Bev Bevan Diaries - on the road in July 2008

On Saturday July 26th, we played at the Under A Summer Moon festival in Burnham on Sea in Somerset, which took place inside a huge marquee packed with a big, noisy, receptive crowd.

The bands on before us were Wilderland, Re-Offender and Hogg (the latter a rock trio in the style of the Jimi Hendrix Experience and featuring Rolling Stone Ronnie Wood's son on bass guitar).

We went on around 10.30pm and, despite a few feedback problems, went down a storm.

Closing the show around midnight were Geno Washington and the Ram Jam band, with a tight set of soul favourites. Geno (pictured right) has been around for ever, and the original Move did lots of gigs with him during 1966, '67 and '68.

He's a real larger than life character who was born in Illinois in the USA, but has been living in London for many, many years. He greeted me and Trevor like long-lost brothers, saying in his broad American accent: "Hey guys - you's lookin' great - you still got it man!"

So have you Geno, so have you.

Then, last Sunday, it was all aboard our trusty, black Mercedes mini-van to visit the other end of the country, way up north to South Shields.

The night before, there had been a dinner party at my house, near Warwick, and not to put too fine a point on it, there had been more wine than enough, and that's a fact.

The 8am alarm call on Sunday evening wasn't a welcome one, I can tell you. An hour later and the rest of the band had arrived and off we set, with Gordon at the wheel as usual - we can rarely tear it from his vice-like grip. I occupied my usual place in the front passenger seat.

We stopped after a couple of hours at a packed motorway services. The outrageously expensive cappuccino was very welcome, but the microwaved cheese and tomato toastie tasted like old socks (not that I've ever actually tasted old socks).

With the help of Doris - our ancient sat-nav - we soon located Bents Park, scene of the Sixties Summer Festival, where singer / guitarist Nick Avery was doing a good job entertaining the big crowd.

Our dressing room was a caravan behind the elevated stage, the whole backstage area fenced off with prison-style wire mesh. This didn't deter a throng of autograph collectors from passing over an array of books, photos, albums, singles, CDs, programmes, tickets and even a bus pass to be signed.

At 2pm local heroes The Animals took to the stage and belted out a fine 50-minute set of songs, including several of their hits - We Gotta Get Out Of This Place, Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood, Bring It On Home To Me and, of course, the classic House Of The Rising Sun.

About 45 minutes later it was our turn and we were given a rapturious welcome by the crowd (which at one point became a multi-coloured sea of umbrellas when a sudden sharp shower drifted in from the nearby shore).

It was good and loud on stage, my two bass drum pedals getting a good workout along with the rest of my white pearl Slingerland drum kit. No wonder there's this recent theory that rock drummers are as fit as Premiership footballers.

Shame we don't get paid the same money, though!

As well as Move hits Flowers In The Rain, Fire Brigade, I Can Hear The Grass Grow and Night Of Fear, we also included Eddie Cochran's Somethin' Else, Fleetwood Mac's Need Your Love So Bad, the Byrds' Goin' Back, the Moody Blues' Go Now and Jimi Hendrix's Purple Haze.

As always, we closed our set with Blackberry Way, a tribute to the Move's late, great original lead singer Carl Wayne, who died some years ago from cancer. The crowd was in fine Geordie voice singing along in the choruses.

As an encore we did a long, rocking version of the Spencer Davis Group's Gimme Some Lovin'.

Great crowd, great gig and we really, really enjoyed ourselves.

Within half an hour the band Class Of '64, including Mick Avory from The Kinks and Eric Haydock from The Hollies), had taken to the stage and with the strains of Bus Stop ringing around the park we headed home.

We stopped for dinner at a dodgy diner on the A1, which served up what we unanimously agreed was the worst spaghetti bolognaise in the history of the world.

An right-hour, 450-mile round trip is one hell of an undertaking just to play for 50 minutes.

But, you know what? It was well worth it!

See you again on Saturday for more early rock and roll memories.