As a Warwickshire lad myself, my visits to Billy's Town go right back to the days of The Stratford Blue Omnibus Company and Flowers Bitter. I've never been a stranger to the town. Indeed my last visit was for some shopping and a delightful lunch in the Thatched House. I've been Best Man at a wedding in Luddington, taken our kids to the Teddy Bear Museum, The Butterfly Farm and Charlecote. Our (absent-last-night) mandolin player married a Stratford girl, and worked there for many years. I've even played Casca in Julius Caesar, studied both Othello and Anthony and Cleopatra for A Level and helped direct a theatre production of Twelfth Night for my college finals. I know the Man. I know the Place. And I've read The Dillen. (Which is excellent).
But until last night, Stratford On Avon was for Black Parrot Seaside in all our myriad forms, a bit of a mystery. We'd played many Warwickshire Towns and villages, but this was one still to tick off. I'd fibbed a little by over-emphasising beforehand how excited we were to travel that far South. Many years ago we'd been to The Cherry Trees Folk Club in nearby Alcester, have played in Hitchin Hertfordshire (which is damn near near Lunnun' way) and Banbury. But Stratford remained a nut for us nuts to finally crack. We go back long enough to remember The Green Dragon and were aware of Cox's Yard. But we'd never plucked the courage up to visit the town as entertainers.
So it was unknown territory for Arnold, myself and honorary Parrot Malc Gurnham, who was guesting on base for the evening. So unknown, that our first error was to actually pay for the parking next door to the wonderful Embassy Club. When we could have used their car park. If Eddie was still with us, he would have wept at that.
What a wonderful venue host Tori Rushton has established. A positive nugget. (The club that is-though I'm sure Tori is veined with pure gold, too). A large, separate function room, having a well-stocked bar at one end, and a compact but elevated stage right at the other. Comfortable seating with plenty of tables, a potent P.A. with a competent driver, an attentive host and a busy audience. Overall a friendly, cheerful atmosphere. It was just like the club we got so very near to running in Coventry a few years ago. (sigh).
We'd brought a little entourage with us, and so the Bedworth and Atherstone Folk Club fliers had pride of place on all the tables well before Norman Wheatley arrived with armfuls of Warwick ones. Norman and Viv arriving meant that we had the interesting situation of having four Warwickshire Folk Clubs represented in one venue. What an opportunity for performers on a Singers Night! The theme was "Summer" which I confess I'd forgotten and it appeared, so had most of the other guests. I got round it by introducing us with "We do songs. Summer Blues Summer Traditional and Summer not. "
As regulars to this Blog will know, I'm a great fan of the eclectic Folk Club. The evening was just brimming with eclectiveness. (That's not a proper word. I know. I just put it in to annoy pedants.) We had Traditional folk. We had Blues. We had comedy. We had covers of Fairport, James Brown and Simon and Garfunkel We had Blues from David Bristow. So good I spent my last fiver on one of his CD's.
Just before we went on there was a woman (you can't say "lady" there, they're very modern), who sang unaccompanied, in perfect pitch, filling the room with her powerful voice. We had a stunning little cameo from a youngster who employed a collection of floor switches and a hand mike to spontaneously create multi-tracked backing on a loop. She then proceeded to play the fiddle along with it and sing in a tone and range which gave several of us a Susan Boyle moment. So much sound coming from (I hope she won't mind me saying) a slip of a girl. Her emotional rendition of "This is a Man's World," was truly memorable. The techno stuff she had was very modern. It's called a gramophone or something like that. K.T. Tunstall might use one. I dunno.
We had any number of singer songwriters with a guitar and a pocketful of songs. We had some trousers, the like of I haven't seen for years. I just had humble jeans on, and felt underdressed at times. We had a duo who had lost bits of group (we know how that feels) and so only had guitar and mandolin. But they (again) just filled the room with accomplished instrumentals. The mandolinist used a plectrum made of ivory and covered with-sharkskin, I think it was. It produced an abrasive tone from his innocuous-looking little mandolin which you could have cut metal with. We had Norman singing two typically whimsical, clever songs-and finishing with a rather wistful, mellow one. Light and shade. The evening was completed by a delightful man who announced his Pagan roots and then played a Drone flute and a Viking Lute.
Not knowing the club or the audience, we went for safety and did three BPS standards, "The Odeon," "Courting is a Pleasure," and "Albert Balls." Considering we had not rehearsed them with Malc at all, we were very pleased with how they were received. We must let Malc sing the choruses more directly next time-he knows the words better than we do. This was the first time we'd had base accompaniment since Pete Townsend and co backed us doing blues in our outdoors gig with Off The Cuff last summer. It certainly adds. Something to bear in mind for the next CD. (Cue Arnold, shuddering with exasperation?).
The biggest compliment I can pay the Club is that our apprehension in making a debut there was misplaced. We'd be confident to go back and do any of our more erm, "varied" stuff, because the audience, performers and organisers seemed appreciative, comfortable and supportive with the broad cross-section of material on offer. Trust me-you don't get that in every club. My only (very minor) criticism would be that it was difficult sometimes for strangers (pardner) from out of town, to work out who was who. Audiences (and Bloggers) need proper names. "Hi I'm Dave," or " Hiya It's Ellen," is all very relaxed, but more information is useful. There was a fair amount of networking going on about the room, so I successfully established a few identities, but look. We were "discovered" by the archetypal Record Company Scout in the audience. It happens. Trust an old Hand, people. Always announce yourselves fully, You don't know who is out there listening or talent spotting.
