Cropredy 2002 posts

As usual, my RT-list observations unfolded over several messages.


Ian West wrote, re Cropredy:

[[ Destiny (?) (with an extra long intro as Richard struggled to remember the first line)]]

No, this wasn't a forgotten line. Just as he began the song, the fog machines above the stage, which were probably affected by the moist weather, belched out a tandem blast of white smoke, as if a pair of bilious dragons were announcing a new pope. The one on stage left was particularly percussive, making a sort of blat! as it activated. Richard was apparently taken aback--really or mock-ly--and reacted to it for a few moments before sweeping right back into the intro.

Sorry if I'm repeating someone else's observation; I'm just slogging my way through all this lovely e-mail that came when I was away for two weeks (just got off the plane from Heathrow a couple hours ago).


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Bill wrote, re "Oops":

[[I think OH gives the "What, you don't know the words" look to EVERY audience.At least, both times Ive seen him do it & I believe its been mentioned beforeby others. He seems to be quite amused by some audiences inabilty to sing the current pop hits when they frequently know the lyrics to century-old tunes.]]

OTOH, Rob and I have learned it from RT. Rob was whistling it in the Virgin check-in line (insert Britney joke here) at Heathrow yesterday. I kept trying to seed him with other songs on the mental jukebox ("Ironman") but ultimately succumbed as well.

I was in the photo pit (working for Dirty Linen--too bad I had only 200-speed film that night!) for half of RT's Friday set. Now there's an unusual experience--singing "Oooh baby baby" while crouching right at his feet, aiming that big lens up there. When I caught myself in the beginnings of a booty-wiggle, I realized my journalistic responsibility to tone it down a bit. But all y'all in the front were singing--I saw and heard you! What a kick! We in the pit were singing too. I was down there for "Who Knows Where the Time Goes" at the end of Friday's set...that was a pretty heady experience.

Jeez, it's amazing to be in a field full of people who treat "Poor Will" with screams of joy...it's like Cropredy is some alternate universe where RT gets to see what it'd be like if he had Springsteenian stardom. What must it be like to be center stage and have some 20,000 people singing one of your songs (MoTL) like it's a hymn, with impassioned belief?

Granted, John Barleycorn had a hand in people's responses. (We had a hilarious drunk next to us in Saturday's crowd, a man with a beautiful and earnest speaking voice, who was proclaiming that "Poor Will" "by rights should be like 'Smoke on the Water.'" He also gave a critical assessment of RT, the bulk of which I didn't hear, but which ended with "But he's just a bloody brilliant guitar player.") They ran out of 6X on Saturday, which was just as well for me; I'd limited my imbibing over the weekend and might have succumbed too deeply to the allure of those little brown jugs by the Fairport set, as usual. I made up for it, alas, on Sunday at the cricket...damn that Scrumpy Jack, whoever he is!

Of the five Cropredys (-ies?) I've attended, this may well have been my favorite. Some of the others were close to as satisfying, but the deciding factor would come down to friendship: the lovely sense of affection and comfort I felt this year, among new chums and old, close friends and acquaintances. I wish I'd met the folks I missed and spent more time with a few I saw only for a few minutes. I'm grateful to Chris Bates for scaring up some late-in-the-game Worcester tickets for me and Rob, and also to Martin Jonas and the impossibly beautiful and kind Nicola for hosting us in atmospheric (OK, wet) North Wales and taking us to the Beaumaris gig (no one has mentioned that someone in the crowd called out to RT that he should move to Wales, to which the California transplant replied, "What, with this weather?"). Also to Simon Tassano, if he's reading this, for continued personal kindnesses, ever-diligent RT-related work, and the patience to not just throw something at me when we kept running into each other again and again and again--I sure hope he doesn't think I'm stalking him.

Oh, yeah, I guess the weather really sucked, come to think of it. I've never gotten sunburned and drenched to the skin on the same day before. But what the hell. Those nice Cropredy stewards pushed our rental car out of the mud, and we didn't totally collapse from sunstroke, and a little trip through the car wash made us (I mean, our car) presentable for the Avis people, and we didn't get pneumonia as far as I can tell (cough cough)...and now I'm rambling enough to scare away even listmembers not named Gus....

Pam (really must try to sleep some more)