Episode Seven

In which all good men come to the aid of the party.

Once upon a time there was going to be a Blyth Power CD called 'Make Do and Mend.' The controversy surrounding its conception and demise is another story for a rainy day, but the peculiarly typical set of circumstances which beset our heroes on a chilly weekend in March called to mind again the Boy Scout ethic which has long been the hallmark of the band's operations. Or in the words of another great escapee: 'Adapt, adopt, improve. These are our watchwords.'
Which was very fortunate, as we turned up to the venue in Coventry to find that there was no PA. Welcome to The Earlsden Cottage, ladies and gentlemen. A fine upstanding establishment, but one that was in the throes of changing management, in the process of which someone had forgotten to check if there was still PA equipment in the venue. The be-suited avaricious agent was assured that there was. The band turned up on the night to find that there was not.
Fortunately, with Leighton Buzzard booked for the following night, all was well, as Junior at The Wheatsheaf had asked us to bring some bits and pieces. With the assistance of a friendly native, and the mics borrowed from Mad Dogs, enough bits of PA were strung together to enable the band to play. Hurrah!
TDL was no stranger to the venue, having performed solo at the folk club there a while back. That was a surreal event. On this occasion it was slightly more normal - in as much as a Blyth date ever is. High spots of the evening were meeting Nigel, from Lieutenant Pigeon (they were trainspotters too!), and watching Jessi Adams fall from a great height and land face down on the stage. This was an unintended piece of showmanship that resulted in the breaking of two machine-heads and (almost) a thumb. Music lovers wishing to see a repeat performance are urged to attend the next date at the same venue.
After this stunning evening, the Leighton Buzzard date could have proved anti-climactic, but happily didn't, mainly thanks to the cups of tea provided by the worthy staff. It was good to return to The Wheatsheaf. Mad Dogs are due there in September, so be there, or be somewhere else….

Somewhere else was clearly where many of the good people of Winchester had found themselves on April 14th. I suppose the fact that the gig took place a week or before the official re-opening of The Railway didn't help a great deal, but never mind. The re-furbished venue is positively salubrious, and we hope to return in the autumn. Best thing about this day's work was the stopover in Didcot on the way down, where 60007 lay basking in Loadhaul glory. In his haste to get onto the station and secure a shot before it moved, TDL managed to painfully clip a testicle while vaulting a fence. Actually vaulting is far too athletic a term for what was more accurately an undignified scrambling sort of motion.
But there was to be no sleep yet for our heroes, once the van was loaded, as it was off to London to Joy's Homely House in Sydenham, to prepare for the social event of the year….
How many of you have had the pleasure of a weekend at Womblestock? Mr Dave T. Womble is a writer, publisher of Wake Up magazine, connoisseur of music and literature, and generally an all round good and learned egg, whose fabulous 'events' are legendary. This year, being Womble's 40th, a cabal of intimates had conspired to throw him a surprise party. Needless to say, plans were leaked, and so it was simply a party instead.
Actually there was nothing simple about it. For starters there was free food, abundant and extravagant. Admission was free, with cabal members vainly shaking buckets at the engorged revellers to try and cover costs. Ha ha ha. You must be joking.
The event took place at The Verge in Kentish Town, London, on April 15th 2001. If you didn't buy a commemorative T-shirt then yah boo to you. If you didn't even turn up on the night, then here is what you missed:
The music was started at tea time by Mr J. Porter, who played a solo set, including a seldom-to-be-repeated cover of Mr Attila the Stockbroker's 'Tyler Smiles.' Mr the Stockbroker was elsewhere that night, no doubt talking about 'football' or some such trivia. Second on was Mr Robb Johnson, who had to play early as the kids were along, and needed to get home to bed. All were agreed that Mr Johnson was splendid, and the cabal would like to thank him again for the rare piece of vinyl contributed to the birthday present bag.
Mr Murray Torkildson then proceeded to prove that a solo artist need be neither mellow nor restrained in either delivery or content. Meanwhile the punters were gorging themselves on the free food, and generally entering into the spirit of the event with comments like: 'Are those tomatoes organic?' and 'I'm a vegetarian actually!' Next time we'll sneeze over it all first.
Mr Steve Drewitt was up next, with a solo set. After half a dozen songs he was joined onstage by TDL and Bambi, who had swotted up a collection of Newtown Neurotics songs. These were delivered with aplomb, in a one-off performance for Mr Womble. If you missed it then you are bereft indeed. The Blyth rhythm section would like once again to thank Mr Drewitt for the privilege. Now they are trying to work out a way of convincing Mr TV Smith to let them do the same with a collection of his greatest hits.
Mr TV Smith doesn't need them, however, as proved by the set he performed next on the bill. Hurrah. The evening was rounded off by Blyth Power, who would like to thank all fellow performers for their kind attention, and especially Pete, at The Verge, for an excellent sound, and endless patience on the day.
Next morning we all had to leave Sydenham early, to get the van back to Birmingham. It was a bank holiday Monday, and there was no traffic anywhere in London at all. What a good job, we thought, as we sped round the South Circular, that Bruce Foxton didn't write 'London Traffic' on a bank holiday. The words would have been entirely devoid of social comment, and no one would have remembered it for the lyrical masterpiece that it clearly is.

So to Leeds, and a new venue, for a one-off on May 6th. Following the demise of the venerable Duchess of York, Mr John Keenan is now promoting at The New Roscoe. Support on the night was by Mad Dogs and Englishmen, putting in a rare UK performance, and their second that week, having appeared mid-week in Newcastle at The Cooperage.
The New Roscoe turned out to be a fine replacement for The Duchess. Mad Dogs' Gary and Glenn provided the PA, and the turn-out was good. In fact we're going to do it again. Lots.
Burnley, on May 26th, was a weird do. It was an anti-nazi benefit, and coincided neatly with the riots in Oldham. Turning up at 5.30, as arranged, to soundcheck, we kicked our heels until 8.45, and eventually managed to get our gear onstage in time to start playing only ten minutes late. PA was provided by the Pink Floyd covers band that played after us. They hadn't been expecting to do our sound. We hadn't expected them to either, and tempers became a little fragile. It's not that we actually mind waiting three hours to soundcheck, but then being talked down to as well…. 'OK, love - shall I show you where to plug it in, love…' Apparently, they're big in Burnley. The disco decks were bigger than the stage. The Floyd's two sets of keyboards took up what little space remained, and there was no light at all onstage, until halfway through the set - when TDL could no longer read his setlist - someone plugged in a flashing disco-light and stood it on the front of the stage. Thinking of England, Blyth went dutifully through the motions until mercifully the set ended and we were able to stop.
Actually, we rocked. Your correspondent sat through the Pink Floyd tribute, but mercifully left before the arts council grant funded drumming circle workshop came on. You had to be there.

And so it came to pass that once again Alex Beermonster had arranged the annual ale-drinking weekend at Southwick barn. Dragged from their beds too early, our heroes eventually made it half the length of the country by seven o'clock. Too late to soundcheck, but in time to watch Mr Steve Lake open the proceedings.
Nowadays, former Zounds frontman Mr Lake is performing with two young gentleman. Line up is bass and two keyboards. Steve plays one of the keyboards and delivers his songs with deadpan humour, irony, and a professionalism that was a joy to behold. It was really good, and if you were one of those out in the garden swilling beer while he was playing, then yah boo to you again. The EP 'Bacteria' is available, featuring four of his songs. Get in touch if you want to get hold of it.
Next up were reformed Swindon punk band Charred Hearts, from whom TDL was impressed to learn that the former proprietor of The Monkey Club in Swindon, is father of a young lady called Billy, who is apparently famous for marrying a chap off the radio with ginger hair. Having encountered the landlord's kids during soundchecks at the club in years gone by, we can only marvel again at how contact with Blyth seems to rub stardom onto the unsuspecting shoulders of innocent bystanders. Crikey.
Blyth played last, to the usual Southwick crowd of drunken beer monsters, and were immensely proud to have Mr Lake come onstage and sing 'Dancing' with them. Hurrah!
Late night. Early morning after. Long trek home via solo date in Rotherham. This is your correspondent signing off. Bye bye

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