The Croquet Field: a potted history

Croquet (kraukei) n:  a lawn game, in which wooden balls are driven through a series of square topped hoops by means of mallets.

Field n:  an area of land used to cultivate crops; area in which sport is played;
a branch of knowledge.

Fate has a habit of forging unlikely unions and the spawning of The Croquet Field is a case in point. Early in 2007 two leftfield souls, Kerry Wiggs (drums, judge’s wife) and Nick Brown (voice, guitar, paediatrician) chanced on each other at a music workshop in rural Wiltshire. Long enough in the tooth to vividly recall punk’s  heyday, with a trunk of  warping vinyl Velvet’s, Stooges and T Rex,  their catalyst was a shared abhorrence of the conventional and a fondness for the work of William Hogarth. Playing entirely their own (dark) material often described as poetry set to music,  The Croquet Field had a rapid gestation during which the original three-piece with bassist was stripped down to two, a change as liberating as exhilarating. Though plaudits are too numerous to detail, a recurring theme has been how different we sound.

Now two albums (‘Hatch’ and ‘Brief Dalliance’) later with a third almost complete, a number of gigs in the south later the ever-discretionary vox pop is starting to ‘get it’ .. It would be near-scandalous to deny more distant audiences the chance to understand the buzz…..

See you very soon

Nick and Kerry ‘The Croquet Field’

www.myspace.com/thecroquetfield

thecroquetfield@gmail.com

Dry Times (click to listen)

Cacti melting
When d’you last see rain ?

Your tongue feels sticky
Let’s draw a veil

Beasts are fadin’
Dig a shallow grave

And wait for the vultures to flock

Umea (click to listen)

Ar det verkligen tjugo-sju ar sen vi brukade
Sitta pa roda muren efter skolan had stangt ?
At peparkakor, drack choklad mjolk
Skrattade sa hart att vi ofta gret
Undrar om hon ler fortfarande

(Can it really be twenty seven years
Since we used to sit on the red wall
After school had closed?

Ate ginger biscuits, drank chocolate milk
Laughed so hard
We’d sometimes even cry

Wonder if she’s still smiling ? )

World Service (click to listen)

Breeze of unease through midday souk
Wild-eyed urchin scuttles for loot
Radio murmurs, barely in tune

Monsoon drops douse border town
Lonely priest adjusts his gown
Wireless crackles, barely a sound

Virgin’s nuptials, blushing cream dress
‘Swore he’d love me, least till the next
Radio told me, my mind’s at rest’