Hey baby, it's just a number, it ain't no thang...

Not a gig as such, more a celebration of all things Bernie. To celebrate the 40th anniversary of the successful launching of the worlds first patented Modwardian Steam Powered Bellower, the masses assembled in the Skittle alley for an evening of fine chilli, inappropriate karaoke, quadruple guitar idiocy and jazz abuse.

Magic moments included:
- Bernie's 'Dad at Glastonbury' garb
- Fifth Tones Bob and Owen joining together for a rendition of Wannabe by the Spice Girls
- Bunting discovering his inner Elvis while dressed as the man from the Pru
- Turner's convincing Latino Rentboy Ricky Martin turn
- Mark as a Weather Girl
- being joined by Matthew onstage for a few Tones classics

None of the above would translate into normal life well. If you tried it on, for instance, Kilburn High Road on a Wednesday morning, it would seem inappropriate and amateurish. With good reason.

But in a Skittle alley, surrounded by friends and family and beer and spices? Bloody marvellous.

Happy Birthday Bernie. May the majesty of rock and mystery of roll burn ever brightly in your knackered middle aged torso. XXX

- posted from a wireless telegraph

Living La Vida Local

And so the last of our epic run of gigs and the first of quite a jaunt of private affairs! We were the evening turn at an indeterminate wedding, and Silverton, the bastard half brother of the village we call home, the venue.

Now given the inter village rivalry (a result of a Thorverton pig being indecently assaulted by a horny Tanner in the 14th century), we decided not to hoist the Banner and instead pretended to be Sicilian. Bad move - turned out the groom was from Napoli. And like his nautical namesake he had travelled the world then run aground in South Devon.

I digress - pig fondling and maritime history is for another day. Asides from the village busybody complaining about the noise at the ungodly hour of 9.15, the gig was wonderful. The memo about non stop dancing had obviously been translated well. Having already conquered time and space, it transpires the Tones transcend language and culture too.

So, we finally got to tick 'a floor full of stylish Italians shaking their bits to the hits' off our list, and a fantastic evening was had by all. Well all except for that complaining old sourpuss. A Mr Tanner, apparently. Odd fellow. Smelt of bacon.

21st Birthday party next. With our reputations?

Love you byee!
X

- posted from a wireless telegraph

Queens of the 'Tone Age

A double headed weekend of Toneage!  It’s more than a lot of folk would be able to handle but as you know we’re made of pretty stern stuff.

First up, the Twyford – Our last trip to Tiverton was a like an uphill slog to get the not unattractive crowd moving.  No such worries this time – a belter, a barnstormer, a steam roller of a gig! It was all going well, when who should show up but the lovely Tessa and the gang? Call us shallow, but we all take it up a notch when she’s in the building, which meant young Turner was going at his drums like a bloody traction engine by the end of the first set. A huge hen party rolled in – twice.  The first time, the hen said she wanted Bernies sock, so he provided her with a sweaty left one.  She looked a little disappointed.  Bernie insists she said sock.  The guys from Ashill turned out too – it was like a smorgasbord of friends!  We gave it the trademark big finish via a stylishly executed Timewarp which took us to the dot of midnight, and more than a little dancing in the street - just what Phil the Pub Landlord ordered, and the doctor too given the kudos the wonderful folk of the Twyford bathed us in. Tiverton is now officially Tivertone. 

We say Bowling – you say Green – right? Damn right!  With the students departed and the economy on the rocks, the BeeGee wasn’t as full as we’d have liked the following night, but it’s quality not quantity that we go by.  Even better, both! We put in a mildly shambolic butlins-esque first half, but by the time the second set got underway and the dancing tunes started to roll, we’d won enough hearts and minds that there were plenty willing to take up the cause.  With some sassy moves the bar team cemented their place in our hearts, and some frankly sexual moves on the dance floor left one poor chap overwhelmed. And that’s just the bass player.  We finished big again, and won ourselves some new friends and kept some old ones, and as folk staggered off into the night we realized we’d done it – climbed two peaks in one weekend and kept our marbles to boot! 

So, that's six gigs in five weeks – one more to go before we can keel over with dignity. You never know, we might have actually learned some of the songs by then.  Bring it on!

Love you byeeee! X

In praise of the three headed guitar salute.

Not every band can pull this off you know.  As you can see.

Going down, madam?

The man, the legend...

That's right - the basement bar at the City Gate was our destination, to celebrate the wedding of our uber-producer, svengali and fifth Tone - Professor Owen 'The O' Gleeson, PhD.

We're not meant to go on about private do's on here, but we do anyway.  A fine bevvy of guests were in attendance, the resplendent wedding finery only highlighting the perkiness of the general throng.  But the novelty of our new smoke machine still hasn't worn off, and the fine looking folk were soon lost in an 18th century peas souper.  Or Ibizan love fest. Or both.

All in all, it was a corker of a gig.  We played better than we had in weeks which was a relief given how many friends were assembled.  Given the nature of these things, a couple of short sets was all we had time for, but we got the evening off to a flyer.  And it was with a spring in our steps and a kink in our fast decomposing stovepipes that we handed over to our celtic compadres who were kicking up a Sharmockin' Shitstorm up in the garden with their fiddly ways.  Awesome stuff. One of them offered to give Harry a twirl but he said he's already eaten.  

So, on to next weekends Double Header - Friday at the Twyford, Saturday at the Bowling Green.  Get in!  See you at one or the other, or even better, both!

Love you byeee x