Crewe Lyceum Wed March 24th

There’s a little bit of history about today’s show; Crewe Lyceum was where we did our very first” proper “ Bootleg Sixties show outside of Broxbourne. In those days we were just playing with the format and it was totally “ seat of the pants “ stuff….we had absolutely no idea if anyone was going to come and see us, or if they’d like it, and the whole thing was a total leap of faith. As it happens we did pretty well ( significantly better than the 40 people that a top Hendrix tribute act had drawn earlier than week, anyway ! ) and it confirmed to us that we had actually something that was worth developing. Two and a half years on and we’re coming back with a show that’s light years away from that slightly hesitant debut, and even the way the house crew react to us is different; they’ve heard of us now, so there’s an element of respect that might have been missing before. As it’s only an hour or so from Preston we get here a bit early today and so decide to grab some grub before the load-in, and we find a pub – cum- restaurant thing almost next door to the gig advertising a “ small breakfast” for just £ 2.00. Being a bunch of tightwads we reason that this is the perfect place, so in we troop. At first we don’t really notice the predominantly pink décor or the peacock hairstyle of the barman, but as we look around and speak to the staff it soon dawns on us that, yes, we’ve managed to wander into the only gay bar in Crewe. Not a problem in itself, but the food takes well over half an hour to arrive, by which time the truck has pulled up and the load – in has to start. When the house crew see where we’ve been it raises a few eyebrows and a couple of them even edge slightly away, so we start talking loudly in deep voices about beer, rugby and shagging , and soon all is well. This is a great little theatre but here’s a rake on the stage so steep it that makes you feel as if you’re walking up a bloody great hill, or if you’re going across the stage it’s like being on the deck of a ship, as you have to counter the slope with this kind of rolling gait ( or have one leg shortened, of course ). The other aspect of all this incline – related fun is that our equipment is going all Isaac Newton on our asses, and is desperately trying to give in to the pull of gravity and hurl itself off the stage into the orchestra pit. It all comes in to the building quite nicely, but within about ten minutes there’s a chuffin’ great Tetris of flight cases all jostling, lemming – like, for prime position at the lip of the stage. The house lads are used to it, of course, and sort things out by the simple expedient of screwing two large planks across the stage. Lo- tec it may be, but it saves our gear from committing collective suicide. We’ve arranged with the band that they can come in early today and use some soundcheck time to rehearse the German TV stuff. I must admit I thought that they were just doing a few numbers backing the guest stars and so on ( if you can “ just “ do such a thing on a programme that goes out to millions of viewers ), but it seems that our Teutonic brethren, hilarious funsters that they are, have thought it’d be a wizard wheeze to have the lads play a kind of musical chairs thing as part of what appears to a quiz; they’ll play a snippet of a song, the host will ask a searching question, like “ what’s the next word after this;” Strawberry Fields….??”, then the band will play the snippet with the answer. Genius ! Not only does it mean they have to learn almost an entire set of twenty – second versions of songs, but the show is also, of course, going to be in German, so they’re not going to have a Scooby – Doo what’s going on, and yet are expected to hit all these sharp cues. As Arthur’s going to be with them we look at the chances of him learning enough Deutsch by next Tuesday to be able to translate for them, but in the end we decide we’re going to ask for a bi-lingual (attitudes to that sort of thing are SO much more relaxed on the Continent, don’t you think ? ) and get them to do something technical like hoist a thumb aloft at the appropriate moment. It’s a load more work for them than I realised, and they’ve really only got the remaining tour soundchecks to knock this into shape as they’re off to Munich literally right after the tour. The last thing Jamie and Den need is to be caning their voices for another couple of hours each day, but needs must when the devil vomits into your kettle, as Edmund Blackadder used to say. On to the show, then, and we’ve doubled our attendance from last time, which again vindicates this whole shooting match. The lads are on good form tonight as well, and when Den spots a group of people in the royal box he gives a little bow and plays up to “ Her Maj “. These poor folks also get a shock when I fire off my pyrotechnics in Light My Fire; for a start they’re not expecting a jet of flame to shoot up from just underneath them and singe their eyebrows, but for some reason the detonator cap of this particular firework flies out of the firing tube and arcs beautifully right into their box, prompting much leaping up, stamping of feet and brushing down of clothes. We do like to involve our audience but perhaps we should stop short of trying to immolate them….We have a lovely surprise just as the second half goes up; a hand comes through the curtain behind me and hands me a large round box of Celebrations chocolates. Taped to the top is a little “ thankyou “ note from Geoff, Glyn and Sheila at Market Drayton Festival Centre. I open the box, and far from being anything as mundane as chocolates (which I’d still have gratefully scarfed anyway ) it turns out to be one of Sheila’s wonder cakes, a coffee and walnut confection of total beauty. As everyone else in the camp hears about this over the comms, Clive and I realise that we’re going to have to circle the wagons to prevent a flock of gannets descending on us. In the end our rearguard action is all for nothing….we manage to paff a slice each but then the container is kidnapped by the band as we’re doing the loadout. DENIED ! Despite this tragic loss, it’s been a great night, though, so we’re not TOO fazed about the fact that the M6 is closed when we leave Crewe and we have to divert via Aberdeen or somewhere equally bloody inconvenient….after all, sleep is for the weak, isn’t it….??