Cider with Becki
(Being an exemplary tale of young folly & leading to the emergence of ‘The Driss’)
Angel Brothers fans are already familiar with Becki Driscoll the fiery- haired ,furious yet feminine folk fiddler, who joined the band after jamming with them at a gig in Exeter in 2004 and has been a permanent and essential fixture ever since.
Becki is a consummate musician, composer and a stunning live performer who wows audiences wherever and whenever the band play. But, interestingly , it was not always thus.
Indeed it now transpires that Becki has a somewhat chequered past…
The year was 1996, and a young, fresh faced , yet somewhat pouty teenage Driscoll (see photo) was attending the annual summer school of The Dorset Young Symphonia at the exclusive, downright posh, but obviously cash-strapped Bryanston Boarding School.
The members of the young orchestra were subjected to an appropriately rigorous rehearsal schedule befitting of ambitious young musicians in a public school setting. Each and every one with their sights set on the dizzy heights of success in the classical music world. In fact , our very own Becki was hotly tipped to become the next Vanessa Mae.
At the end of a typically exhausting day of rehearsals , young Becki felt herself to be in serious need of liquid refreshment. At the tender age of fifteen , she was not permitted by our county’s eminently sensible alcohol laws to purchase her drink of choice: a litre bottle of Martini Bianco. So, the slightly- built string scraper craftily bribed an older member of the ensemble to sally forth to the local Waitrose and purchase the illicit liquor.
The results were truly remarkable. The hitherto virtuous violinist downed the contents of the bottle in one go, and a period of brief hallucinations led to first to a ‘black out’ and then to a long period of ’unconsciousness’.
The physically enfeebled fiddler awoke the next morning to find herself locked in a dormitory with a fearsome looking prefect stationed on guard duty at the end of her bunk. Her only recollection of the previous night’s sordid events was a vivid dream of falling through a barbed –wire fence. Indeed , her stomach bore several deep, bloodied and painful scratches for which she had no explanation other than the aforementioned weird dream.
She was told in no uncertain terms by the orchestral authorities that she was to be dismissed (ie sacked) forthwith, as she risked bringing disgrace and dishonour on
both the orchestra and the school and they simply could not be held responsible for her wayward behaviour. In short, as mature adults and pillars of the classical music establishment, they simply could not cope with her sordid, booze -fuelled antics. Her parents had been telephoned and they would arrive shortly to whisk her away in silent disgrace with the minimum of fuss.
So the disconsolate young Driscoll packed her fiddle and left under a cloud, apparently never to return…
However, not more than twenty four hours later there was an impassioned, grovelling ‘phone call from the Musical Director of the orchestra, pleading with her to return for the end of season concert, as they were now ‘one violin short of a section’. Despite his distasteful, whining tone, Becki- ever the professional- dutifully returned and played stunningly at the grand event. But that was the last of it – her misdemeanour had been duly noted by the omnipotent lords of the classical old boys network . She had blotted her musical copybook and it was a matter of principle, common decency and public safety that she would never be asked back.
As a footnote to this story, it may be of interest to some readers that in Dorset folklore there exists a fearsome mythological creature known as The Driss. The Driss uses only a female host and emerges at night, usually after the host has consumed a large amount of alcohol – invariably cider or scrumpy. Early signs of the emergence of The Driss are a heightened emotional state in the host , who may begin to swear at, curse and violently insult any other unfortunate souls who happen to be present. The Driss, when fully emerged can present a truly terrifying and dangerous spectacle and any persons in the immediate vicinity of this wildly unpredictable creature should immediately take precautions for their own safety and beat a hasty retreat.
It's all in the eyes...Enhanced close up reveals evidence of The Driss.
Catgut & Blisters
In the photograph a very young David Angel shows a distinct propensity for the guitar and all it’s derivatives. Little Dave is playing a popular facsimile instrument known as ‘The Beggar’s Banjo’ which was cynically marketed at eager young lads from working class backgrounds on an extortionate hire –purchase arrangement by Music Grind -a local workhouse –turned- music -store run by an evil and dictatorial boss by the name of Tricky Ricky. Ricky bore more than a passing resemblance to a wrangler-clad Gollum and sported a gravity -defying shredded wheat- style hair weave that was popular in it’s day. Please note also the very un –pc plastic ‘minstrel’ boater that came as part of this sordid package. Diminutive David practised dutifully on this instrument for five long years. His small, soft child’s fingers would often bleed and blister- yet he would never cry out or complain. Indeed the dedicated and dextrous diddy one surmounted all odds to win the Music Grind Doncaster Young Axeman of the Year Award at IMPEL ’73, thus achieving what some had deemed to be a physical impossibility ; performing a flawless rendition of ‘Classical Gas’ on this travesty of an ‘instrument’. It was a performance so rich in it’s musicality and emotional intensity that it reduced both judges and audience to tears and prompted spontaneous expressions of unbounded joy, hero worship and near-hysteria in grown men and women.
Consider this then, dear reader; If a young lad, without social or financial privilege, could wring sweet notes and heart rending melodies from this crude catgut sham of a so –called musical instrument,- what might he do if a real guitar were placed in his young masterful grip? Decades later the evidence is plain for all to see and hear. Faithfully recorded on those three fine compact discs made by The Angel Brothers and displayed to stunning effect on their new album recorded for Mr.Thomas Rose and his Navigator record label.
Now parents take heed. When your son or daughter demands that you buy them a guitar for a birthday or Christmas, do not run headlong to the local music store or your nearest Cash Converters to buy them a brand spanking new Gibson Stratocaster and stacks of Marshalls. Mark my words, this will be but a passing fad and your spoiled, obese and indolent prodigy will soon lose interest and revert back to their usual leisure pursuits such as knife crime, onanism and Nintendonet pornography.
Buy them nothing more than a well used tennis racquet or even a shoe box with rubber bands to practise on. In cases of extreme poverty, a single shoe lace gripped between thumb and forefinger and held firmly in the teeth will suffice. It will soon become apparent whether or not they are truly committed to travelling the long, difficult and stony road to becoming a musician and artist. From humble acorns, dear reader, from humble acorns…
Coming soon on the blog
Becki Driscoll - a somewhat inauspicious start to a glittering musical career;- Sacked from West Dorset Youth Orchestra for being drunk in charge of a violin !!!
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