The Saga of DGBK: Where Inclusivity Rocks On
In the heart of Cruden Bay, a sleepy Scottish coastal village, a band of brothers—though none of them related by blood—keeps the spirit of music, camaraderie, and inclusivity alive. They are DGBK, which they jokingly say stands for “Don’t Get Bored, Kenny!” but secretly, it’s just the initials of their first names. For some time now, they’ve been the cornerstone of the Cruden Bay Folk Club, proving that age is just a number, inclusivity is a melody, and bad puns are forever.

Kenny: The Tyrannosaurus Texpert
At 70 years old, Kenny is the elder statesman of bass players. With a scalp as shiny as his well-polished fretboard and a wardrobe that screams “flower child survivor,” Kenny lives and breathes the ethos of the late 60s. But his true passion lies not with the glitter and glam of Marc Bolan’s T. Rex era—it’s with the earlier, rawer days when Bolan performed under the name Tyrannosaurus Rex.

Kenny is a purist, championing the mystical, acoustic, and utterly whimsical period of Bolan’s career. “Give me bongos and lyrics about unicorns over sequins and platforms any day,” he often says, shaking his head at what he calls “the glitter betrayal.” He’s been known to halt gigs to deliver impromptu lectures about the difference between My People Were Fair and Had Sky in Their Hair… But Now They’re Content to Wear Stars on Their Brows and anything Bolan produced after 1970.

Kenny’s inclusivity is rooted in his belief that everyone deserves to explore their mystical, poetic side. He encourages the folk club’s members to embrace their inner woodland bard, even organizing a “Mystic Jam Night” where participants had to perform barefoot and in free verse. It was… a unique evening.

His motto? “Keep it acoustic, keep it cosmic, and never sell out to the glitterati.”

Davy: The Banjo Confessionalist
At 70, Davy is the jack-of-all-strings and a true titan in the world of guitar repair. His mastery of guitar and mandolin has earned him local legend status, but lurking in the shadows of his otherwise impeccable musical reputation is his guilty secret: the banjo.

Davy owns a small arsenal of banjos—open-back, resonator, even a bizarre hybrid he found at a car boot sale. He’s performed on them a handful of times, but only when there’s no other option or when he’s feeling particularly brave. His playing is decent, but deep down, he knows it’s not yet at the gig-ready level he demands of himself. “It’s like having an old friend you keep meaning to call,” he says of the banjo.

Despite his reservations, Davy’s inclusivity comes from his willingness to embrace the challenge and share the struggle. “If I can love an instrument that terrifies me, so can you,” he tells the Cruden Bay Folk Club members, most of whom still haven’t forgotten the time he fumbled through Foggy Mountain Breakdown and blamed the lighting.

Davy swears he’s going to practice more—right after he fixes another cracked mandolin neck and perfects his next guitar solo. His motto? “Someday, I’ll face the banjo, but for now, let’s keep this between us.”

Brian: The Relentless Gigger
At 73, Brian is the oldest member of DGBK, but don’t let his age fool you. This man has the stamina of a caffeinated squirrel. He has never turned down a gig, no matter how dubious the venue or ridiculous the request. From busking in front of an inflatable Santa in July to serenading sheep at a rural fair, Brian’s inclusivity is all about saying yes to every opportunity.

His gig diary is so packed that Gordon, the IT guy, had to build a special algorithm to keep track of it. “It’s not the gigs I remember,” Brian often quips, “it’s the ones I don’t remember playing.”

Gordon: The Techno Sage
At 67, Gordon is the baby of the group and the tech whiz who can make a pub sound system rival Wembley Stadium. He spends most of his time hunched over laptops, mixing boards, and microphones, muttering things like, “Needs more reverb,” or “Have you updated the firmware on that mandolin?” His inclusivity extends to everything and everyone—no project is too small, no idea too absurd. He once tried to live-stream a gig from a shed with dial-up internet. It didn’t work, but it brought the community together for a good laugh.

His motto? “If it plugs in, it’s included.”

The DGBK Community
Through their passion for music and their unyielding commitment to bringing people together, DGBK proclaim that Cruden Bay Folk Club is a sanctuary of inclusivity. The club hosts monthly “Come All Ye” sessions where anyone, regardless of talent or instrument, can join in. Over the years, they’ve welcomed everyone from a harpist who only knew the Titanic theme to a man who played spoons like his life depended on it.

Their theme nights are legendary. It’s a chaotic, joyous celebration where Kenny might be playing the bassline to Cosmic Dancer while Davy improvises a banjo solo, Brian belts out a Rolling Stones standard, and Gordon live-streams it all while adjusting the sound mix mid-performance.

Legacy and Laughter
DGBK isn’t just a band; they’re a philosophy. They’ve taught Cruden Bay that inclusivity isn’t just about making space for everyone—it’s about celebrating the quirks that make us unique. Whether it’s Kenny’s 60’s obsession, Davy’s banjo crusade, Brian’s inability to say no, or Gordon’s relentless tech tinkering, DGBK proves that life—and music—is better when it’s shared.

And if you’re ever in Cruden Bay, look for the four aging troubadours with instruments slung over their shoulders, a twinkle in their eyes, and inclusivity in their hearts. They’ll be the ones shouting, “Everyone’s welcome—except the guy who broke Davy’s banjo last year. You know who you are.”

Norfolk And Goode!