Acoustic Music and Peruvian Underpants

I hope you realize that you are a member of an exclusive community?
As you sit and gaze idly at this screen, wondering what rich seam of drivel has been strip-mined this week; you should know there are more of you than you think.
The FG blog reading community has been spreading, much like a disease, around the globe. As you sit there in your blog-reading underpants, there are others, all around the globe doing something similar . This week the word according to an acoustic idiot was read in:
• United Kingdom
• France
• USA
• Peru
• New Zealand
• Russian Federation
• Canada
• Vietnam

So, to all of you little folkies in your Peruvian underpants, as indeed to all of you; Be Welcome Gentle Reader, and read on…

Another roller coaster week lumbers to a close with a clutch of gigs. As we prepare to enter the twilight world of phased retirement , we seem to be getting busier and sillier as the days go by. This week several more bookings, some for concerts, some for village halls and a few for professional associations have rolled in, and the phone really did ring! Wow.
A new recording phase looms ever nearer as we contemplate moving the house round again to make access to the recording tech a bit easier, and song writing is again flowing, so – all good?
Well, yes it is, and it’s rather strange. We spent a lot of energy generating the word, and now the word is heard it is a little strange. Not that I have any delusions at all as to becoming professional musicians with a global, national or even regional profile, but just people asking us to play.
It is in fact, rather nice.
And so, playing?
Friday night found us at The Fuse in Prudhoe helping promote the facility as a live venue. It is a fantastic venue too. A huge screen; used to good effect by our slideshow, and a lovely 100 seater cinema style space with a good dead acoustic. Our little PA was all that was need to fill the place with some nice FG type noises. It is a new venture and we never expected to fill it; the audience was indeed small, but perfectly formed and remarkable appreciative too – thanks to all! We will certainly be going back to do more things there.
Saturday evening saw us on the bill at Acoustic Chum John Jeffery’s 70th birthday musical bash. For those of you with underpants of a Vietnamese design, I’d better point out Mr. Jeffery is a well-known and much loved figure on the local circuit, and so it was that a fair few faces turned up (by invitation, we didn’t just wander in off the street clutching a big mac and strawberry shake) to celebrate the evening.
And a very nice evening it was too.
Some great music, delivered by Acoustic Chums, and to a high standard. Too many names to list here, but mentions to Jimmy and Val (jiva – sorry jiiiiiiivaaaaa) who did wonders on the sound desk The Jimster twiddling knobs and sliders like a little pony-tailed sonic juggler making everyone sound good; and of course Wendy Arrowsmith who turned in a strong set with grand style accompanied by husband Paul on what appeared to be a banjo…
Photos of course by The Wrinkly Wreprobate Wroadies who can still take a fine snap when outside a bucket of Grolsch.


A quick report on Steve and Kristi Nebel at Croxdale should be writted; we saw our Pond Hopping Acoustic Chums this week and very fine they were – nice to catch up with them. If we thought our audience at The Fuse could have been bigger, I imagine similar thoughts must have floated through their minds too…

Last week I promised to reveal what happened when Chairman Dave, esteemed leader of The King’s Head and Washerwoman’s Legs Folk Club – a sort of Kim Jong-il of the Folk World, had a relapse from his position of Folk Liberal and reverted to type as the kind of leather clad Folk Fundamentalist that regards a Melodeon as suspiciously technical and a PA system as the work of some kind of musically demented Satan. Since his reversion it seems that the club has plunged itself gleefully back into the folk dark ages. Guitars, it seems will still be tolerated, but only as a supporting instrument in any song that features death at sea. People who stand with their hands in their pockets, Chin on Chest, mumble, and sing very long songs about what it used to be like before the spade was invented will be given preference. Guest artists will be required to show a birth certificate to prove they are over eighty and visitors to the club will be, as is traditional, ignored.
To be honest, it’s great to have him back!

And so as the hands of time weave the semaphore of destiny, signing out a message of grim fate that apparently reveals it is twenty to four, I realize that it is the end of this blog.
Until next time, Acoustic Chums,
Keep Strummin’

 

 

 

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