Monday, June 25, 2007
Mmmm, Kelly Ball? Parklife? What exactly is our target audience?
If we are going to be taken seriously on the cabaret circuit (that comes before the cabaret scene and after the cabaret happening) we have got to get an identity. If I could only get into the Breadhead spreadsheet I would propose some natty shirts like these crazy rock stallions.
Friday, June 22, 2007
BAND ALERT
CAUTION..........
Advance Warning.....Saturday 30 June
BFG Rules apply
Horlicks roadie may be required after show
St John's Ambulance standing by with duvet & pillows
Advance Warning.....Saturday 30 June
BFG Rules apply
Horlicks roadie may be required after show
St John's Ambulance standing by with duvet & pillows
15 minutes of flame
Those 15 minutes have been bothering me, really bothering me, to the point of losing some sleep actually and I just had to write it all down.
It’s my role, my position in life, to be the grumpy bastard – particularly during the de-rig - and I think I surpassed myself last Saturday, so apologies. But honestly who thinks that a tinny and distorted Fisher Price disco pumping out Mika and Kelly Clarkson at a level that could shatter the face of a quarry, in an empty and gloomy barn, is any kind of environment for a rock musician to be de-rigging in? Also, and I don’t know if I failed to mention this at the time, I had a bad back.
So here is how I saw it. Yes one of the good old boys was baying for more, that’s a good thing and we are pleased about that. Yes, it’s possibly true that he had a flat bed pickup truck full of like minded buddies who would think nothing of throwing us into a bailing machine, trussing us up in twine and suspending us above a slurry pit – just to emphasise how much they really wanted us to play some more. So I agree, there was a bit of pressure. Yes, I also agree that in all honesty the set only got going for the last 4 numbers, so in reality the audience only got 20 minutes. But please, really, come on, if we had fired up again to do another 15 minutes, what the hell would it have been like?
Here was the scenario:
A moshing crowd of 6 year olds and 40 year olds, sweat pouring as they “Dosado” and “Pass Through” to the strains of Achey Brakey (did we really do that again?). Pete did his last “That’s it, we’re done, you’ve been great, thanks for coming etc” and the audience vaporised like a bale of hay on a bonfire. In truth that was it, we were done, there was no more, we had nil left in the bank. Unusually we had stuck to the set list, not dropped a thing, had nowhere to go other than Brown Eyed Girl and some long forgotten reggae numbers.
We jumped off the farm truck, almost instantaneously (with shades of Juan) the Fisher Price disco was set to Ear Bleed and the whole congregation was forced onto the farm yard to seek escape. 10 minutes passed before a local good ol’ boy arrived (he was in his early 30’s and slightly menacing). “Get back on that stage and play some more”, he growled. Steve had already had this treatment but had deflected skilfully. Pete, on the other hand, is not strong on deflective.
I started to dismantle, the cables were out, I couldn’t see a damn thing but I had the feeling that once those cables had been pulled the party was over and I could escape. Pete returned, more pumped, not just wanting this 15 minute set extension but really needing it, it was his all consuming wish, he’d been drinking the local moonshine or something because he really so much wanted to climb back up there and play some Bob Marley. I started to simmer a bit, the grumpy washed through me, the lights failed, the Spice Girls screamed at full pelt through the Fisher Price. I rebuked the proposal, I rejected the idea, I was a blank wall of non-consent. I think, if I’m honest, I was a bit rude. Ouch, oooh, sorry, perhaps it all came out a bit too strong?
Pete – I didn’t mean dampen your enthusiasm, but I was thinking of everyone. Frankly that last 15 minutes would have been an unmitigated disaster. In the cold wet light of mid Summer, 2 weeks before the big one, aren’t we all glad we didn’t do it?
It’s my role, my position in life, to be the grumpy bastard – particularly during the de-rig - and I think I surpassed myself last Saturday, so apologies. But honestly who thinks that a tinny and distorted Fisher Price disco pumping out Mika and Kelly Clarkson at a level that could shatter the face of a quarry, in an empty and gloomy barn, is any kind of environment for a rock musician to be de-rigging in? Also, and I don’t know if I failed to mention this at the time, I had a bad back.
So here is how I saw it. Yes one of the good old boys was baying for more, that’s a good thing and we are pleased about that. Yes, it’s possibly true that he had a flat bed pickup truck full of like minded buddies who would think nothing of throwing us into a bailing machine, trussing us up in twine and suspending us above a slurry pit – just to emphasise how much they really wanted us to play some more. So I agree, there was a bit of pressure. Yes, I also agree that in all honesty the set only got going for the last 4 numbers, so in reality the audience only got 20 minutes. But please, really, come on, if we had fired up again to do another 15 minutes, what the hell would it have been like?
Here was the scenario:
A moshing crowd of 6 year olds and 40 year olds, sweat pouring as they “Dosado” and “Pass Through” to the strains of Achey Brakey (did we really do that again?). Pete did his last “That’s it, we’re done, you’ve been great, thanks for coming etc” and the audience vaporised like a bale of hay on a bonfire. In truth that was it, we were done, there was no more, we had nil left in the bank. Unusually we had stuck to the set list, not dropped a thing, had nowhere to go other than Brown Eyed Girl and some long forgotten reggae numbers.
We jumped off the farm truck, almost instantaneously (with shades of Juan) the Fisher Price disco was set to Ear Bleed and the whole congregation was forced onto the farm yard to seek escape. 10 minutes passed before a local good ol’ boy arrived (he was in his early 30’s and slightly menacing). “Get back on that stage and play some more”, he growled. Steve had already had this treatment but had deflected skilfully. Pete, on the other hand, is not strong on deflective.
I started to dismantle, the cables were out, I couldn’t see a damn thing but I had the feeling that once those cables had been pulled the party was over and I could escape. Pete returned, more pumped, not just wanting this 15 minute set extension but really needing it, it was his all consuming wish, he’d been drinking the local moonshine or something because he really so much wanted to climb back up there and play some Bob Marley. I started to simmer a bit, the grumpy washed through me, the lights failed, the Spice Girls screamed at full pelt through the Fisher Price. I rebuked the proposal, I rejected the idea, I was a blank wall of non-consent. I think, if I’m honest, I was a bit rude. Ouch, oooh, sorry, perhaps it all came out a bit too strong?
Pete – I didn’t mean dampen your enthusiasm, but I was thinking of everyone. Frankly that last 15 minutes would have been an unmitigated disaster. In the cold wet light of mid Summer, 2 weeks before the big one, aren’t we all glad we didn’t do it?
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