Sue's 21st (Slight Return)

The Bowling Green is well established as one of the most riotous drinking holes this side of Bedlam, and with good reason. Nowhere else could you stumble across such profound debauchery on a Tuesday night...

With an extra reason to Party (yes, with a capital ‘P’), in the form of Sue’s recurring 21st celebrations, the locals were primed for an evening of unparalleled over-consumption.

Fortunately, Sue had very wisely arranged a guitar-driven, s**t-kicking disco frenzy in the form of your four favourite

œbe-hatted troubadours, and much beer was duly sweated out.

We’re back at the BG on 21st March, when we have a surprise in store.... We’re keeping it under our hats for the moment, though.....

Exeter City Football Club

The hallowed tundra of St James Park... Oh we had waited a long time for this one, and finally the day dawned for us to moonwalk in Michael Jackson’s footsteps. Unfortunately for us, even Uri Geller's buried crystals couldn't stop the Hallowed Turf being deemed unplayable by the Nitwit from the FA. The match was cancelled throwing our Championship hopes into Disarray.

But 'Play On!' shouted heroic Chris the Bar Man, who frantically Flyered the city centre on our behalf. The Match was off, but the post match entertainment was still on. That's right, that's us!

And what a night! Tone army regulars had some cracking support from the 'City hardcore, with the select but enthusiastic crowd falling some way short of the anticipated 3,000 home crowd in number but not commitment. We played a blinder, a classic contained first half performance with a stalwart second half. Under Samuel's captaincy, Williams shone as ever with flourish and aplomb. The back line didn’t put a foot wrong. The inevitable late hat trick of Jean Genie, Chelsea Dagger and Purple Rain, we dug in for a good half hour of extra time, and having trounced all comers,  and defied all expectations, we're well up for the return leg in the new year! We'll be back!

Love ya, and Love City Too!

Halloween!

Back to the Badninch for the second time in two weeks, and this time with the intention of giving this most loyal wing of the Tone Army (The Panther Division), a seasonal freak out at their Barracks.

Bernie was a zombie serial killer ready to pounce, Bunting was Gene Simmons' undertaker brother, Turner was ready to piss all over anyone who wouldn't be stabbed in the gums as a faithful 'Boosh Hitcher, and Mark brought his gammy elbow.

After warming up for the first half, our wonderful Bradninch audience came good in the second. The youngest mosh pit in history (average age 7) was a bloody but family affair, and once they'd been peeled up and packed off to bed things got really messy.

We love playing Bradninch. We'll be back in the New year storming the Castle Walls once again, then again, then again and again, so we'll see you there. For now, we've got November off. So, back to the dressing up box...

Love ya!

Clip Clop

Ahhh Taunton... Where better for us to play but a town that had renamed it's river in our honour following our trip up the M5 last year? This is the furthest outpost of Tonedom bar Surrey, so we knew we'd better pull out the stops. And what a crowd!

We know we're in a good place when folk are dancing before we've started...

We know folks have decorum when they whoop it up all the way through the first set, politely not mentioning we forgot to turn the PA on...

We know we want to come back for more when we have a thoroughly lovely time and you wonderful crowdsters seemed to too!

So you tonesters, see you next time! Lobby your local landlady, we'll be back!

Ready the Trebuchet!

Man the Battlements!

It was time for our first trip to the Castle at Bradninch since the festival, and we were up for a revisit of those highs (well, you'd be mad not to be let's face it!).  We were chock full of Red Bull and Jamesons by showtime, and although we were a little slow off the blocks, the wonderful Castle dwellers of Bradninch were once again giving us all the encouragement we needed.

There were laughs and cheers, the inevitable fall over the monitors, drum solos, comedy squeaking harmonicas, cheap sexual innuendo and the best room full of drunken dancing people since the last one! Brilliant! Bradninch, we'll back before you know it (Halloween Party Down The Cricket Club anyone?).

Love you lot. Now, we must away to give Taunton a ruddy good going over.

Seeya up the Racehorse!

X

Rock and F*ckin Bowl!

That's right, it was time for another visit to Exeter's home of marvellous music The Bowling Green! We love playing at the BeeGee, and with good reason - what a crowd! From the stage diving regulars and bemused freshers to the three goddesses who had arrived from another planet under the impression they were in Madison Avenue ca 1954, we love you all!

The night was a blast, our set is nearing perfection... Classics all the way, and once we hit Live and Let Die, non stop pop lunacy all the way until closing!

As you'll know from previous Blogs, it has been clinically proven that The Bowling Green have the best looking bar staff in the Northern Hemisphere - and led by Sue the Boss Lady (who found our set very refreshing) we now know they also have the best moves. Equal parts stylish, graceful and downright naughty, we salute you.

See you next time on 28th December to celebrate Sues 30th and make good on that promise of ABBA...

Love ya! X

Steve and Kerry's Wedding

A gig? In Surrey? With our reputation?

 

We had to say ‘Dash it, Yes Sir’, who wouldn’t?  So off to Tadworth we went, in a rented wagon with a Modwardian Road Trip in mind, minus the man with the red flag walking point.  It was rather surreal, sitting through a wedding that only one of our number knew anything about, but with bonhomie on tap at a knock-down price we were soon in the mood.  So in the mood in fact that we were some time setting up… once we got going though, the gig was a stormer and although we were cut short by the fierce landlady calling time earlier than expected, our work was done.  We galloped off to the Newlyweds after-after party with a song in our hearts and Jazz on the mind.  Many hours later with dawn breaking, our shared Holiday Inn accommodation (and indeed beds) were a relief to find.  Apart from poor Harry, who after several minutes slumber sat bolt upright in bed and with a panicked voice enquired “…Ben, you’re not naked…are you?’.

 

Happy Days.

Dr Tivertone, I Presume...

It’s always a treat to break new turf, boldly go where no Tone has gone before and strike out for pastures greener, so it was a spring in our All Stars that we set out for the Twyford in Tiverton last Friday.  And what a venue!  Phil the Pub Landlord has done a cracking job on making this a proper music pub, and we were ready to give it some proper music.  

Once the tonettes had made a belated arrival (smelling suspiciously of tequila), the scene was set, we struck a chord and were off!  By now you can guess the rest, but we really did have a whale of a time.  The fine folk of Tiverton joined in with aplomb – the ladies were really rather flattering us with some frankly provocative moves on the dancefloor, the chaps clutched their pints and nodded in all the right places – although either way round is fine with us.  

Our new one-two of Last Nite/Are You Gonna be my Girl left poor Ben the Bass in a state of confusion, Bernie was struck with an attack of Onanists Claw during My Sharona which Mark found hilarious until he was similarly afflicted just in time for the big Purple Rain finish.  They blame the energy drinks, but you know the truth my lovelies.  We’ll certainly be back for more with Phil’s permission – so hang onto your badges folks, we’ll see you in the new year!
X

Music and Mayhem!

It was our last public outdoor engagement of the summer, and it was quite a day out for us all. Despite the early start (now Harry knows there's a 10 o'clock in the morning as well), we were able to mostly get our gear set up before the gates opened at Noon. That's right friends, a daytime session!

The wonderful folk of Culmstock gave us their full attention, at least until the Rounders, Tug o War and Dog Show kicked in. Following our first set, we banded the stage over to the uber-talented Alex Hart, who mercifully wasn't the X-factor winner we'd led everyone to expect.

She had a tough job though, as she was up against Jungle Jim, who is definitely the finest children's comedy ventriloquist that we or any other Modwardian troubadours have shared a bill with. He's brilliant.

With the weather closing in, the crowd found themselves with only one place to go, and our second set saw some spectacularly tasty locals giving it the sort of rain dancing that we haven't seen since last years Winkleigh Fair! Get on you lot!

With the Raffle results taking the wind out of our crescendo, we had to gee the wonderful crowd up all over again, and gee we did - Chelsea Dagger, Delilah and My Generation was enough to blow the clouds away once and for all and send everyone home with a smile on their faces and a spring in their steps!

Thank you Culmstock! Can we come back please?

Love ya!

X

What's that coming over the hill.... It's a double-headed pub-rock-art monster

Summer Boot Camp is over, and it’s been quite a break.  Mark’s back from running free jazz trombone workshops in Montego Bay, Bernie crashed out of the US Open in the opening round and Ben has returned (in body at least) from his French Tour with Lee Perry and the Bass Mothership.  And Harry never noticed he was the only one turning up for rehearsals.  So far, so normal.

 

And what a weekend!  Back to back, we broke new ground and wowed new faces!  On Friday, it was our first trip to Moretonhampstead.  The Union Inn Rocks!  We officially love the place!  The marvelous folk of Moreton not only turned out for us, they turned out and paid a fiver for the privilege – which is above and beyond the call of the wild (or something).  Bernie even hooked up with an old Ashbucket Alumni which was nice – last time they were together they were setting the head of the Dungeons & Dragons club on fire for not paying his protection money – happy days…  We loved playing all night long for the Moreton regiment of the Tone Army, but our drill sergeant had an eye on the clock and we had to stop at midnight – we may have lost a few Facebook Friends as a result, but we hope they’ll be back. We definitely will be, and we were relieved to find that it felt like we’d never been away – next year, we’d like to be on the back of a float on the high street, we’ll give it the full Rio Del Janeeeerio (as Westwood would say). 

 

Then it was straight to Bradninch to set Molly and Ed on a course for marital bliss following their tremendous transatlantic tryst.  Honestly – Molly and Eds crowd were the most up for it wedding crew we’ve played to in a long time - we hope that getting a roomful jumping to the Timewarp was the right thing to do and a recipe for a happy midatlantic matrimony.  It was a private affair so discretion must prevail, which is a shame because we really can’t tell you about Harry, the bridesmaids and the chap in the uniform’s very impressive weapon….

 

See you on Sunday at Culmstock!

Winkleigh Fair (Slight Return)

So it’s probably fair to say our expectations of the good folk of Winkleigh were reasonably high, after they failed to be put of by the monsoon-like weather conditions that accompanied last year’s performance and the carnage that followed several months later at the Seven Stars. Needless to say, we weren’t disappointed; the committee had gone all out to make this a year to remember, and as soon as the lads spotted the colossal stage area, and backstage area with chilled beer, a good night was on the cards.

Only problem was - the buggers wouldn’t let us stop! It’s fair game having one or two encores at the end of the night, this is expected. Returning to the stage for the fourth time, and with most of the equipment in a state of collapse, the only thing we hadn’t played was a completely unrehearsed version of ‘Won’t get fooled again’. Luckily the lads pulled off a blinder and went steaming off in the direction of the Exe valley with Winkleigh ringing in their shell-likes. See you next year!

Carlsberg don't make pubs, but if they did...

It was with some excitement that we approached the Bowling Green on Saturday night – it had been waaaay too long since we’d put our Modwardian toes in this hallowed pond.  Once again though, it was troubadours vs the beautiful game – the world football trophy was vying for the attention of the assembled throng, and there was nothing we could do but give it a ruddy good go. 

 

Warm wasn’t the word for it though – the impact of our efforts was immediately apparent – we thought we were going to get things moving with a fairly mellow rock n roll start, but not with this lot.  Maybe it was the hats, maybe it was the beards,most likely it was young Turner rakishly undoing an extra button on his shirt, but we soon realized we were in for a sweaty night – by halfway through the first set there wasn’t a dry seat in the house, and everyone was up and dancing. By the end of the first set we were pleading for water like a lost troop of desert rats and the incredible audience (who were even more good looking than usual, if you can believe such a claim) were up and dancing like there was no tomorrow…

 

The second half just got better.  You had to be there.  In between gasping for oxygen and downing a collective 18 pints of water, we managed to squeeze in our first go at Toxic by Britney, some startlingly rendered 80’s classics, alarmingly accurate seventies gems and assorted titbits.  The surprise Whole Lotta Radar Love left some of the chaps in the audience agog.  Disco Inferno left some of the front row beauties visibly excited. The TimeWarp veered perilously close to line dancing territory, and the big My Generation finish pretty much left us for dead!  And the audience!  We love you! We love the Bowling Green! Sue rocks!

 

Now, hold onto your stovepipes boys, next stop Winkleigh!

Bradninch Festivaaaaaal

There is a kind of ‘Murphy’s law’ attached to our forays out to Bradninch which states that there’s always something or other on the box exactly when we’re due to hit the stage; it’s usually some Simon Cowell related nonsense, but this time the England team had a pop at pulling the locals towards the ubiquitous goggle box.

Fortunately, the folks out at Bradninch know a good time when it hoves into view in a frock coat and stovepipe hat.

D’you know what? I have not the words to describe how it felt up there last night. The words ‘loud’, ‘ecstatic’, and ‘moist’ spring to mind. An MDMA-crazed pole dancer (male) caused me to miss the end of ‘My Sharona’; Dominic reprised his silky disco stylings on the balcony; ‘Personal Jesus’ rocked the joint like a five minute mod-gasm. There were stage invasions, episodes of hyperventilation and dizziness, Cops, Russians and American girls, all losing it big-time to the sound of a band hitting the sorts of highs not achieved since Rick James spent three days freebasing cocaine behind windows covered in aluminum.

Can we do this again please, Bradninch?

I've been around the Globe, and I... I... I...

A new high in Thorvertonage, we broke new ground, cut new turf, played new tunes and wowed new faces.  If this blog has been a little while coming, it’s because we’re only now in a position to make sense of what was a great and surreal night.

 

Hormones were practically dripping from the ceiling, of all and in some cases synthetic varieties.  By the time we reached the triumphant crescendo of the end of the first set, stocking tops were on display, percussion instruments had been seized for the duration by the new Rhythm Police wing of the tone army, and strangely, the pub dog made homeless because someone had fallen asleep in his basket.   

 

The respectable folk of Exeter’s Newtown revealed themselves to be the hooligans we always knew them to be (we christen thee Red Squadron), damaging the ceiling’s plasterwork pogoing to I Can See For Miles.  The Southern Boogie of Personal Jesus left people confused but elated (some thought it was Dr and the Medics with different words, which I guess it was in a sense).  Gloriously big handed lady types generously offered to avail themselves to your favorite behatted, bewildered balladeers.

 

To snatch triumph from the Jaws of victory, Poor Harry had to turn down the most direct and urgent proposition of his short life, only to climb into Mum & Dad’s car for the ride home in front of the generously hearted dame.  Bless.

 

We love the Globe!

May day! May Day!

Everybody knows that the earliest May Day celebrations appeared in pre-Christian  times, with the festival of Flora, the Roman Goddess of flowers, bless her.  Well, Thorvertonians know when they’re onto a good thing, cos it’s still the biggest night in the social calendar since the last one, and guess who they asked to come out to play!

 

That’s right, at the invitation of the esteemed and respected Thorverton Country Show Committee, The lil’ ol’ Thorvertones were asked to provide a turn for their May Day Ball – and we provided quite a spectacle.  We were determined to make the evening go with a bang, and given the rare chance to use an actual theatrical curtain rather than simply stumble into action, in our excitement we wisely decided to open with a two minute Northern Soul dance demonstration.  I can’t believe we hadn’t thought of this sooner, and what a scoop for the committee!  Bizarrely, the paying audience were a trifle bemused, and the nerves of the organizers had started to jangle.

 

So we ploughed on regardless, but this time on a more traditional tack and actually using our instruments.  And singing.  And all that…

 

Possibly it was the booze.  Perchance it was the dizzying vibrations of the 450 Watt Bass Mothership descending for the first time.  Potentially it was the disorienting aroma of the exploding backstage Prawn Ring rider.  Most likely, it was the heady mix of whisky, lemsip, bow-ties, bravado, profitoroles, rohypnol, stage fright, the surreal influence of playing in the abandoned stage set of a vicarage sitting room, the hall full of people in Black Tie and our secret shape-throwing competition.  We’ll never know, but it only ruddy well worked.  Phew.

 

By the end of the night, even a HUGE My Generation couldn’t stop the wonderful village people wanting more.  And there will be more! We can’t wait!  All things told, a brilliant time was had by all, and dancing for the best part of three hours takes some serious dedication to the cause so thank you, you wonderful wonderful people.

 

See you all at the Globe on the 15th!

 

Love ya!

S&M on Exeter High Street

Ahhhh… Exeter High Street.  House of Fraser, Marks & Spencer, Boots, Gap, H&M, Laura Ashley, Lakeland.  Heady stuff, I know, but last Saturday saw an altogether more exciting prospect for the weekend shopper, and we don’t mean the new Ann Summers toy box.

That’s right, the Fabulous ‘Tones were out to spread the good word of Modwardian Rock n Roll to the good, and oft bemused,  Exeter citizenry.  And spread the word we did.  Mark and Bernie were powered by nothing more than elbow grease and acoustic guitars, we had a small box of angry bees to help Ben on Bass and a stripped down Harry Turner (the drum kit, not him).  We adopted Matt the Fiddle as the inaugural holder of the title ‘Tone for a Day’ , and we had a whale of a time.

And mostly, so did the audience… The high street hadn’t seen anything like it since the Rhythm Doctors held up the traffic to balance a double bass on their chin back in ‘98, and the crowd swelled at times to plod-worrying proportions, although a fuzz-bass acoustic disco rendition of Radar Love soon put pay to that.

So it was with a vague sense of ennui that we packed up, and tramped up the road to take part in Phonic FM’s mammoth 25 hour show, and hand all the money over to help keep everyone’s favourite ailing radio station afloat.  That place is like the boat that rocked.  Except not a boat.

The whole event will be the subject of a You Tube Film very soon, but we know there's no substitute for the real thing. Rest assured we’ll do it again, it was too much fun not to, so keep an eye out on a high street near you...

Love ya!

Kentisbeare Arms - Amnesty!

Crikey. What a night!

Kentisbeare rocks. It's official. What began as a selfless act of self promotion disguised as altruistic rock n roll charity work on our part ended up as a triumphant celebration of all that's good about being alive.

The Wyndham Arms was the venue, Amnesty International was the reason, and we served up a smorgasbord of smashes that was more than a match for the groaning weight of cheese that formed the firmament of the promised rock n roll ploughmans.

Dancing from beginning to end, the crowd were a dream come true. We loved every minute of it! We were feeling thoroughly invigorated by our change of threads from Modwardian Troubadours to the full blown revolutionary wing of the Tone Army (aka the Citizen Smith appreciation society), although it was probably more Frank Spencer than Che Guavara if truth be told. We've been promised a return trip, so come on you good good people of Kentisbeare - let's make it happen!

Now, all we need to do is pull off a full acoustic set on the streets of Exeter next weekend and we'll be laughing. The music will be fine, it's the wardrobe decisions that take the time...

Love ya!

X  

Glen and Tori's Wedding

In the fine surroundings of Padbrook Park, Cullompton, we arrived suited, booted and flowered up to entertain the good folks at Glenn and Tori’s wedding.  Modesty and sound legal advice means we can’t go into too many details, it was a private affair after all.  Nonetheless, after several hours on their feet it took all our powers to get people up and moving, but up and moving they were got.  Bernie’s Decade as a redcoat at the Minehead Butlins, Mark’s Perrier Award runner-up repartee combined with a rendition of the finer parts of Britney Spear’s back catalogue that can at best be described as ‘impromptu‘ and ‘in the key of C Minor’ was what finally did it.  That and of course the almost talismanic power of the ‘Tones branded right converse boot (pictured) meant that we were able to put Glenn and Tori’s life of marital bliss off to cracking start (the only way is up after all).  So, with a stonking finish of Purple Rain / My Generation our work was done, and we disappeared into the East Devon night with our heads held high and our pockets stuffed with buffet fayre of onion Bhajis and chicken drumsticks.  Tone Life is the real vida loca.

See you in Kentisbeare for a Rock and Roll Ploughmans!

Thorverton Arms

Saturday Night - best night of the week.  And one of the best nights of the year for the good folk of Thorverton, who welcomed us back to their warm, shapely (and dare I say it pert) bosom like the errant children we wish we still were!  We love you lot!

 

The Thorverton Arms (under new management) were the hosts of what turned into a damn fine evening for all concerned, and it really did feel like coming home, back to where it all began all those years ago.  There was cake, there were new tunes (a weirdly great version of Disco Inferno, and a greatly weird version of I Can See For Miles by the Who), there was dancing and joy in abundance, and Bernie was so elated he was able to put the shocking impact of his home dentistry efforts to the back of his mind, if only for a couple of hours. 

 

We can now add time travel to our CVs apparently, which is nice.  We thought we'd played until half past midnight, but a particularly exuberant 'Whole Lotta Radar Love' must have finally ripped a hole in the space time continuum (we always knew it was a potentially volatile combination), as according to the anonymous message left on the 'Arms answering machine, we didn't let up until half past one.  Even the Tones ushering in British Summertime won't please some people. Bah Humbug indeed.

 

So, thanks to all of you for coming, and we really really really want to see you at the Wyndham Arms on the 17th April.  After too long out of the limelight, we've got our Mojo back and we're not afraid to work it.  And judging by Saturday, we're gonna need both hands...

Seven Stars, Winkleigh

We arrived to an empty pub in Winkleigh – well, empty bar a few stalwarts from this farthest outpost of the tone-o-sphere (love ya!). 

 

Had enthusiasm had waned in the long musical drought that followed our last appearance in Winkleigh, at the fair that was tormented by the tempest of 2009?  Could the barely glowing embers of Tonedom that survived that deluge have been so dampened that we couldn’t re-light the fire?

 

Fear not – you can’t keep a good town down.  The fine folk of Winkleigh filled the wonderful Seven Stars to the rafters well before the starting gun.  Honestly – what a pub! A joy to play – sounds great, feels great, and packed full of wonderfully drunk, great looking, enthusiastic lovers of the art of ‘choon.  Honestly, we’d have taken you all home with us if we could.

 

Highlights for us were a surprise rendition of ‘Don’t You Want Me Baby’, the gradual elegant degeneration of poor Bernie’s voice into a Barry White/Tom Waits/Fagin rasp and of course the impromptu presentation of Mark’s commemorative birthday vibrating cock-ring. 

 

You’re a marvelous lot and we’re well chuffed to have come away with a solid third date at the Winkleigh Fair in July to be followed by our first confirmed booking of 2011.  We love you lot, we can’t wait, and be warned, when we come back, we will be on a mission to firmly consummate this blossoming relationship with the good folk of Winkleigh!

Back to the 80's

Our friend ‘the doc’ built us a time machine out of a Honda pickup.  We put Time circuits on, the Flux Capacitor was fluxing, the engine was running, it was time to head…. Back to the ‘80s!  All right!

 

In celebration of Katie’s Birthday, we transformed for one night only into a four headed 1980s jukebox.  No stops were left unpulled this time around.  From the cocktails (Sex on the Beach and Blue Lagoons, naturally), to the 80’s snacks, to the Jean-Michel Jarre laser and light show to the all pervading school disco frisson of sexual tension, bacchanalian doesn’t do it justice.  They say it’s the decade that fashion forgot, but you lot didn’t look too shabby from where we were standing, believe us.  Particularly you in the blue dress. Yes, you - poor Harry’s still reeling.

 

What a night!  You lot were amazing, danced from start to finish and kept us moving too.  Despite your enthusiasm though, most of these songs will never again see the light of day, at least on our watch – it really was a one night only job.  But some of them were definitely for keeps - Video Killed the Radio Star, Crash, Personal Jesus – you’ll be hearing them again!

 

Overall, we all fell a little bit back in love with the 80s last night, but love can be a fleeting thing. ‘80s Britain was a nice place to visit, but we wouldn’t want to live there…. 

 

See you in Winkleigh - business as usual!