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!

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