One Door Opens…

A meeting! The band is, naturally, an anarcho-syndicalist commune. We take it in turns to act as a sort of executive officer for the week but all the decisions of that officer have to be ratified at a special biweekly meeting by a simple majority in the case of purely internalaffairs -but by a two-thirds majority in the case of more: Order, eh -- who does he think he is? As this week's officer I have summoned the collective to The Dove, the better to discuss what we're going to do when Wendell, The Singer, http://wendellio.blogspot.com/ goes off on a three month world trip, all the better to find himself, some better gigs, and very possibly that set of keys he lost last time out.

We have lined up our good friend, and Picturehouse Small Band producer Andy Trill, formerly of Mr Fish-out-of-Marillion's band to mind the mic, throw some shapes and try and slow down enough for us to try and keep up with him. Despite having thrown shapes in South America, rocked The Cavern and been hospitalised in the former Soviet bloc of Eastern Europe due to alleged overconsumption of bloody marys, Mr Trill is going visibly pale at the thought of putting down his guitar for a couple of songs and simply fronting the band. And this isn't easy by any means for someone who's currently sporting a Sardinian tan. He covers up the nervousness by suggesting that we simply cover Thin Lizzy's 'Live and Dangerous' and be done with it. This suggestion isn't getting a lot of house room with The Other Guitarist, it has to be said. 

Further bombshells ahoy, however as The Bass Player gently suggests that it's time for him to "Do a Reado". Not play drums exceptionally well, in this instance, but retire from active work with the band. Oh dear. Wendell who, lest ye forget, is sabbaticalising for three months anyway, is panic stricken. "What are we going to do without Gibbon!?!?". "We?" I suggest. The Other Guitarist is upset, but sanguine. "I'll miss you" he says. The Drummer less so - "You c*nt!" he opines, merrily. There is more grog taken, Bass Players are toasted and anecdotal stories are revived - one involving an previously un-thesaurused but overly-repeated and gynaecologically descriptive word which (thankfully) escapes me at this point. 

We drink to The Drummer's new daughter's arrival and reassure him that o, really, all babies look like the drummer from Lovejunk. They do though, don't they? Winston Churchill with a mohican. And with sorry hearts we set a deadline for The Bass Player's notice period to expire. The Other Guitarist is about ready to swap back to his first instrument, the bass, The Drummer is offering to zebra-skin everybody's guitars, and there is a thankfully short-lived discussion about getting band tattoos. I think it fell down around the point where we were discussing whether it should read simply ""TPHBB" or "The Picturehouse Big Band". 

The Drummer reckoned that, depending on conditions and where he had it tattooed, he could have both.