widg‧et /ˈwɪdʒɪt/ [wij-it] -noun: Pointless ramblings from the New Forest. Obviously complete & utter Rubbish. Why must I contibute to all this endless talk about me? My self-indulgent knees, spilling themselves all over the internet. Obviously i am Jon and his hair, I AM HIM!

Wednesday, December 20, 2006


The winter seems to following the pattern of last summer, gig-wise. With the Levellers out of the way it could only be the turn of Devonian fiddler Seth Lakeman to provide my evening's entertainment. Do not fret, meine kinder, though my musical & theatre-going horizons have been folkily narrow over the last twelve months; I have already booked tickets for Kristin Hersh and Torvill & Dean in the New Year. So There.

We nervously journeyed to the studenty wilds of Portswood with some apprehension last night. Apparently Mr. Lakeman launched his last album with a gig at his local Dartmoor Prison. I think that might have been a safer option than the evil Scumton Brook, who is hosting a sold out performance by Steven bloody Seagal and his band in February. This is the kind of place that it is. So There.

In actual fact once we got in, after a slight twenty minute detour to the nearest (not very near) pub (Talking Heads, worth it for the super-cloudy Hoegaarden), the venue was pretty groovy; woody & spaciously cramped. After a nice, but dull set by the support band, Seth and his band took the stage, including a drummer & bodhrán player that was the spitting image of a 60s Joni Mitchell (the 1960, not in her 60s). Mucho foot stomping ensued and many toes were squished under DM-heel. I was accused of being eyed up by Seth & his dancing eyebrows, and of embarrassing the cool-as-thighs bass player by incessantly (well, once) shouting "Go Benny!"

A reel-shaped encore rewarded the folking faithful with random dancing, but most of the crowd refused to even sway. Why go to a gig and just stand still? I had the same problem at an oldies filled Rufus gig a couple of years ago, they talked all the way through Joan As Policewoman's set and frowned on any movement during Mr. Wainwright's. Well, I have a solution; flail around in a fit of drinky spasms and shout a lot. That soon gets them moving, even if it's only a bit of edging away to create more flail room.

Once the music outside our minds had ended we retired upstairs for more drunky fun and to listen to the voices in our heads. It just so happened that Mr. Lakeman was also upstairs, groupie-baiting, but we were too chicken to get him to say "Lozenge soup" or to sign a set of breasts. We made do with the now traditional car ride home shoutalong. The evening finally ended with a showing of "The Best Clothed Shower Videos in the World... Ever". Though there were only two contenders, Etienne Daho and Seth Lakeman himself. Everyone then went their separate ways with only the lonely image of a soggy fiddler to comfort their frazzled souls.

Currently Listening: 12 Greatest Carols by The Butties


Blogger AlphIANo said...

Funny, I never saw you dancing at any of our gigs, in fact you were the very epitome of a statue. Sounds like a fun night tho, whilst I was sodding working. So there.

10:49 pm

Anonymous Anonymous said...


It's the power of the music that makes you sway..
Though if introspective, statuesque you'll stay..
So is it through art, design or chance..
That music makes you think or indeed makes you dance?

Love.. the anonymous blog blob

11:25 am

Blogger Jenniedee said...

Hooray for soggy fiddlers!
And also, hugely be-lated thanks for finally mentioning Kylie in your best albums thingy!

7:12 pm


Post a Comment

<< Home