Stonehenge yesterday morning was a photographer’s dream, the mist hanging low over the plain as I headed towards London, the sun low in the sky at 6.15 before the tourists descended in their masses by the time I passed back the other way eight hours later.

On the way back from London I stopped in Bath via Frome, picking up some equipment for my dusty old keyboards, not used in anger for a while.  With JEBO still on hiatus while we attempt to find a singer who encapsulates the good/reliable/relaxed trinity I have been invited by our bass player to play keys in a covers band.

Said band is one of those rarities in the rock firmament in that it has an agent and its members (even the keyboardist, apparently) get paid for gigs.  I’m not one to turn my nose up at an opportunity, and the repertoire we’ll be covering (in all senses) includes some of the very finest funk offerings, so enjoyable stuff.

It is a sad state of affairs, though, that JEBO, who have put out one decent and one very fine album, played Hammersmith, toured Europe and all that, have made – well, not very much at all.  I’ll have to check my figures, but I’m pretty sure it’s around a four figure loss for yours truly in my decade with the band, probably significantly more for Rob and Jeff.  Yet playing covers promises enough in the way of reward that I can invest in some new equipment in the reasonable assumption that I will recoup those costs after only five or so gigs.

Mind you, the question of whether to go with the public taste and be massively successful or to stick to your artistic guns and live off bread and water has been around for longer than amplified music and shows no sign of going away.  For me, though, music is music is music as long as it is good music, and the opportunity to get back on stage is too good to ignore.

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