tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-84330521789760618932024-03-05T15:55:30.831-08:00Band BlogCWMBandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09537194649251127708noreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8433052178976061893.post-44531329065245729332019-10-26T03:43:00.000-07:002019-10-26T03:43:01.636-07:00Venue Hit List<div class="p1" style="font-size: 22px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 3px;">
<span style="font-size: 17px;">Here are a few venues on my personal hit list for this band to play:</span></div>
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<span class="s2">Antarctica- Metallica have paved the way into the snowy mass at the bottom of the world and I feel it’s only right that we join them as a fellow Antarctic playing band. Definitely looking forward to a positive response from the penguins down there.</span></div>
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<span class="s2">CWM- the Welsh village bearing the same iconic, brilliant name is always going to be an aim for us to play. Such a powerful, pretty place, one day we will make the journey to see you.</span><br />
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<span class="s2">A Boat- I think that would be pretty cool. It doesn’t have to be a big boat either, I feel it would be even more impressive if we each played in a little dinghy, really test John and Rob's balance.</span></div>
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<span class="s2">A Bowling Alley- copying the White Stripes this time, but it would certainly be quite nice to have a game while playing a show.</span><br />
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<span class="s2">A Beach- this shouldn’t be insanely difficult or weird as beach shows happen semi regularly. I just feel breathing in that sea breeze while drumming would make for a pleasurable experience.</span></div>
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<span class="s2">Outer Mongolia- like Antarctica this would be quite a secluded gig, but that’s quite appealing really. There would just be us playing to the empty plains, completely peaceful and I’m sure the various wildlife would be thrilled to hear us play.</span></div>
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<span class="s2">The Colosseum- as an Ancient History playing in some sort of ancient ruin would be epic and what could be better than this particular ruin? Ample, multi-teared seating with no roof open to the elements and excellent acoustics. It may be slightly tricky to do but would definitely be worth having a pop at.</span></div>
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<span class="s2">The Melting Ice in Greenland- I feel like most of us keep ignoring the poor melting ice, so it may be nice to play it one or two sad songs. To let it know that we are here for it during it’s difficult time.</span><br />
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<span class="s2">For some Elephants- a crowd of elephants would be a wonderful thing us. As one of the most intelligent animals in the world that can also appreciate music, it would certainly be useful to get some feedback and see if we truly are an inter-species reaching band.</span><br />
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<span class="s2">In my Bedroom- for a day when I just can’t be arsed with the commute to a gig.</span><br />
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CWMBandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09537194649251127708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8433052178976061893.post-12690009414994817632019-05-26T12:04:00.000-07:002019-05-26T12:04:29.985-07:00Why I love hitting things with sticks?It seems to me that drums is the obvious choice when deciding on which instrument to pick up. Why? I mean, they are noisy, which can instantly alienate me from every neighbour I'm ever going to meet. Plus, they're bulky and take up my entire bedroom, as well as plenty of space elsewhere in my house... and they can cost a bit too.<br />
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In spite of all this though drums will always be my favourite instrument to play, as they are the funnest instrument out of the lot. Well the funnest that I've tried, but I can hazard a guess that there wouldn't be any other instruments that I prefer, were I to try every single one out there (even a banjo). However, it's difficult for me to say why I know this, what makes drums so fun.<br />
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It may be because deep down I'm a psychopath that just wants to hit something and the drums bear the brunt of my rage, relieving stress in the process. There isn't really another instrument that you get to hit in the same manner as the drums, of all the percussion instruments the drums can definitely be played with the most energy.<br />
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It's doubtful that this is the main reason why the drums are so fun though. I could just put a punching bag up and get rid of stress while whaling on that instead, it would probably be more effective. No, I think its to do with the rhythm and finding the beat which makes drums fun. Why does playing in time to a beat feel so good? No idea. Some people would probably say it's to do with an animalistic or spiritual or evolutionary need that drives the brain to release dopamine when finding a rhythm. I don't think it really matters. All we know is that playing a beat is a great way to spend your time, so I shall continue to do so.CWMBandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09537194649251127708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8433052178976061893.post-21492366463957662982019-04-20T14:00:00.002-07:002019-04-20T14:00:26.067-07:00The Elusive BassistLooking for a bassist can be hard work. It feels like searching for a needle in a haystack, while the needle is trying to get away, constantly slipping out of reach. So, while completing this difficult search it seems appropriate to put a blog post out there advertising how great it is to be a bassist, so more people become bassists and make it easier to find them.<br />
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From what I've heard (not from experience) bass is pretty easy to pick up but difficult to master. This means that it won't take long for you to be able to play with a band and gain all the obviously amazing perks that come with that. However, you'll also be able to keep challenging yourself into the future and master your craft.</div>
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Plus, you will automatically become the coolest person in the band. Everyone knows that while the other band members are flailing around on stage, the bassist automatically gets to look calm, cool and groovy.<br />
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Also off stage, the laid back nature of the bass will naturally help you become a calmer and cooler person, kind of like eating ten snickers every minute of every day but without the debilitating health problems.</div>
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Another great positive of the bass is that you will be working close with your drummer, fuelling a unique bond with them. As drummers are super awesome this will inevitably have a much needed positive impact on your life, probably filling a vacuous void that has existed for so long you forgot it was even there.<br />
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Bass can also be a great starting point to write a song and as the bassist you shall be well placed to create a sweet bass-line that can blossom into a brilliant song. </div>
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Bass solos- nothing more needs to be said.</div>
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In addition to all this there are always bands looking for good bassists, so you'll have plenty to pick from.<br />
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So what are you waiting for? Pick up a bass and start playing, so annoying people like me can poach you for our bands.<br />
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CWMBandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09537194649251127708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8433052178976061893.post-76313508496290375942019-01-02T12:44:00.003-08:002019-01-02T12:44:24.221-08:00CWM?A question that has plagued me since the birth of this band is: CWM, what does that stand for? Now being a member of this band, you would think I would be aware of what CWM stands for, however that secret was kept from me for reasons... I'm unaware of. All I can do is guess, wonder to myself at the possible great secret 3 letters possess.<br />
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Hmm words.. words that fit the letters.. Cows With Milk may seem like a stupid name for a band, but when I think about how great milk is, it makes some sort of sense. On the other hand Crazy Wild Men makes a lot more sense when considering who makes up this band. Cars With Motors takes into account Rob's deep, deep fondness for all things Formula One. The rest of us aren't as bothered but we're general fans of cars, as long as they get our gear to practice. Carriages Wheel Monsters is completely bizarre but I am quite fond of the image it creates. Would a bizarre name suit us? Compasses Won't Marry takes the bizzareness up a notch, yet it has the ring of truth to it. Caged White Manatees takes a step away from the bizarre to animal cruelty. I'm not sure why I considered that. Could We Maybe? could be referring to all sorts of things, though the mind likes to assume sex. Come With Me is similar. Couldn't Win Monopoly is far too real and relatable for me to face being the name of the band, but maybe that's why it should be. Maybe not though as this name would just be plain false for John... the bastard. Classes Went Missing is possibly too dark, but Class Went Missing works better as a commentary on our lack of style or respect for the class system. Courageous Without Merit works well as some nice juxtaposition while remaining unclear what it is actually talking about...<br />
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Overall, I feel like I could run through possible names of CWM all day and have a weird amount of fun doing so. However, by the end I still wouldn't be able to find a name that perfectly beats any other I could come up with to represent this band. Maybe it doesn't need a definite answer.<br />
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<br />CWMBandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09537194649251127708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8433052178976061893.post-77671242223695423322019-01-02T12:44:00.002-08:002019-01-02T12:44:15.449-08:00Police, Thieves and Merchants Chapter 7: Chumps Will Murder<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Jen and Lae were running
among a series of chaotic scenes as the village they had lived and
worked in was torn apart around them. There wasn't much time to waste
taking in all that was happening beyond the random details their
brains decided to pick out. The smell of smoke filled their nostrils
as they crawled behind burning wreckage; the glint of an arrowhead as
it speared past to go thudding into a cherished neighbour's ribs. The
cries and screams that burst through the chilly evening air, now
warmed in places by the blazing fires bursting forth from the former
homes, emphasized tenfold whenever it was from someone they
recognized. Their aim was simple, get to the trees. Trees reduced the
visibility of their attackers and were far enough from the village to
be encompassed by the attack. Unfortunately, as they groped forward
blindly through the smoke, walking into Briax, Throx and any others
still surviving – they couldn't see any treetops beyond the thick,
grey haze now enveloping the settlement. Every now and then there
hearts would freeze as a figure strutted out of the smoke dressed in
the dark clothing signature to the attacking band. They were usually
armed with a knife or bow and arrow and would attack a trailing
member of the diminishing group. They were following a crying young
woman who had also escaped from the pub moaning tearfully to herself
as she felt forwards towards the tree-line behind the pub, which had
to be close by now. As she lunched forward a dark clothed silhouette
materialised in front of her. He was coughing from the smoke and was
caught off guard by the young woman ramming head-first into him,
tipping his scrawny body over easily. Nevertheless, he demonstrated
amazing reflexes in his ability to jump back from the floor and
gather the girl into a grip around the neck with a knife at her
throat. She cried out in terror as he turned to disappear into the
smoke. A bottle smashed against his face causing glass to lodge
itself in his eyes, mouth and nostrils igniting a bawling scream from
his mouth as he loosened his hold on the girl. A purple garbed man
strode heroically from the smoke as Lae and Jen reached the scene. He
picked up the woman, who had rolled back onto the floor, as she
breathed heavily- still in shock from the incident. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Come on now you're nearly
there,” he reassured her in an easy-going soothing voice as he
helped her find her feet and continue.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Cax!” Briax exclaimed,
appearing with Throx behind Jen and Lae.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Keep moving,” Cax replied
with a grim expression. “We won't all make it through this.” Soon
several others dressed similarly to Throx and Briax stepped in beside
them, herding the motley group onwards hopefully towards the forest.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">They trudged forwards eyes and
ears hyper aware of the sounds around them, shoulders hunched as if
to make them less visible. It was only a dozen more paces before Cax
swore as a thin line of the attackers emerged from the misty smoke
blocking their advance, grinning and leering over their new-found
prey. Some held weapons, mainly knives and axes with a couple of bows
among the throng. The two bows were trained on the miserable group
huddled together standing splattered in mud and blood with smoke
curling around them, threatening to take even the air from their
lungs.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">You'll never get away with
this,” Cax spoke his eyes brimming with fury as they stung from the
exposure to the smoke, staring hard at the thieves gathered before
them.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Oh I think we will
merchant,” a large, thick-set bald man sneered pushing through to
face Lae, a small boy piggy-backing on his back. “We know what you
hide in these villages, what you keep from the cities residing far
away. With enough wine we'll be able to set ourselves up as merchants
like you and give ourselves.. a fresh start.” A resigned look
passed over his face as he looked back at the boy hanging on tightly
to his back.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Jen was incredulous at these
words and spoke thunderously in spite of her despairing state.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">You've done all this..”
she gestured around her at the ruined village, the screams and the
smoke with the flicker of fire glimmering through. “For wine?!”
She shook with rage and it was evident that the rest of the group
were feeling it too as well as confusion from the words of the thief.
The bald thief's mouth twitched in annoyance.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">You wouldn't understand..
and why are they still alive?” he yelled louder, turning to his
comrades. As he finished his sentence the bows thrummed taking one
villager in the throat and hitting Xa in the side. He collapsed onto
the floor blood oozing from the wound as Briax let out a screaming
challenge to the thieves now closing in. Before they reached the
group though a scruffily dressed man came punching and shoving his
way through the villagers, now dispersing into the smoke.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Oi!” he yelled, pointing
at the bald man. “You look like Crass, are you Crass?”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The remaining merchants looked
at him bewildered as the thieves paused, confusion written across
their face, allowing several villagers to run and find another way
out. A few still remained with the merchants however, including a
young woman now with a look of joy and worry on her face.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Fal? What are you doing?”
she questioned in an astonished voice.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">How do you know who I am
stranger,” Crass called in a brass tone indicating for the thieves
around him to hold. A few on the outskirts of the gang broke away
anyway to gleefully chase any remaining villagers, cause relative
havoc and most importantly loot anything valuable still remaining in
the settlement.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Baxter says he wants you,
says he's found a massive stash in the pub right..” he whirled
around arm flailing out, clearly confused by the wall of smoke and
shocked faces that greeted him.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">There... no... there!” he
finished proudly pointing into the smoke, the outline of the pub he
had clearly come from still barely visible.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">He says Greg's band is
trying to steal it all, says you better hurry.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">A look of greed, twisted with
annoyance and tinged with doubt wrapped around Crass' face. The
thieves surrounding him were muttering among themselves, clearly
discontented at the prospect of losing such a prize. A few on the end
had already started edging away from the group towards the direction
Fal had pointed in, clearly wanting to get some sort of head start on
the rest of them without Crass noticing. Crass didn't take long to
come to a decision.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Let's get what we came
for,” he snarled. “With me!” He charged through the villagers,
trampling on Xa's leg as he passed as the gang galloped forward. The
remaining survivors among the group shrank back from them as they
passed but the sense of urgency among the thieves was massive. In a
few seconds there was merely harmless open space to the front of the
bewildered survivors.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Run!” Briax yelled out
suddenly, and the dozen or so survivors pelted forward coughing and
spluttering out of the grey smoke and into the refreshingly green
trees, keen to get away from the panic and violence they were leaving
behind.</span></div>
<br />CWMBandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09537194649251127708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8433052178976061893.post-45118118938878227722018-11-11T02:28:00.000-08:002018-11-11T02:30:10.411-08:00How to make a band-mate happy<br />
<pre class="western"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">Just to be clear the word "band-mate" refers to the idea of "mate" as in a buddy or
friend not as in a sexual act where we're trying to conceive a child.
1. Hug them. At least once a week, or every time you see them if not once a week.
Not only does this express affection for band-mates it also gives you the chance
of winning the prestigious annual CWM band hug awards, of which the current champions
are CWM. (Send in pictures of band hugs to the email at the bottom of the screen
to have a chance of winning).
2. If they literally only eat chips, only lightly make fun of that. They have their
own crazy reasons for not liking certain foods and it's not our business to judge,
or mock, or create blog posts that point it out so the world can see. However, light
teasing is more than appropriate.
3. If they have a beard, respect the beard area. Imagine there is a force field
around the beard preventing you from getting too close without permission.
4. If they play bass, act like it's a proper instrument. No matter what.
5. If they ask you to turn it down, do so. Then turn the amp back up when no-one is watching.
This way everyone thinks they're getting what they want.
6. If they play drums, act like they're a normal, proper human. No matter what.
7. Play in time.
8. Own some sort of vehicle.
9. Actually read the band WhatsApp group.
10. If after asking them to turn their amp down, they then secretly turn it up,
only hate them secretly.
11. If they say your instrument isn't a proper instrument, try not to punch them.
12. Bring snacks to Band Practice.
13. Don't live somewhere inconvenient.
14. Make fun of each other whenever possible. This way you will keep each others
ego's crushed.
15. If they're a guitarist, pretend they are as good as they say they are. No matter what.
16. Tell them when they've improved in some way.
17. If they're a singer, pretend the crowd love them. No matter what.
18. Get used to being in close quarters with each other. For the smaller,
sweatier stages.
19. If someone else asks you to join another band, rudely tell them no.
20. Learn how to play your instrument.</span></pre>
<br />CWMBandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09537194649251127708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8433052178976061893.post-7977816279958883002018-09-30T05:43:00.000-07:002018-09-30T05:43:13.545-07:00What the Fuck is Our Genre?<span style="font-family: inherit;">One of the greatest mysteries in CWM is around the question: "What the fuck is our genre?" I mean</span><div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">in a time of multiple sub genres of sub genres, simply replying with "Rock Music", may not be specific enough an answer to that question. However, I find myself struggling to come up with an answer other than that.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Everyone knows that google gives the answer to everything, so a quick peruse of google gives many exciting sub genres of Rock Music: Latin Rock, Shock Rock, Space Rock, Swamp Rock or Cock Rock. However, while many of these genres sound bizarre (particularly Cock Rock) we unfortunately don't appear to fit in any of them. Instead, some of the more well known sub genres seem to be a closer fit: Hard Rock, Alternative Rock or Punk Rock in particular.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Looking at these three more common sub genres closer can give an idea of how well our band will fit in them. Hard Rock seems to have a focus on a lot of older bands with the likes of Queen, Led Zeppelin and AC//DC falling under the genre. I can definitely hear influence from these bands in our music as well as some of the aggression in tone required to fit in with this genre. However, this doesn't appear to be very consistent throughout all our songs.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Punk Rock has had a massive influence on each of our musical interests, which can be clearly heard on songs like Icebreaker. Yet once gain we manage to stray away from songs typical for this sub genre, particularly as the length of our songs are longer than typical punk songs and neither are they as fast. Our tendencies to follow the hard rock aggressive style prevents us from fully committing to the punk rock archetype. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So now I'm driven towards Alternative Rock, a sub genre which a lot of bands seem to be shoved into without anyone fully understanding why. The main definition of alternative rock is that an alternative band will produce music distinct from mainstream rock; or it could also mean music heavily influenced by punk rock; or it could be underground rock artists receiving mainstream recognition. So basically, any underground rock band that currently exists and plays original music could probably fit into this sub genre. So it's not an effective sub genre as it doesn't give a band a distinct sense of identity from other Rock music.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So there we are, drifting in the middle of a few genres of rock music but not really with one we fully commit too. To be fair, I don't think that really matters- bands tend to hate being categorised as one genre or another anyway. Besides, there are more important questions to be asked- like what the fuck is Cock Rock?</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
CWMBandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09537194649251127708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8433052178976061893.post-76292946929574929922018-08-31T06:27:00.002-07:002018-08-31T06:27:31.893-07:00Awesome Abums: Sleater-Kinney, Dig Me Out<br />
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
When the opening
track of Sleater – Kinney's dig me out blasts out I'm instantly
hooked in by the teasing guitar riff overlaying the bouncing drum
beat. It then proceeds to refuse to let me go for 36 minutes of the
album's duration. Some songs are stronger than others but the
combination of tantalising guitar work, bouncy drumbeats and rough
vocals manages to hold me throughout.
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
There's a variety of
songs on offer. The album begins with a series of catchy tracks of
which my personal favourite is the opener “Dig Me Out”. This run
ends with the powerful “Heart Factory” where the band slows the
pace down a little. “Buy Her Candy” provides a softer moment in
the album while “Jenny” gives a climatic finish.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Quick Summary:</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“One More Hour”,
I don't know why but I feel this is the perfect song to wake up to.
Maybe due too the bleary guitar overlaying the verse which contrasts
brilliantly with the catchy chorus.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Turn it On”,
once again the guitar draws me in and gets me nodding my head. When
the drums kick in the chorus I have to start moving to the music. The
bridge then finishes the build up of activity by getting me singing
along to the vocals. A fun and catchy song.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“The Drama You've
Been Craving” keeps this dancing up through the relentless drumming
and the forceful, snappy vocals as they take turns singing. Meanwhile
the intricate guitar keeps the song interesting as it dances around
the determined pace. Personally I find this one a great song to run
to, it really builds up the energy levels well.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Heart Factory”
slows down the pace with a quiet verse and powerful chorus. For me
the dark guitar on the verse is the highlight of this song, giving me
something enjoyable to just sit and listen to as it plays out.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Words and Guitar”
is full of catchy chorus' which demand the listener to jump around
mixing with beautiful, eclectic verses which would be perfect to
listen to lying in the grass of a sunny park. This deep contrast in
the song works well and is followed by another high energy piece
“It's Enough”. At less than 2 minutes long the energy doesn't
stop or slow down but keeps rising throughout. A perfect song go nuts
to and yell out the simple, repeated chorus at a show.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Little Babies”
slows down the pace once again. I wouldn't say this is one of the
strongest songs on the record for me but the vocals on the chorus are
catchy and the drums keep an excellent beat, so it is still enjoyable
to listen to. “Not What You Want” hits the accelerator harder,
the vocals on the verses in particular display the chaotic energy of
the song as if on the verge of losing control . “Buy Her Candy”
takes the foot of the accelerator again and brings forth a
wonderfully sweet song by relying on the guitar and vocals for the
brunt of the music. This adds to the rawness of the emotion of the
love song and creates a nice quieter moment in the album for the
listener to catch their breath.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“Things You Say”
demonstrate more of what this album does incredibly well as the
intricate guitar guides me through a quietly, powerful emotive song,
flowing beautifully with the vocals and drums. “Dance Song 97”
uses dynamics well to keep building itself up behind some excellent
guitar riff-age before finishing quietly. This manages to add to the
impact of the song and solidifies it as a gentler note on the album.
“Jenny” wraps up the album and clocking in at over four minutes
is the longest song available. The chorus is cathartic and mixing
this with the slow tempo makes it a suitable and powerful finisher.
It releases the listener while also giving them something to think
about on their way out.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
The album definitely
worth checking out if you wanna hear catchy punk songs that also
knows how to mix giving the listener an intricate and raw experience
effectively, so if your intrigued give em a listen!</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
CWMBandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09537194649251127708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8433052178976061893.post-58818543226973471862018-08-31T06:21:00.001-07:002018-08-31T06:21:10.486-07:00Police, Thieves and Merchants: Chapter 6, Coming With Malice<br />
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Cax looked blearily around him
at the village settling down for the night. The police women had
seemed professional enough, though the thought kept nagging at him at
what the two of them could really hope to find against a band of
thieves easily able to de-materialise into the wilderness. A smith
quietly cleared up his tools as dusk settled around him. The sound of
merry laughter came from his right as two boys and three girls played
together, their father keeping a watchful eye on them as he creaked
back in a rickety chair, a pipe cheerily smoking away in his mouth.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">I wonder if he has a
spare?” Cax thought before deciding against joining. Children could
be really annoying at times. Instead he reluctantly turned back into
the inn where his belligerent travelling companions were sipping
wine, minus one or two.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Briax was finishing
helping the smith collect up her tools. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">You don't have to help me
you know Briax?” She was in her late twenties, with brown hair
curled down to her shoulders and a thick-set build at medium height.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Well you did so well with
the cart today I had to return the favour,” he replied easing his
face into a smile.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Usually people go to the
wood experts when they need something like that doing,” she
commented eyes focused on lifting the tools back onto their hooks.
Briax had seen just such a person: an old, large man sat dozing
outside his carpentry workplace. He remembered pausing to notice how
the whiskers nuzzled under carpenter's nose had lifted with each
snore, then moved on to find someone much more.. interesting to help.
</span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Yes.. well I guess I'm not
aware of the local professions.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Yet unable to read the word
smithy on the front of my door?” A quirky, quizzical yet amused
smile flitting across her face.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Precisely, I was in such a
rush I had no time for reading Miss..? Or is it Mrs?” Briax asked
while leaning forward to inspect the underside of a hammer as if it
held great interest to him.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">It's Jen, like I've already
told you.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">But is it Miss Jen or Mrs?”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">I think those tools are
just about done, what was that you said about a drink after all this
hard work?” Jen said while glancing at the diminishing sunlight out
of the window, as if confirming with herself that it was time for
such things.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Briax paused his inspection
and looked up. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Oh yes, the only place I
know around here is the inn we're staying at though and that's full
of morons.” He added a sly smile on his lips.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Didn't you say you were the
only travellers staying there tonight?”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Yes, did you have any other
ideas?”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">She turned to usher him out of
the door so she could lock up saying,</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Woodsworth doesn't have
that many places like that to go to, but there's one or two I can
think of.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The pub was a short walk
from the smithy, right at the edge of the village with the trees from
the forest rising up behind it. A significant amount of loud, rowdy
voices could be heard as they approached, broken up by the occasional
crash and slap. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">What's that?” Briax
asked.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Sounds like a tussle,”
affirmed Jen as the door burst open in front of them. A large
muscular womann came hurtling through, long limbs flailing and a
scream of outrage spurting from her lips. Throx stood in the doorway,
triumph outlined on his facial expression and body language.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Before Briax could react
the woman was hammering into Throx's belly. Throx, proud at never
being one to back down easily, managed to roll them both onto the
floor where they lay grappling with each other.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Lae stop it!” Jen called
out aghast, trying to position herself close enough to the tumbling,
whirling pile of limbs in order to prise them apart. Lae looked up
momentarily and locked eyes with Jen, before clocking Throx around
the head and picking herself up. She easily towered above them all
once she had gotten herself upright. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Enough tough guy, looks
like the local smithy wants a drink.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">That's right” Jen stated,
“and I'd appreciate not having to walk over a rolling pair of asses
to do so,” smiling in spite of her words.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">What were you doing?” she
asked.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Fighting.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">I mean why?”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">She said this village had
the finest wine for over a hundred miles!” Throx cut in
indignantly. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">I had to correct her.. and
then she decided to throw me a punch.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">You were asking for it,”
Lae growled.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">That's what they all say.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">You were literally asking
for it, demanding I put my fist where my mouth was – so I did,”
Lae confirmed in her rough voice smiling smugly.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">There was a slight pause as
Briax and Jen exchanged a brief confused look.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Yer.. I guess you did,”
Throx said wiping the back of his hand across his forehead before
barking out a laugh.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Let's go inside,” Jen
said looking at Briax.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Very good,” Throx
interrupted. “I still have plenty of beer left.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">I didn't mean..”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">I can show you all a thing
or two about drinking. Oh Briax I didn't know you were here!” Throx
bellowed, noticing Briax for the first time.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Briax wasn't paying
attention to Throx. His eyes were distant, glued to the rear of the
inn where several shadows had begun emerging from the tree-line. The
movement rippled and formed into a large body of people appearing as
if from nowhere in the low, dusk sun glinting indiscriminately off
knives or arrowheads glistening threateningly from within the mass. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Get inside,” Briax
hissed as the others looked around at the first thrum of a bowstring
and screams piercing the cooling evening air.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The four of them bundled
inside the drinking establishment, a small crowd of people at various
stages of drunkenness turning to stare. Most weren't aware at all of
the commotion manifesting itself outside, though worry had dawned on
the face of a few. Lae quickly grabbed the block to lock the door and
Jen helped her place it on.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Shut the shutters!”
Briax yelled all attention in the establishment now firmly placed on
their little group. Throx began helping him shut the exterior light
out with very little help from the people within.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">What's going on?” the
bartender called loudly and firmly, clearly sober enough to be aware
this wasn't simply a case of drunken shenanigans in the wake of the
growing commotion outside. The rest of the crowd were either
muttering among themselves or carried on drinking. In addition, a
couple were demanding Lae to let them out and none were helping shut
the windows. Jen turned to answer the questioning bar staff as a
crash resonated around the building. A fist protruded from one of the
windows on the far side of the room encased in a deathly black glove
far from Throx or Briax's efforts. This initiated a flurry of
activity around the pub as the majority of occupants reacted to the
threat. One such was a short, squat, round man who flung himself
forward to fight off the ferocious fist forcing it's way further into
the room. He managed to throw the huge, emerging arm back through the
window upon impact only to meet instant retribution for his efforts
in the form of an arrow buzzing into his chest from the open window.
He fell to the floor to begin an everlasting habit of laying down
still. The screams that now could be heard from outside now echoed
inside the pub as panic spread at the sight of the dead defender.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Those shutters won't hold
for long,” someone shouted desperately as Briax finally managed to
finish off the work of the dead man and lock up the final window.
Banging immediately spewed forth from several of the windows on the
far side of the bar, indicating where the intruders efforts were
directed. A keen wailing had begun distinct from the loud kerfuffle,
identifying the wife or girlfriend of the dead man as his body was
unceremoniously dragged to the centre of the room by Throx. This was
to make way for the table and chairs being brought forth by several
of the occupants to form a barricade across the windows as the heavy
shutters already began to splinter and wither under the pressure. Lae
searched around the rest of the pub, mind desperately pleading with
herself that the attackers were looking for a simple, rapid raid and
would soon grow tired and give up on the barricaded public house. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">The back door!” the
bartender suddenly exclaimed sharply to her left. “It goes into the
kitchens and I bet the lock won't hold much against that determined
assault,” he continued nodding towards the cacophony of noise at
the rear of the main hall. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Lae followed by Jen,
sprinted into the kitchens through the door adjacent to the bar. She
was met by the sight of a bedraggled youth dressed as a cook and
using what strength he had left to hold the door while simultaneously
calling for help. The door splintered behind him as an axe came
charging through the wooden architecture to lodge itself deep in his
back. The body underneath the axe went limp and Lae spun around
gasping in shock and fear. Jen allowed a brief scream and Lae yelled
at her to run as she pulled her back towards the bar. They crashed
into the bartender and a couple of women who were rushing to their
aid.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">This place is breached”
Lae gasped at them as she struggled back onto her feet.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">We need to get out of
here.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Back near the main entrance a
few drinking buddies had come to the same conclusion. The front door
remained relatively undisturbed beyond the occasional knock. Two
young men were shouting at anyone who would listen to get ready to
run as they positioned themselves next to the locking bar. Briax and
Throx were helping increase the barricade at the rear of the bar.
Their efforts were increasingly becoming fruitless as the attackers
had managed to get hold of several axes and were chopping their way
through the wreckage that greeted them through the windows. A young
woman from the pro-escape party was trying to convince a third drunk
man to put down his drink and come.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Come on Fal let's go, we
need to go” she fearfully pleaded dragging at his arm.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Fal looked at her with a
vacant, confused expression before replying</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">We've got plenty of drink
left! Come and join me Kat and we'll blow this place apart!”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">We can do that later but
now we need to go..”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Why later, we've got to
live in the moment.” He pointed his bony, accusing finger at her,
“you never live in the moment Kat. You need to relax!”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">For the last time, we're
being attacked!” Kat pleaded, attempting to drag him with all her
might towards the door. Fal turned around and glared at the
barricade. The defenders were all abandoning their efforts and
fleeing for the front door as splinters flicked out from the shaking
furniture defences, emphasised by the deafening, crunching crashes
gaining in volume with each one. Fal looked back at Kat, suddenly
serious.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Attack of the tables and
chairs Kat, I told you this day was coming! You never listen.” The
bar was hurled from the front door and the crowd of people clawing to
get outside burst through into the uncertain wilderness their village
had become. Kat kept trying to drag at Fal but he refused to budge.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Look Kat, I've got
reinforcements! Fuck those chairs.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Kat moaned in defeat as she
looked where Fal was indicating before leaving him to his his fate
and running for the doors as the menacing figures came bursting into
the main bar from the kitchens. Kat was allowed to escape as the
thieves focused on salvaging what they could from the bar.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Alright lads,” Fal called
out in far too casual a tone for his situation. He took a sip from
his drink and nodded back to the crunching furniture behind him. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">What are we gonna do about
this eh? If you've come for a drink hold on a sec as we've got a
situation on our hands.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Unnoticed by Fal the attackers
were negotiating round the dismantled and destroyed furniture,
finally victorious in their weary attack against the pub. The
expressions on their faces were cold when they realised they had been
beaten by the assailants currently rummaging around the bar. The
thieves circled through the bar as if hunting for the most appealing
dinner in a pack of prey. Some were hurling some of the dry coloured
bottles behind the bar into packs that each of them carried.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Wine!” a hairy, short
sure-footed man called out triumphantly as he released several
bottles from their cabinet prison below the bar. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Share it out,” exclaimed
a tall thief kicking away a troublesome chair that refused to
untangle itself from his legs paving their way through the obstacles.
Fal spun round.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Your not a chair?” he
shouted in drunken wonderment a look of dazed confusion on his face
as the newcomers passed him towards the bar.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Shut it!” one of them
yelled at him as he passed. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">How much of it is there
back there?” a thief leaning against the bar called. Her wiry frame
seemed to be leaning forward in greedy anticipation yet poised for a
fight at the same time. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">One bottle.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">We'll take it then.” One
of the tall thieves coming out of the wreckage calmly stated as he
walked around to stand off in front of the bar, his comrades backing
him up on either side. A quiet chill fell on the room as the thieves
from the kitchen all moved to position themselves between him and the
bottle.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Why would we allow that?”
the woman leaning back against the bar replied coolly.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">There's more of us than you
and you don't want us to knock all four of you out for one bottle of
wine do you?” came the swift, confident reply from a thief casually
sat on a table to the right of Fal, casually flicking his knife into
the air as a malevolent grin spread across his face. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Perhaps, but once we get
outside we have enough friends to tear it right back out of your
potentially dead hands,” the thief leaning at the bar said
pointedly her body exuding confidence.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">You don't know that..”
the knife wielder affirmed, whipping the knife up into the air once
more with a grim smile as he met her gaze. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">You guys like wine?” Fal
questioned from the centre of the stand-off, still enjoying his drink
while just about keeping up with the conversation.“Why don't you
check out the best wine for 1000 miles? Unlike what that fool
thought..”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">We've got it here you crazy
drunk,” one of the thieves sat on top of the bar retorted.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">That stuff's nothing
compared to some of the selection in the cellar,” Fal managed to
reply slurring his words as he took another drink. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">A silent thief who had been
glaring out of the door suddenly turned around as the men and women
in the room exchanged glances. His face was unshaven and hair and
clothing wild and messy, his boots muffled against the floor as he
carefully stepped forward to Fal's table. The other thieves watched
him expectantly as he spoke softly.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Take us to the cellar.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Where's your manners?!”
Fal interrupted, poking him in the chest. “I offer you the chance
to drink the finest wine I know of and you can't even say please?”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The thief paused for a second
and then smiled slowly.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">I'm sorry,” he spoke with
precision. “Please.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Right!” Fal shouted,
getting up. “Let's get you that wine then.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Fal led the thieves back
towards the kitchens to a little crevice to the right of the bar
where a trapdoor resided, hidden from view.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Gents,” he declared
proudly rotating on the spot to face them after lifting the door
open. “Ladies, you are going to love this.”</span></div>
<br />CWMBandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09537194649251127708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8433052178976061893.post-34131732350097149482018-07-29T10:02:00.000-07:002018-07-29T11:51:19.213-07:00Tom's Top 10 StagesMr bassist has always kept a keen eye out looking for his next favourite stage. His enthusiasm and detail-oriented approach has made him somewhat of an expert on what makes a top stage to play on or spectate a band. Here is his top 10 list for best stages in the world:<br />
<br />
<b><i>10th</i> </b><i><b>"There is a house in New Orleans, they call the rising sun and it's been the ruins of many a poor boy and god I know I'm one."</b></i><br />
A popular song lyric but the house also contains a popular stage for Tom.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEINRM9mZd9zakwoRJelnkTtGeh9yHP_8abUokuI3CLztNG2m6JrJ9XmU2kp8zXgPZhXxGX3M4vXCkgTZ3DYa1PKQyiAh1MGcWcm3IawSiKYG_rMWGVpkMaipEABZ6uaVHAeyIwFO0380/s1600/no10neworleanshouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1280" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEINRM9mZd9zakwoRJelnkTtGeh9yHP_8abUokuI3CLztNG2m6JrJ9XmU2kp8zXgPZhXxGX3M4vXCkgTZ3DYa1PKQyiAh1MGcWcm3IawSiKYG_rMWGVpkMaipEABZ6uaVHAeyIwFO0380/s320/no10neworleanshouse.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><i>9th "Eckington Civic Centre around 8/9/10 years ago."</i></b><br />
Here Tom appears to be thinking of the first stag he played on live... many bands ago.<br />
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<b><i>8th "Within the Deep French Southern Forest there is a Tavern tucked away</i></b><br />
<b><i>behind Le Sutassia (mountain) and it's called the H3D."</i></b><br />
It's not surprising a tavern made this list as Tom does love a good tavern, always drinking his ale and mead there before slaying a dragon.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvUYIOnkhODh2_8pVrmBzck8LHbuZByre2nvIHwaxiE2FPEGiVrBwEMrkifwaqAmVIE0XVM8wAxYf87eA-_epO_Av59M_7EWeIeOS7TLaBoK1LLXfilTBBZXbzTqRhjxoUkc2O6ai4Cqg/s1600/no8tavern.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="210" data-original-width="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvUYIOnkhODh2_8pVrmBzck8LHbuZByre2nvIHwaxiE2FPEGiVrBwEMrkifwaqAmVIE0XVM8wAxYf87eA-_epO_Av59M_7EWeIeOS7TLaBoK1LLXfilTBBZXbzTqRhjxoUkc2O6ai4Cqg/s1600/no8tavern.jpg" /></a></div>
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<b><i>7th "The Royal Beech Tree in Somalia."</i></b><br />
I'm not sure if Tom is referring to the name of a music venue or an actual tree here.. either way it has a stage and it's the 7th best in the world.<br />
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<b><i>6th "The Northernmost Icelandic village, whose name currently escapes me,</i></b><br />
<b><i>has a lovely cafe with a stage in back called Ace, it is literally ACE!"</i></b><br />
From google maps I suspect he's referring to Raufarhofn, in the north east of the country.<br />
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<b><i>5th "Antarctican Second Stage."</i></b><br />
A surprising choice for 5th spot, more so because it's surprising that Antarctica has not one but two stages. Why the second stage is better than the first sadly remains a mystery.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzfJttaet0FwcRXybEfmjIYAPKK3f3qk7Itj_bnylGvbew_4AQKhHzLV8soFZ6zz0Dic8XhWfC8-hybiIHPlvM1_2uZjpuTXx86nsCLJlhZOE8yvjYtJM070Qcbwhg7QciuhVn4P8S6LM/s1600/no5antartica.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="1224" height="130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzfJttaet0FwcRXybEfmjIYAPKK3f3qk7Itj_bnylGvbew_4AQKhHzLV8soFZ6zz0Dic8XhWfC8-hybiIHPlvM1_2uZjpuTXx86nsCLJlhZOE8yvjYtJM070Qcbwhg7QciuhVn4P8S6LM/s320/no5antartica.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><i>4th "West Street Live."</i></b><br />
The one, the only West Street Live has been a strong and stable stage for the band, thoroughly deserving of fourth place.<br />
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<b><i>3rd "That One in Texas I can't remember the name of."</i></b><br />
The name may allude him but the allure of the beauty and sturdiness of the stage remains.<br />
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<b><i>2nd "The Rio de Janeiro Grand Palladium."</i></b><br />
At the top of many people's lists I'm sure, couldn't quite make it to the top of Tom's list though.<br />
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<b><i>1st "The Washington."</i></b><br />
The majesty, the tea-lights, the sheer wonder it uses to dominate the room on any night: the Washington's stage of wonders was always going to remain top of this list.<br />
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<br />CWMBandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09537194649251127708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8433052178976061893.post-71119119281905472492018-06-23T05:04:00.000-07:002018-06-23T05:05:09.036-07:00It's All About the PeopleSo Kate and random internet surfer called Steve, one of the many things I've learned from our dozen or so string of shows, is that the main thing that makes a show unique are the people you meet. Now I'm not like Tom, I'm not as obsessed with the stage. For him seeing a stage with tea-lights around it will instantly make the show, it's all he'll talk about for months. He's also more interested in the demographics of people: the amount of male/females who come to a show; how many of different ages; how many of different heights etc than meeting them. He's weird. For me meeting a stage hand who treats his job like a military operation will be what sticks with me. Seriously though, the stage hands at Corporation are amazing and hilarious, who knew that loading up a stage could be so fun?<br />
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Now, nobody really knows what goes through Rob's head. The man is an enigma. Some say he is actually a swarm of bees in human disguise. Whether that is true or not, he definitely seems to enjoy the technical side of gigs and working with the sound engineer. I feel like he could go for a cup of coffee with a sound engineer at each show, spending the entire time talking about what a singe knob on those mysterious dashboards does. I'm a drummer so I don't really relate to this. They flick some switches and the sound becomes better? Whatever, just give me something to whack. Some dials and buttons ain't gonna make the show for me, but when the announcer decides to swear at anyone who isn't bothering to get up and watch the music, i'll remember that.</div>
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John has a beard and likes to sing quite a lot at shows. He also likes to talk to the crowd in between songs, for some reason. I guess the people who come to watch us play must make the show for him then. However, the people who compliment his beard are the ones that will really make the gig for him. It's quite a useful rule to know that if you want something from him, just let him know his beard is looking particularly lush today, almost professorly, like a lumberjack. Then ask and you shall receive. I don't have a beard so I can't relate to this, but learning about the tastiness of Poutine from a favourite bassist of mine- that's important. What was the point of this post I hear you ask? There was literally none. But if you want to meet some interesting people then come to a show and talk to someone who looks weird I guess.</div>
CWMBandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09537194649251127708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8433052178976061893.post-56502615799667256972018-04-29T10:55:00.000-07:002018-04-29T10:55:23.287-07:00Where Do We Play?<br />
Now it's time to talk about venues of the musical variety, more specifically the venues we play at.<br />
This way you can learn where you may find the band playing and if you ever decide to start a band in Sheffield, Kate and random internet surfer I like to call Steve, you can find out which are the best to play.<br />
<br />
The Washington<br />
Without a doubt Tom's favourite. He placed it at the top of his widely acclaimed list "Tom's Most Impressive Stages in the World 2018", managing to shockingly beat the Rio De Janeiro Palladium after several years at the top and "that one in Texas" as well. Why has the Washington managed to beat out these stages, in venues which cost far, far more to build? Well, the intimacy for the band members helps as Tom does like to be staring deep into my eyes at all times when playing a show. Also the tea lights around the stage show excellent effort to make it aesthetically pleasing and close proximity to the crowd means no need to strain his voice when yelling at them. Overall, it is quite understandable how this stage made it to the top, despite the millions going into these stages known across the world, they don't quite have the charm of the Washington. Hopefully it can maintain that position in 2019.<br />
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Corporation<br />
After frequenting this venue many, many, many times before, it's safe to say we felt familiarity with the venue. That is until we were introduced to the maze back stage proving that our knowledge of Corp wasn't as complete as originally thought, there are still more mysteries to discover.. Corp is generally bigger than the other venues we play. The wide selection of stages to play are bigger than usual for us, the bands we play with are more well known and the free entry to the club night after make it the most high quality venue we play. Most significantly it's the only venue we play with a stage crew which is very welcome as a drummer, and even more so for the positive, entertaining attitude they have there.<br />
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West Street Live<br />
WSL has to be mentioned as we've played there more than anywhere else, for some reason they always say yes when we ask for a gig - bizarre. It's free entry which makes it easier to try and convince people to come and watch us from the street, if I'm ever so inclined. Also the various deals on the drinks have noticeably appealed to many bands visiting from outside Sheffield. Certainly, it's nice to finish a gig and have such a wide selection to choose from. The stage may not reach Tom's lofty standards, however it's certainly adequate enough for me and there's plenty of room for people to have a dance- as it's free there's usually randomers coming in from West Street, which is nice.<br />
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So there you go a summary of some of the venues we play at and why we like to play there- feel free to come along to some of these places for a show!CWMBandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09537194649251127708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8433052178976061893.post-13457134045584798792018-04-29T10:52:00.000-07:002018-04-29T10:52:51.504-07:00Police Thieves and Merchants: Chapter 6 Camping With Mackerel<br />
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">8 hours had gone by and the
trio hadn't heard a blast from the terrifying weapon. The forest
continued around them though in the midst of the pitch blackness,
forcing them to stumble and curse with it's array of surprises. One
such surprise smacked Borg in the face as he carried himself forward,
he let out a snarl and ripped the branch from his path.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Careful Borg,” Laurel
cautioned quietly. “There are bears in these woods.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">There's also some nutter
with a mysterious weapon capable of turning our heads to goop in a
second.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">The goop weapon, that has a
ring to it.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Do not call it the goop
weapon Laurel, it needs more respect than that.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Well, what would you call
it then?” Laurel asked loftily.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">The face eater.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">It's called a firearm,”
Crole said firmly from ahead, magenta tooth glinting in the
moonlight. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Anyway, never mind what
it's called, we should focus on getting away from it. The river
should be here soon.” They caught up to him to catch him gazing
wistfully into the night in front of him as if it was welcoming him
into it's dark embrace.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Well, let's get going then,
as long as we're heading north to claim what is now ours,” agreed
Borg licking his lips expectantly as if he could eat his reward.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">I'm going to be pissed off
if the rest of the band gets the reward first, especially Sedrick –
that one knows how to gloat.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">They kept on travelling
through the forest up a gentle slope with a gnarled old oak tree
marking the end of the forest at the top. Borg reached the top first,
ready to stop for a rest and let his tired limbs recover. From below
the others saw his clear interest as he peered through the branches
to what lay beyond. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">A fire,” he stated matter
of factly as they reached him. Beyond the oak the forest opened out
into a series of grassy fields illuminated in the moonlight and
stretching into the distance. The forest continued along it's right
edge to encircle it once again a mile or so away. Just beyond the
tree-line on the far side of the fields a river swirled across the
countryside reflecting silver by the moonlight. The three of them
stared, then looked at the fire just within the forest to the right
of the fields.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Could be him,” Borg
muttered suddenly feeling the cold a lot more as he gazed at the
fire.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Could be anyone!” argued
Laurel, “but it is probably food.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Borg's stomach continued to
rumble, the desire to eat was strong within him.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">We should get a closer
look,” Crole said pointedly. “We know how to get close to a
target without him seeing us.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">We don't need the food,”
Borg answered.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">We can hunt,” he said
gesturing at the forest around them.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">And how well has that gone
throughout the night? Are you really that scared of him Borg?”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">I'm pretty sure you wet
yourself earlier.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Laurel turned away, ignoring
him. “I'm going.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">We're going,” Crole
asserted moving stealthily down the path. Borg hesitated, then shook
his head and followed. It wasn't like him to let fear get in the way
of something like this, plus if they wanted to get to the river –
the quickest way was past that fire, either through the forest or
walking exposed across the fields.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">It took half an hour to get
close to the fire, the trio didn't say a word during this time.
Despite his brave words earlier Laurel knew the danger and feared the
loud, deadly weapon. Sweat trickled on his hands as he crouched
forward, making the minimal amount of sound as the light from the
flames drew closer. The woods cloaked around them; with trees and
thick undergrowth hiding their every move; skill and practice
enabling them to do so with the slightest of sounds: a slow draw of
breath, a suction as feet edge out of the mud covering the floor or a
slight creaking as a branch is gradually swept aside. Soon the
crackling of the fire was masking the sounds they made. Laurel was
the first to come in sight of it with the other two further behind.
There was the makings of a camp surrounding the fire for a single
person which set nerves cramping through his belly. Nevertheless,
there was no-one in sight and several cooked fish simmering gently
next to the merry flames. Dinner. Laurel quickly and silently swept
in snatched up the fish and moved on his way beyond the camp. Fish
meant a river and Laurel intended to get away and cross it; his
comrades could catch up if all went well.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Crole cursed to himself,
masking the controlled, quiet outburst under the trickle of a stream.
He watched as Laurel made off with the fish: he would have to hurry
to get a hint of that meal. The camp was nearly in sight and clearly
empty by the way Laurel had confidently moved in, which begged the
question – where are the camp occupiers? A quick, short tap on his
shoulder broke his train of thought as Borg indicated for him to look
right. Crole obliged and froze in shock. The dark, dangerous shadow
of a man loomed fifteen paces in that direction. The shadow was
casting about in the undergrowth, a large tube-like object in his
hand. The moment his eyes registered the shape, Crole followed Borg
in carefully shrinking away back up the forest path. He could feel
his heart hammering painfully inside his chest as if attempting with
all it's might to give away his location. As they stepped away the
man straightened up. Silence stretched out suddenly, even the trickle
from the stream appeared to be gone. Borg ran, Crole followed unable
to contain his leg's apparent desperation to get away from there.
They scampered through the woods in a repeated mad dash away from the
fear-provoking weapon. They tripped and stumbled as branches
clattered into their legs and roots reached up for their crunching
feet.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The lone traveller returned
to his fire wondering as to where the men who had decided to invade
his camp had come from. Annoyance scratched at his neck when he saw
the fish were gone and he kicked a piece of firewood off into the
night. It had taken him all day to extract that fish from the raging
river! Still, at least his cargo was still intact. He didn't know why
wine was so rare in these parts but the circulating rumours were
enough to persuade him to make the trip. Maybe the people of
Batesmoor wouldn't pay as much as the cities that lay around this
forgotten land, but they would still pay more than his country where
wine could easily be found. In addition, he had reasoned, there would
be other traders aiming for the cities – he wasn't likely to find
any competition in these parts.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Only swift reflexes from a
life on the road allowed him to duck under the garrotte that came
looping over his head. A much too sloppy move to get him! His time as
a merchant bodyguard ensured the reflexes displayed were followed
through with a spin into a crouching defensive pose. The last
movement he was allowed to make as his head was blown to smithereens
with a terrific bang. The green man was quick to smash the wine and
after inspecting the debris, stalked off towards the river.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The explosive sound paused
Crole and Borg's terrific scrabble as fear curled in their chest for
a second time.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Laurel?” Borge queried
quietly. “What do we do?”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Keep moving,” was the
gruff reply as Crole headed west- hopefully to an alternative
crossing.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Laurel raced away heading
downhill from the camp-site, his pack clanging against him with
spectacular noise in the tranquil night. The explosion could only
mean that the camp belonged to one certain person and that Crole or
Borg or both were dead. His brain quietly assured him again and again
that the green man would have seen him if he had noticed the other
two and he will be here soon. His main hope was be the first to reach
a crossing in the river. After that he would simply keep heading
north faster than any possible pursuit. The threat of death should
surely motivate him to move the fastest of the two. He was a young
man, but not as fit as he could be – his legs were growing weary
from the exhausting day as the roar of the water closed in on him. He
burst through a final bush and looked out over the river gushing
below. It was at least 100 metres wide and the water was travelling
at an impressive pace, quashing any realistic chance of swimming
across for the best of swimmers. Laurel searched about him, looking
for an area that might be crossable. It was hopeless. The grey water
slushed past laughing at his inadequate ability to escape. To jump in
would be to put himself at the mercy of the roaring element, to lose
the cargo and put himself at incredible risk. He paused and glance
back towards the woods. Which option contained the greatest risk? Had
the green man even seen him?</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">A crack behind him to his left
caused Laurel to leap in fear nearly tumbling into the swirling
current below. He braced himself enough to glance up and find the
source of the sound. The green man was stepping round a tree on a
ridge overlooking his position by the river. The tube was being
raised up expectantly seeking out it's target. Laurel dived instantly
arcing out away from the muddy ledge. The dirt where he had stood
splayed up as the explosive sound he dread ricocheted around the
riverside and then all he knew was water. Water flooded everywhere
around him taking away his ability to move, hear, see or smell. He
simply crashed onwards with the river as the dirty water taste filled
his mouth, quickly leaving the green man far behind.</span></div>
<br />CWMBandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09537194649251127708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8433052178976061893.post-41710673138887275112018-03-25T08:07:00.000-07:002018-03-25T10:44:40.953-07:00The Important StuffIt is time to get back to the important stuff: dancing. I observed in the post below (Damn You Are So Lucky) that all humans have forgotten how to dance, and it is up to the 4th best dancer in the world (me) to retrain humanity in the most awesome of arts.<br />
<br />
Now in the first post we went through the Lawnmower. Unfortunately, that hasn't gone viral yet so I haven't seen crowds of people lawmowering their way to work.. However, it remains a matter of time until this happens. I am aware that those of you that have begun using the lawnmower in your long, long journey back to dancing redemption, will already be craving additional dances to add to your personal arsenal of moves. I mean, gigs can last a few hours.. that's a long time to be doing the same dance move over and over.... even if it is as epic and majestic as the lawnmower.<br />
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Fortunately, some of you have been especially motivated to re-educate the human race and have been creating some new moves! I have a couple of these to share with you from a man who only referred to himself as... Jagerlad. These are tentaviely named "Changing the Lightbulb" and "Feeding the Chickens".<br />
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Both these moves are even simpler than the lawnmower and require their own unique experiences to perform. In order to complete "Changing the Lightbulb" you merely have to be an adult or an extra responsible child to have the experience necessary: changing a light bulb (shocking I know). Now the light bulbs in question are imaginary and numerous.. never-ending in fact, and always within arms reach. To perform the move you simply have to twist as many light bulbs off as you can in time to the music, alternating from right hand to left hand, and then twisting new light bulbs back on.. after you've done a few dozen. This can be particularly good during a catchy chorus.<br />
<br />
For "Feeding the Chickens" you may have to have experience working on a farm or own some chickens to qualify for the necessary experience. I appreciate that this may take a bit of time so you can probably get the knowledge required by watching a youtube video of someone feeding some chickens.. here you go:<br />
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mjiJujnqWA0<br />
<br />
All studied up? Now that you are a chicken feeding swot the dance move will be easy for you to master. Simply, in time to the music you wanna throw some imaginary food to some imaginary chickens gathering around you. Generally when beginning it is easier to imagine throwing food to around a dozen chickens but gradually you can work your way up to feeding hundreds. For further challenge replace the word "chickens" with "cheetahs" and act that out in time to the music.<br />
<br />
And that's it for this introduction to two new dance moves courtesy of Jagerlad Feel free to mix it up, swapping between these and the Lawnmower within the same song. Needless to say, I will expect to see many people changing light bulbs and feeding various species of animal at our next gig when this post inevitably goes viral.<br />
<br />CWMBandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09537194649251127708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8433052178976061893.post-80946013656478354452018-03-24T08:49:00.000-07:002018-03-24T08:50:15.155-07:00Police, Thieves and Merchants Chapter 5: Can Will Must<br />
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Can
Will Must</b></span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Sandra stared hard at the
thief's hand edging toward his knife as he stared towards where his
thieving comrades had disappeared into the thick, green habitat
surrounding him.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">She wondered if Kendra's plan
would work as she moved slowly to a poised position at the edge of
the clearing.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">How will I get rid of him
now that she's left him behind?”she pondered. Her mind flitted to
possibilities and managed to get distracted. She thought of how much
easier it would be if she had the power to bring down lightning. She
could get rid of the threat with one smashing strike. However then
there would be the potential damage to the injured merchant to
consider, as well as herself and anyone else in the forest. Would it
be possible for the lighting to cause a fire? If so how long would it
take for it to spread? Would she have time to put it out or would she
have to peg it? Possibly grabbing the merchant and dragging him
along. Could she bear to leave a living, innocent man to face the
raging inferno she had created?</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The sharp hiss of steel
brought her mind back to the present. How long had she lost focus?
The thief held the knife over the merchant, a sneer on his lips.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Too bad you won't tell us
where to go, it was a simple question.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">The north! The north! There
are tons of cities in the north! Just keep heading that way and
you'll be able to find someone who knows better.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Too vague... too... vague,
we might as well kill you on sight for such useless information.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Sandra was breathing harder,
she couldn't believe she'd lost concentration! As her confidence
flickered she forced herself to strengthen her resolve. She can do
this. She will. She must.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The stone arced through the
air and fizzed behind the thief's head only to crash into the bracken
on the far side of the open area. The thief was alert at once and
turning towards the sound, knife warily waving out in front of him.
Sandra was off as soon as she threw the stone, bare feet skipping
across the ground, breath shallow in her ears.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Inside her mind she was
praying that he wouldn't turn round. It was such a simple trick but
it could work as long as she was quick, silent and unrelenting. Her
foot snagged a thorn and lip tightened a the thief yelled</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Who goes there?! Come and
face me!” Raw power and aggression evident in his voice, with arm
open as if in welcome to an attack. The merchant on the ground gasped
as the thief was struck hard against his skull. Sandra felt the
juddering, crunching blow through her arm at the impact of her blunt
weapon. The thief saw white and staggered but managed to whip round
the knife sawing at the air. The stick cracked and broke once again
against the thief's head. Sandra had managed to anticipate and circle
around the knife's path as she moved in for her attack. As the thief
fell sprawling onto the floor Sandra went to her pack to remove her
irons and lock him up. She hurried, having no idea how successful
Kendra had been. Once done she grabbed the merchant and left the
clearing leaving the thief locked up in the centre. She had no time
to escort the villain to Batesmoor but if Kendra did come back they
could take the thieves, the wine and the merchant together. However,
if Kendra had failed and potentially had been killed Sandra was
losing potential running time by waiting. The merchant was wheezing
next to her, occasionally questioning why they weren't running.
Sandra waited and listened to the sounds of the forest. A bird
calling to it's mate among the treetops and a rustle to her left as a
small mammal moved through the debris from a fallen tree. There was
no sound of a return by Kendra or the thieves yet. She stopped and
waited to see the consequences of her decision. She could only wait a
few minutes.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Kendra sprinted through the
undergrowth, wine under her arm. She didn't need the thieves to
follow her far, just a few hundred yards to seal their demise.
Unfortunately, they were proving better sprinters than she would have
guessed and were hurtling after her down the path. The closest had a
knife drawn with a look part of hunger, part of fury on his face. His
long gangly legs producing heavy footfalls that resounded around
Kendra's head as she ran. The second was just a step behind him as
far as she could tell, his pace more considered more measured. As she
glanced back however she saw the look of fury on him too.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: small;">Good,” thought Kendra as
the gap between them closed further and further. Their heavy
breathing just behind spurred her on as they scrabbled and jumped
down the cluttered and unpredictable forest path. She jumped over a
particularly hazardous root and landed well, only to hear a pursuer
come jumping over a second later. They were almost upon her! She
zig-zagged as the nearest made a lurch for her feeling the knife
whistle past dangerously close to her back. She twisted away and
stumbled against a solid rock or root hidden under the carpet of
leaves. She fell backwards watching as a look of triumph emerged
across the thief's face. She gasped aloud as the thief made a second
lunge. At that moment her foot kicked out catapulting her to the side
of the path. The thief's momentum carried him forward, past the point
where she fell to launch head first forward through the blanket of
leaves that covered the trap below. The second thief was a moment
behind cartwheeling his arms as the depth of the trap was revealed to
him. Kendra had quickly bounced back from her fake fall to pivot
round with arms planted on the edge of the trap and feet spiralling
round to kick the remaining thief in the backside and send him
sprawling into his comrade below.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />CWMBandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09537194649251127708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8433052178976061893.post-14943311790393107412018-03-02T11:52:00.000-08:002018-03-02T12:08:24.025-08:00Band Watching 2.0<br />
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>Band Watching</b></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
So this is the blog
post where I point out some bands that I've enjoyed on our many great
journeys gigging across the entire of... Sheffield, so far. While
none of these bands have agreed to do the lawnmower dance with me
they did pay some great music, and I guess that's something to look
for in a band as well? To be clear though, when another band does the
lawnmower they will be the highlight of this list.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>Frank Grimes and
the Disasters</b></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I suspect these guys may be fans of American cartoons for some
reason.... I love the name and I enjoyed the music when they joined
us in supporting Courage my Love at Corporation in November. Their
tunes are catchy pop punk- right up my street, and very singable- I
wished I knew the lyrics when we saw them perform live but I had to
make do with saying “something something something” over and
over. It's refreshing to know that there is a pop punk band like this
so close to us (based in Barnsley) that I can follow. Check out their
youtube channel for music and lyrics videos of their songs....
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCVBROfMFgtLoeO0ykkby5gg">https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCVBROfMFgtLoeO0ykkby5gg</a></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>Ample Funk</b></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Funky, funky, funksters. I'm not sure if funksters is a word,
probably not, but these guys deserve the title as they provide
exactly what their name suggests with ample amount of funk. I
literally could not stop my knee jerking to the sound of the bass as
they played through their set at the Washington, keeping me
mesmerized throughout. They fortunately have uploaded some of their
funky songs onto youtube so everyone can enjoy the funkiness..
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCiX-Hy2fJOl136ELUPB5Yvg">https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCiX-Hy2fJOl136ELUPB5Yvg</a></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>Idle Gentlemen</b></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Finally idle gentlemen, who I also saw at our Washington gig, were
very stylish on stage and also played some groovy rock music. I
especially enjoyed the powerful vocals but the entire band kept me
very much entertained- very easy to head bang too. They also have a
youtube and soundcloud where you can check out some of their super
cool tunes..
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCFarWdCFYdrInZ4mYYxrqKg/videos">https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCFarWdCFYdrInZ4mYYxrqKg/videos</a></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
https://soundcloud.com/idlegentlemen</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
That's it for the blog this week, check back for more band watching; dance moves; lyrics explaining or rages against the system of clowns
that keep balloons enslaved to the ground.</div>
<br />CWMBandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09537194649251127708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8433052178976061893.post-54271997937069976342018-01-10T13:08:00.002-08:002018-01-10T13:08:45.964-08:00Katamari!Now, I'm going to review something completely random because what the hell, no-one<br />
reads this anyway, except Kate and random internet surfer called Steve. Hi Kate and Steve.<br />
<br />
What I shall review is musically related and introduced to me by some bearded bloke<br />
that likes to hang around my house. It is called 'Katamari'. Now, I know that sounds<br />
Japanese but it is actually.. even more Japanese than it sounds. It is a<br />
very bizarre and creative video game series that is well worth a play that has a superb soundtrack.<br />
Well at least the 'We Love Katamari' game does, as that is the only one I've heard,<br />
but I'm sure the rest are awesome too.<br />
<br />
Now, "what makes this soundtrack so good?," I hear you murmur inquisitively to yourself.<br />
Many reasons. It introduces you to about 5 musical genres you had no idea existed, and<br />
gets you hooked to them before you can even define what they are. It makes you question whether<br />
you are actually insane, in a happy way. You WILL listen to Katamari on the Swing multiple times,<br />
that is just a fact of life, no-one has listened to that just once.. ever. I for one couldn't stop myself<br />
drumming to that one and instantly wished I was better at swing drumming. Also, nearly every single song has a distinct genre from the rest, it is ridiculously varied.<br />
Here is my attempt to describe the genres with my limited knowledge going from start to finish:<br />
<br />
Pokemon Rock -> Footage from the Beat-boxing Word Championship --> Lounge--> Swing --> Psychedelic Techno Madness --> Pop Punk --> Chill Rock-->Blues? --> Double Blues --> Chill as Fuck Rock --> Experimental beyond Genres --> Some form of Rock I have no idea, Math Rock?--> Anime Soundtrack --> Disco --> Literally Animals --> Orchestral --> Fanfare<br />
--> Words<br />
<br />
Check it out below for an interesting experience and see if you can define what the hell each song is and comment your observations:<br />
<br />
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ntd4FPQJX1w&t=4062s<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
CWMBandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09537194649251127708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8433052178976061893.post-24863225510977379092018-01-05T13:59:00.001-08:002018-01-05T14:43:45.893-08:00Police, Thieves and Merchants - Chapter 4 Creeping With Malice<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Sedrick could smell pie. He
was gliding between the few outbuildings at the edge of the larger
buildings which made up the settlement. Despite the settlement being
relatively small, the buildings stood tall and provided excellent
coverage from anyone watching at the top of the grassy embankment
that rose up to the rear of the village. He crouched behind one such
out-building with his back pressed against the smooth wooden surface.
His body faced the forest to the rear of the buildings but his eyes
pointed towards an open window to this right. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The pie was delivering it's
sweet, delicious aroma from a window sill just a quick dash away
across a short gap between the buildings. He listened. There wasn't
much activity in the settlement but he had distinguished low
muttering earlier and the clang of a door as someone went into an
outbuilding. The buildings were eerily quiet even when put into
consideration how few people could live in such a small number of
them.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">However, there was the pie.
It looked delicious, smelled delicious with a hint of blueberry –
an ultimate bonus in Sedrick's opinion. Why people would leave these
things out exposed for someone to steal he would never know. But also
there was the pie. It was too tempting. There were some little
thoughts unfurling within his mind that there was no way it could
taste as good as it smelled. It could be poisoned, it could be a trap
set by some mundane lunatic designed to lure him in. He breathed in.
His anxious mind liked to get away from him, it took a rumble in his
belly and footsteps coming from round the corner behind him to push
him back into action. He skipped across the clearing, making minimal
noise, as his feet bounced across the ground. He had grabbed the pie
and ducked down between two buildings within a few seconds of hearing
the danger.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The man who came striding
round the corner created a striking impression. Firstly, he was
clearly wealthy – much more so than anyone living in these quiet
lands could hope to be. The clothing he wore was a deep green and
shone with rich velvet trimmed lighter at the edges. His belt and
boots were also a lighter shade of green and his hat was very
intriguing. It stuck up slightly from the stranger's head in a sort
of folded manner and had a feather sticking out of the top. Sedrick
couldn't help raising an eyebrow slightly, he had never seen such
clothes before but it was what the man was holding that really caught
his eye. A tube-like device with a handle at the end held firmly in a
strong grip with a finger curled into a small nook underneath the
tube where it joined with the handle. Sedrick burrowed himself into a
doorway as the interesting man passed, eyes always intent on his next
action. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Idiot,” he thought. “I've
got your pie.” He took a bite, gorging himself on the sweet
blueberry as it danced across his tongue. As the green man stepped
away and the clear, resounding footsteps faded Sedrick finished his
snack and rose slowly. He crept from his hiding place and continued
moving, always sticking to the shadow of a building. For some reason
there was a sense of threat about the place. Sedrick liked threat, it
sent excitement and energy running through his blood and he liked the
way that felt. He liked testing his anxiety and overpowering any fear
he had. He also liked the hat. He had never seen such a thing before,
though it looked slightly similar to some he'd seen far away by the
sailors on the sea to the south of his home. He was just imagining
what he would look like with it on when he bundled over a bundle on
the floor. Pain sprouted from his left shoulder as he let out a small
groan and rolled onto his side to gaze back at the bundle's sightless
eyes staring back at him. A red line stretched across the throat
where the garrotte had cut into her and her mouth lay open, a
quizzical expression on her face as if wondering who he was to
disturb her rest in the street.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Dead.” He thought glumly.
He got up and jumped back over the body with adrenaline running
through him as he searched for the man in green.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">His pace slowed as he got
closer to the edge of the silent buildings, he saw his prey. Green
man was stalking past the houses with tube device perched against his
shoulder. He seemed beautifully distracted. Meanwhile a low,
repetitive thunk started beyond the green man in the clearing close
to the forest. Sedrick moved forward as the green man turned to go
beyond the final outbuilding before the clearing. Sedrick himself
closed on that final corner after watching his prey gradually edge
through. He took off his shoe. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Sedrick darted around the
corner and found the stranger pointing tube at a shifty-looking man
with an axe. Sedrick lunged with the shoe. There was an explosion of
noise from the tube as the woodcutter fell to the ground missing one
head. Sedrick heard the unmistakeable panicked wails of his comrades
as the green man's head recoiled back into his boot. Green man let
out a bellow of rage as he turned and Sedrick whisked the hat off his
reeling head. Anxiety flooded through him as his mind registered the
danger in front of him. Grappling onto the small advantage of
surprise he had gained he thrust out hard with the shoe before the
green man could complete his turn, against the hand clutching the
tube handle. As the tube fell to the ground Sedrick kicked with all
his might with the foot still holding a shoe into the area never
meant to endure such force. The green man let out another scream of
rage and pain as he fell to the floor clutching his groin. Sedrick
was quick to kick the tube device and sprint back through the
settlement, intent on putting as much distance as he could between
himself and the outraged, menacing sounds coming from the clearing.
He reached the embankment behind the village quickly and immediately
began climbing up the muddy slope, skidding and scrambling in his
rush to get to the top. Every two or three seconds he risked a quick
glance back to see if there were any tube shaped objects poking out
from between the wooden buildings. Once he reached the top he didn't
stop and kept running into the forest, practically falling into his
pack's hiding place among the undergrowth and nearly breaking his
wine. Stopping for a moment when he realised the pie had been left in
the village he sighed and sprinted as fast as he could into the
wonderfully dark and gloomy forest.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Blood spurted from the
useless neck, now demoted to holding up nothing, as it slumped with
the body down to the floor. Laurel ran, Borg let out a bellow and
turned for cover and Crole stood frozen on the spot. It took him
valuable seconds to process a single, desperate thought to sprint for
the cover of the forest. This was enough time to make out Sedrick
kick the killer in the balls and make off with his hat. The
tree-line was dozens of metres away a long, long distance when
considering the weapon they were fleeing. Borg and Laurel had each
made off in different directions and all Crole could think to do was
sprint anywhere that put him further from the killer device. His
heart pounded the blood through his body and his feet to the floor at
a ridiculous pace as he gradually made the cover of the trees. A
slight tingle of relief was allowed to flow through his body as he
made it. Immediately he angled his path away from the village and
deeper into the wildlife.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Borg was wheezing, bent
double over and leaning against a tree when Crole disturbed him.
Their eyes met briefly as they shared a mixed look of shock and
horror for a single second before they began careering through the
undergrowth at a terrific pace. Up ahead they could hear the
terrified wails of Laurel as he struggled past obstacles nature was
throwing up against him. It took a minute for them to reach him on
the floor, a new gash drawn across his cheek where a branch had raked
his face.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Keep going,” Crole
grunted, when Laurel froze in shock at their appearance.
Instantaneously Laurel was crashing forward next to them. Each had
little shame in their quest to get to as far away as possible. They
stepped on each other and hurled another out of the way as they
continued their mad dash over rocky creeks, fallen trees and through
tangled, twisting undergrowth. Eventually, Crole felt his legs give
out under him as a hidden root tripped him forward head first into a
river bed, legs sticking out at an awkward angle. Laurel clashed into
his flailing ankle and brought Borg down as he clutched and grabbed
onto him to break the fall. After the tumble they paused for a
moment, feeling the adrenaline seep from their legs to be replaced by
pain and fatigue. Shakily, Crole got to his feet and helped Laurel
and Borg up. Their sprint had lasted long enough to take them a few
miles from the settlement.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">What the hell was that?!”
began Laurel in between breaths.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">What was what Laurel?”
Borg retorted. “The weapon? The killer? Or the entire disturbing
process one person intentionally ending the life of another? Either
way it was definitely brutal.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">A firearm,” spoke Crole
softly, his breathing slowly getting to a regular pace. “I've seen
a couple before, from travellers that claimed to have gone an
unimaginable distance away, a lifetime's walk.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Same place that frisbees
come from or that canned food that was going round a while ago?”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Or the inflatable beach
balls?” Borg contributed.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Similar distance I'm sure,”
answered Crole. “Although I doubt they came from the same people,
whatever culture gave birth to the firearm must have been formidably
brutal.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I saw one as well once.”
Borg spoke quietly. “Never realised what it was or what it would be
like to face in action.” He spat, his stocky build bent over as he
continued wheezing. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">What the fuck was Sedrick
doing?” Crole said indignantly as the other two looked at him with
quizzical expressions. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">He stole the killer's hat!
Then assaulted the maniac. He probably got away too since we didn't
hear another shot.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Nutter,” Borg said
appreciatively as he started walking again. “That one always finds
a way to surprise.”</span></div>
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“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">What shall we do now?”
Laurel questioned. “He could be after us, I don't want him within
sight again!”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">We'll go west. We've still
got our cargo and the white river was just beyond that village. If we
find a crossing to the west we can get that clear border between us
and the killer and gain access to the city in the north,” Crole
decided.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Sounds like a plan,”
reasoned Borg.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">But how far west?”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Well, judging from the sun
we've been heading south west up to this point. If we go west from
here for another 6 hours we should be a decent distance away I
should think.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Unless he's going west.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">It doesn't matter which
direction we choose to go in, we will always run the risk of him
going that way too. At least this way has a decent chance of us
getting to his north side without running into him.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Dusk began to settle in as the
sun's light started to cascade down the horizon darkening the
woodland considerably.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">He could be watching us
right now and we wouldn't be aware of it,” Borg whispered glancing
around warily.</span></div>
<br />
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">More reason to get moving
in case he isn't and we can still get away,” retorted Crole as he
started westward.</span></div>
CWMBandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09537194649251127708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8433052178976061893.post-24995914979962523632017-12-23T13:17:00.002-08:002017-12-23T13:22:42.775-08:00Damn, You Are So Lucky!Today is your lucky day. You may have literally made the most important click of your life by selecting this blog as the next webpage to grace your computer screen.<br />
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"Why?", you may ask. "I could be looking at cats; or dogs; or my friend's social media; or naked people; or a decent band's webpage; or hacking various government's internal security systems." All those things may be important, but they don't even compare to what this blog is about... dancing.</div>
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Now I can hear your whirring brain click into place. "Dancing, of course! That makes sense." There is literally nothing more important than that. However, despite the ridiculous importance of dancing I have been noticing something terrifying at our shows, that may well shock you. Everyone seems to have forgotten how to do it. Unless flinging debris at the band counts now; or looking on with disgust; or even worse, just bobbing your head along without moving a single atom of your body at all below the neck. We appear to be in a crisis.</div>
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I'm not going to pretend that I'm the world's best dancer, or the second best or the third. As the fourth best dancer in the world though, I feel I have the expertise to guide you back from the depths of darkness where you (the world) seem to have fallen. I have an endless arsenal of dance moves at my disposal and I feel it best that I explain as many of them to you as I can. This way, next time you find yourself at some sort of music show where the beat is pumping through your limbs and you're scared and confused at what to do, you will be absolutely and completely prepared to deal with it in any situation.</div>
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So without further ado, I will go on to explain this blog's dance move: the lawnmower.</div>
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The Lawnmower</div>
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This dance move is prestigious and iconic. It has stood the test of time from all the way back when people started using lawnmowers to now. Yet it is simple and easy to employ for all you novices to dancing out there. The only thing you need to have done to be able to utilise this dance move, is used a lawnmower. That's a pretty broad spectrum of people right there. If you haven't used one and you're not in a third world nation and haven't spent your entire life in poverty, then you're a bad person. Go away and mow a lawn, now.</div>
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Now for all of you that have used a lawnmower it is practice time. There are two different parts to this move that can be employed at different times in a song. The first part: pulling the starter cord. It is time to employ that valuable mowing experience we mentioned earlier. All you have to do is: from a relaxed standing pose, imagine you have a lawnmower in front of you. Now, reach down (physically) and pull the imaginary lawnmower cord. Now, keep pulling. The imaginary lawnmower in question is a hunk of junk so you're going to have to keep pulling that starter chord over and over in time to the music. Do it for as long as you feel is best, but I like to go for a verse at least. Occasionally, i'll stop and kick the imaginary lawnmower (also in time with the music), before going back to pulling the chord.</div>
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Ok, now part 2. This is where your frustration is finally released and you get to mow. It's usually good to transition to part 2 when there is a transition in the song, maybe going from verse to chorus. Now, keeping in time with the music your going to pull one last time, give a single satisfied nod, then begin to mow stepping in time. Mow your way around the dance floor, which is now a lawn, before the imaginary mower inevitable breaks down again and you go back to pulling the chord.</div>
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And that's it. Completely simple and easy to do. You can keep repeating it for as many songs as you wish, it'll just keep on going, as it's imaginary. I realise that the world will need many more dance moves as it is completely and utterly void of them at the moment, but for the present this is a good starter. Practice it everywhere you can and you'll get it in no time: you could lawnmower your way to work; through a boring meeting; to the shops -wherever! Needless to say, I will be very disappointed and enraged if there is not a vast increase in people doing this within a realistic time-frame of this post inevitably going super-viral. Have fun!</div>
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CWMBandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09537194649251127708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8433052178976061893.post-26093289581254020312017-12-01T13:01:00.001-08:002017-12-01T13:01:57.501-08:00Lyrics - IcebreakerI feel like it's time to talk about lyrics. Or rather, my lyrics. Or rather, what the hell I was thinking when I wrote my lyrics. For a lot of songs out there, it seems there are many different, valid interpretations for what a song is prattling on about. For ours I would definitely encourage that and if people feel a song is about something the writer didn't intend, then go with it. In the end when a song is being listened to it's the meaning for the listener that is actually important. Yet, I know for some people that understanding the original intent behind the song is important, so here is my attempt to explain Icebreaker..<br />
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Now it's important to note that a lot of the lyrics I write are very intuitive, so there are many cases where I haven't realised what a song was about until the Bridge started forming, then I'd have an aha! moment and realise what I'd been on about up to that point. Icebreaker wasn't like that.. and it wasn't called Icebreaker until recently (all hail working name "Dynamic Song').<br />
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I started writing the lyrics for Icebreaker in the darkened, dingy depths of a student house in Leicester, fondly referred to as 'Edward House'. The guitar was already drafted out as per usual before I begin lyrics and I was watching an anime called 'Soul Eater'. Specifically, I was wondering what traits I found inspiring in a character called 'Blair'. If your reading this and you haven't seen Soul Eater I recommend you do (ignore the nude scenes), if you have seen Soul Eater you will know that Blair is a magical cat that can turn into a human. So this is where the beginnings of the song come from.. a magical cat.<br />
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Although, not exactly. It was more what I found inspiring in Blair, which is a character that has an uncanny ability to have fun and focus on "living in the moment" as it were. Not on some great career path or love pursuit or divine mission or whatever, just simply being themselves and enjoying life in the best way they can, for now. So a song came from that that celebrates the people in life who are exceptional at having fun and letting go, in the same way that people who are exceptional at motivating themselves or love or succeeding in more traditional ways are celebrated.<br />
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That may not make sense, I'm not sure but basically the song outlines the thoughts and feelings of someone inspiring in this way, in the sense that some people can be inspiring for being strong, smart or caring, who I would want to emulate. It starts with an imagined scenario where this fictional character wakes up after a night where they were embarrassed and hurt and how they dealt with that. Then goes on to explain there reasons for the way they act. "And I know I may have hesitations about wasting time after new sensations" - this line refers to the time that is "wasted" chasing after fun and the pressure they take from others to do something more tangibly worthwhile. "I'm just a debug away from new sensations" - refers to the need to get rid of any beliefs that are preventing them from new experiences. A lot of the song talks about overcoming a struggle to let themselves pursue what they truly value, despite that not being seen as an important goal in their life and despite being informed there are realities which they need to address and pursue: like getting rich or getting married. It's an Icebreaker in the sense that it's almost as if this person is introducing themselves and what they're about to someone they've just met.<br />
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Anyway sorry if I've confused you, the song is open to interpretation and is a celebration of these traits, I'm not saying everyone should emulate them but that I'm glad there are people that do, as being exceptional at having fun is important.<br />
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Here are the lyrics for Icebreaker:<br />
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 29.3333px;">Icebreaker</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Verse
1</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Strip
off, this old lost love,</span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Take
on, the world like I knew I would,</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It’s
an irony line, I don’t wanna make you jealous,</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I’ve
taken time, to love like no-one ever,</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Look
in the mirror, I see nothing perfect,</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a>
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">But
that smile, knew it was worth it,</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">To
hit the ground last night knowing the risks,</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">A
tip-top way to marry a tiff,</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Pre-chorus</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And
I know I might have hesitations,</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">About
wasting time after new sensations,</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It’s
not that I’m scared of me,</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It’s
that I take my time clearing these realities,</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Chorus</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I’m
just a debug away from new sensations,</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It
takes a long, long time to fill it with my expectations,</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I’m
not worried about my life, I know that everything’s alright,</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">In
fact I could stand here all day, running around after nothing today,</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Verse
2</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Stretch
out, any tear toxic garbage,</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Roll
away, it’s my new day!</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I
run around like I’m nothing else,</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And
take the time to enjoy myself,</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It’s
my time to shine as I wish,</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It’s
my life to do as I see fit,</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And
I know I can take it slow or fast,</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Who
knows? How long I’ll last?</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Pre-Chorus</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Chorus</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Bridge</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Alright, I just said,</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Some thoughts that whirl around inside my head,</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">And as I take my time to share my life,</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I'll find a clue that leads to extraordinary things,</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Or I'll tell you a lie and see if you believe,</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It seems I run,</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">On expectation,</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">It seems I run,</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;">On expectation,</span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
<span style="font-family: "cooper black" , serif; font-size: 21.3333px;">Chorus</span></div>
<br />
<div class="western" style="line-height: 115%; margin-bottom: 0.35cm;">
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CWMBandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09537194649251127708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8433052178976061893.post-68457709148334059242017-12-01T13:01:00.000-08:002017-12-01T13:01:45.404-08:00Police Thieves and Merchants - Chapter 3<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Chapter 3: Can We Move?</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The four thieves had been
walking for miles, completely separated from the rest of their
“band”. Each individually contemplated leaving the others to go
alone and each realised they didn't want to. The large pine trees
rose up around them, reducing the sky to splinters of sunlight
shining through the tree-tops. All four remained fairly unaware of
the land yet felt at home in it's wild and mysterious nature, the
peaceful quiet around them giving their journey a slightly mystical
quality.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">How far north is this
city?” the youngest of the thieves questioned. He had light hair,
was fairly tall, though not as imposing as Crole, and displayed a
curious and sly nature in his movements as he explored his
surroundings.</span></div>
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“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Stop asking questions and
get a move on,” answered Borg: a small, squat man approaching
middle age. He wore a ruffled, dark, brown beard with a long ponytail
swinging down his back. He had also constantly worn a scowl over the
course of their collaborative get rich quick scheme, Sedrick noted
with mild interest.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">We'll know when we get out
of this forest.” The darkened trees that impenetrably surrounded
them reinforced Borg's mood. Alone without the rest of the band, they
stood less of a chance of finding this supposed city in the north
where the purses of the wealthy eagerly awaited them. In all honesty
they had never these cities before. The only resemblance of a city
they knew of came on the coast to the south of their land, still far
enough away for them to not be overly familiar with such a sizeable
settlement. They were used to living in a land similar to this dotted
with trees, hills and small settlements.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Just such a settlement came
crawling into view within an hour as the trees that clamoured around
the thieves began to thin and spread apart to form a clearing with a
village at the far end from the thieves approach. Upon further
inspection, 'village' proved too generous a word to describe it, it
was more a small collection of houses perched on the edge of the
clearing. Nevertheless, it provided an opportunity to the thieves for
food either through money, guile or the provision of a small service
for the inhabitants. Sedrick quickly opted for guile and disappeared
into the tree-line. As always he wanted to see on what adventure his
unique skills could take him and far he could push them. The others
left him to pursue food through another means. They stood discussing
the situation within the forest, just out of sight of the small
cluster of buildings. </span>
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<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">What money do we have?”
Borg queried, looking up at Crole.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">A little... enough for
food certainly but we don't know how many days we'll be on this
trek,” was the hesitant answer.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I'm starving, I'm up for
money if it's quickest..”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">And we don't want to be
around if Sedrick gets caught...” chipped in Laurel.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">He's not stupid Laurel..”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Then he can get my dinner.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Just fucking decide
already,” snapped Borg.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Do you need us to decide
for you, because I think that requires some serious consideration.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">You do know I have killed
before Laurel.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">So you keep telling us
master murderer but I fail to care,” Laurel smirked honestly. He
didn't care, in fact there was only one member of their foursome who
had never killed – and that wasn't Laurel.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Before Borg could retaliate
Crole said matter of factly:</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Look, if we're doing this
together let's just vote on it and do whatever comes top.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Money,” Borg spoke
instantly and Crole shifted uneasily.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The money will need to last
a while.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Service” stated Laurel,
not realizing in his need to annoy that he wasn't satisfying his own
hunger pangs.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">After Laurel made his decision
a harmless, innocent woodcutter emerged from the buildings opposite
the huddle of thieves. They looked up, sensing the movement within
the still, tranquil scene. Thunk after thunk resounded around the
clearing as the stranger merrily hacked at his wood. Borg glanced at
Crole who frowned at Laurel and let out a sigh.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Fine, money it is. Let's
get some food and shelter.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Immediately, Borg strode from
the tree-line towards the chopping sound. The woodcutter stayed
focused on his work and didn't notice as Borg continued towards him.
Thunk, thunk, thunk the work was consistent, practised and cheerful
as Crole and Laurel followed Borg across the clearing, feeling the
grass sweep gently against their dark trousers. He didn't look up
once. Thunk and thunk, he could do this for days, the man was a pro-
content in his simple, harmless life. Thunk...thunk... this happy
chopping put a spring in Borg's step, each of which brought him
closer to the promise of delicious dinner. It had an honest tone to
it he thought, reflected in the peaceful, simple scenery that
surrounded the workplace and sent the noise ricocheting back at them.
One more thunk and the worker looked up, staring straight at Borg.
There was the softest of clicks followed by a great, sudden bang
echoing into the thieves ears with more force than they had ever
known. An echo which continued with sudden, epic force onwards around
the forest as the woodcutter's head exploded.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Kendra was strolling along the
forest path as a colourful variety of scattered leaves fell before
her, clutching at her boot as she passed by. Sandra hopped after her,
a messy debris left on the forest floor as she passed.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Where are we Sandra?”
Kendra asked, a tone of authority in her voice.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">You know I know where I
am.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Where are we Sandra? What
would you call this collection of trees thrusting up out of this
muddy surface we call the ground?” Kendra continued regardless.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I have trouble focusing,
I've made you aware of that in the past..”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">That's not an answer
Sandra,” Kendra stated unhelpfully.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">A forest.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">A forest! Fucking brilliant
Sandra! Now, what do people tend to do in a forest?”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Chop wood.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Something to do with
animals Sandra,” Kendra persisted in her unhelpful, authoritative,
exaggerated tone.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Watch the birds.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Your not getting the game
Sandra, I ask you a question and you tell me what we both know I want
to hear.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Hunt.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">And what do hunters leave?”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Traps,” Kendra said in a
resigned tone.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Now you know! Now you know
Sandra. After this lesson how can you possibly manage to wander into
a trap again!” Kendra finished, her voice brimming with sarcasm.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">My leg hurts.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Kendra quickly glanced down,
her attention from the path ahead briefly interrupted before quickly
focusing back.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">That's what snares do I'm
afraid, but you're up and you're walking with bearable pain so that's
good enough for me to keep chasing after those thieves. That item our
clients want back is clearly precious and could cause more trouble
for us if we let just anyone get their hands on it.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Sandra kept moving,
contemplating whether she should mention that she hadn't heard the
description of this mysterious, precious item. She thought better of
it, refusing to give Kendra another reason to humiliate her. Her
loose, cropped hair drooped down over her face as she looked up at
the sun. Still plenty of day left, as long as it continued to act
normally. There was a general buzz in the back of her mind, as she
guessed there was among everyone's, as to what had happened to the
sun. The possibilities of why it had disappeared were endless to her,
so she had decided to focus on hoping that nothing dangerous would
come of it and try not to let it bother her too much. The conflicting
theories of the merchants amused her still though, as her lip curled
in spite of the stinging area where the snare had wickedly clawed
into her left calf.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">A few hours later the
stinging had eased and she had promoted herself to hobbling over
half-hopping/ half – lurching up the path. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Kendra may moan a lot but
at least her partner had decent first aid skills”, she mused as the
path evened out after another hill. The woodland continued to stretch
out before them, continually littering the path with the colourful
leaves. Her reverie was smashed as she heard strained voices further
up to the left of the track. Kendra didn't hear, she in turn was
wondering if she should call a halt for the day so Sandra's leg could
heal better, when she quickly shot her arm out- tensed horizontally
to the left. Sandra instantly thumped into it and collapsed back onto
the floor.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Pit trap,” Kendra
stated. She had only just seen it at the last moment before she
herself had triggered it, the slightest of patterns in the leaves
revealing that they had intentionally been arranged. It was huge,
covering almost the entire path. Most likely designed for a bear she
thought, slightly confused.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">There are voices,” a
voice murmured from the floor.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Which way?” Kendra asked,
trusting her partners ears without question.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Sandra got up and motioned to
go quietly indicating where the sounds were coming from. She had to
be guided by Kendra around the trap for fear of worsening her leg.
Once they were beyond it Sandra crept forward confidently and
silently through the trees, Kendra rustling quietly just a few steps
behind, her ears pricking up as the voices became louder the closer
they came.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">They were coming from a
clearing where three men surrounded another on the floor with knives
in hand. The man on the ground had deep cut marks and bruises where
he had been gruesomely assaulted by his assailants. Kendra wondered
how he managed to keep himself from falling unconscious as he looked
up, blood oozing from a cut on his lower lip.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Tell us where to go!”
one of the knife wielding maniacs commanded, blood dripping from his
knife onto the tranquil forest floor. The scene looked horrific, but
Sandra did note at least that the injuries were still relatively
minor on the victim, if they could just get him away he should be
able to make it to the nearest medical attention.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">We have to intervene,”
she whispered to Kendra, focusing on keeping her breathing subdued
and quiet. Kendra had already formulated a plan, as well as noticed
the purple wine jars stacked next to the thieves' baggage and
supplies. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Make your away around
silently to the opposite end of the clearing,” she ordered at a
minute volume with eyes focused in anticipation. “Once you're there
stay out of sight and ready to make your move. I'll try and draw them
away, once I do get the prisoner and the wine and head north. There's
a village a few miles from here, do you remember?”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Batesmoor.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Correct, take the merchant
there with the wine, I'll follow you once I've gotten rid of these...
scum.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Sandra nodded and made her way
around the clearing. Her blue top and leggings contrasted amazingly
with the green scenery so she kept her movements slow and precise
around a path which kept her far enough from the clearing to remain
hidden. Meanwhile, the merchant continued to be questioned and take a
beating. Kendra lost sight of Sandra as she got closer to the
opposite side, it was now up to her intuition to time her move just
when her partner was in position. She ran through the plan once more
in her head. It could be better, but she trusted in her speed,
intelligence and natural ability to improvise to get her out of any
setbacks. The only worry was that if the thieves didn't go for her.
The seconds ticked past and as the thieves moved in for another
attack on the gentleman she decided to move.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">She stepped into the clearing
perpendicular to the thieves' vision the jagged edges of the stones
she clutched digging into her skin. Being so intent on their prisoner
she had a wine jar under her arm and a stone ready to hurl before
they noticed her. Her first stone crashed into the nearest thief's
face as he turned to face the threat. He was tall and gangly in shape
lurching backwards as he yelled out, a hand clasped over his face. A
string of foul language erupted from the thief stooped down to cut at
the victim as a stone zipped into his teeth. Kendra laughed merrily
and galloped off into the trees. The stooped thief spat blood onto
the already blood spattered floor. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Stay here!” he shouted at
the unharmed thief as he stepped forward. </span>
</div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">We'll go get her and she
can join him,” he muttered nodding to the groaning man on the floor
as he followed his taller comrade into the woodland.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The remaining thief wiped
a baffled look off his face before standing guard over his prisoner,
a knife at his hip Sandra noted.</span></div>
<br />
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Could be worse”, she
thought. “At least two of the criminals had gone after Kendra's
diversion. Time to improvise, I guess..,” as she felt around for a
decent grip on the large chunk of wood in her hand and glared at the
thief.</span></div>
CWMBandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09537194649251127708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8433052178976061893.post-61234544221862894382017-10-13T16:09:00.000-07:002017-10-13T16:10:46.699-07:00Band Watching<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Right Kate and
random, generic internet-surfer I'm going to call Steven, it's time
to talk about bands. More specifically bands that I wouldn't have
heard of if I wasn't in a band (probably). A small compilation of the
more noticeable bands I've seen through gigging or alternatively,
when scouring through music groups to promote our band online.
Basically, they keep these activities interesting (as well as the
people who come to shows, playing live, beer and John's beard etc.)
by exposing me to brand new, exciting music that I wouldn't have
heard of otherwise. So here is a few new underrated bands that have
stood out for me:</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b><br />
</b></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>Vertical Noise</b></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
These guys from
Nottingham were at our first gig playing right after us, causing me
to madly rush the load in afterwards (forgetting to pack up my
stands) so I could run back inside and catch their show. My first
impression of this band came weeks before the gig and it could be
described in one word: Noisy. Certainly, the name suits them, but it
was a catchy kind of noisy that I could both bob my head or smash a
dining set to. Their music gave me options.. and I liked that. If I
could recommend one song to listen to it would be “Lieutenant
Colonel Mother Teresa”, named after a relative I'm assuming. I
believe this is their first single (don't quote me on that either of
you) and it's lengthy, dynamically varied intro wins me over from the
start – well worth a listen:</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nHrnCgL2SIc">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nHrnCgL2SIc</a>
.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Now Steven, as a
generic internet user I'm surprised you've made it this far: but if
you scurried on past that link without pressing it to rush through
this “blog” post without checking out the music I'm carefully
selecting for you, then what's the point? You may as well listen as
you read since you're so committed to reading this now, even as I
talk about literally nothing for a few sentences..</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>Brain Circus
</b></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I met these guys
from Sheffield as the opening band in our second gig, and upon
hearing their name I thought it would be some sort of psychedelic
madness that I would struggle to wrap my head around. Yet, as they
played I discovered that they were a catchy pop punk band. At least,
I think it was pop punk... it definitely reminded me of pop punk
music. Looking at their facebook page, the only live video I can find
is a cover of Led Zeppelin's Moby Dick: so they definitely have a
good taste in music.. and a great drummer. The drummer's talent
really stood out while I watched them, and with solid singing and
some great riffs on the guitar, I will want to check out their songs
when they finish recording. Check out their facebook page here:</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
https://www.facebook.com/BrainCircusUK/.</div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<b>FES</b></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
When the gig
organizer tells you that you'll be playing with one of the best bands
that he's ever booked, it's tempting to feel down that you're not
that band. However, when you've already checked out said band and are
excited to hear their music, you realize that it's a forgiveable
offence.. this one time. When that band then can't attend the show,
it's easy to feel down again.. but then you get to play a show.. and
so on so forth. FES are from the far off land of Peterborough and
have been around just over a year at this point. I may have missed
seeing them live, but I can assure you both that their recordings are
well worth checking out. I would definitely classify them as pop
rock, if forced to do such a thing.. but if you're adamantly a
dubstep/rave man Steven, then even you may enjoy this if you consider
opening your god-damn mind. Their music feels very easy to get into
no matter which genre you feel you are tied to, and can be super
uplifting to listen to. Here's their first single:
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CLyK8x1PG4k">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CLyK8x1PG4k</a>
and check out their EP on bandcamp :
<a href="http://flatearthsocietyuk.com/releases">http://flatearthsocietyuk.com/releases</a>
.</div>
CWMBandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09537194649251127708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8433052178976061893.post-34147602281871753032017-10-10T13:44:00.003-07:002017-10-10T13:44:59.473-07:00Police, Thieves and Merchants - Chapter 2 Catching Wild MenWell Kate and the dude randomly surfing the internet who I shall call Steven, here is the highly anticipated second chapter of Police, Thieves and Merchants:<br />
<br />
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 20pt;"><b>Chapter
2 Catching Wild Men</b></span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Run.. run.. run.. run..
hedge... duck... crawl... up and run... run...”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Stop yelling what you're
doing and just go!”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The wild men had retrieved the
valuable cargo and were heading as far away from the path as they
could go, crashing through the undergrowth and smashing past trees in
a direct beeline north.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Guys I can't peg it any
longer... ” Four of the thieves had stopped in a clearing and were
catching their breath.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I wouldn't worry, I don't
think they even noticed.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">The speaker straightened up,
clad in black and tall enough to be fairly imposing, should the need
arise. His hair was scrappy at best and he had a single false tooth
of magenta in colour.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">So much wine!” one of the
thieves exclaimed excitedly, “I wonder what I will do with this...”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Stop stroking the wine
Laurel..”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">It's my wine! I'm
sophisticated! I like wine.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Still there's no need
to...”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Guys sit down.” Magenta
Tooth stated.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">They all quickly collapsed
onto the floor, littered about the clearing among the wild, overgrown
plants and fallen timber. There was a short pause as the thieves
enjoyed the opportunity to catch their breath before one of them
called out to Magenta tooth.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">What if they're coming
after us Crole?”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">They're not.. ” Crole
responded, still drawing breath heavily. “Probably... just …
let's take a break.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">We have a lot of wine, how
much is it worth?”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">According to the informant,
valuable, more than gold and most exotic devices.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Why?”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">They love it here and in
any of the nearest cities, plus there's none available for thousands
of miles.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Not any cities for a while
around though.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">That's what the informant
says..”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">And the nearest city is to
the north?”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Again, as the informant
states..”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">With minimal law
enforcement in the area to stop us...”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Correct, due to the sparse
population of the area and the fact that it isn't really claimed in
the name of any city.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Back at the carts the
merchants were confronted by two professional looking women, with
badges.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">One of them gave a long, tired
sigh.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Why don't you finish your
story?”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Of course madam we'll get
right to it, but first we need to finish our argument..” one of the
motley collection of purple garbed men replied.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I mean, we've got it down
to bustle or kerfuffle right?”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">No bustle or hustle! There
was no kerfuffling..”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Right, of course..”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">It can sometimes be an amusing
thing to watch an argument uncontrollably unfold in front of you
Kendra pondered, if only this was one of those times.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Just move on from that
word, whatever it is and continue on with your story...”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">It took two hours for an
agreement to be reached, during which Kendra noticed her partner,
Sandra, spent much of it gawking; displaying a minute reminiscence of
her awareness of the situation.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Ok, so we heard a hustle,
as in when someone says 'let's hustle'”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Yes I've heard the term,”
Kendra drawled in an unimpressed tone.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Then when we checked the
back of the carts,” continued the merchant.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">There was nothing, just a
couple of bottles left over.”</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I don't even know why
they stole them all,” chimed in the merchant referred to as Briax.</span></div>
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
“<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Even a small amount of
effort wasn't worth such a seemingly insignificant prize, unless..”</span></div>
<br />
<div align="left" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Sandra nodded listening
intently, until of course she wasn't. Her mind was quickly
calculating how much the thieves would make on even the Blackest of
Markets. Two seconds into that she was wondering what it was like to
be a trader on such a market and what she could sell. Two minutes
later her mind zipped back into focus a solid retirement plan
involving cannons, Frisbees and the world's undying need for a new
extreme sport involving pets, under-way in the back of her mind. She
listened just in time to nod to Kendra's “Let's go!” and move off
in search of the wild men.</span></div>
CWMBandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09537194649251127708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8433052178976061893.post-48235266645745789092017-08-30T12:16:00.004-07:002017-08-30T12:19:09.349-07:00A Wild Story Appeared..<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="color: white; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><b>This
is a story all about how some lives got flipped turned upside down..
it's chapter one of the tale literally no-one asked for, creatively
named "Police, Thieves and Merchants".. let's have a read..</b></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="color: white; font-size: 14pt;"><b>Police,
Thieves and Merchants</b></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="color: white; font-size: 14pt;"><b>Chapter
1: Crying Wine Merchants</b></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="color: white; font-size: 14pt;">It
was dark during the day. Eleven travellers turned up to stare, some
quickly glanced away. The shining light up above had faded fast to be
replaced with a darkened circle upon a fiery outline.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="color: white; font-size: 14pt;">It
had been this way for two minutes. The travellers stood scattered
across the path wandering aloud as to how this could occur. A few
argued it was the work of their god, as is the norm when facing the
unknown. Of course they believed everything was the work of their god
anyway so it wasn't a very enlightening opinion for them.
Additionally, those who put their faith in the more scientific
organizations were arguing their viewpoints.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="color: white; font-size: 14pt;">One
argued that the sun had died and that they would all freeze to death.
He had taken to shouting manically, throwing his arms up and
gesturing wildly to make it known that his point is the correct one.
Another followed the theory that their world is a round spherical
object called a planet, constantly spinning and flying in and out of
light and dark. He argued that the planet had taken a diversion and
was leaving the light early today, possibly to never follow it's
original path and return. He had a more sombre tone, wistful for the
day-time he had lost forever. Of the rest, they agreed that the sun
had been eaten by a giant monster and someone needed to defeat the
monster and cut it back out again. They thought this was far more
interesting than the scientific or religious opinions and were
discussing how such a hero would get up there to kill it.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="color: white; font-size: 14pt;">Cax
sniffed at the air, allowing the scent of the pine trees swaying in
the breeze at the side of the path to blow through his nostrils.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">What
fools” he thought, as he gazed at the trees surrounding the path on
either side. The travel-stained, barely purple robe he had received
upon being admitted into the group swirled around his ankles as he
cocked his head against the breeze. He attempted to listen out for
any signs that they were being tracked before the loud, bitter
conversation hauled him back into it's embrace.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Look”
someone stated in a mournful tone, “look, look... look. Clearly
this is not what you want to hear but we have left the light, the sun
is gone and is never coming back. No gods will be returning it to
us.”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The
work of the gods almighty can't be understood by mortal men Briax,
we'll be lucky if we get a hint of their plan.”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Now,
now Pollux don't be morbid, there are always signs if we know how to
read them.”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I
wonder how we didn't hear the monster before now.”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Stop
screaming Lax! Also, there is no monster.”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">What
swallowed the sun then?”.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Nothing,
there will be signs from the gods.”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Oh
sure Cax but you say everything is signs from them. What sign is the
monster?”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I
reckon I could kill it.”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">There
is nothing to kill because there is no monster, the signs are all
around us – oh do shut up Lax!”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">How
would you kill it Throx?”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Now
look here... look... look.. this conversation is meaningless, we need
to start getting used to the era of the night!”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Night
people? That is interesting... But no the monster must be huge!”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">There
are signs all over the landscape..”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I
see a sign that the sun is dead.”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I'll
need a big knife, but when I have that, it's just a matter of timing
and preci..”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Wait!
Briax, did you hear that rustle?”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I
didn't hear a rustle Paxter but there was a distinctive hustle, as in
let's go- let's hustle!”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Shut
up! It was absolutely a rustle.”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Sounded
like a tussle to me.”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Where
did it come from?”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The
ruffle came from the back of the carts.”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Now
your being stupid, it is definite rustling.”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">No
a hustle, it's getting further away.”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Which
means that whatever is rustling is getting further away.”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Or
more probably the tussle is..”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Sounds
like a big kerfuffle.”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Right!
I'm seeing what's making that rustle,” Paxter exclaimed as he broke
away from the group.</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Nothing
if you ask me, but I could check on the bustle.”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="color: white; font-size: 14pt;">Paxter
spun round. “Bustle?! What planet are you on, how does that rustle
sound even remotely like a bustle?!”</span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="color: white; font-size: 14pt;">Xa
cleared his throat.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Well
what you mistake for a rustle is actually clearly people bustling
against one another to get away.”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">That's
the hustle!”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">No
Briax, not a hustle that's more co-ordinated, this is definite
bustling sound.”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Xa,
your fucking stupid, it's clearly a tussle otherwise whatever it was
would have bustled, hustled, rustled away by now!”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Oh
Throx, sweet Throx.. all you care about is fights and there is no
fight here.. just a kerfuffle.. someone fucked up.”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I'm
joining the tussle..”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;">“<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Don't
you have your big monster to fight first Throx?”</span></span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="color: white; font-size: 14pt;">The
argument continued on for several minutes. Meanwhile the thieves
rustling in the back of the wine merchant's cart bustled to get as
much of the precious stock as they could. There was a tussle and a
couple of scuffles, plus one thief managed to have a kerfuffle and
tripped over. There was certainly no hustle though as the thieves ran
in a disorganised mess splitting up as they raced away from the
emptied cart.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span style="color: white; font-size: 14pt;">As
the sun reappeared behind the shadow there were tears in the
merchants' eyes, partly from relief and partly from distress over
their missing cargo. All except Cax, who considered himself
stubbornly correct in both his previous assertions.</span></span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: white; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>
<div align="left" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt;"><b>Wow.. impressive.. you made it through. That's
it for chapter 1. Check back on the CWM blog for more randomness..
coming soon..</b></span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
CWMBandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09537194649251127708noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8433052178976061893.post-84398816162773981082017-08-12T12:08:00.000-07:002017-08-12T12:11:45.175-07:001st Gig<b><br /></b>
<b>Hello and welcome to this... blog. I'm not sure what generally goes on in blogs but this will be a place where the band can write about whatever takes their fancy.. so expect anything! Literally anything at all!</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Seeing as we just played our first gig I thought I'd kick things off with the thoughts going through my head as we played or first song live.. ever. Enjoy... or not I guess depending on your mood..</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The reassuringly even wood of the stage rests beneath my feet as I scamper about<br />
wondering what I'm missing. Twizzle, twizzle, twizzle. The various knobs around the<br />
drum-set inhabiting the rear of the stage need adjusting to the perfect, optimum level.<br />
A quick glance up and everyone else on stage is not near as frantic against the backdrop<br />
of darkened silhouettes waiting in judgement.<br />
Drumsticks! Of course i'm missing that slightly essential item to play the drums.<br />
Quickly I'm dashing in the back room and out again leaping through the tangled,<br />
forest of wires which make up the floor of the stage and back behind the kit.<br />
Back to frantic twizzling I suppose until everything is just right.. except that<br />
cymbal stand. Why won't it stay completely still? It does look a bit wobbly.<br />
Just a few more tightens and it should be fine.. Everyone is turning towards me with<br />
a questioning look of expectation: clearly they want me to hurry.<br />
"Are you ready?"<br />
"Yeah, for the line check?"<br />
"Yer.. I don't think there's a line check."<br />
"What?!"<br />
Ah shit first no sound check now no line check. Well there's only so much that can<br />
go wrong on a first gig. I give the bass drum a few kicks and hit the snare a<br />
couple of times to confirm with myself that this drum-kit does make sounds<br />
before giving a nod of confirmation.<br />
<br />
Rob begins far too immediately and I'm in drum mode, ticking down until the rest<br />
of us come in and.. Bam! I've started and my first thought is how awesome the new snare sounds<br />
crackling out as it gets belted in the intro. Wait that cymbal hit felt a bit<br />
weak.. I look up and the pesky cymbal stand has already decided to flip the crash<br />
back over itself away from me. Of course this now initiates a chaotic few moments where I<br />
have no idea whether to keep trying to hit the rebellious thing or just depend on<br />
the ride.. Somehow I manage to decide to do both as we belt on into the verse.<br />
<br />
Muscle memory and vain pride motivate me to keep using the crash despite it's<br />
awkward state but it soon becomes obvious that I'm going to have to abandon this<br />
dumbass strategy. By the chorus I'm all about the ride and find some breathing space<br />
to actually think about what everyone is doing. It all sounds good from what I can<br />
tell and I'm sure the mass of blackened blobs beyond the stage light are<br />
enjoying themselves wonderfully.<br />
<br />
Soon though it's back to chaotic neural patterns as I try to figure out in<br />
approximately 1 second how to play our cymbal-heavy intro with just a ride.<br />
For some bizarre reason this appears to go well and I can feel myself really<br />
getting into the music.. except is this too slow? This has got to be too slow.<br />
How is no-one else in the band glaring at me yet? This is a snail's pace<br />
compared to practice- I'm pretty sure the entire audience is leaving in disgust.<br />
And... calm down.. breathe.. listen to Dory... just keep playing.. the blobs are<br />
still with us.<br />
<br />
The second chorus is coming to a close.. this is where I get my little break..<br />
HOLY SHIT YES. Thank christ I can actually adjust that cymbal! Tom laughs<br />
as I grin at the finally well-positioned, glimmering sheet of metal. I celebrate by<br />
smashing it as I come back in mid-bridge and it gloriously stays where it's supposed to.<br />
Wait a sec.. that kick drum sounds a bit off. I look down to see the pedal veering off<br />
to the right, completely inconsiderate to it's supposed job of smashing repeatedly<br />
into the bass drum in front of it. Great.. and we're off into the final, loud, smashing chorus.<br />
<br />
Come on pedal.. stay with me.. don't fuck off now.. I find myself staring keenly<br />
at my feet as Rob comes over in some sort of guitar inertia for some serious guitar-<br />
drummer stare-off time. I'd love to join, I'm never one to miss a guitar-drummer stare off<br />
but that pedal is inching away just a little bit.. Stay with me pedal, stay with me<br />
cymbal- we're heading into the crescendo and... made it! Haha! That was excellent!!<br />
The blobs are all still here! Time for some serious fiddling before the next song begins<br />
as the music quietens down and John begins segregating the crowd into people who know us<br />
and people who don't..<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Wow you made it to the end of that?! Check out the grand band blog for more things you weren't really looking for!</b>CWMBandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09537194649251127708noreply@blogger.com0