I sent an email off to Ben way back in March and fully expected to never hear back. Ben - like all of us - is human, busy, and I had no idea if he was even playing anymore but you can’t win the lottery if you don’t buy a ticket.
Lo and behold I get back the most beautiful humble message saying that he’s got a show in Reading at The Rising Sun Arts Centre and he’ll work on getting me on the bill. Wow. What a guy. Never met me. I could ask for his bank details next, I could be telling him that there's a $300,000,000 payout for him  due to an insurance claim made on his behalf. 
A few weeks later I get tied into an email with Sid, the promoter (Club Velocity Reading) and away we go! 
(Sid, by the way, also a great guy and doing a great thing for the Reading community on a marco scale with Rising Sun). Now that ball was rolling, it was back to all my other million tasks.

A few months later back in Sydney, I’m playing at one of my regular venues, The Fortune Of War in The Rocks and get chatting to an absolute legend at the bar by the name of Matt. He says he’s from a town just near Reading — YEW BEEYOOTAY! — “Hey Matt, nice to meet you, what kind of music do you like and when are you back home?…” We have such a great conversation that I completely forgot that I was meant to be back on stage 10 minutes ago! We trade info and say our goodbyes. Three months later, Matt walks into the Ben Marwood show in Reading. 
There’s something truly beautiful about meeting someone somewhere and then seeing them again on the opposite side of the planet. Music is truly something special, thank you Matt.

Leading up to the date, I had a handful friends drop in with words to the effect of “YOU’RE playing with Ben Marwood? I guess I have to come to Reading now” or “I was already going but now I feel like I’m getting more value for my ticket!” which was nice for me and I’m sure Ben and Sid also. My profit margin for the show would have also looked a lot nicer if I hadn’t driven the wrong way into a one-way bus and taxi zone near the train station earlier that day… Playing the foreign card has some merit sometimes… but not this time, I had to cough up the fine. 
“I moved here from Australia and they think I’m slow ehhhhhhhhh?”

Being a late addition and only included on the bill through the kindness and accepting spirit that's woven into the fabric of a local community’s ethos, I played just as doors opened. Astonishingly, there were easily 50 people already in the room waiting for some music to kick off. The crowd was beautiful, engaging and in a good mood so the banter was flowing and the vibe was immaculate. For perspective, there have been plenty-a performance in an artist's career where the crowd aren’t giving you an inch and you feel like they just can’t wait for you to finish - those shows are an amazing opportunity for character development, albeit in a masochistic way - but not this crowd! This crowd wanted to be entertained and I wanted to entertain! A performer’s dream. 
The new songs have been going well and I'm getting lots of great feedback on them, I even have a strong contender for a crowd favourite against the heavyweight champion “tHe CaT sOnG” and this one is slightly more of sombre and serious tone with a sprinkle of hope on top.
It was so beautiful to see so many familiar faces and become friends with so many newer ones too - even Ben’s mum came up to me afterwards and told me how much she enjoyed my set. 

Jess Tuthill and Matt Stockl followed my set and they were both amazing (check them both out).
Jess has an lovely way with words and her song about Last Of Us, I could absolutely hear being synced into the next season for sure. Her writing and execution was on point.
Matt Stockl has a knack for lyrics in a way I wish I did and I was so grateful to have come across his music. 
I look forward to meeting them both again in the future!

Once again, seeing a true musical inspiration of mine in the flesh, in the front row, it simply flew by much to my annoyance. I sat there eyes glued to his guitar and ears latching onto every syllable that escaped his mouth, trying to absorb everything I could and comparing the live experience to the studio versions I knew so well. It gave me a lot to ponder and I'm very much looking forward to his first release in what's been about nine years?
There’s a beautiful sense of conscious angst in Marwood’s writing and he's one of the few writers that’s been able to actually bring me to tears with their words.
For anyone, like me, who needed it explained to them the first time they were told about this concept: 'Conscious' vs 'Unconscious' is a concept I learned about through the context of Hip Hop and Rap. Unconscious rap, think Candy Shop - 50 Cent and conscious rap go think Nathanology - An Introduction To Critical Theory or Black Star - Thieves In The Night. 

Under Lock & Key, for so long resonated with me (not in the song's most literal sense or any physical sense at all I should clarify) as a brilliant piece of allegory by the way of harbouring a deep sense of guilt for the way I treated a partner in a previous relationship. Sorrow, wrapped in a bow… 
For some reason my brain bypassed the literal sense of the lyrics and threw me back head first into that moment of my life. In the years to come following the breakdown of that relationship, I made a promise to myself to NEVER, EVER treat another human being the way I treated her. But what also came from that decision was the realisation of how unfair it was that it had to take putting someone through that to realise that it’s an abhorrent way to behave as a person. I'm embarrassed and ashamed of that version of Blake but looking back on it, he's also a complete stranger to me.
Taking this epiphany to therapy allowed me to explore it deeper and wider; I'm sorry that I can't go back in time and change how I treated this person, the silver lining to come from this is that everyone else in my life from that point on has benefited from a kinder, more passionate and introspective Blake.
I will say this till the day I day: your life doesn’t have to be a mess to benefit from therapy – it’s just a shame our system pigeonholes the opportunity as somewhat of a privilege to be able to afford. 

Watching Ben's set in the flesh showed me the side of a man with a gift. To be able to harness his intellect, creativity and kindness to take the room on a journey. There was laughter, there were tears and there was strong reflection on my life and my choices during my time in front of Ben.
If I hadn't come across Ben's music, I shudder at the thought of the kind of person I might be today.

Alas, all good things must come to an end and a group of us packed up and squeezed in a pint around the corner just before they kicked everyone out, having a few precious minutes outside of the gig environment to be candid, conversational and discover that one of my favourite songwriters is a down-to-earth, sharp-minded, warm and friendly human being was the cherry on top. Thank you for making time for me Ben.
They say “never meet your heroes”, unless it’s Ben Marwood, always try to meet Ben Marwood.

P.S. Ben, come to Australia please.
 

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As I nursed the WTF Nottingham… hangover I’d absolutely been ambushed by (self-inflicted), I went to find my car where I’d left it in Hockley the night before. With a full mental preparation that I was about to cop a second parking fine… Oh yeah, I should mention that while I was at the open mic the night before I got a £50 parking fine for not paying for parking - which I did! I just didn’t realise that the registration format here is Letter/Letter / Number/Number / Letter/Letter/Letter and the “I” in the 3rd spot as I thought it was, was actually a “1”… (appeal with Nottingham City Council in progress, I’ll keep you posted on whether they have a heart or not soon). 
So I get back to my car and see the shameful reality, almost like you have to ‘walk past the car and pretend it’s not yours’ kind of moment, of the unmistakable little yellow packet stuck to the windscreen — I laugh and pretend I’m laughing at a stranger’s pain, not mine. I move underneath the scaffolding 10 metres away, scan for humans until the coast is clear then rip it off the glass and dive into the car. 
Dammit! It’s 3:02pm and this inspector literally only came around 15 minutes ago! Are you kidding me!? Oh well, no excuse for this one, suck it up and pay it - 2 minute noodles of Blake for the next week I guess…

I hit the road for Banham, a beautiful drive mind you. As I eventually enter Norfolk and the sun gets brighter, the roads get wider and there’s a warning sign for deer that may cross (kind of like the kangaroo signs back home except remembering that you only ever encounter any animal on the road between Sydney and Canberra, I wondered whether this sign was a dud, or THE one to take seriously. The fewer sentient beings that humans are responsible for killing, the better, so I decided to keep extra wits about me).
Then, taking the turn off towards Banham, the roads began to get narrower to the point of entering the territory of high hedged, one-lane-but-still-somehow-two-way-street snaking roads (while still maintaining their 60mph speed limit) and just knew I was getting into the REAL countryside of England. 
Fucking sound.

Pulling up at Banham Barrel I got the sense it was a really laid back (in the UK sense), kind of town. The sight of me with a guitar turned heads. Brian, the owner of Banham Barrel is an absolute sweetheart. A man with a plan and a goal to provide value and a sense of community to his area - and that to me is the real definition of an Alpha Male, not this Gym Junkie/Hustle Till You Die/How Many Women Are Messaging You Right Now attitude - respecting other people and caring for your family & community is BIG DICK ENERGY and I will die on this hill.
I digress… Brian proudly shows me around his venue, almost like he’s planned this out so that just when it seems there are no more doors to any new rooms, he surprises me again. It just seems to get bigger and bigger as the tour go on.
Finally, he shows me the where the magic happens: the barn-turned-music venue, with a capacity of about 200, is what seems like an absolute ticking time bomb of a hidden gem. The sound is immaculate (monitors and FOH), and it’s set up in a way that only someone who is married to his venue can create. None of this soulless Clubs Australia/Wetherspoon vibes – where they're legally required to provide entertainment because their business model is so sinister and evil that the act of having live music for their victims somehow distracts from the fact that they literally pray and profit off the disease of drink and gambling addiction - this place however, is a place where music and art is celebrated and respected.

Brian curated James Veira and Grace Calver to join the lineup, two singers who are immensely talented in their own right, and it was wonderful to chat to James about the filming and audio recording of the show as well as chatting to Grace’s team about everything she has planned and our degrees of separation. On a business and artistic sense, it was a 30/30 gig. 
After a brilliant, enriching and intimate show, with lots of extended conversations at the merch desk with most of the audience, Brian graciously lent me his spare room and we sunk a deceptively large amount of beer at his dining room table discussing music, dreams and personal goals until it was well and truly “I have shit to do tomorrow, I need to go to bed” for both of us. In all honesty, I was a 50/50 mix of sad & grateful that it was time to hit the pillow — and as an introvert, that is RARE it's not more one-sided.
I stared at the ceiling reflecting on the entire day until I don’t remember passing out. Brian, they say “be the change you want to see in the world” and you are inspiration for me to keeping pushing for mine. Thank you.

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I rolled into the carpark at half past two, cursing the fact that my phone had died overnight and I’d missed all my alarms to get up at a decent enough time to make it down for the early acts of the day, and to meet Johnny and George from Pet Needs before midday like I said I would. Oops.
As the ETA on my map gradually diminished, it slowly got more and more real. For the first time in a LONG time I think I was actually nervous (a healthy amount, not paralysingly so) about the shows that night. It felt good to feel alive.
I followed the signs along the road outside Cheltenham and finally found the entrance. As I was ushered to the back of a carpark, a cacophony of car roofs reflected a chorus of chrome, light and heat directly into my eyes. Once I found a space, the view was something reminiscent of the parking scene in Itchy & Scratchy Land with Homer’s golden words ringing in my ears “Now remember; we’re in the ‘The Itchy Lot’” — finding the car was Tomorrow Blake’s problem.

I just knew this was going to be a special day - and I was very quickly proved right. As I walked past a few areas of camping tents, I saw people of all ages sharing tents, blasting punk, jamming songs, people walking in and out of the front gates with their beer cans, wine cups, whisky drinks, you name it - and it hit me; this festival is BYO - this would be SO illegal in Australia. But the sense of freedom and respect for our own autonomy as humans provided to us by 2000 Trees overwhelmed me with gratitude and serotonin.
It didn’t take long looking around like a lost soul before I was spotted and told where the afterparty stages are (I think the guitar in my hand gave it away). Up along the path I was peppered with conversation from people I’d met on the last tour or just recently leading up to the 2000 Trees. My people, I’ve found my people. Quite literally.

Shortly after visiting both stages I’d be playing later on in the night (11:35pm at UTB Manchester & 12:30am at Camp Turner) and getting some snaps of my name next to some other incredible songwriters, I found my crew and my tent and was very quickly joined by Mexican Dave (who had graciously supplied me with my tent for the night) and we were off to see some music with his crew, weirdly enough I had quite a small degree of separation between then and some Australian friends I soon found out. 
Interspersed throughout Into It. Over It., Amigo The Devil, Frank Turner and Skinny Lister was a barrage of new smiling faces to lock into conversation with and talk about each other’s music and how great this damn festival is. Albeit the guilt of not arriving earlier was still weighing on me heavily.
Amigo is possibly my new favourite act and it was confirmed for me when I saw Danny solo in Sydney back in April — the lyrics, the stage presence, the banter. It was the complete package. The perfect show. Finally seeing them in band format was the cherry on top - can’t wait for more from them.
Then of course Frank, my favourite songwriter, was incredible. It’s no secret of mine and he seems to have this effect on many, many others - some moreso than me. It was a very special show for most of us there and to see him perform in front of his people, and not in Australia or LA was just incomparable. 

Once Skinny Lister wrapped (whom it was my first time seeing and they were incredible!), it was time to race back to my tent to acclimatise my guitar to the rapid chilling of the Gloucestershire air before catching the worst kept secret of the entire festival - Frank Turner’s solo set on the Camp Turner stage at 11pm. Once I arrived, it was packed with people eagerly anticipating the show, spread out and spilling through the tents areas, blocking the main artery for foot traffic that allowed people to move freely through the camping grounds. I remember being told that the stages are 100% unplugged, no amplification and I immediately thought “how in the world is he going to be heard by anyone past the third row?” and I was right. But we sang along in a hushed but purposeful way, an orchestra careful not to overpower their orator as they were guided through all the songs they knew, loved and had rehearsed so hard for decades in the making. Unfortunately I had to leave a little early to catch Kyle from Pay The Man on the UTB Manchester stage — Kyle, who was playing just before me has some amazing songs so I made sure I got there in time. Being a Manchester stage, Kyle finished with Don’t Look Back In Anger; apt. I briefly contemplated finishing with Wonderwall but quickly realised it was an intrusive thought that was not to be trusted.
 

Ok; Showtime. 
No mics, no speakers - just one voice, one guitar and a stage to say what I think and convince the passers by to stop for a while and take in some story and song. The nerves had started to creep back in and, honest to god, I was loving it. I’ve done this thousands of times before (literally), I was in my element and these kind of shows remind me of why I do this in the first place.
I took the stage with my adhoc set list (every song of mine that I remember in a note on my phone) at my feet and ploughed into a loud and fast one first. In all honesty, they ALL had to be loud and fast, I had to CONVINCE people to stop and stay to listen to my show, there had to be like 100 people by the end of my set here and I had no microphone! 
With so many friends and even more strangers before me, it flew by in the blink of an eye which I’m bemoaning. I told them my stories; about Rocky, AD/HD, friends back home, lockdowns and everything they need to know about my new song Roots (it’s unreleased, so stay tuned on that one). Rebecca capturing some moments for me because she’s an absolute legend, Jo, Henry and Jamie flaunting my merch and parading before the stage in it without me even asking them to — it was truly a special moment that I wish I could have squeezed more time out of, alas; onto the next stage. 

Pushing to be heard I noticed the warning signs of strain and tiredness in my throat and began to rue the decision to play two stages in 60 minutes — I wasn’t going to just let myself give a half assed performance simply because I had to do a second show in half an hour and swiftly remembered that if I can sing nine 3-4 hour shows, with four of them in the space of 24 hours, I knew I would be able to do two 30 minute sets in the space of 2 hours… Grow up Blake. 
Camp Turner here I come!

I distinctly remember strolling down the hill and hearing B-Sydes slamming on his guitar and seeing the crowd ardently hanging off the precipice of every plosive that rolled off of his tongue — you just bet I was taking notes. I took the stage shortly after him with Jo’s gracious introduction setting the tone and took off into my first song. I cruised through my set with Mexican Dave yelling out “do a shoey” after every song. Upon seeing many familiar faces from the stage before that must have followed me down to the next stage, I decided to mix it up. You beauty! The surprises kept coming, even for myself! I threw in some of my old band’s songs and some tunes I hadn’t yet had a chance to play on this UK run, once again the show flew by and inevitably had to come to an end at some stage — before I knew it, it was 1:15am and I knew I needed to step down and find a chair in the dark to process everything that just happened that day.
But in true 2000 Trees fashion, I wasn’t afforded that luxury and had a pair of silent disco headphones shoved into my chest, more drinks than I had fingers dumped in my hands and was led off into the festival grounds to dance the night away.

The camp pack down was brutal but hey, live by the sword, die by the sword.
Returning to Bristol from 2000 Trees with Mexican Dave the next day was the perfect way to experience the Euro’s Final. With Dave being Mexican and me being Australian, we were two red fish out of water cheering on the Spanish in a sea of white jerseys and golden pints. A great way to end the weekend. Beers, banter and the best festival I’ve ever been to.
Over and out.

This blog part of my page always was and always will be free. If you feel entertained, educated or any other adjective or verb in the realm of language, please feel free to support it here: https://ko-fi.com/blakecateris