The North Island

The Auckland Sky Tower at night.



Tuesday 13th October. Travel to New Zealand. 
Travel: Flight Q.F. 762 / Flight Q.F. 131

Depart Perth: 8:10 a.m.
Arrive Melbourne: 2:35 p.m.

Depart Melbourne: 4:10 p.m.
Arrive Auckland: 9:40 p.m.
An important day for me. I’ve only ever spent one day in New Zealand before today, and that was last time Steeleye toured Australia - the last anniversary tour (35th). We flew to Auckland, played the concert, and flew back to Australia. Ironic really, considering I’ve held a NZ passport for over ten years now.

I acquired the passport on the strength of my late Father been born and having grown up in Dunedin on the South Island, a subject I wrote about in some detail when I was in Scotland back in March (see: The Circle Game).

The plan here, once having arrived at Auckland, is to head for the Quadrant Hotel where I’ll see Carol for the first time in almost a month. 
Tomorrow I pick up the hire car from the Omega office, which I gather is just around the corner from the hotel. We’ll spend the next two days in the Auckland area before heading off to the various folk clubs and arts centres where I’m performing.

Albert Park

Wednesday 14th & Thursday 15th October. Auckland.

I Love the place; it just doesn’t have the same hurried and crowded feel that one might expect in a major city. The population of 1.4 million here is almost four times that of New Zealand’s capital Wellington. And incredible really when you think that in the rest of the county there’s only just over another 2.5 million people.


A lot of time was spent just walking, drinking flat whites*, walking, eating, drinking more flat whites, walking and eating.
We found a South Indian restaurant which was pretty good.
And I bought a ukulele at the Rock Shop, a place I visited on a previous visit here. 


My last visit to the Rock Shop back in 2004 was quite eventful. I got chatting to the guy who was serving me, maybe he was the owner? - I can’t recall. I told him why I was there and who I played with, and then he said he’d show me something. I was full of curiosity as I followed him upstairs to a locked room. He unlocked the door, and ushered me in. You wouldn’t believe it! - I know I couldn’t; before me was the greatest collection of Beatles memorabilia I’d ever laid my eyes on - Ludwig drum kits, Hofner Violin basses, Gretsch and Rickenbacker guitars, Reslo microphones, Beatle suits, sheet music, LPs, 45s, pictures & posters; a stockpile that must be worth, well, many thousands.
I’d told Carol all about this, and so I figured that when I went for the uke I’d once again have a friendly talk to sales assistant, and she, Carol, would be able to see it for herself. 
This time the chap who served me was pretty young; he didn’t seem very interested at all in conversation, only interested in selling a ukulele to me. I told him how I’d been escorted up to this room, and he said, “you must’ve caught the boss in a good mood. I’ve been working here three years, and I only got to see it last week. Now would you like a receipt sir?”. 

And that was it.

Friday 16th October. Solo concert. Katikati Folk Club.
We started our journey at midday. It was good to get out into the country side, away from the city, and to see some of the much anticipated scenery. With a brief stop at Waihi Beach - about fifteen minutes from our destination - it took more-or-less the expected three hours to reach Katikati.


The club is held once a month at the Katikati bowling club. The people - organisers and audience alike - were brilliant, it was good way to start my mini tour of NZ.

Ken at Waihi Beach

The sound man didn’t seem all that guitar-friendly though, I’d have to say. As I played I struggled to hear the guitar against the voice, but figured it just had something to do with the acoustics of the room. Then, when more than one audience member started to say, ‘the guitar’s not loud enough’, I knew that it wasn’t just me.
He did seem a little reluctant to push that fader up on the desk - a bit of a handicap for someone like me who depends so much on having my guitar work heard loud and clear.

This has often been a problem for me, something I’ve encountered many times with even some of the most experienced sound engineers. I believe a great many of them have a stereotype view of how a guitarist / singer should sound - the voice out front and the guitar well behind. Classically speaking, I suppose that’s what we all became accustomed to with the likes of Dylan and Paul Simon and all the other singer songwriters heard over the years. With these guys the words and the voice were always more important than the guitar playing.

There is only one way to absolutely guarantee that you are heard in the way you want to be heard - the way that expresses what ‘you’ do, and not what others might have done, and that’s to have your own man on the desk, someone who understands exactly what you do, what you’re about and what you want; this is fool-proof, and, of course, expensive.


There are other ways that will get you close, like having a long enough guitar cable to go out, for at least some distance from the stage, and hear it for yourself. This is something you’d do, of course, during the sound check. Potentially, this approach fails in a couple of ways; it fails to allow for the changes that occur to the acoustics of a room when the audience arrives; also, once back on stage, the power again falls into the hands of whoever has them on the faders.

Again, the mantra comes to mind: God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change . . .

We stayed over with John and Di Logan, and were made to feel very welcome. John, as with many of the people actively involved in the folk music scene over here are UK ex-pats, and all have their own fascinating stories to tell of how not only how they ended up in New Zealand in the first place, but also about the emotional, and even physical ‘to-and-froing’ before eventually settling down here for good.

Saturday 17th October. Solo. Onewhero.

Set off on our drive from Katikati after a walk along the Uretara river with John and Di, and getting caught out by a deluge of rain in the process.

It took us about two hours to reach Onewhero (pronounced: On-e-fairo), on the way driving through the spectacular Karangahake Gorge.

This is the second day of travelling here in NZ, and I cannot explain how completely fantastic the scenery is. And judging by what I’ve been told, I ain’t seen nothing yet!

The show itself is in the OSPA Theatre. It’s hard to fathom; it looks like the middle of nowhere, and they’ve not just built a theatre there, they manage to keep it going. 
The day I arrived was the final day of an arts festival in which they were exhibiting, and selling the works of local artists. 
Non of the above would be happening was it not for the dedication of Richard Gemmell - a sheep farmer, and a great lover of the arts.
Carol and I stayed with Richard and wife, Jan on their farm; it had a great feel to it. Again, it seemed like we were in the middle of nowhere, a feeling one is inclined to get often here in New Zealand.

The show went well, but again there were PA issues. They’d not long had a new public address system installed, and no one appeared to know just how it needed to be set up and what outputs should be connected to what inputs, etc.
I helped out as much as I could until we got some level of functionality from it. I actually thought we’d got it all figured out, but discovered at the evening’s end that everyone had been hearing me in mono through only the centre speakers; the two outer ones, both left and right, had been left unplugged.

Sunday 18th October.

Spent much of today taking it easy at the Gemmell household before Carol and I made our way back up towards Auckland and on to Devonport where we booked into the Esplanade Hotel on the waters front - not too far from tomorrow’s venue.

It just so happened that Richard and Jan had planned to see a movie that evening at Northcote, very close to Devonport, so we rendezvoused later that day, and watched the German film: The North Face; it was absolutely chilling and gripping; sorry, I couldn’t think of two adjectives that didn’t sound like puns.







Monday 19th October. Solo. The Bunker Folk Club, Devonport, Auckland.

The early part of the day was spent sight-seeing as we took a drive further north to Snells Beach.

Roger Giles has been running the Devonport folk club for the last forty years, and both he and his club are about as characterful, colourful and notorious as you can get. 
We arrived at the house he shares with partner Hilary at around 4 p.m. ate dinner before making our way up the hill to The Bunker, and that’s actually what it is - a bunker - a property with some historic importance that actually belongs to the city of Auckland.









It has been rented out to Roger for a song (for the last forty years), solely to accommodate the folk club which is held each fortnight.
This place; this club - it’s an institution. It’s unique. The club was packed, and the crowd was up-for-it from note one.


Then, after my first number a head came round the door. The owner of the head, in an announcement that carried much volume, informed everyone that the fire brigade were conducting an exercise outside, and because one or two audience members had left their cars parked in a manner best described as … well, ‘not very clever’ the fire engines couldn’t get through the very narrow road which winds it way up the hill.

I’d only just begun, and my audience were deserting me in numbers. But it was OK, it contributed even more to the feel, the content, the eventfulness of that night. And anyway, I felt sort of honoured to be the very first guest at The Bunker - in its forty year history - to have their set halted by a fire fighting exercise.

*Flat white: a coffee beverage prepared by pouring the creamy steamed milk from the bottom of the jug over a single shot (30ml) of espresso, it is most commonly found in New Zealand and Australia.

Agro In The Antipodes

Monday 12th October. Guitar workshop (afternoon), Solo concert (evening) The Midland Arts Centre, City of Swan, Perth.
Making the switch from the lead guitarist in a band to performing solo takes a good deal of mental preparation for me; I have to think my way into it - that, and do a regular amount of practice for a week or two before. The two roles are different. Much of what I play on acoustic guitar is not only fairly complex, but there are figures, moves, sequences, that the fingers have to get accustomed to and reacquainted with. 
I’ve made time to rehearse during my time in America and here also in Australia.

Another requirement is energy, so rest and relaxation is fundamental here; talking of which, I was probably the first to retire to my room from the previous night’s end of tour gathering. 
I knew I had to keep the energy level up for the events of this next day, however, I wasn’t at all ready for the events that were about to precede it all.

It was maybe 4:30 a.m. - maybe a little later when I first woke. I was aware that Carol would be heading for the antipodes as I was sleeping; the plan being that on Tuesday I fly to New Zealand, and we’d meet up in Auckland.

I awoke early, as is pretty usual; I checked my phone for messages. Carol had sent one text that read, ‘Just arrived at Sydney. Boy, these customs officials are so rude and unpleasant here!’. I thought little of it - I mean, the officials at airports are often a bit unpleasant, and unfortunately it’s one of those things one comes, at least to some extent, to accept. 
I turned the phone off, and then tried for a little more sleep. My efforts were unsuccessful though, so at about 6 a.m. I turned the phone back on. There was another message, ‘Ken, please phone me now, it’s urgent’.
Also, I noticed a voicemail message had been left, it was a desperate sounding Carol. “Ken, call me, please. They’re threatening to send me back”!

Christ! I phoned immediately. She answered. “What’s happening”, I asked. “I was waiting to board the plane to Auckland”, she told me, “and they just came and took me from the gate. They need to see evidence of my flight back from New Zealand to Australia. Ken, you have the ticket for both of us; what’s the flight number? Quick Ken, please, I don’t have much time!”.

I had so many tickets in my case and in my shoulder bag. Schedules, tickets to America, Australia, New Zealand, back to the UK; and at 6 in the morning I was trying to make sense of all these documents, documents with rows and rows of times and numbers and dates and airports. “Hurry, Ken, hurry”, she shouted.


The pressure I felt caused all of this information to make no sense at all, it was just sheets of paper before my eyes with nothing more than shapes on them. I was skimming over the same things again and again; nothing connected. “Ken, I’m running out of time”! I heard her say somewhat faintly - my phone lodged and gradually slipping away from between my head and shoulder.

Then I found it; flight 5050 from Dunedin to Christchurch, and on to Sydney. “Carol, I’ve got it”. “It’s too late, Ken!”. “No, listen”, I shouted back. “It’s flight 50 …”. The phone went dead.

I tried repeatedly to call her back but there was no answer. I left the ticket details on her voicemail.

Now, here I was, sat on the edge of a bed, in Perth, Australia, with a fair amount of adrenaline in my system and a plane ticket in my hand, and given the day I had in store, there was very serious need to weigh up my choices. I’d had a total of less than four hours rest, and there was no way I’d successfully negotiate my way through these next eighteen hours or so without more sleep.

A pragmatic approach was needed. My options were: I could worry about Carol, and fear the worse - that they’d send her back to the UK. 

I could accept there were some things, circumstances, that in my present position I had absolutely no control over, and that no degree of worry and anxiety would have a jot of influence over the outcome of these events.
I could also choose to trust that the outcome would, in one way or another, take care of itself in a positive way.
Choosing the latter options, I took half a zopiclone pill and grabbed the precious three hours I needed.

We spoke later in the morning; she’d been allowed to travel to Auckland, but only after having to buy a ticket from NZ to Sydney; a ticket she had absolutely no need for.

Here is the deal. When the immigration official looked at Carol’s ticket they could see she was booked from Manchester to London, then on to Sydney with a connection to Auckland. Then there was a gap; that was the ticket I had in my possession with both of our names on it from NZ back to Sydney. However, they could clearly see she was booked from Sydney back to London on November 7th.
Now why in God’s name would they suspect that she would stay in New Zealand illegally when she had that flight booked back from Aussie to London?
Not only that; why were they so incredibly unpleasant; well, from how she describe the whole affair to me they were nothing short of rude and disrespectful.
They had her in tears at one point. What’s that all about, really? Are they trained to treat people like that? Is it all to do with effectively achieving required outcomes, or is it an arbitrary approach carried out by only certain officials because they have the power to do that - because they can? 

I would dearly like to know, and I do intend to try and find out.

The main thing of course was that she was safely in New Zealand. And the day got better from there on.

I enjoyed the workshop even though ‘attendance-wise’ it was thin on the ground, but it was a Monday afternoon after all, most people were at work.

And the gig in the evening? The Midland Arts Centre was a perfect sized venue, and the staff extremely helpful.

Richard James was there (Australian tour organiser), also Richard Collins who promoted the previous night’s show came along, and even Maddy turned up.
I loved the night - had a fantastic time. It was just great to be playing solo again, and to know that everything was neatly in place - at least temporarily.

A huge thank you has to be given to John McNair for giving me the opportunity to play over here. He organised both the workshop and the evening concert. 
John is a highly creative and intriguing individual; a man with some great ideas. He has his own podcast at: The John McNair Show.

Courting With Kangaroos

Darling Harbour, Sydney.

Wednesday 30th September. The Event Centre - Southern Cross Club, Canberra.

Travel: Flight QF1477 (Terminal 3)
Depart Sydney: 11.55 a.m. Arrive Canberra: 12.45 a.m.
Accommodation: Rydges Hotel, 1 London Circuit, Canberra.

I guess it’s natural to think of Sydney as the capital here, when in fact it’s the relatively new and purpose built Canberra, which has been Australia’s capital since just 1927; the previous distinction was held by Melbourne.

This is where all of Australia’s major political policies are shaped, and, as you might expect in a capital, where the houses of parliament stand. 
It has all the looks of a recent city - square, wide, lots of concrete. Reminds me a bit of Milton Keynes.



The Parliament building, Canberra.




Since our arrival in Sydney on Monday we’ve had two–more-or-less–days off. The band did have to play live on an A.B.C. radio show on Tuesday, but we kept it simple - singing one song with only a strummed fiddle as accompaniment, called Ranzo. 


So we’ve had a chance to both recover and adjust to the time difference; believe me, it takes more than two days though. Presently, I’m nine hours ahead of UK time, and fifteen hours ahead of Chicago where we last played.
On our travels here from Chicago via San Francisco, we departed on Saturday, crossed the international date line and arrived in Australia on Monday. Sunday has been lost forever.

You do meet some very nice people on the road, and today was no exception; we were well looked after. The evening went well; it was a good way to kick-off this Australian leg of our tour.

Thursday 1st October. Day off in Canberra.

This is definitely the way to do it - one show and then a day off.

I had a plan. Following my golf shoe drama at the airport, I figured they should be put to use, so I made a few phone calls in the morning. I called three courses before finding one that we could play.
Can’t remember all the names, but the first place - the recommended course - had a tournament going on all day, so that was out. 

The second was the Royal Canberra Club; the pro explained that a letter of introduction was needed from ones own golf club in order to be allowed anywhere near the place.
I appealed to him, “But we’re on tour; we’re from England; we’re only here for a day - and I’ve brought my golf shoes!”. “I’ll put you through to administration, they might waive the rule for you”. 
“Hello, club administration here, can I help you?”. “I just spoke to the pro”, I said, “and he explained that I have to have a letter from my doctor, mother, golf club, whoever, in order to play on your course”. “Yes - your club, that’s correct”, she replied. “But we’re on tour; we’re from England”, I said. “Sorry it’s a club rule”, she responded. “But we’re only here for a day” … “I’m afraid I can’t change the club rules, Sir” …“But I’ve even brought my golf shoes!”.
Silence.

Time to ring a third golf club … ‘I need a place that’ll accept any Tom, Dick or Steeleye Span member’ I thought to myself.
We ended up being accepted at the Golden Creek Country Club, and I felt uncomfortable by how ready the pro was to let us play there. In fact I almost declined on the basis that we’d been accepted.

Pete (Knight) and I were driven to the course by tour manager Richard, and on arrival we hired two sets of clubs, a buggy; bought tees, balls, pitch mark repairers and two hats. Now, we may both have been considerably poorer, but we had the joy of eighteen holes of golf ahead of us - and in glorious sunshine.

Matchplay. A dollar on the front nine; a dollar on the back nine; a dollar on the eighteen. Pete won the front nine by a hole, before I rallied - taking the back nine and the eighteen.

The highlight of the game was just as we turned to walk from the 16th green to the 17th tee. As I looked ahead, about thirty to forty yards beyond the tee I saw a group of kangaroos, maybe twenty or thirty of them; mothers, offspring, just lying around in the sun. 
I’ve since found out that the correct description for such a gathering is ‘mob’.
I have, in the past whilst playing golf in one part of the world or another, encountered all manner of wildlife - even coyotes and the occasional rattle snake, but never until today have I seen a mob of kangaroos.


I was very disappointed not to have my camera with me, but did take a few shots with my mobile phone.



I heard that in the tour bus Brian looked out through the window toward a field of cows, and he made some remark about how they were all trying hard to look like kangaroos.
Pete Zorn quickly retorted, “oh, they’re just wannabes".

Friday 2nd October. Seymour Centre, Sydney.

Travel: Flight Q.F. 1472

Depart Canberra: 11:25
Arrive Sydney 12:10

Accommodation: Southern Cross Suites, Darling Harbour.

The night when everything came together. The onstage sound; the way everyone in the band played; the audience response; it all seemed to fall into place. The type of evening that we’ll measure all other nights on the tour against.










Pete Zorn





Steeleye Span in Brisbane


Pictures: Marcel Safier

Saturday 3rd October. The Tivoli, Brisbane. 

Travel: Flight Q.F. 524
Depart Sydney: 12:05 p.m. Arrive Brisbane 1:35 p.m.

Accommodation: Rydges Hotel, Glenelg St, South Brisbane.














Sunday 4th October. Lismore City Hall.

Travel: Depart: 10 a.m. - tour bus from Brisbane to Byron Bay.

Accommodation: Friday on the Beach, Lawson St, Byron Bay.





Monday 5th October. No concert.

Day off in Byron Bay.

An absolutely ideal place for a day off. Byron Bay is were the young hang out. It’s where the backpackers and surfers alike make a beeline for.
It’s laid-back and fun. 
And what’s more fun than doing laundry! Yes, I found a coin-op. It was $5.00 for a cold wash, $6.00 for a warm or hot wash.
The tumble dryers offered six minutes of tumble drying for the price of a dollar. 
This is what’s called ‘cutting edge’ blogging.



Byron Bay

Tuesday 6th October. Fly to Sydney.

Travel: Flight D.J. 520 (Virgin Airlines)

Depart Gold Coast airport: 12:05 a.m. Arrive Sydney 2:35 p.m.

Accommodation: Southern Cross Suites, Darling Harbour.

Darling Harbour

Wednesday 7th October. I.P.A.C. Wollongong.

Travel: Tour bus to Wollongong.

Depart: 3 p.m. Arrive at venue 4:15 p.m.

Accommodation: Southern Cross Suites, Darling Harbour.









Sydney Harbour Bridge

Thursday 8th October. Balmain Town Hall, Sydney.

Travel: Tour bus to venue.

Depart: 4:30 p.m. Arrive: 4:45 p.m.

Accommodation: Southern Cross Suites, Darling Harbour.

Sydney Opera House

Friday 9th October. Norwood Concert Hall, Adelaide.

Travel: Flight Q.F. 751

Depart Sydney: 12:35 p.m. Arrive Adelaide: 2:15 p.m.

Accommodation: The Hilton Hotel, Victoria Square, Adelaide.

Met with old friend, Don Fogg. It must’ve been 1969 when I first met Don; he was an art student at the Harris Art College in Preston, and we shared the same intense interest in all things acoustic-guitar related. Since those days we’ve seen, or run into each other with what I could describe as regular infrequency.

Don Fogg



Each one of our last four meetings were notable in character and in chance:

1. In 1970 I spent the summer in Worcestershire. I was 19 years old, and had decided to hitch-hike my way down - with friend, Paul Daber - to the town of Evesham. We spent an idyllic few weeks there working on a farm, first gathering peas, and then, in the later summer months - as the plums ripened in the orchard - spent most of our time on ladders picking fruit.


The image; the feel of that warm early evening; it’s still there in my mind. I spotted a familiar shape on the opposite pavement walking through the main street. ‘That looks so much like Don’, ‘but it can’t be, surely’.
On my side of the road I walked at his speed, and as I looked across, he looked only straight ahead. Eventually I caught his eye; neither of us could quite believe it. He was en route, hitch-hiking, to an air show (his passion for air travel is just as strong now as it was then, by the way).

At about 120 miles from home, OK, this was not the greatest moment of improbability, but one that felt, as many did back then, as though it had an element of design to it.

2. Messing with a volume pedal on stage at Newcastle University; 1975; touring with Al Stewart. It was afternoon, and we, the band, were just setting up. 
With a purely equipment-related focus, similar maybe to that of a man on his way to an air show, I heard the sounds of a Liverpool accent. I had no idea that Don had moved north-east
to study on a teachers training course, but there he was. 
It was to be almost three decades later before we were in contact again.

3. Twenty nine years on, and an email arrives from Australia. It’s 2004, Steeleye Span’s thirty fifth anniversary year.
He’d seen a poster that advertised the band’s show at the Norwood Concert Hall. We arranged to meet at the Hilton. He explained how he and his wife, Linda - who’s also a Brit, moved out here many years ago. Since then he’s worked as an art teacher in a high school here in Adelaide.

4. Same thing as last time really. Same venue, and even the same meeting place. Don turned sixty this year, and as well as continuing to teach, he volunteers his time to his local fire service, and plays in a folk group called the Bogaduck Bushband.

Don & I. Adelaide 09/10/2009

As regards the venue here - The Norwood - I have to say, for acoustics, it’s one of the most difficult venues I’ve ever played with Steeleye. I imagine for small, and purely acoustic acts it’s probably fine, but very challenging for the man on the desk with a full-on electric band like SS. 
The style of the venue is reminiscent of many town halls that you find in the UK - very square or rectangular, high ceilings, hard and shiny surfaces - perfect for bouncing sound waves right back at you. More and more these days you will now see large baffles and curtains placed in various strategic positions in many of these old buildings for the purpose of reducing their reflective and cavernous qualities.

Saturday 10th October. The National Theatre, Melbourne.

Travel: Flight Q.F. 862

Depart Adelaide: 11:40 a.m. Arrive Melbourne: 1:25 p.m.

Accommodation: The Cosmopolitan Hotel, Carlisle St, St Kilda.

Sunday 11th October. The Octagon, Perth.

Travel: Flight Q.F. 769

Depart Melbourne: 12:35 p.m. Arrive Perth: 1:45 p.m.

Accommodation: The Sheraton Hotel, Adelaide Terrace, Perth.

Last date for Steeleye here in Australia. I enjoyed the final show, after which we all went back to the hotel bar for one of those ‘glad that it’s done but sad that it’s over’ last few moments together.
Most will be UK bound tomorrow - all except Maddy and I.
After one more day with friends in Perth, Maddy heads to Darwin, and then to Bali.

The next episode of my own adventure is just about to begin - with a solo date here in Perth, and then another eight in the land of my Father: New Zealand.

The Best Laid Plans

Sunday 20th September. BB King's, Times Square, New York.
An early start. Kari said it was about three and a half hours from Boston to New York, so we got on the road at nine.
The idea was to arrive at 1 p.m. and then have a couple of hours acting as tourists; but as the saying goes, "The best laid plans of mice and men oft go awry". Once in New York, it took almost as long to get to the venue in Times Square as it had taken to reach the city it self from Boston. It was madness. I did get to spend almost an hour walking around, taking pictures and video of Times Square when the rest of the band were eating; it was the only chance I was going to get. And it was worth it. I’ve never witnessed anything like it - this shameless and massive exhibition of man’s desire for gain and pleasure.

The ‘take’ of one or two band members on the place was interesting when I talked about it later.
One said it was all about greed; I guess it is really, but in my view, greed is something that not only takes many different forms, but can also be interpreted differently. I couldn’t help feeling that this glowing show of capitalism was, more than anything, a testimony to the human spirit, not dissimilar to the way I feel when viewing, lets say, a cathedral or the stunning Renaissance architecture of Florence; it’s less about the actual form in front of me, and more about the wonderment of what drives man to such lengths.
Whether it be money or God, the unrelenting driving force of ‘belief’ itself is there for all behold.

There’s an almost industrial, conveyor belt-like approach to the way BB King’s is run; in the afternoon they staged a gospel production which meant we couldn’t load in and get the equipment onstage until the stage area was completely clear - with every artist and audience member all having left the venue. Yet, despite how it might appear a somewhat cold and impersonal way to run a music club, the staff at BBs were incredibly friendly and helpful. It was the only way a place like this could survive commercially, one of the staff explained.
And when it came to our show, we performed to an audience of around 380; I was told on very good authority it was an excellent crowd for the venue. Monday 21st September. Sellersville Theatre, Sellersville, Pennsylvania.

Picture book American neighbourhoods; this is the only way to describe the communities we passed through on our way to Sellersville. And probably the same should be said of Sellersville itself - a lovely town in which, yet again, we were made to feel so welcome. The theatre was intimate - probably about a 350 / 400 capacity, and it sat a few yards away from a restaurant, run, and possibly owned, I think by the same people.

I have the feeling that as far as entertainment is concerned, there isn’t a great deal going on in these parts, so the theatre looks like a good local focus for music and the arts, and a popular one too. After the sound check we were fed at the restaurant; the food and the choice of beers were both superb, and the too often committed sin of eating before a show was yet again a temptation unable to be declined on my part.







Richard Burgess, Ken and Pete Zorn.



Tuesday 22nd September. Radio - Live session at Sirius XM, Sirius DC.
Another early start, this time so we could get to Sirius DC by 11 a.m. for a show scheduled to be broadcast at 1 p.m. on which we perform a one hour live set. The station blew me away, with it’s ultra modern, state of the art studios.
I was shocked and surprised to discover just how well known some of my past work was with a number of the presenters and production staff here; it seems that the Albion band has some fans in these parts.

A real highlight of the day for me was meeting up with Richard Burgess. Richard was the drummer with Easy Street, the band that, along with Pete Marsh, I had back in the 70s.
Richard had a fair amount of success around that time also with his own band Landscape, having top ten hits with Einstein-A-Go-Go, and Norman Bates. He also made quite a name for himself as a producer, working with a number of successful bands during that so-called ‘romantic’ period of popular music back in the 80s, including Spandau Ballet.
Richard is now the Director of Marketing and Sales for Smithsonian Folkways Recordings, and Smithsonian Global Sound in Washington DC

Photo: Daniel Coston

Concert: The Birchmere, Alexandria, Virginia.

We didn’t even have time to check into the hotel before the gig, and if it wasn’t for the shower I took at the venue after the sound check I might have gone crazy.
The word ‘long’ would not even come close to describing how today - Tuesday the 22nd of September - felt, and ‘tired’ would not be an adequate way of conveying the condition of each band member by the end of tonight’s show.
‘Long’ it may have been, but more than anything else I would have to describe it as deeply rewarding.

Wednesday 23rd September. The Ark, Ann Arbor, Michigan.
Flight SWA777 took us from Baltimore-Washington airport to Detroit, taking off just after 11 a.m. and arriving at Detroit around 12:30 p.m.

Met with my good friend Gillian from Colorado. Gillian and I met back in nineteen eighty-something when we both worked for Rainbow Kitchen, a modest business in West Hollywood which every morning would supply sandwiches to the likes of us, and other young hopefuls trying to break into the music and film worlds, and we’d then go out selling them office to office around Los Angeles.
I was lousy at this, and found it all quite soul destroying. But, as they say, it’s all part of the great tapestry of life - and along with a considerable number of other very questionable scenarios, I do value what it has added to my own tapestry; I’m just bloody glad it’s over.

Great to see Gillian though.

The Ark is an intimate venue, possibly slightly too intimate for a folk / rock band like Steeleye. I only say this because of the close proximity of the people at the front by the stage.
The problem with this is that, even though to be seated at the front may seem like a choice position to be, there’s always the potential to hear too much of what’s coming directly off the stage, and not enough of that which is actually designed for the audience to hear, i.e. that which comes through the PA system. Consequently, they’ll hear too much drum kit, or electric guitar, for example; some will even be able to hear what’s coming through our stage monitors.
In this kind of room it’s often those people further away that are the ones with the smiles on their faces.
Saying that though, the place itself was fantastic. Cara Dillon and Sam Lakeman opened the evening, and they blew me away.

Thursday 24th September. Travel day.
Travelled the 250 miles from Ann Arbor to Chicago by road.

Checked in to the stylish Majestic Hotel on West Brompton - stylish maybe, but the rooms were just too hot, and the AC system was too noisy, so it was best to just run the fans on the ceilings. I can’t imagine what it like in mid-summer.

Ate out tonight at the superb Angelina Ristorante on North Broadway; very highly recommended.

Friday 25th September. The Old Town School, Chicago.
The Old Town School is a whole building, very community based, that is dedicated to one form of musical activity or another; there’s a lot here that pertains to the history and traditions of folk music. There’s all sorts going on here, including music tuition, and it even has its own music shop.

The concert went well. Maria Dunn from Canada opened the show for us.

During the day I found a music shop on N. Lincoln Avenue called the Chicago Music Exchange , actually it would be more accurately described purely as a guitar shop. The range of electric and acoustic guitars was staggering. I needed to buy a couple of jack to jack cables; one that I’d brought with me had given up the ghost, and so I’d been using one of Pete’s (Knight) for the last couple of shows.
If you like guitar shops, then this is for you. I asked where they kept all the cases, and was told that there’s an area beneath the shop - equally as large, and believe me, it’s large - where all the cases are stored.

Saturday 26th September. Travel day.
Quantas Airlines - Flight QF3106 Chicago to San Francisco
Dep: 17.10
Arr: 19:45
Flying time: 4:35 mins.

Said our the first round of good-byes at the hotel before setting out to O’Hare airport for the short first leg of our journey to Australia. The final good-byes and thank yous were as we parted company with she who had put the tour together, had shown considerable organisational skills, and had put up with the six of us (Brian included) for the last week - Kari. I had been impressed with her whole approach and demeanour. And she’s just a good person to be around.

On arrival at San Francisco decided to have a cappuccino; the choices of coffee outlets were limited, and I ended up in a bookstore that also appeared to have a little cafeteria section. A small Mexican looking lady then proceeded to create the worst cappuccino known to man. Be warned.

Quantas Airlines - Flight QF74 San Francisco to Sydney
Dep: 22:40
Arr: 06:20 Monday 28th September.
Flying time: 13:45 minutes

The longest continuous flight I’ve ever been on. Couldn’t get into the films, but did watch a few documentaries, one being about the Muhammad Ali, Joe Frasier - Thrilla in Manilla fight, and all that led up to it. I suppose on one hand it did disturb the hell out of me - but what a fantastic piece of drama.

Arriving at Sydney I got out my very infrequently used New Zealand passport, and glided through immigration. Next I helped gather the considerable amount of luggage and musical equipment we are carrying, then the final step was to be screened for whether I was carrying food, vegetables, plants, etc. For some reason they seem extremely rigourous down here about such things.
Now our bags were on a number of different trolleys, with the luggage on each one in no way corresponding with the person pushing it. On top of this, everyone had gone through this final checking process at slightly different times, and through different channels.
So, my turn arrived. The bags were placed on the conveyor belt. “Have you got any golf shoes in your luggage?”, the official asked. I said, “yes”, then I realised that someone else had already gone through with my case (I guess they are concerned about what foreign vegetation you might bring stuck to the bottom of your golf shoes).
“Can I see them?”, he asked. “Well, I don’t actually have them with me, in fact I don’t have my suitcase here”, I answered. I went onto explain that the band were randomly carrying each other’s luggage. “Where’s your case then?”. “Out there somewhere”, I said, “shall I go and find it?”.

He looked at me for a moment. “What’s your handicap?”, he asked. “Fourteen”, I replied. “OK, go on then”. . . “and enjoy your golf”, he said, and waved me through.

Once outside the airport, the band was met by Richard James, the tour promoter and manager here. We took a large taxi to Darling Harbour, and checked into the Southern Cross Suites.

Excess Baggage

Tuesday 15th September. Rehearsals, The Warehouse, Kennington, Oxford.

With no car of my own on the road, the only way I was going get all of my equipment down to Oxfordshire was to hire one. Thankfully, the Park Records office took care of this. Right on the dot of 9 a.m. this morning the door bell rang, and their stood Mister Hire-Car Man himself. He drove me to the depot, filled in all the paperwork, and showed me the ins and outs of the new Vauxhall Astra I’d be driving.

I’d been preparing myself and my luggage for quite some time leading up to this day. As from today I won’t be home for, well to be precise - two days short of two months, and between now and then there’s America, Australia and New Zealand. The day I arrive home is Sunday November 8th; on my return I’ll maybe get one, or if Im lucky, two days at home before heading back to Oxford once again in preparation for the winter tour.

So with all this time away, and the logistics of that to consider, what I take with me today - guitars, amps, cables, clothes, etc, has to be carefully thought through. Due to baggage restrictions, what’s going to the States with me on Friday is a scaled down version of what I’d want to take. Then I have to think about whether, with my car problems, I’ll need to take whatever equipment I’m going to use in November on the UK winter tour to Oxford now.
I’m not sure if it’s just me, but I find packing before I go away stressful at the best of times.

It was about 2:30 p.m. by the time I arrived at the Warehouse. The following three hours were spent brushing up on what we played during the Spring dates. Bass player Pete Zorn is back with us for the international gigs; Rick should be back in action on the winter tour.

Thursday 17th September. The Village Hall, Nettlebed, Oxforshire.
The usual warm-up gig. Well it is, this where we always seem to play after the two or three days of rehearsals that precede our tours. It’s certainly one of the larger folk clubs, and can’t recall it being any less than totally sold out whenever the band has played here.

The most unique feature of the venue is the ceiling above the stage; if you’re looking for a good onstage sound, then forget it. It has a concave recess to it that has the effect of eliminating any kind of definition between one instrument and the next - and between one voice and the next.
There’s some law of physics going on here, maybe along the same lines of the famous Whispering Gallery at St Paul’s Cathedral; it’s something I experienced before we even started the sound-check; I was standing stage left when I heard someone speaking, and it was as though they were literally standing right behind me talking into my ear. When I turned around I saw they were in fact positioned on the far side of the stage.
But when the band starts playing, all that pronounced clarity turns into a, well lets say a ‘soup’ of sound, making it impossible much of the time to pick out its individual elements. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve listened to various band members here complaining bitterly that they couldn’t hear their instrument or / and their voice. And of course they’re right - neither could I.

As far as I’m concerned all you can do, to save oneself from any grief, is to trust that out-front in the house it probably sounds just fine; you see, I’ve never witnessed an unhappy audience at Nettlebed, which says it all really.

Friday 18th September. Travel day. London - Boston.
Last nights accommodation was close to Heathrow airport. We made an early start this morning, reaching the airport not much later than 9 a.m.. I got to witness Terminal 5 for the first time - now with all its famous teething problems evidently well and truly in the past.

The flight, British Airways flight BA 213 took off a little later than its scheduled 11:25 time, but once in the air the journey was smooth going. We landed at Boston Logan International, Terminal 3 some seven hours later.

Kari is the tour manager here in the States - she met us at the airport, and we went about loading our considerable quantity of luggage and musical equipment into what appeared from the outside to be a very sizeable Ford touring bus; in fact, to fit everything into the bus, and then to have any room left for humans, involved not an inconsiderable degree of creativity and strategic thought.
This was a job for a drummer, our drummer - Liam, a man who, luckily, just can’t help but to take control in such situations. It seems to be a double sided scenario; a compulsion to both take control, and then to complain about how difficult it is. I have to admit though, it was a heavy job, lifting those cases in and out of what was a fifteen person vehicle, but with seats positioned in such a way that there wasn’t actually any official space for luggage, so all the cases had to be lifted and placed over, onto, and in between the seats - a process to be repeated a multitude of times during the following days.

We checked into the Somerville Holiday Inn, and that evening went out for Mexican food - something I’ve missed terribly since my days in California. I can hardly describe the pleasure; nachos, quesadillas, chili relleno and margaritas - fantastic.

Pete Zorn & Liam doing the organising.

Maddy filming me, filming her.

Saturday 19th September. Somerville Theatre, Somerville, Massachusetts.
Got the train to downtown Boston this afternoon; it wasn’t easy. On arriving at the closest station - Sullivan Square - I was faced with a number of ticket machines; I had no idea where exactly I was heading, and no idea how the machines worked. Oddly, there were no instructions as to how to how the machines worked, and more oddly, no maps of the train system at the station entrance. And there was one more blindingly missing crucial feature - someone who might be able to help me.

I was stood there with a ten dollar bill in my hand; looking at the machine; looking across towards the platforms; watching others confidently inserting money, hitting buttons, taking tickets and picking up change, and moving smoothly through the automated barriers - not one of them noticing my inanimate behaviour. What I had to do, I decided, was to, more-or-less, jump in front of one of these single-minded commuters as they are in full flow, and hope they take pity.

“I’d like to go to downtown Boston”, I asked a young woman. “Could you tell me which station I should get a ticket to?”. “Well, when I lived here”, she replied, “I’d go to . . .”, then she reeled off one station name after another. Eventually, it was decided I would go to Park Street. Great. I said thank you very much, and she walked away through the barrier and towards the trains.
So then I turned to the ticket machine once again - to buy my ticket to Park Street; shit, I’d forgotten to ask about the ticket machine!

The next victim was a young black guy, and very helpful. He took the money out of my hand, and a second or two later issued me with a ticket, my change, and the instruction to get a train on the Orange Line going ‘that’–pointing to the right–‘way’.

I enjoyed walking round Boston; I like it here. First thing I did was find a T-Mobile shop, and buy a sim card.
It’s important if you bring your phone to the US that: 1. Your phone is either a Tri-band or Quad-band phone (UK phones are largely Dual-band, and won’t work here); 2. That one buys an American sim card for the phone - so as to avoid paying hideous international roaming charges; 3. In order to use a different network, your phone will need to be unlocked.

So I got the card into my mobile, and sent a text with my new number to Carol. We have this deal at home in the UK where you can register the house phone with a special website - there are a few of them - the one we use is called 18185.co.uk. Once registered, what you do is dial 18185 before the number you’re calling; this cuts the cost of your calls dramatically. For Carol to phone me here in the States, on my mobile, the cost is 1p a minute.
I remember a time when it was more like £1.00 a minute.

It was time for a coffee now. I noticed in the bookstore Borders there was a coffee shop; it’s usually Starbucks at any Borders I’ve seen in the UK, here it’s Seattle’s Best Coffee; ‘it must be good then’. Ordered a large espresso machiato, drank it and worried about the rest of Seattle’s coffee.

Tonight’s show. The audience was amazing; so vocal; so expressive. They just don’t hold back here.

Under-Rehearsed & Over-Heated

Solo
Sunday 30th August. The Cumbria Guitar Show.
I’ve played every year at this guitar show for a decade now, and possibly a bit longer. It was seven years ago when Rick Kemp just happened to walk in during my set, an event that resulted in that historic landmark in the world of folk-rock, the merging of Steeleye Span with myself. Well, in our house it’s an historic landmark.

Just before the band’s 35th anniversary year, the band members were asked to each write a piece that would go into the program, or the brochure to be sold at all the concerts. I chose to tell the tale of that fateful day - it was a kind of ‘Sliding Doors’ scenario; a slice of serendipity. Here are some of the words I wrote …

I’m thinking back to August 25th 2002, a Sunday morning, and a day I been booked to perform at a guitar show in a place called Penrith, a town that sits about ninety miles north of Preston, where I live. I was feeling rather under-rehearsed, having not picked the guitar up for a few days, so I figured I should get some practice in before heading up the M6 motorway.
As I was getting more and more comfortable with my Fylde guitar, I was also getting less and less comfortable with the amount of time left to get to my gig. The agreed performance time was 1 p.m., and I was supposed to arrive forty five minutes before that.

You could say I’ve never been the most successful individual when it comes to arriving places on time - punctuality always appearing to be a most desirable attribute, and a most commendable one in those who achieve it. Today, yet again, the mould would not be broken.

Thankfully though, the organiser of the show was an understanding fellow, and gracefully he swapped my performance time with another artist’s, putting me on at 2 p.m.. So, that’s the time I eventually got up on stage and started my spot, during which, I recall thinking to myself that it was all going quite well and that the practice seemed to be paying off.

Anyway, unbeknown to me, and about halfway through my set, in walked bassist, Rick Kemp, and as they say - ‘the rest is history’.

That’s more or less how I ended up as a Steeleye Span member - something that may never have happened had I been more skilled as a time keeper.

Today’s visit to what is now called The Cumbria Guitar Show, again turned out to be a very eventful occasion, with the first event taking place a mile and a half from junction 40 on the M6, the Penrith turn-off.

On the way there, I could sense that there was something slightly different in the way the car was handling, and then when I put my foot down on the throttle, we started to lose power.
Instinctively, I looked down at the temperature gauge, and I knew we were in trouble.

Carol was travelling with me, along with our mutual friend Val. Carol and I had four nights in Scotland lined up, a mini holiday before I go travelling the world for the next few months. The plan was to play the guitar show (80 miles north of Preston), go on from there to Dumfries for the one night (Sunday), and then on Monday drive up to Ayr for the remaining three. Now we were sitting in a 1994 Toyota Previa on the hard shoulder of the motorway, and I was trying to work out what our next move should be.

The engine had died the moment the car came to a standstill, but once it cooled down a little I managed to get it re-started, and with hazard lights flashing we crawled along the hard shoulder to the turn-off. I parked up at a Little Chef on the A66, about one third of a mile from the Rheged Centre where the two day Bank Holiday weekend show was being staged.

After calling the AA I left Carol and Val with the car, while I set foot to find help; I needed to somehow get my equipment and guitars to the venue. I did find help - in the shape of someone called Simon who offered to drive me back to my car; the whole stretch of road from the venue back to the motorway was a dual carriageway with a central barrier running its entire length, which offered no opportunity for a U-turn. We’d have to go past my car, round the motorway roundabout, and come back on ourselves in order to reach the stricken vehicle.

I was due on at 1:30 p.m.; it was now about 1:25. OK, so we hit the roundabout; at this point Simon went into some kind of default mode - something inside him must of thought, ‘right, we’re going home now’, and he turned, automatically, onto the M6 - southbound. He realised almost instantly what he’d done, but unless we’d have wanted to have reversed the wrong way up a slip road–and ended up as stars of Police, Camera, Action–the only choice was to keep going.

It just so happens that the distance between next turning, junction 39 - the Shap turning, and the one that just led us onto the motorway - junction 40, is possibly the longest distance between two junctions I know of. It was now time to make my grand entry onto the stage, and I was travelling south on the M6 for the next ten minutes, before we could even turn back in the right direction.

It took some work to stay calm, I tell you, but stay calm is what I did. You have to be as pragmatic as you can be, there’s not really any choice if you want to make the best of a scenario like this - or at least if you want to limit the damage as much as is possible.

By the time we’d got to the car, picked up the guitars, and I was ready to launch into my set. it was close to 2 o’clock. It was good though, even if my head wasn’t all there and I’d not had an opportunity to warm up; I had plenty to talk about though when I was up there.

Carol didn’t get to see the show. She’d travelled with the breakdown truck back to Preston, where she dropped my car off outside the mechanics, picked up her own car, and drove back to Penrith. She arrived back at something like 7:30, and we proceeded–both considerably worn out–with our holiday plans.

Monday 31st August to Thursday 3rd September. Ayr, Scotland.
The calm before the storm; a time to relax and an attempted avoidance of any thought or anticipation of what’s to follow in the next few weeks.
First stop was Dumfries on the Sunday night (a late arrival after the car debacle), then on to Ayr the following day.

In Ayr we’d booked three nights in a hotel that in the pictures looked grand, elegant and stately - the pictures didn’t lie. The Name: The Belleisle Hotel. It sits in some spectacular grounds, much of which is the Belleisle golf course. The down side was that much of the hotel was not operational, as we had been led to believe from the advertising; due to the low number of guests the restaurant wasn’t open, and neither was the bar, although they would open it especially for you if you required it.
But it was quiet. And the staff were nothing less than brilliant.

I have to say, I can’t think of many other places I’ve been in the world where people are as downright pleasant and friendly as here in Ayr. I love this town.

On Tuesday we played golf on the Belleisle course, and on Wednesday played at one of the three Troon public courses. These public courses are quite pricey when compared to the equivalent in England, but I’d say they are maintained to a standard that justifies the price - in my opinion the greens are as good as the greens at Royal Lytham and St Annes, where I played just a couple of weeks earlier.