So long, and thanks for all the...

STM at Cambridge Junction, 2020

Cropredy, 1994

Well, not fish, for sure! Saturday 18th January 2020 did, however, bring an end to something that was a big part of my life. From 1988 to around 2010, I was part of a band called Shave the Monkey that played folk clubs around the UK and folk festivals in the UK and mainland Europe. We had some amazing times, including playing at Fairport Convention's Cropredy festival (to something like 17,000 people), Cambridge Folk Festival, Dranouter in Belgium and Skagen Festival in Denmark.  We appeared on BBC and ITV and on lots of radio stations.

I don't think I can explain the feeling of being on stage, with five other musicians all working together to enterain, and so many people listening, enjoying and participating in your music. There's nothing quite like it.

I'm a songwriter mostly, but the band was probably 2/3 instrumental, 1/3 songs. It wasn't just me that sang, Steve also wrote (writes) songs and we did a few of his songs and tunes in our sets and on our CDs. I still sing, I still play, but arthritis in the hands is a bugger for a guitarist!

Here's me singing our 'hit' The Witchfinder General for the very last time:

The band broke up (so did the marriage of two of the members), and we played a couple of  reunion gigs (I think in 2012 - but happy to be corrected). That was weird, because I was in a very difficult place. The husband's girlfriend was in the audience, there were musical tensions, lots of emotions, and it wasn't easy with the new relationship dimensions. I don't think I did my best, but I certainly tried - the audience (and their reaction) are always the most important thing when performing; you have to give it your best. Which reminds me...

A very long time ago

I remember one time we played the Rupert Bear Appreciation Society Annual Conference. Yes, such a thing exists (and lots of them did wear check trousers/scarves and red jumpers), and we were their evening entertainment. This was about 2000, and I know because I was in the depth of depression at the time. I remember laying on the car roof before the gig, looking at the sky and wondering why I was alive.

But I also remember going on stage and playing - and seeing the Ruperts dance, hearing them clap, and even sing along with a number or two. And that was always a good way to banish the black dog.

There was another time we played the Pagan Federation's annual conference in London.  I wasn't black dogged then, thankfully, but it was a strange gig. I remember a few things - such as my bum being too hot as a massive stage light was directly behind me, a small child leaping on my lap and giving me a 'pagan kiss' because he liked our music so much, and a large man in a pink fairy costume. I have to say they were a great audience, and I went back and played again with a musical duo n later iyears.

I could reminisce for ages - good times and bad - gigs with five people, gigs with five thousand, but the important thing is closure. I had said I wasn't intrerested in any more reunions, but with the 'last ever' on the cards, I was happy to contribute a couple of songs and a tune. The audience at the Cambridge Junction was filled with faces we knew from times past, as well as current friends and family. We couldn't have played to a friendlier, warmer, more receptive audience. Perfect for a last gig.

From our very first gig to our very last, it's the audiences that have always made it worthwhile. So though I (and others of course) will continue to play music, Shave the Monkey has finally hung up the razor and is going to let the fur grow.  So long, and thanks to all our amazing audiences for listening, buying CDs, talking to us, telling us what you liked, and for being there at every single gig we ever played.

Mic drop...

Liked this? Try...

Promo video from 1998 (above)
Broken Rock (song)
Music, music (blog)
Mermaid's Tears (song)
Two performances (blog)

(C) Carolyn Sheppard, and Shave the Monkey. Photos from various sources.

Music, music and more music!



David's son Stuart (left) and Tony Keys. Rehearsing...

 What a weekend! First of all I played at a private party which was it's own mini-festival! Most of the guests were musicians and from four until late, there was non-stop live music from all sorts of different bands. There was a young lass called Sophie who composed her own songs and sang with a couple of other bands, there were the 'old rockers' and even some young lads playing Shadows' tunes.

The band I played with, the 'Two Tones' (thus named because two of the band are called Tony) was formed through a link with my work. I met the band leader, David, as he is a fundraising champion for our charity. He's done amazing fundraising work in memory of his mother, who had dementia in her later years.

We first got together to do a charity ball gig that David arranged back in June. We had such fun, that a further opportunity to gig could not be missed, hence our performance at 'Lenborock'.  The party was an all day event with a covered stage area, barbecue, marquee for audience and a 'Gladiators' bouncy. The party was in the grounds of a lovely house in the Buckinghamshire countryside - beautiful views and the most lovely house.

We played a couple of sets - one in the afternoon and one in the evening. Even though Sophie and her young friends had done their mashup version of 'Stand by Me' we still did a version with Tony keys singing. It was a really nice gig with really nice people, even though I didn't know most of them.

Rachel Sermanni and friends

Sunday was a whole different kettle of music. I went to Cambridge Folk Festival again. The Friday evening I had popped over and seen the amazing Gretchen Peters, the entertaining Lucy Ward and the great June Tabor and the Oyster Band. On the artists bus I met the Moulettes - lovely ladies. They asked if I was playing and I said yes, on the Sunday, in a duo. I happened to mention that I'd also played in a band, 'Shave the Monkey'. 'Oh,' said Ruth, 'My dad loved them!'. Time to get the zimmerframe...

On the Sunday I went with my musical partner in crime, Shani, and we mooched around the festival catching a bit of Seth Lakeman, a few others and, after our own set, watching Rachel Sermanni and her friends (wonderful!). We stayed to watch Rachel as we had come over on the artists bus with Rachel and the others from the car park. Very glad indeed we watched Rachel and the gang, what a refreshing and entertaining act.

Blair Dunlop

The talented Blair Dunlop played a great set too. Whilst walking along the boardwalk I overheard someone say 'There's all these young people in folk music now...' Well hooray I say! What's the use of a tradition if it dies out? Given what I saw this weekend, there's plenty of life, youth and imagination in the folk world still. Put away your arran jumpers, your tankards and take yer finger out your ear. Folk music is a vibrant and positive force in the music scene.

Our set was short and sweet, but went well. It was a bit of a shame that the brief but noisy thunderstorm (which included hail) created pools of water in the club tent that meant there was lots of mud, but it was still a grand craic.

Though I'd like to have stayed to see Joan Armatrading, I was tired out, so Shani and I headed back to the car park. As we walked past these two huge RVs, my digestive system decided to issue its own comment on the proceedings. With a wheel-trembling trump, I alerted the attention of Ms Armatrading's road manager who gave me 'a right old fashioned look'. Apologies Ms Armatrading for my trumpet involuntary. On our way out the car park we waved madly at the RVs and the road manager waved kindly back.

A good, musical, and varied weekend. Until next year...

The music weaver

Imagine in three dimensions, with texture and pulse

I often visualise sounds as shapes. I'm not sure I can explain it in words, but a certain tone of voice, or the sound of an instrument, will give me a sense of shape - like a flowing, fluid metal in a particular width and form. It's not sinesthesia (though I do sometimes dream where my perceptions confuse in this way, which is most peculiar), but more a way of feeling how the sound connects with me. Perhaps even with my very molecules.

Last night I went with friends to the chilly Fitzwilliam Museum. On a December evening, with the threat promised of snow hidden by the cold rain, we joined perhaps a hundred others in Gallery 3. Up the magnificent staircase, with the beautiful dome above us, the sumptuous surroundings were chill.

Once seated and settled, the crowd (mostly senior, but with an eclectic mix that is so typical of Cambridge), we applauded as the Granta Chorale entered and took their places, ready to regale us with Christmas music. Gaudete, with a smart percussion accompaniment from the conductress, lifted the room with its strident time signature and tight harmonies. A nice start to the evening.

Her hands now free of her small tambourine tabor, the conductress orchestrated the singers as they offered renditions of Christmas music new and old, English, European and American. She took the music as it spun from the singers and - her hands dancing and manipulating the sounds in the air - she wove it's complex patterns and then released it to us, moulded and melded.

If you can imagine someone teasing clouds with their fingers, taking those insubstantial wisps of sound and weaving them into complex and beautiful patterns, then you can perhaps imagine how it seemed to me. The singers provided the thread, and she took each colourful note and created the skein that we wrapped about our senses. Oh yes, one or two cords snagged, but on the whole we were draped in a beautiful blanket of sound.

I looked up to the angels above us - perhaps enjoying their names being sung in praise within their frigid home up in the rooftop. Cold marble, dusty and dry, eyes unseeing and unseeable. Around us the portraits seemed to smile, attentively, joining us as audience for the evening. Even the horseman in his bold red coat seemed to pause, and listen to us through the window of his gilt frame.

For one day, they stopped. Just one day.

Further entertainment was provided with two non-musical interludes - John Betjeman's poem Christmas - performed not just recited. And later in the evening, readings from the letters of servicemen from the 1914 Christmas truce. Tears in my eyes at the beauty of the words, simply said, written so long ago by men who had seen such horror, and yet could share such moments of humanity and move us still.

Join us and sing, Silent Night, in German and English. A single Carol, that had united two warring forces. For just a day. The audience raised it's voice to join the choir, and the conductress turned her skills upon us.

Light and careless almost, the last songs were mirthful and bright. Jingle bells adding that seasonal spice, like cinnamon.

At the end of the evening I had simply attended a rather nice concert, with a good choir, in a beautiful setting. But I had also seen a little bit of magic in a pair of hands.

Soundwaves image- borrowed from http://www.sonicmusicproduction.com/
WWI Photograph - found on the web, no original credit known

Cornered!

Having not played much music recently, this week was a blast - two opportuinties to play and enjoy myself!

The first was on Monday night at a pub in Waltham Abbey. The acoustic evening is run by a nice guy called Keith and I surprised him by turning up to play - for the first time in about six months. I was on my own as my music partner now works in London and can't do weekday gigs, but I didn't mind.

But, there I was, in a rough (almost London) pub, on my own. OK, I know Keith, and a couple of other musicians to smile and wave at - but that was about it. However, the last time I had played I had briefly chatted to one of the bar's locals. A gentleman we shall call 'Mr F'. I remembered him from last time - a tough guy, probably about 60, with grey hair and a criminal record (he'd told me before that he'd been inside). He was a man no one messed with - he has a reputation.

He remembered me, and was the most charming, polite and careful companion for the evening. He didn't want me to sit on my own, asked me to join him at the bar along with Bear (who was a very tall and quite large guy). We chatted quite a bit, about different types of music and the like, very amiably.

Keith sang his songs, then one of the others got up with a cut finger so he karaoke-d his way through some pub standards. Another lad got up and sang my favourite 'Hey There Deliliah' as well as some other good standards. So, noisy, pubby type music - but when I got up to sing, I did my usual quiet folksy stuff. They listened. Keith said to me 'you want someone to hear you, whisper'. He was right.

At the end of the evening Mr F saw me out to the car, carried some of my gear for me and gave me a polite and friendly peck on the cheek goodnight. We'd had some interesting conversations where I'd learned a bit more about his life. He was a man who had lived violently - where survival was directly related to strength. But the interesting thing was I saw something different, I saw a man who looked back on his life and wished that he could have done it differently. Maybe I am wrong, but even if the hard nuts of Waltham Abbey are afraid of him, I felt completely safe.

Last night (Thursday) I played at the Corner House in Cambridge following a quick plea over Facebook. When I got there the pub was quiet, but soon two other performers arrived too (Meg and Mark). Oh, and about five other people in the pub including the barman, the sound engineer and his girlfriend. We three musicians chatted easily, all different but it was very amiable.

I was due to go on first at 8.30 but there was still hardly anyone there. Mark suggested that we wait a bit longer as he had some friends coming - which we did and they duly arrived. So I managed to perform my half hour spot to a slightly fuller room than I first feared. I nattered with Tim and Cheryl, two of Mark's friends, and then more of his friends came too - and earlier he'd moaned how no one came to see him. 'Can't be a prophet in your own land' I said, when he told us how he played to packed houses in Manchester and Liverpool.

My performance was, again, very folky - but I actually got them singing choruses! It was a lovely atmosphere, friendly and - due to the lack of huge numbers - quite intimate. After my performance Meg went on - she has a lovely voice and writes fun, quirky songs. After Meg was Mark and I thoroughly enjoyed his performance. He engaged the audience with engaging casual chat, and sang some really nice songs.

So, all three of us were singer/songwriters with guitar. But the combination of the three styles was actually complementary - working excellently together. The audience were appreciative and the evening relaxed and pleasant.

I couldn't find Meg's myspace page, but you can hear Mark here: http://www.myspace.com/markellissolo

The Corner House is a nice venue - with a mix of clientele and nice food (I'm told) and a good place to play or listen to a variety of music. I certainly enjoyed my evening there.

(PS: photo is not taken at either of these two venues, but I didn't have any appropriate ones)

Trains and stations

This morning I was reading a book on the train. I was on a chapter called 'attention' and I thought how the many things I'd noticed about the trains and my journey go unremarked except in my skull. There's no need to share my observations, but there's no harm in paying attention.

Today I was on the 'Buddah' train. This particular train, when idle, makes a soft bell-like noise similar to that of a wooden mallet being gently tapped against the side of a brass prayer bowl. It's quite a restful noise compared to the rest of the squeaks, groans and grinding noises it also makes.

I was on a singing train the other day. In London, the underground train made a squealing noise as it hurtled down the tracks that was light and musical as opposed to harsh and irritating. I christened it the 'singing train' in my mind. You don't talk to people on the underground (well, sometimes I do and I am always amused by the look of panic on their faces). But on this journey, I remember, I was talking to a family from Hungary who had enjoyed a tremendous day in London. They were glowing with fun and delight and the daughter, who was about 15, enjoyed translating for her happy parents and siblings. So, sometimes talking on the underground does work; but I still enjoy freaking out the regulars occasionally by offering a small mote of conversation.

Each morning when I get on the commuter train to Cambridge there is a woman I have known for 14 years. She steadfastly ignores me - has form the first friendly smile I gave her when I knew she was on the same commuter run as me. I don't know why. Perhaps I committed some grave offence, perhaps she'd just like her mornings quiet, and to herself please. Either way that's ok with me, I enjoy the opportunity to read in the bright morning sunshine, lulled by the rocking (and sometimes belling) of the train.

When we get to Cambridge there's a struggle to get past the bikes stacked at the doors, some folding some not. Then there's the sheep-like trail as we head from the platform to the exit, funnelling through the 'dip' (exit gates) dutifully and emerging into a crowded main hall. It's not a big hall, and not always crowded, but most mornings it's a throng of people headed into London or to Kings Lynn, or arriving at Cambridge.

Then I walk up Station Road towards my place of work. And the faces coming towards me are a mix of excitement (off for a day out?) and panic (my train leaves any moment...) and intense concentration (I am a commuter, don't bug me!). Sometimes I notice odd things about people.

For example, the impossibly muscular calves on that woman walking ahead of me - and her nice black skirt and... total lack of hips. Long blonde hair, feminine walk, but in a hurry. She stayed ahead of me. And the cyclists who think that riding on the narrow pavement is safer than the road. Well, it's not safer for the pedestrians. The confused tourists who don't understand the bus stops (actually, they change so often no one understands the bus stops any more). The tall, incredibly student looking guy who, when he turns around, is probably at least 40.

Cambridge is stuffed with youth and life. There are hordes of language students chattering away in various tongues, all 'cool' with eachother and their temporary displacement. There are business people in suits (and some really bad mixes of stripes!) and the wonderful eclectix mix that is Cambridge - from floppy hats to sandals, kaftans to kilts. You will, if you stand at Cambridge Station long enough, see just about every kind of person it is possible to imagine.

So my day starts out with a visual and auditory feast. Perhaps that's why I like to delve into my book. But more often than not I'll be distracted by the view as we trundle along - watching the fields turn from green to gold, from gold to brown, and eventually to white (when the winter comes). Being a commuter is not so bad.