The Old Flames were born beneath derelict railway arches outside Bristol Temple Meads, having changed from the dreaming spires, a cottage in Ludlow and Courage’s Brewery.
The Eighties heads were Talking, Xtc it was to be young, to be a yahoo was even better. Gigs, demob suits, demos, spinal girlfriends and sensible street beckoned.
Arising from the sand beneath the pavement and the irrepressible urge came a whole new songbook and older heads prevailing, raking over the rekindled embers.
The half time Oranges were sweet and led to the long awaited train pulling into Bristol Parkway with initialisation and the wrong kind of leaves on the line. The rest is history.
The “Flames” have arisen again since the late 90’s to complete unfinished business. Their first album “The Half Time Score” shows the full range of their eclectic palette. The Celtic onslaught of “The Incoming Storm” contrasts with the fragile beauty of “Walking through Mirrors”. The upbeat hi-life of “The Practical Kind” contrasts with the modern folk balladry of “Beggars Belief”. The laidback ease of “Vichy Water” gives way to the sheer power of “Comeback”.
Eskimo Roll is where the deep meets the shallow end, when drowning despair turns to raise its head above the waves.
Selfless love finding itself, the supreme love for a child, its undisclosed future and horizons. Love of the time we have before the next beginning.
Love of the mysteries of musical fellowship. Love which holds on when you want to let go and lets go when you want to hold on. The spirit which makes you get back up again and resolve the sadness in the twelfth bar.
Love in control, out of control and under control. Love unrequited, for those gone and those still here. The love you sacrifice and fight for, the love you surrender to. The love which illuminates and redeems our days.