Beat it, wisie!

Sound familiar? Well, if it does, you have probably seen (or even appeared in) Bugsy Malone - that wonderful stage show that has always intended its cast to be 100% children.

So - tonight I saw Bugsby Malone live, at the local school. I was lucky to get in actually, because I didn't have a ticket. Well, long story, but of the three tickets we did have, none of them ended up for me. However, I did get in and I will get to see it tomorrow. Why? How? What canniving did I perform to achieve this end? The answer is limes.

As chair of the PTA, I knew I'd get in - but there's always a price to pay and I had volunteered to help with interval refreshments. So I turned up in good time, was handed a sharp knife and some lemons and limes. Chop chop! Citrus duly sliced, jugs ready for the juice prepared, I sneaked in to the play.

It's quite a complex show to put on for a middle school (age 9-13 ish), but they did fantastically. A simple but effective set for "Fat Sam's" and clever curtain work for intervening scenes and scene changes. The dancing was great, there was live music, but... best of all... was the leading lady, "Blousy".

13, a willowy blonde, Melody looked the part, sang the part, and played the part. Her leading man, her Bugsy, was an ex-boyfriend (in fact, we all think she's rather fond of Dandy Dan), but the team spirit and sense of fun that the cast obviously had just radiated from the stage.

With Blousy's 'Hard headed Bugsy' solo closing the first act, I sneaked out again to go help with pouring the drinks - Elderflower Pressé with sparkling spring water, and fruit juice. We (good old PTA team plus dedicated staff) opened the spring water bottles and were sprayed! No matter how carefully we opened the bottles, the water came flying out. But not as quickly as the very warm crowd from the school hall - over 200 of them! We poured and handed out drinks to proud parents, glowing grandparents and grudgingly admiring siblings.

But you couldn't beat my smile, not a chance. "Your daughter, she's brilliant..." and other such words were said to me many times. Yep - that wonderful Blousy is my daughter, and the pride and love and admiration I feel for her is almost impossible to express. I knew all her lines (having practiced with her for many weeks, I knew quite a few of Bugsy's too), but I'd never heard her sing the songs before tonight. When we got to a song when rehearsing at home she'd just say 'la la laa... another song' and then continue with the dialogue. She has no problem remembering song words.

She is 13 - learning about life, growing and changing almost every day. And the best thing of all is she found it fun. She enjoyed herself - despite start up nerves. She enjoyed it. Well, daughter of two musicians, granddaughter of an actor, great granddaughter of an actress - it's sort of in the blood I guess. But at 13 - I was just amazed at her confidence and ability.

I'm going again tomorrow night (more limes to cut). The emotions will run equally as high I know - I'm really looking forward to it.

The language of birds

I heard on the radio a while back that a lark composes a symphony every day. In discussion with Bryan we decided this was no great feat - for if you take the song of the lark as language rather than music - then it's no wonder they don't repeat themselves. After all, we don't say the same thing every day either. Could that mean - to ears that may hear music in words - our words are our symphonies? I suppose the difference is that the lark's song is a monologue, whereas human speech (in most cases) is dialogue.

Continuing the anthropomorphism theme though - whilst in my garden the other day I looked up to the roof of our house where I saw three birds perched on the TV aerial. One was a small goldfinch, the others were collared doves.

The goldfinch was chattering away as if berating the doves - his lyrical chatter seemed directed to his two aerial companions. But then the dove nearest me decided he'd had enough. One wing outstretched towards the goldfinch, his head turned backwards. The goldfinch flew off, still chattering.

I could just imagine the dove's words because he said it with his body language... "Talk to the wing, buddy."

The new village hall

Last night I played with the Brookfield Band - I sometimes play bass for them. Always hard work for me as they are 'dots' people, and I don't do dots. Dots means they play from the music, those black tadpoles that swim on the lines and if I study really hard, just about make some sense, but to read like words? No way, not my talent.

Thankfully, however, the chord names are under the bass cleff so I can read that and play along. I'm not the speediest reader (mostly I play by ear) but if I say the chord names out loud (quietly of course!) then I can usually bluff my way through most of the stuff. Playing with a band led by accordion is more challenging for me than melodeon. Melodeons just play in a couple of keys, accordions are free to play wherever and whatever, and thanks to Roger's interesting arrangements, quite often they do. Roger is the lead in Brookfield and the band is made up of him on accordion, a whistle player, a fiddle and bass. No fixed members, he finds who's free, who's nearest, and books whatever combination works. Oh yes, and a caller.

Last night the caller was a chap called Keith. I recognised him. I'd played with him as caller before - about ten years ago when I played with Goose & Gridiron (another dance band that I was actually a formal member of for some time). He sort of remembered me. Mind you, when Roger and Peter (recorders) turned up, Peter didn't recognise me! Well, sunglasses and a new hair colour, I guess I could forgive him.

We set up and Keith ambled up to me. He had photos in his hand. "Look." he said, and showed me a picture of me playing with Goose and Gridiron (and, unusually including Bryan) that was at least ten years old. He keeps pictures of every band he's played with!

The dance was for a village hall association - and a mighty fine village hall it was. So brand spanking new that the road up to the hall wasn't even finished and you had to drive over rough earth to start. Good thing it was a dry day. The hall was situated between two villages really close to eachother in rural Bedfordshire. About 35 miles from where I lived it wasn't a bad drive (though going through Luton and Dunstable was slow because of all the speed cameras). The hall was on a hill on the rec and in the distance I could see the Dunstable Downs. A sunny summer's day, birds singing, new grass all round, the clop of a horse as it was ridden down the main street below, the hum of distant, distant traffic. A peaceful environment.

It was a nice gig, lots of dancers, Keith doing his usual "Shhh.... shhh... listen..." every five minutes as he explained the dance, and a really nice friendly atmosphere. Fish and chips for tea, and a reasonable finish at just 11pm. That meant I was packed up and home by midnight.

People don't realise that as a musician the hard work is never the playing, its the rehearsals (OK, I never rehearse with this band, but in princple...), the travel, set up and take down of gear that are the real hard work. Playing is fun, easy (mostly, except for that darn tune with the Bb and the C# which took me by surprise), and as I was paid at the end of the night, it was a good one.

Another gig....

"Bryan, want to play a pub in Huntingdon?" Not really...

"Carrie, want to play a pub in Huntingdon?" Well, if you want me to... (and as Bryan won't). Yup, second choice I may be, but I do usually say 'yes'.

And I said yes as Penni had the gig, and a pub gig is hard work at the best of times and not much fun if you are solo unless you are a human juke box or have a whole array of technology that takes the thinking out of it. However, none of us are that kind of musician. We are, basically, acoustic and folk musicians, not pub singers. However, money was involved. Penni says yes, then grabs who she can to accompany her.

"aaaarggh... (cough, splutter)" on morning of gig ... "I've lost my voice...(croak) and ..."

Well no way I can do a pub gig on my own! So I said perhaps Shani could join us - between the three of us we could manage surely?

Shani arrives. "Guess what." I say. "You've got a gig tonight." No asking, just telling. I'm diplomatic like that.

So, that night, we all troop up to Huntingdon (in separate vehicles) and rendevouz at The George. A magnificent old hotel - lovely courtyard, old wooden staircase (outside) and gallery. Half-timbered, Tudor, oozing history. I enter to find Penni set up more or less in the doorway. You walk in, there's the main stairs to the upper ballroom on your right, the bar on your left, and on the right in the shadow of the stairs - sort of floating - Penni is setting up the PA. Here? Yes, here. Weird.

We set up - I have my stand up bass. Penni is a lot better than when I spoke to her earlier. She is croaky, but can sing. We do a few numbers. Whilst playing one my mobile goes off. I keep singing, keep playing and answer. I can see it's Shani and she can hear I'm playing so I ring off. At the next break between songs, I call her back - not far away now.

In the bar, watching us... well, ok, in the bar drinking and sometimes looking vaguely in our direction... are about six people. Shani arrives and sets up while we play. There's not a lot of space on our 'stage' - to my left is the entrance, to the right is the bottom of the stairs. It's a squeeze.

Shani gets all plugged in and we do a couple of songs she knows. She's never played with Penni, never even seen me play my stand up actually. It's odd. Complete mix of styles. Penni and I play folksy stuff, Shani and I play acoustic folk and rocky things, Shani, Penni and I play - er, well, mix it all up and add in electric guitar and you get an interesting and perfectly listenable sound.

We take a break. Nickie has eaten at the hotel. Now she feels ill. One young Taiwanese man is very enthusiastic about our music. "Play Neil Young? Heart of Gold?" Um, no, sorry.

That was pretty much how it was for the evening, a mixture. Sometimes Shani and I played, sometimes Penni and I, sometimes all three. We got through. The transient audience (most people were only there for an hour before moving on) were polite. There was a wedding upstairs - thump thump thump of the disco through the floor. "Can you turn it down?" The landlord asked US to turn down... noisy blinkin' folkies....

The end of the evening - not a very rewarding one (by the time we split the fee three ways I guess it covered petrol and a drink each at hotel prices), but fun none the less.

"Need you to sign the contract. What's the band called?" Oh, er... I made up on the spot 'The Silbury Wanderers'. No - I've no idea why.

Wend our separate ways home. Penni flagging - adrenalin not doing the job any more. A full, rich deep orange moon hangs low above the horizon. Amazing.

Penni phones me next day to say thanks. "We should have been called the 'Strays'" she says. And when she explains why I hoot with laughter. But I'm not saying why here. That's for me to know, and... well, it's for me to know.

My brother Phil

Tomorrow, 6th June, will be my brother's birthday. And I haven't seen him in over 16 years.

I wonder what he looks like now? Thinner? Heavier (like me)? I don't know - and I feel sad that I can't talk to him or ask him what he's doing, or tell him about his nephew and neice and what's happening to those who are his family.

We are not a large family - just our mother, my husband and our children, one cousin and his daughter. That's all there are of us, blood wise, left.

My brother was a chef in London, then he moved to the West Country and - after that we lost touch. We went down there once, Bryan and I, to where we last heard he was living, but didn't find him.

Well, it's his choice. Family are not chosen, are they? Though in early years my brother and I fought like... well, like brother and sister I suppose - in later years we were friends. My husband and brother are very similar ages, and had the same taste in music (stuff like Pink Floyd and Led Zepplin... not my taste at all). I remember coming home one night to find my brother and husband lying either side of the toilet - sharing as brothers (in law) do - the results of what they both declared was a 'dodgy pint'.

I remember my father and brother arguing at the dinner table one day (so I must have been younger than 14) and father saying 'That bloody pop music...' and Phil was playing Fairport Convention. "That bloody pop music was written before your classical music!" - ah, the joys of father/son musical differences. Well, I didn't know much about it then, but now I not only know who Fairport are, but have met them, am on chatting terms with most of them and have played on the same stages.

It's funny how things turn out. When I look back at how naieve I was then - in fact even in later years - I realise how much my brother and I do have in common as people, not just as siblings. But you can't turn back the clock, eh?

So, no point fretting I guess - but at this time of year I do think of him, wonder how he's doing. In the meantime, I know he can find me any time he wants. But finding him? That's a challenge - and one I have failed at to date. But it doesn't stop me thinking of him.