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
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
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
