Beer 52

At the start of Lockdown the bass player mentioned a particular craft ale company that delivered a nice case every month for said amount of money, similar to what you'd spend in the co op but with a selection far superior, plus, as he was already a member he could even give me a code for a free case! What's not to like? And so it began. I signed up, received my free case, enjoyed it immensely and awaited the following month. That case came, the money left my account, and the beers left the fridge within three days and I was back down the co op again. On the 3rd month I was offered 3 free cases to give away to friends, and just as the bass player had hooked me in, I too was now promoting Beer 52. I tactically sent them out to my partner (same address, more beer for me) and my mother (lives down the road, drinks wine, more beer for me). I now had three cases arriving every month, a fine array of multicoloured beers with strange names and increasingly hit and miss flavours like strawberry and olive and tropical punch and chocolate stout. The following month I came home late one night, tripped over the wall of cases by the front door and bruised my elbow. I made a note to cancel my order; my long suffering mother had now paid for a case she didn't want and my partner had been offered 3 free cases to give away to her friends; the net was widening, the inflection rate increasing; COVID-52 was multiplying. 

I phoned up and spoke to Keiran, a very cheerful Scotsman who was absolutely gutted I was leaving, and promptly offered me a free case for being such a good customer. I accepted and requested he cancel my subscription after that. He informed me that sadly they couldn't do that and I would need to phone up after my final case had been delivered. The following month the beers came again. By this point I had stopped drinking them and the fridge was still full. I stacked the cases up in the utility room and phoned Beer 52 again, this time I spoke to Callum, who was even more bubbly than Keiran and then moments later absolutely mortified that I would be leaving, especially as the next month was Dutch beers and "they were my favourite, weren't they!?" Very well, one more month and then I’m out. I wrote a note in marker pen on the calendar; CANCEL BEER 52 it read, and then I added, AND DON'T LET THEM TALK YOU ROUND THIS TIME! I might as well have thrown the note in the bin, I never read the calendar. When the beers came again I piled the new cases on top of the old unopened cases and phoned Beer 52; apparently I was such a good customer they were lowering my fee to half price. I paused just long enough for Connor to pounce, "In fact!", he said, "I can do half price till Christmas!" I hesitated again and he came in for the kill. "Just cause it's you!" he added, as he sank his teeth into my heart. I cleared some more space in the utility room.

I wonder how many more of you have been sucked in by this? I have told this story to a few people and heard them groan in agreement and recount their own woeful tales of Beer 52, and acknowledge that Keiran and co are just too fucking chirpy! And it's not just Beer 52, lockdown has seen a splurge in online subscriptions from cases of tea, to scented candles to monthly deliveries of indoor plants.  

Now you're probably wondering what an earth this has to do with the band, and the truth it doesn't, but then nothing else is going on, musically, this year has been as empty as a church. We are without both anecdote and adventure. We're clutching at straws here.

Usually at this time of year we sit down and write our annual review, a brief summary of the highs and lows, the progress and, more often than not, regress we've made ;-) detailing the latest brush with disaster in some German town and looking back over some of the eclectic festivals we've played up and down the country. We might talk about Mr and Mrs Newlywed tying the knot and us having to play, or reinvent, or ultimately, ruin their favourite song. We'll reminisce over the time we supported The Famous Band on their UK tour and mention that bizarre gig we did to open the village fete in Lower Bitchfield, and of course we'll wax lyrical about our yearly hometown Christmas party that's become so popular that it has a waiting list far greater than it's own capacity. But the truth is we've watched as all of them have disappeared, one after another, taken out like sitting ducks, chronologically, with Merry Folking Christmas the final one to fall by the wayside and roll into the ditch. 2020 has reared its head and completely wiped out our entire calendar year of live music and reduced us to writing about failed beer subscriptions.

"Do a live stream?" suggested my friend as we sipped a cup of Blue Tea; he was enjoying it immensely, I was wincing with every sip. "What even is this anyway?" I spat. "Good isn't it?" He smiled, "made with butterfly pea flowers! I get a case delivered every month!"

But no, we can't seem to get our heads around a live stream, we've never been particularly tech minded, despite the fact that the bass player is a leading audio and foley artist and the accordion player's meticulous approach to problem solving is unrivalled, we haven't even got around to uploading our albums onto Spotify 5 years after releasing them. Perhaps we're lazy. The idea of pre-recording something and setting up an online streaming service with a payment option sounds as complicated as the government guidelines on COVID. Film it here, but don't film it here, include a payment option but only if you can't pay for it yourself, support your local cameraman but only at a safe distance and only if they taking exercise outside

Back in February when all this began it was an inconvenience that might disrupt spring, possibly mess up a bit of early summer, but I certainly had no idea it would eat into Autumn and finally cancel Christmas. None of us are exclusively musicians, thankfully; our bread and butter is earned elsewhere, and the band has never seemed to pay us much money, but boy when when you take it away you realise just how much you depend on that extra few grand in your pocket. But it's mostly the release of gigging that we've really missed; music on the road has a wonderful unbinding and loosening effect and you often return recharged, despite the hangovers. The lack of creativity and camaraderie is keenly felt, I must say. Despite the massive progress technology has made in connecting us, bringing us into each other homes at the click of a button, there is nothing that can replace the magic of playing live music and so progress is slow. Instead we have immersed ourselves in other things, like family and bad DIY and writing that book we started on our gap year in Asia. Or, if you're the piano player, then launching a solo career in the middle of a pandemic and global economic crisis! 

This was supposed to be our decade year; the pinnacle of our game; with a tour of America; the crowning glory, the holy grail, not only of our musical journey but of our sheer determination and pig-headed stupidity. But no. Never left the ground. And what about finally playing Glastonbury!? Never happened. And the completion of our long await third album!? That too. And the bicycle tour of Holland and Belgium!? Nope. Opening the fete at Lower Bitchfield? Nothing.

Instead we've played twice; once badly paid, the other for free, and the piano player has effectively made himself unemployable by moving to Portugal. We've hardly even seen each other, and all of us dear friends too, and when you take the band away from us we seem to drift aimlessly like tumbleweed, and it's painfully clear how much we are bound by this vehicle, this haphazard little hobby of ours, this merry little dance we do; it's much more than the music; this is our friendship and it's bridged our lives from directionless youths to grown-ups with babies and death grips, and without it we're all a little lost.

And unless we get some actual gigs to sink our teeth into we'll be stuck writing about online subscriptions for butterfly pea flowers, or worse.

So perhaps you guys could write the blog next month? Seriously. Ask us questions and we'll answer them, we might even do a video blog. Anything you want and we'll lay the record straight, once and for all, and tell you what really happened in Berlin.

You can either write your question in the comments below, anonymously if you like, or email them in to theoddfolk@gmail.com