The blues had a baby and they called it paunch 'n' roll

The question used to be: Can white men play the blues? I suppose over the years enough white men have proved that yes, they can play the blues (have any white women taken up the challenge?) Putting the point beyond doubt at the Queen's Theatre, Barnstaple, were The Blues Band comprising Paul Jones and, er.... some other blokes. It is to my shame that I can't remember their names, but whereas Paul Jones looked much as he did in the 1960s, his fellow musicians rather resembled aging geography teachers let loose on stage. This is to do them a profound disservice as they were all top notch and cranked out a lively set that went on for a good two hours with a short interval and an encore.

But what really got me about this gig was the audience. For a while I thought I was the youngest person there and then some other 49-year-and-11-month-olds turned up. Then I spotted a family group with some children so I knew I definitely wasn't the youngest. Not that it would have made much difference, because the majority of adult males were dressed almost identically - neat jeans and casual tops. The women, who were probably slightly in the minority, were more adventurous. All of us were of a certain age with added weight and inches around the middle, but for a little while on Friday night I suspect many of us were - in our minds, at least - snake-hipped young rockers again. Ah, if only...

One real plus point about the performance - and this really shows my days of being a snake-hipped young rocker are far behind me - was that it wasn't too loud. No ringing ears after this gig; the music was assertive without forcing you back into your seat. Werthers Original anyone?

Pop...and he's gone

Michael Jackson is dead and here in North Devon I didn't think there was that much of a connection with a story that resounds around the world. But then of course I remembered that the Peter Pan of Pop is alleged to have once attended the Queen's Theatre, Barnstaple, for some sort of awards ceremony. Did he, didn't he? I don't really care. I'd like to think he did, although I have my doubts.
And then the Jackson clan - give or take Michael and one or two others - found themselves deposited in Appledore looking for a house. For much of the time they looked rather shell-shocked and left North Devon without having purchased their dream property. A sad day for North Devon's estate agents, but can you really imagine the Jacksons propping up the bar of, say, The Beaver necking pints of real ale and trying to work out the intricacies of cribbage or euchre.
So RIP Michael Jackson. I'll freely confess that I have never been a great fan of his music, although early stuff from 'Off the Wall' takes me instantly back to blundering around on the dance floor of the students' union of what was then Sheffield Poly. In this hugely connected world in which we live, Sheffield, for me, is linked to my having been in North Devon now for close to 30 years. I only came here as a stepping stone...anyway, moving on.