How the West Was Won. Peter Perret and band live at Concorde 2, Brighton. Supported by South London’s Bad Parents.
XTC uber fan, Ged Lynn learning the chords for Making Plans for Nigel. In typical Liverpool style, the wedding band learned the song to play it as a surprise at Ged & Bev’s wedding. This, with view that Ged would get up to play it. Then they realised they had to make sure he knew the words and chords. Someone had to tell him, thus spoiling the surprise, sort of. However, he did know the words (and does for pretty much EVERYTHING by XTC), but admittedly had to resort to the music book he bought in Rushworth’s (RIP), c1980.
The book is lovely. Great cover and photos, as well as music printed in deep red ink, reminiscent of Gestetner printed school hymn sheets.
It’s a cold rainy night in Peckham Rye Lane. The Bussey Building bouncers are wearily attempting reasoned communication with munted people stood in the road. One boy is trying to put his phone in his eye.
Two massive queues of ticket holders one side and walk ups the other. The walk ups queue is not moving. They stand shivering behind the crowd barrier, hands digging deep into their jeans for warmth.
Amidst the chaos, a bluesy strain threads through the faint bass rumble from the club, the rattle of car engines and the clatter of voices. It gets louder and more bluesy still. A fully formed tune meets the ear and I turn to see an electric blue Epiphone attached to man entertaining the walk ups mob. Also attached to the man are a pair of gloves that appear to be on a string through his sleeves.
This is Phil. He plays the blues in the rain on Rye Lane, at 3am. His guitar lead is a bit of 2 core electrical flex, the kind more suited to a desk lamp than a musical instrument. The red light on his amp, clipped to his coat pocket is fading on and off. Possibly rain related.
Phil gets 3 nights out of a 9v battery. Those pound shop ones only last 20 minutes, he says.
Monday summer night in South London. 30 degrees at midnight. First heatwave and the heat is still dry. The place is heaving inside and out, people spilled out onto the pavement. In the corner, a whole load of guitars, mandolins, violins, musical saw, clarinet, bass and box drum. Shoes off, barefoot on the deck. Hollering and harmonies. Birthday cake, sleeping dog. The regulars hold up the bar in their regular stools. Businessmen and bus drivers. It’s jam night at The Dizzy.
This is Erin wondering if she looks ‘too Country’ on her way out for a game of Monopoly.