Opinion: I’d rather be playing 12-bar blues than harvesting

Has it really been nearly four years since I finished my last-ever land of wheat, and trundled back along the headland of Rough Field to the header trailer, contemplating my new future as a non-arable farmer?

I seem to remember giving thanks that the absurd DPF on the Claas hadn’t caught fire in our haunted field – I was convinced that the ghost of Sub-Lt Norman Daly had one more mechanical breakdown up his sleeve.

Nope – no dramas, Hazel and I greeted the occasion with a bit of a hug and a “well, that’s that” shrug.

See also: Opinion – it’s great to see Young Farmers’ focus and passion

About the author

Charlie Flindt

Charlie Flindt is a National Trust tenant in Hampshire, now farming 40ha of recently “de-arabled” land with his wife Hazel – who still runs a livestock enterprise. He also writes books and plays in two local bands.

Read more articles by Charlie Flindt

But people are still asking “what are you doing these days?” – and, if truth be told, it’s quite hard to explain.

I tell them, “I’m playing my Hammond clone in a Gary Moore tribute band,” but, for most folk, that means nothing.

I get a blank look that reminds me of one of Dad’s best life mottoes: “do something once a month to baffle your neighbours”. So, to explain, let’s work backwards. 

Tribute bands are everywhere these days. Name me a big rock/pop group from the last 40-plus years, and I’ll give you their soundalikes, touring theatres around the country.

Abba? Abattoir – a heavy metal adaptation, of course. Take That? Fake That/Take Fat. My favourite is Arse, who are an Elbow tribute band – most people can’t tell one from the other.

We are refreshingly pun-free: “the Gary Moore Blues Experience”. Simple as that.

One or two eyes might light up at Gary Moore; he was the guitar virtuoso from Belfast who lived fast and died relatively young.

If you like hard rock-blues and soaring fret-bursting ballads, he’s your man, and his fans are still out there in surprising numbers.

One or two are unsteady on their feet, and the denim jackets are well faded, but they’re still keen.

The band has been going for some years but needed a keyboard player; I auditioned (Dave the Bass player is an old gundog training mate) and got the job.

If you know your keyboards, you’ll know what a Hammond organ is, how big they are, and how much they cost.

Luckily, modern electronics can mimic that drawbar sound almost perfectly – as well as doing great piano, synth and string noises.

My new Nord keyboard does that in a sub-9kg package, and, despite having more buttons, is far easier to use than a Tucano.

Instead of going up and down fields all year, I’m driving up and down motorways like I haven’t done in more than 40 years.

It has to said that the rules of motorway driving are not what they were in 1984. Last month we played in Thame, Deal and Hove.

This month it’s Rotherhithe (must find passport for that one), Cardiff, Penzance and Bognor Regis. Semi-retirement has led me into a whole new world.

I often see fellow farmers out in their fields as I zoom past in my retirement present, loaded up with amps, cables, stands, stools, the bright-red Nord and my overnight bag for the Premier Inn.

Would I swap hours of banging out 12-bar blues to an enthusiastic and knowledgeable audience of 150 in one the nation’s scores of provincial theatres for endless hours of tractor work, growing food at a loss for unappreciative consumers?

You can guess the answer to that one.