Destroyer of Words: Bloody 'L'!

Who remembers the game Battleship; the one where you would try and blow up your opponent's ships by guessing where their hidden plotted fleet was based on a grid? 

Sometimes organising an album recording is a bit hit and miss too. We have had a handful or recording days so far but none where all three of us have been together. Turning up and hearing a recorded track for the first time where you have to add your instrument or vocal can feel either like gaining a hit on that 2 square destroyer you've been hunting for ages or missing the 5 square cruiser you were convinced was in the top left hand corner. There is both the sense of familiarity in knowing what the ship looks like, but a slight nervousness in that it is sailing in unknown waters.

Four strings good. Hannah takes a bow. February 2019. Photo: Ben Brockett.  

So as with recording. You've rehearsed, but now your bandmate is on their own, will they place the ship on the agreed part of the grid, or throw in a curve bull and turn it into an 'L' shape. 

So far we have stuck to the planned manoeuvres. Not too many surprises, though I had to have John's extraneous 'but' removed from our song In Sun Bled Yellow, and I noticed he left out 'A' in the chorus of A Queen Of Sorts, which means that its now called Queen of Sorts. To be fair I had to change a line on one verse on Come Get Lost, as I just couldn't get the hang of launching into the first line. Picky? Nah.

A line in the stand. John taping his lyrics. January 2019. Photo: Ben Brockett. 

As the lyricist though, I do admit I am rather precious about unagreed changes to lyrics, and so I am thankful to Hannah for recording the correct (meaning my) version of a line in Dateless Wonder Club rather than what she sings when we play live. Is it important? Depends on who you speak to.

John is pretty adamant that no one really listen to the lyrics, which I suppose he means with real intent and understanding beyond a general impression. He may well be right. After all, some of the most popular songs for weddings and funerals are often lyrically inappropriate beyond the title and half remembered chorus. 

However, maybe because I am the lyricist I disagree. Yet, since being a kid I have always poured over lyrics, whether in a music magazine or paper, or on vinyl insert or never-to-be-folded-back-again-properly three foot long cassette cover. Once you've analysed Marillion's Chelsea Monday to death then you're not going to be someone who just has a vague sense of what a favourite band is singing. 

Shed heaven. Nick outside Route 49 Studio. March 2019. Photo: Nick McMaster. 

I'm also a keen follower of the folk tradition of storytelling, especially from real events. So it is important if its three score and ten fisherman. It still grates me that in our song, the aforementioned Come Get Lost, we changed a fact because my two bandmates felt a different word was easier to sing. They may have well been right, but its a good job we haven't got a song about the Welsh village of Llanfairpwllgwyngyll. Yet. 

Still the tracks are gradually taking shape, words and all, and I suppose a lost 'A' or added 'But' is not the greatest crime in the world. Unlike sinking my submarine on C4,5 and 6. 

Missing in Inaction

I'm a great one for losing things. Ask anyone, if you can find them. I'm not the sunglasses on top of the head kind of guy. I'm the sort who needs to use the Find iPhone app to scour the bins of Queens Road (long - deliberately lost - story). 

I've lost laptops, keys, bank cards and more umbrellas than the shop in Cherbourg ever sold. If I could I'd have misplaced my childhood before Marillion. I'm more of a loser than Beck. If I had a garden it would be in Heligan. You get the picture. No, please, get it. Before I lose it. 

So it stands to reason that the tables would turn and I'd get lost instead.

No longer missing in inaction. September 2018. Photo: Nick McMaster

Regular readers of this column would by now realise that life in The Sweet Ordeal is never completely straight forward. Indeed, to paraphrase Blackadder's Lord Melchett, the life of this band has twists and turns like a twisty-turny thing, and alas, the latest twisty-turn has resulted in a prolonged period of inactivity. 

The reasons for previous quiet periods have already been shared in previous blogs, so will not be repeated here in case I lose your attention. However, they have not usually manifested themselves in such a way that caused a near complete break, with what feels like a longer 'holiday' than a Blue Peter tortoise. The difference this time has been me. 

There are two types of bands. Or at least two types of bands that I am prepared to write about right now. There are the bands who share the load and there are the bands who have a kind of de facto leader, who tends to either take the load or get given it in a kind of we'll-step back-so-you-don't-have-to-step-forward kind of way. In my experience with the leader model it is a little bit of both, because the leader tends to be the lyricist and the lead singer, and being nearly both in all of my bands down the years, I can conclude that my massive ego wouldn't have it any other way. Yet that doesn't mean I can't moan about it.

Rewind, rehearse, relief. August 2018. Photo: Nick McMaster

I am slightly conflicted about this though. My favourite band, REM, were about as democratic as a band could be. They split everything 4 ways, they all had to approve a song, all decisions (with the possible exception of dodgy haircuts) had to be unanimous. Otherwise they might have gone through with Cans of Piss as a band name. Not sure the £80million recording contract would have followed, mind.

To some extent The Sweet Ordeal do successfully follow this template when it comes to making our music, otherwise sometimes we'd play covers (vetoed by me) and traditional folk (vetoed by John) all swamped with cello (vetoed by Hannah). Yeah, I really bet you want to see that band.

Its more the organising element when we get the hiding under the fringe, staring at the floor and mumbling routine from the other two. So if I don't organise a gig, push for a rehearsal, plan a recording, do our social media then nothing really happens. Do you hear that Stipe? Think you had it hard when your drummer started wanting to write Everybody Hurts rather than just drive the van?

The result is that whilst we all have had events in the summer that have put the band off it's stride, I took the hand off the tiller too much and no one else took up the slack.

We started off the year fairly well, with the gig equivalent of taking up gym membership in January. With good intentions to carry on using the treadmill, we dropped off after thinking maybe the musical beer belly was endearing.

The highlight of this false dawn appropriately took place in a church, though without John. Not because he would shrivel up and die (though he forbids me to use the word 'god' in any lyric) but because he was away. However Hannah and I didn't want to miss the chance to play in front of hundreds of people, supporting Soul of the City Choir. Yes, hundred of people. The Sweet Ordeal. I know. In the context of what turned out to be a largely non performing year that was bloody brave and amazing as we adapted three songs to not include our main musician. And Jesus! We more than got away with it by doing really rather well.

Pew from the back. Hannah and Nick double up. March 2018.

But now we are back properly, as I've started pulling my finger out. We are back in rehearsals again in preparation for ending the year with a house concert or two, hopefully a public gig and the continuation of our album recording.

So lets hope that was the last lull in the life of this band, as I might quit if that damn band leader gets lazy again...

Two out of three ain't bad. After all, this is love

PJ Harvey once sang "I can't believe that life's so complex". In 2017 these wise words rang true. Initially reflecting a difficult time, but eventually a happier one when the rest of that song's lyrics would ring warmly in our ears. 

For the band 2016 was a pretty good year. We launched our current and hopefully final line up and followed it up with seven gigs. Not bad when you consider we all work full time, have a Walton's amount of children between us with all the attendant childcare issues, took time out to try and stop a Tory government and seemingly attract every ailment imaginable. So much so that The Sweet Ordeal is soon to be classified as a disease. Symptoms: loss of voice, loss of hearing, loss of any ability to rehearse on a Monday night on a regular basis.

Not Ill Behaviour. Symptom free Sweeties. September 2017. Photo: Nick McMaster

In 2017 gigs in March, April and November saw us continue to try and complete the set of the best folks nights in the city. We finally gained a slot at the Folk Off Sessions, had another at Brighton Folk, and pitched up at the critically acclaimed Folkroom, who had added to their London portfolio by starting a night down on the coast. With Brighton Showcase and Lonely Disco already under our belts, I think there is only Folklore left. I'll tell you now, no one will escape our folky clutches. 

Folkroom was the one that stood out, mainly because of the 7 month gap between playing and the fact that the compere forgot our name. Whilst a little rusty in places, afterwards, we did get some good feedback, alongside a lecture in vocal technique from a slightly tipsy, enthusiastic audience member. So detailed was it I was waiting to be told the hourly rate and be presented with an invoice.

November strain. The Ordeal live at Folkroom. November 2017. Photo: Antony Palmer

There were though two other live performances that don't quite count, but do mean a lot and saved the year in many ways.

The first was in July, when we were lucky enough to take part in our first ever radio experience, courtesy of Hailsham FM's The Courthouse Irregular, presented by the lovely Neil Povey. Neil coped admirably with our set up; with his set up usually being for simple acoustic acts. We decided to drag along the whole shebang, thus forcing Neil to deal with more confusing wires than a bomb disposal expert. 

It was a really enjoyable evening and at times the top bants resembled a zoo format. Funnily enough, with so much equipment in the way making it difficult to reach the toilet, it could have been even more like a zoo, but for another reason entirely. But thanks Neil, we hope we'll get another chance soon!

A squash and a squeeze. A fit for radio. July 2017. Photo: Neil Povey

The second sneaky performance was rather self serving, in that we headlined the best gig of the year: my wedding reception. Yes, reader, I married her. And our first dance was to the aforementioned Polly Jean. 

It was always going to happen, especially as John was already accounted for. After all, even John (Lennon) had to marry Yoko (Ono). Ah, my beautiful Hannah. Annoyingly described by Union Music's Jamie Freeman as the focal point of the band (What?! But I'm the band's show off!), Hannah is the focal point of my life, especially in a blog that's not about my beloved Queens Park Rangers. 

Seriously though, the wedding was a dream come true. I mean we got The Self Help Group, The Galleons and Jamie Freeman to play for free at the reception. You can see where this is going can't you? I mean I am not going to get soppy. She's only the bass player!

Bearing in mind that all of the previous women who had joined the band had left quicker than a change of chord, the only way we could ensure one staying was to Stockholm her and then tie the knot. Thank you Hannah for allowing it to happen and for bringing your bass. And cello, keyboard, harmony, fashion skills and sex appeal to our little folk project. 

Far from the wedding crowd. John drops in on the nuptials. October 2017. Photo: Paul Lovichi

This little folk project was actually twice enhanced by the reception. Eschewing the usual John Lewis nightmare of crockery and toasters, we asked for a donation to a planned album and managed to raise over £500 for the cause, and so our love and thanks go to all those who gave.

So we hope 2018 will carry those good vibes on, with an album, more than a handful of gigs and some other opportunities to expand our experiences. As we return to PJ and the her quoted song This Is Love, "Does it have to be a life full of dread"? No, as even with the Ordeal, life is Sweet. 

The Magnificent Seven

Last year was certainly the year of lift off for The Sweet Ordeal. After a gestation period that would have frustrated  Dumbo's mother, it was great to finally get a few gigs under our belts. A magnificent seven in fact. And like that film, this will only be realised as a great achievement in years to come. Bouts of pneumonia and other Victorian illnesses, childcare arrangements that would have broken the finest minds of Bletchley Park, and sundry life events that come from having a combined age of over 120 years, were always going to provide Grand National style hurdles. But, by our last gig in December we felt on the home straight with something to spare.

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. 

Reaches for Peaches at the lonely disco

Oh my, hasn't she grown up? You know the clichéd story. The plain girl who no one notices, suddenly takes off her glasses, lets down her hair, puts on a bit of lippy, and then she's the hottest thing since sliced bread, toasted.

Well, we might not be the one every jock wants to take to the prom, but at least we are being asked out by boys that don't have bowl haircuts and braces. Saying that, we actually wish the girl in the grade above with the bowl haircut and braces would ask us to skip the prom and hang out with her instead. She has some Lucky Strikes, a bottle of Thunderbird and a cassette player with The Smiths on tape. Anyway, I digress. Though I may finish that privately later, fan boys and girls.

You see, since the Brighton Folk gig at The Brunswick we have played three more gigs and have another two lined up, as The Sweet Ordeal live experience starts to create momentum. So much so that we have over 60 followers on twitter: #unstoppable #nextbigthing #whyamihashtagging. Though, when the magnificent Peaches is one of your followers, I am happy to shut up shop quite frankly. #qualitynotquantity #teachesofpeaches #whyamistillhashtagging.

Not waving, but following. Peaches tweets the Sweets. November 2016. Photo: Nick McMaster

The highlight of these three gigs was supporting Michele Stoddart, of The Magic Numbers, on the Brighton leg of her Pieces solo album tour. Yes, that's right of The Magic Numbers. Yes, of the platinum album selling band. Little old us, who only a few months earlier were literally dying on stage at The Westbourne (due to the dreaded lurgies) had now stepped up and supported a musician who we would have wanted an autograph from.

Is that with one 'l' or two? Autograph for Michele. September 2017. Photo: Hannah Beaumont.

To be honest, including this gig, it wasn't our best performance to date. That probably, marginally, went to our Brighton Folk slot at The Brunswick. This was due to having a decent sound check and a larger stage. Our gig with a quarter of The Numbers (thanks Melting Vinyl!) was at the smaller of the Brighton Komedia venues: the studio. The stage is tiny and sound checks over ran, which meant we had to squeeze our band set up on with Michele's set up and only have the briefest sound check ourselves. Though thanks go to the touring support act and Michele band member Raevennan Husbandes who forewent her own sound check for us, and to Ali the sound guy at the Komedia for doing such a great job under time pressure. Oh, and Hannah got to borrow Michele's bass amp. #brushwithfame #oratleastabassamp #stophashtaggingnick

But all told, a minor quibble and we move on adding to our experience and helping us be the best we can be at that moment in time. Perhaps we respond best to pressure, whether it is sharing the bill with The Self Help Group or Michele Stodart, we are pushed to step up our game and expose ourselves to a more expectant audience than one we would encounter at an open mic night or showcase type event. Saying that, with a set up that involves more discombobulating moving around than Ed Balls on Strictly, there's no way we'd make an open mic.

And from this we are definitely growing in confidence, walking off the stage knowing we did a good job. Though I am still personally at the "Really?!" stage. As in, for example, Clara from The Self Help Group at our last gig, in which we supported them, saying that she loved our harmonies. "Really?!" I replied, still not quite believing someone who has the west coast harmony thing nailed on would make such a compliment. The thing is, we know we can harmonise a little and that it sounds good, but the "Really?!" is still there, waiting to pop out like the crocodile at a Punch and Judy show. I wonder if it'll ever go? The "Really?!", not the crocodile.

Live at The Marwood. Really?! November 2016. Photo: Jamie Freeman.

One thing that will of course go, is 2016. Tom Waits once said "Don't look back, because someone might be gaining on you." Well we'll have to risk it, and I like to think that whoever it is will put their arm around us, give us a squeeze and say well done. I imagine though it will be Hannah that gets squeezed. John and I tend to get ignored in these circumstances.

Looking back, at the beginning of the year we had just really started to gel as a band. Sure, the month before had seen us record three demos, but in many ways that was a strange step, like having the shot gun marriage in anticipation of a pregnancy. Yet as readers of this blog will know most of the things we have done so far it is all a bit arse over tit, as my mum likes to say. Usually loudly in public.

So we skip a few steps, take a few risks and end the year in a way we were never expecting but secretly hoping we might be lucky enough to experience in 2017. Back at The Brunswick, this time with a slot at Lonely Disco, the night hosted by local folk legends The Galleons. That was a bucket list gig for sure. We also have a animated video being made for our song Where Do I Go From Here? and finally a website up and running. Our inter band relationship is becoming stronger and this dynamic is creating better songs. As for 2017, who knows? Michele Stodart was only our 4th gig, so see you at the O2 for the 8th! Wherever we end up, please keep tagging along, your support has been fantastic, and your feedback great.

Really?! Really.

Getting on my 'wick

Right, let’s get this straight. We are now a band. We are now a band who can play a set confidently and competently. We are now a band who can play a set confidently and competently in front of a good sized audience and get positive feedback. We are now a band who can play a set confidently and competently in front of a good sized audience and get positive feedback and get our first ever fan request for a photo and a CD. We are now a band who can play a set confidently and competently in front of a good sized audience and get positive feedback and get our first ever fan request for a photo and a CD and get invitations to play again and record with another musician. Amazing what not having pneumonia does for a band dynamic. Yep, right now in the world of The Sweet Ordeal, things are pretty, pretty good.

But moving on from Larry to Craig David let’s rewind.

After the trauma of our current line up’s relaunch and first gig in April, compromised by the dreaded lurgy and sound problems, we still had managed to have enough belief in ourselves to go to Brighton Folk and ask for a slot.

                                     

What's the point? July 2016. Photo: Hannah Beaumont.

Brighton Folk is one of the many folky nights round Brighton, but it is set apart by being held at The Brunswick, having an established audience and a very talented host in musician Amy Hill (Thanks Amy!). In this fair city, The Brunswick is like the Mecca of folk music. To avoid any religious controversy in the midst of the ridiculous Birkini Ban, I am of course referring to the bingo chain rather than the Holy City. And by playing The Brunswick we are in Full House territory. Even well established, critically acclaimed bands, such as our friends The Galleons, who have made albums and tour in vans and everything, still name The Brunswick as the best. Now I am even writing this blog from here after coming in to collect a kettle lead I left behind. That really was the worst thing that happened, which regular readers will know makes it as near to perfect as we are ever going to get.

                                      

All at C. July 2016. Photo: Anthony Palmer.

So naturally this was another step up for us: one that was going to really test our mettle. It was here where we would really find out if this project was worthwhile continuing with, whether we had the material and the talent we thought we had. So, boy, did we rehearse. Even to the point of John agreeing to play a song more than twice in a row. Even to the point of John not trying to sneak in new, brilliant tune to play around with as light relief. We decided on a set and we practiced again and again and again.

Which was important. A band like us are part of the awkward squad. We have a set up that in an established band would be seen as idiosyncratic but in an unknown band could be seen as highly irritating. We are the musical equivalent of a Barnsley based swingers night, swapping instruments and lead vocal duties at the drop of thong. Like our suburban host who prefers to watch his 17 year old lover and not take part, John is always on guitar for every song. Hannah is the sole purveyor of bass and cello and me of uke and glocks, with both of us on keyboard duties. John and I then tend to share lead vocals, with backing vocals rotated between the three of us like our Yorkshire woman between two…actually let’s leave that one there.

So the result is that with every song there is at least some movement, whether bodily or instrumentally. If you have ever seen Katzenjammer it is cool and quirky. But then I’d like to think we would be if we were on a massive stage, with roadies. And super talented.

But in the world of your local folk night we felt that this would be a problem. Too many mics, too many instruments, too much hassle. But then we hadn’t banked on Tom: sound guy extraordinaire at The Brunswick, and calmness personified. We once had advice from an experienced and lovely musician that our set up was too much and too difficult for a band starting their journey, but then he didn’t know about Tom either. Sheepishly getting to the gig with our –assumed – annoying to big-for-our-boots requirements, to set up our six instruments and three vocal mics, Tom took it in his and our stride and put us together perfectly. For the first time ever we had a sound check that gave us confidence (in part thanks to Beth form The Galleons who gave us great feedback) and keenness. So much so that without us begging, afterwards, Tom invited us to play one of his own nights at the same venue.

Taking the mic. July 2016. Photo: Anthony Palmer.

The gig itself then did go really well. Despite the fact that a cold had left me deaf in one ear, which has made me draw the conclusion that I like to have some kind of malady every time I play. I am sure John was trying to stake claim to a cold too. What a softy. There were a few mistakes on the way, the best being Hannah going briefly awry on the keyboard solely down to never having heard it so loud before, but on the whole we felt we had a good solid 6 song set which we can have as the basis for our first period of regular gigging. I even managed to sing lead vocals and play the keyboard at the same time for Finding Land. For me, difficulty wise this was not so much akin to rubbing my tummy and tapping my head at the same time, but more like doing it to someone else, whilst avoiding getting slapped for invading their personal body space.

So, in conclusion I think this year is the year we have become a thing. Other gigs are lining up, a more collaborative way of working is establishing itself and the songs are improving because of it, giving us a more defined sound.

Things are so hunky dory at this rate I might even learn to play my musical saw…or mandolin…or guitarlele just to get another challenge for the next gig. Wait a mo, is that a sore throat I feel?

The 'bourne Objective

Well, reader, I may not have married him, but I did turn up at a pub in Hove with John and Hannah and play for him, and about 30 others.

Yep, as our latest and hopefully last line-up, we finally got that gig under our belt. Much like the belt of a Midwestern trucker, it was on the last notch and underneath the large stomach of quickly fading dreams, drinking in the last chance saloon. Yes, we really did need to get this gig out the way.

Three at last. April 2016. Photo: Rebecca Deeprose

Of course, nothing goes quite to plan in the world of The Sweet Ordeal, and so various nefarious things tried their best to stymie us. Much like Darlene keeps keeping our trucker hanging on at the saloon, saying she will leave Karl this time, just as soon as her next pay-check comes in. And so he is stopped from following his dream of being a beekeeper in Vermont. Anyway, I digress.

A combination of a disappearing mixing desk, sound engineer no show and the dreaded lurgy getting me and John, meant the gig was a struggle. Having to set up and sound check ourselves whilst cobbling together two of our own mixing desks was not the most auspicious start. Trying to untangle leads and work out which jack went in which hole took an hour. Getting the levels right was very tricky. So tricky in fact we probably got them wrong. It was hard to say as when we started playing we couldn't really hear ourselves. In addition, with troublesomely placed mics we occasionally experienced worse feedback than David Cameron's offshore tax interests.

The Sweet Reveal. Playing live at last. April 2016. Photo: Rebecca Deeprose

Boo hoo, poor us.

Yet afterwards our lovely audience gave us some good, helpful reviews, even when I pressed them to be honest. Feeling that waterboarding was a touch over the top to double check they meant what they said, I had to accept that as is often the case when a band is sad because of technical problems, those watching don't really notice.

Funnily enough, the song I was most bothered about -Pity- got the best reviews. With that lurgy, for me later diagnosed as pneumonia, there was concern that we wouldn't be able to manage the vocals on a song that starts with a Capella harmonies and has me singing at the edges of my usual capacity.

But your brave little boy managed it backed up by Hannah and John. Pity wasn't so shitty after all. Which was good as it second in our set and one of our tunes on our demo recording. And, as far as we can remember it didn't include coughing and spluttering.

Our actual set was:

1. Where Do I Go From Here?
2. Pity
3. Slow Down
4. Chinatown
5. Feet of Clay
6. Museum of You
7. Without You
8. God Loves A Trier
9. Still You Fell
10. In Sun Bled Yellow

Or, and yes, I know I have done this before, but its my dead horse and I'll flog it:

1. A song about Chris McCandless who died in the Alaskan wilderness of either food poisoning or starvation.
2. A song about lack of intimacy.
3. A bittersweet song about children growing up.
4. A song about a one night stand.
5. A song about fallibility in relationships.
6. A song about the unwanted end of a relationship.
7. A song with lyrics by John, so I am not sure what its about, but its definitely downbeat, so don't worry.
8. A song about fancying someone. And rain.
9. A song about infanticide, based on a true story.
10. A song about dumping someone at the airport.

Or, more succinctly:

1. Death
2. Sex
3. Sadness
4. Sadness
5. Resignation
6. Breakdown
7. Probably sadness
8. Sex
9. Death
10. Breakdown

Or: 1-10 the usual indie folk subject matter, if its not fey and pastoral.

In the end highlights for me were getting the handclaps right in Chinatown, John's frown of disapproval when I halted Feet of Clay after messing up, and seeing how happy Hannah was playing an 18th century cello. Thanks Evie! And let's not forget the lovely Jon Arthur who supported us and gave that memorable reworking of Freedom, including his much anticipated kazoo solo.

Hive Five Hannah. April 2016. Photo: Rebecca Deeprose

As I say, those who came were wonderful and kindly clapped in all the right places, except at the end of the aforementioned restarted Feet of Clay when there was a deathly tumbleweed moment! Tut tut!
Best of all was the fact we raised about 60 quid for Heads On mental health charity. Though even better than that? I think I know which hole that jack went in after all.

Homesick for One Day

Having gone a number of months without loosing our female singer, mainly because I tricked her into a relationship, and approaching some semblance of being a normal band, The Sweet Ordeal decided it was about time to record some music. You can't go this long without eventually trying to force a C15 cassette into someone's hand after a gig.

Hannah had found an engineer/producer who was offering a good deal for a day's recording and this gave us the impetus to dip into our pockets and splash the cash. No crowdfunding, sourcing or begging here. Though if you want to buy us another day in the studio, I'll happily sleep with you or a loved one, a pet etc.. Is that how it works?

John joins blur. December 2015. Photo: Hannah Beaumont

So, on an overcast day in December, myself, John and Hannah found ourselves in one of those rickety mews courtyards tucked away in Hove, the type that people look at and say "it's like we're in Berlin". I.e. falling down and covered in graffiti, but in an arty way. I just love what they've done with the peeling green paint on splintered wooden door. Must get that for the kid's playroom.

Josh was the sound man in more ways than one. He seemed young and on the ball: the opposite of us in fact. He said he'd been recording since he was 14. I was tempted to answer "Oh, two years then" but that would have been deeply patronising, My Beautiful Intelligent Readers Of This Blog. To be fair Josh worked us hard and efficiently and felt able to direct us too, mainly by telling me to keep away from the shaker.

Over the previous few months we'd been rehearsing five songs: Where Do We Go From Here?, Pity, In Sun Bled Yellow, Feet of Clay and Slow Down. They were a combination of old and new tunes, with the last two being from right at the dawn of time, Ordeal wise, before John and I had embarked on a string of female singers desperately wanting to find family related excuses to avoid actual regular rehearsing and performing.

Hannah strung out. December 2015. Photo: Nick McMaster

The first two songs were the first creations of our new and hopefully last line-up (unless The Staves ever need a position as a backing singers. Bring a hairbrush, Camilla). With Hannah gradually emerging as a fully functioning band member, these songs developed differently from previous ones.

Though the foundations were much the same as before with John or me writing the music and me on the lyrics, Hannah has wonderfully created combinations of bass, cello, keyboard, glock and vocal harmony parts to build upon the type of song writing compositions we had started to work on In Sun Bled Yellow with last-but-one-singer Sam. I.e. with more complex and dynamic structures that moved us away from John's singer-songwriter approach and my simple pop style. Simple pop style? Sounds like an old bluesman. Simple Pop Style sings his latest hit "Yo Mama Gone Left Me For God". Anyway, I digress. Hannah has enabled us to jump up another level.

What has also pushed us on was the purchase of a Casiotone 405 keyboard, an 80's classic (much like Hannah) bought mainly because it has a lovely wooden effect veneer finish. It was bought from our pal - and local folk hero - Mark from The Self Help Group, who reluctantly gave it up because it was hard to syncopate with the built-in beats. He probably also liked the lovely wooden veneer effect finish too. It is really nice. Although limited, because many of it's options just aren't all that (no, not Mark, the keyboard. He's top) it did seem to expand our horizons. I think the Casiotone has become a part of the conversation when it comes to structuring a song in a way, say, the glocks aren't. By that I mean the keyboard is considered each time, even if eventually it is not used on the track. And did I mention the lovely wooden veneer effect finish?

Nick being frank as Chairman of the (Key) Board. December 2015. Photo: Hannah Beaumont 

So back to the main mews item: Homesick Studios. Both John and Hannah had experience of recording, whereas I was wet behind the ears. However, despite their seen-it-all-before world weariness, they didn't make the canny decision to bring their slippers. Though only I made anything of that, the fools. Perhaps that is why I ended up in the little 'air lock', not because of the loudness of my uke (the official reason), but because I had comfortable feet (the conspiracy theory reason).

The studio was just about swing-a-cat-able, but one would have felt more comfortable spinning around with a gerbil or even a hamster, on account of the latter's shorter tail. No animal was swung by the way, RSPCA.

Nick reflecting on a job well done. December 2015. Photo: Nick McMaster

This meant that our intention of recording as live was dead in the water, as the studio was not big enough to have us all in together without each instrument being picked up by everyone else's microphone. So we recorded in the more traditional but time consuming manner of separating instruments and vocals. The result? We only laid down two and a half tracks rather than the hoped for four to five. Quality wise we also hoped for a sell at gigs product, but after listening to some very rough cuts, we probably have more of an old school demo that we can give out for free. Still, pretty pleased with our first crack at recording.

In hindsight we were perhaps naïve about what we could achieve, but we learnt a lot, which in no particular order was:

1. Slippers definitely help.
2. A ukulele is proportionally the loudest instrument in the world. Ever.
3. Bring bog roll.
4. Don't have the slightest cold if you can avoid it.
5. You can never mug it up enough in the Phil Collins' manner in studio based photos.
6. Eating baguettes can be picked up by mics three meters away.
7. You can't help feeling a little bit cool.
8. It would probably cost around two grand to record an album if you are hiring the studio and technician.
9. Leave your shoes at the door, not your ego.
10. Bring slippers.

So, in the encroaching winter darkness we left the studio after a long day for a rewarding half pint in the local boozer - parking restrictions ruining our hoped for Lemmy-style shenanigans - and the need to return to finish vocals on one track the next day.

Sound guy. The Sweet Ordeal with Josh. December 2015. Photo: Nick McMaster

Josh managed to put together some rudimentary mixes which show how far we have come as a band as a relatively new three piece, and how far we could go. Here's looking forward to seeing where that 'go' will take us.

Now, about that two grand. Any lonely pets out there?

Dire Straights and Ladders

In the classic version of the board game snakes and ladders, there are 12 snakes and 8 ladders. With our continuous quest to have a female singer long enough to start gigging, being in The Sweet Ordeal has often felt like we’ve been attacked by a very slippery python.

We of course, did manage it once: gigging that is, not fending off strangulation. Sam, with her big bluesy voice, took me and John to the bridge in the form of the park festival Spring in the Patch on a wet and windy day last year. Throw in three of our kitchen gigs around the same-ish time and we were a proper band of sorts. But on the Castle Stage we were for real. We even had photos, taken by a woman who will appear later in this tale.

Naturally, this had to come to an end. Shirley Bassey sang about history repeating itself, but Sam let her feet rather than her vocal chords demonstrate those prescient lyrics. She did, you see, have the temerity of becoming pregnant and then wanting to spend more time with her family. It made sense as I used the band to spend less time with mine.

John and I tried to dissuade her because she was so good and laughed like a navvy. Like a lovelorn girl waving her sweetheart off to the trenches, we even said we’d wait, which we did, despite reading those letters from the front line hinting that maybe our darling had dallied with a few French fancies whilst on leave. 

Light work. John. May 2015. Photo: Nick McMaster

Eventually we were caught between two stools, if one stool was a snake and the other a ladder, and we regretfully accepted that Sam was not going to come back. Though here I’ll stop with the war metaphor because I don’t think it’s appropriate to compare the beautiful mother of two gorgeous, young sons to a syphilis infected farm boy love-struck and living with a whore in a Parisian garret.

Maybe we were not ruthless enough and the months of inactivity were frustrating, but I can look back at that time and feel we had to see if Sam would come back, because she was so much a part of our developing sound and I was keen to lyrically work with her style. Anyway, thanks Sam, you were wonderful.

This took The Sweet Ordeal literally back to square 1 (are you sure there are 8 ladders?). We were back on the Gumtree jamboree of trying to find another singer. Like last time most of our enquiries were from teenage girls and young women seemingly not put off by singing boy girl vocals with quite old men. In my mind, with my hair colour we were moving from a George Clooney acceptability to Bernie Ecclestone susceptibility.

Taking the Hiss. Nick. May 2015. Photo: Hannah Beaumont

Eventually we took a chance on Lucy and her modern, folksy YouTube appeal and found her a warm and engaging presence. Naturally, once we offered her the gig she decided to spend more time with her family; another small boy taking our woman away. All the best Lucy and we hope we’ll see you perform one day in the future.

There were never any ladders were there?

This was probably my hardest period in the band. We were getting fed up with bringing new people in, giving them the opportunity to shape our sound and then losing them before you could even say ‘open mic night’. I fluctuated from me and John going it alone, trying to Gumtree it all over again or just giving the whole thing up.

What wasn’t thought about was a little gem shining right under our tearful eyes and snotty noses. You see, I live with a wonderful woman who had still stuck around, despite seeing and photographing the Castle Stage gig. Intelligent, funny, sexy and a musician, Hannah once played in a rock band called Vaudeville (the type that all look in different directions when being photographed) and was desperate to start playing again.

Bass Instinct. Hannah. May 2015. Photo: Nick McMaster

Hannah had never really expressed an interest in folk and I had only ever really heard her sing along to our shared love Marillion. Nothing wrong with that: so do I. But I wouldn’t give myself a folk gig based on passionate Fish impressions. However, she did play the bass and the cello, the latter instrument catnip for those who want to write wistful and melancholic songs whilst wearing checked shirts and hats.

Not wanting to let this opportunity go I suggested to John in our post-Lucy malaise that we let Hannah try out as a backing musician. John was tentative, understandably so, about bringing in the girlfriend for some Yoko style shenanigans. Now I am a fan of Yoko, but even I didn’t think we needed someone taping a sanitary towel over her face and caterwauling. We’d leave that to the audience if they didn’t like our set.

Instead, Hannah has been a revelation. Not only has she given us a rhythm section she has thrown a voice into the ring, helped us to create more harmonies and complex song structures, especially with our newer material. With her tattoos and tricorn hat, Hannah will also add to our visual appeal too, without the need of Always and gaffer tape.

Fret No More. Three Again. June 2015. Photo: Nick McMaster

In another famous board game, one can occasionally be told not to pass go, which perhaps better sums up the experience of being in The Sweet Ordeal. Thanks to Hannah though, John and I have finally got out of jail. It feels like the band is now moving round the board and who knows, maybe we’ll win second prize in a beauty competition. That would be a sight for sore eyes, but now the stage is set for us to give something to the ears. See you later snakes.

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.