Worthing Assembly Hall Saturday April 28th

I’ve always found that once I’m awake, I’m awake, and so it is this morning, despite having had virtually no sleep. My mind’s full of heavy-duty things like the logistics of getting all the vans packed properly tonight, the overall financial position of the tour and, of course, whether or not Newcastle can maintain their winning streak against Wigan today. By the time I haul myself out of my bunk, John’s moved the bus and got the powerline in before crashing back out. I also have to move the van, and the moment I step out of the lee of the Assembly Hall and the rain-sodden, icy wind knifes straight up the legs of my shorts and into every orifice, I know I’ll not be going back to bed. The galvanising effect of this wind / rain / ice combo literally brings tears to my eyes. Somewhere down south below the borderline two frozen little testiclettes cry “ Bloody hell, not AGAIN ? What is it with this bloke, shorts and cold weather ? We’ve only just recovered from Buxton…!” I’m not listening to them, though, largely because when you think you can hear your testicles talking to you, you’ve REALLY been on the road too long. I’ve also caught something on the wind, and like a hunter bent to the trail of his prey I flare my nostrils and sniff the chill air. A melange of aromas whirls and dips, teasing and testing my senses, but finally I have it, and lock unerringly onto the scent, drinking in the heady perfume. There’s no mistake. It’s Sausage and Egg McMuffin, possibly with a hash brown, and unless my capacious bugle has failed me, a big-ass cup of tea as well. It’s coming from…that-a-way, so stealthily, silently, like a cat ( albeit a big fat bald one ) I follow the trail. Today, McMuffin, you are MINE…....Some time later, replete, emboldened by my success, and with the paper and cardboard carcass of my hapless victim screwed up on the table in front of me, I decide it’s time to brave the elements and head back to the bus. Pausing only to have my intelligence insulted by the rude, moronic staff at the local branch of our bank, I reach the Bogey, just in time to see Ray from the Assembly Hall open the side gate through which we will load the gear in and out. Let me tell you about Ray for a moment, if I may. He’s been here every time we’ve played the Hall, and he’s something of a National Treasure. Helpful, courteous, funny, sensible and daft by equal measure, it’s almost worth coming down here to play just to have him work on the show. He’s easily one of the best house tech guys on the entire circuit, and just seeing his smiling face as he comes over to shake hands helps brighten up the day….and that’s just as well, because the day NEEDS brightening. The weather’s doing it’s damndest to make sure we don’t have an easy ride of it. It’s teeming down, freezing cold and there’s an icy blast which, we hear, may develop into gales as the day progresses. That’ll be just in time for load-out, then…..The Assembly Hall has a long access alley down the stage right side of the building, smack in the middle of which is a little hump then a dip. We’ve done MUCH worse, but it still slows you down a bit when you’re in a hurry to get the gear in and get yourself out of the rain. It’s absolutely lashing down, and the wind is invading every nook and cranny. Nick pulls up in his van just as we start unloading ours, and we manage to empty them both with some alacrity if not, it must be admitted, a great deal of decorum. Luckily with the help of Ray and Roy the build is fast as well, as we’re all trying to warm up from being hosed by the freezing downpour.This is another big stage, but the Assembly Hall layout is a bit odd. Built to accommodate things like tea dances and Ray McVey and His Band Of The Day, its’ main concession to modern rock’n’roll shows is the presence of two big flown lighting trusses. These are very well equipped and work brilliantly but they’re in fixed positions, and the front one is actually above the audience, meaning that the projectors have to throw the images 18m instead of their normal 6m…and this is through a blaze of concert par can lights. To be honest it’s amazing we can see anything at all, but all three projectors now have new lamps in them, and they cut through just fine. The hall has also got a split-level stage, no wing space at all, and the upper tier of the hall is painted in a very light colour so even when there’s a blackout you can still see quite clearly. It shouldn’t work…but it does. We’ve always had a great night here. Tickets sales are “Steady” as opposed to “Hurrah !” but they’re also not “ Shoot me now, my life is worthless and I want to die” so we think we’re in for a good night. WE’RE certainly going to enjoy ourselves anyway, and in true end-of-tour-japes fashion, Nick hands each of the crew members a mental wig / hairpiece kind of sketch that makes you look like a cross between Predator and Bob Marley on a REALLY bad hair day. It’s got long dreadlock-style tresses, but the clincher is that each of those tresses contains a series of green or red flashing lights. To be honest they look slightly disturbing, especially when teamed with the glo-stick glasses Nick’s also sporting, so we’re fairly sure of impressing the band when we finally decide to reveal them. There’s a bit of an odd atmosphere around today…normally on the last day of a tour everyone’s a bit demob-happy, but here everyone’s pretty focused still. Not only are the band themselves going out to Holland tomorrow to play a couple of shows, we’ve also got to drop all the PA off into another storage facility after the show tonight then drive to various parts of the UK, so although this is finishing, other things will continue after tonight, and this all conspires to dissipate that “ last show” feeling, which is actually a good thing as the end of any tour is generally quite a sombre thing. You’ve lived cheek by jowl with the same small group of people for a period of time and there’s a real co-dependency, an espirit de corps, that grows up around the group. You spend more time with these people in any given twenty-four hour period than you do with your own partner and family, and when the tour ends and that support network is snatched away, the adjustment period can be very difficult. I know I’ve already made the analogy between this and being in a military unit, and that really is the closest parallel I can think of, the only difference being that we’re not in harm’s way and no-one’s trying to kill us….though I must say Nick’s farts have had a damn good go, being pitched somewhere between mustard gas and pure sulphur. He REALLY needs to see a doctor…..Soundcheck is dispensed with in fairly short order, as we have another pressing engagement straight afterwards. Some promoters from Holland are coming to meet with us to talk about the possibility of taking the show there for a lengthy tour, and so after soundcheck we repair to the bar with these good people and set about the next step of achieving world domination for this show. For some reason no-one seems to like my idea of annexing the Sudetenland and then invading Poland…….It’s finally time for the doors to open and as I’m out front talking to the box office staff I see our friends and fans start to come in. I’d like to take this opportunity to apologise most profusely to one of them, the lovely Irene. For some reason our intelligence had informed us that this good lady was actually called Linda, and she was far too sweet to correct us. Irene, you now take your true place in our pantheon of Superfans ! Jim is here too, of course, as are Marilyn and Debbie and our mates Martyn and Simon. Although they’re both “ in the biz” and therefore well able to wangle their way onto guest lists, every time we come down here these lads buy their tickets for our shows as they know our earnings are based on a percentage of door takings, and that every little helps. Respect, guys…..Dawn can’t be here tonight but we know she’s with us in spirit, and whilst I’ve already thanked these good people in previous pages, let me once more send our love to them all, and to everyone who drives all over the country to support us and this show. You truly make the whole thing worthwhile, and we want you to know how much your dedication and enthusiasm means to us. We don’t want to let these folks down tonight, and there IS sometimes a danger that a last show can be anticlimactic, but this is us and The Overtures I’m talking about here….that’s never going to happen, is it ?! Everyone in the audience knows this is the last night and they’re set on making it as good for us as we are for them. They’re loud and totally up for it. When we first came to Worthing we were a bit worried it was all going to be a bit genteel and polite and blue rinse-y, but we’ve ALWAYS had a great crowd here, and tonight’s no exception. Because of the tightness of space on our side of the stage, Tomps and I are rather oddly sitting with our backs to the audience, but they’re just on the other side of the speaker stacks, and every time we glance round we can see clapping hands and smiling faces. It’s just a joy tonight….no technical issues, the band are playing brilliantly, the big stage with it’s concert lighting rig looks fantastic, and the crowd are totally engaged. If the Dutch folks don’t buy in on the strength of THIS performance, I’m going to go and piddle in their clogs….The feedback drone from the guitars finally heralds the intro to the last number of the last show on the last day of the tour, and the lads set off on the final rampage through “ Spirit “. The lights are flashing, the sound’s kicking, the band are tearing it up through the smoke and haze onstage, and every person in the hall is up and rocking ( including all of the crew, Predator / Marley wigs a-flashing ). This is it, the very essence, the distillation, of why we do this and what we want to achieve with it. We KNOW this is the best show of it’s kind in the UK today….and we’re going to make sure everyone else knows it ! Finally, sadly, the last crashing chords bring down the curtain on the tour. Den kindly invites the crew onstage with the band to join them in the final bow, and I have to say I’ve never felt more part of a team, of a musical family. I’m half hoping Rodders will leave his lighting desk and peg it the length of the hall to join us up here, as he’s been one of the pillars of that family, but he’s far too pro for that !! It’s over…but it isn’t over, as we’ve now got even more work to do. Apart from loading the two normal vans, we’ve also got to pick out the gear and stage clothes the band need for Holland, and load them into a THIRD vehicle, a cool “splitter” bus from our mates at Tiger Tours in Wembley. To complicate matters, because we’re still running the hire van we picked up in Eastleigh, all of the gear aboard THAT has to be offloaded tonight before the van ends up in High Wycombe ( don’t ask…I was there and even I don’t really understand what happened ). As such we’re going with the two main vans in convoy to Nick’s storage place in Essex before finally going our separate ways. Rodders is then driving to Wycombe before leaving the van and jumping a cab to Reading station, where he’ll board a train for St Ives in Cornwall. Pug, Tomps and I have the much shorter trip back to Northamptonshire whilst everyone else, bolstered by the presence of Den’s lad George, will stay aboard the Bogey tonight before leaving John and heading off to Holland in the morning. It’s a bit of a sad and dislocated way to end things…I don’t even SEE Steve after the gig, and have just the briefest of words with Big John before he dons his Beerhunter hat and heads off in search of the Lost Pub. A quick handshake with Den, Chris and Phil and a hug with Jamie ( well, he IS the hottie, after all…) and they’re gone. It’s still bucketing down and the wind is apparently reaching gusts of Gale Force Six, so we know we need to get a wiggle on here. Nick and George, knowing how far we have to go and how much we have to do, bravely give us their best “ You go on ! Leave us here …we’ll only slow you down !! “ film cliché, and start to load the splitter themselves. Pausing only to say goodbye and our heartfelt thanks to Roy, the lovely Ray and the even lovelier Carol, we head off into the maelstrom of this stormy Sussex night. We’re done. But to paraphrase an old theatrical saying, “ It isn’t over until the fat bloke has written another blog entry “. Keep it here, kids……

Newport Riverfront Friday April 27th

There’s a lot of excitement and anticipation about tonight’s show. We came to Newport on our first full tour and had an absolute blast of a gig, with a good-sized crowd and a great atmosphere, and we know that the advance sales of this have been strong, so we’re all revved up. Fortified by a very splendid full English breakfast at the hotel in Eastleigh, we set off for Wales. I’ve already made a comment in a previous blog about the weird-arse arrangement that sees you paying to get IN to Wales, but getting out for free., and as we have many Welsh fans, I’ll just discreetly draw a veil over this somewhat bizarre arrangement. The only thing I WILL say is that it costs TWELVE AND A HALF BLOODY QUID to get a Transit into the principality, so I’m seriously considering having a word with some of those nice chaps at the Sangatte refugee camp at Calais and seeing if they can hook me up with some human traffickers who would be prepared to smuggle the vans ashore at Barry Island. …We’re back at The Riverfront today, a fabulous place with a great crew who still hold our nearly three-year old record for the fastest get-out. Stevenage equalled it once, but these folks really are the badger’s bathrobe. It helps that the stage is mahoosive, so everything’s easy to get at. In fact, if we reckon we could fit the entire Concorde Club into the Gordon Craig load dock, then here we could accommodate the club, adjoining hotel, outbuildings, car park and possibly the nine-hole golf course. It’s big. Last night we were crammed onto an 18’ x 12’ platform, tonight we could invite the entire population of the little country town where I live to come and sit on the stage, and we’d still have room to run a sheep-dog trial ( they must be little bastards, those sheep dogs…they’re ALWAYS on trial, aren’t they ? Must be something in the Winalot ) . In fact, so big is the stage that when the set starts it’s almost as though everyone’s TOO far apart, as it feels a bit dislocated up here and takes a couple of songs to kick things into gear. Tomps and I are so far away from the band that we can almost hold a normal conversation while they’re playing ( well, as normal as our conversations ever get ), while at stage left Pug is employing semaphore to communicate with the band across the great swathe of space that divides them. There’s also a really long forestage here ( I said foreSTAGE) which can be lifted up on hydraulics when they need to increase the platform size. Tonight, though, it’s retracted to floor level, meaning that we’ve got a pretty cool area between the front of the stage and the first rows of seats which is just crying out for a bit of unabashed Welsh rug-cutting later on. In some places these gaps are slightly intimidating, but here’s it just looks like a party waiting to happen ( Note to band, crew and self : Do not disappoint ! ). The moment the lads have got their collective mojos doing whatever mojos do when they get together, we know that this one is going to be a corker. It’s the noise that I notice first; even this far from the centre of the stage and the crowd, it’s a deep, full-throated response to each song that literally sends a shiver down my spine. There’s no substitute for sheer numbers when you’re looking for a bit of crowd reaction, let me tell you. I’ve also decided that as the stage is the size of, say, Wiltshire, tonight’s the night when I do a wee bit of experimenting with the pyrotechnics. Now, those of you who have followed the show through all three tours will have witnessed the sparkly whoosh that accompanies the intro to Pinball Wizard, and may even remember the slightly erratic flame effects that used to be in Light My Fire ( see what we did there ?). The latter were gradually phased out after a series of misfires and failures, and though I briefly tried to resurrect them in Buxton on this tour with pathetic, sub-cigarette lighter intensity results, we’re really totally over them now. However, some time ago the nice lady from Le Maitre, the company which makes the whizzbombs, gave me a little box of sample pyros, and they’ve been sitting in my pyro box ever since, waiting for the opportune moment. Well, this is that moment. Some of these things are, quite frankly, terrifying, and they’ll stay RIGHT where they are, thank you. However, I’ve had two of these little fellows, called Mini Gerbs, nudging my brain all day, so tonight I decide I’m going to give them a go. I know what a Gerb does ( roughly ) and I know that this one has a 10’ wide fallout area and a 10’ height. What I DON’T know is how long the burn time is….Gerbs are a little longer-lasting than the instantaneous ignition of my usual Silver Jets…and I make an educated guess, but it IS still a guess. At the appointed time, just as the solos finish in Light My Fire, I hit the red button, and a pleasingly high jet of sparks fills the stage on either side of Steve’s drumkit. The song moves towards it’s conclusion, and still the jets of sparks fountain up. Now they’re coming to the “ big ending” but that’s one thing the Gerbs are showing no sign of doing. Despite the fact that they’re only about four inches long, they pack a bloody wallop alright, and they’re STILL in full effect as the band gather for the big crash ending of the song. For a horrible moment I’ve got visions of Jamie having to go onstage for the acoustic intimacy of Handbags And Gladrags with Mount Etna and Mount Vesuvius here still spitting out sparkly mayhem behind him, but with virtually no warning they fizzle out. JUST in time. Only one conclusion to make, of course. These are AWESOME….I need several boxes of them RIGHT NOW. The extra little bit of wow factor that we managed to get from the additional pyros stands us in good stead, and in the final run for home of the second set the house is, as someone once said, a-rockin’. So a-rockin’ is it, in fact, that it’s with something approaching disbelief that we hear Den call for Walk Alone as the encore, but then he’s made a big thing tonight about the Welsh being great singers, so probably it IS the right call. As soon as the beep on the last VT insert has gone, we’re straight on the stage. Reputations are at stake here !! Like a little army of dervishes we rapidly strip the stage and lob the gear into the two vans. We’ve given the house crew a five- minute handicap margin as last time we had a single 7.5 tonner and it was a lot less fiddly,, but they don’t need it….and it’s EXACTLY the same time as last year, one hours and four minutes. Phenomenal…..and just as well, because there’s a lot of piddling about going on tonight ! Nick and one of the other crew are driving after the show to a halfway house and will then carry on the next morning to Wembley, where they’ll pick up a “splitter” minibus from Tiger Tours. This is because the band is going straight to Holland after tomorrow night’s show, so we’ll need to sort out who’s taking what gear as it comes off the stage at Worthing.. At the same time, Rodders and I drive the rented van , staying just ahead of John and the Bogey, and we do the run from Newport all the way down to Worthing.. Very mixed feelings on the drive down….part of me just wants to get back home to start sorting my life out, part of me wants this to carry on forever, and part of me wonders how many sticks of seaside rock it’d take to equal my body weight.….We break the journey at Chieveley services and share a coffee and a stream of inappropriate jokes with John and Pug before heading off on the last stretch. The weather’s not great, which doesn’t augur well for tomorrow, and we know that we can’t get right into the gig and powered up until 7.00am, so we pull up outside the venerable old Assembly Hall at just before 5.30am. Rodders and I get aboard the bus and I work out how much sleep I’m going to get before John or I have to go out and meet the dude with the barrier key. I’m still in the middle of this process ( or so I thought ) when I suddenly wake up with a stiff neck and a face covered by an interesting lattice pattern from the non-slip surface of the table I’ve been lying on. John’s just firing up the engine, which means it must be seven am and time to move. Outside it’s pissing down, freezing cold and blowing a gale. This’ll be Worthing, then. Last show………………..

Eastleigh Concorde Club Thursday April 26th

Well, we always knew today was going to be different….we just hadn’t realised quite how different ! We’ve been pretty lucky on this tour with things like breakdowns and issues with the gear, but today it all came home to roost. Two of our happy band set out early for Eastleigh in the vans to meet up with the local promoter and make a decision as to whether or not the screens could be used, or if we had to hire some in. Trouble is, only one of them makes it. The other van expires in a cloud of steam just north of the M4, necessitating the assistance of the good ole boys of the AA, and the word we get is that the van will be relayed to Eastleigh where they’ll try to find a garage to repair it there. So far so slightly calamitous, but things were about to get hairier. Rodders arrives at the venue to meet the local chappie, only to find that a) there was no sign of said chappie and b) there was a bloody wake going on in the room, meaning that we couldn’t get in until 4pm !! Not quite sure how the folks at The Concorde managed to withhold this piece of information from us, but withhold it they did. The other trouser-dampening moment was when we had to park the bus in the venue’s car park, as there was a fairly large, and certainly very woody tree branch stretching across the road at what looked like just about bus front window height. As it turns out, there was about six inches clearance, but for a moment we thought we were just going to have to park the Bogey on the main road outside the club. As it’s so small and inconspicuous, surely there would have been no way it would have attracted the attention of the local constabulary…..I’ve actually decided that if ever I’m in a potential survival situation, I want to have Big John with me. No sooner have I wiped the perspiration of relief from my brow that he’s got parked without damage or incident, than he’s all powered up and set for the day. This man could find electricity, wine and a cheese board in the middle of the Gobi desert. He’s not of this world…We get the word that the nice man, the very nice man, the very very nice man from the AA is going to drop the poorly van off at the gig to let us unload before he takes it to the garage, which is a right bonus as it saves us about an hour, but the joy of that is slightly offset by the “replacement rented van” incident. Once we realise we need another vehicle, I call the local branch of a well-known national car rental firm who shall remain nameless ( Enterprise )and explain our predicament. I tell them we need a long-wheelbase Sprinter or Transit and am told “ yes, we have one “, so they send a very nice young lady over to pick me up and go to their office. I go through the whole rigmarole…name, address, date of birth, place of birth, inside leg measurement, firstborn child, deeds to the house etc, then cough up an eye-watering amount of money. Finally they bring round the van…and initially I think it’s a Tonka version of a real Transit. One thing I DO know, long wheelbase it isn’t, and suddenly the very real prospect of half our gear being left on a Hampshire pavement rears it’s ugly head. I’m stuck now, though, so I head back to the Concorde Club, where I’m greeted by mayhem. Before I go any further, let me tell you about the Concorde. It’s a famous jazz club, and as such it has the low-ceilinged, split-level, plush-carpeted ambience associated with such venues. However, it’s fairly recently started hosting more mainstream shows such as ours, and they’d been very keen to have us, so our agent put in a date. The main problem we have is that we’re in the middle of a theatre tour, so we’ve got a theatre stage’s worth of gear. The entire square footage of the Concorde, however, would fit into the loading dock of somewhere like Stevenage Gordon Craig, so it’s a total flight-case fest as everyone scrambles for space. As the ceiling above the stage is really low, we can’t fly the projectors as we normally do. This means we have to put them low down to each side of the band, which in turn means that every time they move they become living projection screens, with a side order of blindness into the bargain. Still, in the immortal words of Professor Stephen Hawking, “ That’s the way the piss-pot cracks” so on we go with it. In all seriousness there’s really no way this size of show should be getting shoe-horned into a place like the Concorde Club, but they really wanted it, and we’re nothing if not versatile. We’ve already managed to work a kind of Tardis-like magic on the rental van….it’s got so much gear in it now that you’d swear it was bigger inside than out, and so getting a theatre’s worth of kit onto an 18’ x 12’ stage is a mere bagatelle for us ! The only other problem we face is that there’s a nucleus of regulars who come to have a meal and watch the jazz acts, and quite a few of them are here tonight as well, on an elevated section at the back of the room. Everyone else is at tables and chairs in a cabaret-style seating arrangement, and it’s decidedly odd. Marilyn arrives just as we’re about ready to start soundchecking, casts her eyes around the place and declares it “ intimate “. It certainly is….I’ve worn bigger boxer shorts. The other departure from the norm is that we’re not on at our usual 7.30 or 7.45pm…we’re on jazz hours here, so we don’t go on until NINE ! They do feed us a very, very pleasant dinner, but by 8.45pm everyone’s drooping, and before we go all you can hear in the room is the murmur of conversation and the clatter of cutlery. …not exactly conducive to atmosphere. As we haven’t been able to work out a way of getting the screens to run the full set of slides and animations, I find myself in the unusual and not totally pleasant situation of being redundant tonight….apart from not being able to do the full visuals, there are no comms either, nor can we use the pyro due to the low roof, so I’m sitting this one out. When the band first take the stage the response is a little muted, and the noise of the diners and hubbub of conversation are very off-putting, but as the set progresses there’s a definite shift in the audience attitude as they realise this isn’t just another band going through the motions but a full-bore, full-blown show. The band’s sheer excellence and the visual impact of the production we’ve managed to get in here start to make people turn towards the stage and not towards each other at a dining table, and eventually the first dancers get up and the cheers and applause get louder and longer. By the end of the second set we’ve wiped the floor with the audience, and we’re beset by people telling us it’s the best show they’ve seen in years or the best one they’ve seen in the club or whatever. I think even Marilyn was impressed; she’s seen the band themselves in smaller venues many, many times, but this is a different beast altogether. In the end all the broken-down vans, late load-ins, small stages, lack of space and audience ennui are forgotten, and this genteel corner of Hampshire becomes a heaving, sweaty rock club. At the end of the night there’s a BIT of a shock as suddenly we hear a shouty man with a distorted speaker exhorting the audience to cheer for yet more encores. …this is the evening DJ, and what he lacks in subtlety he fortunately make up for for in great tunes. Old classics like Stevie Wonder’s Higher Ground and George McCrae’s Rock Your Baby bring back happy memories of school discos, Top Of The Pops, teenage fumbling and the subsequent slapped faces. As the music’s so loud I can bellow along to these songs to my hearts content, and I must admit, Faithful Blogreader, that if there had been a rug onstage, I most certainly would have cut it. It really IS a lovely venue, just a bit of an odd fit for what WE’RE doing. Jamie and Danielle from the club are both smashing folks and very helpful, and so a day that started out as a nightmare turns out really very fine indeed. There are beers at the bar after, as we’re staying here tonight, with the promise of both a shower AND a full English in the morning before we leave for Welsh Wales. It is, in fact, very civilized, and Tomps and I both resolve to come back here for a jazz night and a meal and to stay at the hotel . Not like on a date, of course…that would be just too weird…so if anyone out there fancies some cool jazz and hot grub, applications on a postcard to the usual address, please !!

Tewkesbury The Roses Theatre Wednesday April 25th

We stay overnight at the Brewhouse, which gives us an extra opportunity to further scandalize the curtain-twitchers of the Grumpy Valley Residential Complex, before rolling out Tewkesbury – bound. When Big John stops for diesel this time I only whimper slightly when I go to pay for it…I must be getting stronger. For the first time on this tour I sit up front with John as we head up the M5, and am given a sobering lesson in how different it is driving a big old beast like the Bogey, and how good a driver John is. You have to look waaaaaaay further up the road than you do in a car to anticipate hazards, roadworks, and most specifically, the semi-insane antics of people who shouldn’t even have been given a cycling proficiency certificate, let alone a driving license. At road level you’re not as aware of this normally, but in the elevated cab of the bus you can see all the lane-switching, late-braking, mobile phone-using, makeup-applying madness first hand. John DOES throw the odd corrosive epithet at a particularly mental driver from time to time, but by and large he’s a picture of cool professionalism…and when the bus is sideswiped by a mighty wind, he gently lets her drift with the gust then smoothly corrects her line. On the rare occasions I’ve been driving a 7.5 tonner in high winds, I tend to react to these gusts by wrenching the wheel in the opposite direction, sending the truck careering across several carriageways and large parts of the surrounding countryside, but John is all Zen-like calm, and a pretty fascinating chap to sit and talk to as well. Did you know the first number one in the official Top Forty was sung by Al Martino ? Or that The Joker in the early Batman series was played by Caesar Romero ? Or that the Siberian Ice Squirrel only attacks when someone gets hold of it’s nuts ? Me neither, but my life is richer for the knowledge. As we pull up at The Roses Theatre, I see a large, white-hair-and- bearded chap outside talking to Nick, and he looks vaguely familiar. It’s only when we go inside and I hear someone refer to him as “ Smiffy” that the penny drops. Back in 1988, when the white hair and beard were jet black, Smiffy and I worked together with American cartoon-rockers W.A.S.P at the Castle Donington Monsters Of Rock festival. To go through all the shenanigans of that particular event would involve a blog all of it’s own, so let’s just say it involved flare pistols, sacked drummers, and a topless Page Three girl. Also at the theatre is local resident and fellow traveller in those more hedonistic times, “Krusher” Joule, former music journalist and the man responsible for the sleeve art of records by such rock gods as Ozzy Osbourne. Krusher tells me he’s currently working on a book about those ever so slightly mental days with the Oz, which, if it ever makes it past the Rottweiler vigilance of Sharon Osbourne, will be a hair-curling read. It’s good to see the old chap again after all these years, and Smiffy, who was once a slightly terrifying ex-Marine, has mellowed into a more genial giant. It’s a bit disconcerting to see how the ravages of time have left their mark on these two fine follows, and I wonder if they think the same about me. In fact they’d be blind if they don’t…back in ’88 I had a full head of hair and weighed about half of my current ballast…but I like to think Old Father Time has been kinder to me.However, I’d also like to think that I have Rupert Murdoch’s bank balance and Johnny Depp’s mysterious allure, so perhaps I should just take a BIG bite of a reality sandwich…..The Roses is a splendid little theatre which carries the stigma of being the place where comic legend Eric Morecambe performed his last one-man show before expiring of a heart attack in one of the dressing rooms, but there’s no hint of sombreness today. We’ve got the bus parked up, the shower is good, the facilities are great…now all we need is an audience. Ah. This is another one of those “ I’m sorry Tony, business here has been really bad “ theatres, so we’re looking at fairly meagre numbers again. Still, there’s nothing to be done about it…we just have to bite the bullet. The folks who HAVE turned up tonight have shelled out good money to be here, so we owe them the courtesy of giving them value for money. One thing I will say about this show is that we’re totally committed to doing just that…everyone gets the full production at all times, and it’s one of the things that will stand us in good stead for the future. Even Smiffy, gnarled old veteran that he is, is suitably impressed by the slickness and quality of tonight’s show, but admits that his favourite bit was where the band were blasting through a rock groove jam at the soundcheck !!! Old rockers never die, they just end up as Chief Tech at theatres in Tewkesbury….He also ventures the opinion that this show knocks That’ll Be The Day into a cocked hat. This is both encouraging and frustrating; we KNOW this is a better show, it’s just a case of working out how we can convince everyone else of the fact. We certainly convert a good few people to the cause tonight, especially the group of ladies right at the front who are having an absolute ball. They sing and clap along throughout, and when it’s time to get up and boogie they do so with vigour although, it must also be said, with a curious lack of anything approaching a sense of rhythm. Tonight’s crowd is another “ little and loud “ one, and they really seem to get what we’re trying to do here. They love the acoustic stuff as much as the poppier songs and the full-bore rampages, and I notice at least one couple whose attention is very firmly fixed on the images we’re firing up onto the screens. The show really does have something for everyone…now all we need is for everyone to come and see it ! Despite the fact that we’re staying here tonight and have several decent pubs within striking distance, everyone stays on the bus where a lively, and occasionally heated, discussion about the merits of such media as Facebook and it’s impact on individual privacy takes place. It’s all interesting stuff, and only very mild violence is involved. Surprisingly, pretty much everyone drifts off to bed quite early, which is maybe just as well. Tomorrow is the weirdest show on the tour, The Concorde at Eastleigh, where we can’t actually put the normal production in. Much fannying about will ensue.. Still, what could possibly go wrong….?!

Taunton Brewhouse Theatre Tuesday April 24th

We’ve only got five shows to go now, and I’m already starting to feel the slight panic I get when a tour comes to an end. Partly it’s the prospect of having to sort out all the finances ( and I’d rather stick needles in my eyes, if I’m honest ) and part of it is having to return to “ normal “ life, without the support and friendship of these brilliant guys. It’s not like we don’t speak between tours, of course…Rodders and Tomps in particular are always just a phone call away when things get a little fraught and I need a dose of sanity…but here on the bus and in the theatres we’re a little army, and I can put all the other poo out of my mind for a while. It’s been a bit of an “ annus horribilis” for me in many ways, and there’s a lot to be afraid of when I get back, but there’s also one very good thing to look forward to, so hopefully I’m not going to feel quite so cut adrift when I’m home. I’m moving back from Norfolk to Northamptonshire, and will be sharing a house with me ol’ Mum ( gawd bless ‘er ! ) so I need to look at all of this as a new start. Today’s a new start for the show as well…we’re in virgin territory here in Taunton, and although we’ve heard very good reports about the Brewhouse Theatre we don’t really know what to expect. The early signs are all good…it’s got a very pretty riverside location, and there’s a Morrison’s just over the footbridge, so we’re sorted for cakes and ale. Inside, it just gets better…a new building with a big stage and loads of wing space, plus the seats are raked very steeply, so it’s as though the audience is right on top of the band. We also know we’ve done a good advance sale here, so we’re in decent shape as we head into soundcheck. The theatre staff have also arranged for us to leave the bus and vans here tonight, which means we get the chance of showers and breakfast, and this also gives me the chance to launch a mini-tirade against the bunch of superannuated NIMBYs who live in the swanky new “ retirement complex” opposite the theatre. Basically, the Brewhouse was here first, but then these high-end condos got built opposite it along the edge of the cricket ground. They’re specifically for well-heeled and well-connected crumblies, and no sooner had Colonel and Mrs Bletherington-Ffarnes-Barnes moved in than they started to make waves about the noisy theatrical types from across the way, especially the vehicles that come in and out of The Brewhouse’s loading bay. The access road is, of course, a right of way belonging to both the theatre AND the complex, but this bristle-‘tached old buffoon and his coven of cackling geriatric witches have been trying to ban anything bigger than a tricycle from coming in to the area where the theatre load dock doors are. You know the score….”too much noise, ruining our view with their nasty tour buses, common long-haired men standing around wearing t-shirts and smoking cigarettes”….and what’s REALLY annoying is that generally, these kind of people manage to wear councils down with their incessant bleating , unless timely death intervenes first. Now, I’d be the first to jump on the NIMBY bandwagon if someone suddenly put an airport on top of my potting shed or something similar. I also believe an Englishman’s home is his castle, and I have my generation’s innate respect for the elderly ( I mean, I nearly AM one…). What I DON’T agree with is a situation like this, where a new development has come in and the residents are trying to bend the existing community and facilities to their will by playing on their status as senior, or privileged citizens. The theatre is gamely resisting this tide of Saga-sustained pressure, and that’s one of the main reasons we don’t pick up the interfering old git who ostentatiously walks around noting down the registration and operator’s licences of the vans and bus and throw him in the river…the Brewhouse have got to use firmness and courtesy in their struggle, so the “accidental” drowning of one of their opponents probably wouldn’t help their cause much. Shame. I’m also aware that many of these old boys would have fought in previous wars just to allow young whipper-snappers like me the freedom to drivel on in forums like this, and for that they’ll have my eternal respect…as I was saying to my friend Sue just the other day, I’m fiercely patriotic and anyone who fights for this country IS a hero in my eyes…but that doesn’t give them the right to then start to start displaying the fascist tendencies that they fought against in the first place. If, say, Admiral Nelson moved in to the road where I’d been happily living for the past ten years and started campaigning to have my conservatory demolished as it was lowering the tone of the neighbourhood, I’d probably put his other eye out, Trafalgar and The Battle Of The Nile notwithstanding. The Brewhouse is a great little theatre doing a fantastic job, with minimal impact on the surrounding area, and no wrinkly-come-lately should be allowed to stop that. Blimey….I AM ranting lately, aren’t I ?? Sorry folks…end-of-tour psychosis must be setting in. So…back to the gig ! Tonight is one of those slightly odd shows that has what we call an “ applause “ audience. They’re very appreciative, and their applause is genuine and fulsome, but there’s not much a-hootin’ and a-hollerin’. Doesn’t mean the boys aren’t going down well, it’s just that there isn’t the mayhem that often characterises the shows. With audiences like this here’s always a slight worry that when the band exhort them to get to their feet, they simply won’t, and that would be a tad embarrassing. I’d say it takes them almost right up until the end of the first half and the “sturm und drang” of You Really Got Me before the noise level ratchets up, but after that things improve significantly. I definitely get the impression tonight that people are actually watching the show, and I have to keep reminding myself that they’ve never seen it before. We tend to forget that it IS a bit of an assault on the senses, and sometimes you just want to sit and take it all in. Jamie’s turn on Handbags And Gladrags is especially well-received tonight, and partly that’s because he’s so close to the audience. It’s always been a bit of a tour de force but tonight he really wows them, thrashing his guitar and stamping the stage as though he were trying to eliminate an armour-plated rodent…and when you’re sitting just a few feet away from that voice, you’re not going to forget the experience quickly. The pyros in Pinball Wizard actually get a cheer of their own ( in fact I’m thinking of setting up a Facebook page for them ) then Blackberry Way seals the deal. This song really has been one of the musical highlights of the tour for us…just brilliant. The closing medley with it’s new drum intro sees everyone on their feet, and by the time the house lights come up we’re already getting fantastic feedback from both the venue and the audience. To paraphrase the immortal words of Arnie, “We’ll be back !”.

Christchurch Regent Centre Sunday April 22nd

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

Burgess Hill Martlet Hall Saturday April 21st

When you’ve done a belter like Aldershot, there’s always the danger of it being a case of “ after the Lord Mayor’s show” for the next gig. To be honest, the signs for Burgess Hill aren’t great….in fact quite literally, as we can’t even find the bloody place at first despite the best intentions of our two Dorises and Big John’s Why Aye-pad. We finally rock up just a few minutes late, and it’s a nice surprise. Although there are no moving bars for the moving lights and projectors, which means Rodders will again have to do his Amazing Spiderman act up a ladder, it’s a lovely little theatre. Advance sales had been pretty dire, but the way the seats are set out means even a half-decent crowd will look good in here. As it turns out, when I check with the box office, sales have almost doubled from what they were when we last asked, so that’s a bonus for starters. The build takes longer than usual as we have to mount two of the projectors on stands rather than fly them on a bar, and that always has a high fannying-about quotient. The stage is also a little cosy, but we’ve played smaller without any problems. In short, it’s all good. It even has the benefit of a Waitrose almost next door, and, feeling the need for some healthy nosh, I go in and stock up on mung bean and badger bile extract curd. Yum. (Note…this may be slightly inaccurate. But I DID get a Snickers bar, and that’s got nuts in it, which are healthy,
right ? OK, I know, I know…so has squirrel shit, and that’s not good for you either…). Despite the pernickitiness of the build, we’re only about twenty minutes later than normal getting set up, which is another testament to the teamwork we’ve got on this crew. The band do their bit, too, cracking on through the soundcheck at a speed which enables Nick to do a fish and chips run, and allows us to eat it without risking chronic indigestion. Normally when we’re ahead of schedule we chill out on the bus for a bit, but the venue haven’t been able to give us power for it for some reason, so the Bogey is dark and chilly. It’d also a late show tonight, so this DOES create a bit of a lull in the proceedings, which Den and I try to fill by changing some of the slides around for the projections. There was a time, Faithful Blogreader, when any computer that came within several yards of me would inexplicably stop working, or lose it’s memory, or melt, and I began to wonder if I was like Magneto from X Men, with an invisible forcefield that threw machinery into disarray. Turns out I’m just crap with computers, but thanks to the wise tuition of Professor Tompkins, I’m now a bit of a whiz.. Apart from being able to handle Powerpoint as well as any normal seven year old, I’m fully computer literate, and my skill set is vast…sending e-mails, reading e-mails, deleting e-mails…I could go on. It’s also a big football day today….the Mighty Magpies of Newcastle United spank Stoke City 3-0 and move up to the nosebleed-inducing heights of fourth in the Premiership, at least until Spurs play their game later today. When the news filters through that Spurs have lost one nil, Big John and I offer profound thanks to Spurs for rolling over today against the ten men of lowly QPR ( sorry, Sue ! ), as well as pinching ourselves to make sure we’re not dreaming. Arthur, being a Spurs fan, is fairly disgruntled, but then I’ve never seen him actually gruntled, so I can’t really tell the difference. Showtime comes around, and we’re not really sure what to expect from this crowd. Den’s got a couple of friends in and Jamie’s wife, the lovely Michelle, is here too, bringing one of their daughters to see Daddy in action onstage for the first time, but otherwise we think this is pretty much virgin territory, so there’s a smidgeon of trepidation, but as ever, we needn’t have worried. They’re a noisy and enthusiastic bunch tonight, and right in the front row at stage left in front of Jamie is a row of people who, we later discover, are fans from Worthing, and apart from the usual applause and whistling, they display a fantastic routine of formation dancing…whilst still in their seats. I wonder for a moment how they rehearsed it….” Yeah, come over to mine about eight….bring a bottle and I’ll get a pizza in. And don‘t forget to bring all your chairs….” but they’re clearly having a ball, and it doesn’t take long before they’re on their feet and bopping around. The band aren’t quite at full throttle in the first half, but they’ve got this show totally nailed, and what we sometimes have to remind ourselves is that even if we don’t think a show has been especially good by our own high standards, to people seeing it for the first time it’s fantastic, and what’s especially pleasing on this tour is the amount of people who HAVE seen it before telling us that they think this is the best we’ve done yet. It’s harder for us to be objective as we see it every night, but it’s been such a constant comment that we must be doing SOMETHING right. The rockier songs seem to be the winners tonight, but Jamie’s Handbags And Gladrags gets a special cheer ( and it wasn’t just Michelle ! ). The triple whammy of Pinball Wizard ( with fully operating pyros ! ), Blackberry Way and Green Onions has already got most of the house on their feet even before the final medley, and by the end of THAT, this gig has changed from a “ singlaong encore “ to a
“ rocking out encore” , and Spirit makes it’s second appearance in two days. If anything this one’s even meatier, and the place is heaving at the end. Job done !! There’s a moment of farce as we prepare to leave; the massive steel automatic barrier opens to let Arthur out…then closes again and steadfastly refuses to have anything to do with either the bus or Nick’s van. As we know the whole place is shut tomorrow, being a Sunday, we have visions of having to take an oxy-acetylene torch to the damn thing so we can get out and get to Christchurch, but luckily the obligatory “ little man” who works these kind of things turns up with some kind of key fob malarkey, and we are released. Arthur’s feeling rough so our little convoy hits the first services and he stocks up on jollop and pills, then he swaps with me and I “race” Nick to Christchurch. I say “ race” but it’s more a case of me tearing past him when I’m going downhill, and him laughingly passing me as I wheeze up the hills, but it helps to pass the journey. We roll into the car park at The Regent Centre at a respectable 3.15am, and as we’ve escorted John here through the labyrinthine back streets of the town, we can jump straight aboard. The only downer is that the bus has to be parked sideways on a hill, so she’s far from level. This seems OK until I actually get into my bunk and start rolling downhill due to the camber. I manage to rig up a protective wall of pillows and clothes, but when I wake up at five to have the first of my “ old man’s bladder” trips to the loo, I find my face is mashed against the side of the bus again, and that’s SO not a good look. In fact, when I get up, the camber seems much steeper, somehow, and I make it to the loo only by bouncing off various bunks, musicians and assorted hard or pointy surfaces on the way. For a minute I toy with the idea of totally bottling out of the return journey, but the old lids are drooping again, and I can hear the siren call of my bunk. I’ll be fine. I can DO this. Taking a deep breath, I release my hold on the galley door to stagger bed-wards…..and promptly plant an elbow right in Phil’s head..Oops….!