Yes yes yes its my autumn almanac

Well, its been a bracing start to the Autumn campaign. indeed, with the first snows still lingering in the Blackdowns, and the Christmas Single (available on iTunes and Amazon) being dusted off yet again, it's time for another stovepipe.

We kicked off with another stonking trip to the Racehorse - and one that nearly never happened. in five years ofmgigging, only once have we ever had to cancel. But we cam perilously close this time. Only with the support of industrial doses of Imodium and a prescription of Port with a Brandy mixer was poor Harry able to make it through a typically manic night out in Tonetown. Fancy New Year's Eve? Get your free tickets now, they're disappearing fast and you can't come in without them!

No sooner had Harry trodden on his first duck without dropping a pebble, than we were off to Tiverton for a 70th birthday. The theme was 'music through the Ages', and we do like to hit the dressing up box. Whtndid we learn? That 70 year olds aren't what they used to be. Especially if you're in Tivvy. With more pep than a Naga Viper, and more energy than a fast breeder, our host put the majority of attendees a third of her age to shame. She got the moves.



With all this gigging activity, we kind of gave up rehearsing so used our time up Jon Mann's back alley at the Exeter to do some recording. With professor Gleeson back at the controls, the fruits of a couple of hours guerrilla recording are free for you to download to enjoy at your leisure. We recommend you listen naked.

With our mojo rising, it was back to where it all started, the Thorverton Arms, for a bit of a homecoming. The surprise Friday Night party had a James Bond theme, which although no-one told us of, we were able to contribute to by muddling our way through a passable stab at 'Live and Let Die'.



With a quick stop at the Bowling Green, which we love, allowing us to press the flesh with the good folk of the big city, we were on a roll. So much that we were playing at an alarming pace and had to pull 40 minutes material out of our stovepipes as we'd played 43 songs by twenty past eleven. Sometimes, the extent of our knowledge of inappropriate party songs surprises even us. It's that limited.

So with our danders up, it was time once again for the Bradninch Halloween Party. This gets bigger every year. It was our third time in a row, and there will definitely be a fourth. The best performance of a straight run of seven in a row, it was inspired by the smell of greasepaint, regular doses of the spirit of jazz and clear sight of a range of devilish corsetry. What a combination. We loved it, we love Bradninch, and we'd like to come play your festival this summer. Can we be your Friday night lovers?



So, that's Autumn. And when winter comes, can Spring be far behind?

Next stop the Black Horse, then back to the bat cave for a rub down and a strategy session. What we need is a Manifesto.

Love you you lovely lovers.
Byeeeeee!
X

Everybody say 'Yeo'

A couple of quiet ones to start the Autumn Campaign gave us an opportunity to start dusting off some oldies and get some new ones ready for action. And of course play silly buggers as usual!







First up was Sandford, and a fundraiser - the good cause in question was to send three young ladies to care for some ginger apes. Sadly, Bernie and Ben's Christmases hadn't come early - it was something to do with Orangutans. We were unsurprisingly hazy on the details, but we've been promised a photo of adventurous lady youths wrestling primates while wearing Thorvertones badges in the Sumatran jungle. It's a special interest thing, but we're not ashamed of our peccadillos.

The gig was a right lark, under-attended due to internecine village sabotage. But a right lark nonetheless!

Second up was a trip to Yeovil Labour Club. That's right - our chance to put the PARTY back into Labour. Yeovil is one of the safest Lib Dem seats in the country. The right honourable David Laws MP has majority of more than 13,000, so we knew we re up against it. Bernie's previous life as a redcoat and would surely give us the skills to triumph, though, and his rousing tales of the working men's clubs of the North filling us with equal parts trepidation and boyish excitement.






And the Yeovil Socialist Workers really did their thing. In the kind of tidal wave of left wing support that will surely see this shambles of a Government burned at the stake in Parliament Square and usher in a new future of communal farming and gulag-style work camps for Bankers, capitalists and Tory voters, every single labour voter in Yeovil turned out to support us. That's right. 100%. All twelve of them.

But whatever the event, we attack it like it's Wembley and party like it's 1899. Even with such a select audience, there was dancing and merriment, joy and laughter, and not always restricted to the stage. The smoke machine went into overdrive and pogoing was the order of the day. Markie's fingers were a blur and Turners Tubthumping reached Bonham-esque levels of lairiness. Bunting, newly nicotine-free had more energy than a horny jackrabbit and Bernie, ever the professional, was always two songs ahead.

In years to come, all 13,012 members of the nascent people's republic of Yeovilgrad will honour the bronze statues erected in our honour, and whisper 'I was there'...

- Posted from a wireless telegraph

Stovepipe Summer Special!

It's customary for us to go quiet over the summer, but this year we have eschewed the annual Tones Boot Camp for some choice events. Read on...






We brought on a brief spell of actual sunshine when we visited the Twyford at the back end of July. Unbelievably, even we cannot beat the lure of the great back garden on the first hot day of summer, and the pull of the griddle kept things relatively sedate for the first half. No bad thing as it was Bunting's first time back in the bass saddle since the surgery on his hand to treat second degree Onanist's claw. He'll never learn.

Come sundown though, Normal service was resumed (well, normal for Tiverton), the Twyford filled up and we stepped up a gear to the point where Bernie's guitar packed up due to excessive perspiration penetration. All we needed was a quick change, and we cantered home to end the evening with singing, dancing and falling over.

And speaking of cantering (smooth eh?), next stop was the Racehorse. We do love to play the racehorse - drinking from the river Tone as all Tauntonians do means we practically run in their veins.

A stormer. An impromptu resurrection of Galway Girl in honour of Mary the Landlady's Celtic roots brought the house down (play 'Where's Mary' in the picture below), and also brought us a booking for New Year's Eve! You heard it here first - it's ticket only so get yours while they're hot!






Next up was a trip onto the Moor, to help the good folk of Moretonhampstead discover their inner Brazilian. That's right - Carnival time!

With support from the rather marvellous Gidley's Turn, we were later on than we hoped and had to truncate the three hour epic set we had planned. But no matter! Bernie may have had one eye on stumbling errant family members but both eyes on the job, Markie the rock he always is and Turner pounding away like a Traction Engine at the Dorset Steam Fair, we were on form.





And through the wonders of the magic lantern, moving images were captured for posterity. Click around here to have a taste or, for the masses of Moreton, take a trip down memory lane.

Although the event may have marked the end of the summer for many, being the house band for Jim & Jo's Wedding also marked the start of our autumn campaign so there was excitement all round. Especially when we spied the free Y'ammer.






The venue was West Town Farm, the vibe so rurally idyllic we kept expecting Hugh F-W to turn up with a dead pig over his shoulder.

A rare thing, the lovely guests still had the energy to dance all night, with the happy couple a vision of radiance in Hunter wellies. sweet.






So, as Jim and Jo sail off into the sunset on a sustainable mackerel boat, it's just the beginning for us. All over again. Autumn 2012, we're coming to break your back doors in!

Check the calendar or Facebook page for dates, or follow us on Twitter (@thorvertones).

Tone Army. We love you!
X
- posted from a wireless telegraph

Bowlin' Bowlin' Bowlin', though the streams are swollen...

Having had our preparations for the Bowling Green cut perilously short by the tribulations of the great and good of the village (see previous), we were feeling good. After all, experience shows that there is no greater portent of doom than a decent rehearsal beforehand. It tends to lull one into a false sense of security, and removes the rock n roll ants from our patented modwardian spanx. And if we're honest, there's one thing we all need, and that's entomological interest in our undercarriages.

And we were right to feel good. A quiet Bowling Green filled up so fast when we kicked off that the sweat started literally pouring off us by the third song. With nearly fifty on the list, it was fortunate we had Tone Army stalwarts to keep us refreshed.



Before...

Another banging night at the Bowler was had by all, from the passing bass heads to the small but never insignificant Hell's Angel's contingent, to the 1920s flappers to the aforementioned Tone Army Stalwarts. There were even genuine musicians in the audience who were able to enthusiastically confirm that Pub Rock had once again been elevated by us to it's rightful place as an Art Form.

Even the curse of the Bowling Green made an appearance. Always the scene if some of our most spectacular equipment failures, this trip was no exception. But this time the alignment of the stars had nothing to do with it. Not even the notorious ley lines detected and amplified by Markie's communist era Soviet valve set were innocent this time. No, this one was self inflicted. Our glorious ginger demigod of a singer managed to sweat so much, so very very much, that it all dribbled into his Telecaster and shorted the bugger out.



...and after

So, with a promise of a trip to Germany next year to wow the locals at Schnitzelfest 2013 (installation of a perspiration drain allowing), and the satisfaction of an audience well satisfied, it was off to the Bat Cave for a little jazz fusion and some emergency hand surgery!
See you next time!
X

Location:The Bowling Green

Thorvertones vs the committee!

This evening we turned up as usual for our Wednesday rehearsal up Johns back alley, only to find we'd been usurped by a triple booking of us, the show committee and the British Legion. And you know who's going to come off worse in a square up between some octogenarian fundraisers, the great and the good of the village and four modwardian snotrags.




That's right, we had to wait it out in the car park and practice our swearing. Having had more downtime of late than a Natwest cash point, we really needed to get our musical ends away. So when we finally got in, we had but an hour to polish ourselves up for our next engagement. But what an hour! It was like Flashman in a Parisian brothel, good stuff just kept coming and coming, beauty after little beauty.
Saturday at the bowling Green is going to be awesome! See you there!
Love you byeeeee!
X
- posted from a wireless telegraph

Ashill A-Go-Go

On a night that Auspiciously marked the 97th anniversary of Les Paul's birth, we headed for one of the most anticipated bookings of the year so far with our hearts a flutter and sexy new hats twitching with excitement.

As we rolled up, our supporting acts were providing a soundtrack to drinking but as yet, barely a quivering thigh on the dance floor. The night was young though so we retired to the hilltop to survey the scene and lay down some four way jazz harmonics to settle our souls.

As the allotted hour approached, and the sun began to set, we got the crowd and security on side with some judicious souvenir badge sistribution, then took to the stage for two hours of relentless Tones action.




The opening numbers were captured for all time, but the real fun started later. Like the behatted modwardian four headed rock and pop explosion that you now know us to be, the tunes kept building. And so did the crowd and their appetite for MORE!

From the delirious man with no shirt and passionate line in voicemail, to the birthday girl who broke her hand when someone's face got in the way, to the frankly excellent singing and raucous reception, we kept a righteous riot in full swing to the end.



As time ran short we were forced to cut songs. Like having to pick your favourite child, a painful and troubling business. But we picked wisely and, courtesy of our patron and all round good egg Tim, we're still able to finish on a big one.

Mission accomplished. Same time next year?

On this form, can the Bowling Green contain us? You'll have to come down on July 7th to find out...

Love you Ashill, love you all!

Byeeeee!
X


- posted from a wireless telegraph

We've been expecting you...

It might have all seemed a little quiet of late - but the ringing in our ears suggests otherwise. Thats right, we've been singing and dancing for the man at private bookings - and due to extensive privacy agreements being in place we haven't been able to share with you. But, frankly, bugger that. Edited highlights of the last few weeks:

First up, Tom's nuptials at Zeal Monochorum. This was the one where we learnt an Elvis tune and almost forgot to play it, only to remember it at the last minute and find a whole new way to end a gig on an arse-grabbing high. Tom proved himself to have some of the buggingest moves seen in a groom in our career so far. And it turns out that even chemically enhanced Bassheads love the Thorvertones.

Next up was Sidmouth. This is the one where we found out that sensible family cars were a lot less sensible in the 1960s. We played a storming do to a crowd who never fail to get what we do! More please, Sidmouth.

Finally, to the Berry Bridge Bank Holiday Birthday Bash. That was the one where we all smoked and drank heavily. Its rare to be playing within walking distance of our beds, and these opportunities need to be taken. A right lark, we defied the weather forecast in a testament to the power of collective positive thinking. Both barrels of Yellow Hammer were emptied, our bladders were the source of impromptu breaks. Every song had a frisson of confusion about it and our ever expanding set filled what developed into a perfect summers evening with what can only be described as The Thorvertones. Incidentally,we learnt the Smiths and nearly managed to play it.

So, rest assured we've been keeping ourselves limber while we while away the weeks to our next public engagement. And when we do finally get out again, the upshot of our millinery reflections, stage dressing developments and more will be revealed, at a beer festival near you!

See you in Ashill - we can't wait!

Unplugged, unrehearsed and ill considered...

There were songs to learn. For gigging, for pleasure, for you. So we got together for a euphemistic 'band meeting', sadly without Turner the boy wonder, and due to the ubiquitous nanotechnological nature of the white heat of NOW!, it's like you were in the room. There's no escape.

Click to watch:
The Faces
The Bee Gees
Elvis

Love you!
Byeeeeeeee!
X


- posted from a wireless telegraph

My Oh My, you ARE a Dark Horse...

We were only mildly miffed at having to delay our annual 21 April celebration of the ascension of that most decadent of Henrys (the 8th, of course) - but duty called and the birthday needs of two of our loveliest fans were more important than another round of mead and posset.

And after a not too typical start (Big Bertha the Bass Amp asserted her right to strike halfway through the first number, precipitating an acoustic Springsteen tribute and Bryan Adams duet with Tess the birthday girl), we locked into the relentless groove that smashed Taunton's back doors in so very insistently last week.

It worked a charm. After the last two outings at the Black Horse, which were arguably less than ecstatically received, it was a treat to be holding the ring for what for all intents and purposes could have passed for an innovative and darn sweaty round in the Miss Exeter 1973 contest.


Much good humoured carry-on style flirtatiousness was apparent. All good, wipe-clean fun except for poor Turner, who was freaked out by the female attention - the poor latino rent boy has become so used to assorted Cougar and Bear attacks that to be confronted by sexy peers is an alien and unsettling experience.

Needless to say, we were inspired to bang through a relentless three hours like a Barn Door in Tornado Alley. Unfortunately, we had a gig to play so we put our energy into that instead, and ended up leaving large parts of our audience thoroughly spent.
 
And sadly, for now, we are going underground, to sing and dance for The Man at assorted private gigs and weddings. Private in that our beautiful Tone Army can't be there in person, but not so private that we won't stick it in the Stovepipe. So you'll need to get your kicks here, and we'll see you in mid-June. Where, we hear you cry?

You say ASH - we say HILL! Probably the best ale festival in Devon...

See you there. Love you byeeee!

X

Sturm und Twang

Karmically, the portents were good. The Racehorse? On Grand National Day? With the Nation focused on all things equine, we could feel ourselves being borne aloft on the rampant psychic energies of William Hill and co.

It's always a bit of a wild ride at the Racehorse - in the packed to the gills, people falling on stage, dancing from the word go kind of a way. The contrast with the previous week's phoenix nights-like outing in Crediton couldn't have been bigger.

There were a few old friends in the crowd, but it was mostly new recruits to the Tone Army - many on their first engagement. We like to play off our audience, and given the youthful exuberance and frankly sexual buzz emanating from the Racehorse massive, we pretty much abandoned the set by the half way point, dropping anything that risked letting up on the relentlessness and focussing on hammering home the proper Sturm und Twang Tones experience with all the subtlety of horny jack rabbit. Exciting stuff.




Three encores after midnight and we were done - a comprehensive triumph and life affirming for all involved.

It's hard to get the full Tones experience across in writing. If we were a natural wonder, we'd be a cross between Old Faithful and Krakatoa. If we were an experiment, we'd be Three Mile Island. If we were a weapon of war, we'd be Little Boy. If we a Californian, we'd be Andrew WK. To quote the Reverend Run, "It's like that, and that's the way it is".
See you down the Blackie!
X
- posted from a wireless telegraph

And Turners Kissed the Pink...

Potters Bar were always taking a risk laying on the Thorvertones for Easter Sunday evening entertainment. We like risk takers.

But, the thing with risks is they are inherently risky. Just ask Turner - his last attempt at hostage negotiation ended very badly for the Tibetan Liberation Front. And although our trip to Potters involved fewer Thai Double Agents in Helicopters, it was just as intense.

The audience was extremely selective, at times outnumbering the band. Bernie's apprenticeship in the Working Men's Clubs of the Far North paid off, and the dogged professionalism and persistence needed to entertain at least one member of the audience prevailed.

In the end, there was dancing, there was cheering and there were encores. There was the frisson of violence and not a little sexual tension. Which is pretty good going for an audience that had swollen to nearly ten by the end of the night (if you count the bar staff). It was a microcosm of a classics Tones gig, which is just as good as the real deal.

Good fun, and a great dry run for the Racehorse next week. Bring your jodhpurs, we'll bring the riding crop.

- posted from a wireless telegraph

You Say Bowling, We Say Green!

Oh the Bowling Green. Stovepipe regulars will already be aware that it is one of our oldest haunts, the home of the best looking bar staff in Exeter and has been the epicentre of some of our best performances and most epic technical hitches. We officially love the Bowling Green.
And for us to play there on March 10th is significant. As you all know, this is the anniversary of the first telephone call - an event that defines the pivot point between the Edwardian and Modern eras. For a troupe of Modwardian Troubadours it's like Christmas. Only the Bowling Green could drag us from our usual commemorative Laudanum binge.
And we're glad it did - the crowd were even more burlesque and beautiful than usual. Ever professional, Mark and Ben avoided the medusa like effect of the beautiful people by focussing on the back of the room. But poor Bernie couldn't help himself. Boobies are his kryptonite, and he fell into a reverie on more than one occasion. As for Harry, he was barely aware of the performance, hypnotised as he was by the strobing arcs of his own sweat, pounding away in his own private 80s hair metal video fantasy.




Our set was completely overhauled and felt fresh for it. Have a look at us! A few old favourites are back in, and another fresh faced candidate was given a run out - a Stone Roses tune no less, and given the shapes being thrown by one Spike Island veteran at the bar, at least one of the crowd was transcendentally transported in the tones time machine. Another happy customer.




Aside from a little ill advised half time entertainment and an unfortunately executed Night Boat to Cairo (the levels of dissonance we achieved served to reaffirm Arnold Schoenberg's famous theory of the 'Crisis of Tonality', and convince even us that we should never, never play it again), the evening was yet another remarkable upping of our game and a stovepipe full o' fun. We've sadly got the rest of the month off, but we'll be back In April!
Love you byeeeee!
X
- posted from a wireless telegraph

Creditones!

Crediton is only a stones throw from The Village, so why has it taken us four years to get there? We don't know either, but Saturday night was so great we're kicking ourselves for not recruiting here for the Tone Army sooner.

Our excitement mounted as we assembled our now formidable mountain of gear, steaming and creaking into completeness for the first time since before Christmas. Everything was back from the menders - the AC30, the Speakers, even Bunting's low frequency-proofed Surgical Truss.




Once we ground into action, the band performed like a well greased traction engine - maybe it was because we were on new turf, possibly it was the tightness of the aforementioned medical support strap, most likely we because we like to show off a bit and were loving the excitable and frankly very attractive audience like the randy troubadours we are.

It matters not - a good time was had by all, and we'll be back!
Welcome to the Tone Army Crediton - we officially love you!
See you up the Bowling Green!
Byeeeee!
X
- posted from a wireless telegraph

Don't Panic!

Some of you may have felt a tremor this evening. If you were early to bed, maybe a strange banging overcame you. If you live far from The Village, perhaps a slight tremble in your trousers.



Don't panic. If your seismograph went wild, blame us. The AC30 is finally back from the menders, and she's brought a bastard love child with her, a Leviathan no less. And we gave them both a right good go up the Skittle Alley.

Now, to sleep, perchance to dream...

- posted from a wireless telegraph

Saddle up!

This post is looooong overdue - we played at the Black Horse what seems like forever ago. Recollections are hazy. Tess was definitely there. The landlord definitely practiced his best Anglo Saxon on us. The post rugby crowd definitely made it into double figures at various points.
But most importantly for you, loyal Tone Army follower, is that we definitely played what felt like a blinder and were unbowed by playing to such an intimate, select, crowd.
New songs are bedding in nicely, and since we played, all sorts of marvellous bookings are coming our way. 2012 is looking like the best yet...
Join the Tone Army. Next recruiting at Potters in Crediton!
Love you byeeeee! X
- posted from a wireless telegraph

Click here for a bit of video... Sound quality isn't great, but we would say that wouldn't we...

T is for Tone Town...

It was 66 years to the day since Elvis made his first appearance on US TV. This has little bearing on anything that follows, barring the fact that sometimes, with rock and roll, what goes around comes around. The shock to Taunton's sensibilities that greeted Bernie's early promise to 'smash your back doors in all the way to midnight' soon sublimes into a lusty lasciviousness not seen since the Wisconsin Christian Mothers Association tuned in to Jimmy Dorsey's Stage Show to see what all the fuss was about. The man is a big ginger prophet.

When it comes together, it reeeaaaallly comes together. The Racehorse was packed, the set is now two and a half hours of what can only be described as All Killer, No Filler, and the performance was an absolute riot. And quite honestly, we can't understand why it's taken us 4 years to get round to learning some Two Tone.

Mary the landlady did a sterling one woman job of alternately whipping the crowd up into a frenzy and acting as a human crash barrier to save us being crushed in scenes reminiscent of the early days of Beatlemania.



Quite frankly, we can't wait to come back and do it all over again. And we will! See you in April Taunton - stay sexy!

Love you byeeeee
X

The 2012 Campaign Starts Here!

The Thorvertones are thought of in the the same way as Saint Nick out in Winkleigh. We come only once a year, arriving in a cloud of coal dust and leaving in the dead of night. Only with us, the collective Winkleigh Pub Rock Stocking is left full of enough Modwardian Spunk to last a full twelve months. Nice.



We loved this gig. It was the full Tones experience.

It had the transition from polite applause to drunken screaming for encores (via total silence following Helter Skelter, but it's a highlight for us, so there you go).

It had tunes everyone knows and inevitably, some that no-one knows - including in
One case, the band. Sorry about that.

And most important of all, it had the promise of a return gig. That's the 2013 campaign underway already. See you after the apocalypse, Winkleigh! Even if we've become a Mad-Max style acoustic punk band on horseback, we'll be there!

Love you, you sexy Winklonians!
X


- posted from a wireless telegraph