Another rousing night at The Miner's Arms in Bedworth. Hosted by Malc and Gil, with loads of entertaining and original Floor Singers-some we'd seen before, some new to us.
Whilst last month here there were only three of us, this time it was the full Parrot Ensemble. Somehow we'd found ourselves as the main feature. Quite a coup,as this was one of the few days in August when we were collectively available. So, we finished the night off for a very supportive, appreciative crowd. It was a special treat for our mate Dennis, a BPS fan of many years, who'd dropped in from Tilburg and also for Matt, my nephew who had nipped over from San Jose. This was the only opportunity they had to see us before going home.
We'd promised Malc a " Night of 1000 Accordions", this time. We only brought two with us as it happened. Having performed the same set at several venues this year, we thought we'd change things around a bit and revive some of the older stuff. So instead of opening with "Courting is a Pleasure " we started with that good old Anker Delta standard, "Wee Midnight Hour Blues." No, not Wilson Pickett, but a lament written and recorded in the 1930s by Scrapper Blackwell and Leroy Carr.
I was hoping that one of the several Blues harpists who've guested with us on this number in the past would be around to help with the instrumental break. They weren't, so I shyly produced the Echo Super Vamper and tooted and parped out a two-note solo. No one ran out, so that went well. Replacing the piano on the original recording with our accordion and mandolin arrangement just seems to work. You could be out on your porch y'all, chewin' bacca and sippin' whusky, yessir, as the four grizzled old geezers slowly ease this venerable old tune out.
But you're not, you're in Beduff, and the next song brought everyone swiftly back to Blighty. Three years since we'd performed the eponymous "Beside The Seaside "-so a good job we'd practised it earlier in the day,eh? A collector's item for BPS fans this song. It's not on any album, although it was shortlisted for the last CD. It's a BPS take on the original music hall song written in 1907 by John Glover. We retain only parts of the chorus: the rest is all our own work. A cryptic look at the wonder of English holiday resorts. It is the longest chorus song we feature. The shortest being " Baaaaa!"-the prolonged bleating during " If I Were a Goat." ( Hope Beyonce never hears that version).
Arnold always used to produce a toy monkey during this number and do unspeakable things to it. He did not disappoint last night. Whilst I also usually shoulder a little primate, in a visual gag about Scam photographers ("Picture with the Lady sir? No thanks, I'll have the monkey!"), I make no attempt to do violence to it. Arnold is usually such a gentle soul. He scares us when he goes like this. Fortunately I think the batteries had gone due to sustained misuse. Instead of shrieking in a faintly oriental accent, his monkey just moaned softly. His disappointment was funnier than the song. (Can I point out that no toys were injured during the performance of this number?)
With most of the audience in stitches now and only a few outsiders looking frightened, it was time to move on. The cumulative age of the two songs was 184 years-almost as old as three of us put together. And another old BPS Warhorse "The Wag Of Shop 14" was then wheeled out. Complete with Cowgown and the legendary Ryton Spanner Dance. When we first started doing this song, 30 years ago, it was topical social comment. It has now evolved into a true folk song, in that it evokes images of working practices and things now only a memory in our part of The Midlands. Factories, Assembly Shops, Production Lines. Stuff like that. It may not yet be Ewan McColl territory, but it seems to get a fantastic audience response. You can see people who have worked in the Motor Car Industry chuckling and getting all the nuances and sly digs.
"Midlands Lullaby" followed. Renamed "Tilburg Lullaby" specially for the evening. With its initial nod to Stan Kelly,Cilla Black and The Spinners, once past that awkward moment, we could progress through the song to more contemporary references. "You looked so sweet with club and shield, playing Looters in the field," for example. Or " If you grow up you'll be a man. They'll carry you away in a Big White Van." Cutting Edge.
The AccordionFest concluded with "At The Septic Monkey." Our homage to Folk Clubs everywhere. A shortened version, with no rigged raffle at the conclusion. So that coveted Raffle prize "How to Live With Your Chinchilla" stays in the dressing up box until we visit a Folk Club near you. A sweet little old lady made two unrehearsed appearances during this song, en route to the toilet. I've never been heckled by a Senior Citizen before, but I guess it served me right for following her down the corridor during an instrumental break and coming back to announce on mike, "I think I've pulled." Anyway....see you this afternoon at The Whist Drive, Maudie?
By this time the bellows were straining, there was much panting and gasping and wheezing and exhalations of hot air. But enough of Arnold. We put the accordions down and performed "Beduff Bank" on home turf.Newly added verses about Atherstone and Warwick received an appropriate response. In fact the audience contribution to the choruses of BB was just blinding.
We were about ready to go home by then, but an encore was demanded. Nay, a request even. So " Albert Balls"-was uncorked again, which most people knew, and those who didn't sang along with anyway. Even if, underneath their bench seats, they were digging their fingernails compulsively into the upholstery.
Cracking food, good company, diverse artistes, receptive audience, Sharps Doom Bar. Ad Libs:beer tokens for the artistes-what more could anyone want?
There's always a mixed blessing at any venue in headlining/Topping The Bill or Playing Out The Dead Hour as we call it. The pluses include a delusion of one having status: the fact that those who've been drinking all night need no encouragement to join in with the choruses, and a bonus of later audiences generally seeming to get the jokes and the visual gags in a way that a "warming up" audience sometimes doesn't. And, as happened with last night, it sometimes means the staff can come out and enjoy the fun too.
The (very few) negatives of going on last are that Eddie doesn't get to have his cocoa and electric blanket until WAY past his usual bed time, and sometimes a few Wusses in the audience have already begun sloping off. Presumably their metabolisms are still programmed to catch a last bus that doesn't run any more.
Personally, I don't really begrudge people leaving early if they have to go to work next day. Or, if the cat is ill, their house is on fire or the babysitter is only paid till 11pm. Fair enough. But if you are a performer and you have been done the courtesy of being offered a floorspot, and have enjoyed the audience's attention yourself earlier on in the evening, then I just think it's bad form to do your stint, expect appreciation and applause for it and then just b*gg*r off somewhere else. The furthest I've ever been for a one nighter was Portsmouth, at Shep Woolley's Club there. And we stayed till the end. In fairness, we were then driven home by our manager Nevertheless, we arrived home at sunrise and went straight on to work. But hey, people, that's rock and roll.
If you have to leave early next time we're on last PLEASE BRING A NOTE. A twenty pound one will suffice.
