Last July, in this piece (“A funeral changes everything”), I wrote the following:

I have been on a mission to see live music, and play live music, as much as possible, in memory of the woman whose funeral prompted that first evening in a new venue [a pub in Harlesden where the reception took place] …

Since writing those words, just over 8 months ago, I have been to more than 150 events where live music was on offer, and I sang and played at over 100 of them. Most of these events have been in pubs and cafés here in London: Open Mics, “Open Stages”, Sessions, mostly for free but I am now also being booked for paid gigs. Tonight I will be plying my trade (if that’s the right word for it) in an Irish bar in North West London, for a fee. When I was only performing once or twice a month I would keep friends up-to-date with my appearances but now I rarely do so.

Over the last year I have seen hundreds of performers in dozens of venues and spent thousands of pounds on drinks and snacks. Entry to most of these shows is free but in my view part of the deal is that punters and performers should buy a few drinks in return. If it weren’t for the live music on offer, and the opportunity to play a few songs myself, I would not be spending money on beer somewhere else. Honest.

It was the same when I was a teenager. My years of under-age drinking began in earnest because I was watching bands in pubs like The Nashville, Hope & Anchor and Red Cow. At other places like the Roundhouse and Hammersmith Odeon we never went to the bar, we just watched the acts. I went to pubs with my brother (three years older than me) and with my dad but nowhere near as often as with my mates to pubs hosting live music. That changed later, and there would be plenty of drinking sessions not accompanied by live performances, but that’s another story.

So far this year I have spent more nights out and about watching and playing music than I have stayed home. My son, who is 19, has accompanied me much of the time, playing the cajon. I have only spent two evenings in pubs where live music wasn’t on offer: an informal gathering of old school friends at the Old Ship in Hammersmith, and a Monday night watching West Ham v Brentford in a local Irish bar, with my son’s godfather. Football on TV was the main reason I went to pubs in my non-drinking years (1987-1997). Most of the games I watched during the first five years of the Premier League were accompanied by sweet fizzy drinks. These days we usually watch live sport at home.

I keep a record of all the songs that I have played, in a spreadsheet. This will not surprise anyone who knows me. My repertoire of songs played in public has doubled in under a year. Since last July I have sung and played well over 200 different songs in public. Unlike most of the performers I have seen in that time, I do not use prompts of any kind. Lyrics, melodies, chord sequences, song structure are all from memory. Most other singers use a tablet or smartphone to remind themselves of these things. I have seen performers reading the lyrics to songs on their phone while singing to a backing track. They call it live music but it seems more like karaoke to me. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, of course.

I do not have a record of how many different songs I have heard from other performers over the last year. I would estimate that on average there have been at least 20 songs each evening, spread across 150+ shows, making it well over 3,000, but there have been a lot of repeats. “The Weight” (written by Robbie Robertson) is the one that I have heard the most, at least 50 times, and often multiple times in the same evening. It seemed to feature at most music nights last summer after Robertson’s death (on 9 August 2023).

Last month my son and I dropped into a Wednesday night event in a local pub where I have performed nearly 20 times since last autumn. The previous week I had played half a dozen songs on piano at the end of the evening. The following week I played a dozen different songs at the start of the evening, but the night in question was especially busy and I couldn’t get a slot before 11.30pm. I thanked the hosts for the offer but we moved on, to check out a place I had never been to before. They had some kind of “Blues Jam”, with a drummer and keyboard player accompanying guitarists and singers who wanted to get up and have a go. While we were driving there I told my son, not for the first time, that the main reason I go to these events is to sing and play, not to watch other performers, and told him, “I don’t need to hear another person singing ‘The Weight’ anytime soon”. I reminded him of the song, and how often we heard it last summer: “I pulled into Nazareth / Was feeling ‘bout half past dead …”

We got our drinks, settled in to watch the first act and, for at least the 51st time in under a year, heard those same familiar opening words: “I pulled into Nazareth …” I looked at my son and said, “See what I mean?”

The other standard that I have heard most often since last summer is George Gershwin’s “Summertime” but not for about a month. If I feel the need to hear to hear it again, there are numerous Jazz nights on offer locally where it usually gets an airing.

Thinking back over the 3,000 or more times since last July when I have heard someone launch into a new tune, one performance in particular stands out: “Working Class Hero”, John Lennon’s 1970 composition. Hammered out on an acoustic guitar, each verse sung without hesitation or prompts, I was reminded of what a great song it is, and taken back to an evening at my uncle’s place in Southampton in early 1990. I must write about it sometime. Not just yet though. I need to practise for tonight’s show.