And We Will Get What We Desire
Well.
So you all saw, in the last post, that our string of UK shows was hanging by a thread until a violinist volunteered to jump on board at the last minute. Yeah?
Well,, somehow she was brilliant. She not only flew around on the fiddle like a dervish, she sings incredible high harmonies and gave us the ability to do four-part sea shanties. It was perfect, right away. How do we have this kind of insane luck? Wow. Here she is jamming with Karen:
But Karen already had a name, and our bassist has one too: “Cumulo-Dingus”, which I gave him after he wouldn’t shut up about clouds in the van. We knew the new violinist needed an epic stage name.
But nothing was coming to mind. We were meant to be on stage at 9 at a certain venue in a certain town, and at 7:20 a certain Nepalese restaurant looked like an inviting place to sit down for dinner. We ordered. Most of us ordered some kind of curry, but our new violinist just wanted something called a “Vegetarian Momo”.
Forty-five minutes went by. Nothing came out. We started to get nervous. One hour went by. Nothing came. We started to get even more nervous. And the poor violinist was starting to get especially a little frantic because she’d wanted to review the material back at the venue and it was looking, instead, like we might all just dash on stage at the last minute with curry and Vegetarian Momo smeared all over our mouths. I eventually stood up and told the host we really had to go. They appeared to have forgotten our order, and we were starving at this point. We heard her go into the kitchen and start shouting at the chef.
Now I know, I know what you’re thinking: “Dreadnoughts, why are you telling us this story? It almost reads like a google review of a restaurant. Why do I care?” To which I can only say: shut up. Sit your dumb ass down and shut up. This is our blog. You want a different one? Go read the blog of the Smashmouth wiki.
Because when the food was frantically brought to our starving table roughly 18 minutes before set time, five majestic Momos sat atop an ornate plate, inviting the Famished Fiddler to take a bite. Which she did. Aaaaaaaaaand… pork. Loads of pork in ‘em. Ell oh ELL. You should have seen her face, man.
And so, when we hit the stage that night, and it was time to do the introductions, I threw my arms up in the air and shouted: “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, ON THE VIOLIN, WE GIVE YOU: MOMO!” And thus it ever shall be.
Oh yeah and we played some gigs and they were fun. But some of the bands we played with, man, wow. In London on Night 1 the Surfin’ Turnips absolutely brought the house down. They can be downright intimidating when they are on their game. The most rewarding part of this gig was when Jamer Turnip joined us on stage for our song “Cider Holiday”, and it felt like the whole audience was singing along. That really is the dream: you release a song, you tour it, and people are singing it. Wild.
We also met and sang with the Silver Darlings, some corking ladies from some seaside town in the east that I forget, who can really belt out those sea shanties. Joining them at the pub and on stage was an absolute highlight. Show review here.
In Nuneaton, Greenman Rising were extremely good as well. And then, at Outcider, this incredible 13-piece Italian folkpunk band called Dirty Artichokes turned our eardrums inside out with this frenetic, Italian-traditional-but-also-celtic-and-a-bit-heavy-metal, raucous performance that has to be seen to be believed. And they even played one of my favorite Renato Carosone songs! Shockingly good, man.
Also, we finally got to meet a couple of the Longest Johns, corking chaps who show real promise with their novelty sea shanty act. Someone really ought to book them a few gigs, they truly have a bright future if they keep at it. I mean nothing too ambitious yet obviously, they should probably stick to novelty festivals in Taunton or Shepton Mallet for now, but in a few years I really think they could go somewhere. We went into a field with them and sang a couple of songs. Ooh arr.
And Outcider Festival: never change. Guys, if you can, put this festival on your bucket list. Fun, friends, frolicking, merriment, and pint after pint of the West Country’s finest cider. There was so much good stuff I forgot to have any Wilkins’ Cider! Here’s a beautiful photo of Phil Palmer (Palmer’s Cider), Bill Meaden (Cranborne Chase) and I. These two are the master cidermakers who feature in our little ditty “Cider Jar”:
Just fabulous times all around. Apparently at the end of the evening after our set I was going around asking people to fight me. Yyyyyyyyyyyeah.