A Little Bit Totally Exhausted.

One of the nicest things about gigging, especially in the spring and summer, is that you get to see

parts of the nation you might otherwise have no cause to go to. And on occasions you see maybe

more of it than you expect. Friday was an example – we were playing our first gig in a very long

time down in the Forest of Dean at Lydney Town Hall and because the members of the band are

spread all over, we all made our own way there. Somehow I got lost around Monmouth – which is

a lovely little town – I can vouch for this as I drove through it from three different directions before

finding a safe passage across the A40 and into the Forest Of Dean. I found the Town Hall with the

 help of a girl wearing a Tesco’s overall on her way to start her late shift. She pointed over my shoulder at a grand looking building about 30 yards away and laughed sweetly. I’d actually passed it twice, despite it having LYDNEY TOWN HALL on it in two foot high red letters (well actually it said LYD EY TOWN  ALL because clearly someone with the initials N.H. had thought it a bit of a jape to nick the relevant consonants.) And I’m convinced I only missed it because I had the sun visor down.

Anyway, I go in and meet Huw who runs the venue, and Ian who’s doing the sound, and I unload the car and then drive off to Lydney station to meet Evelyn off ‘The London Train’ which, remarkably, is on time. We go back to find Panic Room have arrived and are unpacking their hired van. Jon, their keyboard player, is also our keyboard player, so we now have three of the band at the venue.

It’s good to see Panic Room– the last gig we did was at Crewe back in 2004 supporting Karnataka – and as it turned out that was virtually their last gig as well. As Panic Room contains four of the six members of the original Karnataka it seemed fitting that both bands were back sharing a stage and a new start.

Wendy phones – she’s in Lydney but despite her Sat Nav she can’t find the Town Hall – I tell her to look for the Town All instead. She turns up a few minutes later.

Panic Room set up their equipment and begin their sound check. Everyone goes outside when the drum check starts and flood back in as soon as it finishes. Richard, our new bassist, is still AWOL. Panic Room start to play through a few numbers. Richard left Ludlow at three and it’s now 6.30 – the journey should only take an hour and three-quarters. I call his mobile. Apparently he’s been on a lengthy unscheduled solo tour of Gloucestershire, but reckons he’s only about eight miles away at Cinderford. I tell him about the Town All. He arrives in perfect time to walk through the door and straight onto the stage for our sound check – which goes pretty straightforwardly – Ian even finds a microphone that really does the oboe justice – Wendy is delighted. It always amazes me how different the music sounds on the stage compared to being in the audience. From up there, you have no idea what the audience is hearing, you just have to trust the soundperson.

The venue has two dressing rooms – one stage left, and one stage right. The one stage right has a loo – this dressing room is designated to the headline band. Our dressing room, stage left, has a small cubicle where there used to be a toilet, but this has been removed and replaced by nothing at all. It’s just a small empty space. Pecking order.

The boys in the band make themselves scarce whilst the girls in the band change – only I make the mistake of returning too soon. I am yelled at in terms that would embarrass a docker. (I would say ‘fishwife’, but I’ve never actually met a woman who was married to a haddock.)

We sit around nervously. The Waiting is definitely the worst part of playing gigs – you want to do something to pass the time, but you’re way too nervous to do anything to pass the time, though Evelyn and I do have a rather bizarre conversation about cotton wool.

8.20 arrives and we go on stage, and we play our set, and we walk off. That’s really about as much as I remember – it does all go by very fast and the concentration levels tend to block out almost everything else. Evelyn’s had a bad throat all week and wasn’t sure, even as we walked on stage, if she was going to sing ‘Seattle,’ a song she performs acapella – so as the final chord of ‘Siren Song’ fades I look at her to see whether she’s going to sing it or whether I should hit the opening chords of ‘Circles Of Fire’ – she whispers that she’s going for it – and does a great job.

It’s probably best left to others to say how it went, but we’re pleased, or maybe simply relieved, to get the first one out of the way.

Wendy and Richard leave fairly smartishly, both having family commitments, and Jon’s now into Panic Room mode, so after a few minutes to let the adrenalin subside, Evelyn and I wander out into the All. It’s astonishing to see so many people there we recognise, either from years ago, or who have found us through our recordings or via the Mermaid Kiss website or MySpace – and it’s great to finally meet the people we’ve been corresponding with for ages on the internet.

Panic Room come on and begin to play their first ever set, which goes well enough for a first night. Then it’s more chatting to folk as the All slowly clears. Ray, who’s kindly been looking after our merch as well as Panic Room’s help us pack up the CDs –and we reload the car, pop back in to see Panic Room and wish them well for the following evening when they’re playing the CRS at Rotherham, and then we set off for home.

Within three miles we are completely lost. Each tiny hamlet seems only to have a fingerpost pointing only to the next tiny hamlet, and the names mean nothing. We would of course navigate by the stars, but the Forest of Dean is called that for a reason and the spookily atmospheric trees blot out the heavens. Every road we drive down is narrower than the one before.

We come to ‘Tump Lane’ – it’s barely as wide as the car (a small hatchback) – we’re amazed it has a name – there’s grass growing in the centre of it, and as we drive on, the tarmac begins to break up till we’re effectively driving over rubble. If we could turn around, we would, but there’s not a field or farm gate to provide the opportunity. It goes on and on, I’m having to drive slower and slower and start wondering about tyre and steering integrity. Eventually we reach a junction, and lo! There is a sign to Ross – not exactly where we’d been aiming for, but given the previous 25 minutes, good enough. We eventually get back to Kington at 2am. I bet if I rang Gloucestershire Council to tell them about the state of Tump Lane it wouldn’t be on any of their maps – it’s just a ghost road without any turnings.

Saturday: a lie in would be good but I pick Evelyn up and we spend the day catching up on admin and arranging a couple of songs for the next rehearsal.

Sunday: The route Google suggests to Cardiff is bizarre AND it involves a skirmish with Monmouth. Been there done that. Evelyn and I agree the A470 is by far the best route, and Evelyn volunteers to navigate. The trip down is fine. Mostly. Another of the pleasures of car travel is that it gives us a chance to play some music, to introduce each other to new things we’ve come across. On this trip it’s the terrific Maltese band the Beangrowers ‘Dance Dance Baby’ album.

We go straight through the centre of Cardiff without any trouble (this being a Sunday) – only when we get to Butetown do we have some problems – but it’s a fascinating place to drive around with its long industrial history and now modern development, like the Assembly building, which we have the benefit of seeing from a number of angles.

Suddenly Evelyn says – “there’s a sign to The Point – go right, go right” – but while she’s shouting this, she’s pointing left and as I didn’t see the sign myself (damn sun visor!) I have no idea which way to turn. By the time we’ve sorted out the correct 90 degree manoeuvre and turn left, we’ve missed the actual road we needed – and do another loop, before we make the correct turn – but as if in compensation for our travails, we get a parking spot right outside the door. It’s 5.05.

We go in to find Panic Room already setting up on stage, and Richard’s gear already in the venue – clearly taking no chances after Friday’s little escapade. Jon says Richard and his wife have gone to find some food.

He then says that tonight, we’ve got the top dressing room – we’re thrilled until he explains that this refers to the altitude rather than the status of the room – indeed it’s not really a room at all, just a long flight of stairs that stops at a landing which happens to have two sofas, a chair and a mirror.  On the way up we pass the lower dressing room where Panic Room are happily ensconced. It has a loo.

Panic Room sound check, Everyone goes outside whilst the drums are sorted. Evelyn and I walk down to the Bay, to the pertinently named Mermaid Quay where we stare at water for a few minutes, as you do, before retreating for coffee and then returning to the venue.

The Point is a converted church and a superb music venue – and it’s currently under threat as some of the residents in the brand new flats surrounding it have complained about the noise. If you were moving in next door to an established music venue, you’d have thought it might have crossed your mind before the removal van pulled up that one might, just, occasionally catch the sound of ‘Whole Lotta Love’ drifting over on the breeze as yet another Zeppelin ‘tribute’ band struts the boards. (According to posters in the venue, two such behemoths had played the place within an 8 day spell the previous month.)

Wendy arrives with husband/roadie Bob carrying the double bass. Panic Room finish their run through. It’s 6.45 and still no Richard. We set up. He and Sarah come through the door just in time for him to walk on stage and pick up the bass for our sound check. We are in awe of his timing. We get the sound check sorted just as the doors open. Whilst Evelyn and Wendy change, no-one goes within 50 yards of the top dressing room.

We go on stage at exactly 8pm – well one minute to, to be precise as I have to retune the guitar which has been getting a tan under the lights. I’m a bit more aware of what’s going on around me tonight. As we walk off, Evelyn says that a number of the people who were also in the audience on Friday were singing along with the new songs, the ones not yet recorded and which we’d only played for the first time at Lydney. I’m just amazed (and envious) at their ability to remember the lyrics of them – I never can, and in a lot of cases I wrote them!

We meet a whole lot more people who’ve befriended us via the internet and more faces from the past whom we haven’t seen for a few years. Evelyn’s signing CDs at the merch stand which again Ray is kindly manning for us.

Panic Room come on – and right from the off it’s clear that they’re better than they were two evenings before – it’s a superb set, tighter and much more controlled than at Lydney, greater shade and dark, and Anne-Marie is magnificent. Even though we’re starving, no way are we missing this – and anyway, in her bag Evelyn’s got a couple of blueberry muffins and some apples we can eat on the way home.

The gig ends and we sign some more CDs. Wendy and Bob, who’ve also stayed, say their farewells, and we go and congratulate the band and wish them luck for their remaining dates before packing our stuff into the car and heading off.

Getting out of the dock area onto the A470 shouldn’t be too tricky, after all it’s the main road north to Merthyr. But the signposts point us either to the M4 (east) or the M4 (west). North is not an option. We try ignoring all the M4 signs and taking whichever other road is available. After 15 minutes we pass the sign for The Point. After some debate and a coin toss we head for the M4 (west), the road we’re on taking us on a low arching bridge over water from where, in daylight, one can apparently gain a fine view of the Millennium Stadium and a large Ikea store. In the dark what we see is a myriad of glittering sodium lights, some shimmering hypnotically in the water. We hit the M4 (west) and go east about a mile and turn off onto the A470. North. The muffins are great. In the next 50 miles we barely pass another car. When we finally reach Kington, the town is unnaturally quiet and we find ourselves whispering, though quite what it is we’re afraid of disturbing we can’t say. It’s almost exactly 2am.

I ask Evelyn how she’s feeling after the weekend. She thinks about it. ‘A little bit totally exhausted,’ she admits ‘but really looking forward to the next one.’ 24th May, The Intake Club, Mansfield. Just off the M1. No chance of getting lost.

Jamie Field, 17 April 2008