Undaunted by the surfeit of Yellow Weather Warnings issued hourly by the Met office, I set forth on Monday night, across Warwickshire, to return to Warwick Folk Club, should the blizzards, snowdrifts and road closures permit me access. There to join other hardy souls for a Performers' Night. It was good to see Norman Wheatley there, as he's not been too good lately. Gamely, he tried to take a back seat, (literally) during proceedings, but he only in part succeeded, ending up performing songs and a having a hand (literally) in the raffle. Maggie Coleman was going to M.C. Monday, but had to pull out owing to a tooth extraction. Let me tell you, after all the pre-Christmas abscesses, assorted dental surgery visits and coin-sized antibiotics, she has my utmost sympathy. Abscess definitely doesn't make the heart grow fonder.
So it fell to an interesting format, where each preceding act introduced the following one.
So after an introductory slot from Sue, Dipped Sheep, followed. A lively collaboration between Michael Luntley on guitar and Keith Nickless on double bass. They sang us a song about Mr. Higgs the Milkman from over Hampton Lucy way. Who used to inscribe verses on his bottles.
Did I follow them? I think I did. I thought I'd resurrect " The Bold Pirate," an old Parrot song about Risk Assessment. One from the C.D.engineered by Norman, with lots of Audience participation. The CD version featured Mr. Wheatley himself on SFX including parrots squawking, but he was very restrained on this occasion. I totally messed up the middle verse, but such is the anarchic nature of this song, I'm not sure that those present noticed. Or cared. They were too busy concentrating on "Yo-Ho-Ho "-ing in the directed places, as indicated by my wavering flintlock pistol. Thus encouraged by their gameness, I then hit them with "If I were a Goat." This has gone down well previously in The Warwick Arms, and the audience once again bleated along with the shortest chorus in Folk Club history with an almost caprine enthusiasm.
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| Mac Awe. On Tour. |
I had to introduce a Mr. Dyson, who sang a couple of songs without involving Vacuum Cleaners, and he in turn introduced Rik Middleton, always a good bit of entertainment wherever I've seen/heard him. Peter Wimpenny a fellow Ewan McColl fan, sang "Dirty Old Town" whilst playing the Banjo AND the clarinet-no mean achievement. Mark Holden was a first-time visitor, and he played some strident chords particularly on an empassioned alternative version of " What did you do in school today." One which he claimed had damn near arrested whilst buslkng in Manchester. I think the Mancs Plods might actually have been after his Stetson.
Jonathan ? was the very acme of professionalism, starting, forgetting and abandoning several songs before calling Peter back up to assist. He blamed his capo, his night out with a set of Stags and Hens, and the room temperature before finally embarking on two totally acceptable and well-delivered songs. Star quality. So much were we enjoying ourselves that we all went round again. I did " On Raglan Road," and " Shoals of Herring," second half. Some nice accompanying crooning from the audience during both. Or they could have been groaning.
WEDNESDAY: ATHERSTONE FOLK CLUB
To exorcise the (slowly-healing) scars of missing out on Guesting at their Christmas show, this was my first visit back to Ridge Lane since the Parrot carelessly exploded in a shower of Millet and feathers, in November. Thus we had all three Brethren Organisers from the North Warwickshire Folk Club Triangle together again.
Shorn of Anne, rather than Fingers in The Jar as Residents, we had just Two Fingers to kick off events. Phil Benson and Steve Beeson. Sneaking in a Dylan song.
Mac Awe on Tour followed. It was delicious watching Steve trying to get his head round pronouncing that. I still have a highly enjoyable recording of Steve trying to introduce The Parrots of The Seaside Blackness at Atherstone's inaugural launch. How I laughed, at the time. Now he's still in a band and I'm not. How cruel fate can be. How suddenly fortunes can change. But what does he smoke in those cigarettes?
Mac Awe on Tour followed. It was delicious watching Steve trying to get his head round pronouncing that. I still have a highly enjoyable recording of Steve trying to introduce The Parrots of The Seaside Blackness at Atherstone's inaugural launch. How I laughed, at the time. Now he's still in a band and I'm not. How cruel fate can be. How suddenly fortunes can change. But what does he smoke in those cigarettes?
Once again, "The Bold Pirate " was wheeled out and pushed off the gangplank. This time,correctly. I had a prompt sheet handily positioned, (which I did not need). Malc Gurnham successfully threw me by actually phoning me from his seat in the audience, during the final verse, where I simulate an incoming 'phone call from the HSE (Folk Music) branch on my mobile. He was a proper scamp all night, that Malc. I followed that with "Goat" again, and finally finished with another (as yet) unrecorded song, "Manure." A hymn to Muck-Spreading, with a big Rodgers and Hammerstein finish. The audience, ( nervously), joined in with it.
Pete McParland followed. A decent chap with a pleasant voice, using good intonation, and a nice guitar style. Pete struggles with nerves a little though, and he thinks having words nearby to help him is a bit soft. And he does so love doing Peter Sardstedt's " Where do you go to my lovely?" He does it well, too, but although I've seen him a few times, he inevitably wades into trouble with it. Those lyrics are damned difficult unless you're Peter Sarstedt or using an autocue. Once you have the choruses and verses in the wrong sequence, it's a long way home. Never mind-I've got him coming over to Nuneaton in May. And I'm printing out a songsheet for him.
John and Elaine Meechan were up next. ( They've played the same bill as Peter in a few venues. Why they don't use the accordion/concertina/squeezebox thingy to help him finish the Sardstedt song, I don't know. Perhaps I'll ask). John has a volume control on his guitar, like another naughty guitarist I know, and he surreptitiously fiddles with it whilst playing, as he doesn't trust Desk drivers to project him strongly enough. Phil was onto him though, and after our eardrums bled a little during the first number, he counter-balanced him more sweetly. Super songwriter Katherine Fear followed, giving her another opportunity to air her newish Walsgrave Colliers song.
Lynne and Andrew, a duo from out Lichfield way I'd not heard before, followed. They did a nice version of "Scarborough Fair" and a Fleetwood Mac number amongst an extended slot.
Malc and Gill did a longish set, taking up the entire second half, and attacked it with relish. Malc's voice was back to its strident best. Gone the husky, flu'-driven croak of pre-Christmas, and returned was the operatic bellow which shook the windows at times. Even before his microphone was switched on. There were lots of songs about mining, and by this time, the drink was flowing. It flowed rather more copiously than intended, as Dave Webb began waving his arms about (simulating a pickaxe hewing the three foot seam?) and he knocked a pint over. Though not his own. Gill continued her habit of heckling, not just from the floor, but from the stage, peppering Malc, Dave and any other male in the room with pearls of wisdom. Her personal Water Boy, Pete Slaughter was kept busy topping up her water bottle. (Oo-er matron). It wasn't clear whether this or the coffee or the crisps had given her hiccups. They certainly added to the excitement of one number, where she struggled to pitch the vocals in between them.
All too soon "All The Good Times " brought the evening to a close. As I left the Brewery Tap a few flakes of snow drifted languidly down, mocking my earlier Social network rants about silly Weather warnings. 'Twas only a flurry though, and it lasted only as long as the roadworks in Oldbury Lane.
