I have written before about how the Kimberley Sessions is one of, if not my favourite gig to attend, and after the December edition it was nice to be able to enjoy it from a comfortable vantage point rather than from the stage. For the December show, Bill Kerry III and I both thought it would be a good idea for me to read A Christmas Carol in between the bands, we were wrong. The bit in between acts is for talking even louder than you do when the acts are playing, going to the bar and going outside for a cigarette. Not one person paid any attention so things fell apart a bit. I missed an entire chapter too as I found out the news that Pete Shelley had passed away so I coerced Bainy and James (aka Salisbury and Bain and half of Blue Vulture) to perform an impromptu tribute. Also as the last two acts were Selfish Gaiden and Frankie Vacuum, and before them Deke Hardman, I decided to rush through the end of the story and make it as offensive and sweary as possible which at least got a few laughs. For good measure I joined Frankie Vacuum onstage for a tasteful rendition of Gary Glitter's song 'Another Rock 'n' Roll Christmas'. 

January however was back to normal and a strong line up to kick off the new year with a high bar already set. What made this a special one was that all the acts stayed on and came together for a jam session at the end, something that isn't always possible but on this occasion it worked. Martin Gallimore kicked it off, someone I want for The Random Sessions, and making their debut, I seem to remember having a hand in suggesting them, Malin Hill. They went down really well I am glad to report, especially as the line up was folk leaning, this is my friend Gary's project (formerly of Prefontaine, a band I supported heavily on radio which of course led to their inevitable demise) and will no doubt go far. Borderland Folk were another new to me band, although it is made up of Martin Carey from King of Rome, Misk Hills Mountain Rambler III and Terry Faulkner, thus keeping in with the Kimberley rule that you have to be in more than one band. Again I want these for The Random Sessions and we discussed a way of making a special episode to promote an album they have made with others of traditional mining songs. 

After such a strong start to the year of Kimberley Sessions, I can't wait to see what they have in store for February. 

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I have written before about how one of my favourite regular gigs is the Kimberley Sessions that takes place in the Nelson and Railway pub. Usually on the first Thursday of the month, on this occasion it was moved to Sunday and extended time-wise to make for a perfect Sunday afternoon into the late evening, finishing at nine o'clock. The event was billed as Kings of Kimberley, featuring a line-up of musicians that come from or live in the area. 

As I arrived, Bainy was playing a solo covers set before being joined by James Salisbury (I have mentioned this double act before), who in turn did a solo set. All but one of the acts I had seen before and the day seemed a little more relaxed than the usual Thursday night affair, possibly due to the long weekend element. With today being Bank Holiday Monday (or Sunday +1 as the cool kids call it) there was none of the concern of having a late night before work, so to be honest it could have gone on until later but the nine o'clock finishing time also seemed so perfect. 

My suggestion to Bainy and Bill that this should be always on a Sunday but this was thrown straight out. 

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Yesterday was the first Thursday of the month so I was once again ensconced in the cosy surroundings of the Nelson and Railway in Kimberly. I am going to try for a full sweep and go to every one this year if I can in the hope that I might win a prize. This means that I will have to remember not to get booked for a Dickens show on the 6th of December. Last night, and I can't quite remember how this conversation started - not because I was drunk but I just forget, we discussed the idea of leaving the pub after the December gig and getting a plane to Las Vegas but I can't imagine that happening. For the first time in ages I actually turned up on time which was good because George Gadd was opening. The fact that he was opening, combined with the fact that he did the gig in the first place was something that a lot of Nottingham musicians should take notes about. A lot of musicians that are way below him on the ladder (including George's ex-girlfriend) would consider a pub gig in the sticks to be beneath them, obviously these are the ones who will never break out of the city's glass walled environs towards bigger and better things. George has sold out Bodega and played massive shows far and wide yet he was still available to appear bottom of the bill at a pub gig for about forty people. You have to respect him for that.

Another person on the bill was Richard Jenkins, who I obviously asked to make an episode of The Random Sessions (aside from the beer and the company, this is what I go to this event for) and Paris Alexander (pictured) who has come on in leaps and bounds since we filmed an episode last summer so I want to get her in the studio (upstairs room at the Hop Merchant) again as soon as possible. Megan was also there who has expressed an interested in returning for a second episode as she has developed immensely since starting out only a couple of years ago when a mutual friend sent me a video of a nervous performer playing an open mic night. This is a lovely knock-on of making these videos with a mixture of established artists and relative unknowns. 

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Last night was the first Kimberley Sessions of the year and my first since November as I was away doing A Christmas Carol last month. The night is now under the stewardship of Roger Kerry (aka Bill Kerry III) who has kept the standards up and the year got off to a fine start. I arrived earlier than usual but still missed the very beginning (stupid buses) act, a duo called Beaty and The Badger (above). While they were a charming act with a good line in old jokes, they were nothing amazing but got everyone in the mood with a handsome selection of covers, some better known than others. Not that I am knocking a band for doing covers as pub gigs can sometimes be an intrusion and if a table of indifferent drinkers hears something they know it can get them onside. The Nelson and Railway is a long pub and the music is situated at the end so those who are there for it tend to gravitate in that side, leaving those who are there just for the pub-ness can get on with it and thankfully not drift their conversations into the music. (Have I mentioned...)

Talking of pub covers, at November's show Bainy (friend and former radio colleague who leads the quite good band Blue Vulture) showcased a side project called Salisbury and Bain, who did a covers set that I was rather impressed with (not that I would tell him, the idiot*) including a grand version of 'The Man Who Sold the World' by David Bowie.

As usual I had one eye on The Random Sessions, which is where I first encountered (but shied away from talking to) Claire L Shaw who has already filmed an episode and I met Ben Smith, a talented young singer who I was previously acquainted with on Facebook. We got talking and he is up for filming his own episode which is cool, we also talked about a shark who calls himself a promoter and is gradually being seen for the money grabbing cunt that he is. It would be wrong to name and shame him on this blog that's read by literally dozens of people, so I won't mention Ian Russell of Scorpio Promotions and advise any musician to keep the hell away from the grasping greedy shithouse who ripped a 21 year old woman off to the tune of £300 when acting as her manager. 

The other singer on the bill was Cookie, someone I have heard of but can't remember having seen before, although I recognise him enough to know that I have. It was probably at the Kimberley Sessions on another occasion. Anyway, his set, great as it was, was marred by a distraction that myself and Roger/Bill became pre-occupied by. Cookie had a cup of tea with him and was three songs in before he removed the tea bag. I like a strong cuppa but three songs is pushing your luck a bit, he also kept drinking it throughout so surely he missed the optimum temperature window. You have to admire people who are willing to suffer for their art.

*Banter

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The first Thursday of the month is when The Kimberly Sessions takes place and having missed the January gig I wanted to make the trip up last night but was scuppered thanks to the ineptitude of Nottingham's bus company Trent Barton. I always try and avoid Trent Barton if I can, but they are the only service that goes that way. Thanks to the fact that Nottingham Council once again paid someone cash under the table to set fire to a building in Canning Circus, traffic was all to bollocks. While I was waiting for the bus, three buses went past all declaring the message that they were not in service. If a bus isn't in service there is no reason for it to be on the road, if it is on the road and going that way anyway, there is no excuse for not stopping. I was in text contact with Bainy, who organises the show, who at one point told me that the second of four acts had just started. The journey was not going to be worth it so I gave up and went home. Having vented my disgust at Trent Barton's shoddy approach to running a service, I was prepared to have a night in. 

My night was saved thanks to checking Facebook and seeing that Frankie Vacuum was going to be performing in town so I put my shoes back on and left the house. Although I thought I would miss the beginning of Frank's set I have failed to take into account the fact that the show was in Hockley, therefore running times mean very little and I was able to have a few drinks with him beforehand. The show was a bit of a mish-mash of musicians, a comedian who didn't go down too well, someone who appeared to be reading a shopping list for all the sense I could make of his set and Frank, who went down well thanks to his on stage persona grabbing attention straight away and commanding the audience to listen. 

The Angel is a venue that needs to do something about the talking during live performance. I have an idea for a system similar to the old Pub Watch in which if someone gets barred for bad behaviour from one pub, they are barred from all of the pubs involved in the scheme. Nottingham needs for all of the music venues to work together to crack down on this appalling disrespect for the artist and show that they mean business by taking a zero tolerance approach, perhaps employing people to eject offenders from the premises, by force if necessary. Given the attitude of one of the bar staff, a stroppy little fucker with small man syndrome who had overdosed on the arsehole tablets, I am surprised he wasn't more pro-active in shutting the customers up. If he took it as seriously as he did the chalked up rule about not standing in a specific area of the bar he could be running a tight ship where you can hear the artists. 

I'm not a fan of The Angel any more since it underwent the dreaded R word, but thankfully it still sells some proper beer. After the night I had been through the last thing I wanted was to have to drink some wanky avocado and banana organic wheat free vegan craft ale. 

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 This week's edition of The Sunday Alternative is here. 

The first edition of The Random Sessions Podcast is available here.

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Once again I went to the Kimberley Sessions last night to see The Girl and The Stone (I'm grateful to Will Jefferey for the lift to Kimberley) mainly but also Jasmin Issaka (who I only properly met for the first time last night and asked her if she would record a Random Sessions), and Jonny Olley. George Gadd was booked to play but had to pull out due to illness and shamefully I can't remember who replaced him. 

This is turning into one of my favourite gigs to attend as there's none of the shit that can happen in the city centre. Although you do have to put up with a certain amount of talking, the atmosphere is friendly and welcoming and although you're only up the road from the heaving metropolis you could be in a country pub deep in the moors. 

One the way home, (I had a lift from Jonny Olley with Jasmin in the car too) I threw out a casual comment about how much I enjoy live music and said that if I had to choose between getting rid of my records/CDs/tapes or never going to a gig again I would choose gigs. There would also be more room in my house of course. It is an interesting choice to have to make, and fortunately not one that I have to make in real life because if someone knocked on my door to remove my music collection I would murder him/her and bury their remains in the park over the road where I take Jack. However, given the choice for me it would be live music all the way. I posted this hypothetical question on Facebook when I got home and received a handful of comments, none of which really answered my question if I'm honest.

It's a question you could take to all kinds of extremes I suppose, would you not have a kitchen in your house if you could eat out for every meal? Maybe you would need a small kitchen for making hot drinks. Would you get rid of your television to be able to go to the theatre or cinema every evening? 

Would you stop reading my blog if the opportunity to do something far more interesting came along? I fucking would. 

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 This week's edition of The Sunday Alternative is here. 

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I haven't had a lot of luck with my stomach since I started taking anti-depressants in January, in fact I could barely leave the house in the first week as they worked their way into my system. Until then I had got a lot better with my habits, time was that I couldn't eat and go straight outside. For about the last two months I have been (possibly dangerously) self-medicating by taking one diarrhoea preventative tablet every morning, just to solid things up a bit and stop even the shortest walk becoming test of muscle strength. As a result of this I have had the opposite problem, and carried around an understandably bloated feeling. On the upside, I would rather be bloated and uncomfortable than be scared to cough with too much velocity lest I shit myself. While I have been taking these tablets I have slowly learned to trust a fart again, although I am sure that the young ladies who work the till at Savers have some unflattering arse-gravy related nickname for me. My morning trip to said shop entails buying four cans of cheap energy drink, Ibuprofen (although mildly addicted they do help with persistent back and shoulder pain), and a weekly packet of diarrhoea tablets - do I look like I know how to party or what? When I think back to my youthful recreational drug use when I could function on a joint before getting out of bed and take enough speed to stay awake all weekend I wonder when I got old. Nowadays I can't drink chamomile tea after six o'clock in the evening if I have plans for the next day.

Anyway, I had come to realise that self-medication isn't the wisest and safest way to deal with a problem so stopped taking them and for the last two days have suffered no ill effects despite my worries. I have been struggling to unload as a result of the tablets possibly still being in my system, along with almost everything I have eaten for the past few weeks. I realise that this isn't the nicest blog I have ever written and apologise if you are eating while reading.

Last night I went to the Kimberley Sessions, a regular live music night hosted by my friend Bainy whose idea it was (with others) to create a scene outside of the bright lights of the city. It is always a great night in a friendly atmosphere and leads to discoveries of new singers with some more established acts thrown in. Cibele opened the show and Satnam's Tash headlined. As far a new discoveries were concerned, a new discovery to me at least, a young singer called Paige did a covers set (it is a pub after all and it got the crowd on side with some well known favourites) and had the most amazing voice I have heard for ages. 

I drank three pints of a real ale I can't remember the name of (so it must have been good eh? Only kidding, I wasn't drunk) and the middle one tasted as if the barrel was about to go off. As I had just negotiated my way back to my seat and the next act was starting I simply couldn't be arsed going back to complain and just put up with it. The third pint was back to normal so I gather my prediction that the barrel needed changing was correct. I didn't want to be one of those real ale pricks who pick fault with every little part of a pint and it was too busy to give the bar staff any hassle. People often say that we should bring back National Service but I have a better idea, everyone should do at least a year working behind the bar to teach a bit of respect. I used to quite enjoy pub work and fortunately was quite good at dealing with a certain type of customer, let's call them 'cunts', who treated bar staff as the lowest form of life. Even now I always take my glass back to the bar and don't do any of the annoying behaviours; asking for Guinness last, ordering your round in stages, taking too long to pay, waving money. If everyone did a year of bar work then society as a whole would be far more polite.

Talking of the traditional real ale pillock, one pub I worked in sold a regular ale and several revolving cask beers. The regular beer was in a bigger barrel that hardly needed changing because the drip trays used to be emptied into it. One customer used to drink this beer despite constantly picking fault. One day the unthinkable happened and we had to change the barrel. I cleaned the line and connected the new barrel, knowing that there was nothing this old bugger could complain about as he was about to drink pure IPA as the brewery intended it to taste, pulled through a clean line. He took one sip, pulled a face and declared "I'm not drinking that shit" and left, never to enter the pub again. 

Maybe it was a result of my less than quality pint, but the first cigarette I smoked this morning provoked a feeling in my stomach that seemed to kick everything into gear. Thankfully Mandi had left the house for work as I didn't even have time to shut the bathroom door behind me before having the most undignified unloading I have had in ages. I felt as light as a feather afterwards. 

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 This week's edition of The Sunday Alternative is here. (Bank Holiday Special)

The latest episode of The Random Saturday Sessions is here.

Thank you in advance for donating using the PayPal button at the top of this page. It all goes towards creating podcasts, sketches, documentaries, films and more, all of which I will make available for free in return for your generosity.