But it would not be typical of this band if we didn't pull up lame somewhere on the course, with many of the same issues coming into view this year. I suppose this is why most musicians who are at our level of exposure are even younger looking than policemen.
Hunker in the Bunker. Live at Lonely Disco. December 2016. Photo: Evie Whitt.
However, backing up a bit, we rounded off the year with a slot at The Galleon's critically acclaimed Lonely Disco and a very shivery show outside at The Patch Winter Warmer. The fact they were only two days apart felt as if we were almost on tour, giving me visions of each of us needing individually monikered articulated trucks, Emerson, Lake and Palmer style (ask your granddad), to carry our equipment.
The former gig was moved at late notice to the basement of The Brunswick. Normally I like trying out new venues, but with The Brunswick's main venue having probably the best stage and sound set-up in the local folk scene, this was a little disappointing. Matt the sound engineer did a sterling job creating aural beauty in an acoustic space that was more fitting as a survivalist's paradise, deep in Montana's Prairies. It was also a pleasure to play alongside two bands in The Galleons and Seadog, whom in different ways, both display real stage and song craft from which to be inspired by and learn from.
Whilst that was as sweltering as a concrete bunker can be, outdoors at The Patch Winter Warmer was teeth chatteringly cold. Yet perhaps because of it, perhaps because we had our doubts about performing in miserable weather, we had a great time. The muscle memory of having practiced well and frequently and recently playing live kicked in. Of course, that may have been the mulled cider talking, or in our case, singing. Whatever, something went right. Even our children managed to stay for one song before getting bored, possibly embarrassed, and looking for ice cream in sub-zero temperatures.
Feeling a little tents. Live at the Winter Warmer. December 2016. Photo: Steve Selby.
With the Christmas break giving us the opportunity to recharge our batteries and plan the next set of gigs, things were on the up for your favourite, mainly Portslade based indie-folk band. But for the Ordeal things generally run as smoothly as a chainsaw carrying crocodile wearing sandpaper underpants whilst roller skating on cobbles. Whilst we have managed to get two more gigs done and dusted, one took longer to arrange than the Northern Ireland peace deal, which resulted in us losing out on another glamorous support slot Michele Stodart style. Also, both were annoyingly, though to the audience unknowingly, hampered by technical problems with the drum machine and a temperamental Melodica. However, we also have to accept that people do like us and perhaps we should stop being so incredulous each time and stop opening our post set conversations describing a litany of glitches.
Oh and yes, don't look at me like that, I did mention a drum machine. Why wouldn't one use a drum machine if one was writing a song about a man's deteriorating relationship with his blow up doll. Yes, I did mention writing a song about a man's deteriorating relationship with his blow up doll. After all, this is Life in The Sweet Ordeal.
This peculiarity came about after Mark, a friend of mine, asked myself and Hannah if we wanted to be in a short film project, called The Perfect Companion, about the aforementioned subject, as supporting characters. Like Little Britain's Dennis Waterman, I naturally asked if we could also write the theme tune. Lo and behold Mark said yes. And because it felt like a bit of a side project it kind of gave us a freedom from our usual way of forming songs. Thus, what was to become I'll Let You Down Tonight, was formed from Hannah's keyboard part first, followed by a simple beat from said recently required drum machine, alongside some loosely sketched out lyrics. And before you knew it, we had a piece very different from our other material; as much electropop as folktronica. Later John rounded things off with a sweet little guitar solo and a whole new aural world had opened up.
Girl (and Nick and Buckaroo) on film. December 2017. Photo: Mark Messenger.
Of course those two gigs down (at the Folk Off Sessions and a headline slot at Brighton Folk, Roots and Acoustic, in case it comes up as a pub quiz question) were meant to be the start of our next phase of activity, but inevitably illness struck again as it was John's turn to have a bout of pneumonia and Hannah found that her husky voice was the result of a minor medical condition rather than her innate sexiness.
Three at last. At Brighton Folk. April 2017. Photo: Paul Lovichi.
This leaves us in a bit of a lull as we recover and make an effort to go again. We have a few irons in the fire, but knowing our luck we'll grab the wrong end and end up in hospital. Less magnificent, more malevolent perhaps?
Carry the wait. What next for The Ordeal? March 2017. Photo: Samantha Wilks.
