To
the Theatre of Legends!* The Stadium of Light!** The Arena of
Dreams!*** Actually, the second of those epithets is not entirely
without foundation, as we have two sets of lighting rigs aboard the
good ship Picturehouse this evening, as well as a sturdy PA system,
of which sound engineer-du-soir Pat is attaching microphones to The
Drummer’s kit even as I tune up. I express mild surprise that a
venue of this capacity warrants such wanton frippery. “It’s so I
don’t have to hit them so hard” he explains, inserting the second
of his earplugs**** “Let the microphone do the work, that’s what
I say.”
He
may, indeed, have a point. As The Bass Player and I confer over half
time refreshments, the sound does indeed seem to have an air of
clarification about it. It is pleasing to be able to reflect on a
notably good performance after so many years in harness. I adjourn to
use the facilities. “Yeah, come in tomorrow, there’s a really
good band on – I’ll pick you up” one patron is enthusiastically
recruiting his companion, in the stall. I silently insert my own
italics.
We
are not ones for resting on our laurels, however. This evening’s
programme features not only a first, but a second introduction of
completely new material (to us) – one of the songs a mere thirty
one years in gestation and the other, a Kinks b-side. For us, the
former is pretty much like plucking something from the top forty
although in doing our homework we realise both that time flies and
that – curious as it sounds to the post-Millenial ear, once upon a
time Michael Stipe could have passed for a young and vibrant Stewart
Lee*****. It seems to go well, and there’s an extra tidy three
minutes right there (the first set runs a tidy hour and ten as it
is).
Sadly,
it is upon more familiar material that I take a tumble. You’d be
hard pushed to find a band that doesn’t do a version of My
Sharona, in my experience, and so it’s a handy go-to when
comparing like with unlike. Last time three fifths of the band
decided to do a chorus of Tom Robinson’s Up Against The Wall
in lieu of an actual guitar solo, which might have been a good idea
this time round. I couldn’t even get away with describing it as a
free jazz atonal exploration. Someone suggested I do it on kazoo next
time.
With
our brutal touring schedule being what it is I’ll now have to wait
until the election after this one before being able to get it out of
my system. Still, April’s not that far off when you think about it.
The Drummer is considering our dearth of bookings. “Maybe we could
get a few at somewehere where there’s room for us?” he ponders.
“We could give them a list of who we play and get them to buy into
that?”
“The
Waterboys?” - I adopt the role of both prospective entertainer and
interlocutor.
“No,
we don’t do the one you might have heard of.”
“Travis?”
“The
only song they didn’t play on that last tour.”
“REM?”
“Nope,
not the one with the mandolin, I’m afraid.”
The
Drummer reflects.
“I’ll
tell you what though. If there was band that played Tiger Feet –
and only Tiger Feet – all night, I’d join it in a
heartbeat.”
The updated Picturehouse Big Band Spotify play list of songs is here. Unlike those Top of the Pops albums of the early seventies, these recordings are most definitely performed by the original artists.
*The
Pickerel.
**Nope,
really – it’s The Pickerel.
***There’s
no dressing this up, it really is The Pickerel.
****One
in each ear. He’s not a freak.
*****”That
Michael stipe’s let himself go...” etc etc
