Post by mavisscurry on Nov 24, 2008 16:59:13 GMT
Hi-On Swindon, again, Again!
With the return to Holland peering around the corner like some sort of wizened kitten we thought it best to book a warm up (of sorts) before braving the Channel on a windy November night (no doubt beneath a star-dugg’d moon).
So, enter Swindon’s Riff’s Bar, the sort of rock pub that shouldn’t exist in the current climate of WKD-serving, chav-populated, hippity-hop blasting places that wouldn’t know Steve Harris if he tapped them on the shoulder and said: “Hi, I’m Steve. Maybe you know my band...?”.
The vibe of the place is palpable and the guy who met us – cunningly also known as Riff – couldn’t have been more friendly if he’d tried. Set way out in the sticks in darkest Wiltshire, Riff’s is well used to putting on bands, and it shows!
Mavis “One more pint” Scurry (me, then...) had been roped in to take the place – for one night only – of the otherwise indisposed Dave Hurry II v2.1 (who will be strutting his stuff in the land of the windmills) and I met up with Speed ‘Go on, you tell it. No you!” Harris bang on 5pm.
The usual bouts of verbal diarrhoea ensued, halted only for a minute or two by the arrival of Nicko ‘What’s God’s nail?’ McBrian Junior, who was accompanied by his lovely Mum, who managed to studiously ignore the cobblers being spouted all around her. What she thought of ‘the man from Atlantis’, ‘the Spiderman’, ‘the strawberry cheesecake’, and Speed’s customary girlish giggling, God only knows...! Glad we didn’t start cracking on about wolfing.
Adrian ‘Fooking M1, M42, M5 and M4...pardon?’ Swift was en route from the Royal Kingdom of Hull via Leeds, where he’d stopped to pick up Bruce ‘Nose like a tap’ Dugginson and, as anyone who’s ever wanted to get anywhere in this car-choked country of ours would expect, had been severely delayed by traffic and was running, well, very late.
As Riff fixed the McBrain Junior family a very tasty curry, (Speed had had a Snack-a-Jack three weeks ago, so wasn’t peckish...) we tried not to ring the Van of Doom every five minutes as time relentlessly wore on but, once the fateful call was made, Swifty estimated the arrival time at approaching 9.30. With all but Mavis’s gear stuck on the van, the chances of a three-part vocal harmony ensemble was looking a real possibility but the few intrepid souls who had ventured out to see us, plus the ever-genial Riffs himself, kept our sprits up and, once the lads did arrive, we set everything up and line-checked in short order.
After getting changed in record time (“No need for undercrackers”, said Speed, moistly) we went on just over an hour late (not too bad, considering) with a shortened set and even though there were just 40 or so people in attendance, we proceeded to play out of our skins. Everybody got into it – band and punters alike – and, as if often the case when prior arrangements go astray, the gig was great – in fact it was deemed amongst the best this band has ever done: no mean feat.
Both Rime and Phantom were largely error-free and even rare ricks from young Nicko were counteracted by a machinegun-fast bass drum fills that actually had jaws hitting the floor. To quote Nigel Tufnel: “...good drummer.” And he truly is. Hope he doesn’t go the way of Joe ‘Stumpy’ Pepys (no chance!).
Although as full of cold as Speed’s car is of dead dogs, Bruce also played a blinder, adding much to the ‘creaky ship’ bit in Rime (“Steady as she goes...”), and Swifty soon got over his enforced seven hour stint behind the wheel to play – yet again – a perfect set. By the way (girls) he’s got really cold shoulders, the minx...
As usual, the climactic appearance of the genial DTT as Eddie – a role he was surely born for – crowned the night and, after a quick encore of Wrathchild and Hallowed, we reluctantly called it a day.
We’re playing Swindon’s 12 Bar next year, and will definitely be coming back to Riff’s in the Autumn. Great place, great people and, for us, a great gig. Oh, and we hope the guy energetically getting rid of all of his beer in the car park feels bit better...
Schreeuw voor me, Nijmegen!
With the return to Holland peering around the corner like some sort of wizened kitten we thought it best to book a warm up (of sorts) before braving the Channel on a windy November night (no doubt beneath a star-dugg’d moon).
So, enter Swindon’s Riff’s Bar, the sort of rock pub that shouldn’t exist in the current climate of WKD-serving, chav-populated, hippity-hop blasting places that wouldn’t know Steve Harris if he tapped them on the shoulder and said: “Hi, I’m Steve. Maybe you know my band...?”.
The vibe of the place is palpable and the guy who met us – cunningly also known as Riff – couldn’t have been more friendly if he’d tried. Set way out in the sticks in darkest Wiltshire, Riff’s is well used to putting on bands, and it shows!
Mavis “One more pint” Scurry (me, then...) had been roped in to take the place – for one night only – of the otherwise indisposed Dave Hurry II v2.1 (who will be strutting his stuff in the land of the windmills) and I met up with Speed ‘Go on, you tell it. No you!” Harris bang on 5pm.
The usual bouts of verbal diarrhoea ensued, halted only for a minute or two by the arrival of Nicko ‘What’s God’s nail?’ McBrian Junior, who was accompanied by his lovely Mum, who managed to studiously ignore the cobblers being spouted all around her. What she thought of ‘the man from Atlantis’, ‘the Spiderman’, ‘the strawberry cheesecake’, and Speed’s customary girlish giggling, God only knows...! Glad we didn’t start cracking on about wolfing.
Adrian ‘Fooking M1, M42, M5 and M4...pardon?’ Swift was en route from the Royal Kingdom of Hull via Leeds, where he’d stopped to pick up Bruce ‘Nose like a tap’ Dugginson and, as anyone who’s ever wanted to get anywhere in this car-choked country of ours would expect, had been severely delayed by traffic and was running, well, very late.
As Riff fixed the McBrain Junior family a very tasty curry, (Speed had had a Snack-a-Jack three weeks ago, so wasn’t peckish...) we tried not to ring the Van of Doom every five minutes as time relentlessly wore on but, once the fateful call was made, Swifty estimated the arrival time at approaching 9.30. With all but Mavis’s gear stuck on the van, the chances of a three-part vocal harmony ensemble was looking a real possibility but the few intrepid souls who had ventured out to see us, plus the ever-genial Riffs himself, kept our sprits up and, once the lads did arrive, we set everything up and line-checked in short order.
After getting changed in record time (“No need for undercrackers”, said Speed, moistly) we went on just over an hour late (not too bad, considering) with a shortened set and even though there were just 40 or so people in attendance, we proceeded to play out of our skins. Everybody got into it – band and punters alike – and, as if often the case when prior arrangements go astray, the gig was great – in fact it was deemed amongst the best this band has ever done: no mean feat.
Both Rime and Phantom were largely error-free and even rare ricks from young Nicko were counteracted by a machinegun-fast bass drum fills that actually had jaws hitting the floor. To quote Nigel Tufnel: “...good drummer.” And he truly is. Hope he doesn’t go the way of Joe ‘Stumpy’ Pepys (no chance!).
Although as full of cold as Speed’s car is of dead dogs, Bruce also played a blinder, adding much to the ‘creaky ship’ bit in Rime (“Steady as she goes...”), and Swifty soon got over his enforced seven hour stint behind the wheel to play – yet again – a perfect set. By the way (girls) he’s got really cold shoulders, the minx...
As usual, the climactic appearance of the genial DTT as Eddie – a role he was surely born for – crowned the night and, after a quick encore of Wrathchild and Hallowed, we reluctantly called it a day.
We’re playing Swindon’s 12 Bar next year, and will definitely be coming back to Riff’s in the Autumn. Great place, great people and, for us, a great gig. Oh, and we hope the guy energetically getting rid of all of his beer in the car park feels bit better...
Schreeuw voor me, Nijmegen!