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
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