The Second Day Out...
Conquering castle Grapes.
A muse; a force personified as a woman who is the source of inspiration for a creative artist. It has been said that behind every good man there is a great woman. Although I can’t speak of any singular virtue or success which may equate to the title of goodness within our band, I can site great women as a driving force. The tiny dancer’s, the penny lane’s and tonight (For me at least)… my mum.
The grapes in Sheffield has played host to a wide cross section of bands. From Pulp to the Artic monkeys. All will remember making the Alpine journey to the top of the fire escape steps. Welcome too the third floor! I can imagine generations of guitarists cursing the day they bought marshal stacks as they strapped up and made the treacherous ascent to base-camp-stage. Our sherpa met us in the upper echelons of the venue with the rehearsed charm of a man who was looking forward to getting home as soon as he possibly could. “Hello lads,” “long drive?” “Cornwall?” “Is that all your kit in?” Engineers are an amazing breed; balancing frequencies, volumes and most importantly, egos with unwavering consistency. Hats off to them.
The silent film project team rolled in late and flustered muttering obscenities about Sheffield’s one way system. (I love them to pieces.)
Usually I would tech for them before they played but the word was that the Towers family had begun to arrive downstairs.
My Mum was born in Sheffield and the majority of my extended family still lives there. A colourful and unpredictable ball of chaos full of character and love. I welcomed each member to the bar as though it were my front room. I was offered a hotel bath, dinner and a fresh change of clothes but couldn’t except on the grounds that I would break the intrepid nature of the tour. Imagine if Captain Scott’s Mum had turned up with fresh pants, a hot bath and something to eat. “I’m going out, I maybe some time… I fancy staying for dessert.”
I demanded that everyone see silent film project and soon had the dance floor packed out with a drunken family that was insistent that it were 1975 again. My Mum fell in love with Lisa in her Blue neck scarf and hinted (as only a mum to her son can.) that she should become my girlfriend. (Later on the same suggestion was given about the bar maid at the Corporation club and then three girls dressed and his elves.) Paul won the crowd over with his Northern charm and before I knew it we were on.
I started our set with a solo song for my Nan and then off we went like a race horse from the stalls. Before I could say “Aye up duck.” It was all over. Somehow we charmed free tickets for “Sheffield’s premiere rock night club” and the next thing I knew I had Mum and Dad staggering about to the final count down, air guitars and all… and that’s where it all gets a little hazy…
A muse; a force personified as a woman who is the source of inspiration for a creative artist. It has been said that behind every good man there is a great woman. Although I can’t speak of any singular virtue or success which may equate to the title of goodness within our band, I can site great women as a driving force. The tiny dancer’s, the penny lane’s and tonight (For me at least)… my mum.
The grapes in Sheffield has played host to a wide cross section of bands. From Pulp to the Artic monkeys. All will remember making the Alpine journey to the top of the fire escape steps. Welcome too the third floor! I can imagine generations of guitarists cursing the day they bought marshal stacks as they strapped up and made the treacherous ascent to base-camp-stage. Our sherpa met us in the upper echelons of the venue with the rehearsed charm of a man who was looking forward to getting home as soon as he possibly could. “Hello lads,” “long drive?” “Cornwall?” “Is that all your kit in?” Engineers are an amazing breed; balancing frequencies, volumes and most importantly, egos with unwavering consistency. Hats off to them.
The silent film project team rolled in late and flustered muttering obscenities about Sheffield’s one way system. (I love them to pieces.)
Usually I would tech for them before they played but the word was that the Towers family had begun to arrive downstairs.
My Mum was born in Sheffield and the majority of my extended family still lives there. A colourful and unpredictable ball of chaos full of character and love. I welcomed each member to the bar as though it were my front room. I was offered a hotel bath, dinner and a fresh change of clothes but couldn’t except on the grounds that I would break the intrepid nature of the tour. Imagine if Captain Scott’s Mum had turned up with fresh pants, a hot bath and something to eat. “I’m going out, I maybe some time… I fancy staying for dessert.”
I demanded that everyone see silent film project and soon had the dance floor packed out with a drunken family that was insistent that it were 1975 again. My Mum fell in love with Lisa in her Blue neck scarf and hinted (as only a mum to her son can.) that she should become my girlfriend. (Later on the same suggestion was given about the bar maid at the Corporation club and then three girls dressed and his elves.) Paul won the crowd over with his Northern charm and before I knew it we were on.
I started our set with a solo song for my Nan and then off we went like a race horse from the stalls. Before I could say “Aye up duck.” It was all over. Somehow we charmed free tickets for “Sheffield’s premiere rock night club” and the next thing I knew I had Mum and Dad staggering about to the final count down, air guitars and all… and that’s where it all gets a little hazy…
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