Once upon a time there was a showground (called Peterborough Arena). And inside that showground there was (temporarily) the National Hot Rod and Custom Show. And inside that petrolheadgasm was a tattoo convention (called Ink & Oil). And inside that orgy of mechanised needles was a bar (called the Roadhouse Rock Stage). And inside that bar was the Filthy Spectacula.
After Friday’s shenanigans, half the band took Saturday off to recuperate and market the new album. The Dreadful Helmsman stayed in a field near Burton-on-Trent and got exotically intoxicated. I played a pub gig with the Kindred Spirit duo in Teddington, where we got asked to repeat ‘Fisherman’s Blues’ by a drunk man who turned out to hate sound engineers, one guy in the audience could properly Irish dance and the radiators were stuck on (much perspiring even by my standards).
We reconvened Sunday lunchtime to play four short sets over the afternoon, adding atmosphere (or something) to, well, largely the bar queue to be honest. Dreadful H’man and -woman entered into the spirit of the custom car event by having a breakdown en route, but entered far enough into it to fix it themselves. At one point we were playing to more photographers than anything else. At least the rockabilly DJ we were alternating with became a fan. Credit to the one steampunk couple that came to see us specially and stayed for half the time we played (at least)! On the other hand, the client took to Mr and ‘Mrs’ E so strongly they were asked to judge the day’s best tattoos awards (many categories!), while the rest of us packed up and huddled away south-west again.
Just when I might think I’ve caught up with my blog posts, this is another three-gig weekend: tonight, The Filthy Spectacula back at Jamboree; Saturday, a classical freelance job (Reading Town Hall; Handel, Holst and Shearing (not sure if jazz pianist George or another); Sunday, the Filth again at the Brighton End Times Steampunk Festival.