Something New 20th Oct 2008
I’m aching a bit today. That’s because on Friday and Saturday just gone, my friend Ed and I walked from the source of the Thames to Oxford- over 50 miles, following the Thames Footpath. The source is in a field about a mile and a half from the train station at Kemble in Gloucester. The station was a place, we decided, that would be a good place to work. It had a sort of 1950s feel to it- when trains ran on time, people respected each other, and things were a lot more sturdy than they are these days. Or so we’re lead to believe. I was watching a programme on my new favourite station- BBC4- that showed footage of passengers of that era being interviewed, and they were complaining about uncomfortable seats, over crowding, and high ticket fares. And that was before Beeching! Anyway, if I worked at a station like the one at Kemble, after seeing the commuters off, and helping a lady load her trunk on board the 9:20 to Cricklade, I’d put the kettle on and browse the day’s papers. A little later I might bring myself to sweep the platform and water the hanging basket- sure it would be hell, but it’s a hardship I’d endure for the good of the community.
There wasn’t much water at the source- I was expecting to see a spring bubbling out of the ground, but I wasn’t disappointed. The tranquillity of the place, the green fields, and the long
shadows cast by the lowering sun, more than made up for the paucity of H2O.
After taking a photo or two of the stone that marks the start, we made our way to the B&B we were staying at, and after a mile or so, we saw water- there was a river in that dried up bed- eventually. It was the first trickles of England’s greatest river; it was the start of “liquid history”.
The pub we went to in the village of Ewen that evening was a disappointment however. It was what is described as a bistro pub, as it served expensive food. That didn’t bother me too much, because it was good food, and we were on holiday. It was when they brought us the bill that I had cause for complaint. They had charged us for an extra drink each. When I informed the bar man there was something wrong with the bill, he immediately said he had put too many drinks on it. The speed at which he registered our complaint makes me think it wasn’t an honest mistake. It takes a lot more than 4 pints for me to miss a trick like that. After that moral victory, I’m sorry to say that I acquiesced to Ed’s insistence, and paid my share of the 10% service charge they had automatically stuck on the bottom of the bill. The fact that they’d tried to rip us off, and charged us 10% for the privilege made me livid I can tell you!!
The fresh air that I inhaled next morning soon made me forget the pain of the previous night. As we headed off on that autumn morning, we decided that as we’d started the Thames Footpath we would do the whole 184miles over a series of weekends. The next instalment is due in January; winter walking is so rewarding, especially as you take a seat next to the fire, scotch in hand, when you reach your destination. Of course a few years ago, I would have spent the night under the Plough, Great Bear, and North Star. These days it’s under a duvet in a cosy B&B.
‘Isn’t this blog about music?’ I hear you ask. Yes it is. The other evening I was listening to Mark Radcliffe on Radio2 (Stuart Maconie was on hol) interview the Irish comedian Jason Byrne. When asked who his influences were, after listing a few regulars such as Dave Allen, and Tommy Cooper, I was surprised to hear him say Mike Harding. Byrne told of an occasion when Harding had strung out a joke the entire length of his half hour show. I must admit- I’m no expert on 1970s comedians, but I did think that back then Harding was busy being a folk musician.
It was “the” Mike Harding for sure, as Mark Radcliffe started waxing lyrical about his folk show on a Wednesday. Wednesday from 7-8 is an awkward time for me to listen to a radio show. It is either band practise- the band that has sent their finest collection of hits to Mike Harding, only to receive a stony silence as way of reply- or cricket. When I say ‘the’ band, I’m sure we’re not the only band that sends CDs to the man, and perhaps he’s working his way through the backlog before discovering ours. Or maybe, like Ringo Starr, he’s stopped writing to fans! He’s been pretty good about not signing memorabilia- Ringo that is. In his press release in early October, he said he wouldn’t be signing anything after the 20th- if it’s post marked after the 20th it will be binned. I really like his quaint generosity, ok, if you were thinking of sending your T-shirt off for him to initial, you’ve missed your chance, but it will take him for ever to sign all correspondence up to that date!
So, through no fault of mine I keep missing what is undeniably an excellent wireless programme. I know it’s good because on the odd occasion, I’m not required for the first 11, and I catch the show; or my lead singer can’t be bothered to do a full session and we hear the last half. Things will change though. There is a new invention called the “internet”, and you can save radio shows off it; Mike Harding’s is one of them. I intend to do this as well as all the other commitments I’ve made.
Oh my God- how will I find the time? I’ve even agreed to run the Edinburgh Marathon with a bloke from work!
Cheers, Mark.
Gig 2 Bob Fox and Stu Luckley at Dartford Folk Club 28th October 2008
Attendance: 120ish
Price: £8
My Location: front row
Record Recommendation: Vigil Ante Man: Woody Gutherie.
Music stripped to its bare bones. It’s a simple tune, but I suppose that’s the way they were written back then. Before I’d heard the original, I heard a cover by Mike Peters, who professes to have been heavily influenced by Gutherie. I’ve been a fan of Peters since my boyhood so I rushed out and bought Dust Bowl Ballads to see who had been inspiring him. A superb purchase it was too, I especially enjoy playing it on while relaxing in the garden and having a beer. I think I will discuss the album in greater depth at some stage of this blog- there’s something to look forward to!
I endured a tough weekend and was suffering the effects even on Tuesday as I went to Dartford. The occasion that had put me so out of sorts was the Twickenham Beer Festival! It’s been having that effect on me, on the weekend that commemorates the passing away of Nelson, for the last 4 years. At one stage in my life, I was not into Folk, and I was not into ale. I don’t know how I managed to weave those phenomena into my life, but their appearances roughly coincided. The beer was first. I used to a bit of voluntary work in my younger days; am taking a bit of time out from it at present- come on, there are only 48hrs in a day!, but I will go back to it in the future. We did manly outdoor work like chopping down trees (dead ones), constructing fences, installing gates, and building the occasional bonfire. When I got home after a hard day I used to enjoy nothing more than opening a bottle of St Peter’s Organic Ale, slowly pouring it into my Stein- I hear disapproving in-takes of breath at that statement, but I don’t care if it’s German, I will continue to drink out of my Stein until the Brits can invent a superior vessel- and supping it in the garden. I also like the real ale scene- any guild that doesn’t shun the bearded,
the un-trendy, the slightly eccentric, and the hat wearers, amongst us, must be a noble one.
Saying all that, there were a number of very attractive young ladies in attendance on Saturday. As it was the last day, and stocks were running low, I only managed a Ramsbury Gold, and a Shere Drop before the casks ran dry. I alleviated my disappointment of missing the Wayland Smithy and England Expects, by indulging in some bottled Crop Circle, and some outrageously strong cider, before visiting a number of local hostelries. What a night! My friend Paul’s return bus ticket indicates we left Twickers at 1.35am.
The next day we sobered ourselves up by going to the Imperial War Museum. It’s a moving experience seeing photos of the horrors of war, and reading peoples accounts of how they’d survived, and it is one museum I would recommend visiting if you can. It certainly puts into perspective the trivialities most of us moan about these days.
Before Paul went back home to Weston- Super- Mare, I suggested another trip to Twickenham- this time to the Folk Club. We were about to go in, when I saw the poster- Bob Fox and Stu Luckley. I couldn’t spoil Tuesday’s event by going, so poor old Paul had to miss them too- I don’t think he cared too much as it meant he could get home earlier.
What happened at the gig? I hear you ask. Well, in case you don’t know, Dartford has been voted Radio 2’s Folk Club of the Year, a fact that Colin, the evening’s compare kept reminding us of- with tongue firmly in cheek, of course. I don’t blame him; it is a prestigious award, and something to be proud of. The Club volunteers were very friendly, and made me feel most welcome. I had a good old chat with Roger who regularly helps out- he’s not a musician he admitted; he’s there to put the chairs out, shift the speakers and tidy the place up. Every club has got a ‘Roger’- someone who’s there in the background getting the un-glamrous tasks done and who is just a great asset to the club.
Also, as the club is hosted by the Working Mens’ Club, Dartford Folk Club boasts great prices. I had a pint and packet of crisps for £2.40. I couldn’t believe it!
The floor spot was taken by violinist/vocalist Ceri Davies. She had come down from Worcester to perform as a special guest, and played four songs with great aplomb. She was very entertaining and the audience certainly warmed to her. Half way through her second instrumental, though, she made the mistake a thousand up and coming performers before her have made, and a thousand others will make in the future- Biggs, the lead singer of the Woodcuts used to do it regularly. She made a small error in a sequence, and grimaced at the fact. You wouldn’t catch me doing that- I don’t make mistakes!! No one in the audience would have noticed if it wasn’t for the pained look that crossed her face! Don’t worry though, I’ve even seen Martyn Joseph, show his frustration in similar fashion. Anyway, Ceri played good trad folk, is off to Uni next year and will be looking for musicians to hook up with. Keep her name in your diaries, phone books, backs of cigarette packets, or where-ever- I’m sure she is a name to look out for.
The start of Bob and Stu’s gig, set the tone for the rest of the evening. With comic timing, Colin announced, as Ceri left the stage in front of him and Bob and Stu entered behind, “it’s great to see some young talent playing in the club”. “Thanks very much” was Stu’s Geordie accented response. The two of them were great entertainers- they could play, and rip a yarn. On more than one occasion I found myself laughing out loud at tale of theirs. The reason they were touring was to celebrate the 30th anniversary of the release of acclaimed ‘Ain’t Nowt Passed So Good’ album. Plus, I suppose, it’s their contribution to the revival of small-venue, top class live entertainment.
It has been many years since they last performed together, but they were certainly well rehearsed. I especially enjoyed Bob Fox who strutted his stuff in the campest of manners, playing his acoustic bass guitar. That was only the second time I’ve seen one on stage (acoustic bass that is)- the previous being played by Craig Adams providing rhythm for a certain Mike Peters. The train-imitating tempo he provided on the Engine Drivers’ song was masterful- I though the 19:27 to Euston would burst through the stage on queue to his measure. Stu wasn’t to be outclassed though, and he played solidly all night, provided the majority of vocals, and to be fair, the majority of gags. I liked the no nonsense approach he has with his kit- he didn’t handle it with kid gloves. Some artists treat their instruments with an over caution that reminds me of that time I held a £150 bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label in World of Whisky.
Well, the night was a great one. My favourite tune was The Thresher, a lament about a doomed nuclear submarine in launched in the ‘60s. The lyrics were particularly poignant especially as we approach the Remembrance Day season. I left with a smile on my face, a warm handshake from Roger, and a Cara Luft flyer. I’m off to see her at The Ironworks in Oswestry on 12 Nov- how far from Feltham is that??
As I type, listen to Start by The Jam, think of all the great bands and venues my Acoustic road trip will take me to, I feel a surge of excitement well over me. Looking forward to seeing you all too.
Until next time, Mark.
I’m aching a bit today. That’s because on Friday and Saturday just gone, my friend Ed and I walked from the source of the Thames to Oxford- over 50 miles, following the Thames Footpath. The source is in a field about a mile and a half from the train station at Kemble in Gloucester. The station was a place, we decided, that would be a good place to work. It had a sort of 1950s feel to it- when trains ran on time, people respected each other, and things were a lot more sturdy than they are these days. Or so we’re lead to believe. I was watching a programme on my new favourite station- BBC4- that showed footage of passengers of that era being interviewed, and they were complaining about uncomfortable seats, over crowding, and high ticket fares. And that was before Beeching! Anyway, if I worked at a station like the one at Kemble, after seeing the commuters off, and helping a lady load her trunk on board the 9:20 to Cricklade, I’d put the kettle on and browse the day’s papers. A little later I might bring myself to sweep the platform and water the hanging basket- sure it would be hell, but it’s a hardship I’d endure for the good of the community.
There wasn’t much water at the source- I was expecting to see a spring bubbling out of the ground, but I wasn’t disappointed. The tranquillity of the place, the green fields, and the long
shadows cast by the lowering sun, more than made up for the paucity of H2O.After taking a photo or two of the stone that marks the start, we made our way to the B&B we were staying at, and after a mile or so, we saw water- there was a river in that dried up bed- eventually. It was the first trickles of England’s greatest river; it was the start of “liquid history”.
The pub we went to in the village of Ewen that evening was a disappointment however. It was what is described as a bistro pub, as it served expensive food. That didn’t bother me too much, because it was good food, and we were on holiday. It was when they brought us the bill that I had cause for complaint. They had charged us for an extra drink each. When I informed the bar man there was something wrong with the bill, he immediately said he had put too many drinks on it. The speed at which he registered our complaint makes me think it wasn’t an honest mistake. It takes a lot more than 4 pints for me to miss a trick like that. After that moral victory, I’m sorry to say that I acquiesced to Ed’s insistence, and paid my share of the 10% service charge they had automatically stuck on the bottom of the bill. The fact that they’d tried to rip us off, and charged us 10% for the privilege made me livid I can tell you!!
The fresh air that I inhaled next morning soon made me forget the pain of the previous night. As we headed off on that autumn morning, we decided that as we’d started the Thames Footpath we would do the whole 184miles over a series of weekends. The next instalment is due in January; winter walking is so rewarding, especially as you take a seat next to the fire, scotch in hand, when you reach your destination. Of course a few years ago, I would have spent the night under the Plough, Great Bear, and North Star. These days it’s under a duvet in a cosy B&B.
‘Isn’t this blog about music?’ I hear you ask. Yes it is. The other evening I was listening to Mark Radcliffe on Radio2 (Stuart Maconie was on hol) interview the Irish comedian Jason Byrne. When asked who his influences were, after listing a few regulars such as Dave Allen, and Tommy Cooper, I was surprised to hear him say Mike Harding. Byrne told of an occasion when Harding had strung out a joke the entire length of his half hour show. I must admit- I’m no expert on 1970s comedians, but I did think that back then Harding was busy being a folk musician.
It was “the” Mike Harding for sure, as Mark Radcliffe started waxing lyrical about his folk show on a Wednesday. Wednesday from 7-8 is an awkward time for me to listen to a radio show. It is either band practise- the band that has sent their finest collection of hits to Mike Harding, only to receive a stony silence as way of reply- or cricket. When I say ‘the’ band, I’m sure we’re not the only band that sends CDs to the man, and perhaps he’s working his way through the backlog before discovering ours. Or maybe, like Ringo Starr, he’s stopped writing to fans! He’s been pretty good about not signing memorabilia- Ringo that is. In his press release in early October, he said he wouldn’t be signing anything after the 20th- if it’s post marked after the 20th it will be binned. I really like his quaint generosity, ok, if you were thinking of sending your T-shirt off for him to initial, you’ve missed your chance, but it will take him for ever to sign all correspondence up to that date!
So, through no fault of mine I keep missing what is undeniably an excellent wireless programme. I know it’s good because on the odd occasion, I’m not required for the first 11, and I catch the show; or my lead singer can’t be bothered to do a full session and we hear the last half. Things will change though. There is a new invention called the “internet”, and you can save radio shows off it; Mike Harding’s is one of them. I intend to do this as well as all the other commitments I’ve made.
Oh my God- how will I find the time? I’ve even agreed to run the Edinburgh Marathon with a bloke from work!
Cheers, Mark.
Gig 2 Bob Fox and Stu Luckley at Dartford Folk Club 28th October 2008
Attendance: 120ish
Price: £8
My Location: front row
Record Recommendation: Vigil Ante Man: Woody Gutherie.
Music stripped to its bare bones. It’s a simple tune, but I suppose that’s the way they were written back then. Before I’d heard the original, I heard a cover by Mike Peters, who professes to have been heavily influenced by Gutherie. I’ve been a fan of Peters since my boyhood so I rushed out and bought Dust Bowl Ballads to see who had been inspiring him. A superb purchase it was too, I especially enjoy playing it on while relaxing in the garden and having a beer. I think I will discuss the album in greater depth at some stage of this blog- there’s something to look forward to!
I endured a tough weekend and was suffering the effects even on Tuesday as I went to Dartford. The occasion that had put me so out of sorts was the Twickenham Beer Festival! It’s been having that effect on me, on the weekend that commemorates the passing away of Nelson, for the last 4 years. At one stage in my life, I was not into Folk, and I was not into ale. I don’t know how I managed to weave those phenomena into my life, but their appearances roughly coincided. The beer was first. I used to a bit of voluntary work in my younger days; am taking a bit of time out from it at present- come on, there are only 48hrs in a day!, but I will go back to it in the future. We did manly outdoor work like chopping down trees (dead ones), constructing fences, installing gates, and building the occasional bonfire. When I got home after a hard day I used to enjoy nothing more than opening a bottle of St Peter’s Organic Ale, slowly pouring it into my Stein- I hear disapproving in-takes of breath at that statement, but I don’t care if it’s German, I will continue to drink out of my Stein until the Brits can invent a superior vessel- and supping it in the garden. I also like the real ale scene- any guild that doesn’t shun the bearded,
the un-trendy, the slightly eccentric, and the hat wearers, amongst us, must be a noble one.Saying all that, there were a number of very attractive young ladies in attendance on Saturday. As it was the last day, and stocks were running low, I only managed a Ramsbury Gold, and a Shere Drop before the casks ran dry. I alleviated my disappointment of missing the Wayland Smithy and England Expects, by indulging in some bottled Crop Circle, and some outrageously strong cider, before visiting a number of local hostelries. What a night! My friend Paul’s return bus ticket indicates we left Twickers at 1.35am.
The next day we sobered ourselves up by going to the Imperial War Museum. It’s a moving experience seeing photos of the horrors of war, and reading peoples accounts of how they’d survived, and it is one museum I would recommend visiting if you can. It certainly puts into perspective the trivialities most of us moan about these days.
Before Paul went back home to Weston- Super- Mare, I suggested another trip to Twickenham- this time to the Folk Club. We were about to go in, when I saw the poster- Bob Fox and Stu Luckley. I couldn’t spoil Tuesday’s event by going, so poor old Paul had to miss them too- I don’t think he cared too much as it meant he could get home earlier.
What happened at the gig? I hear you ask. Well, in case you don’t know, Dartford has been voted Radio 2’s Folk Club of the Year, a fact that Colin, the evening’s compare kept reminding us of- with tongue firmly in cheek, of course. I don’t blame him; it is a prestigious award, and something to be proud of. The Club volunteers were very friendly, and made me feel most welcome. I had a good old chat with Roger who regularly helps out- he’s not a musician he admitted; he’s there to put the chairs out, shift the speakers and tidy the place up. Every club has got a ‘Roger’- someone who’s there in the background getting the un-glamrous tasks done and who is just a great asset to the club.
Also, as the club is hosted by the Working Mens’ Club, Dartford Folk Club boasts great prices. I had a pint and packet of crisps for £2.40. I couldn’t believe it!
The floor spot was taken by violinist/vocalist Ceri Davies. She had come down from Worcester to perform as a special guest, and played four songs with great aplomb. She was very entertaining and the audience certainly warmed to her. Half way through her second instrumental, though, she made the mistake a thousand up and coming performers before her have made, and a thousand others will make in the future- Biggs, the lead singer of the Woodcuts used to do it regularly. She made a small error in a sequence, and grimaced at the fact. You wouldn’t catch me doing that- I don’t make mistakes!! No one in the audience would have noticed if it wasn’t for the pained look that crossed her face! Don’t worry though, I’ve even seen Martyn Joseph, show his frustration in similar fashion. Anyway, Ceri played good trad folk, is off to Uni next year and will be looking for musicians to hook up with. Keep her name in your diaries, phone books, backs of cigarette packets, or where-ever- I’m sure she is a name to look out for.
The start of Bob and Stu’s gig, set the tone for the rest of the evening. With comic timing, Colin announced, as Ceri left the stage in front of him and Bob and Stu entered behind, “it’s great to see some young talent playing in the club”. “Thanks very much” was Stu’s Geordie accented response. The two of them were great entertainers- they could play, and rip a yarn. On more than one occasion I found myself laughing out loud at tale of theirs. The reason they were touring was to celebrate the 30th anniversary of the release of acclaimed ‘Ain’t Nowt Passed So Good’ album. Plus, I suppose, it’s their contribution to the revival of small-venue, top class live entertainment.
It has been many years since they last performed together, but they were certainly well rehearsed. I especially enjoyed Bob Fox who strutted his stuff in the campest of manners, playing his acoustic bass guitar. That was only the second time I’ve seen one on stage (acoustic bass that is)- the previous being played by Craig Adams providing rhythm for a certain Mike Peters. The train-imitating tempo he provided on the Engine Drivers’ song was masterful- I though the 19:27 to Euston would burst through the stage on queue to his measure. Stu wasn’t to be outclassed though, and he played solidly all night, provided the majority of vocals, and to be fair, the majority of gags. I liked the no nonsense approach he has with his kit- he didn’t handle it with kid gloves. Some artists treat their instruments with an over caution that reminds me of that time I held a £150 bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label in World of Whisky.
Well, the night was a great one. My favourite tune was The Thresher, a lament about a doomed nuclear submarine in launched in the ‘60s. The lyrics were particularly poignant especially as we approach the Remembrance Day season. I left with a smile on my face, a warm handshake from Roger, and a Cara Luft flyer. I’m off to see her at The Ironworks in Oswestry on 12 Nov- how far from Feltham is that??
As I type, listen to Start by The Jam, think of all the great bands and venues my Acoustic road trip will take me to, I feel a surge of excitement well over me. Looking forward to seeing you all too.
Until next time, Mark.
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