Friday 12th October 2007

I feel a bit like Arkwright at the end of Open all hours. He used to close invariably with something like "It's been a funny sort of week". Well it has. I suppose it shouldn't surprise me. The history of this Blog is littered with tales of outright bizarreness.

We said good bye to a couple of faithful sessioneers - Susannah and George. Not their real names, but that's how they introduced themselves and I suspect their Slovakian names are both unpronounceable and un-writable. But at the farewell session, there appeared as if by magic two pretty decent fiddlers who I hope will become regulars.

This week the session had a contretemps with the landlord who with all the charm and welcome of a miffed rottweiler told the session that he didn't like us sitting where we sat. Bottom line - landlord doesn't care about musicians, acoustics etc. The session is as I have said before something the landlord thinks will bring in some punters who will spend some dosh. Considering what we do is entirely free (not even a free drink offered) I think it's a bit rich. Were we being hired and paid, that's a different matter.

It comes back to the fundamental point about what a session is. It is a gathering of musicians to play music. It is not a social outing, nor a gig, nor a folk club, open mic, sing-around nor anything approaching that. It is not actually for an audience - that's incidental.

A typical incident that happened on Wednesday that only occurs when there is an expectant audience. I was playing a set and was approached by someone who started talking at me and expected a conversation. I cannot play and talk at the same time (maybe it's just blokes who are affected by this) and what was worse, it was to request 'Wild Rover' for somebody else. And then badger for a shake-of the head refusal. Without being too rude, how do you put these people off? Maybe we should just be rude. They haven't paid or anything.

One of the other horrors, is when the fearless session leader invites a whole load of mediocre-to-good musicians of whom he is in awe for some reason to the session without telling anyone. The leader then turns up much the worse for drink, fails to play any set to impress (for all the top shelf sets come out on such an occasion) and it all ends as a thoroughly embarrassing evening. Not one I want to repeat ever. I would rather perform the dance of the sugar plum fairy in a working men's club in Barnsley. On bingo night.

Courage my brave sessioneers and don't forget about folkipedia. Thanks to John for early testing and of course vigilant proof reading.