The week that was.

It's 8.30am and the alarm is angry! Wake up, wake up it shouts. Get in the car and drive 9 hours to Cornwall and then play a gig! What? You've only had 2 hours sleep? That's not my problem! You should manage your time better. Now wake up! I fall out of bed, rub my eyes in disbelief, contemplating the journey ahead. Luckily it's Sunday and the road's will be quiet, but that's the only cushion I can find, the rest looks bleak; grey roads, drizzle, and a day's work of driving ahead. I pull out of North East Norfolk and set sail for South West Cornwall, some 450 miles in the opposite axis in a 30 year old car with 4 gears and a max speed of 60! God knows how I make it. Two little half hour sleep stops, a pint of Lucozade and the window wide open blowing cold drizzle into my face! I pull up, meet the rest of the band who've had a lovely day lolling around in the sun drinking ale, and together we take to the stage and set up for the nights entertainment. Despite having had his instrument with him all day, the piano player only just realises he hasn't got his leads and for a while he's surplus to requirements. We plough on with a soundcheck while he sends his dad skidding off to collect them and just as we're about to open he's back and the piano player's spared his blushes. Some 400 people cram into the marquee at this festival to see us, and it's up there as our biggest crowd and one of the best gigs in a long time. Loading the van after a storming set we become aware of a following of teenage girls loitering nearby, giggling and goading

"Hi, my name's Kayleigh Jane!"

each other. One approaches tentatively and introduces herself as none other than Kayleigh Jane (track 9 on the first album!) "That's your actual name!?" I ask. "Uh huh." comes the timid reply. "Well that's incredible! Where have you been all our life!?"                    "I dunno!" She giggles and slopes off. I turn to the guitar player as he lugs the final amp into the van, "Isn't that amazing Sammy!?" I say
"What's amazing is having screaming young girls throwing their knickers at us!" he winks "We must have made it!"

Well she was hardly throwing her knickers at us, and she was very nice about the whole thing. Her namesake, Kayleigh Jane, is a wild and ruthless temptress who sends the townsfolk mad and ends up getting hung from the gallows. Hardly a nice comparison. She really couldn't have been more different. Maybe she didn't hear the lyrics!

The next morning, I was back at the site and taking the flags down when I noticed the piano player's keyboard had gone. Now I'd deliberately left it behind in the hope that it would get stolen and he'd buy a new one; a smaller one, a lighter one, and one with the variety of sounds that he so requires. Either that or his dad had hauled it into his little hatchback at the expense of his wife while she was left to walk the 12 miles home! I reckon if he was going to persevere with his current keyboard he should put some wheels on it and learn to ride it,

Measuring his keyboard...

get a long stick and use it as a punt as he sails home from gigs. If he perched on the outer rim he could even learn to play it while on the move. There's got to be a buck in that! He could wave goodbye to paintball sales and instead be a mobile busker, earning a hat full of loose change as he rolled down the high street. He might have a problem when it rains though, but there's always a brolly, or a even a small tarp propped up with his keyboard stand and tied down with his leads! There we go, a use for all things. No way to leave anything behind if it's all got a purpose! ;-)

The next few days were quieter, we retreated back into our shells, each to their own; the guitar player busying himself with his new business, the bass player back to production, adding sound effects to the nations favorite shows. The drummer, heaving another sack of flour from his windmill, while the piano player tries to attach his skateboard wheels onto his keyboard in preparation for his long punt to London where we have a weekend of gigs.

I set off at 11am on the Friday, after a good night's sleep and leaving 10 hours for a 5 hour journey, feeling confident I'd managed my time better. Wrong. I sailed into a sea of traffic and despite my best efforts to find alternative roads, all routes were clogged. I arrived in Bristol at 5pm. 4 hours late to meet the band who'd sat around at HQ waiting in the sun. A quick turnaround; we loaded the gear into the van, took our seats and headed straight off without so much as a stretch of legs. The piano player gave me a banana, the only food to I'd eaten since I'd finished my apple and pack of mini-cheddars at midday. Another traffic jam on the M4 meant we were in danger of missing the gig altogether. Where was the piano player's mobile keyboard car, that would swerve through these jams in no time!? He couldn't have fixed the wheels on after all. Shame. The traffic cleared and we made some progress, arriving in London 24 minutes before our gig, just enough time to unpack. It was a dismal affair, under-promoted, under-attended and underpaid, which meant we'd driven 10 hours for a 25 minute gig and no money. True to form!

The next night's gig was the polar opposite; back in The Gladstone Arms under the care of Rory Clare in his well attended music venue, with excellent sound, a bag of money, free ale and a Pieminister Pie with mash and gravy. It's so often the case with us, good gig, bad gig, good gig, bad gig,
a tongue twister of

mismanagement we are. We sunk a few ales outside, swapping tales with friends and fans, the rattle of laughter, the clink of glasses, this is what it was all about. Good times. The bass player sloped up, "just been talking to a promoter from Scotland, said she could organize a tour up there where we'd travel around on a double decker bus that opens up into a stage!" I could feel another film coming on, the 5 of us tackling the wild's of the highlands.
 
The drummer and I returned the next day to collect the gear, one by one the instruments nuzzled into their positions in the van before we stepped in one last time and bid farewell to Rory. It was lucky we did, as we noticed the piano players lead's slumped in a dark corner of the stage, completely forgotten. He must not have needed the tarp today I thought, must be expecting fine weather! ;-)

I contemplated leaving them there as a lesson, but conceded it would harm us in the long term. And his poor Dad, sent up to London to collect them while we next soundcheck!




 

We're all going on a... PR Campaign

So it's been a while. The longest absence between posts since we began tapping away our journeys on this medium. A large part of this prolonged silence is due to my being away in Norfolk doing a play and having very little time. The other reason is that nothing much has been happening. We've been spread all over the country and contact has been sparse. We've been letting 'life' get in the way of music. The guitarist has quit his job and started a landscape gardening company while the drummer's been off gallivanting in Holland at the Cajon/Zydeco festivals. The bass player's still tinkering with the sound effects on the nations TV shows, and the piano player... I actually don't know where's he's been? Pushing paintballs; that's a given. Sleeping through his alarm and missing his recording session the other day too; tut tut!

Nothing much has been happening music-wise, apart from the continuing delays of the album. With the producer being so sought after and busy, progress has been slow; he's been off at award ceremonies, mixing sound for Bellowhead and working out in Hong Kong! But now, finally, things are starting to trickle in. Mixes are coming back to us. Or should be coming back to us! The summer's activities are beginning to fill out. Very soon we'll be thrust straight back into the deep end with an eager fan base wanting to hear all this new material and us not having had a second to practice it. I finish this play, sleep a little and then drive 8 hours in the old Rennalt 4 from Norfolk to Zennor, as we once again take to the stage at Don'k Wake The Fish on sunday 24th! Our 4th consecutive appearance at this lovely little Cornish ale festival. We may try a couple of new songs but it could be risky, we don't want the first time you hear them to be slapdash. You might not buy the album!

After that we have our big weekend in London, with gigs at The Underbelly and The Gladstone (29th & 30th). More new songs will be trialled, especially at the more intimate setting of the famous old Gladstone.

We take a wee break for June before 4 giggles in July (including the unofficial album launch!) and another 3 in August (including returning to Shambala Festival!) and the release of our second film, How to be in a Band.

September see's the official album launch and a PR campaign to promote it plus another trans-channel voyage to Holland and Belgium.

That's the summer season for now. Hopefully we're nearby to most of you. Apart from the Americans and our one fan in Dominica.
Next year darlings!;-)

A Public Relations campaign hey!
Who'd have thought it!?
Us rapscallions; a queer and quirky quartet from Quornwall! Together with our 5th import, our drummer from the bearded and beer-bellied north. Together we have been as "ramshackle" and "slapdash" as is possible; "with a reputation for disorganisation that proceeds us!". We've toured up and down the country in a "woefully inadequate vehicle!" forgetting instruments and directions. Turned up to gigs late. Been in trouble with the Scottish police for carrying weapons on the train. Choosing to live 100's of miles apart, spread across the stretch of southern England, while trying to run a band on a shoestring. We've changed venues at the last minute, been chased by angry bulls and found ourselves unceremoniously dumped on the BBC cutting-room floor. And yet, we're held in fond regard, followed by 1000's and have been self-funded by our fans. And now, we're embarking on a public relations campaign, forking out some, as yet, unfound money to a man/woman who will promote us, prettify us and professionalise us! Us, with the scruffy hats and dodgy velvet jackets, the keyboards stuffed in snowboard cases and propped up on ironing boards. Us, the band who forget to bring CD's to gigs and even when we do, forget to sell them. The band who travel in 3 cars even though we fit in one. We're off into a world of targets and plans, even though we've never had a target audience or indeed a plan. We just wanna "make people smile and bounce!" 

Anyhow, how about that? How ironic! If indeed it is? 

Nobody knows what ironic means since Alanis Morissette's song, ironic.

Rose-tinted glasses.

We played our first £12 gig the other night, every band needs a £12 gig, it's a real indication of the progress you've made! The guitar player and I, hot and sweaty from playing to a near full house at The Fleece in Bristol, climbed the old black stairs behind the bar and knocked on the manager's door.

"Hi, we're going to slip off now but thanks for the gig!"
"You guys were great, well done! Let me sort you out some cash, follow me!"

We followed him to the box office, weaving in and out of the crowds as Sheelanagig started up and the place erupted. The manager scanned the door-list, did a quick bit of arithmetic, plunged his hand into the kitty and handed over £12. "There you go boys, really well done, we'll get you a main slot here next!" he said and vanished back into the space. We stood for a moment stunned and then began to smile, and then began to laugh. 
"This band never ceases to amaze me!" said the guitar player as he carefully folded the two crisp fivers and jingled the four 50 pence pieces. 
"That £2.40 each! Almost enough for a pint 10 years ago!" 

That's where we are now; 'you are you're last gig' as they say, and it's a pretty clear reflection in truth, playing to large crowds for no payment. Rarely do you take home any money, only weddings and the odd arts centre give you any thing close to resembling a wage. Festivals give you free tickets and some lukewarm vegetable curry before your slot. Pub gigs give you beer and some loose change. Support gigs, as in the one we've just done, give you the main act's fan base and enough for a pint 10 years ago!

  

The Sam Brookes Quartet

It's been a long slog, getting to this heady milestone, 5 and a half years since our inception way back in 2009. Myself and my long-term musical partner, Sam Brookes (known on this blog as the guitar player), began what would become our fifth musical venture. Needing a little more depth we invited the piano player along and so began The Sam Brookes Quartet. We unleashed our jumped-up-not-quite-folk in early 2010 in a succession of old barns and friend's public houses, releasing a self-titled EP that same year and supporting Johnny Flynn at The Acorn to top it all off. We garnered a loyal following and pushed on in 2011, spreading our wings and playing in Devon and even Kent! Reuniting with Johnny Flynn again at The Guildhall and then going one better and playing at The Tate! By late 2011 we had enough material to make an album and ducked into the studio again. 2012 saw the launch of our debut album, The Sweet Release, and the increase of the lineup to 4 with the addition of the bass player.

2012 also saw our name change and the official birth of The Odd Folk. We joined twitter that year too and made a website. All very posh. 2013 saw us venture into London and experiment with drums, first our old friend Frazer Young started playing with us and then, after a few months of auditioning a succession of rhythmically flawed drummers, we finally found our 5th member, a retired cage-fighter who now works in a windmill making flour! The Sweet Release was voted album of the year in Derbyshire, we went on our first tour, made our first film and launched Merry Folking Christmas at The Acorn. 2014; we jumped on the festival circuit, dipped into arts centres and started writing new material, toured Holland and Belgium, made another film and sold-out Merry Folking Christmas once again. And here we are now, in early 2015 having just recording our second album, Haul Away, and having played our first £12 gig!

So what's next? 
Where do we go from here? 
It's been a steady climb since we started stomping box drums with our feet and crooning out of tune shanties to a bunch of hippies in a leaky old barn in West Cornwall. A lot has changed since then, we've moved to Bristol, bought houses, got girlfriends, had babies, got proper jobs, started businesses and all the while managed to steer this ship onwards and upwards, gathering a multitude of fans and friends along the way, none more so than reflected in the readership of this blog! And we've done it all on our own, with no helping hand from a label/manager/producer/agent. We've begged, borrowed and stolen enough money to keep this band ticking over. Kept this vehicle with enough diesel in it for another windy adventure. We'll release this new record, unofficially in June, and carry it about a little this summer before it's official launch and promotion in September. We'll release our second film and return to Holland and Belgium. Merry Folking Christmas will return for a third year and then it's 2016 and who know's what will happen? We might be making some money out of music by then, but I doubt it somehow, and it's not really about the money, as the bass player once said, it's about the adventures along the way and the people you touch. This band has taken us to some of the most random yet wonderful places, landed us in situations you can't even make up! From cows and hay bales to the BBC, from tiny pubs to vast churches, small garden parties to mainstream festivals. We've played to 5 people and 5000! Gone from one mishap to another in our roundabout way, on our roundabout route. 13 different musicians have come and gone under The Odd Folk umbrella. It's bridged our lives as we've grown from directionless youths to grown-ups with children and *death-grips. And it still continues to trundle onwards and upwards, and you never know, one day it may pay enough for a pint in the current climate!

www.theoddfolk.com
* mortgage

Fox on the roof

Take the right turn at the little Elf petrol station in Llanorra. 

Keep on the road, don't turn off.

On the hilltop you'll see a big yellow barn.
Take the right fork after that.
Ignore the dead-end sign.
Follow the road, down and around, across a little bridge.
Up a hill. Down a hill.
Past a load of sheep.
Turn right down towards a gate. Open the gate. Drive through. Close the gate.
Keep wiggling.
First you'll see a tumbled down ruin.
Belan Hall is next.
Turn left through the pines...

I always feel that directions best set the scene. We really are in the middle of nowhere. With the sheep and the mountains and the forests and the sky. Big sky. At first there was snow, the guitar player eagerly opened the gate and thrust his hands into the small drift at the roadside. It was pitch black and minus three degrees. We bundled in and lit the fires and kept them going for 10 whole days. We must have used a fair few trees. We set about rehearsing the songs but really it was a futile exercise as we all knew that the producer would change them anyhow. We stocked up on food and all speculated about the week ahead, making jokes and imagining scenes, waiting, waiting, desperate to start but also slightly apprehensive. How much do we concede? Do we hold firm about some things? We had to find a balance. Had to listen to his experienced ear, his industry ear, but also try and remain true to ourselves! But what are we? We all could feel the change, it's been coming for a while now. Ever since How NOT to be in a Band we've veered away from all that sillyness. We're not Odd any more. The name doesn't seem to fit. But more on that later...

The producer arrived late on sunday night. With his dog; Hudson. A beautiful husky/collie type. Very gentle and calm. We sat around drinking ale and small talking; nobody daring to turn the topic to recording our songs.
We slept but hardly slept. All too excited. All too apprehensive.

The morning was spent unloading gear. We didn't begin recording till early afternoon. Basket Man was the first song, we swung it. Drums, bass, keys, rhythm and slide guitars all in the same take. Leaving the vocals and solos for later. This was the process. Though sometimes it changed. Sometimes just drums and bass, or drums and rhythm guitar. Sometimes to a click track. Sometimes just naturally. Some songs worked, some stalled. Some took hours and hours. Those were hard because the fire died down and the cold crept in. The producer was patient and guided us and we all listened in those early days.

The drums were all done by thursday, but we were behind schedule. The list of things to do was increasing daily yet the days were disappearing. The drummer became our chef and prepared the meals as the four of us ploughed on. Mother Goose, written as a foot stomper, doubled back and became a ballad. Judi's Song, well known to many of you, swung like Basket Man. Songs changed, but for the better. All for the better. Most of it we conceded. We let go of solos and grace notes, structures and intros. If one of us fought his ground he was overridden. It was all about the songs and not the individual. Some of us played three different things in a single song whilst others sat out altogether. Too Many Egos, a song poking fun at musicians and their egos was dropped in favour of an old classic. And for the right reasons too, though the lyrics were never more true, as Mr. Ego did occasionally raise his ugly mug, but he was suppressed. And huge thanks must go to the producer and his unflappable patience. He kept his head when all about him were losing theirs...

Instrumentation changed too; double bass was preferred to electric bass. Wurlitzer replaced piano, banjo and mandolin were prominent, beaters replaced drumsticks and kora was maybe the star turn in the song Home.
Our old friend Catrina drove up on the last day, flavouring three numbers with her gorgeous cello and adding harmonies as well.

I believe it will make a beautiful record. Very different from the last. But then we are so different now, we've come a long way from stomping on a Cajon drum to keep time!

10 days we spent tucked away. £200 forked out on food. A similar amount on ales and wine I dare say! 11 tracks recorded. 21 instruments used. Twice we climbed the mountain and sat on the ridge. Once with Hudson the dog. Late night walks to the little bridge to get signal. Snowmen and snowballs and thousands of sheep. Chainsaws and axes and hundreds of logs. Hot water bottles, long-johns and freezing feet. Snow on the mountain, ice on the road. I remember the crackle of the fire and the whirl of the wind.

We did it! By hook or by crook, and we walk away now leaving it in the very capable hands of our producer to tweek and edit and mix and master and all those other cogs that go into making a record.
You can see the pictures here

Goodbye Belan Hall and thank you for housing us and oh what fun we all had! Within your large rooms, your creaking stairs, the largest bath in the world, the fox on the roof. 

The fox on the roof, huh, seems an early front runner for the album name!


 

Murphy's Law

An old friend of ours and long time fan recently commended us for our improvements in the last year, noting that we'd become a well-oiled machine playing really good music, as opposed to the "passionately ramshackle" quintet that get things horribly wrong but have fun along the way. It seems that ever since our debut film, How NOT to be in a Band, was released we've turned a corner and almost distanced ourselves from a reputation that was starting to stick. It's true that ever since we changed the venue hours before the Cornish film premiere - the latest in a year of madcap decisions - we've run a far smoother course. Since then, gigs have been plentiful and we've played pretty well. We've been punctual and adaptable and almost professional. We toured in Europe, filling every venue and came home with a profit! We then ran a successful fundraising campaign to make our second album, again crucially coming in above budget. We then went and secured the services of one of the folk world's top producers and all this without a wrong turn, puncture, venue change or forgotten instrument! Long gone are the days of leaving chainsaws on the train and fashioning branches into mic stands. "You should be called The Good Folk" suggested our friend as he sipped a cup of of Labrador tea. Though a second name change in three years would definitely be a return to the old days and the old ways, losing fans and falling off the ladder and sliding back down the snakes.

There is still room for misadventure, we're not adversed to it, we won't temp fate by saying we've turned a corner indefinitely. Things can still go terribly wrong; Murphy's Law could yet strike! Belan Hall, where we are recording the album could be under 5 feet of snow, it being high in the mountains of mid-Wales after all. We could well lose a day getting snow chains on our tyres and finally pull into the old shooting lodge to discover the pipes have frozen and there's no water. Back down the mountain and we'll stock up on a hundred bottles of Volvic and finally we're ready for creative lockdown but progress is slow; the drummer has a sinking cold, the piano player's forgotten his piano and we're still unsure of the structures of these brand new songs we've written! After Day 3 we're starting to smell because washing with freezing cold mineral water isn't appealing and we're behind schedule because it takes us till midday to summon up the courage to get out of bed because temperatures have dropped to below zero and this old building doesn't have heating! By 2pm we've lit both fires and the place is finally warm enough to begin work but we're struggling with all these new songs, it's becoming apparent that by writing a brand new album we've lost our style and our stamp is yet to find it's way onto these shiny new tunes. We start arguing whether we should have stuck to the songs we knew, there being 10 that we play that aren't on The Sweet Release, surely it would have been easier doing them? But then they are very dated and we need new material! But the material is perhaps too new! We should have met in the middle! Jazz Louis, an old song of ours, and often our best performer and match winner at many gigs, and who was very unlucky not to make The Sweet Release, is now furious at being overlooked for this album too! He's getting violent and throwing his trumpet around the room, and threatening to walk out on the band!

Day 4 and the drummer's feeling better but I've lost my voice and the bass players not managed to get out of bed and it's almost dinner time! Not that it matters because the producer and the piano player have gone off in search of a piano anyway! Day 5; and after fresh snowfall we take some time out from recording and go tobogganing, but the guitar players gets stuck in a tree after being thrown from his sleigh and it's nightfall by the time we get him down! Day 6 and we've somehow managed to get most of the album down, all except the solos, and then Cat breezes in with her cello ready to record her parts but the smell of 6 unwashed men is enough to make her faint! Day 7, the last day, and we're running out of time for solos and there's pandaemonium as egos clash left, right and centre. As night draws in we're ready to have a listen back over the weeks work. We all pretend to like it, smile, pat ourselves on the back and slide back down the mountainside. "It sounds rubbish!" says Jazz Louis as we leave.

A few weeks later the producer calls us and explains that he wants to take his name off the recordings in order to protect his reputation!

We release the album to a half empty school hall, failing to sell a single copy.

We split up. Each of us vowing to go solo!

After a year's absence, with not one solo show announced (apart from the guitar player strumming some flamenco at a friend's art exhibition in Clapton-in-Gordano) we do a comeback tour, this time remembering the piano but forgetting the player! We release a new film, How NOT to make an Album!, documenting our experiences up at Belan Hall and once again we're hailed as a quirky, slapdash quintet 'whose reputation for disorganisation precedes them!'

"Do you miss those days?" says my friend, still nursing his Labrador tea.
"In a way I do" I reply. "But we needed to change, we needed a few right turns, we'd never have achieved what we did last year if we'd have carried on the route we were taking..." 

He smiled. "The Good Folk, think about it!"

www.theoddfolk.com

 

Oh what a wonderful year! (2014)

The year began, like so many, at the end of the land; down by the stones and the sea, in our little world, our little corner of Britain. But unlike so many, I woke early, and sober, having for the first time in four years not played at New Year's Eve. It was a strange day, I had my son, hence the early rise, and walking down to the park in the crisp sunlight, I realised it was the first New Year's Day I can remember having. Or at least being outside in daylight!

My bandmates, all spread across the country, in various states of disrepair, were as far from me as then as the roots from the leaves. You could close your eyes and imagine a year without The Odd Folk. I could have walked away from the stresses and strains of music and become a wandering poet, a painter, a something else, an anything else. As the sun hit my face on that brand new year, with my son's small hand in mine as we walked along the stones of Newlyn beach, the optimism (which had been nullified by years of hangovers) was transcendent!

And then the phone rang.

"That London gig has confirmed for the 9th!" it was the guitar player in a gruff voice. He hung up. And that was that. The Odd Folk was back! 

JANUARY was therefore transformed from an empty month of fearful hibernation into a mad dash to the capital to play at The Underbelly, a classy music bar in Hoxton Square. I remember little about this. An old Geordie friend of mine showed up and a clutch of our loyal London followers but it was sparse and London was surprisingly quiet. Or maybe not surprisingly, it was a thursday night in the first week of the year! We fled quickly. Back to Bristol; to the desperate cold. We returned to type, or at least tried to, but hibernation didn't come easy, administration reared it ugly head, festival bookings trickled in and we couldn't keep afloat. It was unchartered territory. We were unprepared for the progress we'd made and without a diary we were double booking ourselves left, right and centre. As the waves subsided and the admin storm calmed we finally found some solace in log fires, yogi teas and early nights. Rock stars! But it didn't come easy and the early scramble to London had left us unhinged. "Why did we do that gig anyway?" I asked the guitar player as we sat knitting by the fire. "Cause that manager bloke was going to come!" he said. "Oh... and did he?" I'd forgotten all about this. "No." he smiled. Standard. 

FEBRUARY started with a bang! We had a blinder at The Golden Lion, Bristol, and garnered the largest collection pot they'd ever had! The month then became everything January wasn't. We retreated into the land of Long-John's and watched frost-flakes on the windows. We set up an Odd Folk online calendar in a desperate attempt to minimise the endless round-robin emails trying to work out who is free for what and when. People quickly blocked out the the rest of the month and withdrew further into their wooly jumpers. We didn't see each other again until March. But behind the scenes the wheels kept rolling. Plans were afoot for two premieres of our debut film How NOT to be in a Band, and festival bookings kept trickling in. In other news the piano player shot to the top of the paintball seller list and the guitar player had an offer accepted on a house.

Early MARCH was frantic. The upcoming premiere's were booked but the film was still going and back and forth through a succession of edits and the bass player was working overtime on an audio sound mix while organising the grading of the film and keeping his normal work hours, not to mention boxing practice! We finally walked the red carpet at The Cube in Bristol to a packed crowd of well wishers. It was a beautiful event and very

Poster by Mae Voogd

moving watching our stories unfold on the big scene. We took the film down to Cornwall a week later and in true Odd Folk style changed the venue the night before the premiere! We eventually opened at The Space Gallery to a very generous crowd and played on a ramshackle stage made of pallets and church pews. The month ended with a nice little Cornish Wedding at our second home The Gurnard's Head followed by a freezing photo-shoot with our photographer Samye Hatfield, high on the moors of Mulfra. At the time we were so chilled we couldn't see how there were any positives in this; he had us running through the white grasses in an icy wind, but the results were surprisingly effective!

APRIL, "The cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain" TS Eliot certainly didn't rate April, and neither did The Odd Folk. We pitted our wits against fellow Bristol stompers, Poor Old Dogs at their home turf, The Stag and Hounds, and then promptly retired from music for the remaining 25 days. It was a strategic abstinence, however, as May was shaping up to be as actioned packed as a band of our limitations can handle. With 9 gigs in 3 weeks, including 5 on one weekend, we sanctioned them with their very own title, The May Day Tour!, hoped for the best, expected the worst, and prepared to take what we were given!

We were given a real mixed bag! MAY began in Wales at The Oak in Welshpool, and let's just say, to summarise in football terms, it was a score draw. Next on the tour saw us pull into Brighton for a gig at the much hyped but terribly run, Latest Music Bar. We took a heavy defeat and fled the next morning to London. That night at The Gladstone we notched up an impressive victory in a welcome return to form. With confidence high we travelled to Prima Arts Centre and

recorded another triumph. Next up was the Cornish leg of out little tour, we drew a warm-up practice match at The Knut before storming Don't Wake The Fish at the Gurnards Head Spring Ale Festival. Over confident, we slipped up (quite literally) in a flooded Pirates World Record Attempt and were easily beaten. Sven's Wedding was another score draw and we ended the month pretty solidly at Dartington Hall, though the honours were even. 

JUNE was very quiet. After the busy months of March and May, we'd afforded ourselves fallow time in April and June. This happened quite by chance and isn't a result of careful planning, though it is a better system than accepting random gigs all over the place all the time, and one we will look to preserve. I turned 30 again, and after struggling with the extra year, I decided to abandon it and freeze my age! Where did that year go!? The guitar player was still trying to complete the deal to buy his house but kept running into problems, most notably a wall holding the house up was going to fall down and result in a landslide. He was still optimistic, however, that the deal could and would go through! As the month came to a head, a very special opportunity was presented to us and from the most unlikely source. It turns out The Big Stomp Off hadn't been quite as uneventful as we had thought. It just so happens that very night landed us a live slot on BBC1 in front of an estimated audience of 13 million. Gay and giddy we drove to a secret location for the grand final of The Great British Bake Off and tried to play our hearts out but the stop/start nature of TV made it incredibly staged and very difficult to play. Still, confident that we'd get at least a song on air we networked our way around the show, giving our CD to Mel and Sue, and swaggered back to Bristol blowing our own trumpets, or rather blowing them in private as we were sworn to secrecy until the show aired.

"Hot JULY brings cooling showers, Apricots and Gillyflowers". Well it certainly was hot, especially towards the end of the month as we arrived at Port Eliot Festival under the fiercest sun I can remember in this green island of ours. Thousands of festival goers plunged into the river Tiddy to cool off before cramming in to watch us play a handsome little set with our bass dep, Lucas

the piano player poses with the £1000!

Drinkwater! The start of July saw us take our first £1000 gig, an eccentric American Wedding in Mevagissey where we were requested to play the Jungle book as the bride and groom walked out into the Cornish sunshine. The month's middle saw us at The Wild Tribe Festival in Plymouth which was anything but wild. Wildly unattended if anything! Even the drummer didn't attend. He broke down on the motorway. Still we ploughed on as a four-piece and even got a few kids dancing. We didn't stay around, as soon as we wrapped we got a wriggle on and hit the road. Like Jack.

AUGUST, although only seeing two gigs, felt as busy as May. Two festivals, on weekend's 2 and 4, near killed us. It was our first foray onto the mainstream UK circuit and boy you'd need stamina if you played at all 40 of the major ones! Boomtown Fair, a pop up city for the weird and wonderful, we played Uptown at the Floating Lotus stage and wrapped to a healthy crowd, even if we opened to a near empty Chai Tent. We stayed on for the weekend, listening to an array of folk greats; Bellowhead, Eliza Carthy and Johnny Flynn, and steering well clear of the twisted hedonistic Downtown part of the site where seasoned 'munters' roamed around the smog and grime and techno blasted from every tent. We returned home to HQ physically and mentally exhausted; a combination of mild revelry and the reality of an unknown folk band playing at a major festival; all the lugging of your heavy gear across numerous fields and storing it in the back of friend's trucks. And sometimes when the piano player has gone awol and the guitar player's arriving on a different day, you have to make multiple trips carrying bass amps and floor toms, with mandolins strapped around your neck and violins wedged under your arm! And it's 30 degrees without a breeze in sight and last night's mud has turned to glue. And all you're getting is £60 expenses and some warm Carlsberg. Oh the joys! Shambala was a different kettle of fish. Smaller, better run, cleaner. We drove in and set up camp. Our gear was taken in a buggy and stored at the Compass Stage and we were left to roam the spacious green fields.

SEPTEMBER was easier. We opened the month with a wedding at The Old Sawmills and closed the month in London at Merge Festival and very little else happened, apart from all the boring admin that eventually becomes all the fun stuff. It would be great if all we did was fun stuff but sometimes you've got to write a blog for all you people! ;-)

OCTOBER was the best month of my time in The Odd Folk, and considering this band has been rolling on for almost 4 years, that's 48 months it's bettered. Travelling around Holland and Belgium with my boys and playing our songs to such fantastic support has been the highlight of my time. Better than supporting Johnny Flynn at The Guildhall or holding a copy of the Sweet Release in my hands, The Cheese and Tulip Tour was top of the pile for me. Seeing and speaking to our lovely fans in the low countries and feeling so welcomed by all the venues we played at was a very humbling experience. And all captured in our new film, due out later this year! It was a blind leap that paid off. From our farewell at the The Greenbank to playing at the smart Swamp Studios. Our gorgeous gig in Amsterdam's Cafe Langeries and the biggest crowd Antwerp's Cafe Den Hopsack had ever had, and it was on a monday night! Back in a darkening England suffering from the shortest autumn I can remember, we played a final giggle down at Hope's Place in the windy wilds of the Lizzard Peninsula.

NOVEMBER was the biggest month we've ever had and we did nothing.
No gigs. No rehearsals. We didn't even meet up. Hmmm...? How does that work you may ask? Well, what we did do was launch a campaign to raise funds for our second album to be recorded this February by prestigious folk producer, Andy Bell. And it worked! You guys, our friends and fans, pledged in excess of £5K! That was crucial to our survival and progress and we're immensely grateful :-)

DECEMBER was largely quiet with a huge peak of activity at the month's end. We returned to Penzance for our annual festive party, Merry Folking Christmas, which was another complete sell-out and which saw tickets selling on the black market to desperate fans who'd missed the boat. We had touts selling for more than retail value. In some cases double the price! What a way to end the year, a year that's seen us play 29 gigs in 4 different Countries. A year of firsts; Arts Centre's, Mainland Europe, the BBC, Major Festivals, Fundraising! And a year of the usual familiarity; mad-cap dashing across the country, good old Cornish knees up's, last minute venue changes, awol piano players. The long way round. But we get there in the end, just ask the guitar player who finally completed on his house after 11 months of haggling!

Roll on 2015...

A call to arms!

The campaign's at its halfway point and we're 40% funded which doesn't take a professor in mathematics to work out that we're slightly behind schedule. Statistics do indicate, however, that most projects accelerate towards the end, receiving the majority of their funding in the last week! So we're all still hopeful. So much so that the guitar player's decided this is a good time for a holiday in The Gambia! The bass player, still swanning around in Thailand, checks in occasionally, most notably to update us on random Thai shopkeepers who have pledged money towards the album! The drummer, so diligent at the start has been consumed by work commitments and vanished from social media. Thank god the piano player has rallied around and jumped on the blag-wagon, swapping paintball sales for album sales! Without him I'd have lost hope, withdrawn the pledges and jumped on a Tall Ship to the Dominican Republic to meet our most recent blog reader! 

That got me thinking, this medium could be our largest tool. The statistics on here are frightening. If I could somehow appeal to all of you, all 3657 of you, we'd be home and dry and cooking chestnuts by the fire! We only need you to pledge 54p and we'd be complete! That's loose change gathering dust in the Piggy Bank! Cheaper than a chocolate bar! Even if only half of you did, it would work out as £1.09, thats cheaper than a loaf of bread! Of course, you only qualify for rewards by donating more than a tenner so we'd have to think of some nice recompense!

It is wonderful to dig into the data on this blog. As I mentioned above, we welcomed out first reader from the Dominican Republic the other week, and a scroll down the list sees entries from Morocco, Lithuania, India and The Philippines. It's heartening to see how far our adventures have been traveling. The other day I checked the leader board and saw a big serge by Turkey and thought how on earth are there 43 computers viewing any one blog entry? I only know 1 Turk!  

Back to the Blag! Back to busy days and nights spent wondering how best to get inside your pockets! It almost sounds wrong when put like that. We really do understand the current pinch and have been so overwhelmed by the support thus far. It's amazing to think we've garnered as much as we have. On blind faith. Being in this position makes you realise how far we've come in many ways. Formed a band, wrote a few songs, stomped our feet and told silly stories, crammed into tiny pubs, old barns, village halls, and any alcove that would have us. Self-funded our first album, increased the lineup, upgraded to stages and festivals, started touring and making films and writing about our adventures and here we are, convincing you all to give over your pocket money so we can continue... and the amazing thing is that you are!

And we need more! So keep digging. This is a call to arms! Tell your friends. We need those chocolate bars and loaves of bread! And we promise if we are successful we will put our heart, soul, boots and all in the new album.
And we'll remember your kind names. They will be immortalised forever in The Odd Folklore! 

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