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