Notes Towards a Venn Diagram of Music Concert Attendees

In which The Author tries a scientific exercise

I've been going to Jacs Music Venue in Aberdare for about a year now, and to gigs for a lot longer than that. I've been able to spot several types of concert goers, but there are overlaps between the different groups. The idea was to try and draw up a proper classification scheme, but it's turned into more of a Venn diagram. I'll outline the ones I've identified here, and invite you to contribute any other subspecies you might have discovered during your own research.

1. The Hardcore Fan. This doesn't really apply to Jacs, but we all know someone who is completely devoted to a band. He/she has all the LPs, all the singles, every book ever written, scrapbooks full of newspaper interviews and cuttings from the music press (remember them?), framed posters on the living room wall, ticket stubs from every concert he/she has ever attended … If he/she was challenged to karaoke, there's no doubt that the first choice would be something from their back catalogue. I didn't quite go to this extent with Pink Floyd as I never saw them live, but I suppose that's the nearest I'll ever get to hardcore fandom.
   
   
2. I Know What I Like. This is the person whose musical taste was set in stone, probably during his/her early teens, and who never explores anything outside the narrow confines of the genre. And those confines can be extremely narrow indeed.
   For instance, a good friend of mine claims to 'love' Country & Western. But her favourites are restricted to the safe, anodyne C&W records that used to feature on the Radio 2 playlist when we were growing up: Dolly Parton, Kenny Rogers, Dr Hook, Tammy Wynette … Neil Diamond might sometimes get a mention, but that's the furthest Susanne ventures from her comfy trailer. You'll never find her listening to Jimmy Buffett, Alan Jackson, Garth Brooks, or the Country Pop artists who routinely sell out stadiums across the English-speaking world. The Country Rock bands who flourished during the hippy era are off limits as well. Her ideal home is Hicksville, Tennessee, where the local FM station plays this drivel 24/7 and nothing else gets a look in. Not even Taylor Swift. The only time you'll see her in the music room is when she's on her way to the ladies'.
   I've got another pal who loves Heavy Rock/Heavy Metal. And that's it. Dai pops into the music room every Friday, buys a beer, checks out the band, and then buggers off into town. If it's a decent rock band, he'll buy another beer and stay for a bit longer. Like using the Mohs Scale to measure the hardness of minerals, you can use the Dai Scale to measure the heaviness of the music. Three bottles of Bud means the band is pretty much to his taste. Four bottles indicates that he's well and truly impressed. The recent Young Promoters Network showcase hit an unprecedented five on the Dai Scale, which must augur well for the bands in question.
   Dai doesn't even look like a rocker, which is the oddest aspect of the whole thing. In his open-necked shirt, smart jeans, comfy shoes, and with his hair neatly trimmed in the same style for the last twenty years, he looks as though he's just wandered in for a beer and accidentally found himself at a gig. Still waters and all that.
   
3. The Nostalgia Crowd. This largely female subgroup also had their musical tastes imprinted during their schooldays or early teens. It's because of them that the likes of the Bay City Rollers and Showaddywaddy are still able to pull respectable crowds in the Coliseum and elsewhere. Of course, they didn't know during their adolescent crushes that Derek Longmuir, the Rollers' 24-year-old drummer, was pretending to be only 21. Nor were they aware that the band and their manager would later be involved in 'accusations of involvement in murders, child rapes and arson attacks, bankruptcies, corruption, prison sentences, breakdowns, pub fights, drug dealing, addiction and arrests, alcoholism, organised child abuse circles, child pornography …' (the words of music journalist Simon Spence).
   Not all the Nostalgia Crowd are my age or thereabouts, of course. There are plenty of women in their early forties who'll be wetting themselves at the thought of a Take That tour next year.
   Every so often St David's Hall in Cardiff hosts a nostalgia package, with (say) the Four Tops headlining a Motown evening. The only original member of the Four Tops is Abdul Fakir, who's been performing with the band since 1953. My mother was ten years old when they got together, in other words. I missed King Crimson at St David's Hall earlier this year, and 10cc were there last year. It would have great to see either of them, regardless of their numerous personnel changes over the decades. There are undoubtedly people who say that 'it's not the same line-up' and refuse to go on that basis. But has anyone ever turned down a season ticket for Old Trafford because they won't be seeing the original Newton Heath Y&L FC? Time moves on and so do musicians. It's hard to believe that 'Love Me Do' and 'The Long and Winding Road' were even written by the same people. Gary Barlow, of the aforementioned Take That, is one of the UK's leading songwriters on the scene today. But if Take That were still doing their teen pop songs at the age they are now, you'd be straight on the phone to social services.
   The Nostalgia Crowd is, of course, the ideal audience for the growing number of tribute acts. I think the whole industry started in the USA, with a plethora of Elvis tribute acts (or ETAs, as they're known in the business) springing up even before the King was dead. There's an apocryphal story that Mr Presley himself entered an Elvis lookalike contest and came second. They definitely have their place in the nostalgia market. I thoroughly enjoyed Think Floyd in the Coliseum some years ago. I'd have liked to have seen the Bootleg Beatles in Caerphilly, but public transport made it impossible. I'm never going to see the real things, so tribute acts like these are the next best option.
   However, there are tribute acts and tribute acts. A few months ago I went to Caerphilly with my pals the Spectrums, who were supporting an excellent Talking Heads tribute in the town's Workmen's Hall. Their singer really looked the part in his Big Suit and David Byrne haircut. Not long before that we'd had a Jam tribute band in Jacs for the second time. They took to the stage in the same jeans and T-shirts that they'd worn on the drive up from Weston-super-Mare. Hang on a minute, though – wasn't the whole Mod scene as much about the fashion as it was about the music? If Colin and the lads had worn smart blazers and button-down shirts, or even Fred Perry shirts and Staprest trousers, I'd consider them more of a tribute act and less a band that's just learned to play all the best Jam songs.
   Can you imagine an ETA taking to the stage in ordinary street clothes? Or a Bowie tribute act setting up without any thought to the costume changes. Think Floyd didn't need to look like the real Pink Floyd. After 1971 the band's photos didn't appear on their LPs, so nobody knew (or cared) what they looked like. But Inner City looked less at home in Jacs than half of the audience, who had at least dressed for the occasion.
   I admit to having mixed feelings about tribute acts. In the absence of the real thing through retirement or death, they definitely fill a gap in the market. I never saw the Sex Pistols live, so the Sex Pistols Experience were the next best thing for me.
   But when the Coliseum hosts a Little Mix tribute (as they did last year), the situation is verging on farce. Aren't Little Mix (at best) a cut-price version of the Pussycat Dolls, who themselves were America's answer to British acts like the Spice Girls and Sugababes. It's a tribute act to a tribute act. It's a throwback to the ludicrous situation when the British synthpop duo Erasure released an EP of ABBA covers, and the ABBA tribute act Björn Again retaliated with a single of Erasure covers. Pop really is starting to eat itself.
   
   
4. The Gig Whore. While I was drafting this entry I was reading Stuart Maconie's entertaining and incisive social history-cum-travelogue Hope and Glory (Ebury Press, 2011). In his chapter on Band Aid/Live Aid, he hit the nail on the head when he described the throng charging into Wembley Stadium on 13 July 1985. They were well-dressed, well-scrubbed, well-fed teenagers and adults, piling in to see well-dressed, well-scrubbed, well-fed pop stars (drawn from a fairly shallow pool of talent). Mr Maconie rightly points out that they weren't your typical rock festival crowd.
   With the possible exception of Download (formerly the Monsters of Rock all-dayer), your typical rock festival crowd has changed beyond recognition in the past couple of decades. Back in the day, the highlight of the year was a weekend's camping in a muddy field outside Midsomer Norton, Ashby de la Zouch or Reading, watching the Groundhogs and Caravan on Saturday afternoon while stoned off your chops. Now it seems that every weekend from Easter to the end of August – and a bit further on – offers something: the (revived) Isle of Wight Festival, BoomTown, Bestival, RiZE, Beautiful Days, Green Man, Latitude, Boardmasters, Great Escape, TRNSMT, Rebellion, Wilderness, Wireless, Summer's End, Festival No. 6 … I'll freely admit that I've found most of these on a website listing the Top 20 UK Festivals for 2018. With a couple of exceptions, I'm none the wiser. There's even our very own festival in and around Cwmaman. Oddly enough, the biggest band to come out of Cwmaman have yet to grace the stage, over ten years after the inaugural Cwmfest. You could have caught them at TRNSMT, though, so all is not lost.
   Going to one of these weekends has become a rite of passage for today's teenagers. My honorary niece Emma was posting pictures of her adventures at Creamfields on Facebook on Wednesday. The funny thing is that I thought Emma was a rock chick, like her sister Rebecca. Creamfields is a dance event. I wasn't surprised to learn that my honorary nephew Dylan was going to celebrate his A level results at Reading. That's more where I'd have imagined Emma, to be honest. As I pointed out in Pick 'n' (Re)mix, you can't tell what style of music most youngsters are into these days. I don't think they themselves really know.
   I've only ever been to two festivals: Cropredy, the Fairport Convention get-together a few miles from Banbury, in 1997; and Ashton Court in Bristol, in about 1990. But I know people who seem to notch up festivals in the way that pilots recorded 'kills' on the fuselages of their Spitfires. It seems that simply being at a festival is more important than who's actually playing. They've literally been there, done that, and got the T-shirt.
   And there are some people I know who turn up regularly at the Tramshed or the Globe in Cardiff for much the same reason: they can't miss a gig, because it'll mean a gap in their collection. It's become the 21st Century equivalent of trainspotting, or going to every league match in a football season. We get a few people like that in Jacs, but when we start charging for every gig that'll sort the sheep from the goats.
   
   
5. Ffrindiau'r Band. Back in 1986 the Rex Cinema in Aberdare was the focal point of a Welsh-language comedy film called Rhosyn a Rhith (Coming Up Roses). It's a rather charming piece of nonsense set in a disused Valleys cinema, and we had the perfect location. As a matter of fact, most Valleys towns had a location that would have worked okay. However, Stephen Bayly, the director, must have decided that the Rex (complete with the poster for an Indiana Jones film) was ideal. And if you're wondering where the Rex is, well, that's easy. Stand in front of Thereisnospoon and look directly at the car park. You've got it …
   I mention this because two friends of mine featured in the film. Debbie and Mandy were the punkiest of all the punkettes in Aberdare at the time. And there's at least one scene where they are hanging around with a bad rock band. I can't remember if either of them had to deliver a line, but that's by the by. The point is that they were credited in the closing titles as Ffrindiau'r band. (I'm not going to translate that for non-Welsh speakers. It isn't too hard to work it out for yourselves, is it?)
   The friends of the band are the worst sort of punters, in my opinion. They really really love live music – but only if their mates are involved. Otherwise you won't see them. I know one person who's a perfect example of this. She thinks Jacs is the best thing that's happened to Aberdare in two decades. (So do I, as it happens.) To hear her raving about the place, you'd think she'd be there every weekend. But no – she only turns up when Skacasm are playing, because she and Gavin (the singer) are friends.
   There's nothing wrong with that, of course. Every band starts out playing to their mates. It might be in the church hall, or the scout hut, or the youth club, or in the local pub (until the regulars complain). And most bands don't progress much further than that. But relying purely on your mates for support isn't a great career path. On a typically wet and windy winter Friday night over twenty years ago, I cadged a lift to Ebbw Vale – in the back of the drummer's van, along with his kit and half a PA – to see three mates who were playing over there. If I hadn't gone, I don't think the crowd would have made it into double figures. The lads played a great set to a virtually empty pub. Not long after that they signed to Richard Branson's new record label and the rest, as they say, is history.
   Where would Stereophonics be now if they'd relied solely on their mates for support? (Answer: in the beer garden of the Globe on Bank Holiday Sunday – just like they were nearly three decades ago.) Conversely, what is my friend missing because she only comes to Jacs when Skacasm are playing? (Answer: John Otway, Space, Electric Six …)
   
   
6. The Chicken Tikka Masala Eater. A Bangladeshi Facebook friend of mine named Shah Lalon Amin is about to open a new 'Indian' restaurant in South Shields. A couple of weeks ago he posted the Delhi 6 menu. I'm not a connoisseur of South Asian food, so there are many dishes I've never heard of: Shahi Lamb Handi; Bhel Puri; Chandni Chowk; Aloo Tuk Tuk … I don't doubt that Shanara the Dippy Bint would be able to guide me through the mysteries. I'm fairly sure that we could have a good evening out if we were to find ourselves on Tyneside for some unexplained reason. Similarly, there are many restaurants in London (especially around Brick Lane) where curry addicts would find themselves more than adequately catered for.
   But I bet you I could take a decent gang of friends from Aberdare – all of whom profess to 'love' Indian food – to Delhi 6, or Preem, or Eastern Eye, or Shampan, and at least one of them would order chicken tikka masala. Even if I told them that I'd pay for anything they fancied off the menu, and that they were missing out on some fantastic taste experiences, they'd choose to play it safe.
   I knew a bloke named Paul, a couple of years older than me, who used to call into the Glosters every Sunday lunchtime, to have a pint and put money in the jukebox. And this is where the story gets weird. He'd put a quid in the slot, select the same two songs every time, and leave the remaining credit(s) for someone who knew music (usually me or Rebecca).
   It's not as though the Glosters' jukebox is the old unpredictable singles-only machine that we used to play fuck with when we started drinking there thirty-odd years ago. It's a digital job, with a couple of hundred thousand songs available on request. I don't know if it's connected to the internet, like the ones in the Cambrian and the Prince of Wales. If it is, then we can increase the menu by an order of magnitude. If you gave me £50 in readies this afternoon, I could go to Jacs and spend the lot in their jukebox without duplicating anything. And still Paul would only know two songs.
   But if you asked him, he'd tell you that he really loves music.
   The aforementioned female friend arguably fits into this category as well. I've lost count of the times I've seen her stand at a jukebox with (apparently) two million songs available, and play the same pound's worth of music every time. Some jukeboxes offer five songs for a pound, others four, and some a measly three, but as long as my friend gets her quid's worth she's happy: 'The Sound of the Suburbs' by the Members; 'My Way' by Sid Vicious; 'Pretty Vacant' and/or 'God Save the Queen' by You Know Who. So, I hear you say, surely she loved the Sex Pistols Experience when they played in Jacs. Yeah, she almost certainly would have. If only Gavin from Skacasm had been their lead singer, eh?
   
   
7. The Casual Observer. This is an odd sort of gig goer, because (like Dai) he/she gives the impression of just having wandered in off the street. There's no discernible subculture, so you can't tell whether you're dealing with an ageing rocker, an ex-punk, a superannuated Mod revivalist (or a retired first-time Mod), a dance kid, or someone who just sticks Heart FM from habit and happily drifts through their limited playlist all day. There'll be little or no interaction with the band, the other punters, or the bar staff. He/she might stick around for the whole gig, or wander off halfway through. In fact, if music venues had Mystery Customers, this sort of person would be the perfect candidate.
    
8. The Show Lover. This is the worst sort of person to have in a music venue. They don't really care about music at all, in fact. The fact that there's a band on is simply an excuse for them to get pissed. They don't even know the correct terminology. It isn't a gig – it's a show. That gives the game away. They'd be equally happy with an Elvis tribute act or a Vic Damone impersonator at the end of the 'function room' in the local workmen's institute, with a game of bingo during the interval.
   And this, of course, is the ideal audience for the host of cover bands who churn endlessly around the pubs and clubs of South Wales, working their way slavishly through the current edition of The Great Valleys Songbook. One such band messaged Jacs last week, asking if we had any dates available. Then they added their set list. Here it is, in all its manifold versatility:
   
   'Brown Sugar' by the Rolling Stones; 'Superstition' by Stevie Wonder; 'Livin' on a Prayer' by Bon Jovi; 'Town Called Malice' by the Jam; 'Free Falling' by Tom Petty; 'She Sells Sanctuary' by the Cult; 'Plug in Baby' by Muse; 'Come Up And See Me' by Steve Harley; 'Have a Nice Day' by Stereophonics; 'Don't You Forget About Me' by Simple Minds; 'Sex On Fire' by Kings Of Leon; 'Shake Your Tailfeather' by Blues Bros [sic]; 'Hard to Handle' by Black Crowes [sic]; 'With or Without You' by U2; 'Stir it up' by Bob Marley; 'Crossroads' by Cream; 'Rock and Roll' by Led Zeppelin; 'Wishing Well' by Free; 'Summer of 69' by Bryan Adams; 'Dakota' by Stereophonics; 'Mr Brightside' by the Killers; 'Too Much, Too Young' by the Specials; 'Mustang Sally' by Wilson Pickett; 'You're All I Have' by Snow Patrol; 'Creep' by Radiohead; 'Rebel Rebel' by David Bowie; 'Sweet Home Alabama' by Lynyrd Skynyrd; 'Gangsters' by the Specials; 'Valerie' by the Zutons; 'Delilah' by Tom Jones; 'Further on up the Road' by Gary Moore; 'Heroes' by David Bowie; 'Feels Like Heaven' by Fiction Factory; 'Roadhouse Blues' by the Doors; 'Moondance' by Van Morrison; 'Tush' by ZZ Top; 'Johnny B Goode' by Chuck Berry; 'I Saw Her Standing There' by the Beatles; 'Brown Eyed Girl' by Van Morrison; 'I'm A Believer' by the Monkees; 'Gimme Some Lovin'' by the Spencer Davis Group'; 'Rockin' in the Free World' by Neil Young; 'Hollywood Nights' by Bob Seger; 'Get Ready' by Slade; 'Stuck in the Middle' by Stealers Wheel; 'Can't Get Enough' by Bad Company; '20th Century Boy' by T Rex; 'River Deep' by Ike & Tina Turner.
   
   So, in short, with the exception of a couple of wildcards (Fiction Factory, ZZ Top), they're not playing anything that we wouldn't have heard on a Sunday afternoon in the White Lion about ten years ago. To adapt a great line from The Prestige: they're complacent, they're predictable, they're boring!
   Which is fine, because the sort of people who go to see bands in the White Lion don't really give a fuck about who's playing, or what they're playing. What they're getting is simply background noise to their conversations. If we were to borrow some mannequins from Burton, dress them in scruffy jeans and band logo T-shirts, sling toy guitars around their necks, and stand them on the stage while we played the above songs on the jukebox, nobody would notice the difference. Let me explain:
   A few weeks ago Dave Riley and Route 66 played a storming set of old-school rock'n'roll on a Sunday afternoon. There were about a dozen people in the music room. I posted a live video on Facebook, concentrating entirely on Darren's incredible guitar playing during one song. A dozen or so people watched my feed, including three whom I know for a fact would have been in the White Lion at the time. I was expecting the whole gang to up sticks and charge down to town to catch the rest of the set. No such luck.
   On the bus home from town, I saw one of the gang. The ensuing conversation went like this:
   'All right, Steve? Where've you been?'
   'In Jacs – you missed a great band this evening.'
   'I was in the White, mun.'
   'Oh, right. Who was up there then?'
   'No one.'
   * faceplant *
   I'm not making this up! Even when there's nothing happening in the other pub, making their way to town to see real musicians doing their stuff is too much effort. Maybe if Dave and the lads had stopped for bingo halfway through the gig they'd have been on a winner.

I think that's a fairly comprehensive list, but you might know some other types I've forgotten. Please feel free to add them.

Where I Go in My Dreams (part 22)

In which The Author is nocturnally trainspotting

For once, these recurring dream locations have a basis in reality. It's very unusual for me to dream about Trecynon, despite the fact that I lived there until I was eighteen, and have lived there for the last twenty years. However, just because I'm dreaming about Trecynon, that doesn't mean my dreams are anything like the real world.

The railway line between Aberdare and Hirwaun hasn't seen a passenger train since June 1964. There were, until fairly recently, freight services from the coal washery close to Tower Colliery. Tower (near the railhead), the Phurnacite plant, and the pits further south were the reason the line wasn't torn up when passenger services ended. Our valley, in common with others, could have gone into the current millennium with only shitty bus services to get people to Pontypridd and Cardiff.

I was walking home after a late Saturday night in Aberdare about thirty years ago when I chanced upon an odd train at the level crossing at the northern end of Robertstown. Topped and tailed by a Class 20 locomotive, it consisted of a couple of tanker-style wagons and what seemed to be a converted passenger carriage. Intrigued, I bought a copy of Rail magazine a couple of days later, to help me solve the mystery. It was one of a pair, which used to travel the length and breadth of the network spraying weedkiller on the tracks and into the undergrowth on either side.

Now there's no traffic on the line at all. I won't hold my breath for the reintroduction of passenger services when the South Wales Metro finally sees the light of day.

But in my dreams it's a different story entirely.

On several occasions I've dreamed of unexplained freight services – often only one or two wagons, with small diesel locos on motive power duty – which make their way from the level crossing and past the cables factory (Prysmain) at a fair speed. I'm usually in a good position to see them shoot past; I tend to be standing on the edge of the waste ground where Prospect Place used to be, tucked away at the end of Gadlys Uchaf. They always seem to be heading away from Aberdare, but no matter how long I stay there I never see anything come the other way.

The other old railway line which features in some recurring dreams vanished long before I was born. There used to be a complex layout of lines in the Cwm and the Dare Valley (the present-day Dare Valley Country Park). After crossing the river Dare on a viaduct, the stone pillars of which are still extant, one branch ran along the western edge of Aberdare Park. It's now a footpath running from Landare, outside the park railings, to the west end of Park Lane. It continued behind Cemetery Road – more or less through the present Cledwyn Gardens – before crossing Hirwaun Road near Station Place. There's a remnant of the level crossing gates near the main entrance to Aberdare Cemetery. This branch line joined the main line at Gelli Tarw Junction, near Penywaun. It's still possible to walk along the old trackbed as far as the A4059 just below Dawkins Place, but it's not a great short cut in wet weather.

Anyway, in my dreams this branch line is still in use, but not by steam trains. A few times I've dreamed of being in Aberdare Park and seeing a Class 37 diesel locomotive in the old blue livery making its way south behind the railways. I'm never sure what it's transporting, as the wagons are hidden behind the shrubs which line the perimeter of the park. But when it gets to the top of Glan Road, it somehow veers left and continues along the street. Once I tried following it, and it headed down Tudor Terrace towards the real railway line.

I haven't had this second dream for a while, but the mysterious freight services on the Hirwaun line still pop up now and then.

Get on Your Boots

In which The Author is planning a sponsored walk

I can't believe it's been nearly four months since I last posted anything. There are a couple of reasons for that, and neither of them are any cause for concern.

Primarily, I've been copy-editing and/or proofreading pretty much non-stop since the middle of November. The first half of the year saw me go from book to book with hardly a break, and things only slowed down because it was the start of everyone's holidays. They're obviously over, because in the past month I've proofread two historical novels, copy-edited a novella by Ben Aaronovitch, and I've just sent Peter Higgins' new fantasy novel back to Gollancz.

The other reason is that I've become more involved with Jacs Music Venue here in Aberdare. Between helping with the publicity side of things, writing content for their new website, and researching the history of Bryngolwg House in my rare periods of down time, it's become my second home at weekends.

The Blowout boys (Mitch and Connor) have done us proud in the last few months, bringing the lunacy of John Otway and the brilliance of Space to our little town. We've got Electric Six – an actual American touring band – headlining next Friday night. (Don't bother looking for the ticket link; it sold out within a couple of days.) In October, the wonderful Neil Innes is paying us a visit. I'm selling tickets for that one, if anyone is interested.

As well as the Blowout gigs, we're going from strength to strength in our own right. Despite my best efforts I wasn't able to persuade Caravan to take a punt on a Welsh gig, unfortunately. On the other hand, Fairport Convention are definitely interested. So is Mike Peters, the driving force behind the Welsh post-punk legends the Alarm. And the blue-eyed boys of Scottish soul, Hue and Cry, are visiting us in February. (That isn't one of mine, but I'll plug it anyway.)

My own Anthony Nolan fundraising gig at Jacs fell foul of double-bookings, festivals, and – the bane of every rock promoter – general Aberdare apathy. However, the comedy writers Rob Grant and Andrew Marshall very generously signed a brand new copy of their novel The Quanderhorn Xperimentations, which we raffled during the gig. That, along with donations on the night and in the ensuing couple of days, took our total to £142. Many thanks to Lazarus Moon, Windshake, Adelade, Black Aurora and Chris Noir for coming along and showcasing their fine music – even if it was pretty much to each other. We'll be doing another next year, and this time it'll all go according to plan.

We had a very successful gig last Saturday, when Steve Ignorant's Slice of Life headlined an evening of post-punk political music. Steve's previous visit to Aberdare (11 July 1984) was the last time the full Crass line-up shared a stage, at a miners' benefit gig in the Coliseum. He'd gone on record a while back saying that he'd love to return to the town where Crass ended their days as a performing outfit. A few of us cast the bait in his direction, and after a flurry of emails, he and I we able to sort out a date.

It was a pretty emotional evening for us all, but nobody more so than the man himself. We had a chat over a pint before the rest of the band arrived, and he was really thrilled to be playing here after all that time. In fact, he's asked if he can come back next year. Well, we're hardly likely to say no, are we?

I also managed to cast the bait out to Doctor and the Medics a couple of months ago, when I messaged the Doctor himself on Twitter. They're coming here in October, as part of our pre-Halloween fancy dress extravaganza. I've got a couple more irons in the fire as well, but more on that story later.

The sad news is that the Arthur Linton Challenge isn't going ahead this year, in spite of all my planning. The construction of the new road in Mountain Ash is causing so much disruption that it seems hardly worth trying to pin down a route. But in the absence of a cycling marathon (a velothon, in fact) some of us are planning a rather more sedate way to explore the valley.

September is Walking Together month for Anthony Nolan. As a result of exploring pretty much every footpath in the Cynon Valley while drawing up the Arthur Linton Challenge, I've been able to come up with the perfect way to get from Penderyn to Abercynon and fall a whisker short of 25 km. For the most part we're going to utilise the Cynon Trail, route 478 of the National Cycle Network. Because it's largely made up of disused railway lines and dedicated traffic-free rights of way, we'll be on the level for most of the distance. It'll cost each of us £5.20 for a Day Rider ticket on Stagecoach, which will get us to Penderyn for the start, and back from Abercynon at the end. If anyone feels that they can't manage the whole distance, the same ticket will get them safely home again. It sounds like a decent plan, doesn't it?

Starting from the Lamb Hotel at the southern edge of the Brecon Beacons, we'll take the old Mineral Line (a disused freight railway) into Hirwaun. From there we'll pick up the old tramway, which runs more or less alongside the river Cynon. After passing the historic iron bridge in Trecynon, we'll cross into Robertstown. I think there might be a refreshment stop at the Gadlys Arms, but that'll depend on how everyone's feeling.

We'll pick up the Cynon Trail on the other side of the river, and continue along the river to the new college. From there we'll cut across into the Ynys, and walk around the playing fields before arriving at the remaining stretch of the Aberdare Canal. This takes us to the A4059 at Cwmbach, where we'll leave the Cynon Trail for a little while.

The Cynon Trail proper follows the A4059 past Ysbyty Cwm Cynon, Mountain Ash School and the indoor bowls centre before reaching Mountain Ash itself. It's a horrible stretch of fast road, with heavy traffic, nothing exciting to see, and at best it's a necessary evil on a bike. We'll be on foot. It's no fun at all on foot.

While I was scoping out alternatives to this section for the Arthur Linton Challenge, I came up with a cunning plan. And that, slightly altered and reversed, is where we are going to go next.

From the Ynyscynon Inn (another possible refreshment stop) we'll head into the village of Cwmbach. It's a steady gentle ascent to the post office, where we'll veer off into Cefnpennar Road. Then the fun really starts.

I wasn't sure if the eastern section of Cefnpennar Road even was a right of way until I consulted some old friends. Geoff told me that he used to walk that footpath regularly when he was younger, but he hadn't been there for a long time. Luckily Mark W. lives in Cwmbach and spends a lot of time walking the hillsides around the village. He told me that it was possible to go over the top into Cefnpennar, but it wasn't a journey for the faint-hearted. On 1 September last year I caught a bus to Cwmbach, jumped off by the post office, and went on what councillors call a 'site visit'.

Have a look and tell me what you think of this right of way.

Intriguing, isn't it?

Anyway, that's the start of the ascent from Cwmbach to Cefnpennar. It's what you'll find if you continue past the Cottage Homes and the pedestrian lane into Bryn Hir. It's actually got a name (Cefnpennar Road), and it's marked on the Ordnance Survey maps and the Philip's Street Atlas as a right of way. As you can see from the sign, it isn't open to traffic. It's probably a good thing.

Who on earth would want to drive along here?

I came to this point and wondered if Mark had been pulling my leg. There was no sign of life, no 'right of way' markers, and the upward path seemed fairly rudimentary. But I started walking, wondering if anyone would be crazy enough to risk cycling this way. At least they'd be going downhill, if my plan went ahead. But would you want to cycle on terrain like this?

That's about as good as it gets, in fact. Further up it was like a river bed on an incline, with quite a bit of water running downhill. I'd been wondering if I really was going the right way when I saw a lady with two dogs coming towards me. She told me that the path levels out a little further on, and then cuts across a field to emerge at the top of Cefnpennar. I carried on for another couple of minutes, found the gate to the field, and then knew that the whole mission had been worthwhile. Look at the view from the top.

Aberdare Community School is more or less in the centre

Looking back towards Cwmbach and Aberdare

Looking across towards Mountain Ash

It's well worth making the effort, isn't it?

My friend Lee J. lived in Bryn Hir when we were in school, and he often used to tell me how he and his pals would go exploring by 'the mast' in Cwmbach. It's clearly visible from the northern half of the valley, but I was surprised to learn that Cefnpennar Road skirts right past it.

From here, it's a fairly steady descent into Cefnpennar itself. It was surprisingly mild for the time of year, and I fancied a pint when I arrived at the centre of the village. No such luck; the pub was closed, and there was no sign of its being open during the evenings either. But it did provide me with yet another photo for my collection of the old Aberdare Local Board of Health street name plates. I'd always assumed that Cefnpennar would have been in Mountain Ash, but apparently not.

The main street itself feels as though it belongs in the Yorkshire Dales, rather than above a former mining valley in South Wales. It's a rather odd little settlement, all told.

I walked to Cwmpennar, a little further down the hill, and then a bus came along. I decided to jump on, and we went on a magical mystery tour of Caegarw and Newtown before eventually arriving in Mountain Ash itself.

We'll be on foot, of course. If the Cefnpennar Inn isn't open we can walk down into Caegarw and have a cheeky livener at the indoor bowls centre. The Cynon Trail goes off-road again opposite the centre, so it's the ideal place to rejoin the path.

It passes underneath Mountain Ash Bridge, skirts the river as far as the George Hotel (another possible refreshment stop), and then weaves its way between the A4059 and the river Cynon as far as Pontcynon Industrial Estate. We'll be back on the road briefly, as far as the Quarter Mile Bridge, then the path drops past Abercynon Sports Centre and follows the railway line south, emerging at the end of River Row. It's a short walk from there to the Navigation Inn, and the end of our journey.

I've used the plural pronoun throughout because it's called 'Walking Together' for a reason. The whole idea behind the fundraising project is to get people out in groups, so I've been putting some feelers out. So far I've managed to recruit Rhian, Geraint and Jonathan from Dapper FM, Clint and Ros (our resident gig photographers), Gavin and Kate from Jacs, and Jude, Andrew and Liam, who are all keen walkers as a family. Jason W. said he was interested, depending on the date; Rebecca and Lee might come if they haven't got a gig; Alexis and Kevin are checking their diaries as well.

The last weekend in September is Cwmfest, so that's out for starters. We've got a big charity gig in Jacs on 1 September, so we can rule that out as well. It looks as though the optimum date for everyone is 22 September. We'll be looking for sponsors in the old-fashioned way, with pen and paper, but we're also doing the high-tech alternative via JustGiving. We'll each have our own page linked to the Walking Together event. Here's mine, if you fancy chipping for a very worthwhile cause.

If you live too far afield to join us on the day, why not round up some friends and organise something similar in your own area? Go to the Anthony Nolan website and you can sign up for a fundraising pack. It's going to be a great way to get some exercise and fresh air, make new friends, and explore your community in more detail. Go on, you know you want to!