Hello folks! You’re looking especially splendiferous today. Last night I played a gig for the lovely folk over at Elba Sessions, in one of my favourite venues, The Liquid Ship. I shared the bill with My Cousin I Bid You Farewell and Blue Sky Archives, who both put on a great show. My between-song banter was admittedly hit and miss, thanks to my propensity for getting carried away and rambling various pieces of incoherent nonsense much like a drunk uncle/priest/child during a wedding/an episode of Father Ted/events preceding a visit from social services. However, I played a few of those songs in my arsenal whose success I gauge by the amount of laughter they receive (such as Beer Song for example. You can’t sing about a man shitting in a washing machine and expect people to take it too seriously).
Afterwards, as I enquired about the beer-for-performers rule, trying to sound like as little of a jake as possible, the barmaid told me she enjoyed my songs and wanted to laugh at points but felt a little embarassed because it was a bit too quiet at the time. That got me thinking. You can never tell what sort of crowd you’re going to get, and even with some friends in the audience, the atmosphere of a venue or a crowd can be totally different from gig to gig.* Perhaps then I should make some sort of announcement at the start of my gigs and tell people that it’s ok, I welcome laughter, be it for my occasionally scatological humour or my ridiculous trousers.
As I’ve said before, I wear my heart on my sleeve in my music: it’s just that sometimes my heart wants to tell dirty jokes or make fun of my improbable haircut.
Thanks for reading folks! Hope to see you at the next gig! And thanks again to Elba Sessions for having me play for them,
*It occurs to me that this atmosphere and level of comfortableness may be directly related to the amount of alcohol consumed, both by audience and performer. I know I certainly find myself a lot funnier when I’m drunk…