A waltz on the wild side

Last week was wild.

Not ‘wild’ in the ‘Mr Lion finds out that Mrs Lion is carrying on with that daft Zebra down Serengeti way’ sort of wild; more the pleasantly busy misrepresentation of ‘wild’.

So this week, being a holiday will be peaceful, sensible, relaxed and slow..?

You ain’t from round here, are you boy?

Be Welcome Gentle Reader, and read on…

So; the web concert?

How did it go?

Well enough, I’d say. What we wanted was to see if:

a)     it worked

b)     if anyone would watch, and

c)      what the quality was like.

And the answer to the above are:

a)     yes it does

b)     yes they would

c)      just about acceptable

We did all the web management stuff with a free Livestream account, which worked quite well, considering (what?). But we’d want to do it at a higher quality for the next one (quando?) and change the format quite considerably (eek!)

We aren’t sure how many people watched live, but it was more than the on screen figures showed. We know that from feedback we received after the webcast, and from the fact that the blog and website exploded the next day, giving us around eight times the usual Tuesday hits[1].

So, next time – (cue McEnroe voice) “You cannot be serious?”

Deadly.

Around October time probably, but this time it will be better in terms of stream quality and ad free. ‘Ace’ Higgins, chief guitar pilot of ItsAcoustica (whoever they are) informed me that he kept getting hair replacement ads throughout the show. I dunno how they knew. It will also have a live audience too, and one or two integrated features to get people more involved with the chat and the whole life of the thing.

Watch, as they say, this space.

If you missed it, a recording, which is warts ‘n all, is still on the channel page at

www.livestream.com/foolsgoldacoustic

fast forward 10 mins until you see Carol, unless you really like our curtain.

Thanks to all (esp. Nicol) for all the very helpful feedback. One last interesting net-based aside: apparently the ‘reception’, if we can call it that, was better in San Diego than it was in Lanchester. Or to put it another way, better 6500 miles away than it was 2 miles away.

Isn’t technology wunnerful?

This week coming up is Alington House in Durham with long-time Acoustic Chum Chris Kelly. The poster, as ever, is below.

posterFG

Wednesday and, complete with Wrinkly Wroadies, but sans Dave the Bass, who was sensibly drinking beer elsewhere, we for the Berkeley Tavern. Another nice night in good company as always. We managed to natter to a few folks although the pace was necessarily such that there was no break or a chance to natter in depth. Once again, the pics are courtesy of the WW.

So, to Prudhoe.

We had been invited to take part in Prudhoe Arts Week: that’s where all the radio activity came in. Prudhoe is a small satellite town, but retains its own character, simply by having a fully functioning High Street. The event we became involved with was a local showcase, held in the Tory Club. If you have ever darkened the doors of a north east working men’s club, you will appreciate the irony. The beer dumb waiter had Dave the Bass facinated (see pic). You could buy beer downstairs, but not carry it upstairs. That’s what the beer lift was for. By Order of t’Committee.

The bill was four acts, Prudhoe Gleemen, a male voice choir of great enthusiasm and vim, the local drama group; Dragon’s Tale, us and Colin Waters.

The Gleemen, predictably, were grand, lovely smart presentation and a polished performance. The 50 strong drama group surprised me nicely because they were wonderful. We have suffered at the hands of Am Dram before, but not with this lot. A condensed version of the Sinbad the Sailor Panto (oh yes they did) was very well done and great fun. Given that Mum, Dad, Aunty Bertha and Uncle Ahmadinejad were in the audience to see the bairns perform, the house was predictably, but entertainingly brought down, to whoops, whistles, applause and a strange noise from Aunt Bertha, who quickly developed her own exclusion zone.

Follow that, says we. But we said it quietly.

So, FG took to the boards and launched into ‘Sundown’. Half an hour later, we were amazed and delighted to get our very own whoops and hollers, and a very strange expression from Aunt Bertha, who wasn’t used to Brown Ale or its rapid effect upon an unsuspecting digestive tract.

Result, a very buoyant night for us, and altogether excellent.

Unless you were Aunt Bertha.

Our thanks to Ian and Caroline, the unsung organisational brains behind not just the event, but the whole week.

As part of Looka Tesside, a festival of music and… other things, and at the invitation of Angie Taylor, Saturday saw your favorite folk progsters in trio formation at the replica of The Endeavour which floats, or sits on the Tees at Stockton.  A nice day and an interesting venue, never enough time to talk to people – I haven’t seen Teeside Steve for yonks, and still not got a chance to chew the fat. All the Teeside musical mafioso where around during the day, but we spent time with musical chums Stormcrow, complete with Sharon, the new fiddle player. Fittingly, as a StormPerson, her fiddle is swathed in an ocean of reverb and fits in well with the whole Stormie oeuvres. Not much more to report other than we gave it the beans in a half hour set, before a return back north. A invitation to return is, however, on the cards.

The King’s Head and Washerwoman’s Legs is in a quiet part of the town centre. Indeed unless you know where it is, you may struggle to find it. The Folk Club is going through hard times. They meet, often more than three of them, in the back room. They do a ‘round the room’, one song each, then a raffle, a beer break and if the other two haven’t gone home yet, it’s round the room again. The raffle money goes to pay for the guest artists, which is usually one of the preciously mentioned threesome. For some reason, the club has not attracted the visitors it once did. Even the recent costumed version of an all acoustic Oh Calcutta did little to revive the reputation, but did much to revisit breakfast. What could they do, I wonder, to make the Folk Club live and breathe again?[2]

The Wrinkly Wroadies, whose fame eclipses anything we could aspire to, now have their own Facebook Group page. Look for Wrinkly Wroadies and like it, should you feel so moved, and you will be able to follow the adventures of the Ancient Artificers, the Silver Snappers, the Corrugated Carriers: Ladies and Gentlespoons, The Wrinkly Wroadies!

And so as the sun sails over the yardarm of the Summer and the Festival season explodes into a rainbow of fog, snow and sleet, I notice it is the end of the blog,

Until next time, Acoustic Chums,

Keep Strummin’


[1] Anyone who say “oh, you got eight, then” gets thumped.

[2] There are those who accuse me of satire. It makes a refreshing change to be accused of something creative.

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