Tyred and Exhausted

     We're home.   I can say for myself that I feel like I've been rode hard and put away wet.  I'm in recovery.
The above sign is from a "petrol" station in Blyth, Northumberland.  Kristi took the picture while I was pumping "petrol".   At that time we were heading off to the midlands after playing up to Fleetwood, Lancashire from Hambledon in the south.  We were full of energy, but not without our apprehensions about the long journey ahead of us.  It was the third of three 5 day runs of bookings.  This time we were headed into two clubs, two pubs, and one festival.
     The first destination was John Montague's home in Syston on the outskirts of Leicester (pron. lesta).  John has known us for a long time, is one of our oldest friends in the UK.  We stop in to visit John, and his wife Angela whether he has a booking for us or not.  He has been a professional musician for a long, long time and in that regard is an exception to the rule.  He has played in many a barroom, like Kristi and myself.  He has often lent us a PA system, and this trip was no exception.  He had found the pub bookings for us, and he booked us at his "acoustic" club.  His club, unlike folk clubs, is host to acoustic rock players, blues players, songwriters, and virtually anyone who can make music with an acoustic guitar.  I'm not even certain that he won't accept electric guitar players, although John now claims to have given up the electric many, many years ago.
     When we arrived John wasn't home from producing a radio show that he's been working on, so we visited with his wife Angela.  Angela has recently changed jobs, has done so a couple of times in the last year.  Both her parents, and John's father have been having health problems.  John has had his share of health issues as well.  In short, they've been experiencing a lot of stress.  John has just finished putting together a recording studio in the back of the house.  He, and Angela live in a duplex apartment on what is called an "industrial estate".  That means that at one time the place where they live was providing housing for employees of some kind of manufacturing firm.  It is really a nice house by UK standards (we've visited a lot of them).  John arrived home with two guests, one a guitarist that he introduced as the best guitarist in the UK.  His name is John Hicks, and he is a genuinely talented fingerstyle guitarist who plays across the spectrum in genres.  The CD he traded us for had ragtime, blues, classical, and pop music on it.  It was all played exquisitely.  The other guest was Ellie, John's partner in organizing the music club.  John, and Angela fed us all, and then we bundled off to the club which has it's existence in the clubhouse at a golf course on the outskirts of Syston (I think).

Kristi comments on John Montague:

'The days drifted by during our last week of touring and each day reminding me of the count-down to the twenty-eighth.  We opted to accept the gracious offers from our good and generous musician friend John Montague of two pub gigs following his own acoustic club gig, all in the upper Midlands.  John succeeded in getting us on the BBC local radio program with an interview and airplay of our latest recording projects, "Tandem" and "Detour". ' 

     There was another friend of ours there at the club, the host of a BBC country music show, Mick Smith.  He was playing string bass behind everyone.  We gave him some CDs to play on his show, and he called up the next day when John was interviewing us for the radio to let us know that "Tandem", our latest CD is "brilliant", which means pretty good.  All in all, it was a very positive experience.
    Before being interviewed we had spent the night at Nigel's house.  Nigel Lawson is a semi-retired teacher.  That means that he no longer is really in the teaching system, but he is a part time tutor.  He inherited his parents house in Loughborough, which is where we stayed.  It is a huge house by UK standards with a large vegetable garden in the back.  I asked him if he slept in a different bedroom every night.  We traded CDs with Nigel as well.  He plays harmonica, and would you know it, blues.  His band call themselves "The Dangerous Dogs" which must be an attempt at irony.  It is difficult for me to imagine the 6'4" bespecktacled Nigel as dangerous.  He lived in Kent, south of London, and taught high school there for many years.  Loughborough, where he lives now, is in the midlands.

Nigel Lawson  -  "Wow!  Your CD!  How cool!"

     After our interview with John Montague we were off to a couple of days with the Pitts in Bedfordshire.  They are the organizers of the St. Neot's Folk Club.  We've stayed with them before.  They have a nice extra bedroom with a good bed.
     I am still trying to figure out what it is specifically that delineates a person from the UK, and an American.  In the UK there are Yorkshiremen, Cornish, Welsh, Scottish, Irish, English, and probably more.  I referred to a Yorkshireman as an Englishman, and I think we may not be on speaking terms anymore.  Oh yeah, Geordies are another group.  Many of these groups have their own languages, which may differ more, or less from broadcast English.  Oh my.  It is difficult.  Do not speak ill of the nobility.  I actually haven't been in a lot of conversations that dissected the culture there.  In spite of that, I've probably alienated a few people.  Kristi is probably my salvation, or the closest thing to my salvation that I've got in the UK.  She is generally cheerful, friendly, kind etc.  I'm usually the one with the uncomfortable questions, and the songs without heroism, and bravery.  All that said, I do better in the UK than I do here for audience, and reverence.

Patti and Roger Pitt in their garden.

     So, as I said the next stop on the road was the Pitts.  I mean Roger, and Patti Pitt.  We have stayed with them several times, and they have a delightful lifestyle that is carried on  in the English countryside near Bedford.  They have bees, and a large garden, which includes several greenhouses, two dogs, two cats, and a social schedule that beats most of the other people that we stay with.  I should write an entire blog on Roger.  He is a complex person who I get little bits out of everytime we see them.  He talked about an early loss of a father, and doing poorly in school, how it affected him etc.  It seemed for a moment as though he was searching for who he really is at this point in his life.  He has been to the Himalayas, and is proud of his two sons military service.  He rides a motorcycle, and does a lot of the work on their big house.  He was painting the outside of the brick construction while we were there.  He had retired in the last year, so had more time to do things like that that had been ignored while he was working.  He was an engineering draftsman for a living.  Patti was a teacher, and is also retired.  We attended that opening of a pedestrian bridge while we were  staying with them.

Cut the ribbon

The Pitts lead the processional

Kristi's comments about this:
"We stayed with our friends Roger and Patti Pitt in their rural home near Cambridge.  We've known them for around seven years and have appreciated their hospitality in conjunction with their club, St. Neot's Folk Club.  They took  us with them to experience some local culture in the form of a ribbon-cutting for a new bridge.  They led a ceremonial crossing of the bridge with their own musical performances on accordion and sticks for percussion, along with a small team of Morris Dancers, all costumed.  Afterwards we joined the Mayor and City Council Chairman, each festooned with ornate gold chains around their necks.  Then we joined the townspeople for a reception with the many varieties of England's favorite sweeties, my favorite being jam tarts.  The bridge was an attempt to encourage sustainable transport, being designed for feet and bicycles."


    We went to the St. Neot's Folk Club with Patti and Roger.  They asked us to do a floor spot, which is like the opening act, and we played "Outback of Bohemia", "Big Floppy Hats" (requested by Roger), and "Angels of the Road".  Roger has asked us to play the club as a guest act next time we come over, which is nice.  They have an exceptionally nice room for their concerts considering the size of the club membership.  There was a trio of women playing traditional style songs, much of it instrumental.  They call themselves "Zoots".  We were definitely getting in the mood to get on an airplane by the time we got to the Pitt's house.  The next night we were booked into a pub in Stoney Stratford.  It is an old, old town with a lot of character.  Well, what part of England isn't like that?  We didn't have time to appreciate it much though, as we went to the club, set up, played, and went back to the Pitts'.  That was a hotel pub.  The hotel was the Old George.  The proprietor said we were one of the best acts she'd had there.  We sold a CD, which was pretty good considering how few people were there.  I liked that gig.  We arrived back at the Pitts' around midnight.  They were still up, having been out to meet with their choral singing group.  We had some whiskey, and sat up for awhile talking.  Roger and I often agree to disagree about many things.  In spite of that, we have a lot in common with Patti, and Roger.  The next day Roger had a doctor's appointment and set out for that on his motorcycle.

Roger and his motorcycle

     From there we were off to the Leed's house in Sawbridgeworth.  We were playing the Stortfolk Folk Club in Bishop's Stortford.  Geoff, and Jacqui are stalwarts of that club, and often provide a place to stay for itinerant musicians.  

Geoff Leeds

     Geoff works in the center of London.  He works for a company that works for insurance companies.  He had been working with someone from AIG the day we arrived in Sawbridgeworth.  He feels that he was given an opportunity to get ahead in the world from a working class background.  He told us that those opportunities are disappearing in the UK, and class standing is becoming more stationary than it was when he was of an age to take advantage of higher education etc.  He said that the recent riots were at least partly due to disenfranchised, if not impoverished youth.  That scene would seem to be like the blind man and the elephant as everyone seemed to have a different take on it.  Geoff's take was the only one I heard that made sense to me.  It's not like the riots were political, they were just an expression of anger . . . giving the finger to the man as it were.
     The next night we were off to Milton Keynes and a pub on a canal near there called the Navigation Pub. We had a PA which belonged to our friend John Montague.  John had to take his father to the hospital for surgery on that day, and wasn't sure he would make it to the pub, which he had planned on doing.  Kristi got a phone call from John, and he said he wasn't going to make it, but right after we got set up a the pub, John walked in the door.  It was a fun night, and we sold more CDs than any other place we have played.  The pub clientele were quite enthusiastic about us.  John and I traded off on playing lead guitar, and all of us took turns singing leads.  It was a pretty typical night in a barroom, except we weren't a dance band, and folks were just sitting and listening when they weren't trying to talk over us.  By the time the night was over, I had had all the fun I could stand.  We followed John up to his turnoff, and then continued up towards Grantham where we had reserved a hotel room.  I was simply exhausted by the time we got in our room.  We weren't in such a hurry next day, as it was only a few hours drive, and our playing slot was late in the afternoon.  We were then headed for No. Yorkshire for the Cropton Folk and Roots Festival.  
     Yorkshire is a different looking place.  At least that's what I think.  The buildings are built from a different color of brick, and the countryside has a little different look to it as well.  A lot of people in the UK go where we were for vacations (holiday they call it).  

There were often people hanging about in front of the pub in Cropton.
The guy holding the banjo on the right is a bluegrass musician from Scotland.

     We played two sets the day we arrived, which was a Saturday.  We went first to the festival location and got the info for where we were going to stay, meal tickets, etc.  After that we had a little time so we went to the B & B where we were staying and checked in.  Driving from Cropton where we were playing to Hutton-Le-Hole, where we were staying was always interesting, as it took us through two other villages, and across the moors where there were a lot of sheep.

Typical road scene in No. Yorkshire

     The first time we drove to Hutton-Le-Hole (where we had played in a previous year), we were charged by a group of about 5 sheep.  They went around us at the last minute, and I just figured they were playing "chicken".  They won.  That night in the pub we were talking to a farmer who asked if there was a dog behind them.  In this case there was not.  The group you see above is being herded by a dog which is around the bend.
     I started our evening set with "They've Got Guns".  The audience was polite, but I'm not certain that they understood what I was saying.  After all, we were in a foreign country.   We did get some compliments afterwards, and a thumbs up from the sound guy.  We got right out of there though and had a few drinks in a in Hutton-Le-Hole.  It was our last night in the UK.  After we played the next day, we left directly.
     It was a long, long drive to the airport.  It was supposed to be a four hour drive, but turned out to be a six hour drive as there was gridlock on the M-1.  That's a motorway, not a rifle.  Our car was supposed to be turned in with an empty gas tank, but it got downright scary right at the end, and I bought a few more liters just so we could be sure we didn't run out of gas somewhere ten blocks from our hotel.  We stayed at a Travelodge which Kristi booked a week before.  It was the cheapest room we could find.  At the hotel we emptied the car.  The first room they gave us had no lights, so they gave us another room on another floor.  We had to move the stuff that we'd brought up from the car.  It was inconvenient, and I was cranky by that time, exhausted is probably more like it.
     After we emptied the car, we took it to the rental agency and turned it in.  That was easy, and they gave us a ride back to the hotel.  We then went in search of food, and ended up getting fish and chips to go from an east Asian man.  There was lots of vinegar, salt, and grease in the fish and chips.  He seemed to have a sense of humor.  It was back to the hotel, and we spent another hour or so after we ate getting our packs rearranged for air travel.  By then it was about 12:30 am.  We set the alarm for 4:30 am.  The next morning it was up and out to the airport via Hoppa Bus.
     Our airplane was a couple of hours late.  We could have slept in.  I had beer, and scrambled eggs for breakfast, and then found a seat that I could stretch out on and slept while Kristi went in search of souvenirs.  The first plane went to Chicago.  The fact that it was late made Kristi mega uncomfortable, so she was in a panic when we got to Chicago thinking that she was going to miss the plane back to Seattle.  She had nothing to worry about, as we had three hours to wait for the plane.  We had a few drinks, and Kristi bought a chicken burger from McDonalds, which I harassed her for doing.  She just smiled and told me how good the chickenburger was.

Kristi says:
    " Home these days for me takes on a more urgent need for being grounded than it did during the years of travel in Canada and Alaska.  Then I had the subconscious grounded-ness of knowing the place in my heart where home could always be was family, wherein I could always count on being welcomed back with some level of unconditional love.  With that gone, I have a neediness for the actual ground of familiarity in my physical home, and the people who inhabit it have become much more necessary to my emotional well-being.  Drifting around from city to city every day feels more dangerous and vulnerable to me than it once did, though I suppose that makes me a bit of a weenie.  But it does feel good beyond words to be home again.  My pillow-top thick king-size mattress with a feather quilt feels like love and is without a doubt the best bed I've had since leaving twenty-nine days ago." 


     We are home now.  Jet lag is a little like being drunk, only it's just with the negative side, no real high.  You are just uncoordinated, and cranky, and want to go to sleep all the time.  You can't think, and I know it will last for a few days.  We have been harvesting what's left of our garden.

     We are playing on this coming Sunday at Applesqueeze Festival in Steilacoom.  We play from noon to 2 pm.  You could come and drop by to say hello.  We'll be there with a sound system, and we'll be all day.
It is great to be home.  Steve & Kristi Nebel

Standing on the Last Leg

Steve & Kristi Nebel @ Fleetwood Folk Club
Taken with a cellphone by Joe Boe

   

     We are moving into our last leg of our tour.  Kristi has a bad cough, and I don't think she's getting well fast enough.  I'm hoping that I don't come down with whatever she has soon.  The up side is that she doesn't seem to have a bad fever, and is well enough during the day.  Also she has been able to get through the night when we are performing.  So far, so good.  She has been sick for at least a week now.
     This leg of our tour will be very strenuous, and I made sure that it will be by booking a little festival up in Yorkshire for our last couple of days.  We are playing near Leicester tonight for our old friend, John Montague.  John has helped me out with a PA on many occasions now, and this tour is no exception.  He helped us into a couple of pub dates this week, and he'll be lending us a PA to manage them.  Of course those are just another night in a noisy barroom, and I'd say not our forte`.  Nonetheless, it will help us get through the last few days of our tour.
     The car we have been driving has not been an optimum experience.  It was a breath of fresh air when they sent a guy to help us with it when it had a flat tire in Fleetwood.  He replaced the windshield wiper blades, which were entirely worn out, and we needed a new headlight so he replaced that.  The tire got fixed, and Enterprise Car Rentals paid for that, which was good.  The car gets 44 miles per gallon, which keeps expenses to a minimum, so that's good.  It's very cramped with all the stuff we're carrying, and when we stick a PA in there . . . it's really going to be cramped.  I think we'll be using the vertical space in the car.
     I've been thinking about the economy back home, and the ongoing political campaigns.  I think that the protest on Wall Street is an excellent idea.  I read a Michael Moore column yesterday and he was talking about it.  He suggested that the protesters there are in for it, but that there should be more of us to fill the ranks as they are arrested.  I agree with him, but am fairly powerless from here.  Of course, I also live on the west coast of North America, and don't have the resources to just fly off to New York City to be arrested at any time I wish.  I'm sure that defines many of us.  I've seen other writers suggest that we are in for a year of civil unrest in the USA.  Let's hope so.  Let's hope that it is non-violent and relentless.
     Meanwhile, back in the UK Steve and Kristi are getting ready for the last leg of their tour.  We'll be playing Bishop's Stortford's "Stortfolk" on Thursday evening.  They have a new venue, are no longer in the basement of a church with a priest serving the drinks.  It is supposed to be a lot warmer too.  They are a fun lot with both singers, and instrumentalists.  We've been at Stortfolk every tour.  I'm sure it will be a marvelous evening.  I'm looking forward to playing them some new songs, and some old songs as well.
     There's a pub that we're playing near Stratford on Avon on Friday night.  It is a long ways from everyplace else we've gone, and after we play that night we are going to head north to get a head start to Cropton Folk and Roots Festival.   That will be our last gig in the UK this tour.  There will be a couple of local acts from this area there, and acts local to Yorkshire as well.  We were booked by Richard Grainger, who has booked us at his events in the past.  The scariest thing about it will be driving back to the airport after we play on Sunday.  It's just a long, tedious drive, and we have to deal with turning in the rental car and figuring out how to get to the airport by five in the morning after an exhausting weekend.  I figure I'll be able to sleep on the plane.  I believe we actually have three spots at Cropton.  They should be short, dynamic, and well recieved.  It will be a nice end to the last leg of our tour.  Keep the home fires burning.  Stoke them good.  We'll see you soon.

Performing People Through the Pines of the Pennines

I thought this was a location in Greece, or Turkey? Maybe Lebanon?

    


      It's been a working week.  Now we have a few days off, two to be exact.  I guess we had yesterday off, but what a drive!  We came over the Pennines again from the west.  The trip started out from Fleetwood again, only this time headed for Blyth instead of Croxdale.  First it was a drive to the M6.  We had stayed up late drinking absinthe the night before, and I was definitely headed for falling alseep at the wheel on the M6, but fortunately our GPS took us off of the M6.  Kristi calls her "Jill", but I don't actually think that's her name.  She spun us off onto a narrow country road that soon had us negotiating hairpin turn, after hairpin turn.  I enjoyed winding up the little engine in our British Chevrolet, shifting down, shifting up, pinning Kristi against the passenger side of the car as I punched the engine into life after winding down at top RPM.  I hope those people from Enterprise car rentals don't read this.  It kept me awake, which was the unintended result of our GPS.  We'd have stayed on motorways all the way without it.  I wish I had a picture, but I'm not sorry I didn't stop to take one.  We were definitely headed for the "barn" (as they say).
     This leg of the tour started out in Croxdale with Fred, and Sheila.  We had been anticipating the last five days for awhile, as there were a couple of long jogs in them.  Kristi has picked up a bug, which has only been giving her minimum interference with her singing.  I'm thankful for that; but in spite of her assurances that she's getting better, I know that drinking absinthe until 2 am after a hard day of driving, and performance can't have given her immune system much of a boost.  That in spite of certain persons assurances that alcohol consumption will kill your internal bugs.
     The first night of this leg of the tour was Guisborough Folk Club.  We were leaving Jimmie, and Val after that performance.  It is a pretty well known club, and a large pub venue.  If you can imagine this, it was a large rectangular room and we were facing the short side of the rectangle with people spread out at tables the length of the rectangle.  There was immediately something uncomfortable about the room as far as I was concerned.  We did get a nice round of applause immediately after our first couple of songs, so there was some enthusiasm for us.  The evening started with floor spots, which included our friends Jimmy and Val of jiva.  We have actually had jiva upstage us a time or two, and they were in best form this night  The other singers were interesting, but of the floor spots, jiva were definitely far in advance of everyone else.  We had had a few nights off, so it was a return to performance for us.  I've got to say that the club organizer was quite effusive in his praise of us, and was ready to book us for another performance immediately, so whatever made me feel a little uncomfortable was made more, or less irrelevant by that.   We drove to Fred Brierley's house after we played, and for a change, went straight to bed with no whiskey.  Kristi had her bug by this time, and we were being cautious with her health.

John Snowball of Aycliffe Folk Club

      Our second performance on this leg of the tour was Aycliffe Folk Club with John Snowball hosting.  I think John is a wonderful singer.  He manages to find the very best of traditional songs, and he plays very nice rhythym guitar.  He has found a woman who plays flute, recorder, and whistle to accompany him.  We saw the duo the week before we played his club on a singer's night.   John played with bands for many years playing all the favorite pop hits while he worked at a day job that paid him pretty well.  He was made redundant from his day job, and at 50 is chronically unemployed, much to his wife's displeasure.  Most of this information was gleaned from a few glasses of whiskey after our performance.  I think we stayed up until about 1:30 am.  Poor Kristi.  John's wife had to go to work at 7:30 am, so she left us early.  John talked to us through the evening of drinking, and then again while we were having breakfast the next morning.
     Our night there was a success.  jiva, and Fred and Sheila all came to our performance.  John Snowball does a good job of making everyone feel welcome at the club.  Club organizers tend to always be disappointed in attendance.  There were enough people with a good enough response to make us feel good about the night.  I really liked playing in a smaller lounge with comfortable seating and the audience close enough to reach out and touch.  John promised to help find us bookings in some of the larger clubs when we return.  

      The next morning it was on to Sandbach Folk Club.  It was our first time there.   The pictures are of ancient objects that are standing in front of the pub.  Kristi dutifully photographed them.   Our host, and hostess, Jenny, and Keith Haines were simply marvelous.  Jenny was in touch with us by email long before we arrived at their house, and we were able to get there early enough to get a nap in the nice big, soft bed provided us.  We talked a lot, and looked at their vegetable garden, had a great dinner of quiche, and butterbeans, green salad, and more topped off with pudding (which means any kind of dessert here in the UK).  

Keith, Kristi, and Jennie  -  Sandbach Folk Club

     Keith is a Django Reinhart fan, and plays Django style guitar.  He is also a bass player, and played tea chest bass in the jug band that was the main part of the floor spots.   We were able to talk a lot of politics, and as it turns out, both Keith, and Jenny have been anti-war activists, and are environmental activists as well.  They are both retired from distinguished careers.  
     The club itself is in a small room in a pub, which was alright, but there was an adjoining room of people who had paid to see/hear us that was through a door, and a bit noisy.  Of course we were unamplified, but the room where we were located was isolated enough to be not too bad for bar noise.  We met Jeff Parton of "His Worship and the Pig" who we had seen/heard in Southampton a few years ago, having been taken to the Forest Folk Club by our good friends, Jane and Trevor of the Fo'c'sle Folk Club.  I was totally impressed by their act there.  They are very funny, and a good example of how to be if you want to play the best clubs.  We thought that the response to our performance was excellent, and were well psyched to journey on to Hambledon, and to visit our friends, Jane Allison, and Trevor Gilson in the little village of Netley far to the south.

Jane Allison

     It is always a comfort to arrive at a place where one is certain to be welcomed, and you know that there is a good bed waiting, and good company.  So it is with Jane Allison, and Trevor Gilson.  They live in the little town of Netley far to the south of London.  Their house is on the water, and you can see the Red Funnel Line ferries running back and forth in front of their house, as well as large passenger liners, and freight carrying vessels, sailboats, and speedboats abound as well.  It is generally a good deal warmer than in the north, and the company is warm as well.   Trevor is a retired chemistry professor, and Jane is a retired corporate secretary.  They are passionate about the folk music scene, and Jane rambles on incessantly about what has been happening in their scene, trends, and she even talks about money now and again.  
      After a nap, and a good meal we were off to Hambledon.  It's about 40 minutes from Netley.  On the way there it was light all the way, and our "Satnav" took us through some lovely countryside, where the hay had just been harvested, and the fields were golden in the late evening light.  It was our third visit.  They do their folk club in the "village" hall.  I like the way they lay out the tables and chairs.  It is easy to see everyone, and keep their attention.  The club goes next door for beer, or other beverages, although the club sells coffee, and tea.  On the break you always see the guys come back from the pub carefully balancing their beer in their hands.  We sold an exceptional number of CDs there, and had an exceptional reception.  It was a very good night.  We drove home through the same fields and forests, this time in the dark so we had to imagine what it looked like from our earlier experience.
     Back at Jane and Trevor's house we checked our email.  Trevor had left the wireless router on for us.  We simply collapsed into bed, and slept as late as we could, and still be assured to arrive safely at our next destination far to the northwest.  We were headed back to Fleetwood, where we had played victoriously at Fylde Folk Festival early in September.

John and Carol from the shores of Fleetwood

Well, then.  We, as we had planned, arrived in Fleetwood long before we were to play.  We had hours to entertain ourselves as we arrived around 4 pm, and didn't play until after 9 pm.  It is very typical of us  to go someplace to just buy something for entertainment.  In this case it turned out to be a bottle of absinthe imported from the wilds of Poland.  We didn't drink it right away though.  We went to the beach.  I think that shows that we have good judgement.

Steve and Kristi  -  Shadows on the Beach

     So we arrived at the Strawberry Gardens Pub, after a meal of fish and chips at the North Euston Hotel.  Interestingly enough, pub food is partially self-service.  They have numbers in brass tags on all the tables, and you take your order to the bar remembering your table number.  You pay the bar-man, and after awhile a waitress brings your order to your table.  Most of you are Americans.  Some will already know this, others not.  

Strawberry Gardens Pub

Strawberry Gardens is where the Fleetwood FC takes place.  The folk club meets upstairs in the pub.  Walking through the pub with my riverboat gambler hat on was just asking for ridicule, although I was not certain of it when I started in, the rude comments and the laughs confirmed my suspicions almost immediately.  I already had a sense of annoyance going, as we had been cooling our heels for a few hours by the time we arrived at the club.  There were a few familiar faces as we were at the Fleetwood Folk Club last year.  It was a big open room with everyone sitting around the sides of the room.  That is a less than optimum seating pattern to play to, but I just made do.  I think I'm ready for almost anything now.  I didn't say a word to introduce us as the host had already done so.  It was after two songs before I said a word.  Once I started talking, I was off and running.  Kristi and I had a particularly good rapport going with each other all night long.   The club organizer did ask us to come back to the club, and people seemed to have a great time.  We drew a particularly good number of laughs for our humor.  
     After our performance was finished we spent a little time in the pub having a drink.  While there we talked with our host for the night and another member of the folk club about the life and times of a merchant mariner, which both of them were until recently.  After that it was home with John and Carol.  We sat around and talked until the wee hours of the morning drinking absinthe.  I think John and Carol drank most of it.  Carol was still commenting on the fact that she was feeling a buzz the next morning.  We sat around talking through three cups of coffee, and eventually John got out of bed, and Carol made breakfast for all of us.  
     While Carol was making breakfast I decided to load up the automobile to be ready for travel at the end of breakfast.  When I went out to the car I discovered that we had acquired a flat tire.  It wasn't all the way flat, so I wasn't too much in a panic.  I called the rental company and they sent out a guy from the automobile association.  

The guy from the Automobile Association

     I was surprised when the lady on the phone from the car rental place asked me to look and see if there was a spare tire in the car.  I was surprised when we looked, and there wasn't.  The AA guy inflated the tire enough to get to the repair shop, and more.  He also replaced my windshield wiper blades which were in bad, bad shape, and he replaced a bulb in the headlight on the right side of the car, which my friend Jimmy had noticed was out a few days ago.  The tire place fixed the tire and charged the car rental company.  From there it was off to the motorway, over the Pennines, and here we are relaxing with jiva in Blyth again.  I'll tell you more later.  Stay awake on the freeways, and we'll see you at the end of  September.

Oooo Kristi!  Look at this! Tyres and more tires! 

Kristi blog:

Day nineteen.

     Here we are back again at the base that seems closest to a home away from home, in Blyth, Northumberland, the home of our friends Jimmy and Val.  We've been on the road with nightly performances in five towns and five folk clubs, travelling the length and width of this island between them.  The prospect of three days of rest feels more than welcome, with the comforts of a washing machine, dryer, bathtub, kitchen, and two people with seemingly endless time to lavish on us talking of all we have in common in this peculiar business. The down side is that Val now seems to have something that may be my head cold, and it's annoying her mightily, causing her to cancel her music bookings. She began to suffer the symptoms one day after I noticed them in my own body.  Her cough does sound like the one I heard in that unfortunate infant in the laundromat.  Needless to say I feel guilty though she may have contracted it elsewhere.

     I thought there must be more to this story of British riots than the news that made it's way to me in Tacoma.  There isn't much, it would appear.  I'm pleased none of my friends are attempting to denounce the general influences of Caribbean immigrants in regards to the incidents that occurred in London, Croyden, and Birmingham.  The riots are not being blamed by the government on gangs for the most part.  And the demographic results  of studies are not blaming people of color entirely.  The efforts to understand the responsible parties is still on.  Reports I hear show the rioters to be people with criminal records, and put the blame mainly on courts releasing them too early from prison.  One of our friends whose opinion I trust told me something interesting; the communications between thieves was fairly sophisticated.  They swept in and out of the buildings wiping out their stocks with the use of Twitter, making their moves so swift the police were outwitted.  They changed course at the last minute, causing the police to go to the wrong location.  My feeling about the official governmental line on the events is that they're getting statistical results they're looking for which obviate the most difficult subject behind rioting, which is poverty.  I've been travelling a total of nine months here over ten years, unaware of the extremes of deprivation in my midst, and protected in this world of folk music.  I think this country probably has deeply entrenched racism and poverty that has erupted in dialectical materialism with these riots.

Ramblin' Folks

     We have been traveling a bit.  Our friends Jimmy and Val (jiva) came out to see/hear us at Croxdale.  Fred, and Sheila were there as well.  It was a nice night, with lots of music from Fred, Sheila, and jiva. The evening before we went to the folk club, which is held in the Daleside Arms pub, we went for a walk around Fred's neighborhood.  As many times as we've been to Croxdale, we never had done that before.  We always do a lot of preparing for our next trip on the road such as doing laundry, shopping, preparing food for the road, maybe a bit of rehearsal, and generally taking care of business.  It is always interesting to me that as densely populated as England is, there is still a lot of land that is empty, and public paths to explore the parts that are in that state.

Croxdale from the fields.

I've never seen a warning sign like this before.

Croxdale is a former mining town, and Fred lives in what was miner's quarters.

     After playing that night we went home to Fred's for a drink, and cheese and crackers before bed.  Both of us slept well, and we slept in a bit the next morning.  We were headed for Dunfermline, about a 3 hour drive from Croxdale.  Kristi made lunches for us to eat on the road while I finished packing and loaded the car.  We bid farewell to Fred Brierley and set out on the road to Dunfermline, Scotland.  It is about a 3 hour drive.  I would say the drive was more, or less uneventful other than having a detour in Alnwick (pron. Annick).
     We stayed with Gifford Lind in Dunfermline.  We managed a short nap before "tea" with Gifford, and his wife Anne.  Then it was off to the folk club.  I drove, and had to significantly rearrange the care before we set off in order to have room for Gifford, his guitar, and both of our guitars..  I did manage that.  We have played Dunfermline folk club everytime we've been to the U.K.  By this time we know a number of the members by name, and by their particular approach to their instruments, and voices.

Steve and Kristi @ Dunfermline Folk Club

Of course there is Gifford, who is the master-of-ceremonies, and a master songwriter/guitarist.  He's also a person with a very intense interest in history, and culture.  He is a great conversationalist.  There is Davey Lockhart, and 80+ year old master painter who plays violin, and recites poetry.  There is Lindsey Porteous, well known for his jews harp playing, and somewhat of a musicologist.  Lindsey shows up with a different instrument every week, and he plays them all.  This time it was cow's horns that he had made flutes out of.
     We have been playing the songs off of our most recent recording for our first set lately, and it goes down exceptionally well.  This night was like that.  Gifford was full of praise for us, and he had gotten praise for us from his audience at the folk club.  The club is held in a small auxiliary room of the Thistle Pub.  This night there were about 20 club members there.
     The next morning we slept late.  There was really no hurry to leave, except we had a lunch date out in the wilds of South Scotland with our good friends Mary Smith, and Malcolm LeMaistre.  They had just moved to their house on the Loch, and things were in the disorganization that you'd expect for having just moved.   There was lots to talk about.  We had lunch with them, and retired to "the garden" for a dessert of chocolate, and exquisite conversation in view of the loch.

Malcolm LeMaistre

Mary Smith

Malcolm always has a lot happening.  His latest project is putting together "The Barrow Band", a band that plays songs about plants, and animals, ostensibly for children.  From what he says, he has a great lineup, and I'm certain that the band will be a lot of fun.  He is also working on the ~"Not the Incredible String Band", a group of musicians that includes Malcolm who formerly worked with The Incredible String Band.  That's an entirely different story though.  In the meantime he and Mary have moved, and have an entirely new cast of characters living with them.  They really should be a sit com.  I won't, or should I say couldn't really tell you all about what is/has been happening with their old place, Gowanbank, and the new/old spot on the loch, but it's a lot.  These days I wonder if I'll ever see an old friend like Malcolm again when I drive away, and this time it made me very sad to go.  He is someone with whom I can readily share my hopes, and dreams, and I his.  There are too few people with whom I have that kind of relationship.  

     We drove to a long visit with Jimmy and Val Monteith-Towler, aka jiva.  They are close friends as well, and even today we have shared a lot.  Yesterday we drove up to Holy Island (one of the few places that is pronounced just as it is spelled), and  Lindisfarne (pron. lindis fawn)Castle, and then to Bamburgh (pron. bam burra) Castle.  We went to lunch in Bamburgh (pron. Bam Burra), and then up to the elegant castle that stands watch over the town, and the North Sea.  You can see lots of pics on my Facebook page.

Lindisfarne Castle (pron. Lindis fawn)

Bamburgh (pron. Bam burra) Castle gate

     I don't think there's much interesting to say about doing touristy things.  We did them, we enjoyed them, today we get ready for our next series of gigs.  I will say that we've had this spelling experience U.K. style.  I now know that I'm not a particularly good speller.  I would never pronounce Alnwick as Annick (which is correct).  I even know that I didn't know how to pronounce Leicester, although I thought I did.  It is pron. lesta.  I was saying lester.  There are many, many more places, and things that have names, and now I know for certain that I don't speak English.  I guess it's a bastard amaracan language that I speak.  Maybe I should be keeping my mouth shut.  At any rate that's what I'm a gonna do right for now.   Thank you for your attention ladies, and gentle mens.  Steve N.

9-10-011  -  Scroll down to see Kristi's comments.

jiva  -  My language mentors

Digital Jimmy doing his impression of what it means to be "digital"

Kristi Nebel and her beautiful bass guitar

By the Sea
                                 by Kristi Nebel


I think I have finally and truly arrived here in England and Scotland on this, my seventh musical tour, because no one yet has introduced me as Kirsty.  Though I might not mind the name; it's lovely and by now has graced a number of programs and websites.  When I mentioned it to our audience in Dunfermline our host and emcee, Gifford Lind, got flustered and immediately reverted to the name that most naturally rolled off his tongue, though; Kirsty.

A week or so ago I spied a tiny child in a laundromat wherein we were washing clothes.  She had a cherubic blonde face,going around coughing from deep in her little chest.   I should have felt the impulse to cradle her and nurse her to health.  I'm evil.  I wanted to run for my life.  when I get head colds I many times get laryngitis and can't sing.  That's deadly to my lifestyle, meaning I can't pay my bills.  I have caught something in the past two days but not as severe so far as what that toddler had.  It's just a sniveling little sniffle and sore throat as yet.  Wish me luck.

We've been in holiday seaside towns lately.  Here in England a trip to the beach holds plenty of allure to the citizenship.  A typical holiday seems to go as such: motor yourself to the beach.  Hire a beach hut which faces the sea.  Get your folding beach chairs out of the hut and line them along the beach railing facing the sea.  Walk along the esplanade and buy ice cream.  Then sit on the chair and contemplate the sea.  No messing with the sea itsself here.  Only tiny tots occasionally do that; it's much too cold to remove clothing and toss around a ball or splash in the water with an inflatable.  So it would appear in this densely populated island folks make the pilgrimmage by the thousands to the perimeters to escape civilization and ponder their last solitary wilderness, the ocean.

No charter fishing boats, either.  The sea, I'm guessing, holds no allure since all the big fish were scooped up by the fishing industry some thirty years ago.  We play in folk clubs with singers still clinging to the identity of a trade plied by their parents and now lost.  The tradition of songs of the sea continues to spawn many festivals and singing groups to such an extent that after these seven years I've become familiar with quite a few and can join in with customary gusto on the many chanteys.  The more recently written ones, by such singers as Matt Armour, deal with the sadness of abandoned dreams and rotting, beached boats.  We bring our own from the still-thriving seas of Alaska.  Our family continues to fish salmon so the lifestyle lives on there with two more generations enjoying the challenging and dangerous lifestyle of living by and off the sea.

Fleetwood and Further

    
      The traditional English act from Canada finishes their performance.  They have made a few mistakes, mostly forgetting lyrics in their set, and the audience is polite, but reserved in their applause.  The Americans take the stage.  They are the only Americans in a field of performers that contains several high profile Canadians.  The Americans strap on their guitars, and look over the audience.  They are both thinking that they didn't come over the ocean just to lose an audience.  They are both there to kill.  The hostess asks for a few pointers for her introduction.  He tells her they are Americana.  She finishes her introduction, and the two turn to face their audience. 
     Fleetwood is a former fishing center, and as such a center of support for fishing songs.  He turns to her with a count, and he is pounding on his guitar, she playing a rhythmically infectious bassline.  You can see the heads start to bounce up and down, and the toes start to tap as he launches into his first line; "Hear the rumble of the diesel, see the hands on deck, keep the boat in the channel, keep your desires in check, We're comin' in, Oh YEAH we're comin' in!".  By the second verse they're all with them and the song ends in a thunder of applause.  They're not taking any prisoners though and with a count of four, he holds his guitar in the air with one hand while he strikes it with the other hand.  She's looking at him, and pounding on her bass guitar, turns to the audience and begins to sing.  By the time the first chorus ends the accordionist from the first band is in tears.  He holds his guitar in the air again, and she's into the second verse.  Now he's singing his harmony with her with an intensity that infects the audience.  The song ends with the guitar in the air again, and both of them pounding out the last few chords.  Now the arms unfold, the applause is positively explosive ready to be "Angels of the Road", and the audience is in their corner for the rest of their set.  They are trying to get off of the stage at the end of the set, but people are approaching them to talk, and buy CDs.  They want to get off the stage so the next act can get set up.  On the way out the door people are stopping them to talk, tell them how much they enjoyed the experience.  No mistakes, no prisoners.  Steve and Kristi killed.

Kristi Ice Cream

     We finished at Fylde Folk Festival with a rousing set that went down very well.  Our host, and hostess were very kind, and gave us a lot of kudos for our approach to performance, which was great as they were an extremely professional duo themselves.   I only hope that we can continue to put in such dynamic performances, and have such a great response, but this was the largest audience we can hope to have this tour, and we have made new friends, and new fans. 

Illumination

     We took the rest of the day off with a walk into Blackpoole for dinner, and the bus back to the hotel afterwards.  I've never seen so many hotels in one place in all my life.  The Queen's Promenade is lined with them almost exclusively for several miles.  At night you have "the illuminations".   These are light displays with images.  They are mostly pretty tasteless in our opinion.  I suppose they are good for families with children.  After dark the street in front of our hotel is lined with automobiles queuing up for a look at them.  We spent the rest of our evening in our room watching movies, and drinking Bell's whiskey, our first alcohol of the journey.

     The next day we are obsessed with getting out of the hotel, and off to our next destination, Croxdale, County Durham.  We are staying with Fred Brierley.  Fred was the first person to bring us to County Durham.  At that time Fred owned a pub in Haswell.  He was putting on a folk festival, and brought an unknown American act, Steve and Kristi Nebel to play in his pub.  Ever since then we always stay with Fred if we can.  He always has an extra bed for an itinerant folk musician.  By the time we got to Croxdale, both of us were dead tired.  Fred volunteers at the local mining museum, which he helped found.  He is that kind of guy.  We had spoken with Fred's significant other Sheila on the phone on the way in, and she had clued us to the fact that Fred would be at the museum so we went directly to there.  We did a tour of the museum, asked a lot of questions, and even got a tour of the miner's banners in the council chambers from one of the members of the local city council.  Then Fred gave us "our" key to his house, and off we went to Croxdale.  We brought our "stuff" in the house, and layed down for an instant nap.   Here's a picture of "Fred's House".

     When we got back from the store to get dinner Fred was going out the door.  He asked us if we were going to Aycliffe FC tonight?  After he asked, we were.  We finished dinner, and saved the dirty dishes for later, out the door, and down the road.  It was the Foresters FC last time we were here, and in Darlington instead of in Aycliffe.  We arrive in the middle of the sing-a-round.  When the artist who is singing finishes, we are motioned from across the room to come over to the other side of the room, and we go around in back through another door to get there.  After the first half of the sing-a-round ends we are assigned to sing three songs.  We are playing at Aycliffe next week, and the organizer wants them to get a good taste of us.  Kristi wins the raffle at the end of the night for a bottle of red wine.  She only drinks white wine, so I guess I'll have to help her out with that.
     It is good to be at Fred's.  He is a good conversationalist, and he has an excellent store of Scotch whiskey always.  Tonight it is Aberlour, and Kristi and I decide we'll only have one.  Fred always has great cheese, and crackers as well.  We talk about unloading a shipment of asphalt in freezing weather.  Then it is on to discussing the attributes of various kinds of cargo ships.  Kristi is drawing on her knowledge of ships from her days as a marine draftsperson.  Then I get into politics and rant for awhile.  Fred is a very liberal, and generally agreeable guy.  We laugh about my passion for politics, and a little comparison of politics here in the UK as opposed to the US.

The way to the Croxdale Folk Club

     Tonight we play at Croxdale Folk Club.  We have been here many times.  Our good friends Jimmy and Val,  "Jiva" will be there with our new CDs that they have made for us.  It can't be a bad night, and then tomorrow it's off to Scotland.  I'm hoping for a dropin to Holy Island sometime in the next week.  It has a strong relationship with Durham City that perhaps I'll detail in a later blog.  For now, this is our truth from the road.  Steve Nebel 9-06-011

From Kristi:
     It takes me about a week to begin to miss home desperately and wish you would make a comment or two about our blogs I'm talking about missing YOU.  Other stuff too, though.  I miss the raging and tumbling wild waters of the Pacific Northwest and the huge evergreens.  I miss the (please excuse my banality) wide open spaces with seemingly bigger and wilder everything; rivers, mountains and weather, deadly though it may sometimes be. 
     Then I get home and I almost immediately miss this place.  Tamed and calm though they may be, the waters flowing here are invariably dotted with scenic ancient stone arched bridges.  The walls in houses here are a foot or so thick, meaning they'll last at least another hundred or so years unless deliberately demolished.  The buildings in every direction put our flimsy hollow wood walls to shame, with the fine craftsmanship of masonry seldom seen in Tacoma.  And history here has an entirely different meaning next to that of Tacoma, with anything younger than a hundred years old looking modern to the locals.  The new castle of nearby Newcastle replaced the old one two thousand years ago, for example.

     We flew over here in a Boeing 747.  At least we flew the last, and longest leg of the journey in one.  Kristi commented on how it was the first time she’d been in an airplane with an “upstairs”.  The most dramatic part of the flight was getting to Heathrow and being in line (“queue”) with a large diversity of people from all over the world.  We studied their faces as we stood in line, and mentally I made up stories about each on of them, guessing where they came from, and what kinds of lives they were leading based entirely on the basis of how they were dressed.  The line that we were in reached into the hallway, and down the corridors.  It took about an hour waiting to get through customs.
     I’m still jetlagged to a large extent.  It affects my thought processes, and my overall functionality.  We joke that we’re mentally impaired, but it’s a lame joke; too true to be funny.  Last night was the first night that we played anyplace.  We played at the Orpingtion Friday Folk Club, which is held at the Orpington Liberal Club.  I always wonder what they are liberal about.  It would seem that the UK is having the same, or at least similar kind of libertarian revolution happening.  You can’t call them conservatives, as a real conservative would have some vestige of honesty remaining (or one could hope).  You suspect that they are fascists, but you don’t actually know who “they” really are.  There was a fellow today; John Connelly, who wrote a song about the UK that could well have been written about American politicians.  I was somewhat amazed.
     So what’s going on with us?  Hmmm.  We went for a nice walk on Thursday along the Stort River, or was it the Sawbridgeworth Canal?  I’m not sure, but we walked out of Sawbridgeworth for quite a distance.  I was in a good social mood, and had conversations with a number of people along the way.  The first was a fellow in a bright yellow workman’s vest with a life jacket on as well.  He was working, and it seemed like such a fine day to have a job such as he did.  He was surveying the canal for snags, and whatever maintainance might be required.  He was on a gr8 walk.  He was from Scotland.  I wondered how he had lucked into such premium employment.  I wouldn’t mind having his job, but then Kristi reminded me that he undoubtedly does his job in any weather, not just when it is warm and sunny outside.

    There was another fellow who was in exercise shorts, and no shirt who passed us on the path, but we found sitting near one of the locks on the canal further on in our walk.  I started out by asking him about the locks, and he knew next to nothing about that, so we moved on to talking about his former life in southern CA, and life in Sawbridgeworth.  He was clearly not worried about work on this particular day, in spite of being at prime working age.  He had been married to an American woman.  We didn’t get the details of his breakup, but apparently there had been one.

     Then there was the guy with the really, really big houseboat.  He was doing some kind of work on the boat, and I got to talk to him about the locks, and he knew quite a bit about them, even showing me the tool that he uses to open, and close the lock gates.  He had contracted out work for the hull, and other metalwork, but apparently had done a lot of the work on the interior himself.  I asked him about lifestyles of the itinerant boat people, and he said he’s not that itinerant as his boat is too big to negotiate a lot of the canals in England.  If you do have a narrow enough boat, you can go almost any place in the country by canal boat.  That fact has always fascinated me.

     Shortly after that I think that the jetlag started kicking in, and I no longer felt really, really sociable.  We walked back to our host’s house, stopping briefly at a pub for a cup of coffee, and Kristi had a diet cola.  We worked that evening on getting ready to leave our hosts.  Friday was really focused on that end.  Kristi made sandwiches, and I saw to getting all of our stuff in the car.  Oh yeah, the car.  That’s a little story in and of itself.  As it turns out, it is a pretty low grade rental car.  We aren’t paying too much for it (I think), and it is entirely gutless.  The rear windshield wipers don’t work, and it has no cruise control.  I hadn’t realized entirely how much I had come to rely on cruise control to maintain a steady highway speed.  My foot is getting a good workout.  It is a Chevrolet “Spark”.  It will apparently get us where we want to go, as long as there aren’t too many hills.  Luckily, the terrain here is relatively flat, especially on the motorway.

  From Kristi: Orpington Friday Folk Club brought back a reasonably good group of followers who surprised us by wanting more of our recordings than we expected; the choice to record ourselves more or less live with no studio back-up musicians seems to be successful here so far.  This was our sixth year playing this club and has always been helpful in welcoming us when we are in the severest throes of jet-lag, being located so conveniently close to Heathrow.

  We’re writing from the relative luxury of a hotel room with privacy, a  bathroom, and free band-width to enjoy into the wee hours though it’s not yet midnight.  We’re in Blackpool thanks to the generosity of the Fylde Folk Festival organizers, Alan and Christine Bell.
   This is a fairly well-respected, prize-winning festival and Alan is a high-profile performer in his own right.  We’re pleased to be invited back.  We played four sets of music in two days and had gratifyingly good responses, having sold a pile of our new recordings.  We’re feeling encouraged to forge ahead with our upcoming 23 of 28 days.
   Today we took a walk down the seaside promenade of Blackpool.  As I understand it, the town was developed at the end of the Victorian era of the industrial revolution, to encourage the new disposable income of the blue-collar class on the innovation of the concept of a holiday with kids.  So entertainment suitable for children was designed here, such as merry-go-rounds and the like.  It continued into the revolution of electricity with the addition of the ubiquitously ingenious “Illuminations”, which began yesterday officially.  They surprised me the first time I found them as I drove from Fleetwood, the location of the Fylde Folk Festival, to Blackpool, a scant five miles away along the beach.  The drive affords a view of the lovely blonde sandy beach, replete with appropriate sea-birds, sunsets, and twinkling lights of ships on the horizon.  Until the Illuminations come along, that is.  They are a series of huge screens, effectively obliterating the aforementioned scenes.  They seem to me to be stealing the most tasteless aspects of Disneyana.  We’ll show you photos soon.  Granted, they bring tourism exactly when the crowds of summer are beginning to wane, opening exactly when school is about to start (that would be yesterday).  That makes sense as they’re lit by electric bulbs which make them much more appealing in the dark, which is just coming on now.  I suspect they vary each year in thematic content to bring in new tourism.  This year’s selection seems to make a weird attempt at cultural and historical enlightenment for children.  I found the Native American screen especially interesting.  On each ends are cacti, with synchronized Midwestern chiefs wearing Aztec garb with feathered headdress, dancing toward a totem pole in the center.  It’s totems include a clown, a tiger, and some other strange jungle-like animals.

    From Steve: The last couple of days I've felt a lot like a gunfighter.  When we walk out on a stage with several acts, just following someone else we feel like we have no choice but to kill.  Our guitars are our source of our agression, and our voices are the bullets.  Today the act that followed us was in tears as we played "Angels of the Road".  It was gratifiying.  We played agressively, and then folkily too.  Some people treat us like stars.  We feel like we have to win, which is kind of contrary to my basic philosophy in general.  We had people following us around to our performances, and we sold an unnatural number of CDs.  I suppose the hat lends credence to the gunfighter analogy,  but the feeling of being worn out, but under duress gives birth to the intensity that we  both feel about performance.  Tomorrow is a day off.  Steve N.