I’ve
Got News And Important Information
Farmer Giles is bringing the harvest home. Jessi Adams is frantically
screen-printing cheap T-shirts in his tat shop, and here, in the worm-eaten
hold of ragged stone that constitutes the Northern fastness of Blyth
Power’s headquarters, we are pondering three great questions:
1) why did we lose the ashes at Tallington this year? 2) why is our
cat so rubbish and 3) if Duran Duran can reform, then why oh why cannot
Spandau Ballet reconcile their differences and do a reunion tour? The
answers to all three, of course, can be found in a closer study of the
life and works of Mr J. Porter esquire, our own dear leader. Thus 1)
Because of incompetent leadership we did not place our fielders in the
correct positions. 2) because she has picked up habits of sloth and
indolence from the gentleman who allegedly housetrained her, and 3)
because they were governed by a fiendish nazi dictator who loathes,
and is in turn loathed by, all the ex-members of the band. Two of these
three concepts are irreconcilable. To win this month’s bonus points,
we ask you to correctly identify which one is not.
Then, of course, there is the caption competition, which last time confounded
so many. The answer was, of course, The Smiths, and shame upon all those
who did not guess correctly. Even greater shame upon the chap who incorrectly
suggested Slaughter & The Dogs. We suspect irony – although
at least S & the Ds came from Manchester, which is more than can
be said for some of the preposterous answers we received. This time
we have something nice and easy for everyone …at least, everyone
of discerning taste and judgement. Good luck, and by the way, anyone
who is finding it difficult to read this size 7 font, we apologise,
but if you get on the Internet you can receive the e-mailout and print
it to any size you want.
Coming
Very Soon To A Cinema Near You
So what’s the latest eh? Normally a Blyth Power news bulletin
is about as reliable and accurate as a statement from the Ministry on
the iniquities of Saddam, who as any fule kno was in actual fact a wee
cuddly lamb of a man who liked puppies and wanted only to lead his people
onwards to peace and prosperity. Thus we have had exciting upbeat reports
coming out of this office for years blathering on about various projects
that never reach fruition. How can you possibly believe a word we say
anymore? Where is the alleged spoken word CD, the oft rumoured novels
of Mr Joseph Porter and the thrice promised solo follow up to Death
Went To Bed? Most of all, what about the Guns of Castle Cary eh? What
does the office spin expert have to say on the increasing delays and
procrastinations that have prevented this hot waxing from hitting the
streets?
Ah me. If only all our plans came to fruition. All of these fine schemes
are in the pipeline – it’s just that the pipeline is extremely
long. In the case of the Castle Cary project, things have been held
up by the fact that Steven broke his hand back in July, and not even
the callous bigoted Porter was ruthless enough to expect him to play
guitar for three days solid. Thus we are paused at the moment with bass
and drums done, and half the guitar. Rest assured it’s sounding
splendid, and the artwork is chosen. All we need now is a title and
a guitarist with two hands again. We’re getting there.
As for the rest of the wild and rash promises made in preceding mailouts,
they have all been made in good faith, and their time will come. Oh
yes…
Other news now breaking is the impending return of Blyth Power to mainland
Europe, in which hospitable tract, we are informed, there are several
thousand locomotives pertaining to the Deutsches Bundesbahn which TDL
means to make it his business to photograph. At present there are a
handful of dates in October, but with the transport problem potentially
solved the intention is to expand this over the ensuing months and take
the band over regularly. All this has been dependent upon the transport
situation – HVC’s fine cheap vans lacking the necessary
windows and seating that are mandatory if one want to cross the Channel
without being gunned down like a dog on the other side. EEC regulations
are strict on the matter of passenger vehicles, and the days when you
could bung a mattress in the back and smoke pot are long gone. TDL is
looking forward to a return match with the French port authorities,
who are – he informs us darkly – no strangers to the inside
of his pockets, his rucksack, and sundry other dark secret places upon
which it behoves us not to dwell. Bah. If they let Eastfield over there,
they’ll let anyone.
Apart from this, the news is that it’s pretty much business as
usual. The band will continue to play hither and yon, and has no intention
of stopping. Big days out in the pipeline include Otley Folk Festival
on September 20th, for full details of which we advise you to either
check the website (if you can) or contact the festival itself. Blyth
are playing three times on the Saturday, so a wild day of rock mayhem
will be had by all.
From
Caterpillar To Butterfly
Biggest and best impending news of all is the fact that the countdown
has begun to Blyth Power’s twentieth anniversary. Yes good people,
the impossible has happened. Two long and action-packed decades are
shortly to be up, and the question is what are we going to do about
it? Remarkably little to be honest. TDL claims that it’s no big
deal as there is no finite period of time to which the band is hitched,
and It’s not like we’re halfway through, or anything. Bitter
cynic that he is, he simply regrets the fact that it took him nearly
twenty years to make Viking Station, and why didn’t he just do
that in 1987 and save out all the messing around beforehand? Best not
to speak to him on the subject of the band’s glorious past, as
he is rarely prepared to acknowledge the fact that it has one. He claims
this is artistic temperament exhibiting itself. We here in the typing
pool just think it’s because he’s an old git.
To recap, then, Mr Porter began to scrape together the foundations of
Blyth Power in 1983, while still playing drums in The Mob. Initially
he started working on songs which was to be a solo album on All The
Madmen Records, although mercifully this never came to fruition –
likewise the idea of an early Blyth Power release on Corpus Christi
in 1984, as both would have been even more terrible than the first album
was when it finally appeared in 1987. Lord but it took him a long time
to work out what he was doing! In the meantime, the Mob split in late
1983, and the first Blyth gig was in February 1984. So technically the
big do should be in Feb 2004, but as that is an inhospitable time of
the year to be gallivanting for most folk, and as Annie and Joseph may
be indisposed that month, the powers that weren’t elected have
instead decided that next year’s Tallington will be a more suitable
occasion for speeches, pomp and ceremony. And cake and presents. Don’t
forget cake and presents. Especially Airfix kits.
Rumours that TDL may be writing a comprehensive no-holds-barred history
of the band for publication in connection with the event are as inaccurate
and unfounded as anything else you may read here. The family tree poster
idea might be worth reviving though…
A
Nutcase In The First Degree
With the browning of the leaves and the drawing in of the evenings,
a man in the autumn of his days gets a hankering to lay back and pluck
languid chords on his acoustic guitar and serenade the onset of winter
with something a little more mellow than the fiery thundering bellow
of Blyth at full bore. Oh no. This can only mean that Joseph is doing
some more acoustic dates.
Oh yes. Once again the aged one is embarking upon a tour of the nation’s
plastic model aeroplane emporiums, taking time out in the evenings for
sporadic fits of tuneless strumming. Hours of fun for all the family
– see dates at the end of this mailout.
Towards the end of September Mr Porter will be travelling again with
his old chums The Speechpainter and Mr Philip ‘I’m not the
English Jacques Brel’ Jeays. Mr Porter, of course, still thinks
Brel is the acronym for the British Rail Engineering Ltd, and gets confused
when Mr Jeays mentions the subject. If you missed the three when they
toured together back in the spring, then don’t miss them this
time round. Format will be the same – two sets each with TDL kicking
off both halves. All except for Northallerton, that is, where the trio
will be joining the bill with Mr Otway and Mr The Stockbroker, along
with another chap called Mr Lachlin. We look forward to having the chaps
here at HQ, where Mr Jeays cake consumption will, no doubt, amaze and
astound us. Not nearly as much as the Spainters ancient rusted automobile.
That should be fun. I say, I say, I say. Why will the Blyth latrine
run smoothly in September? Why because there will be lots of Jeays fluid
going down it of course. Ho ho! If you are not an ironmonger in your
sixties or seventies, this will not make any sense to you whatsoever.
Not content with this, Mr Porter and Mr Cooper – once the latter
has regained full use of his hands – will be performing together
as a duo, reliving many of the finest moments of the impromptu set they
churned out at Tallington this year, only audible and in tune. Watch
this space for news.
Disturbing
The Peace On A Quiet Country Lane
So, about those ashes. Here, for the benefit of those among you who
either lack Internet enlightenment, or couldn’t make it down,
is a brief resume of Tallington’s many splendoured loveliness.
It was a cracking good weekend, in spite of the wee shower on Saturday
night, and both Blyth, and the new landlord and landlady at The Whistlestop
would like to start this paragraph with a resounding thank you to everyone
for coming down, being good eggs, and for leaving almost no trace of
their having been except for some empty barrels in the cellar.
This year the campsite was almost full by the time Blyth rolled up on
Friday. The rain let up by teatime, and it turned into a splendid and
pleasant evening. There was something for everyone. A Deltic passed
on a rail tour – although it was that ugly purple one, and Father
Ed turned up in uniform to say hello, which was most splendid, as his
trousers were a fixture at cricket matches in the past. Solo performances
on Friday night were delivered by Mr Porter, who opened the night with
a pompous speech, Mr Chris Butler, who did his thing with aplomb and
gusto, and finally Mr Wob Williams, who crooned up until eleven o’clock
when curfew drew nigh. Thereafter it was an early night, with no bad
behaviour or barbecues, because we are all responsible adults.
Saturday dawned – inevitable really, given our relative inability
to influence such cosmic events as the revolutions of the earth. The
sun shone, and the preparations commenced. Two gazebos were erected
for the bands to play under, as the bar was open out the back, behind
what was previously the stage. This, as events proved later, was not
a good idea.
Still, music commenced with a set from Blyth, Eastfield, and Giga-0,
then it was time to break for cricket. Blyth were hammered. Harvey points
out that our fielders were not placed close enough in to the batsmen,
but as no one in their right mind wants either a bat or a ball in the
face, we maintain we acted sensibly and with caution. If the opposition
chose to field recklessly, then that’s their business. Music continued
after play with General Winter, whose version of Armagideon Time was,
according to your correspondent, one of the best performances of the
weekend. Rome Burns followed, and then Ms Rachael Pantechnicon dazzled
and amazed us with her wit, wisdom, and children’s literature.
Next up were Daddy Those Men Scare Me followed by Wob, by which time
the rain had started. The gazebos failed to provide shelter, so Wob
finished his set and TDL declared the night rained off. Alas, no Blyth
that night, however Mr Porter and Mr Cooper did an off-the-cuff half
hour acoustically in the pub, which was spirited but largely inaudible.
Just as well really, as Mr P. didn’t bother to tune up his guitar.
Sunday came around, and with it the nice weather again, so Eastfield
did another set, and Blyth Power made up for the previous night with
an extra long lunchtime thrash. Hurrah! We were especially pleased to
note that the Signalpeople White made it along. Hurrah twice!
So, another wild weekend of trains, cricket and gallivanting. Shame
about the rain, but there you are. Next year will be bigger and better.
Pete and Tracey are contemplating a beer festival, and have asked us
to liase with them on the matter. Any feedback or suggestions as to
how the event can be improved will be gratefully received. See you there.
Here
Today And Gone Tomorrow
And so we come, inevitably, to the stock cupboard, which is our favourite
bit. Nothing new to report, but there are a couple of items about to
run out – permanently, so pay attention. As reported last time,
Out From Under The King is down to the last fifteen copies. If you don’t
have one, then grab it while you can, as it’s unlikely to last
beyond Germany in October. This recording will NOT be remanufactured,
so if you want the originals of Gods Orders, Battle of Nations, Holly
and Ivy etc, then send us a cheque without delay. Also going out of
stock are the Mad Dogs and Englishmen T-shirts, which are down to the
last three. Book early to avoid disappointment. Next item to vanish
will be the live Caesar CD. We’ll keep you posted.
Get
Interactive In Computer Hearsay
Hello webbed-up ones. Overcome your Ludditism eh? Updates to the website
recently have been the latest chapter of the heretical and libellous
Genesis to Revolutions, along with lots of pictures of Jessi Adams naked
eating chips. Not to be missed that one. Also coming soon will be the
full illustrated Tallington write-up.
Hey
Fishface
Madame Chairman has spent the bulk of the summer in the gentle practice
of killing things smaller than herself. She would like it to be known
that her contribution to this newsletter this time round, rather than
literary, has been half a shrew (the front end) which she deposited
on the office floor in the early hours of Monday morning, and which
she assumed the OBCs would scan into the Adobe artwork package for her.
Their failure to do so has plunged her into a black fury, and she will
in due course, be depositing something else on the same floor by way
of protest. She is, consequently, far to angry to provide works of intricate
beauty and poesy. So tough.