Siberia

Siberia..

We're in limbo.. We touched briefly on this in the last chapter, how we were in a state of flux, with our drummer all but departed and dear old Sammy Brookes becoming a father, we are light on numbers and the future is somewhat unknown. We're in Limbo.. Oblivion.. Left Field.. Out there.. Siberia.. these are some of words in my little thesaurus and I must say Siberia has tickled me the most. We are in Siberia! I should have opened the blog like that, that would have hooked you! 

You may have noticed the ever changing and diminishing lineup over the summer. Firstly the guitar player was replaced by Louis Gulliver King, (he slid in with many a fine performance and his use of accordion and more recently trombone have softened the blow of losing the finger picking dexterity of our lead player.) then the drummer was replaced by my feet, and then finally Louis Gulliver King was replaced by nobody. He played one final gig with us at Sea, Salts and Sail Festival, to a packed Mousehole harbour, before announcing that he's joining a theatre company for 10 months. So our quintet has quickly become a trio. Myself, the piano player and the bass player, were scratching our heads wondering how we were going to play the upcoming gigs with so much missing. "Does that mean I get loads more solos!?" chanced the piano player, wiping his dirty hands on his paint overalls. We groaned in unison, trying to explain that less is more. We need to fill the spaces with subtly not excess. Tentatively we took to the stage at Lafrowda Festival the next weekend and played our first gig as a trio. A huge audience had formed and all danced and whooped as much as always. "That sounded amazing!" said one fan. "Best I've heard you!" said another. "You guys, you're too kind!" I replied. 

fans at Lafrowda

Were they being nice or had it really been all that. For a start I was sitting still reverse kicking a box drum, the bass player, surely finds it harder without the kit. The piano player, trying his best to appease us, while secretly slipping in extra grace notes, well he's probably happy. I wasn't convinced. For a sit down Arts Centre gig maybe but 200 drunk Cornishman?

The next week the Siberian wilderness continued. Stick or twist? We had organised a big finale; A farewell to arms, at The Acorn on September 10th, welcoming back the drummer and guitar player and with an awesome support act in tow, it was going to be big leaving party, the start of hibernation, certainly for the winter, it's pretty cold in Siberia! Although, after we played a packed Coyote Moon stage at WOMAD festival and performed live on BBC Radio 3, once again as a timid trio, our head's were turning. And then again at The Knut in St. Just, an unplugged performance to an over capacity crowd, the biggest they'd ever had, and it was a Tuesday night! With fans crammed in like sardines, with pin-drop moments and raucous laughter, our ears were definately bending. Could we really walk away? Could we really hunker down all winter and further into a brave new year? The answer is YES... And NO. Which is nowhere really. Limbo. Oblivion. Siberia.

YES; we need a break, we can't continue driving around the country to London and Leek and Luton. We can't take all opportunities offered. We can't afford to keep bringing our music all over the country for the price of a tank of fuel and an amber ale; scant reward for a days work! Plus without the guitar player and drummer onboard I don't know if I want to. But also NO! The call is a strong one, we're musicians, we love performing and we love this band. Certain opportunities do arise; like a week's walking in The Lake District punctuated with live performances at snug alehouses, working holidays we call it. Where a tank of fuel and free lodgings and some pocket money is fair trade for wandering around Wainwright country. A gig in Southampton? No sorry. A return to the Isles of Scilly? Yes please! A gig in Plymouth. Really!? A return to Europe next spring? Now were talking! You see, we need to be realistic. As much as we'd love to bring our music all over the place and play for all the people, we can't physically do it. Time is money. And there isn't any money. And come to think of it, precious little time. If there is a chance to visit a special place, a unique opportunity, I think we'll take it. But driving to Luton in October, no disrespect to the people of Luton, but I'd rather do the weekly shop and get on top of the washing up!

So, it is A farewell to arms. Certainly in Cornwall. Certainly for the winter. Just to recharge the batteries. Just to reflect on a wild ride these last 6 years. Let the memories sink in. Before we meet again, sometime in the Easter months, when the weather's sprung. We'll have had a little think about where we want to take this band, and who can take it there. And we will be back. A Europe tour of 2017 is a definate. Other than that, we'll see what interesting openings arise.

Perhaps Siberia?

The title's gone bright blue?

I don't know why it's gone bright blue, Blogger can be an infuriating tool at the best of times. I was going to call this one Babies/Gigs/Jobs/Horizons which has a much nicer ring, don't you think!

BABIES 

Yo everyone, just to let you know, we've had an amazing baby girl!' came the text to all close friends and family. The guitar player had become a father. The 'baby girl' has remained nameless to this day, indeed it's been rather difficult obtaining any further updates. His phone is off. I daren't call his missus. Not because I'm scared of her, but knowing me it would ring at an inappropriate time, like breast feeding, or nappy changing, or sleeping. And seeing as all newborn's do is eat, sleep and poop, I rest my case. So, a father he is. Like me. And the drummer. We now outnumber the other two offspring-less band mates 3-2. But unlike the drummer and I, he has produced a girl. A gentlewoman. A mademoiselle. A princess or a tomboy, only time will tell. My son bangs the drums, and the drummer's boy, well you guessed it! Next generation OddFolk will line up with two drummers and a girl without a name. The future's bright. 

GIGS
We returned to Don't Wake The Fish for the 5th consecutive year. We smashed it. Original lineup; welcoming back the finger picking dexterity of the guitar player. We performed to a packed tent of fans and the atmosphere was up there with the best we've had. We reveled long into the shoulder of the night. In the eerie mists that cloaked the Zennor Moors, we sipped fine Antuigan rum with old friends and new fans.
 

The following weekend we traveled up to Dorset and Gloucestershire with a completely new lineup. The guitar player was replaced by Louis Gulliver King and the drummer was replaced by my feet. And it worked surprisingly well. Not my preferred formation I must say, but for an Arts Centre it worked a treat. We sat back, more acoustic, keeping in time with the cajon kick, while Louis Gulliver King played the cymbol and the accordion at the same time. And the accordion does add something different. A new tone. A little lift. The drone of the bass notes and the high squeeze of the right hand as it dances on the keys. Louis is a great addition to our band, playing his 7th gig with us now, and he will be used more as the guitar players learns his trade with a newborn. So the above weekend; or rather 2 gigs in a day, 600 miles travelled, 10 ales, 4 pizzas, 12 hours on the road. The glamour of life in a band. We played at a festival in the afternoon, somewhere in the pretty green fringe of Dorset. We played outside a huge stately home. Our audience made up of wild children and hung-over parents lulling on the perfect lawns. We packed up, excused ourselves and drove north forgetting two boxes of CD's with a resale value of £600. Bad form. That night in Wooton-under-edge; a quaint Gloucestershire town; we played a sit down, atmospheric gig to a very attentive audience. We soared. Pin drop moments and swelling chorus'. We bought some fans to tears with a particularly moving rendition of Plastic Trees which one lady said was "the most beautiful song ever written!". We sold the remaining box of CD's, packed up and drove 300 miles home again.

JOBS

Since May I have been performing in a play all over the place. A different town each night. I haven't had a day off in 6 weeks and won't till we wrap in July.
The bass player has moved back down to Cornwall, quitting his job in the capitol. This is pretty big news and as I type this it seems almost insulting to refer it it in a passing comment. It could well command its own blog! How does one turn his back on a great job (for which he's won an award) and return to the end of the land and build a garden shed!? Catchy title don't you think!
The piano player, as you know, also moved back to Cornwall, quitting his job as a paintball seller. He now cleans seagull shit off the walls under the guise of a painter and decorator. I saw him the other day, dressed in white dungarees  with an apron and a flat cap on. he looked like a cross between Mario and Luigi!
The guitar player, apart from becoming a father, is still running his gardening company, and building his house. Two incredibly grown up things I must say.
And that leaves the drummer, who as stated in the last blog, is parting company with The Odd Folk in September. Although, after some positive talks he has agreed to come and play some futures gigs with us. 

HORIZONS
You may all be wondering what's in store for the future, without a drummer and with an increasingly absent guitar player. It's something that's tickled us too. Stick or twist. Had it not been for the success of our recent adventures in Dorset and Gloucestershire, and the positive talks we had with our departing drummer we may well have called time on a career stretching 6 years and 120 gigs. Louis Gulliver King has helped to smooth over the cracks. He has made smaller, more intimate Art's Centre's a realistic option. And we'll have to secure the drummer for the bigger and bolder ones. It's become apparent that the summer of 2014 can not be repeated, where we played 31 gigs which is exactly 60% of all the weekend's available to us that year! That was as close to burn out as we've been. Which is kinda cute. Some bands spend years on the road, rarely going home. But then they don't have babies and business's and houses to build and full time jobs and needy girlfriends. We know our limitations. As much as we'd like it to, this band will never be able to pay us a decent wage, we will always seek income from other avenues. There is no money in this game. It must remain a hobby. And so.. we'll pick and choose what to do and where to play and in what formation. I know another tour of Europe is on the cards next spring. Opportunities will arise. We're never short of them. It's them that are short on cash! 

 

This summer? Sea, Salts and Sail Festival. Lafrowda Festival. Little Orchard. Shambala. In September we team up with The Peoples String Foundation for an end of summer party at The Acorn. In October it's Acoustic Haven, Chapel Arts and Prima.

That's enough to be getting on with for now. We're all rather busy building garden shed's and trying to name our daughters!

PS; apparently the title hasn't gone bright blue on all mediums, you may be lucky!

Ode to the drummer.

Andy Watson

It's almost time to say goodbye. 3 more gigs and Andy Watson will leave The Odd Folk after 3 sterling years and some 60 performances. And we wish him well. He's become a firm friend. But how did this bizarre love affair even begin? How did this uneven marriage ever come to fruition? Him; the punctual professional with a CV as long as your leg, with top of the range equipment, suitable vehicle, rehearsal space in his house and a network of industry greats to call upon as friends. And us; the ramshackle rapscallions from Penzance who are more suited to an old barn than an arts centre, with a "reputation for disorganisation that preceeds them!", living 100's of miles apart and operating out of 2 old hatchbacks. But then opposites do attract. 

By the close of 2012, with a our debut album The Sweet Release flying off the shelves and the song Summertime Blues a permanent fixture on Radio Cornwall, it became apparent we needed to expand. We'd outgrown the trio format, often turning to the bass player for bigger gigs, but now we were on the search for a drummer too. In early 2013 we posted an add on Gumtree, received a wealth of interest from various beaters, met a few of them, invited one chap to join the band before even playing with him, then sacked him after the first rehearsal! We met a Spanish dude who couldn't speak English, a drum teacher with no rhythm and a percussionist who insisted we also hire his brother on bass! In amongst the many responses was an email from a chap named Andy Watson, included was a decent CV and a nice cheery message. He, along with countless others, was ignored. We'd grown disillusioned with meeting new people, what with the language barrier and the nepotism, and had instead coaxed our friend Frazer Young out of retirement. Frazer was a great percussionist and he played three good gigs with us over that spring period and for a time it seemed this would be a lasting relationship. We thought we could cope with him living in London, not having a car or even a drumkit; in those heady days, we thought we could cope with anything! But we couldn't, and the bloom finally fell off the rose. We re-opened the add with haste, 'must have a drumkit!' we wrote, and then, 'and a car!' and then, 'and live in Bristol!'. 

Responses trickled in, some new faces; a chap who was traveling in Central America all summer, and then Jim who had 5 drumkits and 4 children! Once again there was a message from the very same Andy Watson. This time I replied. Asking him how old he was, for with a CV like that, he appeared to have been there and done it all. He was 37. Not bad. A few more sporadic emails trying to arrange a meeting and it fizzled out once again, we'd began trialing a stomp box and saw out the summer back as a quartet! But in September we signed with an agent and had our first tour scheduled that was to be captured in our debut film How NOT to be in a Band. With days to spare we finally met Andy Watson. We knew in a matter of minutes he was the perfect fit, a tidy drummer, steady as an ox, who played exactly what the song needed. He had a car, could drive, lived nearby, had contacts in the industry and knew our agent personally. He was keen to get involved in the running of the band. He was an absolute steal. We signed him up immediately, taught him 15 songs in an afternoon and then stuck him in front of a camera. No pressure. He slotted in perfectly. Unfazed by the ramshackle approach. Invited on the most bizarre tour he's ever done and I doubt he'll ever do again. Travelling 400 miles in a 30 year old renault 4 with a piano strapped to the roof rack for a succession of unconventional gigs. He spent his first night with The Odd Folk camping on the Peak District. Next he was introduced to our London fans, our Bristol fans and finally dragged home to Cornwall to meet the family. He passed every test he faced. He is Mr. Dependable. Mr. Meticulous. Never late. Never lazy. As an outsider in a close-knit brood, it can't have been easy. The only non-Cornish, the only "furriner". But he hasn't shied away. He's got involved. Got his hands dirty. Tested himself. He's not only our friend, he's a friend to many of you now. Whether in Bottallack or Bristol or Belgium. And that will continue. It's not the end of our story with Andy Watson. Just the end of this chapter.
 

Andy Watson: Sept 2013 - Sept 2016

I remember... you being being chased by a bull in the Forest of Dean. Arriving in Penzance on a motorcycle. Storing all our gear under your caravan at Boomtown. The first to every gig and the last to leave. The tetris master. The tweeter. Tidy. Together. To the point. I remember the conveyor belt of grolsh in Raamsdonk. All the admin hours. All the trink ales. Steve Tilston. Merry Folking Christmas. Don't Wake The Fish. We've done some pretty big gigs, in amongst all the outlandish ones; like the dance studio in Apeldoorn, or playing in a puddle on Pirate Day! I remember Berlin, and all the tours. Writing itineraries, even though only me and you read them. I remember recording the album, we had eye contact all the way through the track Home; completely in the zone, end of the day with tired eyes, but we got it. Smashed it. All the meals you cooked. All the cheeky post show cigarettes. I remember your gig shirt. And your new gig shirt. Folding all the odd folk t-shirts. Playing postman pat in the old renault. The time you tired to leave the band and I talked you round. The time you broke down on the way to Wild Tribe Festival. I remember the beats. The cymbol master. Mr. Atmosphere. I remember the tears in Stormy Weather during our rehearsal weekend. I've never seen anyone so involved in a song as you, hunched over the drums like a man in a storm. Like the old man and the sea. I remember The Bake Off! The hotdogs were gorgeous;) I remember the Scillies, the Sawmills, swimming with phosphorescence. I remember Shambala. Ghost stories in Tintern Abbey and Andy Bell. I remember the Fiddlers, the Fleece, film premieres, football matches, tom foolery. I remember every gig, all 60 of them, even the three we haven't done yet. Over 80 hours of live performances in 5 countries, immortalized in 40 blogs and read by 7000 people across 5 continents. I'm glad you persevered with us, we wouldn't be here today without you. It's been a wild ride old boy. Here's to pastures new.

"Raise your glass to the sky, wave your old life goodbye"
  
Always xx