Raglan Arms, Weston

A Sunday night outing this week, back to the Raglan Arms in Weston Super Mare, a splendidly woodsmoky little boozer full of er, colourful characters including the gent in a full suit of armour made out of cardboard (we didn't like to ask), the cartoon drunk who apparently is going to get us a spot at a certain major folk festival (no he isn't), and the rather confused chap who thought Mick was playing a Mandarin...
Good sound in here this time (it was a bit ropey when we did it last year!), and a great crowd too, thanks to Dave the promoter, who also took the photos plus a vid which you can see on Facebook.
A cracking night, especially for me, as every time I went to the bar I got a free pint! It later transpired that no-one else in the band had, so I'd probably drunk the entire band's rider. Oops.

There must be something about this part of the world that breeds strange fancies in the minds of the inhabitants; the sea air, perhaps? Last time we were in these parts we met a deluded bloke who claimed to have been Hawkwind's bassplayer (at a time when anyone with even a cursory knowledge of their history knows it was Lemmy), and this time as we were loading the van a staggering inebriate who claimed to be Paul Weller's Tour Manager appeared, and tried to get us to come back to Burnham with him and meet Paul at his studio - either he was telling the truth, or he was angling for a lift home. I know which one I'd put my money on...

First gig of 2011!

We're back! As our last two gigs of 2010 were cancelled at the last minute due to the snow, the whole band spent the Christmas period in a state of hibernation, cosily snuggled in packing crates stuffed with straw in the shed. After all, as our nauseating Government constantly reminds us, we're "all in this together". I still don't see why we couldn't have just gone home, though...
Strange how snow doesn't seem to affect the touring plans of umpteen Scandanavian Metal bands, forever yomping to and fro across the frozen tundra... they even have festivals in it, that's how Metal they are. Clearly we are weak.

Still, there are positive signs appearing in this bright & shiny New Year. I've just doubled the value of my car, by the simple expedient of filling it up with petrol and putting a new tyre on it, and the gigging calendar is showing a few tender green shoots of recovery from the traditionally fallow winter.
First gig of the year, then, at the Plough in Manston - always a favourite, but to be honest we weren't expecting much of a crowd on a freezing Friday night, which meant the large & enthusiastic turnout was even more of a pleasant surprise - thanks to everyone who came, especially Elodie & Mildly Alarming Dave (and thanks again for the photos, Dave!) - sounded great (to us, at any rate), and cheered us all up a treat.
On Saturday morning however, there were sure signs that we haven't done this in a while: levels of earwax had built up to Father Jack proportions overnight, and someone was apparently hammering a steel log-splitting wedge into my skull. So it goes, so it goes...

The George at Woolley

Back to the familiar surroundings of the George in Bradford on Avon last Saturday, home of the genial landlord Darren and the lovely Bath Ales 'Dark Side', mmm...
Home also to possibly the Highest Urinals in Wiltshire; not because the pub's built on a hill, but the urinals were presumably installed by a seven-foot plumber, making it a bit tricky for those of us of a slightly shorter nature... I can just about manage it if I stand on tip-toes. Any chance of a step, Darren?
Not exactly a vast throng of people there, but since most are at one of the many firework displays that night it's not surprising. Thanks to those who made it, especially the usual suspects! We enjoyed our little selves no end, and we'll be back here in the new year, including a slot at the annual Woolley Street Festival in July...

The Bell, Walcot St

Ah, back to the Bell on Walcot St, pretty much the only place for old hippies to hang out in Bath since the Hat & Feather became a tapas bar, or whatever it calls itself now...
Sunday lunchtime, always a weird time for a gig, particularly one of a loud, raucous and Rocky nature, but as we are commanded, so do we manifest.
On this occasion, We Are Not Alone... as we finish loading the various Black, Arcane & extremely Heavy items of our Craft into the venue, another van turns up, and disgorges a cargo of disgruntled Blues musicians, who have also been booked to play here... someone, somewhere has clearly fucked up in a major fashion, but as this is not our problem, and our name is on all the posters we carry on regardless. Luckily for all concerned, some rapid telephone diplomacy secures the other band a gig in Bradford on Avon, but I wouldn't like to be that promoter in the morning.
The gig goes pretty well from my standpoint, bar a few imprecations to turn it down, which as has been said before is pretty much an impossibility with a band featuring Drums, Bass, two generous helpings of Electric Guitar, 3 vocals & lashings of Fiddle... I mean, ferchrissakes, if you wanted Uncle Derek on his electric organ playing 'Songs from the Shows', why didn't you book him?
We liked it, the punters obviously liked it, judging by the numbers of 'em telling us so afterwards (and calling for 2 encores, haven't had that for a while), but I can't help thinking we'd do better with an evening slot in here... we need more bodies! Not in a Burke & Hare kinda way, you understand, more in a sound-absorbing way...

The Rolleston, Swindon

Has it really been that long since our last gig? Leafing back through the vellum-bound parchment of my journal I see it has, partly due to my inconsiderate 10 year-old son, whose appendix chose to make a bid for freedom a couple of weeks back, causing us to cancel a gig in Devizes. All sorted now thankfully, so I was looking forward to last night's do in Swindon, especially as it's a proper music pub & not the sort of place with a sound limiter...
Knew this would be a good 'un from the moment we arrived - I always like to see a goodly contingent of hairy people outside a pub, makes me feel at home right away, and I wasn't disappointed by the hirsute turnout at the Rolleston. As we loaded the gear in, a very drunk metalhead accosted me:
"You're the bassplayer, aren't you?"
"Err...yes?"
"Knew it."
Great venue, nice sound (possibly the shortest soundcheck we've ever done - sounded fine right away, so why twiddle?), really nice friendly clientele too, ranging from local musos who were especially interested in Mick's new doubleneck mandolin/mandola, to a couple of older gents who came in on spec because they thought we "looked a bit Cornish" on our posters (not quite sure what they meant by this... possibly we look as though we've put away a lot of pasties?).
All in all a good gig, despite a mass exodus halfway through the second set to get into the nightclub next door; was it something we said?! Be happy to do this one again sometime...

Frocester Beer Festival

The thing with a beer festival is, you've got to pace yourself... oh, and remember to eat something as well. Two pointers that the comatose punter we had to step over to load all our gear onstage would have been well advised to take onboard, rather than the industrial quantities of cider he apparently did instead. The St John Ambulance people were trying to revive him as we arrived, and by the time we took to the stage an ambulance had whisked him off for a truly miserable night having his stomach pumped... which was a shame, as he missed an excellent gig. Terrible waste of cider, too.
We went down a treat, especially the second set when everyone had warmed up a bit (and had a bit more beer, natch), particularly with a large contingent of smurfs, complete with blue body-paint and not much else.
Sadly for me (but luckily for the punters) I was driving, so no beer for me, but on the upside that meant I actually remembered most of the set - no mean feat, as it's been weeks since our last gig!
Well done to the organisers for such a well-run do, and the quietly competent soundcrew, too - cheers guys!

Bathampton village celebration

This was a brilliant little event on Saturday, held in the playing field of the primary school in the almost impossibly quaint & picturesque village of Bathampton. It was to celebrate the 200th anniversary of the opening of the Kennett & Avon canal, which runs through the village, enabling Mick to moor his narrowboat right next to the gig, lucky sod!
Everything was there - beer tent, food stalls, stage area, but on a lovely small scale - a reminder of what festivals started out like before people realised there was serious money to be made...
We were last on, and as it had to finish bang on time to comply with the license, we only got about 20 minutes, but it went down a storm & we were all dead chuffed.
Thanks to everyone involved, not forgetting the sound guys, who did possibly the quickest set-up in history!