Said the Walrus to the Carpenter, “You speak of many things,
Like timing change, octave range, and bings and bonks and plings.
Your swishes swish, your wooshes woosh and as for your swothy swith…
You’ve not been yourself you know, since you got that bloody synth”
The Carpenter paused and thought, then paused some more.
“You’re right, you know” at last he quoth,
“I’ll find a noise to suit us both,
Perhaps I’ll go acoustic, then
I could work more on my rhyming.”
Enough of this quasi Lewis Carrol meets Edward Lear nonsense; we are here to enjoy original nonsense.
And so, without more ado, welcome Gentle Reader, and read on…
So, following on from Ryedale, a quieter week for all the little residents of FG land.
Steve ‘The Nugget’ Wilson has been busy teaching. Apparently his Granny already knew how to suck an egg, but it took him all week anyway. Carol and the Other One, have been busy about the house – not in a houseworky sense, but rather in musical related enterprise.
Firstly, the new recording area is now complete. Anyone who knows the former study, then latterly musical storage area will readily concur that space was an issue. However, much grafting later, paintbrush, jigsaw and scary masonry drill put aside, the result is a pleasing musical area with space to move and breathe. It’s finished, but still lots to do in terms of wiring everything up. I should be doing it, but this blog don’t scribble itself y’know; it just reads that way. We look forward to getting in there and recording songs old and new.
Secondly, new songs on the FG horizon. Yes, Gentle Reader, fall thee not off of thy chair, the plural was invoked not without cause. Two new songs are bubbling in the creative cauldron some call my mind – I can have a real fire in there as there is plenty of ventilation – and the intrestin’ thing is that both will feature elements of departure from what we have done before. One may be in Open G tuning, and Ms McClaren Walker gets the blame for that. The other is taking shape nicely on the old Octave Mandolin, which is to subtlety what magnesium is to the trifle industry. More on how these songs shape up as, and indeed if they do, as it happens; stay tooned.
Now, I think this bit is interstin’ too. Obviously, Gentle Reader, that is your cue to drift off to bo-bo’s, but here’s a thing…
…as I start to write more and more ‘in the tradition’ and take my cues from the folk repertoire of yesteryear, and indeed yestercentury, I’m gradually creating in my head a world that my songs live in, or come from. This is probably the sort of thing that could get me committed, but it does seem to help my tiny little mind make sense of it all and ‘place’ my songs. Hence the open G is a sea song, so it lives in a town on the coast, as this is a good place to keep the sea, and the octave mandolin song is set in the wild northern lands, a hymn of rebellion, where the blokes wear skirts and red hair is seldom the butt of humour.
Good news too as we are confirmed for Scarborough Seafest and The Cropton Festival in September. We went to the first Cropton event last year, and a great weekend it was. Set in and around the pub (never a bad start) it was like a long and very relaxed folk club event with many friends on hand to ease the pain of all that eating, drinking and playing.
Sadly our appearance at The Sun Inn, Stockton this Saturday gone has been cancelled – or more hopefully postponed. Martyn Littlefair is putting this lot together and all the best to him, we need folks to create the events and venues and it isn’t easy tha’knaas.
Monday and we for The Brecon Folk Club. No longer at The Smiths Arms, on the grounds that the shutters have descended on that Public House, now resident in a smashin’ new room at The Dun Cow at Bournmoor, not far way. A warm welcome was afforded us and we played some of our bits of songs to an appreciative room. As usual in the clubs, this was a lovely night with nice folks, and we have respectfully asked if the guest nights are all full…
.. who knows?
If you are at a loose end on a Monday in Co. Durham, get along and join in, it’s grand night.
Following last weeks fairly epic missive, I think I’ll curtail this latest instalment of musical soap opera and confine myself to brevity.
And so as the eager folk promoter of destiny views the arrival of the punk band of fate, and the nearby chemist scribbles a refund for his laxatives, I notice it’s the end of the blog.
Until next time Acoustic Chums,