All kinds of peformance art are welcomed in Nottingham.

Nottingham is a place of myth. Not a mythical place but a place where those structures of signification that Barthes, in one of his more lucid moments, termed second order semiological systems, abound.

It’s Monday night and we’re playing the open mic at the Golden Fleece. It has been postulated that the orgins of the Jason myth – an early version of the Odessey, incorporating the quest for belonging, love, betrayal and revenge – stem from the practice, in Asia Minor, of holdng sheepskins in streams in order to catch small particles of gold. Once the fleece was saturated with gold dust it would be incinerated, leaving the precious metal behind.

The advertising for the night at the Golden Fleece describes it as ‘legendary’ and it also has history – the antithesis of myth – having run for the last 11 years. While it’s a perfectly good open mic night, in the main the acts aren’t quite exciting enough to make it ‘legendary’ I feel. (more…)

The open mic at Dusk in York starts off somewhat shambolically at around 11pm but rapidly gains momentum. The organisers, Mark Wynn and GT Turbo (of York Americana outfit Boss Caine) each play several numbers in a bluesy vane. Mark has an intricate (more…)

We start day 3 at Leeds, Bradford airport. This isn’t the launch point of the international leg of the tour, it’s just because we’d originally intended to play in Leeds the previous night and the Travelodge here is only £15.

There isn’t much to see or do around here so we look forward to having a bit of a lie in. We’re woken in the early hours by the sound of jet engines starting up. The noise abates then returns at regular intervals.

We head to Manchester. Tonight we’re playing at the B-Lounge, formerly the Brunswick, where the open mic is run by local ska-folk band Naymedici. (more…)

The 451st Open Mic Surgery at the Stubbing Wharf, Hebden Bridge is unmiked, and isn’t in any sense a surgery. But it’s a friendly, intimate kind of night. (more…)

Birmingham has big buildings.

I grew up in a city that felt like a city – skyscrapers, six-lane highways – at least like they are on TV. Central Birmingham, more than any other British city I’ve been to, including London, feels like a proper city.

It certainly has parking charges to rival any city. We arrive in the centre, coming after work, and get inadvertently shunted underground. It’s £2 to get out so we opt to stay for the full hour that entitles us to (more…)