"Hello CD listeners..."

This time last year I was unpacking my annual Spotify most-played list and found that my three top artists were Tony James Shevlin, Tony Winn, and Steven Turnbull. Having been co-opted into various line ups in order to perform the music of these esteemed artistes, it was no great surprise to find that my evenings of practice at home prior to joining up with the band(s) had elevated their rotation numbers to a position above those of (say) Genesis’s The Lamb Lies Down on Broadway, which is the only other thing I can remember trying to find online in 2023.

To my great pleasure I found myself in the same room as two of those same people at an undisclosed location in darkest Essex, gathered with what we calculated to be five sixths of a remarinated Helen and The Neighbourhood Dogs in order to strip down the back catalogue down to its bare bones and reassemble it with, say, a three ninety-six, Fuelie heads and a Hurst on the floor. To this end we have transported Steven off the internet and into the room and invited him to express himself through the media of synthesized piano, organ presets and swell pedals over the sweet, sweet candy malarkey that is our back catalogue.

Far from simply trying to remember the chords at rehearsals, we now are indulging ourselves in reforming the malleable bits and forging on with – if not reinventing the wheel, then certainly asking what colour we think it should be. Everything has a bit more room to breathe, we’re stripping things out rather than loading them in, and the vibe is very much those collaborative conversations you see on the Celtic Connections series, or during episodes of Live at Daryl’s House. It’s quite the fillip to realise that it’ll be a decade next year since we started fooling around with this in Helen’s Snug, and as a result we are determined to celebrate our tinth anniversary in style.

Hope you like our new direction. 

The Price of Whales

“What’s the best thing about Sudbury?” The Singer had enquired solicitously the last time we were here. “Nothing - it’s a shit hole!” came the response from a gentleman on the table at the front, a mere plectrum’s throw from the stage. If not in his cups, then he had certainly had a card put through the door saying they had been delivered to a neighbour. He tried again. “Anyone follow Sudbury Town?” I moved momentarily further toward stage left, lest I become entangled in the tumbleweed drifting across the bar. This time around he is slightly more circumspect. “Is everyone alright?” he enquires, with the air of a concerned parent who has a stash of boiled sweets in the glove compartment for just such an occasion.

At the table in front this time around are a group who, although friendly enough, have clearly enjoyed the hospitality of a proper, old-fashioned, local boozer. There are two pool tables, a generous garden, TVs tuned to two different stations (which are turned off when the talent is performing), warning signs in the toilets warning of dark consequences should anyone be discovered sharing a cubicle, and brisk and efficient bar staff, who ask if we wouldn’t mind shutting the door as it’s letting the heat out. Opposite, 1887’s Victoria Hall*, quiet and dark and due to be renovated - probably for residential use, at which point the new occupiers can start complaining about the noise from the pub they’ve moved in next to.

We start with the gentle flex that is Take it Easy, then the similarly ‘Flats in Dagenham’ intro’ed Cruel to be Kind. Some sort of boisterous exchange of takeaway food is engaging the front table. At my feet lands a half consumed bag of sweet and sour chicken balls. The sauce pools quietly by a bar stool’s feet. Over on the other side of the stage an entire human clatters into The Other Guitarist’s microphone stand, scattering crib notes and pedals and, although apologetic to the point of Heepian obsequiousness the perpetrator is summarily ejected. It always helps to make friends with the door staff. Meanwhile, the intro to Last Night gets the 12” remix treatment.

As we have accepted an engagement for New Years Eve to which end we have decided to revisit the set list of a previous iteration of the line-up, based principally around the soundtrack to the movie Backbeat we have gently started workshopping some numbers to include, and so find ourselves two thirds of the way through a three song rock n’ roll segment before The Drummer notices what’s next on the set list. “But there are sixteens!” he gasps. Post-gig, The Singer and I reflect on how it all went. “I can’t believe we used to do two sets of that stuff at full tilt! Mind you…” he considers “…that was thirty years ago”. Thirty years before that, it was happening in real life.

Nevertheless, we move with the times. The Other Guitarist asks us not to bother cable-tying the PA leads as he’s doing a DJ set at a party the next day. Well, these seven year-olds won’t entertain themselves.

*Named for the Cuban guerrilla leader, Victoria Hall.