PaNiKaTaK
Panic Attack Probed
(forward
from the first song book)
I was asked to write a short piece about each member of the band and I thought this was a good chance to repay the debt incurred when Ian produced a wonderful photograph of the group. The only one in the photograph who looked as if he’d not just beamed down from the planet Zog was himself. The rest of us looked as if we’d been in the hall of mirrors at Blackpool and uttered the word used when you reach twenty in a game of pontoon. If I can slip a copy past him it’ll appear somewhere in this booklet. If not all this’ll be censored and you’ll never know.
Those last three words are indeed profound because one of the endearing qualities of the band, I’ve been told by our fan, is that you never know what’s coming next. Ian always likes to give the impression that this delightful spontaneity is based on months of serious planning, practice and utter professionalism. The reality is just a touch different. Philosophers tell us that we are all searching for our own nirvana Each of us in the group exhibits this personal search in our playing.
On a good day Ian’s fingers fly frantically across the tortured twines amazing all who witness the event, as if he’s trying to climb into the instrument to find the chord that is so elusive. On a bad day the void that originated in a bottle of Jamiesons somewhere just West of Kilfenora takes over and he stares in disbelief at the guitar as if it were about to dissolve. One wonders at moments like this if he’s serious when he claims not to need Prozac no more.
On a good day Christine surprisingly sings songs from somewhere that complement the manic pluckings from Ian and Dead Puppies live again. After a glass or two of a pleasant New World red however the trials of her daily life may crowd in and her brain will go into ‘buggarit’ mode. This results in the ‘Joseph’ syndrome and any dream, or note, will do.
On a good day Hanna will harmonise with Christine to the point that audiences pack up their sorrows and join in gleefully. On a bad day the bodhran beats the player and she complains that the World is full of men who are either mad, married or homosexual.
On a good day Maurice maestroically mauls the mandolin and three drunken maidens from the Isle of Wight dance once more. On a bad day his bass guitar becomes a shovel and the little electronic box at his side makes manure like noises. Unlike our fan who seems to delight in the unknown Maurice often complains to me that he would love to know what we’re doing next.
On a good day Heidi bends the bow over the silver strings and the angels have to concede that the fiddle is not the instrument of the devil. On a bad day she retreats shyly into the shadows and with mute in place mews moodily to herself. She has indeed become our strength and inspiration, as reported in the Times newspaper, 25th September 2004 she is, “a mysterious Celtic beauty with elfin features and long dark hair who sings, composes and plays the fiddle in the local band Panikatak”.
I have no good days and it really doesn’t matter what the hell we’re doing next cause I only have a small piece of drainpipe to play with and it’s got me into serious trouble in the past.
June our ‘manager’ got me to write all this and said that if I didn’t do it proper she would beat me senseless with my own wee whistle. A light brush to the head she felt would suffice.
Angela’s our only salvation and she works in a day care centre that maybe we should all attend.
(The Wayward Whistler)
PS. For those who may have already been to a concert and are consequently confused occasionally there may be visiting guest artists performing with the band. It should be stressed that.PaNiKaTaK take no responsibility for anything that these artists may perform. No band members speak Welsh or have any connection with anyone called McPuke, Hamish or Fingle, anyone who prepares turkeys for Christmas dinners or anyone who causes suffering and distress to animals or helpless creatures other than humans.