Christchurch Regent Centre Sunday April 22nd

Let me start this morning’s sermon by saying that some of you may find its’ content somewhat offensive. If so I apologise, and in my best disclaimer voice let me say that the following are my personal views and are in no way representative of the opinions of The Bootleg Sixties LLP or any of it’s employees. Thank you. Anyway, despite the fact I’m resolutely aetheist, I’ve always worked on the “live and let live” premise, but where the wheel comes off is when you ( and when I say “you”, that’s a universal “you”, not “you”….oh, you know what I mean….) start to impose your beliefs on me. If I’m having a pleasant, relaxing day at home and some Jehovah’s Witnesses come to the door, they are going to get the shortest of shrift. Not interested, go away. I mean, has ANYONE in the whole of human history had that knock on the door from these earnest souls and gone “ You know what ? Thank goodness you came round. You’re EXACTLY what’s missing in my life ! “) .It’s the same with amplified muezzin calls to prayer., saffron – clad Krishna baldies shuffling down Oxford Street chanting and bashing little cymbals, and to some extent even church bells. Keep your religion to yourself, please. I don’t want it, and I REALLY don’t want it being imposed on me.. It is thus with clenched teeth that I must relate the events of this morning. So I’ve got to bed about quarter to four, and that’s fine, as I don’t have to be up until noon. However, some time around 8.45am on this quiet Sunday morning, my sleep is interrupted by the incessant thump of a drummer playing a rock beat... badly. It’s not in-yer-face loud, it’s Chinese water torture loud. You can’t ignore it, and it seeps into your ears, driving blessed sleep away ( and co-incidentally rousing the “old man’s bladder”, who reckons that as I’m awake I may as well have a wee ). My first thought is that it’s a local band rehearsing in a nearby garage or something, and I quickly run through in my mind what we may have on the bus that I can use as a lethal weapon. As I become more orientated, however, I realise that the sound is actually coming from the Regent Centre itself, and I’m also aware of guitars, keyboards and voices too. As I step outside the bus in my fetching t-shirt and shorts combo I’m painfully aware that it’s also LOUD. It sounds like a full-on concert going on in there, and as it’s Sunday morning, it can only be a bloody modern, happy-clappy, rock-music-as-means-of-worship church service. When will these people ever LEARN ? Don’t they know the saying that the Devil has all the best tunes ? Rock music is dirty, and sexy, and visceral, and belongs in the gutters and the clubs and the bars, not in bloody churches. I mean, the very term “ rock’n’roll” is slang for doing the horizontal bop…it’s got NOTHING to do with religion. Show me just ONE picture of Jesus wearing a low-slung Fender Stratocaster guitar and I’ll change my mind, but until them I’m afraid my take on it is that Christian rock is one of life’s great abominations, like Marmite and Sunderland F.C. As I can’t find a single door that’s unlocked, my initial idea of setting fire to the place is stymied, so I briefly consider invoking the spirit of Beelzebub to see if he can use some of his satanic shizzle to visit a flood or a storm or a plague of tadpoles or something on them. Luckily I stop myself in time. You can only dance with the Devil once. The legendary bluesman Robert Johnson sold his soul to the Devil at the crossroads in exchange for worldly fame and riches, and he ended up getting murdered just a few years later. When I make MY pact it’s going to involve lottery wins, Marabou chocolate, a Lamborghini Countache and possibly Kiera Knightley, so I’m not going to waste it on these numpties. Instead I get dressed and stomp off into town to see if I can find a tramp to berate, but this is Christchurch, where even the homeless have houses. I’m oddly discomfited by this unwelcome interruption of my much-needed beauty sleep ( and by gum , it is MUCH needed…) and the mood only dissipates when the word finally comes in that all of the singers and players have gone, hopefully to painful futures involving legions of biting insects. My mood is finally lightened when it’s time for the load-in, and along comes Shaun Luckly, house tech extraordinaire and a man who looks like he should be a rock hero in his own right, with his long black ringletted hair and saturnine looks. One thing he IS though, is a really nice geezer, and it’s always a real pleasure to come here and work with him. Never fazed, never flapping, and always ready with a cup of tea or a quip, the theatres of Britain could do with an army of Shauns. That’s fifty quid as agreed, please mate…..Despite the fact that the only way into the venue is to hoik the kit up onto a 5’ high loading dock , take it in through a side door and THEN hoik it up onto a 5’ high stage or run it up a dizzying series of disability access ramps, it all goes in pretty well, and despite the tightness of the stage we’re well enough versed now in how to deal with these situations.. One slight hiccup does occur as one of our number is attempting to put a PA stack together, and has opted for a “ geometrically pleasing “ rather than a “ won’t fall over “ approach, with the result that…well, it falls over. Luckily no real damage is done and all continues apace. We’re not totally sure what to expect from tonight’s show….when we played here eighteen months ago we had a good crowd, but the way things have been going on this tour, we just can’t second guess audience numbers. We’ve had some do well that we expected to be a problem and some “bankers “ which have been, frankly, pretty poor. Luckily, tonight is one that actually improves on last time’s turnout…which is what we’d been hoping for on ALL the dates….and it’s also got a decent sprinkling of younger folks, which is something else we’re aiming to increase. As the Regent Centre’s got a long, narrow auditorium, it looks even fuller than it actually is, and this in turn funnels the crowd’s energy back towards the stage. As we’ve found several times on this tour, it’s the more raucous numbers which seem to be going down best for some reason….when the intro to You Really Got Me comes thundering out of the dark, we can always hear shouts of recognition from the crowd, and the cheering at the end of the guitar and keyboard wig-out-fest of Light My Fire has been long and enthusiastic. In fact, so up for it are the people here tonight that we’re a bit surprised when the band decide on You’ll Never Walk Alone as the encore, but the audience aren’t bothered, and bellow along merrily. It’s been a real success, and the Regent Centre has definitely moved ahead of Wimborne Tivoli as the place to play when we’re in this part of the world. We gee-up the load-out as much as we can to help Nick get away…he’s got to head back to Hertfordshire tonight as he’s got some personal business to attend to at home tomorrow…and the fact that it starts to rain adds to our need for speed. It’s going to be a bit odd not having the old chap with us tonight…in fact, we’re TWO sleepers down, as Chris has opted to self-drive the last few dates of the tour as they’re all within striking distance of his home. In fact, when I saw him at soundcheck today I realised I hadn’t even really spoken to him for the past two days, as he’s arriving just before soundcheck starts and leaving as soon as he’s offstage. At first everyone though that he might be making a mistake and that he’d miss not being part of the Bogey Brigade, but as tiredness kicks in and the final dates of the tour stretch out before us, more than a few of our happy band start to think that he’s got the right idea ! Only a few more to go, chaps. Tonight’s one of the nights when you realise what being on a tour bus with a bunch of your mates is all about…. we’re all crammed into the back lounge with a few beers, the banter and the jokes flow, and it’s just brilliant. THIS is what I miss when we’re off the road. The last tour I did earlier this year was just me and the American artist I was looking after, and it was weird. I mean, we got on great and it was all fine and dandy and civilized, but there’s such an “ All for one and one for all” thing going on with the twelve of us here that anything else is just a bit lame. Big John has become as much a part of the family as anyone over the past two tours as well…he’s got a seemingly inexhaustible supply of jokes and a fund of interesting trivia which will serve us all well in future pub quizzes, and he can be guaranteed to lift you out of any Slough Of Despond which you may unwittingly sailed into. His unswerving loyalty to Newcastle United FC has, of course, nothing to do with my relationship with the big fella…..!!!! We’re staying here tonight for tomorrow’s day off, so I realise I can stay up an hour or two past my bedtime and Mummy won’t be too unhappy….but by two o’clock I’m flagging and so I crawl into my little womb-on-wheels and as Baloo the bear once said, I’m gone, man, solid gone….