'My mother said I never should. Play with the fairies in the wood.'
'Do you Believe in Magic? In a young girls' heart.' The Lovin' Spoonful
My year of gigging recklessly continues. Coming up to the end of May and I'm pretty much into double figures though I'm not counting just yet. Meanwhile, the year itself is gathering pace. Newcastle, where I live, has had a long unbroken spell of sunny, beautiful days that seem set to continue and I'm making the most of it while it lasts.
Yesterday didn't start well. I'm slightly down for reasons I don't need to go into and am not going to here. It happens. To us all sometimes. To you too I'm sure. It was hardly the Black Dog of lore, but was at least the mean reds that Holly Golightly suffered from in Breakfast at Tiffany's or an onslaught from the Blue Meanies attacking The Beatles for no good reason in Yellow Submarine, except that they got a kick from it.
Swimming is generally good for repelling mean reds or blue meanies. I've recently started swimming again after a slightly enforced break during Lockdown where my bones and muscles have started to get alarmingly slack and I've genuinely started to feel my age. I've rejoined the fitness club at The Royal Station Hotel which I've been using on and off since I came to Newcastle almost fifteen years back.
It was all pretty empty yesterday which I always prefer and I made the most of it by pushing myself a bit. Swimming more lengths than usual, spending as long as I could in the red hot sauna, breaking it up by dropping in the ice pool when required.
When my work day was done I made my way into town. During this unbroken stretch of wonderful weather I've come to see my Newcastle as a couple of square miles around my flat that I like to explore on a pretty much daily basis, stopping off at a varying set of favourite destinations; cafes, record shops, restaurants, bars. I try to vary those destinations and route so things don't get stale.
Today, a pint at The Bridge, Tapas at El Torrero, a walk down the Quayside. Up to The Free Trade, the pub on the hill at the end of Tyne. Hoping my artist friend Billy is there. He isn't but Fiona, who I used to work with, is. In the beer garden. Always nice to see Fi. We have a brief chat and then I'm off again. To another pub on another hill. The Cumberland Arms. Perched above the Ouseburn Valley where The Cluny, (Newcastle's major venues, for all things independent), is.
I've been at The Cumberland Arms quite a bit recently which is always fine by me. In many ways it represents everything that is so wonderful about this quite magnificent city. It's tough, and resilient, and very, very Northern. People bang on about Manchester being The North. Or Yorkshire. But I've been here for fifteen years now, feel myself adopted by the locals and repay them in any way I can whenever I can. This is the real North.
The best thing about the people here is their friendliness. Their openness to life and all it has to throw at them. Their warmth. You can go out on your own any evening and be sure that you'll find yourself in conversation. And it will be an interesting one. Today's example of that turns out to be Les. The upstairs room at the Arms is lined with chairs tonight as what we'll be listening to is Folk essentially. A relief, as despite my work out at the Station Hotel I still fear that my leg muscles will start to get stretched and ache if I have to spend a couple of hours standing. A guy in his sixties asks if the seat next to me is free. I say it is and we start to chat. It's Les.
It's the most natural thing in the world. At least it is here. I'm from London, and it certainly isn't always that way there. Les's thing is clearly Folk and he knows it and the local scene back to front. He starts to talk about what's happening in Folk in the Faroe Islands. I'm clearly out of my depth so I change the subject to Richard Dawson, who I spent a wonderful fifteen minutes in a pub in the company of six months back.
Nat Johnson. Blurred. Sorry Nat Johnson.
Les is happy to chat about the wonderful nature of Richard Dawson's personality and music. Then we agree that Alasdair Roberts is pretty wonderful too. But the first support of the night is now on and we sit up and give her our full attention.
Amy Mae Ellis
She's a charismatic, beautiful young woman who your heart goes out to as soon as she starts to sing. She's got cool boots, a cool guitar and a beautiful face. Her stage name is Osaka Jo, because she spent some time in Osaka and her first name's Jo. Her dog yelps from the back of the room and she laughs and says he's offering her support.
Osaka Jo doesn't need it. She's doing fine on her own. She's got it. Not all of her songs are strictly Folk, but what does that matter, except to purists. Les has just warned me about them, particularly the ones in The Bridge located Folk Scene. I've already been in The Bridge of course this evening. Newcastle is a small enough place that everything connects. I tell him the same applies to the local Jazz scene which I'm already familiar with. This generally applies to some extent to any scene. Any club. Any institution. It pays to be eternally vigilant of this.
Anyhow back to Osaka Jo. She's making new friends. Her songs are charming with loads of heart. She does a Folk-ified version of ABBA's Mama Mia and that's charming and has heart. too. It's a terrific set all round. I thank her at the Merch Table before going out to the front garden for fresh air. This is the kind of place this is and the gregarious attitude, it encourages and demands. In the large backroom downstairs a set of musicians largely violinists are gathering for a jam..
Ten minutes later the second support is preparing to go on. Her name is Nat Johnson and Les has already told me that she's the main reason he's here. She's a well versed, experienced musician, who has done time in Monkey Swallows the Universe and Nat Johnson & the Figureheads. I don't know them but I bet they were good because she certainly is. From the moment she begins to work the stage. My heart goes out again.
She's recovering from a bad throat and it means she doesn't hit all of her notes. She doesn't musically either. But that doesn't matter. Nothing does this evening. Anyhow, her talent is abundantly clear. In between songs she mentions her sorrow at the departure from late night radio of 6 Music DJ Gideon Coe. Some of us share the sorrow and applaud. Afterwards I thank her, take one of the CD's she's generously giving away and we chat for a bit about the loss of Gideon from our radios.. A sad thing indeed. And I'm serious. What is happening to the world?
I go to the merch stall Amy Mae Ellis's stuff is there, as is Nat's. Amy is there too. She's an arresting person immediately. An elfin type, very tall, hair up in a high bun like Jean Shrimpton's younger sister, (she's a true beauty, that's for sure), and dressed in a terrific jump dress which it seems she's inordinately proud of. She's every inch an eight year old precocious child, allowed to stay up late for her birthday, showing off her birthday dress.
I ask her if I can take her picture. . I want this because I'm a terrible photographer and my shots of artists onstage are invariably appallingly blurred affairs. I don't want to embarrass her but she's a natural extrovert. A performer. She bobs and weaves and laughs. I get some nice snaps.
And fifteen minutes later she and her band are onstage and it's immediately evident that we're in for a proper treat. They're coming to the end of their first significant national tour and they're match fit. Their first number is half Velvet Underground half Joanna Newsom. Amy has definitely got something of Joanna as well as Jean Shrimpton's sister about her.
They chat, or largely she does, relentlessly between numbers. To her left onstage is Gemima, a blond haired, pretty young woman, who is clearly Amy's main sparring partner. Their pure joy and immense comfort in each others company is evident immediately. They seem like they've been inseparable best friends since they were six.
They're supported ably by a tall bespectacled drummer called Billy and a broad shouldered double bassist called Brad. Double Bassists in my experience need to be broad shouldered. They need to carry the instrument around all evening for starters. They're both ridiculously young, like Amy and Gemima, but seem strong, solid types. The kind that a mother wouldn't mind trusting their darling daughter to tour the country with in a small van. Not rude, surly, drunken sorts.
The band play a long set and it's an ongoing thrill. Amy chatters away between songs and draws the crowd in, as if casting a genuine spell. She was raised in a remote part of Yorkshire and this is clearly the source of the magic she and her band are capable of. I've been reading Cider With Rosie earlier on in The Bridge and there seems an element of that poetry happening this evening. A Northern equivalent. She talks about the witches reputed to haunt the neighborhood where her parents still live. No one scoffs for a moment.
It's been a wonderful evening but all good things must come to an end, the set included. Before the last song, Amy announces they're going to have a small auction in aid of a charity that's close to her heart. She holds up a small wooden goose, The band's best song and highlight of their splendid debut album Over Ling & Bell is called Wild Geese, and Amy has carved a set of delicate and charming geese in its honour.
Gemima gets the bidding going. The audience join whole heartedly into the spirit of the thing and are honking their bids as Gemima has asked them to. It's so Un-English, I feel a rush of embarrassment, almost shame, shooting through me. I'm from The South. But we're in The North now. No need to worry about that here.
With a last joke at London's expense, which I won't share with you here, lest it offend anyone from London reading this, they're off and I meet Amy again at the merch stand and buy an album and a bag embossed with more geese to carry it home with. I'm splashing out, but frankly I don't care. I've had a wonderful night and want mementos.
I make my way to the bus and who is there, on the seat behind me but Les. He opted for the violin performance downstairs, attracted by another local folk legend. I tell him Amy and her band were great and he would have enjoyed it and we agree that it doesn't matter as we've both had wonderful evenings. The bus arrives in the city centre and we bid each other farewell.
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