The bass player's a boxer!

It's 6pm on a Tuesday and the piano player is trying to get some more bacon from the corner shop. He'd previously swapped a paintball session for 60 rashes but only took 20, figuring he'd collect more as and when he needed it. The shop has just closed but the assistant is still inside packing boxes. He knocks on the door but there's no reply, so he squats down and peers through the letterbox.
"Excuse me, I need some more bacon!" he yells.
"Sorry my friend, the deal is off!" is the reply.
"What!? I gave you a £60 paintball session, you owe me another 40 rashes!"
"We don't want the session anymore!" explains the shopkeeper.
"Well then give it back!" the piano player snarls through the letterbox.
"Ok, but you owe me for 20 rashes then? £10 please!"
But the piano player doesn't have a tenner and so trudges home in the rain.
It's been a hard week, full of wind and rain and he hasn't hit the targets!
In fact, today he had to pay out £20 to sell at a shopping centre and then failed to make a single sale. The life of a charity mugger. Rosy!

Back at The Odd Folk HQ it's all go with the organisations for the premier of our film, How NOT to be in a Band, which is the tale of our ill-fated scramble up to The Illuminations Festival as part of last summer's three wknd tour. The film's in the last stages of the edit before the bass player takes it off to his studio in London to mix it and grade it. (You see we're finally starting to utilise his talents!) It really is a lovely little piece and we're really proud of it, well the bass player and I are. We're the only ones to have seen it, the others preferring to wait till the big night. And the big night will come on Friday March 14th at The Cube; a lovely old cinema in Bristol. We will then take it back home to Penzance the following Friday for another viewing in The Union, before finally taking it up to London; but finding a venue in the smoke is proving difficult and decidedly costly. 

poster by Mae Voogd

That aside, all is well in the Odd-Land; gigs are coming thick and fast; the online calendar we set up is proving a success, the violin's had a service (for anyone who's seen her at recent gigs she really did need one; held together with plasters and gaffer tape!), we've written new material, recorded a brand new song, stocked up on guitar strings and finally bought our own jack leads, after years on the blag. We're on the ball this year. Glowing from the recent euphoric gig at The Golden Lion which was packed to the rafters with friends and foes, all singing along and stomping. We garnered the largest collection pot they've ever had and they told us, quite literally to name our return date. Which for a bunch of ramshackle rapscallions from Penzance ain't bad.
The Golden Lion being one of Bristol's premier music venues and all that.
We're chuffed to bits! 

The following morning as we sat in a nearby greasy spoon nursing our hangovers, we dished out the evenings earnings. Not too shabby.
I played a little trick on the bass player, for a sudden flash-back of the film came to me; a flash-back in which he had said "We're not in it for the pay cheques! We're in it for the music!" So I kept his cut back, playing a fine old game with him, winding him up like a clock until I found out he's a boxer and he'd beat me like I stole God's supper! The bass player's a boxer!?
How come I never knew that!? He's an audio-editor and a boxer! We really should utilise him more often! Milk all of his talents. We could use him to our advantage: 'Oh really, you won't let us play at this year's Newt festival, Mr. Slugburger! Well how about I introduce you to our bass player and I'm sure he'll change your mind! Never mind being polite and proper to bookers, we could just bully them from now on!

Meanwhile, the piano player has upped sticks to Birmingham, just for a week mind! He's staying in the paintball house in the centre, him and 20 other charity muggers, all crammed inside like immigrants in a stash house. He's trying his luck in England's second city, seeing if he can meet those targets.

As the UK is battered by ferocious winds and lashed by killer waves.
As rivers burst their banks and submerge whole towns and we're flooded by a 100 years of rain; spare a thought for our piano player, sailing up the many canals of Birmingham without any bacon, but still searching for the sales.
I guess he's got a lifeline now, if any other of the other shopkeepers refuse their part of the deal, he can always call the bass player to box their ears!

www.theoddfolk.com

Jobs

We're on our way to a band practice and we're lost. Instead of slipping west into the forest of dean, we're doing a horseshoe and approaching from the north. The man in the village petrol station confirmed this, "Not far now boys, but watch out for the wild boars, they're a bloody nuisance around here, digging up our gardens!" 

The forest is beautiful though, even in the midst of winter with the weak sun on the spindly trees. The drummer has just moved out here to a log cabin, which is good and bad; good that we've got a decent rehearsal room in a creative setting, but ironic that when we finally get the piano player up to bristol, the drummer's upped sticks to the forest!

We set up and begin playing through the set in earnest, introducing three new songs and making good progress, spurred on by the idyllic countryside around us. We stop for a bite to eat mid-way, the drummer dishes out bowls of pasta and pesto but when we start up again we've gone all stodgy like the conchiglie, like we've all been spiked, the room is full of tired eyes and the songs have slowed to lento and adagio, especially the new waltz, it's fallen flat on the floor!

We take a break and sip tea, talking about the drummer's new pad, 40 minutes out of town (or an hour and forty if you horseshoe it like us!) We ask him how it'll effect his work, but he works mostly from home. The conversation rolls on; we discus the perils of work and music; how hard it is to juggle them. How all you really want to do is play music but Man's got to eat and being a ramshackle musician doesn't put conchiglie on the table!

I wonder; you readers probably don't know what we do in real life, when not free wheelin' around the country in a renault 4 and stomping around the stages! We're all rather normal i suppose. 

--- ---

I'm self-employed, and to my knowledge the only one of us who is? An actor by trade and training, but an odd-jobbing everything from painting to posing! Labouring, gardening and topless waiting, anything as long I'm in control of the hours! 

The good old days.

Brave new world.

The Drummer, i really want to say he puts up old wooden windmills and makes flour! But i think the picture on the right may tell a truer tale!


 

The guitar player, during our 14 year musical relationship, has worked a succession of jobs; for many years he sold office furniture in London and now he's selling insurance for Direct Line, but he's spent years landscape gardening for Clifton's elite or pulling pints for Cornish farmers, or cooking food for the gentry of Nottingham! 


The bass player works for a production company in London, he works in post production. I saw his name on the credits of some TV programme the other day which made me smile! He's a sound engineer, or audio editor which is something we really should utilise! The guitar player did utilise this however and recorded his solo EP there; out of hours, in a plush studio. Very fancy. And very vibrant too. Right in the centre of London, the very heart of soho. Just got to be careful of the alley cats at night! 

And that leaves the piano player, who for years was permanently unemployed, a young hermit living in his subtropical wilderness at the end of the world. He rallied shortly before his move to Bristol and got a job in a deli where he started front of house but was quickly moved onto dish-pig duties after too many misunderstandings. Once in Bristol he landed a job as a paintball seller; a charity mugger on high commission trying to sell as many paintball sessions as possible to meet the targets. "If i get 10 this week I get full commission!"

he'd enthuse. And he did meet the targets, and made a decent wage, and he learnt all the tricks and perks of the job; like being able to swap paintball sessions for 60 packets of bacon or a Chicken Jalfrazzi from the Indian restaurant at the bottom of his road! "The other day I was in Taunton and I was starving so I swapped a paintball session for a cup of soup and hunk of bread!" His ability to sell has taken us all by surprise, and in the most bizarre circumstances too, after having his bike wheel stolen, a passer by helped him to the nearest bike shop, and by the time they reached it he'd signed up for a double paintball session! Or the barman who sold him an ale and then signed up to a session before he'd given over the change! 

We're obviously all musicians. And perhaps it's still considered a hobby, though it's a job too! It's a time consuming, multi-faceted job that involves driving 100's of miles, reading maps, lugging heavy equipment all over the place, being polite and proper to bookers while retaining a certain mischievous outlaw attitude to the punters. It involves writing music and remembering to buy spare guitar strings and playing your heart out to a half empty pub or a field full of hippies. It involves maths, parking tickets, costume changes, poncy posing, signing CD's and getting tangled up in leads and wires! It can eat up your weekend and leave you giddy, and it rarely pays! But we all love it. For the music we make and those moments on stage and seeing the people enjoying us; our hobby, our job!

--- ---

We start up with the rehearsal again and finally the haze lifts and we make progress. We pick the waltz up from the floor, dust it down and buzz through it again, smiling at this new rhythm, 3/3 aren't we clever! We pack up and thank the drummer, bundling into the car and feeling confident we'll take the 40 minute route home. "Cross the bridge and turn left, it's straight down to the seven bridge!" he shouts as we pull away. We cross the bridge and turn right, which is of course the wrong way but we've forgotten by then. We follow the river for miles despite it going against us. "We're going upstream!" says the guitar player. "We're not, it's the clouds man! It plays tricks on you. It says Monmouth ahead, that's by the sea, surely!" We continue with the river shrinking and the road rising into the hills and finally admit defeat in the town of Monmouth, which is in the hills and nowhere near the sea! We arrive home; an hour and 40 again!

We swing by The Golden Lion and drop in some posters for the coming gig on February 1st. We bundle back in the car and notice that the piano player is missing!? Moments later he returns. "I just sold a paintball session to the barmaid!" he chuckles. 

poster by Mae Voogd

                                       www.theoddfolk.com 

The Missing Link!

SORT YOUR LIFE OUT . COM

We need a manager. Or a PA. Or personal organiser. Someone who's in charge of the diary and bookings and planning and organising. All those fiddly bits. Someone who knows all five of our personal diaries inside out and thus can plan the band's activities accordingly. At the moment that someone is me. And after only 3 weeks, this year is already a logistical nightmare. All the festival negotiations have started and I just can't keep up; it's mayhem! Port Eliot Literary Festival is confirmed. That I do know. I must put that in the diary. But where's the diary? Ah, this scrap of paper will do! Scribble Scribble scribble...

Brrrrrring Brrrrrring! 

'Yes, hello Warwick Folk Festival! How lovely to hear from you! Yes of course we're free, I'm looking in the diary now and it's empty in July! Yes, we'd love to play!' So that's Warwick confirmed now too. Brilliant. I'll just write that down; Friday the 25th at 8pm, The Moon Stage. 

"Hi guys, just to let you know we've got Warwick on July 25th now!"
"Can't do it." says the drummer.
"What, why?"
"Cause we're playing at Port Eliot that day you numpty!"
"Ah, balls! I forgot!"

But the diary was empty!? - Well of course the diary was empty, you wrote it on a scrap of paper!

And then I'm cancelling Warwick and accepting Clovelly, but that's the same weekend as Latitude, but they haven't confirmed yet, and the drummer's away in America that week, and the guitar player starts his job with direct line that day. And then there's Beautiful Days Festival and they want another promo pack asap cause they lost the last one. And then so and so wants us to play at their wedding in the arse end of nowhere and then that Arts Centre chap keeps asking me about dates in April, and the Silk and Skin Festival (god knows what that is!) they want us that weekend? Or was it that weekend? Where's the diary! My head's spinning. I'm searching the bin for scraps of paper with important information on while trying to design a promo pack and book a rehearsal room and eat my lunch! Then I realise I haven't got any money and I need to work too! 

But it is exciting; already this year is shaping up nicely, we're realising our film, How NOT to be in a band; a documentary about our three wknd tour last september, made by our friend the filmmaker Paul Mackeson, who followed us up to Derbyshire and back. We've hired a lovely independent cinema in Bristol and after only a week of double booking ourselves, finally settled on a date; Friday March 14th. We're shooting another music video soon. We've even started writing new material for the first time in a long time! And we've got some cash in the kitty for the first time in forever! CD sales are up. The mandolin's got a new pickup and we fixed the bass amp. The piano player's given up with his side project and we're all getting on! And, after the summer's festivities have died down, we are planning our first foray into Europe; a tour of France, Belgium, Holland and Germany. World domination beckons... again!

We're in a good place. We're all focused and happy. Opportunities are arising. I've a feeling this will be a very good year. We just need a Personal Organiser. Someone who knows the drummer's unavailability and when the bass player is walking in the Lake District. Someone who knows the guitar player's knee appointment and that the piano player has lost his bank card for the 5th time in a year and is now being charged by the bank for a new one! 

The missing link. The knowledge. The diary. With a pencil and an ink. Who knows the yes's, the no's and the maybe's. Who understands budget and travel and route. Who says please and thank you and kind regards. And doesn't write important information on cereal boxes. 

Someone like... Mother!

Brrrrrring Brrrrrring!

"Hi darling, what's up?"
"Can you be our manager?"

www.theoddfolk.com

Oh what a wonderful year! (2013)

The year began with plans loosely in place for a mini tour of Iceland. We had skipped off the stage after our third consecutive New Year's Eve giggle at The Gurnards Head, wiped the sweat from our brows and talked eagerly of exploring this frozen land. Or rather I had. "It's never going to happen" said the guitar player, "get your priorities straight, first thing's first, we need to sign the bass player up on a permanent basis!". He was right, our sometime bass player had become an integral part of the jigsaw, on the few gig's he'd played with us he had demonstrated 4 string dexterity of the highest order, he was punctual, level-headed, multi-instrumental and knew the songs better after only 4 months than we did after 4 years! "Plus we'll need him if you're really serious about Iceland!?"

JANUARY was rather empty; a bleak and frosty landscape with a whinnying wind that whipped the walls of our worlds, where everybody was detoxing and hibernating, with hot water bottles on their bellies and long john'd legs, where watching a band play was a far off dream of spring or summer. We didn't play a single chord. We barely spoke. We certainly never made it to Iceland.

FEBRUARY was even colder but people had gotten bored of detoxing and had begun to drink to combat the grinding weather. They ventured out, still clad in long-johns, still pregnant with hot water bottles! We played twice in this the smallest of months; a BBC Radio Cornwall slot live on air, under the guidance of the disk jockey David White, followed by our London debut at The Rattlesnake which was one of our biggest and best gigs to date, and not to be bettered as the months fell away. 

'The MARCH wind roars like a golden lion in the sky, and makes us shiver as he passes us by' reads the quote, rather fitting as we took our long awaited Bristol bow at The Golden Lion; it was a busy affair but it took us a wee while to settle into our stride. We later achieved this by sipping red-bull and ended with a roar! A cosy sunday slot at The Boogaloo in London was a nice way to end an eventful month in which we'd signed to a leading music agent and parted ways with our sometime drummer.

APRIL saw two more bristol gigs, one in a crammed bar in the centre, the other in a rambling old church. Both gigs were eventful and without a drummer I trialled my new stomp box which proved hit and miss and had the habit of cutting out mid-song. The Looking Glass was a smart venue in the centre and very busy. I remember we borrowed a keyboard as the piano player had misplaced his. I also remember we got a parking ticket and as the venue didn't pay us and we'd forgotten our CD's we made a loss of £30! The Big Sleep Out was run by The Big Issue and was a charity event for the homeless where 100's would sleep on cardboard boxes in a beautiful old church in St. Pauls. The gig was lovely though the piano player, who was going through a faze of growing his hair and beard, was constantly being mistaken for a tramp and was surrounded by security every time he walked onto the stage!

Still drummer-less in MAY we played two stompin' gigs nonetheless, with the stomp-box discarded and the box-drum reinstated, we rocked Portbury Village Hall and then travelled down to Cornwall to play at The Spring Ale Festival which is contender number 2 for gig of the year; a typical Cornish affair, a packed barn with familiar faces, plenty of ale, hot and sweaty audience participation and foot-stomping sing-alongs.

JUNE we did nothing. I turned 30 and span-out, the piano player didn't leave his valley, the guitar player recorded a solo EP, the bass player worked an office job in London and the drummer didn't exist.

JULY we very nearly did nothing; a solitary giggle at The Lost and Found in our hometown at the start of the month and then the sun came out and we went to the beach for 21 consecutive days until it rained again.

"Just make sure you get the cheque!"

AUGUST saw two giggles, two weddings, Tremenheere Sculpture Gardens and then a shoe-foot up to the The Rod and Lion in Tideford. I was late for both and as I remember, soaking wet. I had been acting in a play most of the month and driving very fast after the show to make the gigs. We were back to being a threesome, as the bass player was office-bound in London and the drummer still hadn't found us. I want to say we rocked both gigs but I have very little memory of either, other than my rain-soaked punctuality! Weddings are tricksy; remembered forever by the bride and groom and forgotten in minutes by the the band. You fein delight at playing them but really you only come for the cheque! 

poster by Mae Voogd

SEPTEMBER was the biggest month we'd ever had, our first tour; a 900 mile scramble across the country in a silly car that we couldn't reverse. The bass player was back with us and we had a brand new drummer! We began in Praa Sands; another typical cornish giggle with amps on hay-bales and cows joining in on the choruses. We then travelled north, our furthest north, to the famed Illuminations Festival in Matlock and on this part of the tour we were followed by our friend the filmmaker Paul Mackeson as he filmed the documentary How NOT to be in a band! We did a radio slot on BBC Radio Derbyshire where we found out our album was album of the year! We swerved south playing The Underbelly in London, headed west to Bristol for a brilliant stomper at The Plough before rolling back home to Cornwall's Little Big Festival. 

We only played once in OCTOBER, an unforgettable evening at The Islington, in London, on the night that Hurricane Jude whipped the country.

NOVEMBER saw us return to our spiritual home, The Acorn, in our hometown of Penzance in support of folk legend, Steve Tilston. It was a beautiful sit-down event and our third finest show of the year, where some of the slow paced numbers got a showcase and we pinched some of Steve Tilston's fans!

poster by Mae Voogd

And here we are in DECEMBER, back in the cold and dark on the lead up to christmas and our final giggle of the year at The Acorn with local bluegrass hero's Flats and Sharps. We will deck the halls with tw*ts and fiddles and play a folked-up repertoire of Christmas shanties to our adoring fans. Then we will close the year after 20 gigs, a new drummer, an agent, a film, a quirky tour bus, having travelled thousands of miles, broken London, cracked Bristol, made money, spent more, had our dear old piano player mistaken for a tramp, lose his piano, leave a chainsaw on the train, and then most surprisingly of all, finally move to Bristol. We are complete. And we're ready for next year.
I'm thinking Iceland!

www.theoddfolk.com

Side Projects

'What are you up to tonight?' it was the piano player, his voice fizzed down the phone waking me from my daydream.
"Nothing. Why?"
"Well I'm playing a gig at this African event, you should come!"
"Huh? with who?"
"My new band!"
"What new band!?" I sat up intrigued.
"I've joined a reggae band!"
"What!?"
"I've joined a reggae band!" he said again. 
"Yes, I heard you!" I snapped. After being in Bristol for all of 3 weeks the piano player had certainly wasted no time, by day he had been selling paintballs on the streets and by all accounts making a decent wage for himself and now he'd joined another band!?
"It's a side project." he said proudly.
"A side project!?" the word seemed alien; for years he'd struggled with any kind of project let alone having projects on the side. "Where are you playing then?"
"In the Umb centre in St. Pauls" he answered.
"The what?"
"The Umb centre. I dunno, it's like this African place, I'll text you later."

A side project! After years spent idling away in a sub-tropical wilderness, deep in the valleys of west cornwall, in a state of premature retirement, cocooned in a valley, relying on lifts to and from town, living in a lackadaisical lull; he'd exhausted his friends and family and relied solely on the band for any outbound excursions! Sure he'd talked of Bristol ever since the band had relocated. But years had gone by; years spent on trains and mega buses and us driving down to a gig in north Devon via south Cornwall just to pick him up! The logistics didn't bear thinking about. But now, suddenly, he was here, and not only that, but he had a job, and a job that paid more in one day than I earned in a week! and not only that, but he had a side project! A new band! They'd been together for all of one day and already had a gig! I suddenly felt a fierce twang of jealously and wondered momentarily if he was already overtaking me; I didn't have a steady job or a side project! 

As the day progressed I gathered a few friends and tentatively awaited a text from the piano player. It came in a blaze of enthusiasm; 'I think you guys should definitely come, it's WOMAD standard, this band's incredible, there's food and alcohol and it goes on till 2am!'. We stepped out into the rain, bundled into a cab and in minutes were standing outside The Umb Centre and i was nervous. What if this side project became his main project? What if The Odd Folk became only a side project? We entered the slightly rundown community centre and met with a wiry Rasta at the reception who told us it was £15 a ticket! We backed away and called the piano player who I could see through the small glass window was in the midst of a soundcheck, he stood out like a sore thumb, clad in a shiny white suit surrounded by black people in black suits! He answered his phone mid-song. Evidently multitasking was part of his new skill set! We explained the problem and he jumped down from the stage and exited the auditorium, his band seemingly unaware of his departure. After a lengthy negotiation with the wiry Rasta we were ushered into the near empty hall and confronted by rows and rows of chairs with purple ribbons tied to them. Was this a wedding? Where was the bar? And the food? And the people?

Back on stage and his piano had stopped working and he was starting to get flustered! We searched around for a bar, realised that the warm cans of Red Stripe at reception were the limit and decided to return in an hour when things may have picked up a little.

An hour later and the hall was marginally busier, the band had stopped sound checking at least. I noticed the same eight cans of Red Stripe sat at the reception. The piano player was nowhere to be seen. "The music starts in an hour!" lilted the wiry Rasta at the door. We slipped back out into the rain and returned to the same cider bar we'd gone to the first time around!

An hour later and the hall was scarcely any busier but at least there was a queue of people. We waited only to find we weren't allowed in any longer as we hadn't got stamps and the Hall was very busy. "It doesn't look it!" I said.
"I'll speak to Profit, he's the boss!" said the wiry Rasta and disappeared through the door. I peered in through the small glass window, there didn't appear to be any band, and the piano player's phone rang through. I slipped outdoors and walked round to a large window on the side of the building and peered in; and there on a purple-ribboned-chair sat the piano player, sleeping soundly. The Hall was maybe quarter-full, the warm Red Stripe had failed to seduce anyone as they still sat untouched at the bar. This 'Profit' chap didn't look like living up to his name on this event. The stage was empty; the reggae band nowhere to be seen. This little side project didn't seem to have got off to a flying start. I smiled to myself, reassured, then gathered my friends and returned to the same cider bar for the third time that night.

-----------------------

"Sorry about last night!" said the piano player.
"That's OK, shame to have missed you play." I lied.
"Yeah, it was a bit of a weird event."
"Anyhow, what you up to tomorrow, fancy a jam?" I asked.
"Can't, I'm selling paintballs." he answered proudly.
"Ah, of course! Well what about tomorrow night then?"
"I'm rehearsing." he answered.
"With who!? For what!?"
"With my reggae band, we've got another gig at the weekend!"

It seemed this little side project was set to continue. All hopes I had of him being disgruntled by the non-event at The Umb Centre and ditching his new band had vanished. He'd added resolve to his skill set now! The piano player, in one month, had morphed from a sloth-like gutterpup living in a state of wooded oblivion to a highly motivated, multi-tasking salesman with two bands! 

I walked aimlessly around the house searching for some kind of side project of my own, and finding none, made a crumpet and sat back down on the sofa.

www.theoddfolk.com

Richard Milligan

A friend of ours suggested that the gap between blogs was too wide, so i wrestled some time and here lies a 2nd blog within a fortnight. This one's for you, Richard Milligan - photo, title and all! Richard Milligan is the name of our artist. Now you're probably thinking, 'wow, you guys are really odd, your artist is a panda!' Sadly, no, this is the sole photo I have of Richimaru Millizaki, or Tricky Animator as he's also known. 
And he's not just our artist either, a more fitting title would be... 'art.manager/web.help/general.help/quick.help.we.need.this.bloody.wire.asap!'
He does so much more than artwork; he uploads and downloads, rushes about at our beck and call, lends us drums, pedals, wires, cameras, gins, tonics, he films us, he edits us, he offers enormous support for very little in return and for a while was our most constant fan! Sadly, as we've been lucky enough to explore the UK a little more, his presence has depleted, understandably. He only comes to the cornish giggles. Actually sometimes he even misses them! He strolled up to me outside The Acorn at the Steve Tilston gig and asked me what time we started. We had just finished! So perhaps he's not our most constant fan after all. Perhaps he's actually sick of us? or perhaps he's actually a panda!?

Since the last blog; the end of the tour; we pulled ourselves together and managed to organise a rehearsal, and upon completion deemed ourselves ready to showcase our talents to a manager in London. We drove into the capital mere hours before Hurricane Jude was due to hit the west of England, failing to think about the consequences of driving back headlong into the storm! The gig was a disaster; the booker had changed our time so often that nobody knew what was going on. We'd planned around the info in the last email, with a start time of 8pm but at 7.30 we were bundled on stage despite our best efforts, minus our bass player and with the manager not due to arrive for half an hour! We partook in some fantastical procrastinations (try saying that really fast!); we dilly'd and we dally'd, the bass player turned up as did the manager and we began. But after only three songs we were told 'one more!' much to our disbelief; indeed it tipped us over the edge and we let our frustrations bubble out of the microphones. We'd driven all the way from Bristol to play 4 songs for no money! We finished up, apologised to our baffled fans but the manager was nowhere to be seen, he'd slipped out into the rain. We made it home, the drummer drove us in his smart black car, though inside we were crammed tight like sardines; myself and the piano player literally in each others arms in a single seat! The storm raged and the rain lashed down, drops the size of golf balls, drumming on the windscreen. The drummer stared staunchly ahead, the guitar player in the passenger seat keeping up the small talk while the piano player and I cuddled in the back.

Fearing we'd missed the boat with the manager and preparing to offer Richard Milligan yet another role in the above position, we were surprised to receive an email which stated that although the event was a disaster, the management were still keen to see us live in the capital. Another showcase was to be arranged with haste!

The following weekend we departed further west to the land of our birth to support folk legend Steve Tilston at an event that my uncle had organised, which, with 30 years experience would run as smooth as butter; no chance of changing timeslots on this one.
The gig was beautiful; a sit down event that gave us a chance to play many of the old songs that had been left behind as we've increasingly upped our tempo. It allowed us to concentrate more on the FOLK than the ODD! After the gig we were inundated with middle-aged ladies wanting album's signed, this was both fulfilling and frustrating, as the obvious ideal is young girls circling you as you step off stage! But it was very touching and any fans are welcome.

Outside on the steps our most constant fan approached me all smiles dressed as a panda with a stick of bamboo. And this blog's for him! Richimaru.

www.theoddfolk.com

The piano player lives 3 miles away!

Photo by Liam Arthur

It's been a good few weeks since the tour ended. 900 miles completed; no lasting damage to the car and everyone still wants to be in the band! There were dramas of course, everything that goes wrong, went wrong. We were physically and mentally drained. The mishaps and miscommunications; I'll list them. It reads like this:

Couldn't reverse with the trailer, each time we'd have to get out, turn it round and reattach it.
Forgot the guitar; sent the drummer back 100 miles to get it.
Forgot the mic stands; used branches.
Forgot the CD's for at least two gigs.
Put diesel in the petrol car.
Drove off with the petrol cap on the roof.
Went fantasically over budget.
Forgot bedding; bass player slept in a rug, piano player slept in his case!
Record producer stood us up.
Piano player caught meditating during soundcheck.
Audience member wouldn't leave stage after being called up to fan us.
Bass mysteriously cut out during 1st bass solo.
Piano player then played all over 2nd bass solo.
Guitar player broke strings and forgot his shoes.

After the tour the guitar player and I fled to Spain and the piano player went to France and had a nervous breakdown. He arrived back in the UK and promptly moved to Bristol. He now lives 3 miles away!

Having 4 out of 5 of us in the same city is very handy, although as yet we haven't managed to practice; indeed i wonder if any of us have picked up our instruments, we're all still scarred by the three wknd tour!

Ah, but it was a great success; we played to 100's of people, made new fans, sold CD's, made a film, went on the radio. But because we had never done such a concentrated block of dates, in a very slow car with no heating, with lack of sleep and very little time, travelling great distances with no money, and eating bad food from expensive services, by the end we were pale and giddy, we were half our strength, we were ready to throw in the towel.

Spain did a lot to heal my mind, a while away from the whirling bite of England, although the guitar player spent his holiday with a fever. We returned to The Odd Folk HQ somewhat tentatively; we were all still a little fragile. When a new gig came through in London, we were all unnerved, we glanced at each other to gage if we were all still keen. We were.

It's coming up this Sunday 27th at the Islington, in Islington, obviously. We haven't practiced yet, we haven't summoned up the strength. After London, the following weekend, we travel to Cornwall to play with one of folk's great: Steve Tilston. In december we're hosting a big christmas party with a local bluegrass band, Flats and Sharps. 

So, it's picking up again. And we're almost back to full swing. The piano player lives 3 miles away, and our CD is on repeat at the dentist in Clifton; stardom is calling! Makes you think though, being this out of sorts after a three week UK run, what would we be like after a world tour? Destroyed.

www.theoddfolk.com