Our afternoon appearance was in the FM Lounge at Bedworth Civic Hall. We followed the superb Julie Neale. She sang and picked guitar as melodically and wonderfully as ever-although due to a previous accident, she arrived and left via a wheelchair. Get better soon, Julie!
The three-piece Parrot were augmented by Malc Gurnham (Only the ruddy Festival Director himself -ahem!) on base, and Dave Parr on guitar. Here's a bit of an arty shot of the five of us all on stage, courtesy of Justin Archer.
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We started as we usually do nowadays, with "The Whistler." It's a good ice-breaker, and often (but not always!) puts the audience into a positive frame of mind.This venerable old BPS song goes right back to our vinyl album of 1978. It also appeared on the most recent CD. It's still a proper hoot "live." (Literally). If you haven't seen us recently, whistles, tooters, blowers and squeaky toys are distributed beforehand. We then invite the audience to join in with us on the choruses and with the Instrumental section, mid-song. They can just whistle along if they prefer but they seem to appreciate the additional instrumentation.
Their part began pitifully to be honest, although it gets quite reasonable by the end. Frankly, it is quite shocking to see (and hear) quite how uncoordinated the British public can be. It is also very, very funny to watch them and to listen to them. Sometimes it makes me forget the words, laughing at them.
We were determined to defy an occasional media tendency to stereotype us merely as whacky zany loveable old clowns. Undeniably, we can do that, too-sometimes. Even without the music. But we followed the hilarity with three relatively straight "covers." I'd like to think that Nic Jones, Bobby Womack, Little Willie John and Messrs Green and Jagger might feel we treated "Courting is a Pleasure," " Need Your Love So Bad, " and "It's All Over Now," at least respectfully. They went down well, but soon it was time to crank things up again. So we then delivered "The Odeon," and "Albert Balls" with "Lakes of Ponchartrain " sandwiched in between them. Our finale was that rugged BPS standard "What a Folking Liberty." Even the Civic Hall Staff seemed to enjoy that.
Norman Wheatley followed us onstage, delivering a mix of mellow, mellifluous musings (he'll like that alliteration). His excellent "Disgruntled" song left nary a rib untickled. Later, there was an impromptu encore for me, when Damian Clarke had become disoriented and entangled in the Civic Hall complex. This meant that temporarily we had an empty stage, so compere Ali O' Brien invited me back up to ad lib a solo. I began "Peggy Gordon" but three verses in, and over the heads of the audience, I could see poor old Damian in the distance, struggling towards us through a network of fire doors. Laden with his Dulcimer and Hurdy Gurdy and stuff. I could have done another nineteen verses of Peggy, but that would have put off everyone else's timings. So, (nobly I thought), I broke off abruptly and handed the baton back to Ali and Damian. Who does indeed, make a very nice noise. Big thanks to the FM Lounge sound crew who were attentive, skilful and sensitive to the individual quirks of the artistes.
Yesterday evening we travelled back over the lunar landscape and darkened caravans of Bedworth Rugby Club car park. Being next to the by-pass, on the outer moons of Bedrock, this truly was a "Fringe" event. This time we were based in the eerily lit music room at as part of a romp compered by the affable Bill Bates. With Justin Archer both providing the P.A. and driving it expertly. Chris Tobin kicked us off with some potent guitar licks, a scary blue light, some wonderfully nostalgic songs and a few of his own numbers chucked in for good measure. For a while we could hear Ian Bland underneath Chris's vocals, still crooning away through the P.A. That was also a bit disconcerting, as he wasn't there. (Typical Aussie-they just have to get in on everything). I could have hugged Chris for making his encore a song which featured the audience being encouraged to whistle along with him. Because....... we opened with-you-know-what.
Our evening slot saw a four piece Parrot, with Malc occupied elsewhere. Dave Parr stayed with us and gamely joined us for every song. We performed several tunes we'd done at The Civic, earlier, (audience musicianship during "The Whistler" was again, excruciating) and added in "Bring It On Home" and "On Bedworth Bank." The latter was a very salty version-but it was late at night. During our set (again) I could see a potent little melodrama developing near the door, with the band and audience mostly oblivious to it.
Karen Orgill and her dad were politely dealing with a couple of enormous blokes who it seemed to me, had been celebrating earlier Rugby games rather too enthusiastically. Now, I was a substantially built schoolboy ( my mum affectionately called it big-boned). So I was sometimes press-ganged into playing Rugby. Usually in the second row of the scrum. Not for long-because as soon as I realised how brutal this activity was, I changed codes. I was so pretty-I could not risk the broken noses and bitten ears so beloved of opposing props. These lads looked quite tasty, and visibly being pretty "relaxed", they simply felt that a little live Folk music would aid their drinking session admirably.
For a while, things (to me anyway), out there beyond the immediate auditorium, looked and felt a little tense. Especially as I was singing rude things about their home town and county. However all was resolved and luckily they'd clearly not heard a word. I met the bigger lad outside later. He gave me a bear hug and told me I was "all right." At least I think that's what he said. It could have been "All Shite." He seemed to have a cold.
Enchante followed us, a band we know well and vice-versa. Their whole set was sophisticated, atmospheric stuff, skilfully arranged and superbly played. What they do is a niche product, and it cleverly transports you away from cold November Beduff and into Provence in July. Time after Time-which comprises Bill Bates and Kelvin Crompton rounded off this particular show. Polished, more than competent and performing a popular selection of tunes which got feet tapping and the audience singing. Bill concentrated on his playing more than his famed comedy antics. Which went well until his footpedal gizmo went awol. Dear old Bill. I remain unconvinced he had mistaken my Swanee Whistle for an early vibrator. TAT (don't type an extra "W" into their abbreviated stage name), did a brilliant version of Dobie Gray's anthemic "Drift Away." They also included several tremendous Simon and Garfunkel songs. One of which-"Kathy's Song"-contains my favourite lyric on the soulless joys (or not) of songwriting.
Afterwards I got so absorbed talking to some visitors from Bilston that I missed three phone calls and two text messages from my taxi driver who was freezing out in the car park with my late night taxi.,bless her. Love you, babe!
