So... the Carrington Triangle Folk Club. So called because it's in a pub called the Carrington and the room is, sort of, a triangle. It would be more aptly named the Carrington Trapezium Folk Club but, fortunately, I'm not a pedant...
Due to the plethora of Premier Inns in Nottingham,
007 and I got there just as things were getting started - which meant we were both 'dry'. Possibly no bad thing but, on the other hand, possibly a very bad thing (I certainly felt so, anyway) - particularly as it's a CAMRA pub and the various frothy brews with stupid names were enticing.
An interesting place - up the stairs to a room with a mix of comfy seats, sofas and 'sit up and beg' chairs. There were, I suppose, 15 or so folk altogether - and a real mix. It was great to see some young people (by which I normally mean people younger than I) but there were some genuine young people there. One of them hadn't even started shaving yet. And she was quite pretty. Oh and a proper punk, too - with skinny jeans, combat boots and a red mohican. And he was rather good.
Phil, the host, is your typical folk club organiser. Probably been doing it since the second wave of the folk revival and hasn't let go of the long hair and beard despite both now being grey. He took our money and wrote the names down - and you sang in the order in which you arrived.
There was a great deal of 'unaccompanied' singing. I've never really noticed before, but unaccompanied songs seem to have at least twice as many verses as songs that have some instrumentation. Now that's fine for a sea shanty where you can get involved in the singing but, when it's something obscure and doleful, it can seem to drag a bit (well, to my mind). At least nobody put their fingers in their ears to sing (or to listen).
There were a number of instruments, of course, including the obligatory steel string guitars, a classical (which must have been a posh one as it came in a proper hard case), a banjolele, mandola, and a fiddle.
Not everybody did 'a turn' - and not everyone who did had a song. There was also a spoken word poem - about ducks. Quack, Quack.
I have to say that everyone was very respectful to the performers - being very quiet and waiting for the end of songs before going to the bar (and coming back in again). All of which meant that I had to wait for Paul to sing before I could get us some juice. The spoken word poem was a funny, and Paul followed it up with his 'Teenage Kicks' parody. Now, I was in the bar so only got back for the last couple of verses, but people were laughing and singing along and generally enjoying Paul's performance. Which gave me enough confidence to lead with 'Meet Her In The Bar'. It's a bit weird not knowing the audience well enough to know if they're going to be offended but, if any of them were, they kept it, and their rotten fruit, to themselves.
There was, of course, a raffle. Which I didn't win. bastards. There was also a vegetarian curry laid on in the intermission. Having been royally fed by Mr & Mrs 007 beforehand I didn't partake. Smelled bloody good, mind.
So the second half followed the same pattern as the first - and the same order. Paul's 'Celebrity Death Row' song was really well received, as is its due. A cracking song. It looked, for a time, as though we might get to do three songs so I followed up with my collaboration with Carly Simon about Trump: "You're Insane".
I was pleased that it went down well, or seemed to, with folk joining in the chorusy thingy-wotsit.
At shortly after eleven P.M. Phil called time - which meant no third song from most of the performers. Just as I was getting warmed up.
And Paul gave me a lift back to my hotel. Which was handy as I'd never have found it otherwise!
All in all a jolly decent evening. I must not do it again sometime.