Pontypool - The Hog and Hosper - November 6th, 2009
Published: March 24, 2010

MUSIC LIVE '09 WEEKEND

HI-ON PONTYPOOL 2009

Up earlyish for a Little Thief breakfast before I climbed into the Speedwagon for the jaunt down to Pontypool. En-route we swotted up on our Helloween, listening to both 'Keeper of the Seven Keys' albums, and their live set from Donington '88. It seems Helloween were a bit messy that day, which was good news for me as I was fretting slightly (pun intended) about those guitar parts.

Michael Krispe prepares his pumpkin

Arriving in Pontypool in the rain, we loaded in and grabbed a drink or two while poor Mr Lodge had a bit of kip. After the show tonight he was going to need to pack up, drive home to Stafford, sleep, drive to Birmingham, load in, play an afternoon spot at Music Live with The Burning Beat Boys, load out, and drive to Kettering for our next gig! Needless to say we praise his heroism this weekend - we simply couldn't have done it without ya mate. After setting up and imbibing, Mr Swift and I worked out the intricacies of the guitar harmonies, then we had a go at the Helloween tunes. Tonight was do or die, as we'd been advertised as the support band! Thankfully someone else was on hand to warm up the crowd before us in the form of 'Cowboy & The Corpse', a well-received local covers band.

Hulloween's debut performance

Hulloween hit the stage! It was very enjoyable indeed, and not half bad. There were a couple of song requests from the crowd to deal with, but thankfully they were amongst the four songs we'd learned anyway! Mr Dugginson did a particularly awesome job as Michael Krispe in a wig that, after the weekend, would be donated to me as it was viewed as a more suitable Murray-a-like than Brenda. Splendid! After the Hulloween set it was time to cast aside German power metal and slip into Noooowobbham (that's NWOBHM to you). Once again, another fantastic crowd. With four gigs this weekend, it's hard to pick out highlights/lowlights from the lot, especially considering that the first three were an identical set. I remember another few 'brown notes' appearing in Seventh Son, but once again it was met with a roaring reception. Jonno packed down, said his goodbyes and pootled off for home, while the rest of us retired to the bar. That's where it all went a teensy bit wrong.

Let me preface this by proffering some advice: If a Welsh barkeep ever offers you a tot from a bottle of vodka with chillies stuffed in it, kindly decline and then get as far away as you can.

The aforementioned offensive weapon was passed in front of my face, to which I immediately said no. It's not like me to refuse a drink (as anyone who knows me will tell you!). However, I knew this to be wrong. Deeply, deeply wrong. So I continued to pack down my gear and sup my Guinness. While I was off somewhere else, the bottle had been offered to Swifty and Dugginson. Duggers' portion was abruptly removed from his hand by the bartender, who warned him against it - apparently, it was no good for the singing voice. Swifty merrily threw his measure right down his gullet, and then stood there in silent horror as tears ran down his cheek. Mission accomplished, thought the barman. To whit, he turned his attentions back to me. A glass with a trickle of the vile death syrup was placed in front of me at the bar. I refused again, and would have continued to do so had Mr Dugginson not come round to me. "Try it Manic, it's really nice!" said he. Had it been Swifty, I would have not believed him. Had it been Speed, I would have not believed him. Yet I still had some trust for our singer. So down it went.

Hi-on Maiden hit the Pontypool masses

At first, it was like a rather hot curry. That's fine, I thought. I enjoy a curry that leaves your lips burning. However as it trickled down my throat and made it's way through the rest of my innards, I suddenly felt as if I'd eaten a hand grenade. Roughly thirty seconds later, that hand grenade had been upgraded to a land mine. "GET IT OUT OF ME!", my body screamed, and as such I legged it up to the backstage toilet and attempted to expel the horror. Unfortunately there was no action to be had at either end, and as such I simply balled up and steeled myself. I didn't cry, but I did scream! I suffer from Gastro-oesophageal reflux disease, which essentially means I create excess stomach acid and I shouldn't eat anything too spicy. You can imagine that my pain was greater than someone who did not suffer from such an affliction. Eventually Swifty and Matt came looking for me, wondering where I'd gone. They found me in the foetal position! Thankfully the agony didn't last much longer than 10-15 minutes, but the effects would last for some time. I managed to get another Guinness down my neck before calling it a night. I had enough good humour to hide Swifty's pillow and convince him that a poltergeist had nicked it. Oh, the chuckles.

Next stop, Kettering...

Kettering diary »