Radlett Centre Sun April 18th

What an odd one THIS has turned out to be…..several months ago our gigmeister, Alan Field, had asked us if we’d be up for doing a one-off show in aid of Habad, a Jewish children’s charity which he’s involved with. As we were clear that weekend and it fell quite soon after the end of the tour we said yes, and then put it on a back-burner while the tour prep all took place. Well, the grunt and grind of the tour has been well documented elsewhere in this blog, so I’ll say no more about that, but couple that with the band scooting straight off to Germany and Sweden afterwards, and suddenly the charity show was right upon us. It was always going to be a BIT different as we’d been specifically asked to incorporate songstrel Ellie Leah back into the show, which was fine, but then became a LOT different when some delinquent cloud of Icelandic ash brought the airways of the Northern hemisphere to a sudden halt, grounding our guitarist Phil in Gothenburg…which was NOT fine, not fine at all. We’ve had to work without him once before, a year or two back, when Ryanair did one of their random flight cancellation things and he couldn’t make a show in Kings Lynn, but this is different. We haven’t worked with Ellie in over a year, so we were planning on using the touring show as a template and then just adding Ellie’s numbers. With no Phil we suddenly realise how much of the set we now can’t do, so Den gets to work on coming up with a Plan B. To be honest it’s still better than most people’s Plan A, but it’s nonetheless all a bit seat of the pants. He’s had to change a lot of the visuals, too, so I’ll have to go through all of those with Tomps
( who fortunately is being his usual cool, unflappable self ), and to really cap it off Rodders isn’t doing this show, so we’re back to the Stone Age with us doing the best we can with what lights we find, and me trying to cue a house lighting guy who has never seen the show before. We’ve been more comfortable before curtain up, I must admit….! The venue’s a nice, new little theatre, though, just perfect for this show, and it’s great to see Pug, Tomps, Nick and Lids again. I’ve kind of hoped we’ll just drop back into the touring groove, but everything’s so different, from the way we have to lay the stage out to the fact that there’s no Rodders bustling about with his MACs, and to make things even more fun we’re on a later get-in; this would have been fine when Phil was still involved, but now there’s a lot of work to do and a lot of rehearsal to get through, and losing that extra hour doesn’t seem such a clever idea all of a sudden. Chris and Paul, the house lighting guys, are helpful and quick, but we gradually become aware that there’s really not much in the way of lighting in here, and without the MACs we could struggle to make a visual impact. I also realise when I come to test them that only one of the two remaining flame pyrotechnics kept back from the tour is working, so that’s going to look a bit pants too. Things are stacking up….It’s odd seeing the “ four – piece “ Overtures line-up again after so long on the tour; Den should be centre stage as usual but he’s not, he’s on stage left and Jamie’s swapped over completely ! Weird that such small things can throw you, but when you’ve had two months of doing things a certain way, they do. There’s no Black Box Of Bafflement tonight either due to Phil’s absence, so Nu Nu the smoke machine is redundant, and sits looking forlorn at the front of the stage, until I take pity on him and plug him in under the drum riser. Poor little fella. The weirdness continues as the charity’s main man gets onstage to describe what the organisation does, how they’re looking to raise money and so on, then he introduces a DVD showing some of the kids the charity helps. It’s desperately sad, showing these poor kids who have been maimed by warfare or serious medical problems, and everything’s very sombre….then suddenly it’s over and the band are due on….not exactly the ideal warm-up to get people in a party mood, to be honest, but the charity is what tonight’s all about, so we just get on with it. Everything sounds different, too, but the biggest miss is Rodders and his lights; Chris and Paul are manfully doing what I ask them to but there’s no drama, no snappiness, and it’s all a bit lame, despite the guys’ best intentions. Ellie’s entrance sparks things up a bit; she absolutely wallops “ You’re My World “ right between the eyes, then goes for the knockout punch with “ River Deep, Mountain High ! She’s got a set of lungs on her, this girl, and no mistake…..The first half seems to take ages, but it eventually comes to a close and we can regroup. We do a bit of light-tweaking and I set out my sad, lonely little pyro, then we’re off and running again. As Den walks onstage in darkness to start “ Blowing In The Wind “ I tell Paul on the follow-spot “ When you hear the guitar start, pick up the centre – stage vocal and hold him “….except that there IS no centre –stage vocal of course…he’s over on the bloody left tonight, isn’t he ? Arsebiscuits ! It’s like searchlights during the Blitz for a few seconds as the spot sweeps the stage trying to lock on to Den, but finally Paul gets him and everything settles down again. It actually goes remarkably smoothly, even the two “ playback “ songs where Phil’s guitar really does come to the fore. The lone pyro in “ Light My Fire “ IS naff, but the look on the faces of the people in the centre front row as it bursts into flame and they feel the burn from it is worth the admission price alone ! Ellie’s back onstage for
“ Shout “ and from then on in it’s game, set and match, with the old show – closers of “ Surfin’ USA”, “ Mony Mony “ and “ Daydream Believer “ before the ubiquitous
“ You’ll Never Walk Alone “. This isn’t the noisiest audience we’ve ever played to, and the band have to be nippy getting back onstage for the encore, but they’re appreciative enough, and the main thing is that money gets raised for the charity. After the show we try to remember which cases everything goes back into, and it’s all taking a bit too long, but we’re not that far a drive from base tonight so it doesn’t matter so much. It’s been great to see the band, Jill and Sherry again, and it wouldn’t be a Bootleg’s gig without seeing Marilyn bopping around in her tour t-shirt ! We also hear that the band have been confirmed onto the festival in Majorca that the German TV bods wanted them to do after the triumph in Munich ( though it turns out it’s with Joss Stone , not The Rolling Stones …something lost in translation there, perhaps!) Ellie’s also landed herself an eight-month contract in the stage show “ Sister Act”, which is fantastic news, so there are plenty of positives….but it just somehow hasn’t felt right, and it’s not just because of Phil’s absence…they always say you can never totally recreate a tour “ vibe” ( and yes, I DO still hate that word ), even if you’ve got all the same people involved, and I think that’s what’s happened here….instead of going on to the next gig, we’re going our separate ways, and there’s a bit of an “ after the Lord Mayor’s show “ feeling about tonight. There’s also the very real underlying sadness that this could be Pug’s last ever show with us; the personal issue that dogged his last days on the tour hasn’t turned out well, and he feels the best thing to do is to get completely away, so he’s all set to head off to Australia on a one-way ticket. He’s been so much a part of the team for the past few years that I can’t imagine him not being there, so we vow that we’re definitely going to take the show out to Oz, and he can be our monitor guy when we finally get to that land of convicts, crap daytime soaps and piss-weak beer. So as we shut the van doors and say our goodbyes to each other, that’s about it for The Booties…..we’re back out on August 26th for sixteen days, all being well, but for now the Black Box Of Bafflement, Nu Nu and the pyros are all going into hibernation for a bit. I’ll still keep on posting the odd message from the frontline, though….who knows WHAT might happen between now and August….?!!!

They Think It's All Over.....It Is Now !

Time is a funny bugger, isn’t it ? On the one hand the tour feels like it just finished a couple of days since, but then I try and think back to Dartford Orchard on February 2nd and it seems that long ago I’m sure I remember the women in the audience wearing crinolines and bustles. I think that part of this weird timestretch feeling is that we really haven’t stopped work on the band OR the tour since it finished; two days after the final curtain at Croydon the lads flew out to Germany to take part in a huge TV show, and no sooner was that over than they were scooting off to Sweden to do some shows there, and all the while they’ve been trotting around Europe I’ve been a modern – day Bob Cratchitt, slaving over a hot ledger book trying to sort out all the finances from the tour. At the time of writing I still don’t know if the drinks are on me, we’ve broken even, or the workhouse beckons, largely because NINETEEN of the theatres we played still haven’t even given us the percentage split figures I need to invoice them for, let alone part with any actual wonga. In addition to this administrative tardiness, we’re also having to deal with what are known as “ The Contras “. Far from being some arcane South American revolutionary army, these are the ( often ludicrous ) re-charges that theatres try to levy on visiting companies. There are some that you accept without question…for example, the visiting company always pays for the house crew on the load –out, and it’s also normal to accept some kind of deduction for marketing expenses, like putting your gig ad in their “ what’s on “ brochures. Some, however, are, quite frankly, taking the piss, and these are the ones that take the longest to pay. There’s one group of theatres which shall remain nameless for fear of reprisals ( yes, I’m talking about YOU, HQ Theatres….(oops) who stretch credulity to eye-watering lengths. Huge marketing recharges with no evidence given to back up what they’ve spent it on, a charge for the bloody electricity that the show uses, for Sooty’s sake, and in one theatre the absolute piece de resistance, a charge of £ 12.77 for a “ fruit bowl in the artiste’s dressing room “. Never mind that said fruit bowl wasn’t even seen, let alone eaten, by the artistes, unless it contained the world’s rarest kumquat or ugli then someone’s having a right laugh……I can buy a chuffin' SACK of fruit for twelve and a half quid ! But I digress.
The German TV show was a big deal for the band, and although it was hard work for them and involved a LOT of rehearsal, it’s made them many friends and opened a lot of doors in Europe. Thomas Gottschalk, the show’s host, is something of a Grande Fromage in German TV presenting circles, and despite sporting shoulder – length blonde hair and leather trousers that very few sixty – year old men ( including, sadly, Thomas Gottschalk ) can get away with, he was genuinely blown away by the band, and has put them up for another TV extravaganza later in the summer. The main thing the show did was raise their profile in Germany, and judging by the amount of e-mails I got from new fans in Der Fatherland after the show, it certainly did THAT. Another small digression ( you’ll get used to these…..) Have you ever used the Babelfish free translation software ? It’s genius. Most of the mails we got were in excellent English, which made me ashamed of my fifth – form schoolboy German ( his name’s Hans and he’s very beautiful…I shouldn’t be ashamed of him at all ). Like many Brits who make a cursory attempt to learn another language, I can read and understand more than I can speak, so most of the time I’ve got along OK with these missives from Deutschland, but occasionally I’d be stumped by something, usually one of their fantastic, twenty – odd - letter compound words like “ lebensmittelgeschaft “ and so I’d run it by good old Babelfish, with interesting results. The programme translates literally, with no time for tiresome things like grammar, so often I’d be left with a jumble of apparently random words from which to make a well – know phrase or saying. My favourite was when it translated one correspondent’s surname as
“ Atrocity “. Clearly a member of the Hitler family…..( before we leave the subject, can I just say that “ lebensmittelgeschaft “ is an actual word, meaning
“ greengrocers”. However, it translates literally as “ living middle shop “. Go figure…..) . To see what the band look like in genuine German HDTV widescreen 3-D technicolour feelie-sound, go to You Tube and look for the Thomas Gottschalk Swinging Sixties stuff…there’s loads. You’ll see them backing Robin Gibb and Peter Noone among others, as well as simply being the world’s best house band. Just don’t use Babelfish to translate what Thomas is saying, otherwise you’ll find yourself wondering why he refers to the band as “ a pair of lightly grilled earmuffs “.
Anyhoo, enough of this badinage…..back to the heady world of post – tour accounts.
By the time I post my next ramblings we WILL know whether we won, lost or drew, and that’ll definitely inform the length of the next post; if it’s long and rambling then we’ve made money and I’m shitfaced drunk, but if it’s short and clipped then you’d best check all your friendly neighbourhood suicide spots for a fat bald bloke in a Bootleg Sixties t-shirt. Only time will tell, so without further ado I shall sharpen my quill, fill up my inkpot and throw another peasant on the fire. It’s going to be a long night…….

Croydon Ashcroft Theatre Sun March 28th

Here we are, then. Two months, forty shows and about six thousand miles after we set off all bright – eyed and bushy – tailed for Dartford Orchard, we pull up at Croydon Ashcroft Theatre for the very last night of The Organic “ It Is What It Is “ Tour. I’ve got very, very mixed feelings about today. The great audience responses we’ve been getting are pretty addictive, and I’d like a bit more of that, please, but, as with everyone else on the tour, I’m knackered and need to rest. The knee I damaged early in the tour has become really painful and needs a serious looking at, and, of course, there are all the accounts to do, including a VAT quarterly return which is due in two days, but despite that joyous prospect awaiting me, I’m actually ready to go home now. It’s unlikely we’ll ever do a tour of this size again, although you can never say never in this lark. It’s been a real baptism of fire for the band and some of the crew, and they’ve come through it with flying colours, though there have been some pretty hairy moments and some bloody hard graft along the way. Everyone’s done brilliantly; Pug’s been ever-present throughout and apart from a brief wobble near the end when he had some unhappy personal business to contend with, he’s come on in leaps and bounds. Tomps and Clive have alternated really well on AV, and Tomps has also come up with some great new ideas for the visuals which we’ve been using for the past few shows. Rodders has done his usual great job with the minimum of fuss, and there’s no doubt at all that it’s the lights which have taken this production to a new level. The real surprise package, though, has been Lids, who hasn’t got any touring experience as such but who has worked his nuts off to become a valuable member of our team. It helps that he’s a funny bugger as well, because laughter is a very useful commodity on the road. He and Pug have really hit it off, and I’m awaiting the announcement of their impending engagement with bated breath…..The Unsung Hero Award, however, just has to go to Liddard Senior, our very own Nick. Despite being even older than me he’s displayed the energy of a man half his age
( that’ll be a 39 year – old man, then ) and just hasn’t stopped. He drives the band to and from shows, helps us set up if we need it, keeps a proprietorial eye on drummer Steve throughout the set, does the food run most nights and also does the merchandise before Arthur arrives, all for a measly five bushels of wheat a week ! What a diamond ! The only problem with our hero is that he has no inner monologue, and thus treats everyone around him to his every thought as it passes through his brain. Of course, if you challenge him about this habit of talking to himself he’ll contend that it’s the only way he gets any sensible conversation ! Nicholas Jeremiah Lemuel Liddard, we salute you, O Brother In Rock ! Back to the Ashcroft Theatre ( named after Dame Peggy, and not Richard, I gather ) and it’s a jaded bunch of Booties who set about building this last show. All of the banter of last night about wizard japes to catch the band out during the show has dissipated in a blur of sleep deprivation, and as we sloooooowly put things together it’s all we can do just to focus on getting the stage set up. When the band arrive we realise we aren’t the only ones; Steve looks totally cream crackered and everyone’s pretty subdued. This is partly to do with it being the end of the tour, and partly because the finishing line’s in sight and our bodies have all just gone “ OK…that’s enough now “. There’s a funny thing about “ last nights “…there’s this big expectation of them being some sort of amazing occasion, and you talk for weeks beforehand about what you’ll get up to and how such and such is going to be, but quite often the reality is that they’re anticlimactic. Tonight’s definitely showing signs of going down that route; not only is everyone tired, but we also learn that due to a local council ruling the audience aren’t allowed to stand up or dance, so we’re not even going to get one last look at a crowd going mental to Mony Mony. It’s a late –starting show as well, and I have to say that it’s all I can do keep my eyes open during the first half, though the band seem to liven up as soon as they get onstage. As we move into the second half there’s no real sense of things coming to an end, though Den very kindly brings the crew onstage to take a bow, which is much appreciated, and at THAT point you realise that it nearly IS all over. As they go into You’ll Never Walk Alone I can feel myself choking up a bit; Den, Steve, Arthur and myself have been working towards doing a full tour with this project for nearly three years, and we’ve finally done it. We’ve had some clunkers during the past two months ( Hello Boston !!! ) but the overall tour has been a great success, and we can safely say that we’re firmly on the map now. In a way it’s like watching one of your kids grow up and leave home….we’ve been so close to this project for so long, and now it’s over. And yes, I know it’s going back out in the Autumn but nothing is ever the same as your first tour ( unless it’s your first sell-out tour !! ) and we’re all going to be a bit bereft for a couple of weeks. Being on tour is a bit like being in the army; you’ve got a small group of people travelling and living together to do this quite tough job, and you all have to look out for and support each other. You develop a kind of “ us against the world “ siege mentality, and when the circle is broken and the tour’s over it can leave you with a very odd emptiness. A real “ road pig “ friend of mine who has toured since God was a lad described it as being almost like a kind of grieving, in that something’s gone that you can’t get back. On the other hand, you can have a situation like I did back in 1991 when I was touring for nine weeks with an American band and I couldn’t WAIT for the last day. I would cheerfully have murdered them in their beds, and the only grief I felt at the end of THAT tour was that I hadn’t cut off their testicles with a rusty knife and fed them to my dog, but perhaps that’s just me being uncharitable; I’m sure they were kind to their Mums and small animals. At the end of the show there’s a quick “ well done “ among the crew, but we’ve still got to get this gear out and the set knocked down; Pug, Tomps and I are taking the truck back to Bedford tonight and have to unload everything when we get there, then I have to drive the lights over to Ipswich tomorrow. Kevin “ The Silver Fox “ Lee has come down from Hoddesdon in the band’s van to pick up THEIR gear, so there’s no time for sentimentality OR hanging about. I manage a quick chat with Jamie to check he enjoyed the tour ( he loved it ) got a brief hug from Den ( loved the tour , hated me ) and one from Phil ( hated the tour, loved me ) and then suddenly they were gone; I didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye to Steve, Jill, Chris and Michelle, and it’s just because there’s so much to do and pack and remember to sort out; the band are off to Germany in two days and so we also have to make sure that all the gear that’s going out there is kept in yet another separate pile. The source of much attention is the flightcase that rejoices in the self – explanatory moniker “ The Jizz Case “. This wheeled box has become like Mary Poppins’s carpet bag….everything that doesn’t have a home anywhere else goes in it, and you never know WHAT you’re going to pull out when you put your hand in. There are three people bent over it and all you can hear is “Yours….yours….mine…ours…his….ours….yours…”as the contents are divvied up. Finally we’re ready, and we take a sad leave of Nick and Lids. Rodders is also leaving tonight and I find this particularly hard as he’s been lodging with me for the whole tour, and going home without him is going to be very odd ( OK so that sounds a bit gay, but you know what I mean…). Pausing only to get hopelessly lost in Croydon we head north, and I’m here to tell you that the cab of that truck is suddenly a very lonely place. We get back to Bedford at about 3.00am and the whole “ loading the kit back in to the unit “ thing seems totally alien and wrong….it should be in the truck and going to the next show !!! It’s going to take a while to decompress from all this. I get home at about 5.00am and tumble into bed, but I’m suddenly wide awake again, replaying days from the tour in my mind. I’ve done so many tours over the years you’d have thought that this would have been just one more, but it wasn’t….it was different….it was OURS. I’m going to miss the band, the crew, the familiar faces like Marilyn and Debbie in the front row, the band’s wives, the tiredness, the banter, the smell of napalm in the morning (?!) the voice of Doris the satnav, the standing ovations, the soles of my shoes being covered in “ rock & roll dogshit “( discarded gaffa and electrical tape strips ) the feeling when you first walk onstage at a new theatre, look around and go “ Oh f**k…..”, the sense of achievement when you’ve pulled a rescue mission out of the bag, the taste of Ginsters pies, even the smell of Clive’s gaseous emissions ( actually, scrub that one out….). I’m also going to miss writing THIS, Faithful Blogreader, and thus, mindful of the fact that I never DID tell you about the joy of soundchecks, I’m going to carry on posting up odd musings and thoughts about all things Bootleggy and tour – related. Thanks to all of you for your comments and kind words, and I hope you’ll keep an eye on this for future missives. For now, though, it’s time to sleep, so I’d just like to leave you with something that been said to me many, many times throughout my career in the music business, which is
“ What are you doing in my shed, and where are your trousers ? “

Thankyou and goodnight….

Eastbourne Congress Theatre Sat March 26th

Having cleaned myself up from last night I head down for a “ Lite Bite “ breakfast of two eggs, four sausages, eight rashers of bacon, a mound of beans and mushrooms and two slices of toast. Well, I’m a growing lad…..Despite all the cross – country shenanigans last night we’re very happy we made part of the journey when we did as we crawl with infinite slowness round a car – jammed Brighton, and then run into Eastbourne’s own traffic. As a result of the hold – ups the truck arrives fifteen minutes late for load – in, prompting the wags on the crew to ask me and Rodders if we’d gone via Dunstable again. Hilarious. The Congress Theatre is another big, wide bugger…stage left is so far away it has it’s own postcode but it’s a nice, flat push onto the stage, and everything rockets up. The projector images are HUUUUUUGE tonight as we can get them exactly where we want them, and it really looks impressive….yet another taste of what the future could hold. We’re ready for the band in good time today, which means they can grab some more much – needed rehearsal time for their German trip. They’re actually sounding a lot better already, and the medleys don’t have the same train – smash impact on your ears anymore as the band have cleverly managed to come up with transitions that smooth them out. Only the oddball waltz schmaltz of What’s New Pussycat sets the teeth on edge still, and Jamie, who has to sing it, still laughs at it almost every time he steps up to the microphone. Thankfully it’s only about ten seconds long. Don’t get me wrong….it’s nothing to do with the band, they play it fine….it’s just WEIRD, and trying to fit it into a convincing bass / drums / guitar format makes your brain hurt. We have this vision of some random German TV producer sitting in a little room with his Book of 1960’s Hits, picking out the maddest and going “ Ja, ZIS von vill REALLY screw up zose Englander schnitzels “. Back to the Congress Theatre and the lads are ready to wrap up the soundcheck, which means that as we’re at the seaside, it can only be time for fish and chips again…YAY ! Rather than getting something caught fresh today off the coast, though, the only place open nearby is the homogenised, franchised, sanitised Harry Ramsden’s. Now I can’t knock old Harry ( he’s dead anyway ) but I once went to his original place ( HA ! Place ! Fish shop ! Plaice !! Geddit ?? Sigh……) with an old girlfriend ( I mean it was a long time ago, not that she was old ) and the most wonderful cod, chips and mushy peas. The fact that I can remember the meal but not the name of the girlfriend says a lot about the quality of the food ( it also says a lot about me, I think, so let’s move on… ). Anyway, Harry Ramsden’s circa 2010 is absolutely fine if you’re A) Dying of starvation or B) Have run out of cardboard. The pre-packed meals are actually made in somewhere like Korea these days using Croatian cod and Czech chips, so that “ Genuine taste of Yorkshire “ is probably something they sprinkle on it from a can as it speeds down the assembly line. However, it fills a gap, and I’ve ALWAYS got a gap. But enough of this fishy tale…..back to the show. Once again it’s a decent house….nearly four hundred and fifty…..and you can forget all that bobbins about Eastbourne being God’s waiting room. This is a lively lot, and they’re anything but superannuated. Although we’re only one show from the end of this marathon, there’s no reflection of that in the band’s performance, and if anything they’ve been energised by last night’s show in Marlborough. We can’t really get away with reprising Spirit In The Sky here, though, so it’s the normal set, the only hiccup being the light failing in the Black Box Of Bafflement when Phil does the “ Hank “ gag, but that kind of stuff doesn’t scare us anymore….Rodders just picks him up with another light and off we go. We get the now almost mandatory standing ovation, and it’s back to the Big Sleep hotel for our Nearly – End – Of – Tour drink. Steve, Jamie and Chris’s wives are here too, so it’s a nice family vibe as we take over the lounge. We can’t really cane it tonight as we’ve got a show tomorrow, of course, but it’s just good to all be in the same room together for once and to share a beer and chew the fat. The main topic of conversation seems to be what traditional end-of-tour pranks we’re going to pull on the band on the last show tomorrow night, and one by one the lads slope ( a little nervously ! ) off to bed , leaving only Steve “ King Cognac “ Phypers to hold the fort. It would be VERY easy to just say “ Ah, sod it….there’s only one more show “ and REALLY tie one on tonight, because we’ve totally earned it., but there are too many pro’s about for that to happen. Mrs Phypers, the lovely Jill, shepherds her spouse up the apples and pears before things can get too messy, leaving just the crew to think of increasingly mental ideas for tomorrow night, including such flights of fancy as gorilla masks, Batman and Robin suits, and human heads in the Black Box, and we’re having, as the Irish would say, a mighty craic, until someone points out that it’s nearly three o’clock, and we really SHOULD be hitting the hay. It’s only at this point that these six intelligent men realise that they’ll all forgotten the clocks went forward at midnight….so it’s actually nearly FOUR o’clock. AAAGGHH !!!! Cue much scraping of furniture and toppling of chairs as we bail out with the speed of many antelope and head upstairs to grab some ( now foreshortened ) shuteye…..
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Marlborough Theatre On The Hill, Fri March 26th

We’re back down in Wiltshire today, just across the M4 from Swindon, in picturesque Marlborough. Tonight’s show is an unusual one in that it’s at a school; St John’s Community College, a brand spankers new hi – tech complex with it’s own theatre, the Theatre On The Hill. We’re VERY nervous about this one; we’ve not been able to get any of the technical information back about it and have no idea whatsoever what to expect. Our suspicions are confirmed when Arthur rings us as on the way down; they haven’t got the basic power we need to run the show and are having to hire in some cable and feed it in from a different part of the building. Not a good start. When we get there the place is amazing, and looks more like a university than a school. At first glance the theatre is a great little room, until we realise that, apart from the power, none of the lighting bars move, there are no lights actually above the stage, there aren’t any stagehands, the houselights are controlled by wall switches in the hall itself so you have to run down from stage to switch them on and off and we have to wheel everything through the cavernous reception area to reach the theatre. In front of the stage is a gap of about four metres before the seats start, so it’s like playing across a moat. In addition their drum and keyboard risers are made up of what seem like a load of coffee tables joined together, and they’re very big and very high. We have to take the decision to get rid of them totally, which raises the ire of a chap in a tie and ID badge who is something to do with Building Facilities. This jolly fellow had put the risers out earlier and isn’t best pleased about having to take them away again, which he lets us know about with much huffing and puffing. The rest of the people here are really nice, though, and Rob, the house tech is almost ridiculously helpful, plus we’re now used to dealing with curveballs. It’s still a slow, slow process, however…..the central projector can’t be hung on the normal bar as it’s just too close to the stage and effectively silhouettes Steve against the screen; as a result we have to hang it from a bar in the main hall which is so high I get a nosebleed when I try and go up the ladder. Mr Health & Safety would probably have a coronary if he could see Rob take the projector off me and shin up the longest ladder I’ve ever seen like a monkey on crystal meth. Rather him than me, say I….a person of my size is just not designed to be that far off the ground; I’m built for sitting on sofas with cups of tea and big bars of chocolate. The upshot of all this fannying about is that the lads don’t have much time to soundcheck, and they’re anxious to keep practising all the stuff for Germany, but it can’t be helped….the power issue takes ages to resolve as it turns out to be a can of not only worms, but snakes, beetles and nasty big spiders as well, but Rodders manages to resolve things with a combination of various leads, plugs, string, glue and spit. We also know the show hasn’t sold as well as the school had hoped; we’re only the second professional visiting company to visit and they haven’t got the profile in the area that they need yet. All of this means that we’re not sure how things are going to go tonight, but we’re just going to have to give it our best shot. The school are certainly making the effort; they’ve set up a little bar in the reception area and have got some of the older kids running the door and being ushers….now all we need is an audience ! As it turns out a decent number of folks arrive, and the thing that’s most apparent is how eager they all are to see the show as they come in…maybe this is going to be OK after all. Right at the beginning of this blogfest I talked about how the shows you look forward to often disappoint, while the ones you’re dreading turn out be to stonkers. Tonight is most definitely in the latter category. What these folks lack in numbers they make up for in enthusiasm, and we’ve got them dancing within a couple of numbers. By the time we get to the
“ party “ section there’s a pretty solid press of people in the “ moat “, and Den has the great idea of adding another song at the end; it’s the first time we’ve done it but this is definitely the kind of place where it’ll work. The song choice is a masterstroke; they go for Spirit In The Sky, and absolutely tear the roof off the place. I’ve heard them play this a few times before but tonight is just a killer, killer version; everyone on the place is going mental and the band are unstoppable; by the end the crowd are just greasy spots on the floor and even the crew are yelling for more ! We’ve probably never had as many people come up to us after the show and literally PLEAD for us to come back again….the other nice thing is that this is going to help the school get their events off the ground as the word will definitely go out that it’s a good place to come to. Their attitude is excellent, because they realise there are technical shortcomings here, and rather than hide behind them Kate and Rob literally come up to us with pen and paper in hand afterwards for our comments and suggestions as to how they can improve things here. THAT’S the sort of approach you need, and we’ll happily come back here again to play for these lovely people. As it’s a long haul to Eastbourne tomorrow we’ve decided that the crew will go part of the way tonight, and the chosen destination is Southampton. Rodders and I borrow Lid’s satnav but I can’t even get the bloody thing to switch on at first, and by the time I’ve worked it out, everyone’s left us behind, so we ease the truck out into the leafy lanes of Wiltshire and set off for Southampton airport, which was the nearest destination I could get the machine to accept. Now, I’m not really a fan of satnavs anyway, and my dislike it compounded as the infernal thing directs us along increasingly smaller and tighter lanes. Twenty minutes in to the journey and we are, quite literally, in the middle of nowhere, in pitch darkness. I try to call Lids and Pug to get them to look at the map for us, but we don’t have phone signal either. We’re on our own, and we’re well and truly snookered, so we just have to inch on through the night regardless. Suddenly Rodders says thoughtfully, “ Tone, I think we’re on Salibury Plain…..” “ Why do you think that ? “ I reply. “ Because we’ve just gone over a crossing for tanks “ he says. He’s right. We’re in Armoured Warfare Central, and it suddenly comes to me that the British Army fight most of their battles at night. It therefore follows that they must TRAIN at night, and so the next ten miles or so are spent on the edge of our seats, waiting for a twenty – ton Challenger tank to roar up and squish us, or else blow us off the road. Luckily we make the main road without mishap, and apart from a slight “ going the wrong way up the motorway “ hiccup, finally make the hotel at 2.00am. It’s been a bit of a stressful twenty – fours hours, and so I sleep like a baby ( in other words I cry all night and wet my pants…..)

Haverhill Arts Centre Thurs March 25th

Although we don’t get back from Crewe until silly o’clock this morning I’m wide awake at 7.00am with budgets, payments, invoices and bills all jostling for position in my ( totally knackered ) head. Each time I manage to knock one of them out, another creeps in through my lughole or somewhere and I’m off again. Unfortunately this has been my mental default setting for most of the tour and I have to say that it’s a smidgeon wearing, but the finishing line is in sight now, so I’ll just keep drinking my daily pint of absinthe and I’m sure I’ll be fine. We’re in the sleepy little town of Haverhill today, and thanks to an overestimation of how long it’d take to get here we have half an hour to grab some nosebag before load – in. Gay bars are a bit thin on the ground round these parts, so we make do with Gregg’s bakers, and I’m here to tell you that I thoroughly recommend their chilli beef lattice, Faithful Blogreader. Piquant, with just a subtle overtone of cumin and a dash of jalapeno, the pastry is light and flaky, and made to be savoured. I eat mine in one mouthful, but you get the picture.
We’ve sold out tonight, and discover when we arrive that they’ve also sold our “ company “ seats, the ones we use for our guests. Apparently a clause in their contract says that if they haven’t heard from us within a week of the show they can sell them, but I get a soupcon pissed off at this point by the intimation that I’m going to be able to recall every clause from forty – three contracts, most of which were signed about two months ago. Fortunately it doesn’t escalate into anything unpleasant as the house decide they can put our guests up in the balcony next to Arthur and Rodders. Sorted. It’s quite a small stage so we’re all a bit cosy, but this usually means we get a more powerful show. There’s still a lot of rehearsal going on today for this German TV show which has started to loom over the band like some huge, German looming thing, and the only good thing from our point of view is that we get to hear lots of snippets of new songs we’ve not heard the band play before. From THEIR point of view it’s a constant wrestling match, trying to force unsuitable songs together into medleys chosen by the TV folks, or working new starts and finishes into songs they’ve been playing a different way for years. Had this arisen at the start of the tour we’d have been Donald Ducked as they were still so focused on the show, and soundchecks were long, methodical affairs. These days the actual band soundcheck is knocked off in minutes to allow them the maximum rehearsal opportunity; they can literally do it in their sleep. The familiarity with the show reaches new heights for me tonight as well; I can’t find my set list so for the first time I do the whole thing from memory. Which accounts for all the mistakes.
We also have our first major potential gig-killing event….about six songs in, Steve looks up and over at us in alarm; the main bolt on his bass drum pedal has sheared right through, and there’s no spare. A drummer can no more play a show without a bass drum pedal than a guitarist could play a show without strings, so this is a terminal problem. Nick dives onstage and takes the pedal off to see if he can carry out some sort of repair, leaving Steve to try and soldier on. The lad’s a trouper, though….not only does he manage to get through two whole songs, he also plays his drum solo in Pretty Woman, and more to the point, does the whole thing pretty bloody well, and with a smile on his face. As with the soundchecks, this is something that might not have been possible when we started the tour, but Steve takes a cataclysmic kick in the cods like this totally in his stride now, and gets the applause he deserves at the end. A special mention must also be made of the tour’s real unsung hero, our very own Nick Liddard, father of Lids and general wonderbloke. Whereas I’d personally have reacted to the bass drum breakage by sitting in a corner and weeping hopelessly, he somehow finds a bolt and wingnut which will fit, and whips it into the pedal tout suite, literally saving the show. I make a mental note to buy him a Crunchie. Collapsing drum hardware apart, it’s actually a wicked show tonight…folks are up and dancing at the front of the stage , but there’s also one character in the crowd who used to come to Overtures gigs, jump up onstage and make an arse of himself; Nick keeps a close eye on him in case he repeats these antics but I take a slightly more draconian approach to security by firing off the flame projector pyrotechnic just as he looks as though he’s walking towards the steps at the side of the stage. Barnet suitably singed, he sits back down and we don’t hear another peep. We’re also graced by the presence of the three “ tired and emotional “ ladies from the Stevenage show, this time all wearing cute little matching pink and black quartered sleeveless minidresses. Alcohol may been involved again as one of them keels over while dancing and hits the floor like a sack of spuds, but apart from all the ribald heckling, knicker – flashing, general misbehaviour and falling over drunk they’re no bother. We also discover they were the source of the underwear thrown onto the stage at Stevenage as we see them hurl yet more scanties this time; there must have been some chilly buttocks on the way back to wherever they live…It’s Clive’s last show of the tour tonight, and that really brings home the fact that this is nearly all over, especially when he says his goodbyes to the band and I think “ That’ll be me in three days “. Dartford Orchard seems like it happened a lifetime ago, and yet at the same time the tour’s just flashed by….now how does THAT happen ? I’m musing on such metaphysical concepts as we leave the venue for the shortish drive home, only to be brought crashing back to reality by the incessant glowing of the “ Refuel Now “ light on my car dashboard. I check the onboard mission control computer to see the mileage left in the fuel tank, and it yields a big fat zero…Ah. “ No worries “ I think, “ We’ll fill up at that Sainsbury’s superstore on the way in. Not so bloody super, as it turns out, however…as with everything else in Haverhill it’s closed, and I mean CLOSED….we don’t see another car on the road or person on the street. It’s just like the film 28 Days Later. Only at night. And not in London. And without zombies. This could be a disaster. I phone the local police to ask if they know of a 24 hour garage in the area, and after a short delay of only about a year the nice lady on the phone finds one and “ talks me in “ to it. It’s closed. She then tells me the only other one is ten miles away and wishes me good luck. Thanks, Suffolk Constabulary. We’ve no option but to put up the sail, cross our fingers and do forty miles an hour. Amazingly we make it, but the Death Stares I get from Rodders and Pug who are in the car with me bore holes into my skull all the way home. Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa…….

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….??