What do you mean, you didn’t know?
Ignorance is no excuse.
(Unless you’re a drummer, then it isn’t an excuse; it’s an entry qualification).
I’ve been working my little grey cells to the bone and made, ‘special like, a brand new whizzy website, and you’re telling me you didn’t know?
Well, you do now, so www.foolsgoldacoustic.co.uk yourself forthwith.
And let me know if you like it; if you don’t, keep it to yourself, there’s a good chap.
Be Welcome, Gentle Reader and read on…
We are heading like a runaway bob, down the Cresta Run of time into the silly season. I refer of course to the religiously inclusive time of year we like to call Christmas.
It’s religiously inclusive to the extent that only some Christian branches observe it, but everyone has to endure it.
Which is good for musicians.
We have dusted off the Christmas set and polished it until shines like one of Santa’s Baubles. The presentation has been tweaked and been injected with extra chuckle fuel, and we are all set for battle. We’re even taking the presentation show into a couple of Care Homes this year – why not, they’ll enjoy it. Sadly it will not be appropriate for all the homes as some of the residents stopped worrying about little things like time quite a while ago, but hopefully they’ll sing, clap and be happy anyway.
We went to Diana’s house this week. She lives in her house with about forty others, and a team of carers, but it’s her house.
Diana used to be an operatic singer. As far as she is concerned, she still is.
And still does.
The fact that she has little idea what song we’re doing, never mind incidentals such as lyrics, tune, pitch, or melody, Diana still has the hang of volume.
Boy has she.
At the end of each verse, chorus or sometimes each line, she’d punctuate and embellish whatever rubbish we were churning out with a walloping great operatic warble that put one in mind of a slowly descending Harrier jump jet.
Except it kept changing its mind and going up and down again.
She had a whale of a time.
And so, as a consequence, did we.
Merry Christmas Diana!
The long term programming for next year is still lumbering on. We are now being much more careful about saying ‘yes’ and have begun to say ‘no, sorry’. Hopefully, all the ‘no’s’ will go into the 2017 calendar.
Did you know it’s impossible to buy a 2017 year planner? Fancy that.
Anyway, the visuals are going ok, the bookings are in, the tech side is slowly taking a bit of shape (that means I bought some hole cutters; don’t ask), but also the important bit is working quite nicely, that’s the songs.
At least three new ones are definitely in, possibly there will be five. We also have looked at the back catalogue and songs like ‘Wrecker’s Prayer’, ‘The Voice’, and ‘Dream of The Vagrant’ may get dusted off. The nice thing about the ‘Stories’ set is that we can change it to suit an event, change it to suit an audience or most importantly of all, change it to suit ourselves.
Did I mention I now have two PRS Angelus SE’s? No? Remiss of me.
On a pastoral note, we dropped in to the engine room of the artist formerly known as jiva and spent a pleasant hour or so with Val, gossiping about that and this, and we’re very pleased to hear that the first appearance of the act known as ‘Val’ will be onstage this very weekend. I can’t tell you where though; it’s a sneakret.
Also, this is an early post of this Written Wrubbish, as we are headed South to spend a convivial evening with Chrissie and her drummer who thinks his name is David.
Hence this is short.
So be sure to say ‘thank you’ to David and Chrissie when you see them.
And so as the Musical Director of fate chants the mantra “One, Two, Three, Four…” and the drummist of destiny waits to see what happens in the end, I notice that it is the end of this edition of the blog.
Until next time, Acoustic Chums,
 You remember ‘Runaway Bob’? He’s the bass player who had several wives. They caught up with him; now he’s called Runaway Beryl.
 I was soooo tempted to use the word ‘sects’ at this point. Then I remembered that lots of Christians have funny ideas about it.
 But just the one.
 Or I’ll know the reason why.