Birth of a Band 17

The Cannie Man in Bracknell is a large pub on the edge of what I assume was once a council estate, before such terms became passé and Maggie Thatcher decreed that each tenant could buy theirs at a cut price should they so want to. They did.

Despite Maggie’s efforts to create owner-occupying English gentlemen of us all, such estates still tend to be a bit, shall we say ‘rough’? The pubs that were built for them somewhat rougher.

The estate is huge, so the pub was made accommodatingly spacious to contain the inevitable hoards that would throng there. Unfortunately, at the tail end of the worst recession the western world has seen for over a century, this pub served a handful of hardcore drinkers and shouters, who rattled about at the bar.

There was also a noise metre installed to keep the decibels low enough to prevent the neighbours from having their X Factor or Strictly Come Dancing viewing disturbed.

It has never ceased to amaze me that people move into houses next to (or even nearby) pubs, theatres, arts centres, clubs, restaurants, you name it, and then complain that there is noise. Of course there is noise! It’s a pub, theatre, restaurant, arts centre, club, whatever, you name it. There are going to be people there enjoying themselves and when people enjoy themselves, they tend to make a bit of noise. But that’s another blog, I guess…

The Cannie Man, Custard Cream’s first gig with Ant on drums, was good from the point of view of our playing, Ant’s ability to ‘telegraph’ the endings (thus meaning we all finished at the same time, which is a sure-fire way of making a band sound better than perhaps they might be) and in terms of the people there liking us. In terms of giving Custard Cream a fan base or furthering the cause of our high energy blues and psychedelic rock it was pretty pointless. We earned a couple of hundred quid between us, but I’m almost certain that the few people there had forgotten us before their heads had hit their pillows that night.

We weren’t asked back – and for the money they were offering, if they had, we wouldn’t have gone…

Our next gig was at the Dog & Partridge in Yateley, so different from the Cannie Man in many ways, yet so similar. The pub is pretty big – capable of holding a good couple of hundred people at a squeeze – and pretty empty, for much of the same reasons as the Cannie Man. The difference is that Yateley is a lovely little corner near Reading, found on a pleasant little village green down winding, bushy country rtoads.

The result was much the same, as well. The audience couldn’t have cared less about what we were doing, but didn’t object either. The landlord was new to the pub and we were the first band to play there. He also came from a rough part of Hull, so had a lot to talk about with Nige and George, both also children of that far flung North Yorkshire city. We were promised a return at a better price…

The next day (August 24^th) we were in Pulborough, West Sussex! How Nige came up with this one we will probably never know, but we were playing outside in a small, three-sided marquee. No-one at the pub came out, the landlord never showed, but a bus-load of punters from the next village came over with the express intention of seeing Custard Cream!

Yup, that’s how slow life can get in West Sussex villages. A band no-one knows is advertised as playing blues rock in the next village and you ship yourselves out.

These guys and gals were brilliant. They danced, cheered, hollered, requested and danced some more – and then nattered to us during our break and after the gig. It was a real treat to have a group of people actually listening to us and enjoying us. Shame it had to be so far away!

We promised to be back. They promised to invite us to play at their regular pub. Neither ever happened… Of course it didn’t!

Birth of a Band 16

The week that lay between auditioning Ant and our first rehearsal with him the following Wednesday I remember as being fraught. I hadn’t played with a drummer of Ant’s quality since Zhorro Varamezov and Ivan Latrinov in the No Breaks years in Bulgaria (93 to 96).

I must have been intimidated by him, although looking back now I can’t see why, but my memory is certainly of a deep-seated worry that he was going to turn round and say: ‘On second thoughts… Nah!”

I think this was probably reinforced by the fact that he didn’t respond to any of the emails that Nige and I were batting around. We had agreed, all three of us, that we would rehearse the following Wednesday, but for some reason, Nige and I thought that we needed email confirmation.

By August 2nd, Nige and I were really worried and Nige was starting the hunt for a new drummer. And then came an email. It had a surprised tone to it: “Been away doing a session in Wales since Thursday morning. Got back about an hour ago. Thought I already told you I was interested and was ok for Wednesday 7th? I'm ok for next week’s gigs too. I enjoyed last Wednesday. Thought we played quite well together for the first time. Cheers, Ant.”

And that was that. We got together the following Wednesday and Ant was officially our drummer. All of us had said at some point during the whole auditioning and hiring episode that we should get a dep trained up, too… This was forgotten.

My job now was to tell Angus he was out of the band. It took a while to pin him down. He kept wanting me to tell him why I wanted to meet up with him and of course the reason I wanted to meet up with him was to tell him what I felt would be wrong to tell him over the phone.

Eventually Angus got round to mine after work one evening and was completely cool and understanding. He knew what was coming, of course, and he even outlined to me (very accurately) why he thought he was being sacked. Since then, unfortunately, he and his girlfriend have taken exception to this blog, but, for the record, Angus is a fine drummer and decent bloke. Circumstances were against him and his priorities were different to mine and Nige’s. That’s all.

The rehearsal with Ant was a blinder. We went through just about everything and, as is the way with a quality drummer, Ant made us sound ten times better than before… And we sounded pretty good before. He also made us sound hard, heavy, down and dirty. A fine guitarist once said that drummers dictate the sound atmosphere of a band. I had noticed it before, but never quite so starkly as now.

On the Thursday I got a call from Gez that the Chequers gig had been cancelled and would not be reinstated. The pub had decided to go through an agency in Henley to get its acts. I was a bit pissed off.

South African Mark, the manager, would not talk to me about band arrangements and Gez, despite being told at least twice by me, would not go in and talk to Mark. Thus Mark said ‘enough’.

I went in and complained that you can’t cancel a gig the day before without paying something.

“How much?” asked SA Mark.

“Full price!” I responded.

“On your fucking bike!” came the retort. Fair enough. I knew I was pitching it a bit.

“Ok, how about half price?”

“I’ll give you a hundred.”

“Fair dos.”

And thus, when meeting at the Cannie Man in Bracknell for our Saturday gig, Ant became the first muso I have ever known who got paid for playing with a band before he had ever played with them! Pretty good going.

Birth of a Band 15

July 26th saw a flurry of emails regarding pics from the Chopper Club gig and general website maintenance. I was quite surprised when I saw the pics…

“Just looked through the pics,” I wrote. “Can I propose that we ban anyone in the band wearing shorts, please! Not a good, bluesy, rocky look, I must say. Let’s face it, we’re not going to win any Sex-God competitions, but let’s not draw attention to the fact! Ouch!”

This was primarily aimed at George, who really did look like granddad out for a spot of sun. All that was missing was the knotted handkerchief. Nige was a bit put out, however. I know he always makes jokes about being the ginger one, but deep down, I think he thinks he’s a bit of a catch… Well, with arms the size of tree trunks, he does make the ladies’ eyes flutter, so we’ll give him that one.

This day also began to separate the men from the boys. One of the ‘to-be-auditioning’ drummers – an American in Shepherds Bush – was kicking up with Nige about the auditions being during the day. Kept on about something to do with having a job and a wife and kids.

“My initial reaction was to tell him to go and fuck himself,” wrote Nige. “If he can't commit to an audition how can he commit to all of the gigs we are going to have. I require your diplomatic guidance old chap! Or, should I just tell him to fuck off?”

I added a diplomatic alternative to the ‘go forth and multiply’ option.

So, the auditions were down to two. A bloke called Barry and the ‘up for it’ Ant.

In between times, we (Nige, George and I) were batting around ideas for recordings. There is a place near Milton Keynes called Rockhopper Studios that does a package of four live recordings, plus a video shoot for one of the songs: £250 all in. It sounded like a good deal… But when?

The day of the auditions came, Barry was in first. He was ok, he could keep time, but there wasn’t much in the way of flair. I certainly didn’t rate him over Angus.

Then Ant arrived and set up. He gave a quick couple of hits on the snare and then a run around on the toms. I whispered to Nige: “We’re going to have to turn up, mate. This is the real deal.”

And so he was. He knew the vast majority of our material and hooked in to the endings without a murmur. The odd one caught him by surprise, but once he had heard it, he knew it. His power was unbelievable, his runs expert and appropriate, and he led us in the big endings with a great deal of aplomb. I was worried we wouldn’t be good enough for him.

Afterwards, we were nattering outside as he and Nige had a cigarette. His name was Ant. Ant what? Where did that come from? Where did he live? How did he live? All questions were met with (at best) evasive answers. The most we could extract was that he lived near Reading and lived off royalties from a successful gig back in the 80s and 90s.

Again, I thought he was being like this because he didn’t want to play with us, but he said he did – and he seemed to mean it… But he wasn’t going to get drawn on anything personal…

Birth of a Band 14

Nige’s relentless hunt for gigs never faltered – and never does. He is the dream member for any band… Really. The rest if us were now pretty much settled back into a life of practising and doing what we felt we needed to do, safe in the knowledge that the gigs would be piling up. It’s a good place to be, provided this was what you really wanted to be doing.

For Angus, it was becoming clear that this was not what he wanted to be doing.

In a way, it’s pretty unfair in that a couple of months earlier, our stalwart drummer had lost his job and thus was able to dedicate a lot of time to improving his chops, runs, fills, paradiddles and all those other things drummers do. It was paying dividends.

Then, around mid-July, a new job came in that Angus was clearly excited about… and that’s when the whole ‘might be going horse riding’ stuff started. And that’s what is unfair. I was pleased when he was out of work, and became pissed off after he found a new job... There's something wrong with that, isn't there?

Nige sent me an email asking about mid-week gigs and I said that if we could top the money I earn on an Open Mic Night (which at the time were running on Tuesdays in Maidenhead and Thursdays in Marlow – the latter still going strong, the former… well… ahem, let’s move on, shall we?) I could find a dep. All other days were fair game.

It turned out that a pub in Bracknell, The Goose, was looking to invent a mid-week slot for live music. At a push, they might try a Sunday. At first Nige was keen on the mid-week idea – and for me, if we could have got a Wednesday night, that would be knocking five gigs a week! I crossed my fingers…

Nige came back shortly afterwards saying that, because of his new job, Angus would only be willing to do weekends…

Does that include Fridays? No. It’s agency work and deadline driven, so, while promising to fulfil all Friday gigs already booked, he asked Nige not to book any more Friday gigs.

What?!

My response to this was: “Ok. That’s it. I’m looking for a new drummer.” As it turned out, Nige had already put the feelers out on the various musician websites and forums. I felt bad about this – and I think Nige did, too – but I wasn’t going to have a band member dictating which days of the week we could or couldn’t have gigs. There had to be a priority and that had to be the band.

A couple of guys from West London answered Nige’s calls on Band Mix and then this: “Hi, I’m an experienced Blues/Rock drummer. Looking to join a great dedicated full on blues rock band that really wants to gig as often as possible. Also love to rehearse/jam. I have good availability and a deep passion for playing live. If you are looking for a powerful passionate drummer who lives to play the blues get in touch. I live near Reading have transport, good kits and no hang ups or restrictions.
Cheers
Ant”

Well, he certainly talked Nige’s and my talk… Let’s see if he could walk the walk…

Birth of a Band 12

Out of the blue, on July 9th, the 3-fold Arts gig at The Chequers in Marlow was called off to make way for an Oye Santana gig elsewhere. I fired an email out to the band and, after a couple of ‘oooh, not sure’s the gig went ahead.

Again, it was the same battle with the management about noise levels for the first half an hour and then nothing as we slipped seamlessly into hard rocking and jamming.

A guy called Terry showed up and filmed and recorded us. He said we could have the material – he was just checking out new gear. Well, it’s now March 2014 and I’ve given up asking him. Some things, you know, are just never going to happen.

But the gig went down well and the money was appreciated… My smug face continued. I had earned us £1,000 in three gigs in a couple of weeks. It felt good.

After the success of the birthday party and the  Chequers emergency gig, our next gig was daytime, outdoors, on a Sunday… all of which are usually things to make a rock band wince. Not us this time. This was a gig for the National Chopper Club, Berkshire chapter.

If ever there was a group of people we thought would really go for what we were doing, this was it.  I reckoned we’d not only go down a treat, but get requests for future bookings at chopper gatherings the country over.

Nige was the same. In one missive, he said: “They keep mentioning it’s more about the bikes than anything else and that bands they’ve had previously just crack on without too much interest in them. Not wishing to sound conceited or anything, but I think we all know that’s not going to be the case on Sunday, now is it?” And we all agreed.

Sunday 14th July was a glorious day – hot… and then some… and then some more. It was brilliant. I’m not much of a one for exposing my fetta-coloured skin to the elements, so I was dressed pretty much as normal. The other three turned up in shorts and sandals.

Now, I’ve no problem with this per se, but George looked like something from It Ain’t Half Hot, Mum. Not a great rock image, but hey. The gig got underway (our first with all instruments going through the PA) and the grizzly, hard, tough, rough looking bunch that was our audience milled around the bikes, chops and hot rods on show.

It was an impressive lay out and no mistake. Trouble was, we could have been playing Bucks Fizz numbers for all they cared. There was no doubt that this was the right crowd listening to the right music, but they were all too busy with the business of the day and generally being cool to pay any attention to the band.

We battled on and by the end of the show, we had a few people standing and sitting around, actively listening to us – which I consider to be a success – but Woodstock, Monterey or Glastonbury it was not… It wasn’t even Stonehenge!

Once again, as is so often the case when we think we’re bombing, everybody says how much they have enjoyed the show. People just have different ways of expressing it.

And the National Chopper Club, lovely fellas though they are, are just waaay too cool to show emotion at a live show. Great day, though…

Birth of a Band 11

In all the bands I have been in over the past 35 years, I have never known anyone like Nige for getting gigs. I came to describe him as a ‘ferocious gig getter’. And he is. His determination and conviction, thick skin (and you need it as any salesman will tell you) and immunity to the concerns of venue owners and managers are second to none.

Thus my getting a £400 gig sent him into something of a frenzy. By June 20th he had come up with a gig in Devon and was negotiating £800 plus accommodation. Impressive.

Unfortunately, at the first mention of this, Angus announced that he couldn’t make it and George said it was ‘a bit far’. £800 and a bed?! Even as a four piece (which we were still exclusively) this was worth it. I would have dropped my mum to do it.

Next came an outdoor event in Basingstoke, then an emergency gig, found and (to be) performed on the 22nd – this time it was me that couldn’t make it. Then a gig in Hayes (at The Old Crown). It was impressive to see – and anything that came in at under £250 he apologised for!

On June 28th we had a gig at the Golden Retriever in Bracknell. It was the pub’s tenth birthday, so they had a whole weekend of barbecues and bands – all outside…

This is England, of course, so on this particular June 28th, it was bloody freezing! The band was to set up in a sort of gazebo on decking. I swear there was ice, water and algae on this decking and any sort of foot movement brought with it the risk of breaking a bone somewhere where the body might strike the ground in a fall!

What was important about this gig, however, was not the risk of fractures or hypothermia, but the fact that this was the first time Custard Cream had gigged as a trio.

Without George, there were a handful of songs we couldn’t perform, which, owing to our being a little short on material anyway, left us a good 45 minutes short of a gig. So we jammed it. Songs such as Spoonful, Voodoo Chile and Roadhouse Blues came out at ten minutes plus, and blues numbers such as Red House and Worried Life also benefited (is that the right word) from highly extended instrumentals.

It is hard to tell how we went down, as the ‘audience’ were all behind a hedge in the secondary seating area. (We were still very loud at this time.) Despite this, everyone we saw complimented us on an enjoyable gig – and we had an absolute blast!

All my life I have been wanting to be part of a band that would be happy to just jam on a theme – and here it was. A bit rough at the edges, sure, but again, for me, that was a big part of the appeal. The next gig we played (my mate Chris’ 50th birthday party) gave us the chance as a four-piece to expand our arrangements into the free form – and this time it really did go down a treat. There was a lot of congratulations from people whose opinions I hold dear. In short, we were damned good. We knew it and those that heard us play knew it, too.

Birth of a Band 10

The June 8th gig at the Dukes Head was Custard Cream’s third and by far (to that point) the best. The endings had finally come together, mostly thanks to Angus’ explicit movements and eye contact, and everyone seemed to have taken on board all of the critiques that had flown about the week before. It was good.

The audience was made up (to the degree of about 50 per cent) of people I had dragged along one way or another, but there wasn’t nearly so much audience interaction or participation as there had been the week before.

But there was a degree of appreciation – certainly enough to give the band some energy to push on through to the end. We still seemed (to me) to be a little short of material, but we were getting there.

Our next gig, at The Chequers in Marlow on June 14th, was even more of a ‘local’ gig for me and I had tried my best to get as many people as possible over. We had quite a few and most of them stuck around. I say most, but certainly not all... For example, there was one guy, Justin, who I had been playing with quite regularly at the open mic nights. He’s about my age, into rock music… But I realised as I watched him watch us that we weren’t getting through at all. He left before the end of the first set. It's always odd when you discover something you love means nothing to someone near.

Ah, well, the prophet is never recognised in his home town… ;-)

The Chequers is a pub that stretches back into (what is now) a large steak restaurant. Last orders for food are at 9pm… which is when the band is booked to start.

We did a sound check at about half eight – and the waiters, waitresses and management were down on us like a ton of unfriendly bricks. “Too loud!,” they shouted at various times during the sound check, after it and once we had started playing.

George, Angus and I all turned down… I have a distinct feeling that Nige turned up. No matter, once the food was served out, we were back at normal volume again and the evening went well – not to mention our highest pay-out to then.

The following Monday saw an email from Nige praising the gig (and, oddly, the venue) and explaining how his wife was organising a sort of mini-festival in Wokingham market square – would we play for nothing.

These sort of things are anathema to me, but they are so good for publicity… We all said ‘yes’ without a moment’s hesitation.

I got a gig to play at a friend’s 50th birthday party in July… £400. I have to admit, I went into something that can only be described as ‘smug mode’ for quite some weeks after that.

George complimented me. Nige, trying to sound as though he was joking, clearly wrankled.

Birth of a Band 7

To say that Custard Cream’s debut gig was inauspicious is probably to hit the nail on the head.

For me, no matter how many times I perform – and I have been performing in front of audiences since the age of five – I get nervous. This usually manifests itself as a sullen, moody demeanour, but it can lead to flapping as well. Flapping, in turn, usually leads to me forgetting something. At a wedding gig the 3-fold Arts played, this was the mixing desk. At the Hope & Anchor gig it was the equally vital cables for the PA.

A high-speed drive home and back again (on both occasions) saw the equipment in place with seconds to go. Needless to say, this does little to help my nerves, but, as is so often the way with performance nerves, once the performance is underway, the nerves find their outlet and good energy levels are achieved.

The Hope & Anchor in Wokingham is a good little pub with something of a tradition for live music, which meant that, aside from the immediate family Nige, George and I brought along (totalling five people!) there were a few regulars looking forward to hearing some rock music.

We were, at best, a bit shabby that night. Some of the arrangements seemed to go out the window, almost all of the song endings actually broke the windows in order to escape and we found ourselves about half an hour short of material. We somehow muddled through and finished the gig.

The fee for the evening was £150, but we were allowed to ‘pass the hat around’, which Nige’s daughter did, with no little aplomb and earned us a further 50 quid. The responses from everyone were very positive – which was nice… So nice, in fact, that we soon forgot about how shabby we had been and we basked in the compliments and nodded sagely at suggestions of further songs we should add to our repertoire.

The landlord and landlady seemed happy and intimated that we should return – say, some time in August… Cool!

A couple of days later we all began to correspond again and agreed that some remedial rehearsals were needed in order to tidy up those endings. Even Angus suggested that he and I get together ‘some evening’ to tidy these up. Needless to say, I don’t think anything ever came of that.

Suggestions were also put forward that we should rehearse as a four-piece on the afternoon before the next gig on June 8^th. For some reason, I felt that this was an excellent idea, although I was aware that I would have to take it easy on my voice.

Suggestions were also put forward for new songs. A couple of AC/DC numbers and Need Your Love So Bad. I’d never been much of an AC/DC fan, so I figured I’d see if we could cruise along and hopefully forget about them… A Rory Gallagher number was also suggested. It was a good song (Off the Handle) so I’m not quite sure why this never made it. I think, probably because it was George suggestion. For some reason, George suggestions didn’t seem to carry much weight. At the time, I didn’t know why.

I have to take some of the blame, though, as once again, rehearsals could not be organised and I was not willing to play songs for the first time at a gig – or with the help of a two-hour rehearsal on the same day. I’d had enough of that sort of shenanigans with Gez and I wasn’t about to let this band go the same route.

The endings were, however, a real concern and I convinced the guys to go for a three-hour rehearsal to make sure we tidied everything up. I still didn’t see what problem this might cause.

Birth of a Band 6

By April 11^th we were all feeling comfortable with our new drummer, rehearsals were going well and the diary was starting to fill. The Hobgoblin gig had been postponed for a week (to May 17^th) and this meant that our first gig would be at the Hope & Anchor in Wokingham on the 11^th, unless I could come up with one before then.

I had been playing guitar in another band before the Custard Cream thing got started and that had a residency at The Chequers in Marlow. For several months we had played every two weeks, but then the band leader, Gez, had formed a Santana tribute band and (for the sanity of everyone concerned) had taken one of the slots, meaning each band played once a month.

With the onset of Custard Cream, I had been asking Gez for one of the slots, meaning each band would perform every six weeks – even better for all concerned… In fact, we had been discussing working as agents for the venue and getting different bands in each week, but, well, either the manager at The Chequers was lying when he told me no-one had been to talk to him, despite his requests, or Gez was when he said that the manager couldn’t make his mind up.

Either way, I kept telling Custard Cream that we would be playing ‘next week’ for about a month. Eventually I gave up. Let the first gig be the Hope & Anchor…

Then, Nige came through with the news that he couldn’t play the Hobgoblin on the 17^th!

My reaction to George not being able to play was that we should play as a trio without George. George wasn’t having it and I apologised for my hastiness.

My reaction to this latest news was that we should play it as a trio without Nige… but George wasn’t having it. “all for one, one for all,” he said. I have to confess, I got a little angry.

To try to resolve the issue, Nige went back to the (grammatically challenged) Carly to see about switching the gig back to the 10^th. Needless to say, we have still, to this day, never heard another word from Carly or the Hobgoblin pub.

When asked to give advice to young, aspiring musicians, Robert Fripp said: “don’t fly Air Iberia”. I might add to that: “don’t mess the venues about with date changing”. With those two priceless nuggets, you’ll doubtless go far!

The next couple of weeks were spent, privately, adding songs to the repertoire for the next rehearsal – necessary as we had less than two hours’ worth of material, which would not get us through most gigs.

Rehearsal on April 20^th seemed to go down well and Nige kept on coming with the gigs for the diary, so the whole Hobgoblin scenario faded fast.

The first gig was now upon us, Things had reached the point of no return…

Birth of a Band 5

By March 9th we were still only managing a single rehearsal per month, although in our defence, our rehearsals were (are) five or six hour marathons in which a lot of work is done, but now with our second drummer in place, we were already two months behind where we had wanted to be originally – ie a gigging band.

The rehearsal with Angus on March 9th went well and we decided it would be good to get another, midweek session in to keep the momentum going. This meant rehearsing without George. After some email and organisational kerfuffle, we found a slot at the West Star rehearsal rooms in High Wycombe on Wednesday 13th March… In the evening, of course. It was still looking as though I would never get rehearsals during weekdays!

The midweek session was good in more ways than one. Yes, it furthered us along the route of getting the songs into our bones, but, for me certainly, more importantly it showed us that we could function as a trio perfectly well. Ever since I was young boy I haven’t played the silver ball, but I have wanted to be in a power trio. A trio is the best rock combo as far as I’m concerned. It gives a freedom to all three players and a simplicity and space to the sound. Once again, I was hit by realisation that Custard Cream could indeed be a force to be reckoned with.

Plans were made for a full rehearsal on March 23rd…

… but George couldn’t make it…

… So we did it as a trio again. It was good.

By this time I had re-recorded all of the guitar, bass and vocals over the top of Angus’ drumming and, combined with the crowd sounds from an open mic night, I thought it sounded as good as can be expected. The recording sessions were short and mistakes were allowed to stay because we were trying to make a live sound, but once I had finished the mix downs, Nige was unhappy with his guitar parts. Of course, we could record them again, but, as I explained to Nige, I was missing out on earning money – over two-months’ worth and counting. We decided to go with what we had and I put together a medley of the best bits.

Despite my moaning, there were signs that we were making progress. We had another full rehearsal booked for April 6th, we had a few songs and a medley produced to tout for work and Angus, it transpired, was a designer and he came up with a flyer that was to become our emblem (see above) – and I came up with the slogan: Blues on the Rocks. A package was evolving.

On top of this, Nige was getting some gigs booked. We were moving into April and we had gigs lined up fairly regularly from the middle of May.

One early gig was booked in and looked to be our first – May 10th at The Hobgoblin in Maidenhead. The girl who looks after bookings there, Carly, said that (and I quote) “Before we go any further I just have to let you know that although we can’t afford to pay bands properly for their time, we can offer a percentage of the bar takings for the duration of the show if we book you. It’s 10% from the moment you start to the moment you finish, which is on average around £100 usually.” (Grammar corrected by me). A percentage of the takings! What a load of bollocks that is. Not to mention “we can’t afford”. The Hobgoblin is a large pub on Maidenhead High Street that takes hundreds and hundreds of pounds on a Saturday. Believe me, they can afford to pay a band for its work. They just don’t want to!

But it was academic. George couldn’t make May 10th!

Birth of a Band 4

So, we had to oust Neil from the band (see here), but, as Nige wisely pointed out, even better to have Neil at a rehearsal than no-one, so we delayed telling him he was out until we could find someone to take his place. We all started putting our feelers out.

My first port of call was a guy called Angus who played with a really cool bunch of guys, but in a band that was clearly going nowhere. The lead singer preferred hiking and hockey to playing guitar and the bandleader is not the strongest character you will ever come across – though an absolutely lovely bloke…

Anyway, I thought Angus might be able to squeeze us in as well as his other band. As it turned out, he was champing at the bit to find a more serious band. I assured him that we were precisely that.

Thus, after an email from Neil on Feb 13th saying we should establish a set list to get used to playing the songs in order, Nige (having volunteered, I hasten to add) had short-straw duties to perform as our next rehearsal was Feb 16th…

Neil did not take it well, Nige told us, but (interestingly) after a long and painful silence, said: “Andy had made his mind up early on that I was not up to his standard, and it was only a matter of time.” Me?! I articulated my surprise to George and Nige at the rehearsal.

“Yeah, well you did keep giving him ‘The Look’,” Nige said. The Look?! “Yes, when we make a mistake you give us a look that can kill,” explained George. Really?! “Yup,” George continued. “And add to that comments like: ‘Why can’t you get it right? It’s the simplest, most classic fucking song ending in all of history!” Who did I say that to? “To Neil!”

Oh…

How little one can know one’s self sometimes.

At the rehearsal, Angus had had almost no time at all to get to know the songs, but he kept going with admirable stoicism and with his laid back, friendly demeanour, he won us all over. “I just can’t wait to get gigging,” he said. You and us alike, mate.

We arranged for Angus to come over to me (Feb 24th) to re-record the drum parts on the songs we had recorded and set about sorting out the next time we could all get together for a rehearsal. Saturday March 2nd was mooted, but Angus asked if we could do the Sunday instead. I thought nothing of it – it suited me, and anyway, George couldn’t make that weekend, so that was that. The next rehearsal was 9th March.

Angus came over for the recording – and it is here that I really should have seen the signs. He came around, set up his kit, recorded a song with a couple of mistakes, so I said, we should do it again… “Can we leave it till the end,” he asked. “I’d rather do the next one…”

We went through the songs like a dose of salts and he couldn’t wait to get away. I later got to know (for the wont of a better word) his girlfriend and realised what was happening. Poor old Angus spent his entire time with the band trying to balance his job, his girlfriend and the band, but the band always came last – and the girlfriend always hated the band.

After re-recording the drums, of course, we needed to re-record everything else. Not a bad thing, but more time. Looking back, I think I was very naïve to think we could have got a band from scratch out gigging in a month. We would have been playing for six weeks by our next rehearsal – and nowhere near getting a gig… Let alone having recordings to tout.

Birth of a band 3

You know what? I’m not the world’s greatest producer and I don’t have extensive recording facilities. I do, however consider myself to be very lucky in that I have a little ‘cave’ at the bottom of my garden, sound proofed, warm, full of gear and with a couple of Macs that can do some pretty high level recordings. It’s not Abbey Road – I can’t really record anything live – it’s just a single room – with not much room in it – but it is a recording facility and one where I have recorded four albums, so I’m pretty pleased with it. It has served me well and continues to do so…

So why, then, was it that Nige, before any discussion of what could or couldn’t be done, said: “I know you have recording facilities of some kind Andy. Would it be suitable to purpose because I get the feeling we're a band who would be better live and should record that way.”?

Hmm… Why am I suspicious of this? No matter, I said I would be happy to consider the alternatives. These turned out to be studios and services that ranged from £160 to £380 per day… the Yorkshire element – and I, to be perfectly honest, balked at the idea.

Nige’s ‘would it be suitable’ email was on Jan 8^th. On Jan 11^th, after realising that pro studio services were probably a little more than we wanted to pay, he wrote: “I recall you saying you have some recording equipment Andy? I wondered if it was in any way portable at all and, if so, would it be attainable to achieve anything decent with it down at the rehearsal rooms?”

How odd. Anyway, yes, I did (do) and, to be perfectly honest, no, I wouldn’t be able to get anything decent at the rehearsal rooms. From here, however, things began to move quickly. By the end of the day on the 11^th, we had arranged dates for Neil to come over to do the drums, Nige to come over to do his guitar and George to come in on the 27^th (the day after our next scheduled rehearsal).

Once Nige and I get into gear, things do get done, but we do faff about a lot before that happens! Then, of course, the snows came and George couldn’t make it down from Yorkshire…

Thus, by Sunday 27^th Jan, I had four of the five parts for five tracks recorded and George due down on Feb 3rd. By Friday February 8^th I had also recorded audience responses from my open mic night in Marlow, which I mixed in to our recordings to give them an authentic feel. I quite liked it… But I was really worried about Neil’s drumming. There were moments when it seemed almost random – and not in a good sense.

I broached the subject with Nige and discovered that he and George had had reservations from day one! (You can read about that here.)

He had to go – and we had to find a new drummer. It was February 10^th. The project had been on the go for nearly five months. Was it really worth continuing?

Birth of a Band 2

I’m not sure why men seem to think that ‘meeting up for a drink’ is some sort of positive, ‘getting-things-done’ sort of activity, but generally they do – while women do not. Usually, I would concur with the ladies on this one. Not that I’m averse to a drink – on the contrary, I love a beer, but I almost never mistake having a beer for having a meeting.

In this case, of course – as you can read here – simply seeing each other was in fact a proactive step towards actually doing something.

The emails from this late November period seem a bit strained. Neil and Nige were both obviously keen to be seen as easy going and humorous, but trying too hard in these areas tends to have exactly the opposite effect.

We met up on Saturday 15th at half two at the George & Dragon in Wargrave. During this meet (at which we all got along swimmingly) we heard George’s first reference to his having played in a gypsy jazz band and Neil’s first ‘well, we’re just hobbyists, aren’t we?’ comment. I suppose I should have seen the danger signs here straight away…

The really good thing about the meeting was 1) we set a date of January 5th for our first rehearsal and 2) what had started out as a good feeling became an excellent one. Again, I really don’t know why, but I knew this was going to work – and it seems that Nige did, too.

By Tuesday 18th The Rhoom had been booked for rehearsal and Nige was going through some odd explanations of how he and George would be playing Saw Her Standing There by The Beatles (“It would, on the surface of it, appear to be a simple evolution of both George, and myself to play our (completely different roles), put the two together, and hey presto (hopefully) it's the Beatles live on stage! Lennon is kinda working along with the Bass line creating a driving sound in the background, whilst Harrison seems to be kinda vamping along with the chord work and fills. Seems quiet simples"). 

What?!

Interestingly, however, is that a song list with ‘arrangements’ (read as: “keys and who will be playing the solos”) that Nige sent through on December 18^th contains 26 songs of which only seven are no longer part of the set – one of them, of course, being Saw Her Standing There!

And so it all went quiet for the Christmas period and, following a brief reminder email from Nige on Jan 4^th – he really is good at that. I guess it is the being prepared army training or some such. We met up for a six-hour rehearsal on Saturday 5^th…

Sunday saw various emails thrown about regarding song arrangements (Roadhouse Blues and Worried Life Blues) and a call (from me) for more rehearsals during the week with just Nige, Neil and me. I note there is no hint that we might be unhappy with Neil from these mails.

A word is spread that we can meet as a trio on Tuesdays and Nige is desperate to be out and gigging by the end of February.

Neil then comes back and says he can’t rehearse before 4pm… useless for me. In the end we went for a Wednesday from 6 to 9pm. Neil also sent through a couple of songs he’d like to do – one of which was an out and out country number. He never really got it, did he? Nige and I discussed the possibility of doing Spoonful, Crossroads and Voodoo Chile. George added Hey Joe.

(Nige also suggested Born Under a Bad Sign at this point, saying it was “a nice easy one”… I finally nailed it for our most recent gig on September 21^st!)

By the time we tried to get booked in The Rhoom, we had missed the chance. The Rhoom was fully booked. We called off all rehearsals until George could next make it down on Jan 26^th. In the meantime we started discussing recordings…

I was, by now, getting pretty frustrated…

Birth of a Band 1

If you scoot back over the news section of the Mechkov website, you will see that (apart from news of a cracking new soundscape album) there is a flurry of news regarding my new band, Custard Cream. From this flurry, it is also (I hope) clear that the band has managed to cement itself into the local gigging scene with some speed following its first gig on May 11th this year (2013).

I thought I ought to get down how this came about…

There is a rather spiffing little website here in the UK called joinmyband, through which musicians and singers can find other musicians and singers, and which I had been trying (unsuccessfully) to get people to hop in on my projects.

Ah! We are a funny bunch, we musos. We seem, when we are together, to have so much in common when together on a stage, but when a person has his own plans and ideas, getting others involved is a tough ask. They are all far too busy trying to find others to join them on their projects.

So, having had limited success on this, my wife suggested I join in on someone else’s project – and maybe earn some money while I was at it.

Unfortunately, the ad I followed up on the site is now long gone, but it went something along the lines of: “Custard Cream is moving to Berkshire and needs a drummer, bassist and a singer to join lifelong pals Nige and George on guitars for a blues and rock band. We have a lot of experience and our own Sharon Osborne.”

Can you tell what the clincher might have been for me here? Yes, of course, as with any musician, the thought of having someone actually taking on the responsibility of marketing, managing and promotion was too much to ignore – let alone hope for. I answered the ad immediately and pretty soon Nige and I were in correspondence. I’m guessing that he was attracted to me as an option because I could both play bass and sing AND I had my own website with original music. He wasn’t interested in this, but it does show I have some capability without having to go through the pain of a crap rehearsal.

The email chain goes back to September 26^th 2012 and it appears that Nige had said that the band would be able to meet during weekdays – this really did sell the project to me. Nige was moving to the area from Cornwall, so I figured it would be best to leave him and his family to the horrors that are moving house before pushing for anything more.

By mid-October, Nige informed me that he thought he had found a drummer – and, what is more, one that could rehearse on a weekday (one day per week), but that, following the move, he would have to spend a few weeks doing the house up before ‘Sharon’ would even let him think of going out to rehearse. Fair enough, I thought.

By October 19^th, we had shared set lists and George had come through with a sort of hybrid list based on all of our contributions of song titles and Nige was saying we would be in rehearsal by December at the latest and gigging in January. ‘Bloody perfect’ was my thought on the issue.

Come the end of November, I was champing at the bit to get into rehearsal, but Nige still hadn’t finished his ‘house work’ and so we agreed to postpone until after Christmas and meet up in the New Year. It also turned out that George (the other guitarist) would NOT be able to rehearse on weekdays… hmm…

In the meantime, the drummer, Neil, suggested that we meet up for a drink. Yes, all of this planning and we hadn’t even met – yet, for some reason, I felt sure this was going to be a good project…

Why? I have absolutely no idea. Normally when I have a gut feeling for something, I end up being so wrong, I have to pretend I was never really interested in the first place, but of course at the time it all seems to make perfect sense. I really did not see this as being something that was dragging on.

The end of one rainbow

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Now, why would I have gone to all that trouble of starting to document my task of documenting a new open mic night only to come to a shudderingly abrupt halt just eight weeks into the project.

Well, there are two reasons. First, my wife kept saying ‘do you really think you should be writing a blog when you are earning as little as you do?’ which is, sadly, true on one level.

Second – and if it hadn’t been for this point, I probably would have ignored my wife and continued – I chickened out.

When writing a blog, one needs to be brutally honest and true to one’s thoughts and opinions, however upsetting they might be for the people you are writing about. When organising an open mic night, one needs to nurture relationships and create a nucleus of loyal participants. Pissing people off could well be counter-productive.

The fact is, the main body of support I got for the Plough’s Tuesday evenings included Psycho Deano (a lovely bloke), Sassy Lozza (my wife), The Mafia (nice people, but always tricky in terms of conversation), Jeff the Jock (who is as lovely as he is boring beyond belief) and Not Manic Mark (again, as sweet as honey, but a real effort to talk to and play with). Among this group, only The Mafia would both play and sing. All the others either required me to play and/or sing. But I needed these people to make sure that someone was there in the pub to keep East End Bob happy.

So, taking the micky in a blog might not be the most conducive method of mollification of my muso masses. With these guys coming regularly, anything else was a bonus.

And so the Tuesday evening chugged on through up to Christmas and into the New Year, becoming stronger and more defined with each passing week. In order to keep East End Bob happy and in control, I agreed to a pay cut, but he was decent enough never to pay me the minimum amount – always adding a little extra on and often giving me the full fee.

Then the last week of March was upon us and – after a couple of quiet evenings – no-one came! For the first time ever, not a single person showed up. I was gutted. East End Bob was mortified.

This stung me into action. I immediately got on to the Slough Observer and wrote press releases, gave interviews and sent over pics (taken by The Mafia). The lovely people at the paper promised me good coverage.

Then I got a message to ring East End Bob…

“I think we’d better knock it on the head,” he said… At least I think that what he said. It could have been ‘a thud with berry knocker on the air’, but I took it to be the first one. The second one was just ridiculous.

The next Tuesday some 15 people turned up having seen the article in the Observer. I wasn’t there. I just smiled a knowing smile and thought to myself: “Bob, you chickened out. We’re as bad as each other.”

Open Mic: Just ridiculous

When running MI Pro magazine a few years ago, I interviewed a local musical instrument retailer who had just set up shop at the peak of the credit crunch, with the dark forebodings of recession on everybody’s lips – particularly the business media (I still wonder whether the resulting recession was just as much caused by Robert Peston and his ilk as it was by the greedy, robber barons of the financial world).

“Are you mad?” was the basic angle of my questioning. “Well, if we make it through this, then we’ve definitely done the right thing,” came the confident answer. (Three years later, by the way, Westmount Music in Marlow Bottom is thriving, I am very pleased to report.)

Scale down the annual turnover by several thousand pounds and the activity to creating a new open mic night at The Plough in Wexham (Stoke Poges if you are East End Bob, the landlord) and you have a very similar situation. Starting a new open mic night just as the London Olympics are about to begin, in the peak of summer with all and sundry off on their hols and one does have to ask one’s self whether, indeed, one is mad.

I guess I must be… a bit…

As I mentioned in the first of this series, there is still, decades after my first performances, this dreadful grating and churning of the stomach before a show. Will anybody show? Will I be playing to an empty house? It’s an unpleasant state of being, but one that has clearly resulted in good news rather than bad or I wouldn’t still be here telling you about it.

There has never been a time when no-one turned up… Never, that is, until two weeks ago. Sassy Lozza was away on business and Psycho Deano was on night shift. That was my two regulars gone.

Imagine my delight, then, when Andrew Williams turned up, guitar in hand. At least I would get a break, I thought. Diva Emelia also showed, but that meant I would still be playing.

As the organiser of an open mic night, I think, you need to be ‘on the shop floor’ as it were, as much as you need to be ready to support anyone who needs it. It is important to get to know people, to weed out the quiet types who would never approach you, to get the feedback of the general punters. Stuck at the mic all night is a performer’s dream, but not helpful for an open mic night.

So, after a half an hour of noodling through some well known tunes, I handed over, gratefully to Andrew and went over to Emelia to see what she wanted to do. As we discussed songs, suddenly everything went quiet. Andrew had stopped.

“Everything all right, mate?” I asked. “They’re talking,” came the odd reply. “Who is?” “These people.”

And indeed, there were a group of large and (let’s be fair here) not very intelligent men loudly indifferent to what was going on in front of them.

“Never mind,” I said. That’s what people do in pubs.”

“No, I don’t like that,” said Andrew and promptly unplugged, packed up his guitar and left.

Needless to say, I didn’t get away from the mic again that evening. It was a good show, I thought. Emelia sang, an old mate of mine from drama days turned up and did his idiosyncratic version of House of the Rising Sun, East End Bob did his regular couple of shouty numbers, but the rest of the evening it was just me.

As I said, as a guitarist and singer, it was lovely to have the stage to myself for the evening. As an open mic, it wasn’t quite what it said on the tin.

I must be mad.

Still, it’s September now. Autumn and the short days are upon us. I have survived the worst of times and now it is time for the best of times to arrive…

Open Mic Nights: The sublime to the sublime

I left you last time with the thought that an open mic night needs some element of tradition, a knowledge or certainty among both the muso and punter communities that an event will take place each week – no exceptions.

East End Bob, the landlord at The Plough, has been a bit moany the last couple of weeks. I don’t really think it is behaviour reserved specifically for me, but he has had something of a point. Not many musicians turned up after the first couple of (unexpectedly good) weeks, which had Bob a bit perturbed, it has to be said.

He’s a morose sort of bloke at the best of times, which often leads to a sort of laconic delivery. Add to that his hard east-end accent and a Churchillian speech defect, it is sometimes hard to decipher anything.

“I got a good crowd in Friday and Saturday… Well, not that good…” might easily have been: “I got a good cow in before I sat… Well, Noah Goo…” which can leave the listener a bit bemused. Fortunately (or unfortunately) his favourite phrases of ‘diabolical’ and ‘where are the punters?’ never seem to disintegrate into unintelligibility.

So it was that, after an evening (August 7th) that can quite legitimately be described as ‘quite good’ having had a good half dozen turns show up and perform to a good standard, East End Bob was forced to admit a pleasant evening, but (on the physical evidence of very few paying customers that were not musicians or singers) had to ask ‘where are the punters?’

Now, having performed – to some degree – all of my responsibilities, I was sorely tempted to say: ‘I’ve done my job, Sir Bob, now it’s time for you to do yours.’ But that, of course, would have been churlish. Instead, I pointed out that, after just five weeks, we had begun to establish our own crowd – nothing to do with either my regulars from Marlow, nor East End Bob’s regulars. A new crowd – The Plough’s Tuesday Night crowd.

Keep these people happy, I explained, and they will bring more people: more musos and more muso friends. ‘But why don’t my regulars stay?’ he asked (or was that ‘Brian Moore Wreckless Day’?). And the answer is (to the real question, not my silly corruption): ‘because they are not interested in small-time musos, their music, their egos and their friends.’

Forget them. For one night a week, I said, surely you can live without having the same old faces and the same old (let’s face it) ill-aimed and sorely lacking attempts at humour and socio-political commentary. For one night a week, let’s build a new, different crowd, all of whom are interested in small-time musos, their music, their egos and their friends.

And so it is coming to pass. After that initial 8 o’clock angst worrying that no-one will come, by 9 o’clock there is now a hardcore nucleus that will build into something greater than the sum of its parts.

Tuesday nights now sees good old Andrew Williams, along with Sassy Lozza and now Coolhand Sean seems to be something of a regular, as well as his mate, Falsetto Si, his singer, Carly Allie – and they have in turn now brought along a member of the Russian Mafia, Ilya (who does a mean Johnny Cash) and the delightful Whispering Heather. Add these to Diva Emma and Shakey Amy and you have the seed of a great, ongoing evening.

Once their friends start coming along, too, The Plough’s open mic night will be the talk of the town. It’s still going to take some time, but we’re getting there.

East End Bob spent most of the time I was packing up at the last evening saying: “But it’s hard work.” It certainly is, Sir Bob… That is unless you were actually saying: “But it’s artwork.”

Open Mic Nights: The ridiculous to the sublime

In the last post, I pointed out that for an open mic night to be successful there is a critical mass that combines the right number of musos, the right number of punters and the right amount of talent. The number of musos required is more or less the same each time – there are only so many hours to fill. Punter numbers are variables, mostly dictated by the size of the venue.

The OD’s evening enjoys a snug, fairly small pub, which makes it that much easier to hit the right numbers. To make an evening work in terms of musicians, any event needs at least five different acts with half an hour of material. This means each turn gets two goes and the evening is filled nicely. This, however, is only ten people at most. Not really enough to keep the bar staff busy. On top of this, there needs to be paying customers. OD’s is pretty full with about 50 people in it, so another ten people means you have sufficient to get the party started.

At The Plough last week, there were a good half a dozen people inside and another dozen outside. For OD’s this would have been good, but The Plough is that much bigger and you have to have a good 20 people inside the pub to spark things off… Okay, yes, I know, we only had four musos last week and one of them was a drummer, the second left after his set and the third was a singer. This kept me quite busy to say the least.

Last Thursday’s OD’s session saw ten acts show up (excluding Nick the Geetar, Skinny Hips Tomkins and me). A great number of good people turned up to listen and it was a blinder. I mean this, really. It was a great night. At least three people mentioned to me how high the level of talent was – and it was.

This brings me to a third factor – and in many ways the main reason for this blog. Another difference between OD’s and The Plough is the fact that OD’s (previously known as the Carpenter’s Arms) has had an open mic night on Thursday nights (with a few short breaks) since 2004. The various management over the years have stuck with it to the degree that musos and punters alike can be as certain that there will be a gathering in that place at that time as that the sun will rise in the morning.

The Plough session is new – very new. It is also a little off the beaten track. In order to give musos and punters alike the certainty that OD’s does, it needs to be around for a similar amount of time. I told East End Bob that he needs to give it six months at least (a message I know he has taken on board because he kept repeating it last week as he looked around his empty pub).

The thing about a tradition is that there is only one way to achieve it. Keep going!

Has East End Bob got the nerve? I’m not sure, but hopefully the six months he has given me will be enough to get a regular enough crowd along that can form the foundation of a tradition…

Open Mics: Grinding one out

What was that I was saying about it all turning out ok in the end? Well, not always. It seems my wee experiment with launching a new, distant, previously unheard-of open mic night (at The Plough, Stoke Poges, every Tuesday from 8pm, by the way) is somewhat mirroring the life of Orson Wells in that it is living its life backwards.

(It’s an old Spitting Image gag (for those of you old enough to remember the satirical foam puppets). Orson Wells gathers the great and the good into a cinema to reveal (posthumously on film) that he lived his life backwards, starting his career as an old man making sherry adverts, fumbling through an average career as an actor, director and producer, making some critically sneered-at Shakespeares, then climbing to success through a stunning radio adaptation of the War of the Worlds (which had the southern states’ redneck population driving around with shotguns looking for ETs to shoot) and finishing off with his masterpiece, Citizen Kain – a film that turned cinematography and art direction on its head.)

It has always pleased me, that sketch. Maybe not so much now as the first OMN at The Plough was a scintillating party with drums, bass, sax and more artists than you could shake a rainstick at. The second was a good, solid evening, slow at the beginning, but growing into a perfectly reasonable (and much appreciated) jam at the end.

The third week… Well, where should I begin? Probably at the beginning…

Sassy Lozza came with me this week and helped unloading and setting up – and this, make no mistake, is how the tireless OMN organiser makes his or her money. That, arranging the turns and striking the stage again at the end. The OMN organiser has to be ready to forego his or her set list at any moment – and then we sat down outside with East End Bob, the landlord (more of him in a later post).

Psycho Deano turned up, armed with his very own cajon, and Andrew Williams – armed with nothing but an ability to dissemble. Lozza and I began to play and sing to the near-empty pub at about 8:20. Surprisingly, even the half dozen punters there still managed to produce a smattering of applause after each number – no small achievement that early in the evening, I assure you.

At about nine, by which time there has normally been an influx of musos and singers, the ratio of four performers to six punters had remained unchanged (another ten or so were sat outside, enjoying the first of this summer’s sun). No-one had left (a good sign) but no-one had arrived, either (definitely NOT a good sign).

I invited Andrew Williams up to do a few. He took my acoustic guitar, went through his usual routine of explaining how he couldn’t hear anything and being told it sounded fine out front, to which he invariably says that he is deaf anyway. He then proceeds to tell anyone within ear shot (without the use of the microphone) that he only knows obscure songs. “Ah! Here go,” he says with glee, “you won’t have heard this one.” He then launches into a rendition, almost totally devoid of discernable rhythm, of a song that, indeed, no-one knows… Well, a song that you are aware of from somewhere in the dim and distant past that you might have heard once or twice.

His voice is tremendous. He can scale great heights and he sounds not unlike Roger Chapman of Family. His guitar playing, however, is that rare thing in public performance that involves a good knowledge of chords, but an inability to move from one to another, so each song he performs tends to stop and start in mid-flow as he contorts his hand into the next chord shape. Often as he reaches the chorus, he gains some momentum and flow, but then the verse and the middle eight rear their ugly sequences and he returns to his staccato, arrhythmic rendition.

Each song is separated by his explanation (less microphone) of where that song came from, where the next one came from and how we might have heard of it, but probably not…

Bless him. I love his voice and he is certainly a regular and loyal participant of both my OMNs. Long may he ramble on.

I took to the mic again and played a couple of self-indulgent numbers using my looper (Boss RC-300 if you’re interested – marvellous piece of kit), then I got Psycho Deano up to accompany me, then Lozza, then me, then Andrew Williams left, and so we chugged the evening away, just the three of us. Deano sang a couple of numbers (White Wedding – acoustic version – and Sit Down) and mighty fine they were, too. He is a pretty good singer and he has a natural rhythm, which makes him highly sought after at my evenings.

Thus the evening drew to a close. We finished off with 500 Miles and Perfect Day, Deano picked up his cajon and made his way home, and Lozza and I starting packing up. (Did I mention that this is how OMN organisers earn their money?) East End Bob came over. “Well, that was diabolical!” he said. I knew what he meant, but still said, with a delicate amount of surprise and hurt, “What?!”

“Oh, not you, you’ve earned your money tonight, but we’ve got to get more people down here…” And off he went on an explanation of how this is all about getting punters and musos into his pub. I wanted to explain how I know all of this, but that we had spoken on many occasions that sometimes it will fall a little flat. I needed to point out that the first two weeks had been beyond our expectations and he had had good takings from a full pub – in the main because of me. I wanted to say that next week would be better for him. All of these thoughts scuttled around my head, but remained there. There was no point. East End Bob is not one to use his logic or his ears very much. He speaks from instinct, very much in the moment.

After the first two sessions, he kissed me goodbye. There were no intimacies this week. (Actually, I was quite pleased about that.)

The great thing for me was that I got to play as I wanted to play – and God, I enjoyed it.

Open Mics: Keeping Going 2

As I have tried to explain, there is no real rhyme or reason to an Open Mic Night, but it always seems to turn out all right in the end. How does this happen? I’m not sure, but I am determined to get to the bottom of it. At present, I am working on the idea that there is a window of opportunity at each gathering, through which (providing there are enough musicians and punters) enters the perfect blend of alcohol, material and talent, which then combine to create a great atmosphere.

Last Thursday’s (19th July) session at OD’s in Marlow was yet another variant on the theme – I’m beginning to wonder how many there can physically be!

The usual opening – with me, Andy Keys, Swampy Bass and Nick Geetar – was performed to about six or seven people. Sassy Lozza joined us after three numbers to do Mad World, Night Like This and Sweet Dreams and I got Skinny Hips up to take his regular introductory slot as I headed out to sort a running order. By this time a whole host of musos had arrived and I begged a pen and a piece of paper from the bar.

Harmonica Phil had showed, so Skinny Hips kept Andy and Nick and Swampy up to do a short blues set with him – and I’m grateful that he did.

The running order grew as I wrote it, as more and more musos arrived. In the end I had Andrew Williams, a new guy called Mario who did a couple of Nick Drake numbers, The Incredible Bailey Boys and Sassy Ann (five numbers combined), Jack the Laid Back (“this is a song about a friend of mine who is no longer with us”… Aaaaarrrrgggghhhh!), the wonderful Atomic Mutton, Slowhand Sally (bloody brilliant – stole the show that night with her cool versions and honeyed voice), Sandy the Power (usually the show stealer, but just pipped by Sally this week), Bill the Blues (in fine form), Country Frank and Big Billy, Slowhand Rob and then (hopefully, I was thinking) Diva Dad John to finish things off.

Phew! I don’t actually ever recall such a collection of worthy and eclectic performers. The variety was good, but the numbers were right there at the limit. I knew we would have to run over the half eleven ‘witching hour’.

Everyone was good, but (and here’s where my theory sneaks in) the party really got going when Atomic Mutton took the mics. The previous acts were great, but the alcohol wasn’t quite there. The alcohol reached optimum as the Bailey Boys and Annie performed, but Jack the Laid Back’s set didn’t have such well known songs. Atomic Mutton always sing classics – and with near-perfect harmonies – and this tipped the balance.

After this, it was a whirlwind of trying to get people up to the mic and then, very soon after, trying to get them off.

Poor old Frank and Billy suffered the most as I insisted that they perform just three songs together, but they took it well… I owe them one.

11:25pm and it is Slowhand Rob’s turn. Rob is a great singer with a loose guitar style and usually fits in nicely half way through the evening as a calmer. This week it looked as though he would be headlining and the last thing we needed was a calming set.

To his great credit, he read the situation perfectly and produced three big singalong numbers (Can’t take my eyes of you, Sweet Caroline and one other) and the audience went bloody crazy! It was a sight to behold. I don’t think there was a single person there not singing at the top of their voice.

I tried to get the band back up, but John OD was making savage finger movements across his throat. We had run over already by 15 minutes, the punters were up for anything and we had to draw the curtain.

Poor old Diva Dad John (and the late coming – and by ‘late’ I mean 10 o’clock, which would normally be ideal! – Diva Lizzie) had to go without. Sorry guys. Next time.

Gosh!