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.

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.