60th birthday last night.
Not mine, o' course. Only knew a handful of people there and, as is
the way of these things, I was the youngest there, bar a very young
lamb (and lambs are generally pretty young to begin with) who was
inexplicably to be found in the Old Kitchen. The party took place in
a beautiful big old house in the country; the kind of place that
warrants an Old Kitchen that everyone uses, and a New Kitchen, where
nobody wants to touch anything or learn how to use the trendy new
kettle. On completion of the New Kitchen however, the people who own
the house (with admirable foresight) totally stripped the Old Kitchen
of the trappings of Kitchenhood (probably not a word), making the New
Kitchen just The Kitchen, and everyone's just going to have to come
to terms with the New Kettle, hereafter The Kettle.
My musings on the subject got me
through that initial 'I don't know anyone here' period, but duty
called after a while, and it was time to introduce myself, not as the
guy who had spent the last half hour running between the New Kitchen
and the Old Kitchen, pointing at kettles and giggling uncontrollably,
but instead as charming young Rob, always ready with a smile, a
helping hand, and witty retorts that, on balance, would have sounded
fantastic about five minutes previous, and would have made everyone
laugh. Ah well.
This week is gonna be a bit crazy.
Fast.Like.Fun are in action on Thursday night, supporting a really
cool band called Fred. Fred also happens to be my father's nickname
in school (he's one of those educator types), so he was quick to
point out that, on hearing I was supporting Fred, this was a welcome
change since Fred had supported me long enough. Much huh huh huh-ing
ensued. After my midweek dose of rock, it'll be acoustic skullduggery
all the way for the weekend. One Horse Pony are in action on Saturday
and Sunday in the Franciscan Well on top of our usual Monday session,
after which we'll be hightailing it across town to play the midnight
show in the Crane Lane. Thank God, Buddha, Zeus and feckin Yoda we'll
have a PA for Saturday and Sunday, cos if we were playing unplugged
(and more importantly, unmic'ed) the normal dulcet angelic quality of
my voice (huh) would be reduced to the thin reedy squawk of a
primitive string bowed instrument being inexpertly played by a young
yak. Yeah. That sound. Even at that, I'll have to take it easy at the
Monday night session.
Thankfully, after the Jan/Feb Slump of
Doom and Destruction, things are beginning to pick up. The prevailing
wisdom in this part of the world is that St. Patrick's Day reminds
people that having fun is nice, so gigs are beginning to trickle in,
crowds are growing (and not in the gaining weight way) and people are
starting to ask about guitar lessons again. Excellent stuff
altogether!
Sorry, sorry sorry sorry sorry
I started writing this entry last
Sunday. It is now Saturday. See, I told you it was gonna be a mental
week. Fast.Like.Fun show the other night was a blast! I think we gave
a pretty good account of ourselves. Among the crowd were a whole
bunch of people I hadn't seen in far too fecking long, such as
acoustic heartbreaker Sea Moose and former Alamo Bandit (my
blues-rock 3 piece) bass players The Goose and Mowgli. Like me,
they're also alumni of the Howling Dead of The Confederate Army, a
shortlived blues-rock supergroup that got together in the New Bar in
UCC for a jam, and were asked to be the house band after 3 songs.
Yesterday I tried desperately to
remember what I used to do for fun on a friday night before I was
allowed to buy alcohol (The sale of alcohol is illegal on Good
Friday... Yoda wouldn't have put up with this). If memory serves (and
at this point, you're probably aware that I'm not the most cerebral
of individuals) I think cartoons were involved. So that's what I did,
with a side order of colouring thrown in for good measure. Staying in
the lines and everything!
Another upshot of the weird time jump
that occurred at the start of the last paragraph is that 'this
weekend' has become 'now'. Meaning that PonyFest is upon us. For the
next three nights, you'll be able to catch One Horse Pony in our
regular spot in the Franciscan Well, strumming things, hitting
things, blowing things (huh huh huh shuddup), singing at things,
drinking things and plucking things; all to introduce some Stomp into
what's already going to be a thoroughly excellent weekend. The beer
festivals in the Well are legendary. For two or three days, beer
connoisseurs flock (or whatever the term for the habitual locomotion
for a beer connoisseur is) together to experience the bar's own award
winning brews, as well as those of most of the other brewers in the
country. And we'll be right in the middle of it.
I know what you're thinking Do we have
the necessary self control to play three gigs in the presence of the
best beer in the country and not get completely rat-arsed? Do we have
the professional comportment and self respecting bearing to do our
job in a clean, sober and efficient way? These are very real
concerns, but put you're mind at rest. We don't. No fecking question
about it. This is probably the last time I'll be able to pronounce
'connoisseur' (not to mind spelling it) for the next few days, so I
might as well make the most of it; connoisseur... connoisseur...
connoisseur... connoisseur...
In actual fact, the desire to do a good
job, and our thorough love of playing together will keep us away from
temptation (within reason of course...)
Thanks for reading, guys. Might see
some of you over the weekend :-)
laters
R
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