I am the drummer

PING! ‘You could call your blog, 99 not out!” It's The Singer on WhatsApp.

Since The Bass Player and even The Piano Player have managed to smash out a blog each it seemed only right that the e-quill was passed over and I shared my own perspective of being the rusty spoke (if only an occasional one these days) in the wheel of the Oddest Folkers

around. You may or may not have gathered by now that The Singer, and our dear leader, has a thing for stats. He’s the band ‘stato’, the keeper of the facts and figures, the “filler inner” of the infamous spreadsheet of Odd Factoids. So when I was reminded of my commitment to this task I immediately requested that the ‘old boy’ (as this is how we lovingly refer to one another these days) send me a list of facts about my time with the band and unlike the keyboard player, bless his heart, I won’t give you my entire life story from the second I was born as that would take far too long due to my senior years in comparison and I’ve forgotten most of the cool stuff, distant memories lost along a dusty backroad in Tennessee or Louisiana ... so I’ll keep it Odd.

And here’s what I received from the singer via our WhatsApp conversation...

“...Joined the band in September 2013, it’s now September 2019 so that’s 6 years exactly. In that time, you have amassed 99 gigs. You average 16 and a half gigs a year (half a gig haha!) although a closer look tells us you did a whopping 21 gigs in 2014 and only 11 in 2016 (where were you!?) You have been on 6 and a half tours (you only did the beginning and end of the Lakes Tour you see!) and have played in 6 countries. You tried to leave the band after Boomtown (2015) and again in 2017, both unsuccessfully! Looking closer, 22 gigs in Europe, 15 festivals, 13 in Bristol (unlucky for some!), a perfect 10 in London (no need for any more over there then!), 9 at the acorn (‘Merry Folking Christmas’ is gonna be a milestone for you!), if I delve deeper I could probably tell you how many different gig shirts you’ve worn. You’ve never been late, never failed to put the work in and kept your head when all about you are losing theirs. And in this time, you have become a trusted friend and ‘adopted’ Cornishman and I very much look forward to the future...”

And I must say this brought a tear to my eye. You see Cornwall, and specifically West Penwith, now feels like a home from home. Like many a Grimsby mariner I have found my way to Penzance and even to The Swordfish Inn in Newlyn for good ale and a rum or two, or three. From GY to PZ. I feel like part of a family; a band of brothers, blood brothers (blood, sweat and tears more like) and like a family of brothers blood is thicker than water, so although we sometimes become frustrated with one another’s foibles, wo betide anyone that comes between us and stirs the pot! I love these boys and can’t imagine trying to leave the band again; although according to the stats I do attempt to leave every two years, so I’m due a failed resignation; maybe this blog is it…

It is exactly six years to the day (at the time of writing this) that The Singer and I finally met in an organic, fair trade supermarket in the heart of Bristol’s ‘hipster and yummy-mummy’ quarter to discuss my potential joining of the band over an over-priced, skinny hipster, coconut milk turmeric latte. It was a quick “interview” that was six months in the making having first responded to a gumtree advert which had been initially ignored, The Singer sighting his ‘acting duties’ as the reason; I later discovered they were trying out other drummers. One who was even older than me, one who couldn’t keep time and another who didn’t show up to a gig. Anyway, the interview mostly entailed working out who our mutual friends were within Bristol’s incestuous Circus family and the wider music scene; after quickly working out we were probably related it seemed I was in. A week later I was embroiled in intensive rehearsals learning the entire back catalogue in preparation for the pending tour, which turned out to be the film ‘How NOT to be in a band’. Rehearsals were fun and fractious in equal measure; The guitar player and the singer had pre-warned me to ignore anything that squeaked from The Piano Players’ lips, and let the constant demands for cymbal flourishes in every gap (that would only be capable if one was an octopus or owned an 808 to take care of the beat) fall on deaf ears. I should have spotted the warning signs. My place within the band dynamic very quickly found itself and I soon became part of the triumvirate of common sense and organisation; along with The Singer and the now lesser spotted guitarist. Learning to deal with the incredulous shenanigans of ‘the band kids’ as they were then known, often to be found in nearby eateries demolishing their ‘must have’ three course, pre-gig dinner just minutes prior to our stage call, I have since learned to breathe deeply as a coping mechanism to the constant affronts to my OCD of being ‘on time’. It’s good to challenge yourself right?

As The Guitar Player is now permanently absent, The Singer and I have become even closer due to our annual planning sessions for our forays into Europe: the tours, the cement that holds this thing together. Without these tours I can’t imagine we’d carry on. It’s what keeps everything exciting. We also have the now permanent part-timer who is The Accordion Player - one who shares my OCD’s - having replaced the guitarist within the triumvirate of common sense and order. Despite being the youngest brother, he is wise and experienced beyond his years and without him - his local knowledge of seemingly every European city and his language skills - we’d have been stuck in many a bind and would have certainly gone hungry in Utrecht! He also shares the driving; which is a godsend as the singer and I both have a plethora of injuries and niggles that limit our ability do those long-haul stints from Antwerp to Timbuktu, in ancient borrowed vans without power steering.

Driving one of the many borrowed and woefully
inadequate vehicles on the road to Berlin.

So, what about the future? I’m currently stuck on ninety-nine gigs and the hundredth is proving illusive. There have been numerous times this summer when I received garbled voice messages on WhatsApp with an offer of a gig only for it to be either too short notice or that my attendance is no longer required due to the bride being allergic to high “cymbalic” frequencies! I would have been a ton up by now if it wasn’t for the cancelled second gig at Fire In The Mountain; and only yesterday I had word about a gig “up country” in north Kernow (south for me) that required my bashing of the tubs and pans; but again too short notice due to child care responsibilities. I’m now left wondering when I’ll get to hold up my bat and acknowledge the crowd. At present it’s looking like it’ll be our annual festive bash at The Acorn theatre in Penzance for ‘Merry Folking Christmas’. Although I'm not sure my bodily organs will survive another so maybe it'll be 100 and out!

It’s also likely that by then we’ll have booked next year’s post Brexit trudge around our former homeland of Europe; if they’ll let us in that is! It would be easy at this point to dwell on the dark depressive thoughts brought on by the UK’s pending minority suicide pact; but as I sit here watching the muppet show that is parliamentary questions I have a glimmer of hope. The lunatics may well be running the asylum; but they’ve been found out and I have all my fingers and toes crossed for an 11th hour reprieve or that I’ll wake up tomorrow and all this nonsense will have just been a bad dream; and to cheer me up I also have the words of my six year old son laughing in my ears… “Boris Johnsons nonsense” sung to the theme tune of some crappy kids TV show.

PING! “How’s your blog coming along?” was the distorted voice message via WhatsApp from The Singer. “I’m on it, should be with you by the end of the week, old boy” was my immediate response. Only problem was I hadn’t really started it; in my head I had, but the reality was that I hadn’t penned a word. Luckily all the usual things that consume my time had gone so there’s a patch of slack water in which to paddle… so here I am paddling like f*** trying to get this blog completed before I am late for the first time in my ‘Odd’ career, wouldn’t want to blot my copy book now! “Anything else new going on?” he asked. “I’ve got a new girlfriend” I added with trepidation, wondering how many times I’d said that for it to spectacularly fall apart three months later. There was no response. The Singer was obviously not wanting to jinx this one with all the usual questions. Instead he informed me that this Friday was his 200th gig, and that it was in St. Mawgan of all places, and that’s quite apt!

Two hundredth gig? Wow, one hundred and one gigs adrift of my dear colleague! I admire his staying power and dedication to the cause; because without him this ship would have sunk many moons ago and just like ‘The Wolf’, the band would have been a distant memory of which my old grey matter wouldn’t recall playing. But due to his tenacity, skills of persuasion, love of the music and the whole process we’re still on board and sailing the choppy sea that is the career of The Odd Folk. There are even plans for new promotional videos to help with our endeavours to play to new audiences in 2020 which is The Band’s decade year! Despite the rumours and thoughts of throwing in the towel; we are very much still in this together and as The Singer said earlier today, very much looking forward to the future! Alas, it’s time for me to save, exit and send. I only wanted to share a little of my thoughts on being in this band of brothers, lovely boys to the last and life wouldn’t be the same without them; but I appear to have rambled on beyond my word limit; so let’s hope the editor forgives me and leaves this mini memoir intact.

Hello. Goodbye.