"...Out Of The Bathroom, Wrapped In A Towel..."

It was Thursday evening on the 24th November, 7.30pm, in dark & rain-soaked Leeds.  I stepped out of the taxi, picked up my guitar, two bags and guitar stand, and carried them to the hotel.  I paid for my room, and was told to go to the 6th floor, to Room 629.

The lift door pinged open and I made my way down the long corridor, counting my way along the right-hand side - the odd-numbered side.  I finally came to 629.  I put down my belongings, swiped my card, nudged the door open and wedged it with my foot.  Then, picking up my bags & guitar, I backed into the room.  I turned around and took in my surroundings.

Five minutes later I was back at the Reception desk.
"Excuse me," I said.
"Hello sir, is everything okay with your room?" asked the man on duty.
"Well, funny you should ask - I think you've put me in a room that somebody's, well, in."
"Let me have a look for you." The man turned to his computer.  "No, according to this, there's no-one in there."
"There's a pair of glasses in there, and a rucksack is sitting on an unmade bed."
"Right." A pause.  "Shall I put you in Room 624?"
"If you would."

Good evening, Blogwatchers,

First off: Has it REALLY been this long since I wrote a blog for you to stare at with your eyes?!  The last blog I wrote appears to have travelled back in time to October 16th, and that's just madness, surely.  Ah well, evidently it isn't, and what it actually signifies is that I haven't been arsed to sit & write a bunch of paragraphs with some kind of underlying theme, like a big pratbasket.

(Also, I just moved my KitKat away from my cup of tea, in case the radiating heat from the mug causes the chocolate to melt.)

ANYWAY:  This last weekend has been gigful, for which I am thankful (bloody hell, what a mouthful).  The opening paragraphs of this timely blog detail the first thing that happened to me upon entering the city of Leeds, apart from the brisk walk through the city centre & taking a few moments of not knowing where the shit I was, before getting the aforementioned taxi.  (Seriously folks, it will never cease to amaze me, the sense of "Right, I bet I can find it on foot!" that overwhelms me when setting said foot in uncharted lands.  This bravado can last for anything up to two hours, before my legs & brain give up and I catch a taxi, which often drives me round a corner & charges me four quid for the privilege.)

I'm sure you can picture how much worse the scenario could have been when I entered the first hotel room.  I could have backed in just as some hairy bloke wanders out of the bathroom, wrapped in a bathtowel, brushing his teeth.  Just imagine that moment, that long, silent moment, as our eyes lock in mutual shock & embarrassment.  It being Movember, he probably has a moustache.  There's a bit of chocolate in it.  His grip slackens on the toothbrush, and it drops to the floor.

I like to think that had this happened, without saying a word, I would have backed out of the room in a similar manner to the way I backed in.

Also, when a man comes to you and tells you, from experience of actually having BEEN IN THE ROOM, that someone is already in there, at what point is looking at a computer to see what it thinks is happening going to be of any benefit?  Imagine if I worked in a police station and a man ran in and shouted "SOMEONE'S JUST BEEN STABBED!" and I followed that with "Well, I'll just have a look on our computer to see what's happening... Hmmm... Nope.  There's no mention of any stabbings..."

[deep breath]

After all that got dealt with, and I dropped off my overnight luggage in my room that was for ME, I made my way to the Verve bar (http://www.verveleeds.co.uk/).  I actually found this on foot with next to no trouble at all.  That is, I found the road it was on, but actually went the wrong way initially, and so for several minutes was walking in the wrong direction (and, in fact, at some points, along 3 completely incorrect roads that branched off Merrion Street, one of which lead me past a very sweary busker who wasn't keen on the fact that no-one was putting money in his guitar case).

I backtracked massively in the end, and spotted the sidestreet down which the Verve Bar was placed, and found a wonderfully cosy little bar.  The gig was taking place downstairs, in a slightly smaller bar-room, which had a stage at one end, big wall-hugging sofas at the other, and some alternative seating in the middle.  Amid the chaos of one of the acts trying to find working sockets & guitar/mic leads, was Hayley Gaftarnick, who runs the gig nights at Verve - she is a superb musician (go to http://www.youtube.com/user/HGaftarnick to see some of her performances and the like - she played "Forgive Me" at the end of the night) and a lovely person.

As all the setting-up continued, I parked myself on a settee & finished writing the inlays of the CDs I'd cobbled together, and chatted to Hayley & some of the folk who were in the bar.  The evenings that happen at Verve are quite beautifully serendipitous, from what I can gather.  The acts coalesce & form a good evening's entertainment, regardless of music genre, band members, or bar population.  As it happened, the two acts who also played that night were both very much into traditional blues stylings.

First up were High Hollers, a duo of vocals, acoustic guitar & mouth organ (http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-High-Hollers/122245211136019).  They were two, really nice & friendly chaps, with a good grip on "da blooz", and cheerfully commented upon how easy it is to slip into the wrong song, as some of them "do blur together after a while".  They played a nice set, albeit far too brief, sadly.  They were just hitting their stride when they got to the last song.

After this were Gerry Cooper & Phil Snell (www.philsnell.co.uk/GerryandPhil.aspx) .  Gerry played guitar and sang, while Phil alternated between mandonlin, acoustic guitar and violin, and also providing backing vocals.  Again, a wonderful selection of blues & bluegrass styles, with impressive fingerpicking, lead breaks, and instrumentals, and a pleasant conversational tone weaving its way through their set.  I was happily drawn into it all, and almost forgot that I was playing after them!

My set was fun.  I enjoyed it.  So, it seems, did everyone there.  I plucked a setlist out of thin air, including a new song called Pretty Soon, which I had written the week before, and even ended up leading a singalong of Crowded House's "Fall At Your Feet" with the crowd, after someone asked if I knew it (this is nice when it happens - usually I am haunted by cries of "D'yer know any Oasis?" or "PLAY RICHARD ASHCROFT!")  Speaking of which, how exactly does one play Richard Ashcroft?  Does he have guitar-like properties?  I suppose if I were to attach strings to his belt and stretch them over his face, applying pressure to strategic parts of his neck, chest and stomach, it could work.  On the whole, though, I'd rather just play guitar.

Anyway, it was a pleasure to play a venue completely new to me, to people who won't have heard me before, and have a completely fresh musical experience.  It was great fun, and everyone I met that night was lovely & friendly.  So, if you were there and you're reading this - thank you.

After the gig, we went to a handful of bars (not easy when you've a backpack, guitar stand & guitar case), the last of which took us to a completely different road, which meant that I completely lost my bearings and managed to direct myself to the place I mentioned earlier, where I was momentarily lost and got a taxi.  This time there weren't any taxis, it was 1am, and it was pissing rain.  I stomped swearily in three different directions for forty minutes or so, then went back & tried following the route the taxi had taken me five hours previously.  That worked, and I sloshed into my hotel, aching of shoulder & grumpy of temperament (it really was raining SO hard).  I relaxed as soon as I was in my hotel bed, and the good cheer returned very quickly. I slept like a log.

The following day was spent trying to walk around Leeds, but I didn't get terribly far, as intermittent rain dominated the afternoon, so I was mostly ducking from shopping centre to cafe in order to dodge another soaking.  In the midst of that, though, I did find Jumbo Records, a wonderful little independent record store (http://www.jumborecords.co.uk/), full of friendly staff and, had this place been in my vicinity on Independent Record Store Day earlier this year, I'd have provided my custom like a shot.  I bought Bon Iver's eponymous album from there, and have listened to it for the entire weekend, it's excellent.  One of the most unusual albums I've listened to of late, but unusual isn't the right word - "original sounding" is better.  Brilliant rhythms, arrangements and melodies.

After this I travelled home and spent the weekend largely recumbent - after carting my stuff around to Leeds & back, my shoulders were complaining a little.  On the Sunday night I played a gig supporting Headsticks and Dirty Money No.5 (http://www.dirty-money.net/) at Newcastle-under-Lyme's very own The Old Brown Jug (http://www.oldbrownjug.com/).  I've always loved the pub, my friends and I would gather there at the end of a working week, and I have seen a few bands play there, and now it was my turn.  It was a surprisingly comfortable place to stand and play, there's a very nice light set-up, and the crowd were friendly and attentive, which always makes my day.

Headsticks, an acoustic duo, describe themselves as agit-folk, and played a heartfelt set of songs that deal with local/global issues in a very empassioned & heartfelt way, but also with a gentle wit, especially in between-song banter.  You would ordinarily think that to write & play songs about the state of the nation would be an arduous task, but with Headsticks this is definitely not the case - their chatter and way with the stage make it enjoyable & an all-round good experience.

Dirty Money No.5 are more roots reggae, and also I have never seen them before.  Their set was good and lively, with a wonderful array of talented musicians, including wheels-of-steel vinyl skillz, which is not something I see every day.  They played a good set, and had it been on a busy Saturday, they would have encouraged a few dancers in the crowd.  Really good, energetic songs & performances.  Thank you to Andy Tranter and Geordie Nic McCarthy, and all who organised the gig and asked me to play & soforth.  It was a class night.

So there we have it.  A weekend's musicking & associated tomfoolery crammed into a single blog!  You must be on your second cup of tea by now, and in desperate need of toiletular relief, so I will let you do that funny mincing run as you clasp yourself in order to avoid making a mess.  RUN!  OR YOU'LL NEVER GET THERE IN TIME!

Meanwhile, sorry I've written so darned much, but this is what happens if you let me get away with not leaving a blog here for over a month.  Be warned: DON'T let this happen again!  I shall away to make a quick Audioboo (http://audioboo.com/mrjohnmacleod), something I have been having tremendous fun doing recently, and probably explains why i haven't written here for so long.  So while I go and do that, I leave you with gratitude for reading and I hope you're all well.

Goodnight all,
Love,
John.xx