sitcom, think The Simpsons, Rick and Morty, Family Guy, that kind of thing. But while brilliant, some of those shows can be nihilistic; Jazz Cow is bigger-hearted, and what we need right now. (You may find Or James Carys Post helpful too.)

What’s it about?

About a jazz-playing cow who reluctantly leads a group of artists, poets, and misfits in resisting Big Tech guru Dr. Popp, a paternalistic dictator, who is getting the world hooked on algorithms, junk food, AI, and fake filters for a safer, kinder, more efficient world.

Meet the Team

• John Lumgair: Award-winning animation director his work spans clients like the BBC, Sony TV, and the Olympics.

• James Cary: BBC sitcom writer and script editor (Miranda, Bluestone 42, My Family, Shaun the Sheep, Citizen Khan).

• Selom Sunu: Character designer for Disney, Google, CBeebies, and more.

• Eric McConnell: Storyboard artist (Rick and Morty, Scooby-Doo, Adventure Time, Animaniacs), now consulting for Jazz Cow.

• LMS Animation Studios: Our partners, who've worked on projects for Disney, Netflix, and Amazon. (Epic Micky, Castlevania, Captain Underpants)

Cast

• Jazz Cow: A sax-playing, street-smart, and well-read cow who reluctantly steps into the role of hero. Think Rick from Casablanca. Played by Neiko Neal, actor (Bel-Air, Curb Your Enthusiasm, The Rookie).

• Dr. Popp: Think Steve Jobs, Elon Musk, or Mark Zuckerberg—shaping the future with convenience, affordability, and control. He doesn't see himself as the villain, believing he's making life easier, faster, and cheaper. Played by Silas Hawkins, voice artist (Summerton Mill, The Doctor Who Online Adventures).

• Connie: A tough, no-nonsense East-ender, whose late husband won the club in a boxing match. She's like a mother to the jazz musicians, often feeding them when they're broke. Played by multi-award-winning impressionist & actor Jess Robinson (Spitting Image, The Last Leg, Horrible Histories).

• Papa-Moose: A thrill-seeking drummer, always hunting for excitement but loyal to Jazz Cow and the club. He even incorporates coded Morse messages into his drum solos when needed. Played by Anil Desai actor, comedian, and impressionist (Sex Education, The Teacher, The Good Karma Hospital).

• Valentina: Caught between Latin and bohemian worlds, unsure of her identity, but her singing is pure magic. Played by Luly Perez, a Venezuelan actor who has appeared in Latin American films and TV.

• Pooper-Scooper Thompson: The group's purist and pedant, always needing to be right. His attention to detail keeps an eye on Dr. Popp’s schemes. Played by stand-up comedian and podcaster Francis Foster (Mock the Week, The Joe Rogan Experience).

Our Musicians

Music is central to Jazz Cow, with help from our friends at Influential Music we’ve brought in top talent:

• Robert Mitchell: world-renowned Jazz composer, pianist, and bandleader with 14 albums and 3 books.

• Dominic J Marshall: Cutting-edge Jazz Composer & Former keys player for The Cinematic Orchestra.

• LayFullstop: Acclaimed Hip-hop/soul artist.

• Heidi Vogel: Jazz and soul vocalist, known for her work with The Cinematic Orchestra.

How would you sell it?

If we had to do the classic "this meets that" comparison, imagine The Simpsons + The Social Dilemma + Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs. But that’s not really the way we go about things.

Why Kickstarter

With the entertainment world currently in a bit of a pickle, lost in making remakes, spin-offs and reboots, we figured it's time to do our own thing. So the aim is to create a 22 min pilot Episode about a heist. 

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