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UK FALL TOUR 2004
Ipswich, England Regent Theatre Friday, Oct 8th On the Road With MaggieMay... I couldn’t wake up Friday morning, I couldn’t open my eyelids and furthermore, I couldn’t breathe. I raised my head slightly from my pillow and then let it fall back. What was wrong? Had Darling Hubby dropped a bowling ball on my head as I slept? It became clear almost immediately what was wrong. All it took was one horrible, hacking cough! While I was convinced at the first cough, it was the first of many. I coughed and coughed and coughed, waking My Beloved Spouse. He blearily stared at me in a fine mixture of horror and fear. I barely noticed his loving concern from my side of the bed. It’s difficult to notice much anything when you’re bent over hacking. This was not a welcome turn of events! It can be very unpleasant being sick in the privacy and comfort of your own home, but to be ill on the road is a grim prospect. Where could I have gotten this “rotten little cough and cold”? Who did I know that was sick? I could only think of ONE person- the Typhoid Mary of the music world. Thank you, Justin Hayward! I chuckled as I realized that not only had he given me something, it required antibiotics. My amusement was short-lived; the small laugh sent me into another paroxysm of coughing. My personal physician scurried around the room and thrust a large pill in my mouth. “All you have to do is be within six feet of him”, DH sternly said. I hung my head and coughed, knowing that front row seats were going to be the death of me. Literally! All I wanted to do was lie back down, but I could hardly remain behind in London. The wagon train was headed east and they would not leave me or my lifeless body behind. I could rely on them for a decent Christian burial.  Getting
dressed, getting packed and getting out of our hotel – I don’t remember
any of it. I DO remember the bill. As I was arranging a 10
year loan against our house in order to pay our London tab, Darling Hubby
wandered outside and ran into Sid. Sid might have had another drink
or two after I escaped from the restaurant, and though he looked great,
he indicated that he was pretty well done in. Meeting Sid (many thanks,
Red dear!) was the BEST thing about the entire UK Tour and we sealed our
new friendship with a big hug and the promise to be together again soon.
Angel arrived with our car or van or lorry (I don’t remember), gathered us up and put us in the vehicle. Kate and Little Star were there, but LS was wearing sunglasses and seemed unusually quiet. She might have been tired. I think the trip to Ipswich was fairly far, but then again, getting out of London can take hours. I must have fallen into a sickly sleep. DH had VERY quickly tired of my wrenching cough and had inquired as to whether I had any pain medication in my purse. After throwing my back out once on tour (Fall 2003) I don’t like to travel without it. “Yes, I do”, I replied. “Take one – that will work.” The effect was surprisingly similar to the bowling ball dropping on your head. I was out like a light. But not coughing!  Angel
and I had mutually agreed to try a different hotel in Ipswich and it was
an outstanding choice. The Salthouse Hotel is every bit as cute as
its website photos and the marina it fronts is picturesque. It did
seem that their choice of staff was a little odd! I don’t for the
life of me understand why hotels in English speaking countries do not employ
desk clerks who are fluent in English. Fluency in other languages
is very nice, but surely English is a given? The Salthouse had a
real winner at the reception desk – a cute, young girl who must have been
French. I’m sure we would have gotten along MUCH better if she had
spoken to me IN French. I didn’t understand her, she didn’t understand
me and ill as I was, my patience quickly wore thin. I wanted to shake
my fist in the air and loudly exclaim “Just give me a damn ROOM”.
It’s been my observation that people who give in to that impulse generally
get the worst room in the hotel or are sternly asked to leave. The
clerk eventually understood what I wanted (wouldn’t you rather EXPECT that
someone with luggage at a hotel desk wants a room?), looked up my name
and announced that I had no reservation. I was stupefied. Incredulous!
I fished out my printout and formally presented it to her. Inexplicably,
they had changed my reservation to Darling Hubby’s name.  He
kept his name when we were married and it’s an odd name. (Please
note: if you did not laugh at that small joke, then you are in the same
humorless camp as John Mellencamp’s mother. She did NOT find it funny.
Shrug) He uses my name all the time – mostly to order pizzas.
I snatched the key out of her hands, sick and tired of the French pestilence
that plagues England’s finer hotels (it’s a put on!), and rolled thru the
renovated warehouse to the lift. A very simple, yet attractive, restaurant
was on the left and down the corridor to the right was a really STRANGE
(but welcoming) lounge area. It was indescribable. I half-expected
to see Andy Warhol holding court on one of the sofas. I suppose he’d
have to be lying down.
As with most very old buildings that have been renovated for use they were never intended for, getting around was tricky. The elevators were small, the hallways were smaller than usual, but the rooms were VERY nice – large and attractive. The bed and headboard were quite unique – the headboard resembling a large piece of intricately carved dark wood. The sitting area had a small round table with the ever present tea set and cookies; they’re always welcome though they’re called biscuits in the UK. I don’t know if they HAVE real biscuits in England, come to think of it. I weep for them. Our digs included inexpensive, but not free, wireless high-speed internet access. By the time I had figured it out, it was time to leave for the venue. Darling Hubby is a practical man. He was still tired from *doing* Paris the day before, eyed the bed when we entered and was dead asleep on it five minutes after we walked into the room. I was tempted to join him, but I had slept in the car and felt too all around crummy to nap.  I
grabbed my camera and went downstairs, feeling vindicated as I passed a
perplexed person trying to check in. It wasn’t sunny outside but
on the other hand, it wasn’t raining, either. Several feeble rays
of afternoon fall sun graced the lovely marina. A narrow road separated
the doorway of the hotel from the water. It was a quiet Friday afternoon;
only a handful of people were out and about and no hardy souls were seen
on the boats. I hadn’t gone unnoticed! The harbor swans had
spotted me and quickly made their way over, full of hope that my pockets
were full of food. It took me a few minutes to understand why I was
so popular. They made sure to follow me up and down the wharf and
it was a comforting thing that the road was 10 feet higher than the water.
Swans are big birds and while I thought the first two or three were lovely,
innocent creatures, the dozen that eventually turned up looked more like
a pack of elegant dogs, ready to wrestle your purse from you AND shove
you into the drink. It seemed wise to be cautious.
 The
marina area near the Salthouse is delightfully quaint and the old buildings
have been restored with great care. It’s just about one of the cutest
places I’ve ever been! It was a shame not to have more time there.
I thought that a short nap would probably be advisable given my pitiful
state of health and I went back to our room and very quietly let myself
in. I shrugged off my shoes and carefully moved onto the bed, trying
hard not to cough and wake DH. As I closed my eyes and laid my head
onto the pillow, I felt him jerk up to a sitting position. “It’s
time for dinner!” I didn’t think it was, but I know how important
it is to feed a man when he’s hungry. The restaurant was able to
serve us immediately and the food was excellent – a little funky.
Just up my alley. We had no idea where we were relative to the venue
and didn’t linger over coffee. Thankfully, another employee was manning
the reception desk and efficiently ordered our taxi. I stood outside
to enjoy the marina and studied the posters decorating the pool hall next
to our hotel. It took much longer to get a taxi than it did to drive
to the venue. We couldn’t have been more than 2 blocks from it –
less than 2 minutes after we got in, the driver was pulling up onto and
over the curb to let us out.
THE VENUE Ipswich was the last concert of the UK 2002 tour. I was there and I recall there were two shows. I remember our hotel, I remember who we were with, I remember the sandwiches after the concert and the layout of the bar. I can recall my seat numbers for each of the two concerts. What I couldn’t recall was the venue. I couldn’t remember a darn thing about it, except the doors inside. It was as if I had never been there. The Ipswich Regent is simply *not* a memorable place. It’s not a wonderful place and it’s not an awful place. It’s just non-descript.  The
outside of the Regent is modest, and that’s being kind. It’s in a
downtown area on a busy street. There are several steps up to the
entrance and the box office is inside the doors in a foyer. A door
at the far end opens into another foyer. The ladies room was right
where I had left it. There are a series of doors, this time on the
inside, that lead into the showroom. Only a few were in use.
It’s at this point that someone FINALLY checks your ticket. You could
come in off the street, hang around in the inner foyer, have a beer and
listen to the music without any problem at all. Snort!
I was surprised when I went into the showroom proper. It’s very nice and done in a medium color wood! Why didn’t I remember it? Shrug The front row is about 4 feet from the stage, the stage is about 4 feet high and the mikes were pushed back about 8 feet from the edge of the stage. It’s a big stage, wide and deep: a Broadway –sized stage. There were 4 big speakers (2x4) on both sides of the stage and a small front fill speaker angled toward the center. The balcony at the Regent does not have wings, but runs straight across the back of the theatre. Like the common Fox Theatres in The States, the Regent has a recessed ceiling around 16 feet across. I noticed during Singer that the theatre has column lighting at the side. Evidently, it’s not terribly obvious. There is one really AWFUL thing about the Ipswich Regent Theatre: the seats. They’re old as the hills and they automatically flip up when you stand. If you don’t remember to reach back and pull that seat back down you’re going to quite literally have your ass in a sling.  No
wonder UK audiences don’t stand after each song! They know the danger
they’re in. I wasn’t up after every song, but the few times I was
up I almost forgot to put the seat down, catching myself on the brink of
disaster.
The stage setup was The Moodies usual, except that Paul’s keyboard setup was separated from Gordon’s drum kit and pushed toward the front. The setup change allowed a path between Paul’s keyboards and the drums for The Moodies’ grand entrance and exit and for JohnB (The Moodies’ guitar tech) to attend to important guitar business. THE FASHION REPORT JH – White long-slvd oxford shirt with blue stripes, 2nd half new blue and white checked long-slvd shirt JL – White long-slvd “bib” shirt, black jeans with leather pockets, boots, 2nd half black long-slvd shirt GE – 2nd half Jimi Hendrix shirt, black slacks  Norda
– Black sleeveless top, brown pleated/broomstick skirt, wicked belt, boots
I’m not sure if this was the initial presentation of Norda’s new outfit, but it’s the first I have a photograph for! Words are inadequate. It’s the 4 inch wide leather belt that gives the outfit that dominatrix feel. The sum is a kind of waif-like S&M ballet *look*. I don’t think anybody but Norda Mullen could pull it off. The girl has style! THE CONCERT The Moody Blue Machine continues to effectively and professionally roll over the English landscape; Ipswich was no exception. The 2004 UK setlist was performed in its entirety with a 20 minute intermission. The Moodies put out another excellent concert and Justin continued to do very well despite his HIGHLY CONTAGIOUS damn cold. The concert was very similar to the venue – not exceptional, not awful, very good and solid, worth the trip and worth the money!  The
only notes I have state emphatically that Justin introduced Paul and Gordon
before their performance of Forever Autumn and then introduced Norda and
Bernie after AYSC. It’s a very nice thing for Justin and The Moodies
to do, appropriate and generous.
The only other note I have about the Ipswich concert is cryptic. Different *stuff* on Singer? What the heck does THAT mean? I guess you had to be there. MaggieMay Photos by Maggie and Gabe |
