Encore

..
and ineffectually for seemingly hours. But here’s the thing. It was actually
only half an hour. And here’s the other thing. Apart from me, and the
people round me party to my mutterings, nobody seemed to appreciate that it
was pure crap. Because then, breathtakingly, Elvis left the stage. And not only
that, the audience, (apart from me, still darkly muttering), stomped and yelled
and clapped till he came back –and delivered an hour and a half of perfectly
acceptable Elvis and the Attractions material. That was the show. The show
was the encore!
There are several reasons why this isn’t genius, but it is an example
of how mutable is the notion of an encore. Maybe I should analyse my own reponse
to the encore at the end of a typically sweaty pub gig.
Let’s look at the Lomond – that’s pretty typical. (Which reminds
me – I should ring Stephan tomorrow about some more gigs there). It’s
a 9.30 start. The first set usually goes for an hour, the second about fifty
minutes and the third we might be lucky to scrape in thirty to thirty five minutes
before 12.30 ticks over. We’re wet from sweat, stinking of cigarette smoke
and exhausted. I bid the crowd goodnight, trying not to incite them. A few diehards
insist on Esmeralda. We play it, they’re happy. We pack up and
go home. I guess we’re pretty miserable with our encores, but that’s
the way the grown-ups do it. The fancy overseas acts have roadies, oxygen bottles
and five star accommodation etc. – we do everything ourselves,
including setting up and packing away our own gear. We’re almost grudging
with our encores as a result, so you can be guaranteed they’re 100%
real.