I had a fascinating and very musical weekend, touching on many styles and experiences, all of which served to remind me of the joyous privilege of being involved in such a thing from the inside. For some of these experiences I was at the keyboard, for others I was a spectator, but it was all invigorating and inspiring.
On Saturday morning I got to grips with the author profile sent to me by my publisher, which followed hot on the heels of my fact checking my fact checker, and with these two bits of work I think that the book might now have been put to bed. Now we go to print and then launch next year.
On Saturday evening I trekked to Bristol with my far better half to see her favourite band play at the SWX venue, which was a pretty decent place, a relief to see after the Bierkeller closed and The Fleece survived by the skin of its teeth. Said band are Lamb, a sort of electronic duo who dabble in all sorts of other sounds as well. I had imagined that this would involve their singer at the microphone while the other chap sat there at a laptop looking like he was checking his emails, but they had a great bassist, drummer and violinist on board and produced a cracking set with some wonderful interaction with the crowd and I would happily see them live again.
I used to go to many, many gigs, but most of the bands I love have either split up or died, and even the one that is still together seems to be going through a rough patch, but I headed to the listings to find out who might be in the neighbourhood and discovered that The Icicle Works are playing next Friday in Bristol. I went to Spotify and listened to their Greatest Hits (like so many bands I love, a complete misnomer) and wallowed in nostalgia – the songs we used to cover, the lines I used to love, and my favourite chorus of all – We’ll be as we are when all the fools who doubt us fade away.
I am undecided as to whether to go to see them, because they are not The Icicle Works I knew back then, but they are still fronted by Ian McNabb so maybe I will change my mind before Friday. Sunday was spent teaching singing, running though Mozart’s Requiem, which keeps getting better, playing some Howells and then returning to the burrow to watch Ferrari contrive to throw away yet another Formula One race victory. Bands may change but the lack of tactical nous displayed by Enzo’s team, sadly, does not.