We are The Old Folk

I've lost count the number of times we've been introduced as The Old Folk, it's become a running joke now, and we've long had plans to dress up and shuffle on stage with a zimmer frame, or push the piano player on in a wheelchair. But we really are getting on now; 8 years is a long time and it's not just realfuckinglife that's slowing us down, it's our body's too. The bass player has just recovered from a major shoulder operation and now the piano player is about to have hip surgery. And that's not artistic license, that's the truth! The drummer phoned me the other day to say he was selling his motorbike cause it's wrecking havoc with the arthritis in his fingers. And the others; despite running a gardening company the guitar player has long suffered with tendonitis in his left knee and the accordion player, his erstwhile replacement, he's got a bad back and he's the only one of us under 30, not yet over the hill. In June we will have fathered 7 children between us and brokered 4 mortgages! Looking back we seemed so young and naive; me and the guitar player had just turned 27, we were carefree and single; pre children and debt, in the innocent spring or our lives; young enough to make mistakes, or change our minds. The piano player was barely 22, living at home with his mum, no income, yet to hold down a job. The bass player at 23, fresh out of university, blissfully unaware that in two years his life would change forever when he agreed to dep at our album launch; he's only missed 4 gigs since. Even the drummer was youngish back then, well mid 30's, my age now, which is actually feeling rather old. The accordion player was still a teenager! 200 gigs later, we're all a bit jaded, worn down by misadventure, weathered by the storm.

Morgan, Shelley and Oscar discussing their 20th album

Usually in January I write a detailed account of the year that was, some of you love this I know, others think it's a tired attempt at a blog, regurgitating 12 months of chapters and condensing them into one. You'd much rather we talked about the year ahead or the piano player's latest misdemeanour. My grandfather, the author Denys Val Baker, was criticised for exactly this towards the end of his life. He'd publish whole books full of material from previous releases. It was a sentimental but unimaginative approach; perhaps because of age, because of pining for the good old days. It was his way of dealing with growing old, to surround himself with memories of his youth. And perhaps we do the same. It's hard to think of the year ahead, easier to remember the one that's been. Forever nostalgic aren't we? Always looking back. Scared of the future. Scared of another year. 7 children seems like a lot to carry.

I thought I'd try something different this year; I won't stick to type and write a paragraph on every month, list the gigs in bold, count them up and clap ourselves on the back. Instead i'll write a single entry on what was our 8th year and then I promise I'll talk about the future and the time the piano player went to the gym in a pair of steel toe cap boots and overalls.

2018... The bass player moved to Berlin, that lasted 6 weeks. The piano player tried to move to Berlin and ended up in Portugal and then fell in love. The band toured, our biggest one yet, in the crisp month of march, 3000 km in a broken van; 10 gigs in 10 days, home with a profit. We stopped. We recuperate. Didn't play again till June; Fire in the Mountain festival, main stage. Took the family. Spent the weekend in the sauna, mmmm.. St. Just Town Hall was a strange one, dressed up as cowboys, hmmm..? Opening Golowan Festival was an honour, we had a bigger crowd than The Herbalizer! Ale and Anchor in Mousehole for the 6th year in a row. Standard. Port Eliot again, that was nice, despite the rain. Then we discovered Lott Festival; back to Germany for the best weekend of our lives. We played a wedding in Cornwall; that was the best weekend of the couples lives... hopefully!? Open air in Penlee Park was special, as was playing in the woods at Kerris. And The Mexico Inn, well that was as rowdy as ever. Merry Folking Christmas sold out a week in advance, beyond capacity with a waiting list of 95. It was a year of travel, adventure, a year of change. The year of the wags, someone said. "You're all shacked up!". It was 24 gigs. Shall we clap ourselves on the back now! Boy's done good. 

And now, as promised, I guess it's time to talk about the future. Talk it up a bit. The year ahead. 2019. I don't know why I find it so hard, and I wonder if my fellows furrow their brows as much as I? January is a strange one; famous for it's optimism and resolution but universally considered the most depressing month. You would think talking up the future is as a good a tonic as anything to combat the blues but it's hard to find your voice, almost like you haven't quite woken up yet. In truth I have no idea what we are doing, whether we'll play 24 gigs or 5 and predicting the future is a fools game. But here goes... we're still haggling over our Brexit Tour, a little like the government; we can't quite get the right deal. A couple of venues have let us down and we're not quite over the line with it... yet! But the will is there, so we'll find the way. For the record, The Odd Folk think leaving the EU is lunacy. We're better together. And after that? The third and some say, final, album is due this year, which means it should be released in 2020, just in time for our decade. It's not that scary really. The future. You just need to get your head in the right place. Hope for the best, expect the worst, and take what you're given. Oh wait, I forgot about the 7 children and the hip surgery and the arthritic fingers. 

We are The Old Folk ;)