Bearing in mind my main purpose in leaving my nomad friends today was to get back for the inaugural songwriters and poets night in the new venue I could not afford to be too leisurely about it. I pulled into the boatyard's car park and walked to the slipway. There was my home standing on the trolley, clear of the water shining in the late afternoon sun showing off the new coat of bitumen applied earlier in the day. The solar panels had been reinstalled and the completed paintwork was looking absolutely stunning. I think I even got a little teary. Although not exactly what I had thought I had asked for I need not have worried about the signwriting. It was a very nice job and I could breathe again.
On to the music and poetry. I arrived after a couple of the other members of our informal committee and we set about shifting tables and chairs to make the best of the space. It was a warm evening so we would have to leave the door open. We could hear the noise of other pub patrons in the yard, but it wasn't intrusive. As 8pm arrived we not only had more performers, but also a few members of an audience, including regulars from the previous incarnation, first-time visitors and some old friends who were visiting the area for the bank holiday weekend.
As planned we had none of the amplification that seems to give permission in other venues for audience members to chat. It is almost as though a p.a. sets off a response in the listener that the music is not real and, therefore, doesn't really matter. Between sets of songs and poems, which I introduced, I moved around the room to get an idea of the sound. Sight lines and the acoustics meant that each performer was both visible and audible from anywhere in the room. So far so good. The room felt good and was neat, tidy attractive and, even more importantly, clean and didn't smell of spilled beer or ageing dogs! This looks like it is going to work out fine. I am sorry that I didn't even think to take photographs. I shall endeavour to remember next time. During the evening a few locals who had obviously been enjoying our host's hospitality in the adjacent bar wandered in, causing a bit of disruption. One interrupted one of the performers demanding he sing something "upbeat". "Have you got any Phil Collins?" he asked. Seriously? Phil Collins (or maybe that should be "... But Seriously")?What on earth do they teach young people these days? More seriously still, though, I think we shall have to think about how we create an environment where we can head off this kind of behaviour. Perhaps a few fliers on the tables, a notice board at the entrance stating the nature of the event within. I also wonder whether charging a nominal entrance fee would help. If the local lads had to part with a pound or two, they might take the event more seriously before coming in just long enough to disrupt proceedings and walk out in the middle of songs. It was also interesting to see other audience members walking in and out to the toilet or to the bar in the middle of a song. Personally, I couldn't do that. I would have to wait until a song or a set had finished before walking through the room. The dynamics of all these behaviours are fascinating.
For the record I sang "Grey", "In Soho", "Flying", "Blame It On Me" and read my poem, "Thora's House".