But there was one loss we did feel keenly, the final nail in the coffin of the year if you like; the cancelation of our Christmas party, and even writing it sounds petty and insignificant. Oh, poor us! We couldn't have a Christmas party! Boo Hoo. Most people couldn't have a Christmas full stop. Anyhow Merry Folking Christmas was canceled and rightly so, as cases even in the buoyant tier 1 of Cornwall begin to rise steeply as the big day approached. It was inevitable, but still it was sad. Over the last 7 years MFC has become part of the festive programme down our neck of the woods and losing it this year felt like losing a slice of Christmas. Almost like tucking into the lunch without any gravy; it felt dry and incomplete. And though the event itself is an enormously stressful process, culminating in a day of high anxiety that I wouldn't wish on anyone - I can with some confidence say it is the most stressful day of the year - and yet I have come to love it. It's like The Accordion Player said in his blog earlier this year; "it's the road we love, not the destination". And it's as though lockdown has made us pine for even the most arduous parts of our job.
But what is it that makes this day the most stressful one of the year? Well perhaps we should take a peek behind the scenes and you can decide for yourselves.
This year we filmed MFC in my living room, it took all day and we only played for 20 minutes. We defiantly experienced that arduous part of our jobs, this time without those stolen minutes where it all clicks. And without the much needed revenue it brings. But it was nice to do and it's been warmly received. If you haven't seen it yet here it is and there's even a virtual tip jar if you're feeling generous ;)
The lead up is stressful enough; committing £500 to the venue to hold the date before we even have assurances we can make it ourselves. Finding a support act isn't easy, certainly finding the right one, and curating the lineup, and over promising what you can deliver is a common theme with us. We talk eagerly of what Christmas songs to play and yet we've never arrived at the venue having ever played them before, let alone learnt them.
The day begins at 9am with myself and drummer driving around on the hunt for some Christmas trees. It takes us to strange places that aren't even sure if they're open or whether they should charge us or thank us for removing their trees. The others arrive by 11am hopefully, but more like midday. Set up takes an hour, easily. Another hour rigging bunting and banners, faffing around with drawing pins and gaffer tape and trying to undo knots from last year when we did things up too tightly. Who's got the scissors? By this point the event has sold out, and not just that, it's over sold out, meaning the guest list has also been sold and we have very angry partners to contend with, some of which are in the building with us cutting thousands of little pieces of paper to make a snow drop, and fixing us with looks that suggest they might carry on and cut our balls off.
This is the first real stress of the day, and it happens every year without fail, we're so concerned with selling out before the event to secure the financial side of it, we always forget to keep back 30 tickets so the people we really want to come can come. Here begins a process of us having to 'magic' tickets from thin air, or calling people and asking if they'd mind donating theirs to our girlfriends. Meanwhile we still haven't even begun to address the Christmas songs yet, which is the whole point of the event, right?
Support acts arrive at their designated times but we're always running over so we ask them to come back later, often stripping them of their +1's in the process so we can recoup back what tickets we can. Lunch time has been and gone without so much as a crumb. The cup of tea The Piano Player made us still hasn't been drunk and it's cold. There's a problem with a wire, there always is, the sound man's desk is at the very top of the auditorium as far away from the stage as possible and he's up and down those stairs all day long, huffing and puffing like he's gonna blow the place down.
The phone rings, someone's asking for tickets. A swig of cold tea. Digging around the lead bag for that missing lead and then tripping over a Christmas tree on the floor or getting tangled up in the bunting and causing the whole lot to fall down. All of this happens throughout the day. People get ratty with each other. Snappy. We send the support act away for the second time and finally remember to eat something at 4pm. A packet of stale biscuits we found in the dressing room. Work on the Christmas songs eventually begins but most of us can't read music so we have to transcribe it in special made up fingerings which is incredibly long winded and time consuming and should have been done the day before.
The DJ arrives and we strip him of his +1. The cold tea has been replaced by beer and the phone keeps ringing with friends asking for tickets. Why can't they fucking buy them? The box office arrive and we argue about the guest list being sold. Then the manager arrives and takes pity on us and 'magics' a few tickets from the air and things finally start falling into place. We offer the DJ back his +1 and apologise. Finally the support act are allowed to soundcheck just as the audience pile in on top of them.
We tuck tail and run, up to mother's house for a brief change of scenery. She's cooked for us and it's the first real food we've eaten since breakfast. We shower, or wash our armpits in the sink and find a shirt to wear before hurrying back down to the venue. We drink beers backstage and try to remember the Christmas songs. The support act finish. The crowd applaud. We take to the stage under the lights, facing a wall of drunken fans, high on Christmas spirit; loud and boisterous. It's not a gig for the delicate subtleties, they want to dance but they also want to talk to each other very loudly, there is always a big sound clash and it's actually quite hard to play. The atmosphere is good though and people are happy and that's the point in many ways. We manage to quieten them down for the finale. Only 3 Christmas songs this year despite promising a whole gig of them. We play carols on horns with audience members holding up the music because we haven't learnt them and we haven't got stands. The songs explode into ska or folk versions and the crowd go wild, especially when the snow drop opens and the air is filled with little pieces of paper fluttering down. And it's these stolen minutes in amongst a day of stress that make it all worth it. When you look around catching eyes with your bandmates in the moment and you realise that this is where you want to be. And nothing else matters. And then it ends, and just like that we're back in the green room talking in husky voices, sweating, drinking ales from the fridge. Smoking in the back alley. By the time we re-emerge there's only 15 minutes left of the DJ but we need that time to unwind, to declutter, to let go of a day's worth of stress. The night takes hold, it takes us where it wants and the morning is always achey, pack down is slow, not many words, just us methodically gathering our bits and clearing the old hall.
Happy new year folks, we'll write again in January with our vows and resolutions. Thanks so much for supporting us and we're desperate to be back doing what we do, so much so we're planning on organising fake gigs so we get to do all those stressful things we miss, we'll keep you posted on that!
2021, here's to hoping
