Defenders

To other eyes, my daughter might not have looked especially engaged. Compared to some of the hardcore teeny, tiny, indie kids jumping and dancing around at today’s child-friendly gig, she was particularly sedate. 

Although she’s not diagnosed with autism, her syndrome, PWS, overlaps with it. Loud noises and loud music can overwhelm her. And her poor muscle tone and shyness in a room full of people means that she is unlikely to be overtaken by the urge to jitterbug, or, indeed, bodypop.

So, of course, her ear defenders were clamped on firmly as soon as there was any chance of a band appearing on the stage at the Little Loud Women matinee show at The Lexington, in Islington. She displayed no discernible signs of wanting to wig out. She sat, wedged on her bench seat, unwilling to go any closer to the stage for the first three bands.

She was, however, paying close attention, and attributing her own unique ratings: Argonaut she liked, because “they were the quietest”; The Wimmins’ Institute were also good, because "they weren’t as quiet, but they kind of were” (plus “they did a song about pirates that said you didn’t need a willy to be one, and that was very funny, Mum”. I myself thought the “Yo Ho, let’s go!” line was the winner). But the punchy, punky indie rock from the lively Crack Foxes was dismissed, instantly, for yes, you guessed it, “being much too loud”. When the singer announced that the next song would be their last, my daughter’s unfair and purely volume-based antipathy towards a stomping cover of These Boots Were Made For Walking was made plain to all around her when she blurted out: “Thank God for that!”.

And then something astonishing happened when Piney Gir came on. My girl and Piney have history. She’s seen her and her band from a 'safe' distance a couple of times at Daylight Music gigs at The Union Chapel, had several shy chats with her, and has been thrilled with her signed copies of CDs.

So I chanced my arm, suggested that we got up off our seat, and held my daughter's hand as we walked forward the few metres to stand directly in front of the stage. My friend and her two daughters were already there (one of her girls nonchalantly joining the band on the stage as they set up their instruments, along with a posse of other wannabe roadies). My girl looked up at Piney, nervously checking her ear defenders as she did so.

And stand there we did, as the band served up a slice of their sunny, melodic, and...well...to be honest, a little bit loud, indie pop. My girl still looked on edge, so I decided a minor tactical retreat of just one step back might relax her. It seemed to do the trick, and I watched as she whispered along to familiar songs, partook in some slight toe tapping, swaying, and even a little sidestep or two. 

It doesn't sound like much. But what she did, to stand there, right there, so close, for her, for me to see, was the equivalent of a full-on pogo in the mosh pit.

I thought it couldn’t get any better. Then a giant bee turned up. (If you don't believe me, check out the photo). And then Piney had some vinyl copies of her latest album for sale on the merch stall, and she signed one for my girl, who now has a Piney record, just like Mum and Dad’s records, just like the Taylor Swift LP that is the only other record in her burgeoning collection of...well...two. Two records.

On the way to Kings Cross Station, we bumped into a Crack Fox coming out of a restaurant. “You were at The Lexington!” I blurted out, inanely, as I did that double take-do-I-know-you kind of thing with the guitarist. “I didn’t like you, you were too loud,” my girl announced as she walked past. Hopefully her voice didn't carry...

“Did you have fun?” I asked my daughter as I wedged myself next to her in my train seat, clutching the enormous wicker picnic basket we’d won in the gig raffle. (What do you mean, I didn’t mention winning an enormous wicker picnic basket in the gig raffle?).

“Yep.”

A big, satisfied sigh.

“I’m glad I took my ear defenders, Mum.”

Song is Piney Gir - Tilt A Whirl

Daylight

It was a simple enough day out: a train ride, a short stroll, a picnic, and a lunchtime Daylight Music gig at The Union Chapel, in Islington.

The timetable was set in my daughter’s head; she knew what was happening and when it was happening - vital for a peaceful trip with a Prader-Willi teenager.

And I was proud of her. She coped with unexpectedly busy trains around Finsbury Park (OK, my 'meticulous’ planning somehow missed the fact that thousands of exuberant teenagers would be amassing for the Wireless Festival). She remembered to clutch her straw cowboy hat firmly to her head whenever trains whooshed past. She only piped up a couple of times with an anxious: “It’s not too loud, is it?” during the gig. And she didn’t feel the need to stick her earplugs in, which as musical criticism goes, is high praise indeed.

We bumped into a music buddy of mine, Mike, who sat next to us as we watched an exceptionally talented (and, I couldn't help noticing, rather buff) man from Amarillo called Rodney Branigan sing whilst playing a guitar and a mandolin at the same time. My girl confided in Mike that she and Mummy thought he was handsome. “Do you think he’s good-looking?” she asked; Mike had to agree.

And then we saw Piney Gir, a Kansas-born, adopted Londoner who comes a close run second to Taylor Swift in my daughter’s Best Pop Stars list. Piney could have been upset at not being her Number One, but I think she managed to shake it off. Her bright, melodic brand of vivacious indie pop was perfect on a day when the sun streamed through the windows of the church, kids danced in front of the pews, and my girl concentrated fiercely on her songsheet as the audience joined Piney and her band in a rendition of Woody Guthrie’s This Land Is Your Land.

“I like the Gold song best,” my daughter informed her heroine shyly, as we said hello after the gig. We took a smiley picture. It’ll be going up on my daughter's photo wall of fame, in exalted company next to Cesc Fabregas. I thanked Piney for sending us an advance signed copy of her new album in time for my daughter to get to know the songs before the show. She patiently signed a tote bag my girl had chosen as a momento from the merch stall. Noticing people buying copies of the new CD, mR. hYDE'S wILD rIDE, my daughter looked slightly disappointed: “Is it out now? Can ANYONE just buy it?”

She went to bed at quarter to seven. Kernickity knackered, but happy. 

When the sun came shining, and I was strolling,
The wheat fields waving and the dust clouds rolling,
A voice was chanting, and the fog was lifting,
This land was made for you and me.

Songs are: (above) Piney Gir - Gold Rules (*'the Gold song')
                (below) Piney Gir - This Land Is Your Land

Basking

A while back, we had a great trip down to London, where my daughter met musician Piney Gir after a free afternoon gig at The Union Chapel, in Islington.

Piney has just written about the 'Daylight Session' show on her blog, where she very kindly gave my girl a lovely mention.

I just showed the piece to my rather thrilled teenager. She stood looking over at the computer screen over my shoulder, reading it out aloud. Then she spotted the picture of her and Piney taken just after the show. She gasped and her eyes went boggly. "Is that me, mum? Am I on a pop star's website?" she asked. Once I'd confirmed this was, indeed, the case, she disappeared upstairs to put Piney's CD on her stereo.

I think what my daughter is doing is known as 'basking in glory'.

Video is The Piney Gir Country Roadshow - Lucky Me

Geronimo!

Bezzies

We went on a journey today. Not one of those poxy X-Factor-style journeys. I’m not trying to add pseudo-intellectual depth to what was - quite literally - a train trip.

On a freezing cold day, my daughter, her "best mate evah!" and me hopped on a First Capital Connect carriage down to London, whizzed through the underground, jumped on a bus and met up with the girls.

The female throng (thong?) consisted of a couple of friends, one with a couple of teeny sprogs.

The Arctic Expeditionary Female Front

Our destination was the Union Chapel in Islington, which as well as being a working church also puts on live shows, including some rather splendid free lunchtime concerts. What with the special deal on Travelcards that got the girls there for the princely sum of £2 each, this was proving a frugal triumph.

Of course, first we had deal with the fact that as the show was at lunchtime, it could potentially impinge on...well...lunch. Our planning left a little to be desired when we stopped off for some pasta at an Italian restaurant, but realised they were still doing their breakfast menu. The smallest look of panic flashed across my girl’s face, before the wonderful waitress gave me a wink and said: “I’ll ask in the kitchen if they’ll do some pasta early for the children, shall I?”

Piney Gir and her bassist, whose sunglasses
presumably came with de-icer

So all was calm and well, and we headed to the venue, stationing ourselves two pews from the front to enjoy live music in a beautiful setting.

First up was an impressive mini-set from the wistful Herons!, whose pianist looked as though her fingers might freeze up in the cold. Then came the extraordinary voice of Mara Carlyle, with some pared-down versions of tracks from her album Floreat which made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Or maybe that was just the sub-zero temperatures, again...

Piney Gir and her No.1 Belieber

But it was the final act, Piney Gir, with her 60s Pop-infused songs, who provided something extra special.

You see, Piney was the musical guest at last month’s True Stories Told Live, the event where I spoke about my daughter. And following this, Piney sent me an email saying how much she’d enjoyed my talk, and did I think my girl would like to come and see her play at a free concert?

Piney’s latest CD was duly purchased. A critical listening phase from boy-band loving daughter ensued. I spoke of how we could go and see Piney perform and maybe even say hello and get an autograph after the gig.

And, as promised, when the show finished, before the audience was booted out in order for a wedding ceremony to take place, we nipped to the side of the stage, my daughter clutching a Sharpie pen and her treasured copy of Piney’s CD, Geronimo!

Piney recognised me, and recognised my girl from my description of her in my True Story. She beamed, charmed, chatted and signed a message, and my daughter was shy, starstruck, and thrilled.

I wondered how my daughter would cope today. I wondered if she’d be too cold, tired, or bored to sit watching three acts in a cavernous church. I wondered if she’d be too busy worrying about her next snack or meal to enjoy the actual event. I wondered if the journey would wear her out too much.

But she had a great day. And so it was that on the train on the way back my little girl announced, with suitable gravitas: “I like Piney Gir EQUALLY as much as Justin Bieber.”

Sometimes I need a battle cry to face the day. And now I’ve got a new one. I’m nicking it from Piney. Sometimes you have to leap out of the plane and step into the blue. Sometimes you have to yell: “Geronimo!”

Video is Mara Carlyle - Bowlface En Provence

Video is Piney Gir - Here's Looking At You