Hey Hey we're The Bluedays!

COME AND GET IT! The Bluedays' new album is out now! Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/album/2ndB0pFnAgBhdT7mKnZwOm Amazon: https://www.amazon.com.au/music/player/albums/B0FCHXBDFW You can download the album via Reverbnation for just a tad over AUD$15 (prices on the site are in USD): https://www.reverbnation.com/thebluedays/songs
The album is appearing in new places every day, including YouTube Music, Pandora, Deezer, iHeart Radio etc GO AND GET IT!

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In the year of Twenty Eighteen...

So, 2018 has come and gone (without a single blog post). It's been a decent year, musically speaking, and it feels appropriate to reflect upon what's been happening. Here are some of the highlights of the last 12 months...

UK2UB album - PlanB started the year with a mini tour of Victoria and the release of a new live album, UK2UB. The album featured a showcase of songs from the band's 2016 and 2017 tours of the UK, Vietnam, Cambodia and Mongolia. It was a great way to capture some of those sonic memories.

Inner Groove - After threatening to release a new solo album for years, I finally did it in 2018. Inner Groove, along with its companion album, Other Grooves, was launched on 27 May. The launch could not have been any better, it was such a buzz after many months of hard work. It is, without doubt, the best thing I have ever done musically and I owe a debt of gratitude to Nigel Grummet and Gavin Atkinson for their work on the album. Inner Groove was well received, getting airplay in Adelaide, across the country and also in England. The support I received from local community stations was overwhelming. It was Radio Adelaide's 'Album of the Week' in June, which was brilliant!

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Urban Guerillas - In May I was invited onto the stage at the Grace Emily to join the Urban Guerillas for a couple of songs. This was a great moment for me - the Guerillas were one of the first local bands I ever saw and over the years I have formed a lifelong friendship (and musical collaboration) with Ken Stewart. To join them for 'Love Makes Children' and 'Here Come the Americans' was a true high-point.

Touring the UK with PlanB - the band headed off for its second tour of the UK; this time focusing on Scotland and the North-East. We played at some decent venues, caught up with our old friends from Koast Radio, and finished the tour in London playing the Fiddler's Elbow.

Playing Solo in Derbyshire - Once the PlanB UK tour had finished, I spent a couple of weeks in Belper, Derbyshire, to catch up with friends and family. I thought I'd try and seek out some opportunities to play by heading down to an open mic at the Queen's Head. I met some fabulous people, was made very welcome, and played a few songs. I ended up playing five shows in the space of a fortnight, including a couple of decent length sets, encouraged by friends old and new. Thanks to the five lovely people who generously lent me their guitars!

Semaphore Music Festival - I've played at the SMF before, at Ambrosia, Mr V, and Semaphore Garden and Pets (!) but it had been a couple of years since I'd been part of the fun. It was brilliant to be asked to play on the BSide Stage this year and, despite a fierce headcold, I managed to entertain the folks on Labour Day.

Touring Indonesia - No sooner had I arrived back in Australia from the UK than we were off again, this time for my first-ever visit to Indonesia. I was in Jakarta for just about a week, as PlanB played shows across the weekend to enthusiastic local and ex-pat punters. Good fun and we were very well looked after at our accommodation and at the venue.

Twelve in Twelve - This year I set myself the target of recording a song a month in my home studio, aka Shabby Road Studios. Surprisingly, I pulled it off! I had a bunch of songs that I'd written but never recorded, and it was unlikely I would ever get around to spending the money to record them professionally. I still held some affection for the songs - they had some appeal, so I thought this would be an ideal project. It would also help me learn more about the recording process. So, I now have 12 songs to finalise and master, and hopefully an album release in the first third of 2019 will occur.

A Christmas No 1! - Quite unexpectedly, and possibly because of the songs being uploaded as part of the abovementioned project, I finished off the year with four weeks at number one in ReverbNation's Adelaide Folk charts. Marvellous!
https://www.reverbnation.com/davidrobinson4

www.davidrobinsononline.com

Somewhere between China and Russia...

It took us a long time to get there, and we were pretty beat when we arrived, but Mongolia turned out to be a great place to visit and play music.
Ulaanbaatar (UB) is a big city, combining new shiny buildings, Soviet-style monoliths and rubbly wrecks. It is a hot, dry and dusty place in the summertime; that was certainly the case for us.
The language, as it is both spoken and printed, was the most difficult for me to comprehend out of the three touring destinations. It made ordering vegetarian food quite a challenge. As much as I tried to enjoy Mongolian cuisine, I settled for pizza and chips as often as not.
We got to UB at the end of the local election process and the beginning of the Naadam Festival. Due to a government decree, there was no alcohol officially available for sale for the first three days of our visit so much ingenuity was required and utilised by those who were thirsty.
The place we stayed looked foreboding on arrival; very uncompromising from the outside. But the people who ran it were friendly and helpful, and the rooms were comfortable. Breakfast was of the continental variety, and included fried egg and a kind of sausage that can only be described as "soylent pink".
Outside, probably due to the election, festival, and three days of public holidays, the roads and footpaths were only sparsely populated. Quite a contrast from Vietnam!

With almost a dozen tour gigs under our belt it is fair to say that the band was hitting its straps, both technically and in terms of putting on a show. But there were still the odd challenges requiring attention. Chasing venues for payment, sound-checking through the language barrier, getting owners/managers to deliver on their commitments; all part of the fun. In addition, touring without amps and drums means that every gig is something of a journey into the unknown. You never know what a venue will provide,  despite you having sent them your stage rider months previously and/or spoken with them regarding requirements. Guitars were played directly through mixing desks on more than one occasion. At least the drum kits were in place; more than I can say for many of our UK shows in 2016. We played seven shows over the nine nights we were in Mongolia, only resting on the first and last evenings.

One of the highlights of the entire tour was the visit to the Lotus Children's Centre, about an hour out of UB, on the edge of the hills. It's an orphanage run by some very hard-working and dedicated folks, and filled with some of the nicest, happiest and most mischievous kids you will ever meet. We played a set of songs for them, and then they gave us dinner followed by a sunset show put on by the children.

On my days off, I visited temples and monasteries; I was amazed at the magnitude of the Buddhist presence in UB; easily rivalling that of the other places we'd been. Some of the statues were breathtaking. The monks seemed happy enough to chat as they went about their daily business. It's been a fairly recent resurgence; most monasteries and lamas were destructively and violently suppressed during the Soviet-era.
If Sharky Bar was the peak show of the Vietnam/Cambodia section, then the last gig of the tour, outdoors at the UB Jazz Club, must rank as the best of the Mongolian appearances. The big crowd seemed completely immersed in our performance. As were we. They danced, clapped and sang along all night. Wonderful; a great way to end things.

As we went through security on our way to the plane, a guard made me take the Buddhas I'd bought in Vietnam, Cambodia and Mongolia out of my bag. She inspected them, asked me a few questions about receipts, where I'd purchased and the like, and then let me wrap them up again. Did she think I was smuggling treasures out of the country? Who knows...

www.davidrobinsononline.com

The Guangzhou Seven

I don't think anyone from our touring party was looking forward to the trip from Vietnam to Mongolia. Three flights, three countries and the best part of a full day's travel.
If only it had proved that simple.
The odyssey began with me being jolted from my sleep at 4.30am. Ouch. An hour and a half later we were checking in for the flight to Guangzhou. Getting the instruments onto the plane was the first of a few challenges we were to face. We won in the end. The flight was smooth; the chap next to us heard us chatting and became an instant fan. He took a photo of himself with Peter Guitar and me.
Guangzhou was where the fun really began. We were installed into a nice lounge while we waited patiently for our flight. What could possibly go wrong?
Firstly, we were bumped onto a later flight. This would mean that we would have to be efficient in Beijing if we were to make our connection. An hour before boarding we were told that the flight had been cancelled due to extreme weather. No more flights until morning. It looked like we'd be sleeping in the airport. More by luck than skill, we found out that the airline was willing to put us up. We travelled to a very nice hotel, enjoyed dinner out on the street, and managed about four hours sleep before being ferried back to the airport before dawn.

 

We flew to Beijing, already half-a-day behind schedule. We inquired as to the viability of our Mongolian Air tickets, and we were all but assured we'd be ok to fly to Ulaanbaatar. At 10.00 that evening. Great.
Airports are wonderful places to kill time. More boring than a budget speech, and more expensive than an angry ex-wife.
Somewhat bloodied but unbowed, the seven of us lined up to be first to check-in when the gate opened. And, of course, when we told them of the assurances we'd received they didn't want to know.
Eventually, someone in control explained that they'd try and get us on but couldn't guarantee anything. The plane was fully booked and we would be relying on no-shows.
We waited patiently, if a little angry and worried, for another four hours. During that time we were informed that 35 people hadn't shown up, so our hopes of escaping China were raised. About 20 late-comers showed up in one go, adding to our stress levels.
Sometime after 10.00pm, we were told we'd made it onto the flight. We joined the millions of sheep, sorry, people at passport control and security, and made it to the gate not long before the flight's doors were scheduled to shut. Hooray. Only one small problem - there was no plane in sight.

After all that, it transpired that our plane had been diverted due to weather. It wouldn't be leaving at 11.55.
It did show up, hours later, and we finally took off at 5.30. Two hours later we arrived, a somewhat bedraggled-looking bunch, at Chinggis Khaan airport. We had been in transit for over 48 hours.
Hello Mongolia!

www.davidrobinsononline.com

Holiday in Cambodia: Siem Reap

Our second Cambodian destination was the popular tourist town of Siem Reap. After another long bus ride (albeit in a well-appointed coach), we were piled into tuk-tuks supplied by our hosts and whisked away to our luxurious accommodation at FCC Angkor. What a beautiful place!
The gig that night was outdoors, up on a stage, playing to FCC's usual Saturday night revellers. The number of patrons dwindled as the night went on, but we still gave it the old mach schau, despite knowing we had to get up at 4.00am for a very special morning. Most of us were in bed by midnight.
I have had a passionate, if sometimes wavering, philosophical and academic interest in Buddhism for 30+ years. Initially stimulated by the beat poets, my thirst for knowledge and my desire to practise has continued to grow. So, the prospect of a visit to Angkor Wat was something I was a little excited about. Even the grim reality of sleep deprivation couldn't dampen my ardour.
We made our way out on a convoy of tuk-tuks. In the darkness, I could see an increasing number of headlights as we closed in on Angkor Wat. All roads lead to Rome and all that.

We made our way in, past what seemed like hundreds of hawkers, and stood quietly gazing at the temple as night turned to day. It was overcast so there was no sunrise to speak of, but it was still a magical experience.
The place is a cash bonanza for Cambodia. Millions of people must visit every year, with each foreigner stumping up USD$37 for the privilege. Locals get in for free.
I was happy to pay. Sure, it was hard to ignore the immodestly dressed, the smokers and the shouty-types, but I tried to drink in the splendour of the place and think about what it must have been like when it was a going concern. Breathtaking.

We also visited the 216 faces of the Bayon Temple, and finshed off our morning at Ta Prohm; both locations were equally magnificent.

In the afternoon we had a heart-warming visit to the 'Music for Everyone' school, a place where local kids can learn to sing and play. It runs on fumes, and would be a worthy cause to support. We also went out to 60 Road Studios, which looks a very impressive music-creation space.
Our second, and final, Cambodian show was at Triangle Restaurant Lounge Bar. We were once again made to feel very special, with food and drink being laid on for all. It was another good performance; PlanB has hit its straps, of that you can be sure.
I'm glad we played Siem Reap; the shows were great and we were treated very well.
I'm even more glad that I got to Angkor Wat.

www.davidrobinsononline.com

Holiday in Cambodia: Phnom Penh

We only spent three and a half days in Cambodia but, boy, we did our best to do justice to the place.
To my relatively naive eyes Phnom Penh seemed older, poorer and dirtier than Saigon.  I loved the place almost immediately. We caught tuk-tuks and rode through the dusty, dusky Thursday evening air. The Velkommen Guest House, at one end of yet another chaotic, pungent street, was run by a pleasant, chatty Norwegian geezer. My room was big enough to host a five-a-side match.
We enjoyed Khmer and Thai food on our first night, before heading to Sharky Bar to say hello. We met Ben, who presides over the venue, and enjoyed a few cold beers while we discussed our Friday gig. The staff made us feel special and we had a very pleasant session before disappearing into the Cambodian darkness.

For most people, Fridays are full of optimism; the weekend beckons. For us, this particular Friday was a little short on wide-eyed happiness. We took tuk-tuks out to the harrowing killing fields of the Choeung Ek Genocidal Centre where we were exposed to the most barbarous elements of humanity. We also visited the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum (S-21), and it is fair to say that we were emotionally spent by the time we returned to the hotel. I'm glad I went, but I was happy to leave when I did.

After soundchecking at Sharky, a few of us went for a wander around the markets. Clothes first, then the food markets. I wouldn't recommend the meat unless you want flies with that.

The Sharky gig was probably the best of the tour so far. It is an anglo-themed bar, but the clientele was probably an even mix of Cambodians and ex-pats. Sharky had been promoting us for months; they'd even organised a radio interview for Sneaky and me last weekend. I think the publicity drive worked. It was their biggest crowd in months, and we responded. There was lots of dancing and singing along among the masses. Rich the sound guy, Packo and Ben looked after us very well. Everything about the show seemed to work, and we raged through our three sets as if our lives depended on it.

Just one of those nights.

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Eat (and drink and play) at Joes.

Getting to our two-day engagement at Joe's Cafe in Mui Ne was a bit of a challenge, but it was just about worth it. The vehicle that took us there from the chaos of Ho Chi Minh City was a "bed bus", where travellers insert themselves into a plastic coccoon and sleep away the journey. Fine if you are five foot tall, not so good if you are a long streak... needless to say, a little ingenuity was required.
Joe's Cafe is owned by a laid-back American guy called, erm, Joe. From a humble beginning, he and his wife have been improving the business for a few years, and Joe's is now in a new location, and they have added a boutique hotel just down the road.

We played two shows on consecutive nights; both went well, despite me only having half a voice (head cold). We were supported by two of Joe's favourites: keyboard virtuoso Kreed (thank you for the vodkas) and the friendly and very talented Clive Pendock.
We had an amazing photographer, Aleksei Serov, come to our shows (see top image), and he also offered to do a photo shoot by the beach. The results of his efforts were excellent.
These were tour gigs number five and six and, musically speaking, I think the band is sounding pretty good. Joe's gave us a five-star review, and comments from patrons were very complimentary.

As much as I enjoyed the evenings, the relative serenity of our one free day was also a highlight. Sitting in a deck chair, looking out onto the blue-green South China Sea, across to where Bhutan and Sarawak would be if I could see that far... Lost in thought, pondering nothingness.

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So Saigon

I've been in Ho Chi Minh City for a week or so. Most of the band arrived in the early hours of Monday 19 June, slightly worse for wear after two plane journeys that were separated by a lengthy delay.
For some of us, it's our first time in SE Asia and it has been an eye opener.
The pungent aromas (some more pleasant than others) are often overwhelming, the seemingly lawless approach to road use is something to behold, and the local folks we have met have been mostly very pleasant and helpful.
To say the pace is hectic would be an understatement. Everywhere you look, people are racing in all directions; residents, workers, hawkers, beggars, thieves and tourists. Like bees in a jar.
The city blends ultra-modern skyscrapers, colonial buildings and decrepit shanty towns to form a working and living enviroment the likes of which I have never seen before. Except in Bladerunner.
And, amid all of this chaos, the Buddha is everywhere.

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Bad Day on the Bike.

Three reasonably fit men. Three days mountain biking on the Mawson Trail. Meticulously planned. What could possibly go wrong?
Wednesday held all the portents of another day in paradise. Sunshine, birdsong and a cool breeze helped to make Day Two of our scheduled three-day mountain bike ride look like it was going to be a belter. The day began like so many others have, shaking off the cobwebs and slowly preparing man and machine. Kapunda had been a lovely host, and now it was time to press on to the unassuming town of Riverton, via a fabulous few hours of trail riding.
We rode off, two of us, out of the caravan park and along the bitumen that would take us out of town and on to Riverton. Despite the previous day being pretty hard on the legs, I felt good. The riding wasn't overly onerous; neither was the legacy of the night before's indulgences.
We rode onto the dirt at Taylor's Run Road, and began the undulating route that I have traversed may times before. After about 20 minutes, I suggested we stop at the top of a hill to take a photo.
I dismounted and took a couple of shots. Then, from nowhere, a dizzy spell hit me like a gunshot. I was down on my haunches and up again before I had much chance to process.
I told Bob what had happened. Weird; probably just one of those moments. We got back on the bikes and rode off. Immediately I knew something was wrong.
There was no strength in my legs. My breathing was laboured. My chest was tight. I got about half way up the next hill and had to get off and push the rest of the way.
"Something's wrong," I said.
I tried again, rolling down the hills and trying, mostly unsuccessfully, to ride up. Deteriation was rapid. After two or three attempts I announced that I didn't think I could go on. That I needed a rest. Within myself, I suspected that this would be the end of my ride.
I was struggling to breathe without making noises, my chest felt like there was a metal band being tightened around it, and my legs were like jelly. It's fair to say I was getting frightened.
I sat on the side of eucalyptus-lined avenue, knowing I wasn't getting up, despite my desire to do so. A couple of motorcyclists went past; I nodded stoically yet mournfully. Here I was, deep in the heart of one of my favourite places in the world, a broken and rather pathetic figure. I gazed upwards through the canopy at the beautiful blue-sky day, and earnestly wondered if this was to be my last. Seriously.
After sitting for probably 20 minutes, we thought it best to ring Rod and see if he could get the car down the track to pick me up. 15 minutes later he arrived, and they put my bike on the back and lifted me up into the passenger seat.
In the interests of full disclosure, but against my usual robust nature, I announced that I wasn't sure that I hadn't had a heart attack, and that I wasn't sure I was going to survive. I didn't want to freak anyone out, but I wanted them to know that I was feeling seriously compromised.
As it happened, I started to feel better once I was in the car. My breathing wasn't quite as noisy, and I was starting to converse. By the time we got to the Kapunda Emergency, I was able to get myself out of the car and speak coherently with the nurse.
The nurse checked my vitals, measured my blood pressure and gave me an ECG (first time in my life I've had my chest shaved). Everything appeared fine. She advised that I shouldn't ride again that day; I told her that there was no chance I would be getting on my bike.
Unfortunately, but sensibly, we decided that it was best to curtail the riding holiday and return to Adelaide.
I saw the doctor, he thought it was oesophagitis, perhaps brought on by the pain-killers I'd been taking for my recovering fractured fibula. It some situations it can feel very much like a heart attack, something to which I am inclined to agree with. My chest was tight for about three weeks afterwards, but both the doctor and the cardiologist have given me the all clear. Two months later, it still gets a little tight when I sing with the band.
Scary.

www.davidrobinsononline.com

The Last Post: high-flying reflections

Photo:Heather Bevan-Hunt

Tour highlights:

• Hanging out with the guys, playing music and having a great time
• Chaos at Mr Scurf's place!
• An unexpectedly amazing gig at Luna in Leytonstone
• Having a beer in Govan
• A dozen t-shirts
• The Italian feed at Cucina Rustica in Birmingham
• Chatting with Chris Farlowe and Cliff Bennett after our gig at the Retro Festival
• Glamping
• Friday night at The Scotia
• Meeting John from The Zips in Glasgow
• Seeing Secret Affair up close
• The fab folks from Radio Caroline
• Take-away and beer in the sun, with the boys out the back in Cambridge
• Appearing on BBC West Midlands
• Seeing The Waterboys, Justin Currie and Lloyd Cole in concert
• Making new friends at our first gig at The Cluny
• Proper beer
• All the lovely people we met on our travels
• Playing at The Fiddler's Elbow, with various Dexys looking on
• Feasting at The India Club
• Watching Nick Parker and The False Alarms do their thing at Lakefest
• Buying a £2.50 tambourine in a Leytonstone charity shop
• Friendly policemen
• Live to air on Sunny Govan
• Meeting Steve Daggett at The Cluny
• Getting to play at four proper festivals
• Pat! Cam! Rob! Dave! Ade! Pete! Me! And... the Guv'nor

I'm sure there's much, much more to add. Watch this space.

www.davidrobinsononline.com

All good things...

The last weekend of the PlanB UK Tour was spent at the delightful Retro Festival in Newbury. We spent the Saturday and Sunday there, arriving directly from our Friday adventures at Lakefest. The Retro Festival is an annual gathering of folks celebrating the golden era of mods and rockers, and just about any other element of pop culture from the middle of the last century. There were big old American cars, classic British motorcycles and vintage scooters all over the place.
The sun was out; it felt like summer, and I think we were ready to sign-off in style.

We had two gigs to play; one on Saturday night and one on Sunday at noon. A bittersweet notion, because with only two shows left it meant that the great music we were making would soon be over, however, all things must end and it would be refreshing to be in a different routine after almost a month of touring. We were scheduled to appear on the Ricky-Tick Mod stage, and we'd be a little bit different to the usual offering of northern soul and ska bands. Both of which I took in whenever I could over the weekend.
The festival was situated on an enormous plot, with plenty of space for music, vintage cars, merry-go-rounds, aeronautics and, erm, miniature steam engines. We were directed to our accommodation, which took the form of a couple of very nice looking tents. Welcome to the wonderful world of glamping! Three of the couples used one of the tents, while the rest of the gang took up residence in the other. There was also another tent for our domestic use,  featuring electric power, a fridge, water etc. All very nice.

I bought a few vinyl singles, including the original 'It Must Be Love' by Labi Siffre. Peter Guitar bought Arkeology, a great set of World Party rarity CDs; I think most of us did a little shopping.
After playing quite a bit over the previous three and a half weeks, we'd grown in terms of our musical togetherness so we were expecting to put on a good show wherever and whenever we played. Of the two, the Sunday lunchtime performance probably enjoyed bigger numbers, but both gigs went down pretty well.
Here's a story I posted elsewhere:

So, it's Saturday night at Retrofest and we've just finished our set. I'm out the back, completely spent, trying to catch my breath.
This geezer sits next to me.
Him: "Are you on tonight?"
Me: "Just been on mate; knackered. What about you? Playing tonight, or are you a DJ?"
Him: "I'm on later. I'm a singer, Chris Farlowe's the name."
Me: (surprised) "You don't look much like your pictures..."
Thankfully we got past that dopey comment and had a decent chat; mainly about the fun of being a constantly busy musician. We would have talked longer but we were out of time...
This is certainly a world full of surprises.

After that I wandered off and found a friendly felafel for my tea.
Some of us went to watch Chris Farlowe on the Saturday night and he still does a great job with 'Handbags and Gladrags' and 'Out of Time'.
The Sunday gig was a kind of celebration, being the last gig of the tour, and we all supped whisky from Peter's flask before we went on. Nice.
The afternoon was spent sitting in our deck chairs outside of the tents, eating and drinking to our collective heart's content. A few of us had gone on a £100 food and beverage run so we had plenty to get through.
Some of us were leaving the camp to stay in Reading that evening so it was with a somewhat heavy, but affectionate, heart that we all hugged, shook hands and said goodbye a little later that afternoon.
Pete the bassman dropped us in town and, that was it, no more tour. Peter Guitar, Rob Trumpet, Lynn and I shared a few drinks that night before parting company the following morning.

Within days of the tour ending the eight members of the band were scattered all over the world. From the north of England, to the USA, to Greece, to Australia, to a cruise chip in the Mediterranean, the PlanB diaspora was massive. Rock and roll!

www.davidrobinsononline.com

A Primal Affair...

After the long trip from Wales and a well-earned sleep in, we awoke to find ourselves in the weirdest, most interesting house. It certainly didn't sleep 12 people comfortably; there wasn't really enough dedicated rooms or beds. Still, most of us managed to sleep in relative comfort. The "Hemp Lime House" was full to bursting with the most amazing array of stuff - artifacts from exotic places, homespun artwork, books, strange furniture and junk. It would be a great place to spend some time, albeit in a smaller group.
It was a pleasant summer's day, and we spent the morning taking in the joys of the delightful Cotswolds town of Stroud. Markets, charity shops, sunshine, and brunch in Greggs.

Hopes were high for Lakefest; it has a decent reputation and some of the acts that have appeared in previous years made us feel a bit special. Billy Bragg, The Selecter, Ocean Colour Scene, Embrace, Ash, Buzzcocks, Levellers and The Beat have all played the festival. 2016 was offering Primal Scream, The Coral, Starsailor, Secret Affair and, erm, PlanB. Well, "Plan Beat" actually. We had to change our name in the advertising because the organisers were a little nervous about people getting confused with the English rapper Plan B. So it goes.
It was an easy trip out to the festival (no police, no speeding tickets) and the venue, Eastnor Castle Deer Park, looked beautiful. On the hillside across the river giant letters spelling the word "LOVE" filled me with happiness. There were people of all ages milling around, there was a cornucopia of food and beverage choices, and the sound of music filtered through the air.

We wandered around, soaking it all in, and checking out the various tents and stages. Spirits were pretty high, and we ate and drank merrily as we saw the sights. I bought a t-shirt, to add to my growing collection.
We were scheduled to appear late, after Primal Scream, so we were hoping people would spill out of the main stage, looking for some more music, and find their way to us. We were on in the Real Ale Tent, which also doubled as the "BBC Introducing" tent during the afternoon.

One of the great bands of my youth, Secret Affair, were playing early in the evening and I went along. I was surprised there wasn't a bigger crowd but no matter, it meant I got to stand right at the front without any of the usual crush. They were great; it was quite a moment to see and hear 'Time For Action', 'Let Your Heart Dance' and 'My World' live on stage. Ian Page's  voice is still pretty good and the band was tight. It took a couple of songs to get the mix right but once that was done the overall sound was great.
A little later I went along to see Primal Scream do their trippy, loopy thing in front of a huge crowd. It was a proper festival show and Bobby Gillespie was in decent form. They played old and new stuff and it all sounded pretty groovy, no matter which version of the band you prefer.
A little later in the evening I saw Nick Parker and The False Alarms over on another stage. I can't say I'd heard of him/them before but they were really good. Something else to research when I get home.
Man, I was looking forward to playing.
The ska band that played in our tent directly before us had done a decent job getting a few numbers, despite the competition from the main stage, and I was hoping they would stick around. Unfortunately, they did not. The organisers shut the bar in our tent, which didn't do much to attract punters, and by the time we started we were playing to about 20 people, while hundreds of others drifted by outside, on their way to their tent, car or oblivion. A bit of a downer after such a good day, but we shone like diamonds in any case. We played our set, and my night ended chatting with Jo and Ian (The Filthy Spectacula), nice folks both of them.

www.davidrobinsononline.com

Staying late at The Office...

The day of our Swansea gig arrived and I started things off with a visit to the Dylan Thomas Centre. It was pretty cool, and I learned a fair bit too. I followed that with a stroll around the marina and the beach. I took it pretty easy as I had one eye on the approaching performance, and my responsibility to my public. Ha ha.
Guitarist Peter would be arriving in the afternoon from Liverpool, where he'd been to see 'About the Young Idea' -The Jam exhibition - and the rest of the band would arrive closer to gig time in the rented cars.
After a few sociable afternoon beers with Rob, Peter called to say he'd arrived and to find out where we were. We told him. Half an hour later, he still hadn't shown up. Swansea isn't that big. Eventually, after many wrong turns and asking the wrong questions of locals, he and his guitar appeared outside the pub. He'd given himself quite a tour around town.
The other guys arrived after the long drive from Stroud and we slowly moved into performance mode. None of us seemed to be particularly enthusiastic about the show and I wasn't convinced that The Office, a heavy rock venue, would offer us anything in the way of a boost. The crowd and the support band, although really nice folks, also added to the sense that we were soulful fish out of water. I think the notion of a two hour early-morning motorway drive back to the share house was also weighing heavily on my mind. I thought we'd bomb; I had visions of the Blues Brothers' chicken wire concert!

Of course, all of this negativity proved baseless. The gig turned out to be fantastic. We put on a decent show, the venue was great and the locals loved it. People were coming in off the street, and there was plenty of dancing. Audience members were into our songs, and the inclusion of Dexys' 'Plan B' was an inspired choice. I was a bit frightened at one point; one of the local lasses appeared to have taken a shine to the beanpole lead singer and was applying the glad eye from very close proximity. I was trying to flash my wedding ring at every possible opportunity.
After the show, the mood among the band members had lifted somewhat, but there was still an air of tetchiness in some quarters. With a dozen people, no home comforts and so much travel, and every day requiring significant planning and execution as we continually ventured into the unknown, I guess it was never going to be sunshine and lollipops all the time.

We chatted to folks and enjoyed a few free beers. Not too many though, we had a long drive ahead.
On the way home to Stroud, Patrick drove with great care and skill. The motorways were virtually empty. We got pulled over by the police for driving in the middle lane (who knew?) but they were good blokes, especially when they realised we were just dumb tourists. We also got done for speeding about 100 yards from home but that's not important right now. It was just nice to get there, sometime between midnight and dawn.

www.davidrobinsononline.com

Getting to Wales

After a very enjoyable stay in Scotland it was difficult to get back into travel mode. Our next gig was a couple of days away, in Swansea, and a few of us headed straight there while others took the time to visit different locations.
The Tuesday morning train was late getting into Glasgow which caused trumpet player Rob, Lynn and I to miss our planned Swansea connection at Crewe. It meant we would be late into town but we weren't too bothered. It was a travel day with not much planned at the other end. The most difficult aspect of the day would be the humping of our cases, which were gaining weight at an alarming rate.
On the Crewe-Swansea train, Rob and I had a few beers, and chatted with an older woman who made up the foursome in our little enclave. She was on her way to Hereford to be with family and, I think, quite enjoyed catching up with us, dipping her toe into the murky waters of the rock and roll lifestyle. I helped her with her bag when she got off, doing my bit for Anglo-Australian relations.
After travelling through three countries, I was happy to get to Swansea, and happier still that the hotel we'd booked was immediately outside the train station. Minimal luggage lugging!
Rob went off to find his accommodation before rejoining us for a quite enjoyable meal and a few beers in
the hotel bar. I was pretty tired by the end of the evening and made no secret of the fact that I was looking forward to a proper sleep in.

Of course, that didn't happen. A bloody fire alarm jolted me from the deepest sleep at 6.30am and there was no returning to the land of nod.
Lynn and I wandered around the town, starting off with a lovely breakfast of scrambled egg and baked beans. We visited the castle, and did some shopping. I went into a great little record shop where I managed to resist buying any vinyl, and I grabbed some stickers for the guitar case. Lynn bought cakes. We swapped messages with the other guys in the band, seeing what they were up to (and where), and we checked out the location of the gig venue.
That night it was burgers and beers in a Yates pub with Rob, before the place turned into a nightclub for what seemed like all of Swansea's twenty-somethings. On a Wednesday night! We popped over to The Office, PlanB's venue for the following night, for a quick look and a pint. It looked a lot like a heavy rock venue.
I slept poorly, the streets were full of (twenty-something) revellers letting me know what a great night/morning they were having.

www.davidrobinsononline.com

Beer Hunter 2016: The Final Chapter

Doesn't include repeat beers in same pub (same session). All pints, all cask ales except where indicated by * or (bottle). Comments are minimal as the majority of the beers have been excellent.

76. Big Lamp Brewers Prince Bishop Ale (4.8) - The Milecastle Inn, Cawfields
77. Newcastle Brown Ale (4.7) (bottle) - The Milecastle Inn, Cawfields
78. Allendale Brewery Pennine Pale (4.0) - Lanercost B&B, Lanercost
79. Guinness* (4.2) - Club Britannia, Carlisle
80. Jennings Cocker Hoop Golden Ale (4.6) - The Kings Arms, Bowness-on-Solway
81. Thwaites Wainwright Golden Ale (4.1) - The Kings Arms, Bowness-on-Solway
82. Hardy & Hanson Kimberley Bitter (3.9) - The White Hart, Bargate
83. Froth Blowers Piffle Snonker (3.8) - The White Hart, Bargate
84. Burton Bridge Brewery Burton Ale (4.8) - The Lion, Belper (so good I had three)
85. Thwaites Lancaster Bomber (4.4) - The Wheatsheaf, Bakewell
86. Ringwood Brewery Boon Doggle (4.2) - The Lion, Belper
87. Oakham Ales Citra (4.2) - The White Hart, Bargate
88. Guinness* (4.2) - The Hurt Arms, Ambergate
89. Titanic Cherry Dark (4.4) - The Angels, Belper
90. Titanic Plum Porter (4.9) - The Angels, Belper
91. Purity Brewing Co Pure Ubu (4.5) - The Green House, Belper
92. Einstöck Ölgerd (5.4) (bottle 110ml) - The Green House, Belper
93. Marston's Pedigree (4.5) - The Green House, Belper
94. Stapleford Nottingham Full Mash Red Dog (3.8) - Arkwright's Real Ale Bar, Belper
95. Greene King Abbot Ale (5.0) - The Green House, Belper
96. Oakham Ales Sweeney's Revenge (half) (4.0) - Holly Bush Inn, Makeney
97. Thornbridge Brewery Kipling (half) (5.2) - Holly Bush Inn, Makeney
98. Dark Star American Pal Ale (half) (4.7) - Holly Bush Inn, Makeney
99. Dark Star Original (half) (5.0) - Holly Bush Inn, Makeney
100. Thornbridge Brewery Lucaria (half) (6.0) - Holly Bush Inn, Makeney
101. Thornbridge Brewery Seaforth (half) (5.9)- Holly Bush Inn, Makeney
102. Oakham Ales Green Devil (half) (6.0) - Holly Bush Inn, Makeney
103. Dark Star Revelation (half) (5.7) - Holly Bush Inn, Makeney
104. Cross Bay Brewery Nightfall Bitter (3.8) - The King William, Milford
105. Brakspear Oxford Gold (4.0) - The Lion, Belper
106. Wychwood Brewery Hobgoblin (5.2) - The Lion, Belper
107. Titanic Plum Porter (4.9) - The Angels, Belper
108. Guinness* (4.2) - Marston's Stadium, Belper
109. Marston's Pedigree (4.5) - The Lion, Belper
110. Brakspear Oxford Gold (4.0) - The Lion, Belper
111. Wychwood Brewery Hobgoblin (5.2) - The Lion, Belper
112. Oakham's Ale Inferno (4.0) - The White Hart, Bargate
113. Clouded Minds Luppol (4.2) - The White Hart, Bargate
114. Purple Moose Dark Side of the Moose (4.6) - The White Hart, Bargate
115. Guinness* (4.2) - Little M Bar, Manchester

"It's nae bother..."

I spent my Sunday morning in Glasgow with Patrick, shooting more footage for the 'I Know a Girl' film clip. We visited some great locations, including Glasgow Green and the stunning Necropolis. Three hours well spent. Combined with the Birmingham shoot, I think the clip should look great.

Some of us had tickets for a couple of concerts while we were up in Scotland. Justin Currie and Lloyd Cole were playing on Sunday evening, followed by The Waterboys on Monday. Both were scheduled to appear at the Kelvingrove Bandstand, but the Currie/Cole show had to be shifted due to wild weather being forecast.
On Sunday, we headed out to the revised and much smaller venue, determined to get in. Guitarist Peter and I left the others relaxing at the bar while we went to watch the Community Shield in a pub, if we could find one. On the way out, we blagged our way into a conversation with one of the soundcheck guys, who said he'd add our names to the entry list, seeing as we'd come 12,000 miles to see the show. Bonus. We continued our search for football in the pissing rain. After about six or so strikeouts, we heard football crowd noises coming from a pub. "That's it!" we thought. We opened the door and stared straight into a bar heaving with hundreds of Celtic fans looking up at screens as their match reached its climax. I'm glad neither of us was wearing blue. I'm also glad that Celtic won. After the match finished, the publican kindly switched the channel to the Wembley match, and Peter and I watched in relative comfort as the place thinned out ever so slightly.
Despite our names being on the door for the gig, we still stood in line, getting wet. I'm not a queue jumper, I don't like leaving things to chance and we really, really wanted to see the show. Peter went on a food run and brought me back a veggie burger, bless him. Pete and Suoyi were ahead of us in the line, I was about 20 metres back from them, and Peter and Lynn were the same distance behind me. Co-ordinated mobile communications were the key to success. We all got in. I expect everyone else did too.
The gig was fabulous. If I wasn't a Justin Currie fan beforehand, he certainly won me over. Lloyd Cole was as good as I'd expected and hoped, but I can't get Jimmy Carr out of my mind whenever I see him nowadays.

After a slower start to the working week involving another visit to the Necropolis, making train reservations and buying guitar case stickers, Monday afternoon saw Pete, Peter, Patrick and I head out for a radio interview and live to air with Jim McMillan on Sunny Govan Community Radio. We performed 'Cloudy With a Chance of Rain' and the session went well. I wanted to have a beer in Govan so the interview was followed by a visit to the Old Harmony Bar across the road, a proper local pub."The band's here", someone said as we walked in (not sure how they knew, maybe my tambourine was jangling in the bag). "'Scuse me, Fleetwood Mac" said another, as he reached for his pint. The locals were lovely people, chatting away to us about how we'd come to be at their pub. They seemed genuinely interested in our story, except for the quartet of women playing dominoes, swearing like troopers while they strove for victory, oblivious to our presence.
That evening the gang of five swelled to six, as drummer Dave joined us for The Waterboys gig. Another trip across town in a taxi. We lined up outside the ticket collection box, enjoying a beautiful mild summer's evening. How things can change over the course of 24 hours.

The Kelvingrove Bandstand is a medium-sized outdoor amphitheatre, and it was a just about perfect setting. We sat, then stood, and Mike Scott and his crew put on a brilliant show. It was the first time I've seen The Waterboys live; I sincerely hope it's not the last.
After the show, we managed to beat the rush for a taxi by booking one to arrive a little way away, near a quiet suburban pub. Even that one was almost hi-jacked by another group. Not on Suoyi's watch!
We arrived back safe and sound at the Tartan Lodge; I slept well on my last night in town.
All up, my trip to Glasgow was great. I wasn't sure what to expect from this colourful, multi-faceted city, but just about every interaction I had was positive, every dumb question I asked was answered helpfully, everyone involved with the gig was great, and everybody else I met was friendly. Nothing seemed to be too much trouble for anyone. Thanks to all concerned.

www.davidrobinsononline.com

Tartan lodgings

We left the beautiful environs of Cambridge, somewhat reluctantly, in the relative calm of the sunny early morning. I think we managed to get the entire touring party, and our gear, into a convoy of four taxis. Friday's mission was Glasgow or bust!
We arrived at the train station hoping for a no-fuss travel day. The first leg up to Peterborough was fairly easily managed, for most of us. The notable exception was Patrick. He'd bought/used the wrong ticket, and was slung off the train the first stop out of Cambridge!
What we hadn't reckoned on was the increased number of train passengers headed north, due to the opening of the Edinburgh Fringe. Subsequently, the train to Glasgow from Peterborough was heaving with people. Because the train was jam-packed and there were no available seats, most of us were left standing. It wasn't so bad; I just watched the English countryside glide by, alone in my thoughts.
Somehow, Patrick had turned up and made it onto the correct connecting train at Peterborough. Nobody is quite sure how. I'm guessing he used his super powers.
I eventually got a seat at York. So did most of the others.

Arriving in Glasgow, after some more of the fun that a 12-person decision-making model provides, we made our way on foot to the Tartan Lodge, our home for the next few days. It was next to the Glasgow Royal Infirmary, around a half-hour walk from the station. Our room was nice enough; some of the folks who had opted for dorms were less pleased. The rooms were fairly ordinary, by all accounts. The biggest issue appeared to be that the wi-fi was crap. Probably still better than being robbed (or worse) in your sleep, or catching something nasty from the mattress. First world problems, I guess...
Five of us enjoyed a large, cheap and cheerful Thai dinner delivered to the accommodation, on the recommendation of the friendly chap behind the reception desk. I got some curry sauce on my Radio Caroline t-shirt which made me a little grumpy. Another first world problem.

Our one and only Scottish gig, on the Friday night, was at The Scotia, reputed to be the oldest public house in Glasgow (although there was another place around the corner boasting the same thing). The pub was just down the road from the Clutha Vaults, a music venue that was the scene of the tragic police helicopter crash in 2013. It has only recently reopened.

At The Scotia, we were shoehorned into a corner but at least the required gear was there, courtesy of JonZip (new friend and top bloke). I had no idea how we were going to make it work, such was the confinement, but we found a way. The horn players stepped forward when it was their moment, Adrian sat his keys on one of the tables, I took the odd trip down the inside of the bar so I could sing to the people at the front and, in summary, I think we went off!
People were digging the music, and loads of folks came up for a chat between sets and after the show. Someone put my tambourine to good use (again) throughout the second set, although I had to ask for it back before we played any of the slower songs.
I was starting to get the feeling that you could put this band in almost any venue, and in any situation, and we'd somehow make it work. That's got to be a good thing.
And I got another t-shirt, thanks very much...

On Saturday morning some of us took a stroll around the markets before I left to find my way to the Glasgow Rangers match. After four seasons in the relative wilderness of the Scottish lower divisions, they were back in the big time and fans were eager for the new season to get underway. I fancied going, and I'd been told that it would be easy. I found the subway that would take me to the ground, only to find it was closed for four weeks! I asked and got directions to Jamaica Street, where I would find a bus to take me to Ibrox Stadium. I met a nice fellow on the bus and told him my story, and asked where the ticket office was. He told that the match was a sellout! Oh well, at least I could walk around the perimeter and soak up a bit of pre-match action. As it turned out, after a few attempts I found someone selling a spare ticket outside the ground and managed to see the match in all of its fervent atmosphere. I walked home in the afternoon drizzle with a few thousand of my new best friends.
Rob the trumpet, Dave the drum, Peter the guitar and Lynn & I spent the evening in one of the local pubs, talking bollocks. A perfect end to a good day.

www.davidrobinsononline.com