A Musical Triumph

You should have been there; then at least there would have been around thirty people present to witness our musical offering last Saturday. I can only assume that there must have been something really good on telly; what else could have prevented the masses from coming?

Still, despite all the potential disasters, given that we had only practiced the whole set three times, I thought we pulled off our gig with remarkable aplomb. We wizzed through Sit Down by James (but a quirky folky arrangement with accordian, acoustic guitars and double bass - I'm not sure it was meant to be quirky, but quirky it was); made short work of Lindisfarne's Meet Me On the Corner; and similarly demolished a number of other popular songs and traditional tunes.

"Tonight will be a night of popular songs, songs you might not recognise, and popular songs you might not recognise" we quipped. But I think the twenty odd assembled guests were pleasantly surprised - at least the ones who had their hearing aids in at any rate.

I still stand by my premise that this type of musical event ought to be commonplace: intimate gatherings with a group of local people and friends, with the musicians drawn from the people. Our performance was more than adequate and no one was left squirming in embarassment, in fact I think a number of the gathered mass actually enjoyed it.

Perhaps we can become the musical Oldham version of Blyth Spartans (I choose this team over Oldham Athletic for their reputation as doggedly determined against-the-odds football fighters - call me disloyal if you like). Meanwhile I had a wasted trip to Forsythe's music shop in Manchester to replace my snapped G string (insert snigger here) only to be sniffily told 'we don't do single strings and I doubt you'll find anyone else in Manchester who does'. I took his sniffy advise and ordered three of the beggars from Stringmail.co.uk - it hurt though, you know my attitude toward real shops, I would rather have had a chap find me some from a dusty drawer beneath the counter. A couple of the songs we did were by Bellowhead (that is my gratuitous way of justifying the image!) by the way, we are going seeing them tomorrow night at Bury Met to see how it should be done!

Keep Music Live...But Don't Expect Too Much!

I have a sticker on my guitar case that loudly proclaims 'Keep Music Live'; it is a relic from the days when musicians thought that disco would be the nail in the coffin of live music (I really am that old). I mention it because the reason I haven't written for a week or so is that I have been practising, practising with two similarly aged friends for an evening when a small audience will sit expectantly for us to entertain them.

I am no longer worried that live music is doomed - it is clearly thriving - but I do worry that we are losing a certain type of live performance. Live music is rarely part of our lives any more, unless you go to church, but that was not always the case. Music was a regular part of every day life in homes and pubs, and I don't mean the paid for sort of turn you still get in pubs and clubs, I mean the sort that communities provided for themselves.

I suppose there is an extent to which this still exists in the brass band world and other organised musical groups but we do seem to lack the spontaneous sort of entertainment that comes from within.

Our own gathering will be a church social meeting and I can't help worrying that one of the reasons that this sort of music is dying out is that our expectations are set unrealistically high by what we hear around us; and what we hear around us are highly skilled musicians with studio production, polishing their already honed performances.

Consequently, when the quality is not as good as the professionals it narks me to see people wince at the odd wrong note or squirm in embarrassment because the version of a James Blunt song is not like the one they hear on the radio (and believe me it won't be!).

So what do we do? I suppose we encourage everyone to learn an instrument and play together in homes up and down the country. Alternatively (or additionally) ensure that when you do have a small amateur musical gathering everyone is liberally supplied with wine and/or beer - that should make it all sound much better.

In our case I dare say we'll be nipping in The Grapes before our ordeal - I mean performance - so perhaps we won't care in any case!

In the meantime: reach for your recorder today, Keep Music Live!

Dust Off Your Prejudices

I've just finished reading Stuart Maconie's excellent travelogue Pies and Prejudice and I heartily recommend it to any Northerners who feel the need to reacquaint themselves with all that is good up here where the air is clearer and the people decent, honest and sturdy folk - that is excepting Geordies, Scousers and Yorkshiremen of course. Because that's the other thing the book does, in addition to pointing out which side of the North/South divide is the best side: it allows you the rare luxury of revelling in all of your own prejudices; sitting stubbornly, arms folded across your chest berating anyone whose heritage wasn't cotton and clogs.

A quick review of my own social circle does tend to confirm my Northern stereotype: I know three people within a five minute walk of here who own allotments and only this evening I cooked with allotment produce; I own, and wear, a selection of flat caps; and I know someone with Whippets - well, they are not strictly speaking Whippets, they are Galgos, as I'm sure Lisa will shortly point out, but they are along the right lines.

Last Thursday two of the said allotment owners, one a lost Geordie, the other born in Sheffield but brought up in Wales, together with a Science Fiction Writer from Durham (you can imagine the lively banter) and me joined a further writer (from Yorkshire but moving to Cambridge) on a jolly boys outing to a venue that is another glorious Northern stereotype: the Trades Club at Hebden Bridge, West Yorkshire. I was disappointed that Stuart Maconie overlooked the Trade Club preferring to focus on Hebden Bridge's status as the Northern capital of things Lesbian. This gem of a music venue is quintessentially Northern, not in the sense of Peter Kay's Phoenix Club but rather in the best traditions of the Labour movement. The club typifies the workers struggle from the time of The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists to the Miners Strike and beyond - a fact proudly expounded upon by the club president as he introduced Spiers and Boden, the evening's traditional music artistes. It's said that artistes are queuing up to play the Trades club because of it's almost unique atmosphere and heritage; the fact that people like Spiers and Boden who are used to playing to audiences three times the size of the assembled fifty or so folk fans that evening, choose to play there bear that out.

Now before you launch into another stereotypical outburst, this time aimed at finger-in-the-ear folk music types, let me explain why you miss out by discounting this sort of gig. Although Spiers and Boden sing traditional tunes, their music is everything that a gig at the MEN Arena in Manchester is not: full of life, energy and entertainment rather than some clinically choreographed pop pap on a screen, where the crowd's energy comes not from the stage but from each other's self-feeding hysteria. Do try and catch them on their current tour if you can and have your view of music expanded beyond what exists between 7am and 6pm, Monday to Friday on Radio 2; the reality is that there is far better music available on our doorstep for far less than the £60 or so we are expected to pay to fill the fat pockets of concert promoters.

I know where I'll be putting my hard earned Northern pound in the pursuit of live music; each to his own, but don't mind if I pour scorn on you stereotypically vacuous stadium gig after you've taken the mickey out of my flat cap, beard and wholemeal sweater.

Quick Nurse! .. He Still Has A Pulse

Yesterday a constant bass throbbing disturbed the work of many people in our building - good job it was Friday afternoon; it went on for some hours and people scratched their collective heads wondering what the noise might be. At 3pm prompt, stepping into the car park of our Stretford corporate headquarters, might heart skipped an involuntary beat as I realised what the noise had been. They were doing sound checks at the nearby Lancashire County Cricket Club for this weekend's concerts featuring The Arctic Monkeys and Amy Winehouse, among others. Why did my heart skip a beat, I imagine I can hear you asking; and the answer is that that is what live music does to me, always has, wherever or whatever it is, I love live music and hearing the throbbing bass lines, barely discernible as one of Amy Winehouse's songs, I just wanted to be one of the thousands of people who gather and experience the gig.

Musing on my maturity, once again, it reassured me that I still enjoy the odd frisson of excitement. Climbing from the Cumbrian coastal village of Sandwith up to the lighthouse on St Bees Head last week, I experienced such a thrill as the vista opened before us giving stunning views over the Western Hills of Scotland and over one of the largest seabird colonies in the UK (OK, OK, I know I'm drifting into waters where you may well consider an anorak to be the appropriate wear again, but stick with it).

Earlier today, passing the Railway Hotel in Greenfield - a fabulous live music venue - I notice a poster advertising Martin Taylor - yes, Martin Taylor, the phenomenal, world-renowned jazz guitarist. I experienced another such thrill - do you see a theme developing here - and was excited all day until, only moments ago, I discovered that he was on last week while we were busy being excited at St Bees.

That burning core of light, that makes us who we are deep inside, remains unchanged; I don't have to settle for a middle age of mediocrity; but I don't have to strap myself to a Harley Davidson or throw myself from a cliff just to prove that my heart is still capable of pumping adrenaline around the system. The things that push my buttons are still there, albeit I'd have enjoyed Martin Taylor at the Railway more than the Arctic Monkeys I think.

To illustrate the point I have included one of the photographs Mrs C took of the relaxing view from St Bees Head last week.