Boston Blackfriars Sun Feb 28th

Three words to describe today. Oh. My. God. If we thought the Rock Deities had been toying with us on the tour up until now, then today was the day they got serious and decided to REALLY give us a kicking. I’m still in a kind of shock as I write this, and for once, Faithful Blogreader, I am making no apologies at all about the fact that this post is almost exclusively about the trials and tribulations of the crew. Please DO read on, though, because you will hear a tale of boldness in the face of adversity that makes Captain Scott’s trek to the Antarctic sound like a skiing trip to Aviemore. It started when we got up this morning and discovered that there was no hot water in our part of the hotel. Now, we may be hairy – arsed road crew but none of us are soap dodgers, and a hot shower in the morning is all part of the process of easing the aches and pains of yesterday’s load – out. Washing your undercarriage in cold water may be some kind of Spartan warrior’s pre – battle ritual but it doesn’t exactly set you up for the day, and even the fact that the hotel gave us a full refund only eases the blow slightly. The drive to Boston itself wasn’t actually too bad, and we began to wonder whether we’d needed to push today’s load – in back to 2.00pm after all. I mean, it’s only a little theatre….can’t be THAT hard, surely…..The alarm bells started ringing as we began winding through the little roads towards the venue. There on the last corner before the load in and effectively blocking the turn was a white “ Tarmac–yer–drive–fer–cash–guv “ Transit van, with no driver in sight. Now, removing obstructive scooters in Tamworth is one thing, but shifting a whole van is another, and we realise we’re going to struggle here. Door to door enquiries fail to find the owner of this shitheap, so as we know the truck’s still half an hour or so behind us, we go to have a look at the venue and hope matey comes back to move his van in the meantime. We are met at the head of a pleasant little cobbled mews by Kip and Megan, the house crew, who are very welcoming. Kip casts an eye over the van situation and reckons Rodders might just squeeze through with the help of a bit of Vaseline, so that’s one problem eased. He then asks us if we’d like to see the stage, and we set off after him. I will now attempt to paint a visual picture for you. Imagine standing in a narrow single – lane road. Ahead and to the left of you runs the wonderful mediaeval pile of the Blackfriars Theatre itself, a low, ancient brown structure that still closely resembles the priory it once was. About halfway along the building are stout, arched wooden doors that look as if they should lead into some ancient beer cellar. I start to walk towards these doors but notice the others have all done a sharp left into the cobbled mews just before the Theatre. I go back to see them all disappearing into one of the houses in the mews, and wonder if maybe Kip lives there and has invited us in for tea ahead of the load – in. As I come up to it I’m startled to see the legend “ Stage Door “ typed on a bit of paper and sellotaped to the door itself; remember, this is just an ordinary terraced house in a mews. I open the door and am confronted with a narrow passageway, at the end of which is a staircase that, from this angle, looks like the foothills of the Himalayas. Through the mist at the peak I can just make out Pug waving at me, so strapping on my crampons and adjusting my oxygen supply I set out for base camp. Some time later I make the summit, to be welcomed by the crew, who help their exhausted colleague out of his kit. “ Bloody hell ! “ I manage to wheeze. “ I hope the load – in’s easier than that “. There’s a general shuffling of feet and shifting of eyes before Kip bravely speaks up “ Err….that IS the load – in “ he murmurs. The various scenaria flit unbidden through my mind…..gear not fitting through the doors, people falling down stairs or being crushed by kit, runaway amp racks careering across the courtyard and through the front door of the house opposite, flood, plague, famine and pestilence, the show not being able to happen....all that good, good stuff. “ It’ll be fine “ continues Kip, “ We do it all the time. Gerry and The Pacemakers were here just the other week and they managed
alright “. As the biggest thing in Gerry’s show is the bottle of Cinzano on his dressing room rider, this doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. I try to comfort myself with the thought that they put on lots of theatrical productions here and so must bring through scenery and so on, but then I see the posters on the walls for “The Taming Of The Shrew” by Romanov’s Amazing Company of Mice and “ Little Women “ by the Little People’s Little Theatre of Littlehampton and my heart sinks. I ask how we’re meant to get our 160 kilo amp racks up the stairs when there isn’t room on either side for people to reach the handles, and Kip triumphantly produces two motorbike wheel ramps with the “ cheese grater “ mesh in the middle….and a rope. Yes, we’re expected to haul the gear up this precipice . Some years ago the German director Werner Herzog made a film called “ Fitzcarraldo “ about a nutjob who pulled a riverboat over a South American mountain for some reason that escapes me now. This looney was inspired and spurred on by his opera records, and I’m starting to hear faint echoes of Caruso in the corridor here….. we’re in trouble, but there’s definitely a different feeling in the camp now….we’ve had to deal with so many issues on this tour that nothing really fazes us, and so we wait stoically in the rain for the truck to arrive. There’s another little wrinkle…apparently the lady who lives opposite has to get up very early for work and doesn’t like people making a lot of noise on the load – out. I tell Kip that, given what we’re facing here today I’ll play the 1812 Overture on dustbin lids up and down the mews or sing the Ride Of The Valkries through her letterbox if I want. When Rodders arrives White Van Man is still parked as inconsiderately as ever, so our lad greases up the truck and eases it through the gap like a good ‘un. He then comes in to take a look at the venue and raises one eyebrow, which is about as emotional as he gets, before going back out to open the truck doors. This whole farrago will either end in a blaze of glory or dismal failure, so we get stuck in. In fact, it works surprisingly well; at the top of the stage Arthur’s got the rope around his not inconsiderable frame, and as the shout comes up from below to haul away, he sets off towards the stage with the lads pushing the case from below. In fact in works SO well that when one piece of kit hits the top of the ramps it flies off and starts chasing Arthur across the stage and into the wings, but with a combination of sheer musclepower and the careful secretion of other cases around the building we manage to get everything in. Now begins Phase Two of the proceedings. The theatre is what’s known as a hemp house, which means that all of the lighting bars are on a rope and pulley system, and this also accounts for why they are bent like bananas. We are reassured that they will still take the weight of the MACs, but when we spot one bar joined to another with a sturdy wrapping of gaffa tape, we draw the line and ask for a proper metal joiner plate. Actually getting these bars in the air involves a host of people hanging on them as though they were hauling up the mainsail on a tea clipper, and there’s a lot of grunting and groaning from the fly floor, but we get eventually get everything in the air and working. The 2.00 o’clock get – in has actually come back and bitten us on the arse today…..we’re already an hour behind our normal time but if this was a regular theatre we’d have been OK….the fact that it’s turned into some kind of Royal Marine assault course has slowed things down drastically, so when the band arrive for soundcheck they’re swiftly banished from the premises to avoid the risk of them being injured by falling road crew or whatever. There HAD been a moment where I’d wondered if we’d even be ready for doors opening, but as often seems to happen the last bits and pieces come together really quickly, and the band get a short soundcheck. Their attitude has been great today; they’ve had to sit around for a long time but they’ve not bitched ( possibly because they’ve seen first-hand what we’ve been going through to make the show happen for them ) and when it IS time to go to work they do so with their customary vigour. There’s a very weird thing about this theatre, though….the front three rows are completely empty, and we learn later that this is just the way people like to book at the Blackfriars; apparently the best sound and vision is to be had towards the back, but it’s a very unsettling for the band at first. It only takes a song or two to click into gear, though, and we’re off. Tomps and I have had to set up right next to Pug for the very first time as there’s not enough room in the stage right wing, and this is fine, until the black side curtain “ leg “ is dropped in, and our view of the entire stage is totally obscured. To cap it all, we’re bloody FREEZING for the entire show, literally holding our hands in our armpits to stop them seizing up, despite the heat being generated just feet away on the stage. Turns out the venue is haunted , and the ghost must have been a Sixties’ music fan, because we’re sure the bugger was standing right next to us for the whole show, chilling us with his unearthly presence. Onstage the lads are still going for it….
we haven’t got ALL the MACs in here tonight and we’re a bit crammed together but it’s still a visually and aurally impressive show, and the small but lively crowd get right behind the boys. They’ve literally only just come offstage before the venue’s manager comes over, pumping my hand and telling me this is one of the best shows they’ve ever had in there. It’s The Bootleg Effect, as I’m starting to call it, and we’re seeing it everywhere…..I just wish some of the venues would make more of an effort on their part to promote the show so we can get a few more bums on seats, but then the whole point of this tour is to get the name and reputation out there, so we’ll just bite the bullet and get on with it. The band spend quite a long time in the bar with fans and friends and it’s clear they’ve made yet another big impression, but we’re more concerned about getting everything out of the building without reducing it to matchwood at the bottom of the ramps. Gravity is our friend, however, and everything goes out remarkably easily, with Arthur barely following even one case down the stairs ! We’ve got a travel day tomorrow, but due to the dartboard-and-blindfold nature of the tour routing, we’re heading back to Wales and the Venue Cymru in Llandudno. The band are heading home for the day off, but the crew will travel on as the truck is so slow it makes a snail look like a hare on speed. Once again we head on down the road, to Grantham this time, and when we get there we have hot water, a cause for great rejoicing. As we switch the lights out we’re all thinking the same thing……” Exactly what happened here today ? “. I can’t help thinking we’ll be asking this question again many, many times,,,,,,!