Daze of whine and roses A LOOOOOONG final week report
Sorry for the lack of cuts. Technical reasons made it impractical this time around.
Saying goodbye to Pint and Dale at Samantha's
The Thursday before fair saw the departure of our dear friends, Pint and Dale for their home on the Far-Left Coast. They have been brightening the house of Paul and Janie for the past several months. You may remember them as the stand-out wonderful performers who brightened the Pyrate/Adventurers/Harley Davidson Weekend with a surprising and wonderful version of "Rolling Down To Old Maui". They are heroes to your humble PRs; and a constant source of inspiration.
Some of us sent them on their way by dining at Samantha's Restaurant in lower Silver Spring. It's the finest little Hispanic dining spot that your humble corespondent has had the pleasure to experience. It was a wonderful meal with wonderful people. I did what I could to pass on the remains of my illness to enrich their 2,600 mile drive home. Only time will tell if I was successful.
Let's go to the fair!
The weather gods that mocked us last weekend decided to have one final go at the hardworking denizens of Revel Grove. During cast call, Carolyn passed on the happy new forecast news that we could expect a few light showers in early afternoon, a chance of a thunderstorm around 4pm, but that the day would generally be pretty good. The cast cheered mightily.
Thus challenged, the laughing Sky Gods decided to send a monsoon our way. A dry set at the Globe and somewhat dank early afternoon sets progressed to an amazing gully-washer that intensified from 4 pm on. We needed scuba gear to do pubsing. Were it not for the dedicated umbrella holding of a volunteer patron, we would probably have drowned though the simple act of singing. Some patrons had to be restrained from joining in solidarity with the brave table-dancers. In my twenty years of performing at MDRF I have not seen weather as perverse as this year.
The downpour ended at nearly the same instant as the pubsing. The cannon fired (amazing in the high humidity), and the amassed drenched masses made their way to the front gate. In no time at all the parking lot again became a pit of viscosity, inertia and despair.
We held back and changed to warm dry street clothes...except for our boots. Soon enough cars had sunk in the mire that we could drive to firm ground over their roofs, oblivious to the muffled screams from below. I guess good things really do come to those who wait.
A small group of pyrates and friends made our way to the Lemon Grass Thai restaurant to meet Julianne and Richard, our Pittsburghian associates. It was a delightful meal punctuated by observations on les vie de les musicienne and our various loves. Speaking of punctuation, I was viciously attacked by a Thai chair, resulting in actual blood-loss. I've never been stabbed by a chair before. Next time I'll be on my guard.
Sunday was much better. The weather was beautiful throughout the day. We even did a few newish song that we had been trying out through the year.
Pub Sing was predictably huge. I was still a bit vocally trashed by the remains of the illness from the week before, so I didn't sing any leads. I just did guitar backup on Nicole's lovely interpretation of Dougey Mclean's “Caledonia”, John and Mary's “Who Knows Where The Time Goes”, and Darcy's “The Boatman”.
A Pyrate Swallows The Anchor
This final sing was made more melancholy by the secret we have been keeping for several months. Our friend and colleague Paul has decided to leave the band after performing with us for the past seven or so years. We gave him a gold watch profusely decorated with Mallards. Paul retires from active service to spend more time supporting the songwriting career of his sweetie, Janie. She is the author of "Twiddles", "You don't know Jack", and "The Brigantine"; all part of our regular song rotation. He sent himself off with a performance of our friend Bob Zentz's insightful "Horizons". It was a perfectly chosen ender for Drake's official run with the PRs.
A Cream-Filled Homage
The other celebrated departure noted at Pub Sing was the death last week of Comedian Cum Laude Soupy Sales. This man was one of the late Vaudeville greats who brought their well-honed cornball comedy skills to the early days of television. In so doing he, along with Hope, Berle, Burns, Allen, and a host of others, passed on those skills to the physical comedians of today. Thus it was with more respect than was probably apparent to the casual pub show observer that both Jack Rackham and the King took cream pies to the face during the Sunday presentation.
We were surprised by a stealth visit from Richard The Merry Minstrel as the pub lights went out!
Fin!
a bit of a rant
Drunken masses- why do they come to pubsing. Several friends have posted videos of the final pubsing show on Facebook. The single outstanding feature of the videos is the extraordinary din of the crowds. ***Now, I have frequently said that any singer who plays in a bar and expects to be treated with the respect of Carnegie Hall is a deluded fool. The White Hart is a bar, and people drink and talk loudly in bars.*** That being noted, I wonder how satisfying it can be to hear our show behind the level of chatter I've heard on those videos.
In the dim dark past of Revel Grove the pub sings started in a very organic way. Three performers, Linda Behr, Mike Waters, and Peter Benson began meeting in the first version of the White Hart after they were off duty in late afternoon. They sat about and exchanged songs and tunes for themselves while waiting for the day to end and parking lots to empty. Their meetings recalled an earlier time when minstrels would do much the same thing for the simple love of music. The audience was each other, not fair patrons. Over time, other performers and a few patrons began joining them to share in this gentle exchange. At some point the gathering became codified into an official event. Those folks who were there because they just wanted to be eventually began to be required to be there. the bigger pub sings became one of "the" places to be to end your fair day. In the ensuing years the authentic folk music being traded for its own sake has gradually been moved aside in favor of mostly loud smashy flashy songs and gags to catch the ears of the now grossly swollen drunk masses of the final weekends. Don't get me wrong. I love the performers who join us on stage. But it must be admitted that little remains of the original feel of the gathering at the end of day.
Several times this years performers have had to politely ask groups of patrons standing along the wall near the stage to shut the fuck up because they were drunkenly yelling at each other from a few feet apart so loudly that THEY WERE BEING PICKED UP BY THE STAGE MICS OR MAKING IT DIFFICULT FOR THE PERFORMERS TO HEAR THEMSELVES!!! Generally they complied, and sometimes even apologized.
Is the real problem that pubsing has grown out of its surroundings? I have no solution. All that I can hope is that, when the plans are made for the White Hart in whatever location MDRF settles on, that a lot of input is allowed from performers, to try to improve the experience for those who want to hear the shows.
The Silent Service
Linda, Mer and Hemloche, the unsung heroes of our camp, once again provided exemplary service . Without their tireless work, Moldy Cove would be much less fun and tasty. Plus Linda provides much needed muscle to keep the riff-raff from getting in or out of the camp gate. Yay, Team!
Barber-qued Victuals.
I have not properly sung the praises of the mysteriously tasty meat which ThatthereLiarandEnemyofTheHonestWorkingManDiego has been regularly bringing to Moldy Cove over many of the weeks of fair. Even though the origins of said delicious delicately smoked flesh have been difficult to determine; whatever they were in life, they died for a good cause. He has tipped us that they are from the supplier of "the best meat pies in all London", so that's good enough for me. In any case we are thankful for his extensive efforts.
The fans keep on giving!
We were given Syphilis, Gonorrhea, and Ebola during the fair in the form of cute plush microbes. They are soooo cute.
I also got an extra pyrate ball on the final weekend. It’s bouncy!
The worst kept secret in Revel Grove this year is that I seem to have acquired a shiny new girlfriend. I refuse to consider what combination of her bad choices and my extraordinary good luck has caused this change. We share shockingly similar tastes in music. I am deeply grateful for her companionship, beauty, and love. In celebration of her Swedish heritage, she also introduced me to shopping at IKEA. How could you not love this woman???
All I know for sure is that I’ve been told by several people that I am now considered a hero to middle-aged men everywhere. I’ve started designing the costume already. There will be no cape.
Over the past several days we have been removing gear from the Pyrate Petting Zoo (AKA Moldy Cove). All food and drink is now out of reach of the natural inhabitants, even the skinks. Most notably Britannia has been removed from the wall and placed in a secure undisclosed location until her skills are needed next year. The tent walls might or might not last another season. We’ll be continuing this process and preparing for the trek to the Carolina fair in a couple of weeks.
Thanks for all your support this year.
Saying goodbye to Pint and Dale at Samantha's
The Thursday before fair saw the departure of our dear friends, Pint and Dale for their home on the Far-Left Coast. They have been brightening the house of Paul and Janie for the past several months. You may remember them as the stand-out wonderful performers who brightened the Pyrate/Adventurers/Harley Davidson Weekend with a surprising and wonderful version of "Rolling Down To Old Maui". They are heroes to your humble PRs; and a constant source of inspiration.
Some of us sent them on their way by dining at Samantha's Restaurant in lower Silver Spring. It's the finest little Hispanic dining spot that your humble corespondent has had the pleasure to experience. It was a wonderful meal with wonderful people. I did what I could to pass on the remains of my illness to enrich their 2,600 mile drive home. Only time will tell if I was successful.
Let's go to the fair!
The weather gods that mocked us last weekend decided to have one final go at the hardworking denizens of Revel Grove. During cast call, Carolyn passed on the happy new forecast news that we could expect a few light showers in early afternoon, a chance of a thunderstorm around 4pm, but that the day would generally be pretty good. The cast cheered mightily.
Thus challenged, the laughing Sky Gods decided to send a monsoon our way. A dry set at the Globe and somewhat dank early afternoon sets progressed to an amazing gully-washer that intensified from 4 pm on. We needed scuba gear to do pubsing. Were it not for the dedicated umbrella holding of a volunteer patron, we would probably have drowned though the simple act of singing. Some patrons had to be restrained from joining in solidarity with the brave table-dancers. In my twenty years of performing at MDRF I have not seen weather as perverse as this year.
The downpour ended at nearly the same instant as the pubsing. The cannon fired (amazing in the high humidity), and the amassed drenched masses made their way to the front gate. In no time at all the parking lot again became a pit of viscosity, inertia and despair.
We held back and changed to warm dry street clothes...except for our boots. Soon enough cars had sunk in the mire that we could drive to firm ground over their roofs, oblivious to the muffled screams from below. I guess good things really do come to those who wait.
A small group of pyrates and friends made our way to the Lemon Grass Thai restaurant to meet Julianne and Richard, our Pittsburghian associates. It was a delightful meal punctuated by observations on les vie de les musicienne and our various loves. Speaking of punctuation, I was viciously attacked by a Thai chair, resulting in actual blood-loss. I've never been stabbed by a chair before. Next time I'll be on my guard.
Sunday was much better. The weather was beautiful throughout the day. We even did a few newish song that we had been trying out through the year.
Pub Sing was predictably huge. I was still a bit vocally trashed by the remains of the illness from the week before, so I didn't sing any leads. I just did guitar backup on Nicole's lovely interpretation of Dougey Mclean's “Caledonia”, John and Mary's “Who Knows Where The Time Goes”, and Darcy's “The Boatman”.
A Pyrate Swallows The Anchor
This final sing was made more melancholy by the secret we have been keeping for several months. Our friend and colleague Paul has decided to leave the band after performing with us for the past seven or so years. We gave him a gold watch profusely decorated with Mallards. Paul retires from active service to spend more time supporting the songwriting career of his sweetie, Janie. She is the author of "Twiddles", "You don't know Jack", and "The Brigantine"; all part of our regular song rotation. He sent himself off with a performance of our friend Bob Zentz's insightful "Horizons". It was a perfectly chosen ender for Drake's official run with the PRs.
A Cream-Filled Homage
The other celebrated departure noted at Pub Sing was the death last week of Comedian Cum Laude Soupy Sales. This man was one of the late Vaudeville greats who brought their well-honed cornball comedy skills to the early days of television. In so doing he, along with Hope, Berle, Burns, Allen, and a host of others, passed on those skills to the physical comedians of today. Thus it was with more respect than was probably apparent to the casual pub show observer that both Jack Rackham and the King took cream pies to the face during the Sunday presentation.
We were surprised by a stealth visit from Richard The Merry Minstrel as the pub lights went out!
Fin!
a bit of a rant
Drunken masses- why do they come to pubsing. Several friends have posted videos of the final pubsing show on Facebook. The single outstanding feature of the videos is the extraordinary din of the crowds. ***Now, I have frequently said that any singer who plays in a bar and expects to be treated with the respect of Carnegie Hall is a deluded fool. The White Hart is a bar, and people drink and talk loudly in bars.*** That being noted, I wonder how satisfying it can be to hear our show behind the level of chatter I've heard on those videos.
In the dim dark past of Revel Grove the pub sings started in a very organic way. Three performers, Linda Behr, Mike Waters, and Peter Benson began meeting in the first version of the White Hart after they were off duty in late afternoon. They sat about and exchanged songs and tunes for themselves while waiting for the day to end and parking lots to empty. Their meetings recalled an earlier time when minstrels would do much the same thing for the simple love of music. The audience was each other, not fair patrons. Over time, other performers and a few patrons began joining them to share in this gentle exchange. At some point the gathering became codified into an official event. Those folks who were there because they just wanted to be eventually began to be required to be there. the bigger pub sings became one of "the" places to be to end your fair day. In the ensuing years the authentic folk music being traded for its own sake has gradually been moved aside in favor of mostly loud smashy flashy songs and gags to catch the ears of the now grossly swollen drunk masses of the final weekends. Don't get me wrong. I love the performers who join us on stage. But it must be admitted that little remains of the original feel of the gathering at the end of day.
Several times this years performers have had to politely ask groups of patrons standing along the wall near the stage to shut the fuck up because they were drunkenly yelling at each other from a few feet apart so loudly that THEY WERE BEING PICKED UP BY THE STAGE MICS OR MAKING IT DIFFICULT FOR THE PERFORMERS TO HEAR THEMSELVES!!! Generally they complied, and sometimes even apologized.
Is the real problem that pubsing has grown out of its surroundings? I have no solution. All that I can hope is that, when the plans are made for the White Hart in whatever location MDRF settles on, that a lot of input is allowed from performers, to try to improve the experience for those who want to hear the shows.
The Silent Service
Linda, Mer and Hemloche, the unsung heroes of our camp, once again provided exemplary service . Without their tireless work, Moldy Cove would be much less fun and tasty. Plus Linda provides much needed muscle to keep the riff-raff from getting in or out of the camp gate. Yay, Team!
Barber-qued Victuals.
I have not properly sung the praises of the mysteriously tasty meat which ThatthereLiarandEnemyofTheHonestWorkingManDiego has been regularly bringing to Moldy Cove over many of the weeks of fair. Even though the origins of said delicious delicately smoked flesh have been difficult to determine; whatever they were in life, they died for a good cause. He has tipped us that they are from the supplier of "the best meat pies in all London", so that's good enough for me. In any case we are thankful for his extensive efforts.
The fans keep on giving!
We were given Syphilis, Gonorrhea, and Ebola during the fair in the form of cute plush microbes. They are soooo cute.
I also got an extra pyrate ball on the final weekend. It’s bouncy!
The worst kept secret in Revel Grove this year is that I seem to have acquired a shiny new girlfriend. I refuse to consider what combination of her bad choices and my extraordinary good luck has caused this change. We share shockingly similar tastes in music. I am deeply grateful for her companionship, beauty, and love. In celebration of her Swedish heritage, she also introduced me to shopping at IKEA. How could you not love this woman???
All I know for sure is that I’ve been told by several people that I am now considered a hero to middle-aged men everywhere. I’ve started designing the costume already. There will be no cape.
Over the past several days we have been removing gear from the Pyrate Petting Zoo (AKA Moldy Cove). All food and drink is now out of reach of the natural inhabitants, even the skinks. Most notably Britannia has been removed from the wall and placed in a secure undisclosed location until her skills are needed next year. The tent walls might or might not last another season. We’ll be continuing this process and preparing for the trek to the Carolina fair in a couple of weeks.
Thanks for all your support this year.