Hereford Courtyard Monday Sept 6th

One of the good things about the way this whole project is developing is that everyone's much more realistic about how it's growing. The fact that we had a pretty mental and virtuaqlly sold-out show last night doesn't mean that the next show will be the same, especially if we've never been there before, and so we descend on Hereford with the attitude that no matter how many people turn up tonight, they're not going to forget us and they're going to want us back. Hereford is famous for bulls, cider, popstrel Eliie Goulding and....err...that's about it, so we don't know whether it's a hotbed of classic Seventies rock, banging techno, finger-in-the-ear "Whose pigs are these " folk music or even the last outpost of The Wurzel's fanclub. What we DO know is that this is a really nice theatre with a great crew, and despite the fact that it's pissing down enough to get Noah worried for much of the day, we're enjoying the wide open spaces of the stage. Last night was so small that at times I felt like one of The Borrowers, but here we've got bags of room, and this is the kind of stage where we can really make this look like a big, grown-up rock show again. It's fine to be able to knock people out with the show in little rooms like Market Drayton and ( speak the devil's name quietly ) Boston, but to move everything on we have to be able to fill the big stages and still have the audience saying it's one of the best things they've ever seen. We're still very much breaking new ground, even after all this time....we've never been here before, so we don't know what to expect, so we just have to get in, do our jobs, and bring the message that THEY WILL SURRENDER TO US EVENTUALLY AND LOVE US MORE THAN ANY OTHER AND GIVE US ALL THEIR MONEY AND THEIR ADORATION AND THEIR VIRGINS AND EVERYTHING....Actually, I'd settle for the virgins. Just a couple. One, even....Anyway, back in the real world, the rain continues to hose down, which is not good as it pretty much kills the " walk up ", which is people who decide to come along on the night or on the spur of the moment. Faced with the choice of venturing out into the teeming rain to see a new show or to crank up the heating a notch and snuggle down in front of the old crystal bucket, sadly the Big Brothers and X Factors of this world win almost every time. No matter though...onwards and upwards,as they say. There's actually a decent crowd in tonight, as it happens, and they're clearly in the mood to be entertained, making much more noise than an audience of this size has any right to do. Where a show like this CAN fall down isn't on the songs, strangely enough, it's the bits between them. Den and Steve in particular have got some great lines, and there's nothing worse than dropping in a funny which had them rolling in the aisles last night, only to find that tonight it's greeted by total silence and tumbleweed blowing across the staqe. Den's VERY good at this, though; he's got a way of almost challenging the audience not to join in without them realising that's what he's doing. It works, quite literally, every time, and tonight's no exception. The first number where we get the audience involved is only the fourth one in, Hippy Hippy Shake, but there's no hesitation as they clap along with the lads. There's one lady of somewhat advanced years who does this weird, twisting shimmy dance throughout the whole show, and we're all loving this game old bird as she boogies along. Turns out later she didn't really WANT to keep dancing, she's just got a particularly nasty case of piles, but she's setting the standard anyway. Den has decided to reintroduce On The Beach to the end of the set as we're still getting a lot of " you don't do any Cliff " comments, and it's a great choice as it makes the last five songs a real " Sixties party ". When the band finish and leave the stage it's to genuine and full applause, and then a first happens for us...the crowd break into the " We want more ! " chant, which is as appreciated as it's unexpected. You'll Never Walk Alone leaves them still baying for more, but it's lights up, curtain down and on to the next one....they'll have us back here, no doubt, and we want to leave people talking about this show. It's a fast getout, so we all head to the local Travelodge for some much - needed sleep. Ah, yes, the Travelodge....now, I don't want this blog to turn into some kind of Lonely Planet guide to the hotels of Britain, but it would also be churlish of me to leave the experience unremarked. The first warning sign is that it's slap bang opposite the Cider Museum. This is dangerous because Tomps, normally the mild - mannered Clark Kent of our tour party, has been known to turn into Ciderman, destroying all in his path, after just one pint of Scruttock's Old Dirigible scrumpy. I make a mental note to lock him in his rooom and then spirit him away past it in the morning. The second thing that makes my nadgers curdle is Travelodge's current advertising campaign. Now, a Russian meerkat flogging car insurance I can handle, but a bunch of teddy bears coming on like East End villains urging me to " Sleep tight " just makes me want to hurt people, preferably the numpty from the advertising agency that came up with the idea in the first place. On the ads the rooms all look warm and cosy, but the one I go into boasts a cold austerity that would make a monk's cell look like a suite at The Dorchester. There's not a single picture or anything to break up the monotony of the four white, white walls, and within five minutes I'm feeling like I'm doing a ten stretch for armed robbery ( maybe THAT'S why the little bears in the ads are like thugs....). Still, it's got a bed, and I'm knackered, so I sit down on the edge of it...and am immmediately tipped backwards, where I lie scrabbling on my back with my legs in the air like an upended turtle. There's a SERIOUS dip in the middle of the bed....it must have been used by two hippos for a major shagfest or something, but I'm in it now, and don't have the strength to climb back out again, so it's goodnight from me.....bloody " Sleep tight " indeed.....

Wavendon Stables Sunday Sept 5th

Something of a local gig for many of the crew today. Wavendon is a tiny pimple on the bum of the urban sprawl that makes up Milton Keynes, a city memorably described by comedian Bill Bailey as " Satan's lay-by ", and we've worked at the Stables many times over the years with various productions. The whole shebang was started here ages ago by the late, great jazzer Johnny Dankworth and his wife Cleo Laine, and the original Stables was a stable block attached to their house ( see what they did there ? ) but this purpose - built theatre is spanky and new and smells of carpet, as opposed to horseshit, which somewhat blighted the vibe of the original place. Although the theatre is pretty small, it hosts some excellent and high profile acts, and has a fiercely loyal regular audience, known as Stablemates ( it just keeps getting better, doesn't it ? ). It's a little bit of a weird one for the Booties show as the greater part of the stage space is what's know as a thrust ( oo-er missus ) which sticks way out into the audience. It means there isn't a flat area behind the stage big enough to take all three of our screens, so we've had to fanny around hanging screens from the ceiling. Only problem is, there are no actual bars or fixtures to hang them from. Oh no. What we have instead is a mesh of metal cable which also acts as a floor which the lighting technicians can walk on when they move lights and cables around. From underneath it looks like a giant net, and when you're just walking on it, it's fine. However, when you have to lie or kneel on it when tying off the hanging bars and cables for the projector, it suddenly tskes on the properties of a cheesegrater. Clive is manfully clambering around up there, his efforts punctuated by yelps of pain and the occasional scream of actual agony, and when he finally gets back down to ground level his body has been imprinted with a fascinating tattoo of indendation marks where he's been sliced and diced by the mesh, but there's no actual blood, so that's alright then. Girl. Today is an odd one for another reason, too...Arthur and Clive are only here for the build and soundcheck, then they are jumping on a tour bus to go off on a short series of dates for Yamaha, starting in Dublin tomorrow. As such there's a bit of an " all change " feel about the show, with Pug moving to front of house engineer and our old mucker Ben Dorrington coming in on monitors. Ben has actually been on a transatlantic voyage with the Queen Mary II, so he will arrive back in Heathrow this morning, having flown in overnight from New York. No doubt he'll be as fresh as a daisy and not in the LEAST jetlagged.....Because there isn't enough space behind the stage for the screens we've had to move everything forward, and as such it's quite cramped up there. Steve's access to his drumkit is so tight we seriously consider the option of him abseiling down from the wire mesh above, and there's no way the band can get on from stage right at all, so this is going to be tres cosy, especially when Nick performs Le Danse IKEA, getting the stools on and off for the acoustic section. One REALLY good thing about tonight, though, is that it's sold very well. We know we have a good number of fans coming up from our home areas, but the Stablemates have been buying their tickets too, by the looks of it. We've done a couple of sold-out shows in the past here when we were working with Peter Green Splinter Group, so we know the intimacy of the venue can produce a great atmosphere, and the level of noise we get at the end of opener From Me To You tells us all we want to know...tonight's going to be a belter. Some nights we have some strange things happen, like the audience will respond most strongly to things like the Simon and Garfunkel song, and then they're with us all the way. Other nights it's Light My Fire that really breaks down the barriers, and sometimes we've got them from the first number. That's definitely the case tonight, and the fact that the audience are so close makes their response seem even louder and more powerful. Nick does indeed have to do an obstacle course to get the stools on and off, and we discover that one of the moving lights is actually pointing straight at a lady in the balcony ( we only really noticed when her eyebrows finally burst into flames ) but other than that it's a stonking gig. When the crowd sing back at the band on things like Sunny Afternoon and I'm A Believer it pretty much takes the roof off. In fact, it feels very much like the Marlborough gig last tour where we absolutely ripped the place up and did an unscheduled second encore for the only time on the whole jaunt. Part of me's hoping that Den will call Spirit In The Sky again, but he does the sensible thing and "leaves them wanting more ", as the showbiz maxim goes. There are loads of friends and fans wanting to speak to everyone afterwards, and everyone's totally buzzing. It's definitely going to be one that we'll talk about for a long time to come, and for all the right reasons. There might not have been any weird stuff like dive-bombing bats here tonight ( though Damian DID have a moth fly down his shirtfront ) ...it was all about the music, the band and the audience. Wavendon is now officially the Rock & Roll Capital of The Civilized Western World....

Christchurch Regent, Thursday Sept 2nd

I'm sure someone has actually been down here and moved Dorset a bit further south since last time, or maybe it was the teeth - grinding monotony of the miles and miles of roadworks on the M1 and M25, but it takes bloody AGES to get to Christchurch today, and the carload of crew types arrive a full thirty minutes after Arthur and Nick have pulled up in the two gear vehicles. It's an absolutely glorious South Coast day, but we've no time to appreciate it as we're straight out of the car and into the load-in. The Regent is one of those curious little theatres that you find tucked away in various provincial towns around the UK, fronting onto the main street but with a modest facade that you almost miss as you drive by. Haverhill Arts Centre and Chatham Central Hall are very similar, but inside the Regent it's a totally different ballgame as the place has this lovely, faded art - deco vibe. It's fun, funky and exactly the kind of place we enjoy playing. The load -in is a BIT of a bugger, as they've got this big, grown - up scene dock at a height of about 4' from the ground, all tricked out and ready for the ramps or tail-lifts of the big trucks that will back up to it. However, it's way too lofty for our two Mercedes Sprinter vans, so we're faced with the option of either humping things in from floor level or rolling it up a mental switchback disabled access ramp that wouldn't look out of place as a ride on a local pleasure beach. The local crew lads are very helpful, though, and in the case of stage manager Sean, a laid - back and luxuriantly - ringletted rocker, they're also expert tea makers. Cold drinks are fine in hot weather, but sometimes a good brew will cool you down just as effectively, and boy do we NEED cooling down.....despite the fact that the scene dock shutter door is kept open until the last minute to allow some breeze across the stage, within minutes of our arrival we're sweating bullets, and Pug in particular looks like someone's just upended a bucket of water over him ( mind you, he breaks into a sweat just lighting a cigarette, so that's not really saying anything.....). The stage is also a bit narrow and cramped but we get sorted with the minimum of cursing and flouncing. The band all arrive without mishap or delay, and the soundcheck is dispatched with such elan that we've got nearly an hour and a half before doors, so I make a play for Damian's Food God title and trot out in search of comestibles, returning successfully with...yep, you guessed it...fish and chips
( actually I almost fell over the bloody place as it was virtually next door to the theatre, so I don't think Damian's got anything to fear from me ). It's such a lovely evening that I suggest we dine al fresco " Nah " replies some wag, I'm going to eat mine outside instead ". Foolish boy. We dutifully troop out and have one of those lovely little tour bonding moments as all eleven of us, plus Den's lad-ling William, sit chatting and eating outside the theatre in the gorgeous Dorset sunshine, seagulls wheeling overhead. Despite the idyllic setting I'm keeping a wary eye on the birds; I've seen these winged muggers on You've Been Framed as they filch grub out the very hands of unsuspecting tourists, and despite the fact that it would take a veritable Schwarzenegger of the avian world to part ME from my food, I'm not going to give them the slightest opportunity. Eventually it's time to head back inside, and as the doors open we realise it's not going to be that large a crowd tonight.In the past this has worked both ways for us; early in the last tour we had a couple of quiet shows and it seemed to hobble the band in some way, so that they played very much within themselves. On other nights it made for a more intimate connection, though, and a couple of the best shows we did were to smaller audiences. Pleasingly, tonight is very much the latter. This is a really enthusiastic crowd, vocally boosted and prompted by our perennial front - row stormtroopers Marilyn and Debs, and it's one of those nights when you just KNOW it's going to be good. When this band is put onto a small stage these days, we don't get hissy fits or diva strops about not having room to express themselves or some such cobblers, what we get instead is a kind of raw, undistilled intensity that really does prove irresistible to audiences. Add Arthur's sonic genius and the lights and projections to the mix and you've suddenly got something that seems way too big a fit for it's surroundings. It's not a case of arrogance; we KNOW this is a great show, and when you squeeze it into somewhere like the Regent it's phenomenal. Tonight is a perfect example of The Bootleg's Effect, and the fulsome praise heaped on us by the house staff coupled with the post-show e-mails from audience members just reinforce our resolve that we're on the right track with this, and that it's just a matter of time before we're stepping up to a different level. Tonight is also a FUN show; Steve's enjoying himself so much he corpses just as he's about to start his vocal for " In My Room " and everyone's relaxed and joking. Things are helped along by the sudden appearance onstage of a bat, clearly shaken from his slumber in the upper reaches of the theatre's roof by the sturm und drang of the band's playing. For a few numbers he zooms around the hall, even swooping down to buzz the band a couple of times. Some of the female audience members seem a little discomfited, but Chris deadpans reassurance, " Don't worry, it's just a special effect " he tells them. I know we sometimes say that our show features special guests, but this really IS a first..... Fortunately our little Pipistrelle friend ( later christened Eric The Bat by Marilyn and Debs for reasons known only to themselves ) soon disappears from sight, and we reason that he's either found a way out or much more likely, the sound from the PA has so seriously shagged his inbuilt radar that he's flown headfirst into a wall somewhere. Whatever the reason, the band are left unencumbered to rampage towards the end of another hugely successful show, marred only by my substituting two of the theatrical flashes ( you know, the ones with the " loud report " ) for two dodgy silver jets, and then forgetting to warn the band. It earns me a Paddington Bear Flat Stare from Den and poor Steve has to change his undercrackers AGAIN, but it's just a blip on another belting night for us all. These are the kind of gigs when you know you're getting it all right, and when the venue, the crowd and the local crew are as good as they are here, it's just so, so satisfying. It even takes the edge off a slow and arduous load-out, and will bolster us for the long drive home. We'll DEFINITELY come back here again. As we pull away I bid farewell to the Regent, and just as we drive past the load door I see a small bat swoop down. I can't be sure from this distance, but it looks like he's wearing a little bandage round his head.....

Bromsgrove Artrix Wed Sept 1st

After the sheer blast of splendiferousness that was Liverpool, there was always going to be an element of " after the Lord Mayor's show " about the first gig after it. That show happens to be in sunny Bromsgrove ( actually VERY sunny, and gusset-moisteningly hot, too ) at a new theatre called Artrix ( I always thought he was Obelix's mate in the cartoon strip, but there you go ). Arthur's flown back in from a couple of days break back on Fuertaventura, and having recharged our batteries a bit we're looking forward to rejoining the fray as we motor down the M6 onto the M5, eventually finding ourselves in the sun - drenched car park of the theatre. Tomps is back on the tour from now until the end as Clive is off doing things like being a squire to the Barron Knights, so we're planning to have a bit of a chinwag with Den when he arrives, just to make sure all the visual elements of the show are totally nailed. Our plans are soon to be kicked into touch, however, as we get a call from Nick saying that a truck has overturned on the M42, and as a result he's stuck in stationary traffic...has been for the past half hour, in fact. As all our gear is spread across two vehicles, this is going to be a bit of an arsebiscuit....we've got the PA system with us but Nick's carrying the moving lights, which really should go in early, as well as our white backdrop, which really should go in first. We can build all the stuff we're carrying on OUR van, but then we're going to have to shoehorn all of Nick's gear in around it when he gets here, and that's the kind of palaver that just makes you break out in funbumps. A couple of calls later and it becomes clear that Nick, sitting in a sweltering stew of stationary vehicles, really isn't going to be getting here any time soon, so we bite the bullet and start setting up. We then realise that there's a very good chance the band are also stuck in the very same traffic, and a couple of phone calls proves this to be the case. The portents are not good. It's actually 3.30 by the time Nick finally pulls up, hot, stressed, and with a face like thunder. " Nice trip ?" I venture playfully.
" GRRRRRAAAAHHHNNNGGGRR" he replies, gnawing on my forearm. Not happy, then.....As it transpires, his late arrival isn't anywhere near as much of a nutcracker as we'd feared, and we get sorted relatively quickly, but the delay to the band themselves is giving us a headache now, not only because we're running out of soundcheck time but also because Den's got a revised show disk coming with him, and we need to get it into the computer, checked and readied. I'm expecting a stream of vented frsutration and invective, but when they finally DO arrive, the band are surprisingly chilled, and my forearms remain unsullied. Arthur and Tomps sort out the show visuals with Den and then we belt through a truncated soundcheck, but it doesn't feel hurried or stressful....in fact it has the slickness of a piece of well-oiled machinery, and it's another one of those moments where you think " We're all actually quite good at this, aren't we ? " There's even time to send our chief hunter-gatherer Damian and Pug out into the sun - dappled evening charged with the task of finding sustenance for the crew that doesn't come in a wrapper marked " Cadbury's ". He's a skilled fodder tracker, is our Damian...despite weighing about three and a half stone wringing wet and being so skinny that he virtually disappears when he turns sideways, he clearly has a fearsomely fast metabolism as he he can pack away his tucker with all the speed and panache of a big fat bastard like my good self. He's the kind of bloke who could find a KFC in the middle of the Kalahari desert, so the task of securing several portions of excellent fish and chips on a Wednesday night in Bromsgrove is almost unworthy of his talents. Nonethless, in what seems like no time at all we're chowing down backstage, making so many little involuntary moans of pleasure that it sounds uncomfortably like the set of a soft porn movie. There really IS nothing ike a good infusion of lard to set you up for a gig... The band are back to the " tour show " tonight after the diversifications of Liverpool, and within seconds of the opening " From Me To You " Tomps tells me over the intercom " Ah, this takes me right back to March ! " as he happily flies in the film footage, and I realise once again that yes, we ARE all good at this, band and crew alike. We blew away a few cobwebs in Whitley Bay but from then on in everyone's just dropped right back into the touring groove from five months ago. There aren't many set changes from last time....Happy Together and Sunny Afternoon have become a joyous medley instead of two separate numbers... there's no " On The Beach " and " Surfin' Safari " is back, but the pace and the power are still potent, and tonight we have a good - sized and vocal audience to bounce off. In fact, the whole show is pretty flawless; there are the usual couple of little technical niggles that we'll talk about in the car on the way back tonight, but by and large it's been a lovely, easy show considering all the transport nightmares that went on earlier and which could have seriously derailed things. It's nights like these when I can almost sit back and enjoy the band and the show rather than work on it, and I know that this is the " zone " the band are so good at getting into; it's smooth confidence without complacency, and it's this as much as anything else that's going to stand us in good stead over what will hopefully be many years of touring this show. More like this one, please.....!

Liverpool Philharmonic Friday Augu 27th

Today, Faithful Blogreader, I must once again crave your indulgence. This is going to be a longer than usual blog, as there's raaaaaaaather a lot to relate, so I hope you'll hang on in there. As the song says, we'll start at the very beginning.......So we've driven from Whitley Bay, and arrive in Liverpool at about 3.30am, so as you can imagine, everyone's feeling a little torpid. The band are staying in Satan's B & B ( sorry, I mean the Adelphi ) but the crew, as befits our lowly, hairy-arsed status, have been allocated rooms in that pinnacle of budget accommodation, the Formule 1. For anyone who's never stayed in one of these beknighted hostels, a brief description is required. Imagine, if you will, a room...nay, a cubicle...some eight feet by ten feet ( don't ask me what that is in bloody metres....I'm old). Occupying nine-tenths of the available floorspace is a normal-looking double bed. Where things start to go totally Spanish is the second bed, however. This is a kind of bunk arrangement running horizontally across the top of the double bed, accessed by a dinky little ladder. Acting as the en-suite facilities, there's a miniscule washbasin in one corner of the room. A tiny table is slung across the opposite corner, under which sits a scarred and fag-burned plastic chair...and that's yer lot. The Ritz it isn't, and two problems immediately rear their ugly heads. The first is that neither Arthur or I are lightweights, so the idea of scampering up the somewhat flimsy-looking ladder holds little appeal, even if we could physically manage it, which we seriously doubt...the room appears to have been designed as a playhouse for orang-utans rather than a resting place for fifty-something roadpeople. There's a second bulk-related problem, too, which is that even if we DID manage to get up onto the bunk by some process of levitation, osmosis or whatever, neither of us fancies the idea of having the other's twenty-odd stone hovering just above our bonces with just a thin piece of wood standing between us and potential oblivion. And did I mention that after we'd got our keycard from the sullen youth at reception with the Warsaw/Toxteth hybrid accent and hauled our weary bodies and baggage up to the second floor that the bloody thing didn't even open the door ? Now, I know that the band were also having hotel-related fun and games themselves tonight, what with the five of them having to share two rooms, but let me tell you, by comparison with THIS shitbox they're in the executive suite at Claridges. We were finally let into our "room" by another monosyllabic, bullet-headed Pole, and solved the problem of the second bed by taking the mattress off the bunk and throwing it on the remaining floorspace under the sink.By now we were so shagged out that we just didn't care anymore, so I crashed out on the floor, undaunted by the interesting and varied array of insects which then tried to share my covers. After what seemed like only ten minutes but was, in fact, a massive four hours, we were awoken by a herd of bison galloping down the corridor. It was, in fact, just the room-service lady ( from Katowice, since you ask ) wheeling her little laundry cart from room to room, but thanks to some piece of miraculous construction genius every single footstep in these corridors is amplified a thousand times. What can I say...the place is built and owned by the French, and whilst they are very good at being garlic-munching surrender monkeys, they're shite at building cheap hotels. It wasn't over yet, however.....I decided to have a shower to try and get the accumulated floor-level flora and fauna out of my skin, so I summoned up the courage to brave the little cubicle down the corridor. I looked around for a towel, but could only find two flannels under the washbasin. After a moment or two I realised with sinking heart that this scrap of thin terrycloth was no flannel...this WAS the towel. Now, I'm no rough frontiersman or hardy survivalist, but I thought even I could make this work somehow. Wrong. When you've got as much surface area as I have, most of which is covered by moisture-retaining hair, you need considerable drying-power. The little hankie did it's best, and I managed to mop up some more of the liquid by contorting my body under the warm air hand-dryer, but short of performing a handstand there was no way of using this method this to air the old undercarriage, and thus it was with a somewhat chafing, John Wayne-esque gait that I headed back to the room. But enough of this spleen-venting....time to get on with our story. I merely wanted to give you a feel what what we were experiencing in the less than perfect build-up to this, probably the most important show in the short history of The Bootleg Sixties. Having assembled the troops in the carpark ( the hotel, naturally enough, not runnning to anything quite as extravagant as a reception area ) we head off to the venue in convoy. The Philharmonic is a beautiful hall, vast of ceiling and rich in architectural flourishes. With a capacity of over 2,000 it's by far the biggest and most impressive place we've ever staged this show, and despite some shortcomings for our specific needs ( like Cheltenham Town Hall it has no light directly above the stage and a rake of choir stalls behind it )local tech gurus Ad Lib have installed some free-standing screens for us that easily look as effective as the white backdrop we customarily use. Damian's going to have some fun trying to light the stage with a house rig designed more for providing a staid general colour wash for an orchestra than the flashing bombast of a rock show,but he's brought some toys with him and is also in general awe of the place, taking photos of it from every conceivable angle.I've got some toys of my own for tonight, too, more of which later, but for the moment our main focus is on whether or not Den's plan for getting replacement disks for tonight's show has worked or not. Den is coming in at 11.00am to start rejigging the slide show we already have as a back-up plan, and the disks themselves are being rushed up by car, so we're reasonably optimistic. The day gets another major boost when our enterprising foragers Clive and Damian discover a local Egyptian-owned cafe which has hit on the genius idea of a takeaway full Engllish breakfast. For a blissful ten minutes or so there's total silence as we sit in a line at the front of the stage and trough down gratefully. Like any army, a touring band marches on it's stomach, and though I'm carrying enough subcutaneous body fat to enable me to live, camel-like, for several months without food if pressed, this fresh fuel really hits the spot, so it's with renewed vigour that we push on with our work. First major relief of the day....the disks arrive, get loaded into the computer, and after a " Please God, please...." moment, Arthur annnounces " We have a show ". In reality, from here on in we're coasting; the early get-in has meant that everything else is ready for the band's arrival at 3pm for soundcheck, and after that the rest is just tweaking. The soundcheck itself reveals a few frayed nerves and tempers as lack of sleep and the pressure of the occasion take their toll on some of the band, but a couple of " jams " into the process and everyone's visibly relaxing. Tonight's show will differ significantly from the touring show. Perennial Hollies favourite Just One Look is replaced by their Look Through Any Window, The Small Faces All Or Nothing stands in for Itchycoo Park and The Byrds' Mr Tambourine Man gives way to Turn Turn Turn. The Easybeats' resolutely mental Friday On My Mind in in there, and as this is The Beatles Festival, a smattering of extra Fab Four tunes have been added to the mix. Got To Get You Into My Life makes a welcome return and We Can Work It Out takes over from Walk Right Back as the ultimate song of the acoustic medley. Most exciting development for me, however, is the addition of Helter Skelter as the encore number. Always a powerful song, seeing The Overtunes batter it into submission at soundcheck is almost worth the admission price alone. Having long thought U2's version was the defintive cover of the number, I have a serious change of heart as the boys tee it up and knock it out of sight into Row Z. It's times like this, when the five musicians step outside the slightly polite format of Sixties pop and really cut loose that you realise what a truly great band they are; there's a "rock" presence here that wouldn't look out of place on any of the world's arena stages and you appreciate fully that, geniuses at Sixties music as they are, they'd be equally brilliant at any genre in the rock music format. We get a little glimpse of this every night when they do the wig-out section of Light My Fire, but this here is something so joyous and visceral that the few remaining hairs on the back of my neck are stood at attention throughtout. It's magnificent, and to complement the bombast of this closing song, I also have a few little secret weapons hidden around the stage. In addition to the usual array of fireworks, along the front we have four thunderflashes, all featuring what the label solemnly refers to a " a loud report ". Best of all, though, concealed behind the screen I have device known as a bomb tank, which is essentially a bloody great cast-iron dustbin into which you suspend an explosive device called a maroon. Ships in distress use these at sea, so you're maybe getting the picture of the volume involved. The plan is to trigger this mini-Armageddon at the top of the intro build for Helter Skelter, so I have a quick practise until I'm happy I've got the timing right...this is a one-time option so there's no margin for error. Another thing that's different about tonight is that we've got a support band on with us, a lovely bunch of local Cavern-playing regulars called The Shakers who are going to kick things off with a thirty-minute set. There's a strict 11pm curfew tonight, so the show HAS to run tight, and as such we've ditched a lot of the regular banter between songs. We're going to have to keep a very close eye on the clock as we can't risk having to lose any of the set. Seven thirty finally rolls around, the doors open, and at the appointed hour sharp-suited compere Neil walks on to start proceedings by introducing The Shakers. As the band play I peep out into the auditorium and do a quick double-take....the place is full, upstairs AND down. Oh, yes....this is going to be GOOD ! As the last notes of Twist & Shout die away and The Shakers say their " thankyou and goodnight " we're already onstage, clearing their gear and setting up our own. We've been given fifteen minutes, manage it in ten, and so we're good to go. When the house lights go down we get that big audience roar thing going on, then suddenly the stage lights are up and the band are into From Me To You. On the last tour we saw how little venues can barely contain the power and presence of The Bootleg Sixties show in full effect, but we also saw in places like Coventry and Stockport how well the band can make the step up to the bigger stages, and tonight they're doing it as to the manner born. The sound is immense, they're smiling and clearly enjoying themselves, and despite the lack of house lighting Damian's doing some VERY clever things with his MAC 250s. Not for the first time I look at the stage, then out at the audience and think
" Yes....this show really CAN be as big as this EVERY night ". That's for the future, though...tonight we're concentrating on keeping this perfect. Every song is rapturously received, all the visuals are runnning like clockwork, and before we know it there are two thousand plus people bellowing " Then I saw her face " back at Den as I'm A Believer brings the first half to a close. We've overrun by five minutes but we know we can pull that back, so everything's still calm backstage. By the time the house get everyone out of the bar at the end of the interval and we get clearance to restart the show we've lost another five minutes, so I'm getting a BIT anxious, but we'll just have to see how it goes. Instead of the usual video at the start of the second half, Den's done a very clever George Harrison / Eleanor Rigby mash-up to accompany a visual montage he's put together, and from there it's straight into Blowin' In The Wind. All Or Nothing gets everyone back in the party mood, and to hear all those people singing You Were On My Mind is just fantastic. By the time the band are on the home stretch of Green Onions, Mony Mony and Jumpin' Jack Flash it's "back of the net" time, and the audience don't even need to be asked to dance. The noise they make as they bay for the lads to come back onstage is incredible, and you can actually hear screams of joy as Jamie kicks into Helter Skelter. The appointed moment comes and.....BOOOOM ! off go the pyrotechnics, BANG ! off go the band and AAAAGGH ! go the audience as we break the world record for mass simultaneous bowel-voiding. Oh yes, it was loud....it was VERY loud.....At last it's all over, and as the band head off to the Adelphi to meet and greet, we start to take the show down, proud of what we've achieved here tonight. It's been virtually flawless, and we've seen first-hand what this COULD become. We load up the gear, tired but happy, and some of the lads head home, whilst Arthur, Nick and I follow the band to the Adelphi for a quick celebratory snifter. Steve's there with pal and fellow skinsman Chris Sharrock of Robbie Williams and Oasis fame, but we're just after a quiet drink,so we head into the least busy bar. Just as we've ordered, an odd mobile phone call comes in from young Lids, and Nick, concerned by the tone of his offspring's voice, heads back to the hotel to see what's afoot. Phil wanders in to the bar, a big smile creasing his face, and joins us in a Guinness, then uber-fans Marilyn and Debbie apppear.I surreptitiously check to see if they are sporting fresh jeans, as the originals may have been inadvertently soiled by the effects of my explosions, but these girls are made of stern stuff and there's not even a piddle-mark in sight. Nick returns with Lids in tow, and we hear the latest instalment in the tale of the Formule 1. Our Lids hasn't been feeling too good lately, so he'd headed to bed after the show, only to be awoken by the sight of five drunken Scousers standing in his room, apparently looking for some kind of party. It appears that one of the other clever aspects of the room design at the Formule 1 is that some of the rooms can't be locked from the inside, so this mob of marauding Mickey Mousers were thundering up and down the corridors going into whichever rooms they could open. No wonder the poor lad was nervous on the phone.... We finally bid farewell to everyone and head back to Albert Docks where we wearily climb the stairs of the Shithole Du Jour, as we have renamed this Gallic dump. As we reach our landing two security types are escorting a bunch of noisy, bolshie pissheads off the premises, and as they pass us I realise how annoying it is that you never seem to have an Uzi submachine gun on you when you need one. Hey ho, next time, perhaps. It's been a good, good day today, and though we're totally knackered we fall asleep with the glow of a job very well done. Tonight I don't even mind the beetles and fleas snuggling down with me, though tomorrow I will vow to burn this accursed place to the ground and dance on the ashes.....

Whitley Bay Playhouse Wed Aug 26th

So, Faithful Blogreader, here we are again, large as life and twice as ugly....when you're starting a new tour, there's only one way to set you up for that difficult first show, and that's to go and have a mahoosive cooked breakfast at a Morrison's supermarket cafe. It's not exactly rock and roll but, by Sooty's fur, it doesn't half hit the spot. It's a glorious day up here on the North-East coast,and the Playhouse is all refurbished and spiffy, so there's a nice, relaxed, summery vibe about the place. Of course we know it won't last...it IS the first show after all....but for now we're making the most of it. Back when dinosaurs strode the earth I used to live here, though the place has changed so much I can't even find the street where I stayed. The greatest tragedy is that the fish and chip shop which provided my staple diet back then is no longer here, and to my real sadness neither is the Spanish City amusement park, once the town's main attraction. I'd like to say that I have happy memories of long summer nights spent on the rides there, with a pretty, laughing young girl by my side, but the harsh reality is that for the entire time I lived here it was bloody freezing, and most of the North Sea seemed to seep under my door when the wind blew. Still, it's shame to see the old place gone. Back at the Playhouse, all is going well. Although it's about four months since we last did the show we've all slipped straight back into the old routine, and even new lighting dude Damian is slotting in well. Although the crew came up here last night, the band have opted to drive up today, which is a bit of a haul, but this time there's no speed - governed rattlebucket minibus to contend with; instead they're in a nice new Ford people carrier. There's a bit less space but the trade-off is that now they get to the shows before the next ice age starts, and despite the schlep up from Hertfordshire they're in good spirits. It's actually a bit of a mega-travel day for the band, as after tonight's show we all drive to Liverpool for a 9.00am load-in at the Philharmonic tomorrow morning. Further into a tour this is the kind of thing that causes much wailing and gnashing of teeth, but this early on everyone is still cloaked in a thin veneer of civility, and so this heavy schedule is met with a shrug rather than a knife between the shoulder blades. It's great to see the lads again and they all arrive looking tanned and healthy, courtesy of a brief jaunt to Fuertaventura. I'm more than a little jealous as I really wanted to go too, but a pressing appointment with the surgeon's scalpel prevented me. Still, they're all genuinely concerned and inspect my newly - repaired ( and alarmingly bald ) knee with interest before cracking on with the soundcheck, after which, unfortunately, things start to unravel a bit. First, it becomes clear that the Adelphi Hotel in Liverpool have cocked up rather spectacularly, and rather than the five single rooms for two nights that they're MEANT to give the band, there are now just two, and one's a triple. The kicker, though, is that not only will they have to cram in together but they'll have to be out of the rooms early in the morning as they've already been sold ! This, mind you, despite us having all the relevant booking forms and so on. I'd just like to digress here for a moment, if I may. Some years back there was a programme about the Adelphi on TV, one of these " fly on the wall " things. During the course of the programme's run, the Grand National at Aintree was abandoned due to a bomb scare, and everyone was evacuated, having to leave their cars locked in the racecourse. This caused a huge demand for hotel rooms in Liverpool that night as many racegoers were stranded with no means of getting home, and we watched first hand as the Adelphi rose to the occasion to help these poor souls...by putting stratospheric hikes on the room rates and charging huge sums for things like rows of mattress on the dining room floor. What was most sickening was the obvious pleasure they took when they realised that the very last nook and cranny had been sold at some scrotum-tightening cost. I vowed right then that I'd never stay there again, and have been true to my word since. This latest example of incompetence and rampant profiteering just vindicates everything I think about the place.... not that I'm bitter and twisted in any way, you understand. Anyway, hotels aside, things rapidly go from bad to worse when it then becomes clear that the new show slides for tonight and tomorrow that Den's brought with him have caused the show computer to throw a total hissy fit. They won't load at all due to either an iffy disk or some kind of file corruption, and the bottom line is that we've suddenly got about thirty minutes to put a new show together before the doors open...and that's not even taking into account what to do about Liverpool,. which is a totally different show again. Suddenly that thin veneer cracks and everyone's snappy and stressed as we try to resolve this, and I'm taken right back to those heady first days of the LAST tour where shows were being re-jigged on the hoof as Den's voice went awol.This, however,is different, as we're many miles from home with no way of getting to the computer to try and solve the problem. As ever we manage to get SOMETHING together just as doors open, but there's no way of knowing how it'll look or even if it'll work. Nothing like a nice easy start to the tour, then....it's SUCH a lovely feeling, travelling into the unknown in this way, kind of like going into Rat City wearing cheese trousers. For the first half, though, everything's fine. The band sound as great as ever, and it's a real thrill to hear them playing again. It's essentially the same show as we did in February and March, with the Beatles / Hollies / Searchers / Swinging Blue Jeans combination to kick off, and the little acoustic section after " Sound Of Silence ", and once again we see the " Bootlegs Effect " on a whole new audience ! It is, though, a show of two halves, Gary, and though the band raise their game after the break, a few technical problems start to crop up, such as non - detonating pyrotechnics and some truly mental slide programming, plus a few odd sound anomalies. I have, however, been told by some of you that I should try and focus on the big picture a little more this time round, and less on the crew side, so I'll not dwell on those things too much. I'll just let them all return to haunt me in the dark fastnesses of the interminable, lonely night as I toss and turn, tortured by the horror of the imperfect slide show. ...but I'll be fine, don't worry about me ( sniff )....So, the band, then....well, they were brilliant as usual. Anyway, enough of them, back to the and the crew....! Tonight's been a bit of fraught first show, but the crowd response, as ever, has been superb. One of the ushers tells us he even saw a woman crying as the band played " You'll Never Walk Alone ". Personally I thought they played it quite well, actually...crap jokes aside, though, the end result is that another town has fallen beneath the wheels of the Bootleg Sixties bandwagon, or some equally lumpy metaphor. We pack up the truck with a bit of trepidation about tomorrow....it's a big, big show, we've got no visuals for it yet, and a three - hour drive tonight to get there. So THAT'S alright, then...

My Little Office, Geddington, Wed Aug 8th

So, next week, then.....only seven short days until our band of merry pranksters reconvenes for our second assault on the tender sensibilities of the British theatregoing public. I have to say that it's all going quite pleasingly well so far....so much so, in fact, that we've not only been able to lose the band and Arthur out to Fuertaventura for a week to celebrate a landmark birthday for Arthur's partner Anthea, but also to let me go in to hospital for a quick op on the cartilage I tore on the LAST tour. Sadly the two events co-incided, so while they were out there doing the old sun,sea and sangria fandango, Billy No-Mates here was enjoying sitting at Edith Cavell hospital in Peterborough for ten hours waiting to go down to theatre whilst wearing nothing but a backless theatre robe and a deeply attractive pair of disposable underpants.The only comfort to be drawn from the whole experience is that by me NOT going out there, everyone avoided the sight of my capacious backside stretching a pair of Speedos to the very limit of their endurance. Just think of all the trauma the inhabitants of the island have been spared as s result....Any road, despite these distractions we've pretty much got it all in the bag. Hotels are booked, minibus is ready to collect, pyrotechnics are all set to go, extra lighting's just waiting in the warehouse ready to be put on the vans, and all the crew are locked and loaded. In terms of the dramatis personae, it's pretty much the usual suspects, though Rodders is still on tour with Scottish chooglers Runrig, his place being taken by Damian Goddard. Going some considerable way towards making up for Rodders' absence, however,is the surprise presence of Pug, who has deferred his Great Orstrilian Adventure just long enough to take in these shows. This is a much happier Pug than the one we saw on the last show at Radlett. You may have read between the lines on those last posts and realised that the trouble he had on the last tour was all to do with a GURL, so he'd opted to do the honourable thing and either go to Australia or join the Foreign Legion. As he's allergic to both sand AND camels, Oz got the nod, only for the aforementioned Sheila to then recant her original decision and reappear on the scene. Amid much wailing and gnashing of teeth ( not to mention close perusal of the small print on his air ticket to see how much he'd lose if he cancelled it ) a happy compromise was reached...he's still going out there and she's....err....not. But he says it's alright, really it is. Whatever the story, though, we're just made up to have him back with us. He may smell a bit, but he's got a heart of gold. We still don't actually know exactly what form the show will take as we haven't yet sat down with Den and Steve, but for those of you who may be coming along, the basic structure will be the same as the spring dates, with the notable exception of Liverpool, where we'll lob in a few more Beatles numbers in deference to the fact that it IS the Beatles festival, after all. In short what I'm saying is that isn't a new show....THAT will happen on the next tour, where we're looking to change things round quite a bit. It should be great....Den's got loads of ideas for different songs, there'll be new lighting, and the auditions for the trapeze-artist dwarves are coming along very nicely, thankyou....