IIn the spring of 2019, the band I’m in 12 months break From live performances. A year later, when the pandemic broke out, we were preparing for a small tour. Our vacation suddenly turned into two years. We played one of the socially distant gigs in December, but the other was canceled after the restrictions were re-imposed.
All spring 2021 gigs have been postponed, some of which have been postponed twice. I was rehearsing the Black Deer Festival in June, but I heard that it will not be held for the second consecutive year.
The gig at the Grayshott Folk Club went much the same, but the organizers decided to save it. You will have to return a lot of tickets to secure a new venue. Also, with a 45-minute cleaning break, the two shows should be played in succession to exactly 46 spectators each time. But at least that was happening.
Waiting behind the scenes in advance makes me incredibly nervous. My hands are shaking. The banjo hanging around the neck seems to weigh 1 ton, and the clothes have become very tight since I last wore it. Playing twice in the trot gives you a unique opportunity to analyze. I changed the order of the sets a bit to see which version was better. There’s a lot to remember, but when I’m in front of the first cohort at 6:45 pm, I’m more worried about talking than playing.
I had barely faced an audience for 27 months, and I forgot what it was like to talk to them directly. Pausing to readjust the banjo between the 3rd and 4th songs will bring the expected tranquility into the room. When you lean against the microphone, your mouth feels dry and your tongue feels big.
“That’s it,” I finally say. “I think it’s a good time to announce that we’re leaving the band.” The disappointed “awww” undulates from the back to the front of the room. I nod terribly.
“Yes,” I say. “My right-wing tweets are as important to me as I like to play with these guys.”
This is what I think: Mumford & Sons banjo player sly and buzz reference Recently departed in the wake of a minor social media scandal..
The audience thinks as follows. A sincere declaration of my intention to leave the group and a new commitment to continue posting my beloved right-wing tweets. The following embarrassing silence reveals that many of them think I have made the right decision.
“Maybe we shouldn’t do Manford for the next show,” says the accordionist during the break.
“Why?” I say I know exactly why it isn’t.
“I don’t know if any of them were taken up in the reference,” he says. Looking back at the gig before Christmas, Choose to wear your second favorite cardigan on stage.. After all, only about half of the audience heard about Cardi B in the first place. But half is still above zero.
“I can make it work,” I tell the accordionist.
“But can you?” He says.
“Look at me,” I say. “I go out on that stage and beat this joke to death, like a little baby seal.”
That’s exactly what I’m doing. When that moment arrives, the second cohort is just as embarrassed and saddened by my shocking revelation. But in their silence, they seem willing to rethink me to abandon my fashionable stupid politics for the band.
I stop and explain jokes, take a closer look at the relevant news stories in the background, and blame them all for keeping up with the current folk music event.
“By the way, the first audience thought it was cheerful,” I say. “They were really on the ball.”
Early the next morning, my wife called from Devon and asked how the gig went. I tell her.
“What about right-wing tweets?” She says.
“I wasn’t sending right-wing tweets,” I say.
“Why do you want them to think you did?” She says.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “please do not worry.”
Tim Dowling: I tell the audience that I’m leaving – they won’t joking | Life and Style
Source link Tim Dowling: I tell the audience that I’m leaving – they won’t joking | Life and Style