JSM - So where the hell did you lot come from?!

It’s not a question you expect when you talk to audience members after a gig, but I’ve heard it more times than you might think likely. “Well there’s a good question, how long have you got?” is often my starting point for an answer. I think the reason I get asked that question – and quite often in that tone – is that a lot of folk and roots audiences are used to the gradual process of seeing bands germinate in the warm, moist environment of folk clubs and festival bar stages, grow steadily and spread their branches through years of small billings and cosy festivals, before they might mature into mighty oaks, towering over the stages of the big English folk festivals. Now I’m not necessarily claiming “mighty oak” status for Jamie Smith’s Mabon yet, but for sure anyone who’s seen the band live would be hard pressed to argue we’re at the willowy sapling stage of our development.

The Hustler, Appearance on ‘Horo Geallidh” BBC Alba

So when someone who is pretty sure they have their finger on the UK folk scene’s pulse comes across a band which is fully formed, steaming on stage, confident, professional, and sporting a three album back catalogue, they’re naturally inclined to wonder where we’ve been hiding until now.

So where have we been hiding? Well, in about a thousand concerts across 15 different countries, at about thirty different UK festivals; on-line and in various publications… Basically, we haven’t been hiding very well, but we still seem not to have been found much in that time, if that makes any sense.

Last year saw a bit of a “found you!” moment when we played at Fairport’s Cropredy Convention. Seeing as most of the tens of thousands of attendees had not heard of the band, many were blissfully unaware when Jamie and Oli took to the stage that four of us were missing, hurtling at insane speeds in a taxi towards the festival, leaving a smouldering heap of broken-down vehicles behind. Consequently, when the very good accordion and fiddle duo they’d never heard of were interrupted by a flautist and a three-piece rhythm section, who ran on stage and proceeded to play along to their last two numbers, folks were mildly confused, much entertained, and seemingly delighted at what they heard. The band went on to be one of the biggest-selling artists of the weekend, and have received countless requests for a Cropredy revisit since (“Next time with the whole band please!”).

Maybe it’s best if I give you a quick run down of the band’s history. In 1999, a father and son and two brothers came together to form an acoustic quartet called Mabon – fiddle, accordion, guitar and acoustic percussion, playing traditional music from the Welsh dance culture, and traditional tunes from some of our sister Celtic countries. The band was based in Bridgend in South Wales, and therein lies the first clue to our remaining a relative secret. There are, in my opinion, in the other British countries folk scenes which allow space, stage and support for small new folk acts to establish and grow.

England has a vibrant scene peppered with folk clubs and hundreds of festivals, from tiny village affairs through to whopping ho-downs. In that environment, the Spierses and Bodens of this world can work, play, work some more and play some more until they can establish solid, professional careers, and go on to found and develop the kind of Bellowing oak that has spread its branches so rampantly across the country. Scotland has a national acceptance of and passion for its own musical culture, and has national competitions, schools and official sanction and support for its musicians: and in Ireland, the folk and trad scenes are a thing of legend, a fertile breeding ground for bands and musicians to engage audiences, learn their craft and grow reputations.

In Wales, it’s a little different. I can count the current, active, professional-level folk bands without taking my other hand out of my pocket, and the folk clubs and festivals without needing to take anyone else’s socks off. The shape of the “scene” is very different: there is a national passion for music for sure, but maybe it’s more comfortable listening to the songs it knows, preferably in formats it recognises; there is a national culture of musical education and a unique framework of competitive opportunities, but maybe with more of an emphasis on classical music, on traditional singing forms, on choral music; there is a veritable log-jam of young, indie, rock and metal bands, some of which are fantastic and can gather hefty followings; but there are not quite as many stages for aspiring folk acts to hone their craft.

Am I moaning? Hell no! That’s not the idea, I’m just pondering the dramatic differences between the different cultures on these same islands.
Am I preaching? Sure hope not. I’m not on a mission to change the world, I’m just out to be a part of it.

So where did we play? Where were we hiding? We played in pubs and clubs, to the slight confusion and astonishment of the punters who might have expected and possibly preferred to see a rock covers band instead. We played at festivals (possibly as a novelty item that didn’t sing), and maybe those were festivals with a fairly parochial following. We played abroad – ah, now that’s a different kettle of fish.

If I had to pinpoint the main difference between playing in the UK and playing abroad, it wouldn’t be the language or the food or the toilets or the weather – it would be the impression I have that in the UK, people are much more specific in predetermining which kinds of music they like, and don’t like. In Europe and beyond, people of all ages and all kinds will listen to a band, and decide on the basis of the music, the musicianship and the performance whether they like it or not. If they like it, they’ll clap and holler, buy a CD and chase you up on-line to thank you for, or congratulate you on, your performance.

Now in that environment, a young band with oodles of energy, an entertaining repertoire and a big stage presence can really thrive. The best example is the Festival Interceltique de Lorient, where we played in the bars and cafes of the fringe festival every year for nearly ten years. I say “played” – it stands out as some of the hardest, most mentally and physically demanding work I’ve ever done, just for the sheer number and intensity of the shows. We would sometimes play up to eight short concerts a day, at up to three different venues, and for ten consecutive days, all using our own gear and PA equipment: the slots would be 30-40 minutes each, and each one would need to be presented at maximum energy and impact to fill the tables and sell the drinks for the landlord, and to flog albums for ourselves.

So is it any wonder we look so comfortable ripping up 60 minutes of tightly arranged, freely played and confidently presented original material on some fancy-lit, well-attended festival stage? Nope. We might look knackered afterwards, but we’re wondering when the next slot starts already.

So the next time someone asks me, “Where the hell have you come from?!” maybe I should approach the answer form a different direction: “Us?! Where the hell have YOU been? And welcome on board.”

Well hello there!  Iolo here, the drummer in Jamie Smith’s Mabon.

It came to my attention recently that not everyone knows of the band Jamie Smith’s Mabon yet, or what we do.  Grieved by this situation, and serendipitously offered the chance to write a guest editorial for the Spiral Earth website, I thought I’d take this opportunity to try to correct that terrible state of affairs. 

Jamie Smith’s Mabon is comprised of five young men who rummage around in the rich field of Celtic instrumental music: sometimes playing, sometimes singing; sometimes ambling, sometimes veritably carousing or outright galloping through the golden harvest of our Celtic musical heritage.

Whiskey Burp Reels, Oran Mor, Celtic Connections, Glasgow, January 2011

Now in this day and age, a band is not just a collection of individuals making music – it has to be a brand, an image, a slick press shot, a glitzy website, a Facebook presence, a Twitting entity…

Well, never mind all that, I thought I’d introduce the band to you in an old-fashioned way, as individual musicians bound together by their collective love of making music.  The reason for this is that I am one of those individuals, and I find working with the other guys a real pleasure – I figure if you got to know them a little too, you might get more of a feel of what it’s all about than if I present you with the usual dazzling array of humorous factoids and musical influences.

Let’s start with Jamie Smith, same as the band does. I believe it’s obligatory to provide a neat, stylised summary when describing the members of a band, so here goes:

James Smith
Age: 28
Instrument: Accordion; Vocals.
Obligatory pointless fact which has no bearing whatsoever on his music: Jamie is too thin to fit many trousers, and looks best in women’s jeans.

Jamie is our composer, arranger, musical director and front man. I’ve known Jamie since he was a spotty Pot-Noodle-eating teenager, prone as teenagers are to hiding in his bedroom and, err… wait a minute… learning the accordion?!  Surely that’s not normal?  Well, I guess not, but he did learn the guitar too, and write angsty songs and listen to rock music (as well as Sharon Shannon, and Michael McGoldrick, and Lunasa, but you can’t shout about that too loudly when you’re in school really). 

Since then, and across a ten-year period of working together in an ever-evolving Mabon, I have watched Jamie become one of the most capable young composers in the instrumental folk genre.  He’s a husband and a dad as well, and balances family responsibilities with a busy musical career, undertaking solo and duo projects, composition and performance, and the band project Mabon, which provides some of the best platforms for his music.

Also at the front of the stage…
Oliver Wilson-Dickson
Age: 35
Instrument: Violin; backing vocals.
Obligatory pointless fact which has no bearing whatsoever on his music: Oli loves gadgets. I mean, LUUUUUURRRRVES gadgets.  If you need any advice before you buy a new phone, really, he’s yer man!

Oli is the band’s other front man, joining Jamie in weaving subtle melodies, tickling bouncy jigs and ragging fiery reels. Oli’s training was in classical music, but his destiny was less mainstream – surrounded by folk music since he was a child, his love of the fiddle has seen his career lean heavily towards that genre.  He has played in several renowned bands of course, but doesn’t let that be the limit of his creative output: he plays with the Ian McMillan Orchestra too and works extensively with storyteller Daniel Morden, and you can hear the storytelling in his fiddle when he’s playing. 

One of the reasons I love playing with Oli is that he’s an exuberant, vibrant presence on stage, always pouring energy into his performance.  I mentioned to Oli once a particular moment in one of our tunes that gives me a kick every time we play it – the number of times since that day that he’s turned round with a little grin at that point in the music to share that pleasure says a lot about his own delight in the music too.

And then the stealthy accompanists…
Adam Rhodes
Age: 30 (only just!)
Instrument: Bouzouki; backing vocals.
Obligatory pointless fact which has no bearing whatsoever on his music: Adam will eat anything if cooked with enough chilli and garlic, except celery which he considers an abomination.

Adam is the band’s newest member. When Mabon re-launched as Jamie Smith’s Mabon in January this year, Adam stepped forth from the shadows (not the band!), where he had a long history of Mabon website design and Mabon depping (on the fiddle, by the way – this is one versatile dude we’re talking about) to bring a bouzouki to the band’s soundscape for the first time. Essex-born, Isle of Man-raised and now living in Edinburgh, he has a friendly, laid-back – nay, imperturbable – exterior which belies the strength of his passion for music. 

As well as being a keen and able multi-instrumentalist for his living, Adam is a professional Web Ninja – go visit the band members’ personal websites and you’ll see a heavy bias towards his work! He’s found a creative way of straddling two careers in two very different disciplines.  While he has rendered his professional services to accountants and builders, firewood companies and restaurants, and all kinds of businesses, he seems to gather a lot of musicians in his client portfolio, and so gets to work with musicians in two very different capacities: here’s a musician supporting musicians on several levels.

Matthew Downer
Age: 26
Instrument: Bass guitar and upright electric bass
Obligatory pointless fact which has no bearing whatsoever on his music: On his first Mabon gig, Matt tried to sleepwalk into the bitterly cold Italian Alpine night in his boxer shorts.  Close call!

Matt is the youngest and best dressed member of the band. The rest of us might have caught up with the suits, and there’s often a rival or two in the waistcoat department, but Matt is still the only one packing spats…

Matt came to the band, strangely enough, through jazz. He met Iolo whilst studying for his degree in Jazz Performance at the Welsh Conservatoire, and the two spent many a happy hour battering the swinging cymbal and walking basslines in that creative furnace.  When Mabon’s first bass player moved on to new pastures, Matt walked into the role as naturally and as easily as he might walk into a Bristol jazz jam these days.

Matt makes me nervous.  Not in any sinister way, you understand – that would be like being scared of a really friendly puppy.  Nope, Matt makes me nervous because bass players are not in copious supply; good bass players are rarer still; gifted bass players are like gold dust; and warm, personable, conscientious, able, driven, dedicated, obsessive bass players – well, forget it!  So Matt makes me nervous because, one day, someone in a genre that generates a lot more cash than folk music is going to whisk him away somewhere exciting and make him minted.  And I must confess, should that day arrive, that even while we search sadly for a new bass player, we’ll still wish him well in his new life – you just can’t help it!

So there you are, I’ve introduced you to the guys.  What?  Me?! Oh, yeah, I could, I suppose, introduce myself too…
Iolo Whelan
Age: 36 (the oldest member of the band – hmm, not sure if I’m happy about that!)
Instrument: Drums & Percussion
Obligatory pointless fact which has no bearing whatsoever on my music: I quite frequently write my name all in lower-case as it saves people from thinking I’m called “TenTen”.  Certain fonts have a lot to answer for!

What to mention about myself…?  Well, I was introduced to someone the other night as “one of the nicest people on the planet”, which shows that people can be quite misguided about either me, or the current size of the world population.  A few people have said that though, strangely.  The few things I definitely am: a drummer, a percussionist, a husband, a dad, a dog-owner, and a big, big fan of cheese. I mean, a truly massive fan of cheese.   

I mentioned already that being in JSM is a real pleasure. I play regularly for half a dozen different projects, and enjoy them all immensely, and often for different reasons, but this one kind of feels like a calling. Sorry to be melodramatic, but it does.  I’ve been involved since the word “Go!”, and in that time I have been humbled and astounded time and again by the opportunities I’ve had to touch people’s lives.  Again, it sounds corny, but it’s true, and it’s the very reason why I play music. People frequently tell me after gigs that I look like I’m having an absolutely fantastic time – combine that with an assurance that I can neither act nor lie, and you have a good insight into my enthusiasm for this band and the music we play.

That’s a good point to stop introducing myself – you will have gathered by now that I’m also very nearly a professional talker, and could go on… and on… Catch me after a gig and ask me a question at your peril!

So there we are, the five individual musicians who make up the sum of Jamie Smith’s Mabon.  Now there are two other people I feel I should introduce too who have a big impact on the band. 

I haven’t mentioned Calum yet, because we don’t always have the pleasure of his company on stage.  Come and meet him…
Calum Stewart
Age: 28, or possibly 29? I’m really not sure!
Instrument: Flute and pipes
Obligatory pointless fact which has no bearing whatsoever on his music:
Calum is possibly the most avid teas-drinker in the world.  If you need confirmation, see his page on our website where, when answering the bullet-point questions provided, added his own headings “Favourite Tea” and “Favourite Tea Emporium”, going on to extrapolate at length on his second-favourite topic.

Our fabulous, consummate flautist and piper lives in Brittany, for reasons of the heart – meaning that for reasons of geography, he can’t always join us for gigs anymore, but appears as our special guest whenever we can manage it.  He is another musician I am honoured to work with and a man whose obsession for musical progress is thoroughly inspirational. 

Originally from Morayshire in Scotland, he earned a reputation as a young pioneer of the wooden flute in traditional Scottish music before moving south to start a family in Brittany, where he continues to expand his musical horizons, immersing himself in the rich musical culture of his new home.

And the other fella I should introduce is John…
John Eeles
Age: Even if I knew, I might still withhold that information out of a sense of decency.
Instrument: The sound desk and the telephone
Obligatory pointless fact which has no bearing whatsoever on his music: John has possibly more stories up his sleeve that any item of clothing should feasibly hold.  Trying to pick one pointless factoid from his myriad histories is a task I feel ill-equipped to do.  Oh, wait a minute, here’s one appropriately trivial thing– John is so determined to wear shorts all year that I can walk past him in the street without recognising him if he wears long trousers.

John is the heard but not seen member of the gang, who sits in amongst you with his ears pricked, twiddling his knobs and making sure we sound as good as possible.  Having worked and toured with more interesting people than you can see from the top of a stepladder on a clear day, he threw in his lot with Mabon in 2008 or so, originally as a sound man but gradually becoming more involved in running the band too.  He now answers to the title “Manager”, which is most appropriate seeing as no-one is really sure what managers actually do: but it seems to work, and he’s a good friend as well as a valuable member of the team.

So, you’ve met the chaps.  Hopefully, you’ll have an insight into why we all look so pleased to be on stage.  It’s been my pleasure to introduce them to you. 

And for anyone who didn’t enjoy the rather traditional introductions, and would prefer to see the branding, the image, the slick press shot, the glitzy website, the Twitting and Facebooking – all the accoutrements of modern day band life – we’ve got all that too, needless to say.  Follow one of the links to our website and you’ll have it in spadefuls, or drop by on Facebook to keep up to speed. 

Meantime, I hope to see you in an interval or after a show one day – do come and say hello!
iolo.  (:

How to get the best seat in the house every time

There’s been something special about my musical endeavours this year. For one thing, it’s the first time I remember having noted several Seminal Career Moments (oh yes, those are deliberate capitals!) in one year. Somebody said to me last year, “D’you know, next year’s going to be the one.” I probably rolled my eyes, or laughed, or possibly went for the more polite option of nodding and saying “Good, that’s all sorted then”.

The Gordano Ranter, Small Nations Festival, nr Llanovery,
Wales, July 2011

You see, I’ve been kicking around musicians and our aspirations, bands and our ambitions for more years than I care to confess now, and have started to chuckle inside every time someone professes that the next gig – or album, or tour, or year – is going to be the one that propels the project in question into stratospheric success. Back in the day, I used to get excited, and eager, and would start counting how many outbuildings I would need in my country farmhouse.* (Yachts and private jets never appealed to me, but a rural pad with a studio, a library and a swimming pool – oh yes, now you’re talking!)

With a few more years of reality under my belt, when somebody made the same assertion, I would still be excited, and eager, but tended maybe to think about how many nice gigs I might get to play, the interesting places I could visit, and the lovely people I would no doubt meet. The funny thing is, a year like this one makes me wonder whether in fact, it has been “the one”.

Take this example. I’ve been to WOMAD many times before, and have always professed it to be my favourite festival. It’s a no-brainer: the astounding diversity of the music on offer, the glimpses into other cultures, the seeming humility of the awe-inspiring musicians who perform, all these things make it a life-affirming experience every time – and that doesn’t even take into account the setting, the atmosphere, the food, the happy punters… You get the picture.

So this year, JSM were to play at WOMAD, a coveted concert on the BBC Radio 3 Stage in Charlton Park’s glorious arboretum. I’d known for months, of course: I’d shared my good news with my friends and family, I’d written exuberant posts on our Facebook wall… And yet, when I turned up at the booth with wife and child in tow, and a friendly fella wrapped an artist’s pass around my wrist, I cried.

Soppy git? Yep. But in my defence, it was a Seminal Career Moment. I resisted the temptation to make a speech to the man in the booth and to my fellow artists waiting patiently behind me (“There are so many people without whom I could never be standing here today…”
“Scuse me mate, you done there? Can I get past?”) and trundled off to move my car and pitch my tent, quite stunned by the strength of my own feelings.

Here’s another one. This year, I’ve had the opportunity to be more involved than ever before in the band’s day-to-day affairs, the hours and weeks of legwork that lie behind every bright-lit, dizzying and short-lived performance. In particular, I deal with the band’s fans and friends, keeping people in touch with what’s happening. There’s a quiet pleasure in this work, whispering away in the tumult of noise that is the internet and being more involved than ever with the people who love to come and hear us play: most of all, knowing that every new “Like” on Facebook, every new entry on our email list is someone who’s come across our music, and is excited by it, and wants to get involved, and hear more, and see us again. I’d have to be pretty cold – or maybe just not me – if I failed to find gratification in that.

The threads tie together too, like when a new fan told us in a Facebook post we were one of her favourite acts in WOMAD this year – and then I know why the musicians I’ve seen there before appear so humble, because I’m suddenly in the same boat.

And here’s one last, and very practical, example. By a twist of fate kind and cruel in equal parts, JSM got to share a bill in Bristol’s fabulous Colston Hall with some of the most renowned performers in world music last month. Kind, because it’s always nice when the quality of the musicianship in your band is endorsed as world class by a promoter and an audience. Cruel, because I had to walk on stage and play the drums immediately after a devastating performance by Trilok Gurtu, one of the most virtuosic and accomplished percussionists in the world. Ouch! The man is a lethal weapon, and even putting excessive modesty aside, I did not feel worthy to follow that.

So I did my humble best, more aware even than usual of the gap between my creative imagination and my musical proficiency: and of course, the gig went really well, the band went down a storm as ever, and I got to meet Trilok Gurtu, and Seckou Keita to boot. Seminal Career Moment Number Seven**.

So I’m up to seven? See what I mean? Maybe this year was “the one” after all. Maybe the cynic inside (an essential companion to a naturally enthusiastic and optimistic musician) has stepped aside far enough for me to see that I am indeed realising my dreams: the fact that it involves tiny steps, lots of work and no swimming pool makes it no less real.

Having said that, now I think about it… well, with the new album coming out next year, and some of the gigs we’ll be playing, and the fans we’ll make... D’you know, I think NEXT year might really be the one…

* Four.
** Ask me about Seminal Career Moment Number One sometime, it’s a good story!

It's amazing how confused people can be if you don't sing. For its whole ten year history of copious performances, Mabon was an instrumental band, and our set contained no vocal numbers. Countless people didn’t seem to mind and took it in their stride as you might expect, but for many others it was a cause for surprise: it was a source of delight, confusion, disappointment and certainly plenty of conversations over the years.

Our fully instrumental repertoire frequently drew comment: ranging from the slurred wisdom of self-appointed reportorial experts, "You should shing a few songs boys! Everybody likesh to hear a - hic - song"; through "What do you mean, you don't sing?” to the classic "You don't sing? How does that work then?!"

And it’s not like we’re the only band in the world not to sing, that’s what puzzled me – there are countless non-vocal artists out there, including a copious number in our own genre.

Feedback was not always negative, mind you. Many people would comment that "I don't usually like just instrumental music, but you boys are something else - I didn't miss the singing at all!" Indeed, one lady told me after a gig last year, indicating our fiddler with a dramatic gesture, "You don't need a singer - you've got Oli! His violin sings!” He almost blushed, fair play. She went on to tell me that she'd tried to persuade her daughter and her friends to come, but the daughter in question had insisted she didn't like just instrumental music. Sigh.

File Under Biddley, WOMAD, Wiltshire, July 2011

You can see the dilemma I presume? A whole stack of people loved what we did; just the way we did it. Quite a few others, seemingly, would be happy to see us stretch out towards a vocal repertoire too. So through ten years of Mabon history, the question "To sing or not to sing" kept swinging around, and it never stayed far from the surface for long.

Since a re-launch last January as Jamie Smith's Mabon, one of the differences in the band's direction is that we have indeed started to incorporate songs into the set. This is a very exciting move artistically, of course, but I will confess here that I had a few reservations: even if I was the only band member who wasn't totally convinced at the time.

Why?, I hear you clamour, surely it makes sense on so many levels? Is the voice not one of the most expressive instruments of all? Doesn't it broaden the band's appeal to a wider audience? And, on a cynical note, isn't it easier to get gigs and to garner airplay with a vocal element in the repertoire?

The answer to all these questions is a resounding yes, of course. So why was I reticent? Well, partly because I am a control freak who loves the familiar and fears change: but that's probably a point to explore further in my blog next week on 'tortured artist weekly dot com', rather than here on the sun-warmed pages of Spiral Earth. There were a couple of other, more reasonable reasons too.

Here's one reason purely based on taste - a subjective minefield if ever there was one. There has been many a time that I've reached for the skip button when The Obligatory Song interrupts an otherwise seamless instrumental album: I didn't want songs of ours to feel superimposed on our set, or on our albums, as I've sometimes felt can be the case.

Here's another: I'd always considered Mabon to be a band which played purely for pleasure - ours and our listeners' - without an overt political agenda, or any message or motive other than joy and artistic satisfaction (oh, and maybe a little financial gain would be good too!). Try writing a cracking song which doesn't somehow place you in some kind of moral, political, national, parochial, or some other stance: it's surprisingly tricky. Much easier to rouse folk when you've got a cause, but what if you don't necessarily want to wave your causes around on stage?

And I was also slightly confounded by the issue of language, and consequently of identity: in which language should a Wales-based Interceltic band with members from three different Celtic countries and an English-speaking songwriter sing after all?! I should add that I have no objection to songs in any one language or another; it was just a consideration of how we could incorporate songs without radically changing, or even just narrowing, our musical identity.

So the lads listened patiently to my concerns, bless 'em... and we rehearsed some songs anyway… and they sounded great... and we tried them in the set… and behold! there they are still. That was easy wasn't it?! It's probably a good job they didn’t wait for me to ponder these weighty questions fully.

So, it's been a busy year, and plenty of gigs have passed since the first songs came on board: how do I feel these days? Well, actually, greatly reassured. Why?

Well apart from anything else, though I try to trust my own opinions, I do give a great amount of consideration to other people's opinions too. In this particular case, that's a big help: when we get a fat cheer for a song from the crowd at WOMAD, surrounded as they are by some of the greatest music in the world; when folks approach us who've seen the band many times before and exclaim "What a lovely surprise to hear you sing!"; when folk media pros give you a conspiratorial nod of approval; and of course, given the total absence of any hate-mail whatsoever from bitterly disappointed devotees of purely instrumental music; well, then of course I might wonder whether my reservations had been an expression of an over-cautious personality.

But actually, personalities aside (I'll do my best for a minute!) there are probably more solid, artistic reasons why it's working well too.

We've approached our songs with the same attitude as we have our tunes. We're playing for pleasure, for love of music, and to share that pleasure with others. We're not writing or choosing songs for their radio-friendliness, or to attract gig offers, or to fulfil certain functions in the set; we just like the sound of some things and decide to give them a go.

I'm not claiming that as a unique approach amongst bands by any means, but with us, it is a kind of unofficial policy, and it's one of the things that have made the band's sound so diverse - it reflects the diverse interests of the people involved.

The first song we brought into our repertoire is called “Yes, We Sing Now” (it's good to make sure there's no uncertainty as to what's going on!), and it’s as folksy as folk in my book. There’s another song in there with a slick groove not a million miles away from a pop feel, just because that’s what worked. There's a song in the pipeline which gives a big nod to the Quebecois sound. There are rumours of a Welsh-language song on the way too. (I say “rumours” advisedly, ‘cause I've been trying to write lyrics for the dam’ thing for two months and I've only got a verse and a half!) There'll be other songs with other flavours, each reflecting a facet of our own musical journeys.

Maybe another reason is that Jamie has been composing songs specifically for the band to perform. His own repertoire of singer-songwriter compositions and traditional songs doesn't necessarily fit the band's sound and style, but when you compose with a certain sound in mind - certain instrumentation, certain personalities - I suppose you're more likely to end up with something appropriate.

And then behind that again, there's the fundamental fact that Jamie is partly responsible for the way the band sounds in the first place, seeing as we play mostly his music: if he's composing songs for the band too, it's just a development of the same source, a natural progression in an existing direction.

And what I do know even without considering anyone else's opinions is that we've found the process to be exciting, entertaining, challenging, demanding, unnerving, rewarding and stimulating: as musicians, these are all 'ings' which we crave in our work, and which are vital for our own progress and pleasure. If indeed it turns out that some of the people who’ve followed our career as an instrumental band will enjoy our concerts and albums more than before, and others will enjoy them less, that's a risk we have to take to be true to our own musical instincts.

And when the inevitable day arrives that another repertorial advisor volunteers with beery breath and inestimable wit: "Ladsh, I think the besht bits are on the fiddle - hic - 'scuse me – and yer Shtomach Steinway there - save your shinging for the - hic - bath!" - Well, I think I'll be happy to laugh heartily and stick with my own opinion at last.

I had the pleasure of attending a master class with Bob Mintzer a few years ago, a New York jazz giant with a global reputation. When somebody asked him to choose a favourite gig from his glittering career, he answered: “This one”. There was a confused silence as the assembled students tried to work out why he’d rather play to a hall full of students on a Friday morning than on any of the thousands of stages he had conquered worldwide. “Or maybe last night’s” he continued. “Hell, maybe it’s tomorrow’s actually, but it’s definitely one of those three”.

TV performance of Hummingbird

His point was that the gratification of playing music is in the moment, and that to compare a concert to the other gigs you’ve done or the gigs you’d like to play is to step out of that moment, and maybe miss some of the opportunities for joy in playing that gig. He called it “Jazz Zen” – or at least, he told us he did. I took this point on board in a pretty wholehearted fashion, impressionable young student that I was, and it’s one of the things that adds an edge to every concert I play – it might be my last gig, it might be the best I ever play, it’s the only gig that matters – enjoy it Whelan, relish the moment!

And yet, yet… I can’t stop thinking about next year!

There’s a run of Jamie Smith’s Mabon gigs in England and Wales starting this week (a list of which, of course, you can see on this site or on our own website – please do come!) and I should be looking forward most of all to them, but at this actual moment, I may be more excited by the promise of next year. Not very Zen is it?

I think it’s because the preparations are so firmly underway already. Part of the complexity of running a band – or indeed, any business – is that you have to prepare for the next period and even the one after that, whilst dealing fully with the present one. But the preparation and the anticipation are part of the pleasure for me. It’s a bit like Christmas (is it ok to use the C-word now it’s November?!): while you have a lovely time, the day itself is very short – you might as well enjoy the build-up to it too.

So what preparations are underway? Well the most exciting is the new album, and we’re more organised in advance for this next album than we’ve ever been before.

We have enough material already, as well as new material coming on-stream now, and more new material waiting – no, calm down, it won’t be a double album! But we will have a greater choice of tried and tested material than ever before, and even a fair idea of which ones our audiences will most want us to record!

We’re booked into a recording studio in December, straight after our November tour, to spend a few days getting a feel for the place and to try out some of the processes we might use.

(Incidentally, we’re hoping to release the song we record then as a Christmas gift for all our e-mailing list members and Facebook Friends and fans. The predictable but necessary links to enrol on our mailing list and join us on Facebook are available on this site, of course.)

We’ve booked the studio and the band for a period in March, right after our spring tour. (Like the way I got that spring tour plug in there too? Smooth huh?)

We know the album’s name. We’ve got the photos. We’ve chosen the cover-shot (and you should see the place we took it! Underneath the shiny smartness of Colston Hall in Bristol there is a labyrinth of amazing, ancient vaulted cellars that you wouldn’t think would survive the weight of concrete and glass on top).

So while I’m all in favour of the Zen Folk approach, and will be totally focused on our November Tour as it’s happening, it’s hard not to get excited about the next album when you’re looking at a draft cover, practising difficult passages from the new sets, and answering gig-goers’ questions of “When’s the next album going to be ready then?”

And then there are the gigs to consider. For the first time ever, next year, there’s a professional agent on the case booking our gigs – it’ll be interesting to see what results that yields. Even if it were only because “I’m in this band, we’re really good!” never sounds as convincing as “I’m representing this band, they’re really good!”, then I would be intrigued, but given the calibre and reputation of the agent and my natural tendency towards optimism, I’m already wondering – what does one wear to play at Wembley? The silver tie or the black one?

Somebody told me once – and I can believe it – that the physical symptoms of excitement and nervousness are the same. It would figure then, that there’s a certain element of nerves already in place for next year too, which goes hand in hand with the enthusiasm. Which gigs will we get out of the wish-list we’d love to play at?! Will I play my best on that album recording? (Do I ever play my best when the red light is on? Note to self – back into the woodshed as soon as I’ve finished writing this, and practice, practice, practice…!) How will the album go down, after the unanimously enthusiastic reception of the last? At which festivals will we be playing, and on what stages? I really do feel like I can’t wait to see, but I guess I have to. Just like Christmas again. (Oops, three Christmas references in one piece – am I out?)

One thing I do know for sure, that 2012 is going to be a cracking year, if only for this one reason: when the legwork is done, wherever we’ll be playing and whoever is there – when the gig starts, when the mics are live, when there are people there to listen to us and music to play – all the nerves will vanish in the adrenaline, all the questions will evaporate under the stage lights, and there will be nothing except making sure each note, each nuance and each space is in just the right place, and at just the right time – now!

There, is that Zen enough for you Mr Mintzer?

Our week as Guest Editors here on Spiral Earth has drawn to an end, and in one smooth action we've slid out of the editor’s office and onto the minibus, as last night was the first date of our autumn tour. Having spent a good chunk of the week pondering on the band’s past, present and future for your perusal, it was really good to get back in the saddle and do what we love doing best.

We thought we’d leave you with a quick glimpse of my own perspective on last night’s concert at the lovely Plough Arts Centre in Great Torrington, Devon; a video from it too (“Tunnag’s Tunes”, a set of four tasty morsels served up in memory of Jamie’s cat!); and a brilliant chance to win two pairs of tickets for our forthcoming London show on Wednesday 30th November, and CDs to boot (click here to enter).

And it’s a funny thing, but after spending the week trying to show you the bigger picture, painting in broad canvas strokes, I was amazed by the amount of tiny details that stood out to me last night, each one somehow a reflection of the wider bandscape I’d attempted to convey.

Might I present you with a couple of quick examples?

On the face of it, turning up to a gig with a brand-new migraine and a fresh, eight-inch crack in your windscreen doesn’t suggest it was an idyllic journey. But when you’ve packed all your equipment with no panics or emergencies; when your initially reticent toddler has slept most of the way there, and been on great, entertaining form the rest of the time; when you’ve arrived ten minutes before the allotted time and found a parking space right outside; and then when the first person you see greets you with “Hi! Can I get you a cup of tea?” – it’s just totally impossible to stay preoccupied with the prospect of a Monday morning garage bill.

There were other welcome sights too. It’s always good to see the boys if it’s been a few weeks since we’ve all been together. Badgering each other by text and email on a daily basis about tedious band logistics doesn’t really constitute a friendship, but the rapport and the camaraderie that materialises when we all put finally down our smartphones and pick up our instruments is stunning, and it’s a real honour to be a part of it.

There was a lovely family dimension to the weekend too - two wives and two of the little “Maboninis” were in attendance, and it was a real pleasure to see the littl’uns enjoying the run of the auditorium during our sound check. It’s a bit like a “softplay” centre, only much harder when they fall over, so they learn quicker. And does bestowing the title “drum-tech” on a two-year old constitute child labour or early education? Maybe both, now I think about it, but the young techie in question just soooo loves putting together a drum kit (albeit with plenty of adjustments necessary in his wake!) that it would seem mean not to let him! Seeing the two sprawled on chairs fast asleep by the end of the gig, cheeks flushed with a particularly wholesome kind of exhaustion, gave me a feeling of having done a good job on several levels.

And then there was the giraffe. Yep, the giraffe. The area behind the stage curtain was dominated by a papier-mâché giraffe, six foot tall even though his long neck swooped downwards. Being a big fan of giraffes myself, I was very comfy with that – even if the crew did light the backstage area just with one soft red light directed at said giraffe, so that every time you went from stage to green room or back, you would pass through a dark cave with just the one surreal inhabitant, a quizzical guardian who waited patiently for something or someone whose nature I could not guess.

As I’ve said to countless people countless times – no two gigs are the same! And so it will be for the next few weeks, starting each night anew – and yet there’s no doubt we gain a collective momentum throughout too. We really hope you’ll visit one of these fabulous arts centres, theatres and halls, and support the people who run them, working tirelessly to keep culture alive and kicking. The list of our concerts this autumn – and indeed next year – is on our website of course.

All of which leads me smoothly to the predictable but necessary paraphernalia of www’s and dot coms! I’ve mentioned our online hangouts to you from time to time this week, so here’s a little list of things to check out if you’re that way inclined:

Visit our website, www.jamiesmithsmabon.com, which is bursting at the seams with news, photos, videos and information – and you can also join our mailing list there should you so wish, to receive a quarterlyish newsletter and hopefully a nice free track come Christmas, hurrah!

You could “Like” our Facebook Page: www.facebook.com/jsmabon

Join our Facebook Group: www.facebook.com/groups/jamiesmithsmabon
to keep up to speed with the band’s ongoing news – radio and TV appearances, gigs, photos and personal news;

Or follow us on Twitter to get your 140-character fix of our day-to-day goings-on.

But best of all would be if you came to see us one day – we’re really glad you called by to find out all about the band this week, but at the end of the day, we’re musicians not writers, and we express ourselves best with our instruments: we hope you’ll come and see the band in action at one of our concerts soon, so you can really see what we’re all about.

Lastly, here's a big “Thank You!” again to Iain and the team at Spiral Earth, for providing such a rich and dedicated website day in day out, and in particular for giving us a platform this week to present folks with a view of the band from a different angle.

Bye for now!
Iolo
On behalf of Jamie Smith’s MABON.