It’s Sunday night and we’re convalescing back at home, tired and ready to start catching up on those zzzs.. What was meant to be a nod to a close friend’s excellently written Scandinavian travel diary (morkel.tumblr.com, since you ask) has now turned into a sort of outpouring of thoughts on our own much shorter travels and what has been a relatively busy week for the band. We’ve played a couple of shows in a handful of days between London and Bristol, which in itself is hardly the most taxing of touring schedules, but for us is actually pretty good going (!) and a reminder of why we do this.
Nothing quite matches the feeling of getting on that stage with your friends and launching into a set of songs that you’ve finely crafted together over numerous hours together in your basement. It doesn’t matter that the crowd might be small, varying between excited/interested/disinterested/loudly ignorant of what you’re doing, only that you’re up there, determined not to fuck up, and to enjoy the moment for as long as possible before your short time is over. Saturday’s outdoor gig at Bristol Harbour Festival was just like this, a transient crowd of people passing by and relaxing in the stripey deck chairs laid out in front of the stage, almost certainly not there to see us specially, but nonetheless vaguely interested and therefore worth every minute sat on the M4 in a stuffy Megabus coach.
What had started out as a bright, warm day quickly turned as the skies became increasingly dark during the set. A matter of minutes after the last note of Dead Arms, the skies opened and a deluge came down as our soundman Kev quickly rushed forward to move his monitors and power supply back from the edge of the stage. We might not be giving up the day job just yet, but still, we’re pretty lucky.