Dreckly

"So are we ever going to do another album?" the piano player's been like a record on repeat all year. We've been pacifying him. "Dreckly" we'd say, which translated from Cornish means; an unspecified time in the future, a little like 'mañana' without all the rushing about. It must be the fifth or sixth time this year, and we're sitting at Battery Rocks in that late evening glow, feeling the tingle of the salt on our skin, looking out across Mount's Bay.
"We just need to do one?" he says out of the blue.
"Do what?" I say
"A third album!"
I roll my eyes "We haven't got any money!"
"That's cause we keep spending it, the band's paid us well this summer!"
And it's true, we've had a fairly productive year, we could have kept a cut aside for the band, like we used to, before we became greedy, before the guitar player quit and left the finances to me. Instead we've been trying to make a living off it, trying to use it as a means of income, when it always used to be pocket money, loose change, chicken feed. I turn to him, his eyes wide and innocent with that look that says anything is possible.
"You're right" I say. "You're riight, we'll do it, we'll save up and do it"
"Great, we'll get the bass player to record it, he'll do it for nothing..." he says
I laugh out loud incredulously, but it does little to break his flow.
"... yeah it would great, and we can have guest appearances from all the people that have played with us over the years, just imagine it!"
And I can and it would be absolute mayhem; half a dozen drummers and the guitar player's 5 replacements, all wanting a solo! There'd be too many cooks, and no room to breath!

I do imagine a third album.
I always have. Number 3. Homemade. Organic. Local. And I guess I've been scared to push for it, scared to commit to another chapter. We all have. But since we announced we were ending, since we did our big farewell concert two years ago, we've been stronger, we've actually gigged more and better. It seems to have had a galvanising effect. There is new material, some of which has found it's way into the live shows, some half written, some half forgotten. Some old classics never been captured, twice overlooked, wanting their day in the sun. 
"We could use Brooksie, all the Brookes'; Aaron, Jamie..." he's still talking and I smile as the late sun hits his face, making his beard even redder. 
And it is a good idea really, to get some of the old faces back, they all bring something unique. They're all good musicians, locally sourced.
"... yeah I can imagine a brass section of you and both the Louis', and Daisy on the clarinet..." he continues, his head bobbing around like a goldfish.
But I'm nodding too now. We'd do it here, we'd do it at home and we'd do it our way, without a big shot producer running the show. It's no secret we suffered a bit of a sophomore slump with 'the dreaded second album!' because we lost our voice and got swept up in the game. And I know there are many of you reading who will disagree and might champion Haul Away over The Sweet Release and that's amazing, but it's had a mixed reaction and it's split the fanbase down the middle, like a jar of marmite. But a return home for number 3 would be welcome, and of course we'd have outside ears, there's enough of them around to guide us. I start to feel positive, his enthusiasm is infectious. We're both sat there smiling like schoolgirls.
"...imagine the launch party!" he says "4 guitarists, 3 drummers, 2 bass players! They'll be more of us than them!"

Later on that evening I sit with an old friend nursing a cool pint of Portland in The Lamp and Whistle. The very same friend that told me to start this blog way back in 2013 and has diligently read all 59 entries. "It seems to me that there's a certain nostalgia creeping in" he sips and smiles. "I knew it would. You were all so young when this started, it was a comic throwaway, each entry was a disaster, a sort of careless abandon, and now it's got serious. You've grown up with it and it's become a way of life. It's your release, all of you. And without it you would be lost. It's not just about us, the fans, anymore, it's about you. You need it and whenever there's doubt it creeps into the writing and it's fucking beautiful man, it pulls us in emotionally, and we live it, these ups and downs, we live it!" and he leans in, "like when Oscar is moving to Berlin, I mean that's touch and go, man, and I feel your alarm. Cause you can't carry on without him. He's so much more than a bass player, he's irreplaceable! Not like when Brooksie left, which was hard enough but you were clever then and got Louis in, changed the sound!" I'm speechless so I take a couple of gulps of the pale ale, but he's right, even though I can't imagine half the readership getting this swept up in the subplot. But perhaps you are!? Perhaps Dondu Cort is emotionally 'pulled in' over in Turkey, and the Third Britannia Royal Anglican Regiment in Suffolk, they follow this blog, perhaps their all feeling trepidation about the bass player's move to Berlin! 

"I can't believe Oscar's moving to Berlin!"

It is certainly food for thought and both of them are right; this has become something much greater; a platform to express ourselves, a vehicle to travel. It's become a release from realfuckinglife, a way to meet new people, and a way of discovery, not just of new lands, but discovery of ourselves. When we took a bow at Lott Festival in Germany this summer, just the three of us, I realised how far we'd come and it was emotional, cause you never know how long you've got left, how long you can keep going, keep juggling babies and business' and mortgages and marriages. "Then make another record!" said my friend as he ordered a pair of pints. "That's another chapter right there!"

And I smiled. "Dreckly" I said.