A pram in the hall is worth two in the Patch

Cyril Connolly, English intellectual, literary critic and writer said "There is no more sombre enemy of good art than the pram in the hall."

If that is true then The Sweet Ordeal are in serious trouble, because two prams are about to block our hall, which would make it difficult even for a musician with a ukulele to squeeze down.

Yes, Sam has just given birth to Seth (congratulations!), and John and his partner Evie (cello player extraordinaire, congratulations!) are about to deliver pretty, pretty soon too.

That will eventually bring us up to a magnificent seven dustbin lids, which means if the prams don't trip us up, the pile of Crocs will.

The question is how will we survive as a band amidst a swirl of poo, breasts, sleepless nights, increasingly complex childcare arrangements and - with at least 4 girls - remembering who is who among all that pink and leggings?

The timing of my bandmates of course could not be worse. But this isn't about their selfish need to have more children per se, it's about the festival season. Yep, we finally get round to starting to perform in public when we have to stop. All those outdoor stages, all those pub gigs, all those disappointed punters, all because of feeling fruity in the autumn. Keep your underwear on guys and we could have played The Brunswick!

Still, as mentioned, we did perform in public. Yes, for those of you who have followed our progress through 11 previous entries, The Sweet Ordeal finally played on a stage, in front of the public. No your eyes aint deceiving you, we really did it. Go on, read this paragraph again.

Entirely staged. The Sweet Ordeal go public. April 2014. Photo: Hannah Beaumont

However, getting to that point had been slightly traumatic and then it almost didn't happen, which was only slightly dramatic. I'll explain.

Way back before John and Sam decided to get jiggy with their respective partners, we had decided that our first performances would be via a series of private, intimate kitchen gigs. The rationale was that unlike a two or three song open mic night, our own gig would afford us the opportunity not only to play for longer but to be able to wear slippers: important at my age.

The first time we got giggy with it, was in John and Evie's kitchen, and no, before you ask it was not nine months ago. That was a brilliant night, where we discovered we weren't half bad, which was probably driven by the fact that the wonderful national-treasures-in-waiting The Self Help Group kindly supported us, thus making sure we pulled our performing socks up. Well above our knees.

Buoyed by this lovely warm experience we then held another kitchen gig, way out west in, er, West Chiltington. Whereas, the first was folky, this one was WAGgy. Poor Caroline and Jude tried to be the perfect hosts, it was just that the West Chiltington glitterati obviously so deprived of a good night out in the Sussex countryside, came prepared for a house party. The key - in hindsight - hilarious moment was John suggesting to the gathering that they sit down on the rug laid out before us, as had happened at his house. One look at the several pairs of six inch heals gave out the message that no one was going to be doing any sitting down, thank you very much, girlfriend.

Ukeclear option. Bombing in West Chiltington. March 2014. Photo: Mir Cooke

We did manage to recover in time for a third kitchen gig, though whisper it amongst yourselves, it was actually in a living room, and my one at that. Cheats. However, an appreciative flat footed audience helped us regain our mojo leaving us to do one final thing before pregnancy bumps became stage barriers.

Not quite the final curtain. Lounging, The Sweet Ordeal style. April 2014.

When John told us we were playing the Castle Stage at a festival, I thought I'd be shouting out something like "Hello Leeds, how you doin'? Are you ready to, er, folk!" or somesuch coke and limo fuelled greeting. However, cruelly, that was denied to me by the small inconvenience of the stage 1. not being in Leeds and 2. Actually being in a park. And before you ask, not Hyde, but William Clarke. Known by locals as the Patch.

Though it was a stage, which meant for the first time in The Sweet Ordeal's fledgling career we were actually above our audience, who would be forced to look up to us. Very important when you have a fragile ego like me. However, even better than that, the Castle Stage did actually look like a castle. With turrets and everything!

All along the watchtower. At Spring in the Patch. April 2014. Photo: Hannah Beaumont

Slowly, carefully and with little care of health and safety (yeah, screw you, er, European bureaucrats!) the guys set up the stage whilst the rain was stair rods and the park was empty. The ice cream seller looked on forlornly. It was like that Year of the Mud at Glasto, 'cept without mud and people.

Yet, eventually the rain stopped and the locals descended. We were second on and boy did we not disappoint! We had at least one three year old boy dancing in the aisles. Okay, he was Sam's son, but hey, beggars can't be choosers, and we all have to start somewhere, right? On the back of what can only be described as a-local-folk-band-playing-a-small-local-park-festival, we were actually offered the chance to play a proper festival with tents and paying customers and stuff, but the Bumps understandably decided No.

Drowning, no numbers. Rain almost stopped play. April 2014. Photo: Nick McMaster

So, we did it. And this probably brings us neatly to the end of another chapter in our story. Whilst we await the onset of nappies we are hopeful of this being a sabbatical rather than, well, rather than not. Connolly described his style as "either bright, cruel and superficial; or pessimistic; moth-eaten with self-pity." That sounds like some of my lyrics. On the pram front however, he got it wrong. Children actually brought us together and hopefully will continue to inspire us to good art. Bring 'em on.

A Jolly Good Slippering

There’s that truism isn't there about remembering what you were doing when a certain famous event happened? I was at work in a ward lounge in a psychiatric unit when the Twin Towers were smashed into live on TV. I was in bed with someone I no longer loved when I heard on the radio that Princess Diana had died. I was rolling a fag in my studio space at art college when Margaret Thatcher announced her resignation. I was probably having a shit when One Direction split up. Oh, they haven’t? Shame.

Well, 9.45pm on Saturday 25th January 2014 is equally burnt in my memory. I was in Evie and John’s kitchen witnessing indie folk trio The Sweet Ordeal play their first ever gig. You had to be there really. Obviously I was, as I'm in the band. And apparently it all went rather well.

Cello, is it me you're looking for? The Ordeal in pre gig warm up. January 2014. Photo: Evie Whitt

Despite only having 4-5 songs completed in November we had got up to 8 by the time we played: a really good achievement even if I do say so myself. Don’t agree? Write your only bloody blog then. Or add to the comments box below. Actually, please add to our comments box below, I’m so lonely. Anyway, our eventual set list looked like this:

Slow Down
Museum of You
She’s Surprise
One Eye Shut
Chinatown
Stay, Anyway (Make Do and Mend)
Feet of Clay
In Sun Bled Yellow

Or to put it another way, our set list comprised of songs about:

Having children
Being dumped
A bonkers girlfriend
Partner in a coma
One night stands
Having affairs
Fallibility in relationships
Dumping someone

We really must drop Slow Down. It’s ruining the ambience. Or to put it another way, our set evokes the following moods:

Wistfulness
Despair
Distraction
Despair
Melancholy
Despair
Resignation
Misery

Did I say we were available for weddings, birthdays, Christenings? But worry not, the second album will be full of party tunes. Boom!

Finally playing live. In front of actual real people (not pictured). January 2014. Photo: Evie Whitt

Back to the 25th. What were you doing? The night began with The Sweet Ordeal’s John joining up with Evie and playing a few tunes including an atmospheric Gilmouresque arrangement of a Withnail and I track. Then The Palings (Mir and John –yes, that John) did some sweet tunes and then Evie joined them and did a Norah Jones cover that sounded lovely and Beth Orton like. Then Jonnie (not John unimaginatively pretending to be someone else so he could play for the third time) dropped some covers and wonderfully introduced a kazoo to everyone’s delight.

Flower Power. Evie on song. January 2014. Photo: Nick McMaster

We were then privileged to have a band that are on the path to becoming national treasures: the critically acclaimed The Self Help Group. Playing as a 3 (Thanks Mark, Sarah, Clara, sorry Ian, Paddy, another time?) instead of their usual 5 (we’ll need a bigger kitchen), we were swept along on a tide of harmony soaked songs about sewing, dogs, spacemen, twins and the end of the world.

Their subject matter is as varied as their sound is sumptuous. As a lyricist, I love Mark’s ability to turn rare, unusual subject matter and spin them into wistful fables with universal themes. We were also lucky enough to have a world première of some new songs which carry on their American West Coast vibe mixed with a very English lyrical sensibility.

The Devil does not have the best tunes. Fact. Sarah and Clara. January 2014. Photo: Nick McMaster

If you have seen The Groupies before you will probably remember their introductions to songs. With such fascinating inspirations, the songs are helped by some back stories, which are amusingly delivered, mainly by Mark. There is an unintentional comedy in the responses from Clara and Sarah to Mark’s invitation to introduce songs, which they never quite seem to nail, albeit in the most charming way possible. There is a theory that singers don’t really know what they are singing if they haven’t written the lyrics. I’ll test this out with Sam and John in my next song ‘Wayne Kerr Shallot of You’

Making his Mark. Mr Bruce of The Self Help Group. January 2014. Photo: Nick McMaster

Finally, we took to the stage. Did our stuff and received warm plaudits. I was acutely aware of Mark’s slippered foot (it was in a middle class house, people. You take your shoes off when you come in) in my peripheral vision. I tried to make it move. Thankfully I only made three mistakes. No, one wasn't forming an indie folk band in my forties, thank you very much or trying to make a slipper move. Two were minor glockenspiel errors in One Eye Shut and one was slight pitching problems at the beginning of Chinatown. Sam and John may have made some mistakes; they may not have made some mistakes. This is my bog. I mean blog. Oops, another mistake.

A shadow of himself. John in a dark moment. January 2014. Photo: Mir Cooke

The next day Mark wrote that he thought we were “confident, varied and above all, interesting”. That’ll do me, and so will being in a band with two very talented people. I hope that this is the start of something beautiful. Or at least the start of a blog about a band that actually plays in front of people.

Move slipper, move!

All's well that ends well. The Sweet Self Help Ordeal. January 2014. Photo: Evie Whitt

Self Help for Closed Mic

Well, the hour is finally upon us. The Sweet Ordeal, the world's longest in rehearsal indie folk band is about to perform in public. Well, not in public as such. That would be common. No, in a kitchen. And not any old kitchen: John in the band's kitchen. Christ we're brave. Next, we might go to the newsagents in our slippers.

Still there is a rationale for this. The traditional route is probably the open mic night. Nothing wrong with those, and we are lucky to have some excellent ones in Brighton. Trouble is you only get a few songs to show how brilliant you are/n't. Again, nothing wrong with that, except we are a three piece band with 5 small children with two more on the way (The Sweet Ordealies, anyone?), so to go to the trouble of arranging a night out we can all make and then to only play for 10 minutes? Well, I'm not having it, though neither are the public, 'cause we're in John (and Evie's) kitchen.

A lot of bottle. John in his kitchen. December 2013. Photo: Nick McMaster

My own personal view as well is that I'm getting on a bit. I know, I know, I don't look it (hey, you at the back, stop chuckling) but we've got a bit of catching up to do, I wanna bypass open mics and go straight to being on a bill. Damn it, in the early 90's I was the lead singer of Andre Breton's Steam Powered Whippet Band (featuring the Twittering Machine). We once headlined over The Levellers for Crissakes. I know, I know, absolutely ridiculous band name that could have only been developed in some doped up fug. I ask you: The Levellers? Sheesh!

Okay, so that's also the other worry for me. I haven't really sang since the mid 90's, when I was in much loved (my words) folk punk duo N'Arf! Yes, with the exclamation mark. I am so good at names. For many months we performed at the Prince Albert on our famed (correct, my word) 'One Pub Tour'. I still have a half chewed cassette (good band name!) of our songs somewhere, for any completists out there.

Sam playing in sync, near sink. December 2013. Photo: Nick McMaster

Anyway, maybe I'm not quite ready for the open mic scene, being sandwiched between an eccentric old man playing a keyboard and the latest curly blonde haired precocious folkie ingénue. In many ways I'm stuck between being naturally worried about singing in front of a live audience for the first time this century, but also wanting to play for two hours because I'm a bit egotistical. For those coming to John and Evie's, don't worry it won't be two hours. Though it may feel like it if I don't hit those high notes.

We will do an open mic night I'm sure. John is very keen as he has a range of hats that must have a regular airing at The Brunswick. But for now we are going for the safety of a kitchen, though not with the prefix 'health and', being crammed with 20 people. And of course I didn't mention The Self Help Group. If you've not heard of them then they are our fantasy template. A really good local folk band who write thoughtful, clever, catchy, pant wettingly beautiful harmony soaked songs, now committed to an album, that has turned up on many best of 2013 lists: both local and national. For some bonkers reason, they are 'supporting' us. In a kitchen. No pressure then.

I am not sure I have thought this through...

Nick standing the heat. December 2013. Photo: John Hamilton

But I am really excited. We may come across as a bit raggedy and half cooked compared to The Selfies, but I genuinely think we have some great songs that will be helpful to hear in the same context as a band further down the line. It's time to stand or fall by our material. And if it doesn't look like its working, we'll just throw the kitchen sink at it. Catch!