For those of you who couldn’t make last night’s gig at the Musician, you missed a wonderful evening. Malc (welcome back!) was kept busy on the desk as he had to accommodate, in set order, Fatbwoi (one person), Fay Brotherhood (two people: Steve Bentley was filling in on pheasant feathers and bodhran, since Fay’s usual fiddle player was injured), us (six people; more on that in a minute), and Alejandro Toledo and the Magic Tombolinos (five people, although with a name like that you might be expecting a baker’s dozen, and fire-eaters and acrobats). You had guitars, percussion, trombone, flugel, basses, accordion, a snare drum, a full drum kit, vocals, and alto and soprano saxophones, both played by the same person at the same time (well, someone needed to snake-charm the dancers at the front into submission). Pete from Magic Teapot Promotions had to get out his calculator to figure out the running times; I don’t know how Malc managed, except possibly by having Magic in front of his name, too; and ears of gold. And when the fog of leather trousers and gently provocative, geographically scattered accents lifted from our senses and we staggered from the stage towards an insufficient night’s sleep and another work-week’s end, we in Bluebird Parade were quite pleased with ourselves. It was the first time we had performed semi-acoustically with all six of us: acoustic guitars only, Styx on his snare like the lone survivor on a shrinking drum island, Laura reining in Mark’s looser moments with those essential basslines, Russ donating the much-missed brass riffs that are casualties of the three-piece acoustic line-up. So not the full-on band, but all of us together. As I couldn’t help but observe, “Slightly emasculated – but happy”. It’s not a bad way to make music: we’ll try it again next week, at the Donkey Song Club on February 2nd.
Hope to see you there.