“Everybody dance, do-do-do Clap your hands, clap your hands Everybody dance, do-do-do” (Alfred Lord Tennyson, 1809-1892. Or Nile Rodgers, 1952- present. Not sure.)
Back in the day, where would an impecunious plectrist have been without the all the gigs that offered employment to bands for dances, weddings and anniversaries? And, since the dark day of the DJ had yet to dawn, music-making was digital only in the anatomical sense. If your alcohol-fuelled, family feud-ridden, acrimony-filled function needed musical accompaniment, it had to be either live or lacking. Hence the opportunity to fill your Ryman’s career-to-view diary with two or three jobs per weekend, a fortnight of pre-Christmas office orgies and well remunerated New Year’s Eve descents to the depths of Auld Lang Syne, The Conga, and Twist And Shout. Throw…
