Sophie had no choice, Hannah got her gun, but Sam can play it again.

It had to happen eventually, didn't it? A woman was bound to like us eventually, surely? Well, in our case, yes. And rather nicely there were three of the blighters. At the risk of offending half the population I will compare them to the proverbial buses, because we didn't see any for ages and, well, you get the point. And so I can't be accused of one sidedness (towards women and buses), let me say that men are like taxis. They're no more than ten minutes and you tend to have to show them the way home. I thank you.

New singer hits the right note. July 2013. Photo: Nick McMaster

But I digress. First we thought it might be Sophie. Sophie was quirky. She came with a beautiful cheap guitar that she had dragged half way round the world from somewhere like Peru. She never carried it in a case as she didn't want it to be too precious. Funnily enough I once used that rationale with a dead gerbil until social convention intervened. Her lyrics (Sophie's, not the gerbil's) to her own compositions seemed to veer from the the maddeningly simple to the brilliantly violent, as though Phoebe from Friends had started doing PJ Harvey covers after drinking too much coffee in The Central Perk. In my initial enthusiasm I told her that I thought she would take us in an interesting direction. On reflection it would probably have been to an empty gig. Though the best empty gig ever.

To be fair, Sophie was talented but not in the way we needed. I mean, John often wears a Trilby when performing. With Sophie in the band it could have been a tampon. With antlers. When I communicated with Sophie that we might try someone else I think she was equally relieved. Back to the bus analogy. I think to her we were very middle of the road. She was more of a crash though the barriers and drive down an embankment kind of girl.

Crouching Singer, (not) Hidden Talent. July 2013. Photo: Nick McMaster

That someone else was Hannah. She was a singer songwriter. She was a folkie. She had a great voice and could play guitar. She had loads of hits on Soundcloud. She had lovely curly hair. She had photos of her walking through trees looking wistful. Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick Hannah, get your gun. You're the new sheriff of The Sweet Ordeal, Pop. 3. Unfortunately despite the ticks something didn't click. It was as though we spoke in English as a second language. Seemingly simple conversations became confused and convoluted. An innocent question about future collaboration became a fraught, complex discussion about copyright. It was as though Joni Mitchell had ditched the Laurel Canyon hippie scene for a job as an lawyer.

Ultimately, with an already impressive back catalogue she was more into being in a collective and having backing musicians rather than forming a band. So Hannah left the scene in much the same way as she entered, via miscommunication.

Whilst this wrong end of the stick stuff was happening another email came from a Sam. She sounded all very, er, sound. Ex professional singer, good at constructing harmonies, the right age (Don't. See previous blogs). Hell, she even had a small child. So, like me and John, she would no doubt have some equally complex reasons for not being able to rehearse on a Wednesday night.

Despite having no recordings or no wistful, wood strolling photos, I returned her email and she came to a rehearsal. She made an immediate impact. She was relaxed company ,apologetically opinionated and showed us a glimpse of her fantastic voice. By the second rehearsal I thought I had found a Frankenstein folk dream combination of Stevie and Sandy. By the third she was no longer apologetically opinionated and right now she talks about our songs being on loop around her head and about what festivals we should try for next year. Songs have transformed. A band has formed.

Turning over a new leaf. Introducing Sam Burgess. July 2013. Photo: John Hamilton

So, Dear Reader, we have found the missing piece to The Sweet Ordeal. But don't worry, after all this human drama I'll still write this blog. After all, I've got a great story about trying to replace my broken tuning peg from my electro acoustic Stagg uke.

From teen dream to No Direction

No rehearsals for ages, the loss of one 'like' from facebook...things have been really tough for The Sweet Ordeal recently.

What's more, Bex, who was the latest in line of lovely talented singers to leave us at the alter, has gone and done a facebook page (available for weddings) with only a few likes less than us, in much time less than us. It's as though she has taken the paddle.

Every musician I know (thank you, one hand) has said that if one was to find oneself up shit creek, then a paddle could be fashioned from gumtree: the Friend of Bands.

Advert up and we get a few enquiries. A few take themselves out of the process. One for admitting she put on a Dido type accent when she sang, thus causing self loathing. "I'm from the north" she pleads via email, as though that was a barrier against bad taste.

Then something happens which makes me think that we need to show details of our enhanced CRB checks. Even though I've made it clear that John and I are either side of 40 (I'll leave you to decide who is where, ladies x), we get enquiries from two 18 year old girls. And they weren't even posing as middle aged men.

When I point out to the first the age gap, suggesting it might be a bit odd for her, she emails "I play with old people like you all the time. They're much more reliable". The second is a little bit offended when I query the difference in years, till I point out the boy/ girl (sorry, funnily enough 'man/ woman' doesn't sound right) lyrics of some of our songs, which would share vocal duties.

For example, from Museum of You: "Every morning I wake up again/ Sun rays lash light light across my skin/ warm reminders of your ghosted span".

Now, as much as a man my age might harbour fantasies of young women and their warm reminders, I am not sure that - to greatly misquote the age old football adage - the audience would find this image particularly palatable on a wet Thursday evening at The Brunswick. Thankfully, though perhaps with a little tinge of regret (were our facebook photos that bad?), this second correspondent agreed that it would be "a bit weird". Steady on, love.

So in the end we only meet up with one potential new member. She had the hair (a folkie red), the wan look (for melancholy subject matter), the talent (she wrote as well as played), and the requisite taste (Sir Nick Drake of course). She was also probably a better age, but her Pre Raphaelite paleness made it difficult to tell. We never got to find out because after a kind of audition, we planned to meet up again, only for the dreaded text of no return a few days later.

Then our gumtree advert ran out. A hoped for contact through a respected local folk band didn't materialise and Bex made her facebook page. Despite writing some lyrics about being brought up by wolves, the well of creativity has dried up and John and rehearsals have been replaced by Champions League football.

Still, a new advert on gumtree and tomorrow sees a meeting with a 28 year old. Let's hope she brings her ghosted span.

Twinning with Spinal Tap, We Hope For Better Things

If bands were like towns then The Sweet Ordeal would definitely look to twin with another band. But not out of civic pride, cross cultural fertilisation or some vague commercial benefits. But out of despair.

Whereas, say, Shoreham is twinned with Zywiec in Poland, The Sweet Ordeal (Pop: 2) would be twinned with Spinal Tap.

Now, why on earth would a yet to perform indie folk band be looking to twin with a mock rock behemoth, who never particularly specialised in sensitive, bittersweet songs? It's like twinning Fishersgate with Detroit. Though I should probably check Wikipedia in case that has actually happened.

The reason? We are to female singers, what Spinal Tap were to their drummers.

Yes, we've gone and lost another one. We'll miss you Bex.

When John and I first started the band, we had Sharon come to one rehearsal. She had a great, smokey voice and said she could play the cello, which obviously a bittersweet band would love. However after a few cancelled rehearsals it became pretty clear that she could not engage in the project and we said our goodbyes.

Then Andrea joined with her folkie vocals for a good few months and really felt like a founding member. Hell, we even managed to get a few recordings up on soundcloud and began talking about things beyond rehearsals, like image, performance and gigging. The fact she could not play the cello was not held against her.

Then she only went and left us to spend more time with her family or some such excuse. Anyway, she couldn't play the cello.

But to our surprise we manged to replace the lovely Andrea with Bex. In a handful of rehearsals Bex took our songs to another level with her magnificent vocal talent and her knowledge of harmonies. Here was a voice that one could really write for. And she said she could play the cello.

Then she left to take a different path. John even started questioning himself as a woman repellent. As much as I would like to have agreed for comedic purposes, I think we've just been bloody unlucky. I mean, we've lost two cellos.

By the way, for completists, Detroit is twinned with -amongst others- Minsk and Nassau and no suburb on the East/ West Sussex border. More interestingly for The Sweet Ordeal, Detroit's motto, translated from Latin is 'We Hope For Better Things; It Shall Rise From the Ashes'.

So, if you are a female vocalist and like the bittersweet indie folk genre (though that may change as I've just written a vocal about being brought up by wolves), then don't be put off: we might need you. And if it doesn't work out I know there's a vacancy for a drummer in the Tap.

Oh, and we changed singers

Yesterday at our second rehearsal of our new line up, I discovered that my talking voice when recorded sounds like a cut price Mick Jagger. Unfortunately, my singing voice doesn't get anywhere near that.

I also learnt that we have moved on significantly over the last two weeks, gaining fresh perspectives on songs that were not quite there. We sort of fancied them, but once they took off their glasses and shook out their hair we knew we had a couple of lookers. Yes, Slow Down and Stay, Anyway (Make do and mend), I am talking about you, and you've got yourselves a double date.

Along with Museum of You, these two songs formed the rehearsal and are now part of an identified 'set', aided and abetted by My Feet of Clay, The Fallen Part 1: Still You Fell and God Loves A Trier. I think we've got a good mix here. My Feet of Clay is a little folk pop gem about the inevitable infallibility that exists in relationships, Museum of You is a meditative study of regret and longing to a departed lover, Stay, Anyway (Make do and mend) is a strong vocal led exploration of infidelity, The Fallen Part 1: Still You Fell is a kind of rocker about sui...hold on, a good mix? Okay, I admit that the lyrics tend to be on a scale from bitter-sweet to dark.

Without trying to go too Ronnie Corbett-off-the-track like, it does remind me of a radio interview I once did when I was in a performance art group (think Gilbert and George but with cheaper suits). When asked about the themes of our work I said that we had explored a broad range of subjects "from the disappearance of my father to the suicide of my grandmother". I kid you not.

However, musically there are differences in pace, texture, and with all three of us singing; the qualities and delivery of vocals. Oh, and I've just remembered that Slow Down is actually a love song about the beauty and (bugger) pain of being a parent.

Oh, yes, and we changed female singers.

This wasn't some boardroom coup, nor down to a Spinal Tap drummer style accident. It was Andrea making a sort of work/ life balance decision, without the work part. To make it sound all mysterious I should hint at dark forces at work, and that one day it will all be revealed, serialised, in the Daily Mail.

Suffice to say that John and I were gutted at this decision and there were a few weeks where we hoped that Andrea would change her mind. We tried the kind of techniques that Chris Tarrant used to do on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire. You know, when its the second or third still easy question and the contestant is sure of the answer, yet to create false drama and to wind the contestant up, the giggling chimp checks about ten times to make sure they are sure. Is that your answer? Are you sure? That's your final answer? Yes you fuck wit, Oslo is the capital of Norway. Now give me the money.

So we were going, so you want to leave? Are you sure? Is that your final answer? Do you want to phone a friend? She took the money.

This then pushed our Svengali into action. Cathy, my beloved had played a part in bringing John and me together in the first place. John saw me thrash a bad version of Folsom Prison Blues on my uke at my daughter's 5th birthday party ("Have any of you been to prison?"), and later asked Cathy if I'd be interested in having a jam. The rest is history or a least a blog. This time she informed me that a colleague where we work was a singer who was looking to join a band. By Jiminy, thank God she joined The Sweet Ordeal! Yes, like Andrea she had us as soon as she sung her first note.

In conclusion, we love Andrea, and never wanted her to leave. But she did. So, thank you darling, you will not be forgotten. Join us on stage any time honey.

However, this now leaves me to just focus on the qualities of our new Sweetie. Mainly that she is bossy and a perfectionist. Just what John needs.

Heard but not seen. The second third Sweetie opens a new chapter. January 2012. 

Photo: Nick McMaster