Go West, Young Man

Part I – Duke’s Travels

The day had finally arrived for us to make our way across the south. A painless journey (if you ignore the excerpts from Camel’s ‘The Snow Goose’) with a couple of stops; the first, somewhere on route for the obligatory fry-up. Several miles further and we made a stop at Stonehenge. I’d only ever seen it from the road and not living anywhere in the vicinity, I’d not even done that very often. It was time to go and see it up close, after all, we were ahead of schedule and the weather was decent enough, or so we thought… After venturing further into the field, it became apparent that away from any kind of shelter, it was bitterly cold. I was sure I’d known colder, but Stonehenge isn’t quite as appealing when you’ve lost the feeling in your legs and most of your face, giving the feeling that an entire body has been taken over by someone else. Still, seeing Stonehenge isn’t an everyday type thing, so I make the most of the opportunity.
On with the headset, then. One of the earphones falls off, as if the headset actually knows who’s wearing it. I jam it back in. 'Please press the numbers on the keypad when you reach the appropriate markers', says a small voice in my one earphone which seems to still be working. Seems easy enough. So, I’m by the marker number 2, expecting commentary about the large stone to my left; instead, I hear a commentary about the painting in the cave/underpass I saw ten minutes previously. Moving on… Let’s try number three, since that’s where I am. No sound at all. I try it again. The earphone falls off. The commentary goes on at great length about something which doesn’t resemble what I’m looking at. It’s now really cold, and bizarrely, my mate has begun to sing ‘Sex Farm’ by Spinal Tap. Not wanting to miss an inappropriate opportunity, I join in. My earphone falls off again. We then decide it’s far too cold to take the rest of the tour (especially since the electronic tour guide doesn’t seem to be guiding us too well), so opt for taking a few pics of the legendary stones instead. Leaving the site, we casually hand in the headset, hoping they don’t think we broke it… Sitting in the car, I take another look at the stones; Tori Amos has started to sing ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’. A great moment.
The remainder of the journey was uneventful, unless you take a bunch of great tunes into account and the fact that during a Kent-Somerset trip we saw Devon, or our amusement at some of the names of west country towns – personal favourites: Stogumber, Queen Camel, Curry Mallet…


Part II - Has anyone seen my last marble?

For many, the Friday night set seemed to be the subject of some very big talk. Not that I think people need an excuse to go and see Marillion, but for some folk, what’s on the setlist can be make or break. So, ‘Marbles’ in its entirety for the first time ever, anyone? I have some pretty odd ideas about how good ‘Marbles’ is, (not as controversial as my opinions regarding ‘Afraid Of Sunlight’, but we won’t go there), but whatever I feel about the album, it translates rather well live. The evening’s performance of ‘The Invisible Man’ was more appropriate than ever for me, as I couldn’t see the band at all. It was a situation which remained for most of the evening; the music was so good though, I was carried through by the good vibes – and I know what Marillion look like anyway! I have very little to say regarding the set itself (not anything which I haven’t already said elsewhere), but the inclusion of ‘Genie’ for the first time was most welcome – as was hearing ‘The Only Unforgivable Thing’ live for the first time (my favourite song from the album) – not to mention ‘Ocean Cloud’, so I won’t! Seriously though, I could never see the appeal with the album version of ‘Ocean Cloud’. It’s okay, but in 17 minutes I could listen to three songs I really enjoy. (More comments about ‘OC’ later).
I would say more about the stuff from the second half of ‘Marbles’, but I was talking to Del at the time…a great bloke. A predictable encore of ‘Easter’ ended the first night. Predictable more in the fact that ‘Easter’ has been a regular encore’, less so in the amount of the song we got to sing as an audience. I got truly swept up in the moment, thanks to some high spirits and friends from the USA.



Part III - Happy birthday you’re not special, you’re getting older but not much better…

Saturday was a day like many I’d had before…but none in my recent past. I broke four years of sobriety. Back in 2001 I vowed to never drink again. So, as you might imagine it all hit me pretty hard. I’d originally planned to just have the one drink (okay, my hands are up – I had that at about ten past midnight whilst watching Soul Beaver and their sassy horn section), to mark the fact that I was about to spend my birthday amongst friends I don’t often see, whilst being in the presence of one of the best and most under-rated bands in the world. One beer turned into two, three, four. The point of no return had been reached. At that point, I stopped counting.
Did I really wail keyboard lines from Camel’s ‘The Snow Goose’ at some geese outside my chalet with Neil McChrystal? (Apparently, the geese remained unimpressed, but having prog tunes wailed at them will serve the bastards right for waking me up at ungodly hours squabbling. Between that and Hitchcock sized birds tearing lumps out of each other over some scraps, I’ve decided wildlife in the West Country is a scary prospect). It was shaping up to be a great birthday. One thing’s for sure – it’ll be the only time in my life I’ll see a cake with thirty-one green beans protruding from the top.

I can’t lie to you, folks - there are huge bits of Saturday night I don't even remember... I had been looking forward to seeing Amy Wadge live, as her CD ‘Woj’ is great. I remember her appearing on stage, hammering through some tunes and going away again really quickly – her set can’t have been that short, surely?
My sincere apologies to the people who performed as part of the ‘Swap/Join The Band’ extravaganza, as this occurred during another one of the fuzzy moments. I recall ‘Go!’ with a spot on guitar solo; I recall Miss Sofie Hogarth taking the stage and singing ‘Angelina’, but found myself feeling too swept along by the familiar music to take great notice of the different vocal. I’m told it was fantastic though, so that’s good enough for me (I recall asking an unfamiliar Welshman to take photos for me, as I was too low down…He approached me again the following day to see if I was more sober – I must’ve pulled one of those all-too-familiar ‘do I know you?’ type faces).
It’s only the fact that so many people have talked about it since that I haven’t written off the performance of ‘Fugazi’ as a vivid dream. As you’ll be more than aware, it marked the first appearance of the song in seventeen years. Sure, you’ll never hear h sing it, but it was a truly magical moment to hear the other four members of the band playing it again – and their temporary vocalist did a faultless job; we say that, of course, but most of us weren’t listening with full attention, but singing along with every word at the top of our lungs. I’d like to think that the singing along rather than listening was our way of lending our full support…and yes, despite a few beers, I still remembered every word.

The bits of the Marillion set I still recall that night rocked a big one. Good job too, since the intention was to play a set of their more uptempo crowd-singing stuff. It was my first encounter with both ‘Separated Out’ and ‘The Answering Machine’ and I didn’t waste the opportunity, choosing to participate as loudly as I could muster (‘The Answering Machine’ strikes me as welcoming with regard to that kind of thing). I know ‘Under The Sun’ would have received similar treatment, but alcohol consumption meant that I’d only tuned into the song by the time it was almost over… Apparently, ‘The Uninvited Guest’ appeared in the set, but I don’t even recall hearing a note of it! The same almost applies to ‘Rich’ and ‘Deserve’, but at least there I remember singing ‘Energy makes energy anyhow’ during the former (if not much else) and the Doors-esque closing section of the latter. I’m still wondering if ‘The Univited Guest’ came between the two and I’d somehow drifted away… Hello world, I’m here again/Living life in la-la land [Wiedlin/Caffey].
I remember having a conversation/full-on rant with Fraser Marshall which apparently was full of objectionable language from both of us (I guess we must have been pretty psyched after such a highly charged set). As for brutal hangovers, Sunday morning was horrid --- tired beyond belief and with a voice like Tom Waits is really not the best way to approach the day. I’d let the genie out of the box and now I must pay the price. Happy daze, indeed. After Saturday night’s over jubilation on my part, I remember collapsing on the bed in my chalet and then nothing more – ah well…and so ends another day from this tragicomedy we love called life.


Part IV - Slate grey, battleship grey, hardship grey

Sunday morning was rough. I’d woken up feeling pretty bedraggled; a throat full of knitting needles and a limited vocal range. Still, on the plus side, at least it wasn’t early. Either the birds had been quieter or I’d been completely knocked out. Being later, this meant I’d missed the Sun and Moon’s ‘little better than average’ fry up and had to resort to dinner at breakfast time. Not that I’d turn down a roast dinner, whatever time of day. Then again, maybe I should have. Roast dinner consisted of half raw frozen vegetables (I’m not even sure which veg), some charred lumps which claimed to be roast potatoes and half a roast chicken, which had a very dubious taste (and you can never be too careful with chicken) – was this all above board, or was this mysterious roadkill one of the oversized squabbling birds from outside my chalet? Never mind, I told myself, I’d eat later…but that turned out to be much later. This whole lunchtime (non)dining experience was not helped by the pub's choice of music - I know it was Sunday, but having some squawky tart wailing 'Ave Maria' like a second rate Julie Andrews, really did not help matters...

Today was the day for the signing session, and I’ll already told myself that I wouldn’t go out of my way for it (since the previous weekend’s signing session had a monster sized queue), but to my surprise, I got in quickly. The band proved themselves to be the great people I always knew they were (my first time speaking to Pete properly this weekend, having met their others before); anyone who reels out the old maxim about ‘never meeting your heroes as you’ll always be disappointed’, obviously never crossed paths with the los Marillos.
The afternoon passed quickly and it wasn’t long before gig time I remembered I still hadn’t eaten, so it was time for a quick trip to Pizza Hut, where my buddy Jay introduced me to a pizza which, I’m sure went some way to helping me become less attractive to women than usual (arf!) – if a bloke who looks like Shrek ever tells you that pepperoni, pineapple, anchovies and jalapeno chilis is the sane choice for a pizza…well, you’ve been warned!

Sunday night with regard to the gig was very special indeed. Richard Barbieri shook the place up considerably with a set which some people claimed was too loud; a set which some folks clearly didn’t enjoy; a set which some of us believe ranks as one of the weekends high moments. I don’t want to speak out of turn, but the audience seemed to be split with regard to RB – those with a sympathetic ear to the cleverer end of the dance music scale dug the man’s set immensely - he made me want to dance…and it’s hardly like I have the legs for it – like Mr Spiggot, the unidexter auditioning for the role or Tarzan, I’ve always considered myself somewhat deficient in that department - but I digress, RB simply captured some magic for me. I’ve not stopped playing his ‘Things Buried’ CD since (okay, okay, the more pedantic among you may note that Katey Sagal has been spinning in my CD player a fair bit, but other than that, Barbieri gets a more than fair hearing!). Despite being a big draw for some folk, Pineapple Thief left me cold. The first song sounded okay…but then what followed seemed to have little variation, so it’s not encouraged me to check them out any further.

(At this point, I have a great deal to say about Marillion’s Sunday night set, but I’ve gathered my thoughts and sent them to a better place. For now, I won’t write them here…)


…And so ends my rambling about a great three days. If you’re still reading, thanks!