Yesterday played a lovely quiet acoustic gig up Upper Street in a little green room above the Albert and Pearl. It was totally acoustic and I had a wonderful time, the ambience really suited me. Annie was a very gracious host, and also performing were the charming Lizzie Spit, who sang a great song about a young guy who didn't move away from his home place and was wearing clothes like his grandfather (or something like that, I think I may have got that slightly skewed but the general theme I'm sure is right), and the amiable and rogue-ish Hamish Currie, who I had to annoy sadly by leaving a little earlier than I would have liked in order to catch that old train.
The stage was simply lovely, a garland semi-circle marking its boundaries. I had a bit of a sticky moment when I sung my Devil song. I'd just put lip balm on and tossing my hair about, it kept getting caught on my lips. Most unpleasant for me and the audience. I either am going to have to sing with less abandon, or not put lip balm on just before I go on stage. Or tie my hair up.
I was so delighted that Isolda my piano-playing songstress chum turned up, it was fantastic to see her. We're going to try and make an open mic together soon, possibly at the Victoria in Mile End, where I hear there is a piano for the use of folk like us.