It was a fairly big gig and I was band leader so I took it even more seriously than the rest. It was a 3 month thing during the summer and mostly quite a good laugh. The other guys and girl in the band were a good laugh and we had fun and they were all decent musicians and singers too. That is apart from Figgs, the god-awful drummer they’d sent us. You know the type: slows down all the time, irrelevant what the count-in is;
“Okay Brown Eyed Girl, everybody: 1 2 3 4!” and then that riff: “Bah baah baaaaah baaaaah baaaaaah baaaaaaaah...”
Dragging like the clappers! So frustrating. And he’s one of those people who doesn’t seem to understand that it’s dragging or that it sounds like shit at that speed or that we’re all mad at him. He’s so unaware of the world around him, and infuriatingly he’s like, the nicest guy ever.
So it gets to the last gig of this season and this tension’s been building in me for three whole months and we’re playing Keep On Running by the Spencer Davis Group and it pretty much rides on it being that on-the-beat very ‘up’ tempo and if it drags it just sounds so crap and sure enough he starts to drag it. So I’m there at my keyboards trying to play with my right hand, keep the chords pumping while with my other hand I’m gesturing to him to speed up. Making circles with my hand, then with my fist and he’s not seeing at all and I turn round and start making faces at him, faces that say SPEED THE HELL UP, FIGGS! IT’S DRAGGING!! PICK IT UP but I can see that he’s doing that thing of blinking stupidly every time he hits the snare, and in this song the snare’s on every sodding beat so he’s just blinking away as if he’s shocked by his own playing the stupid bastard. So I’m getting madder and my gesticulations start to get bigger and wilder, and my face, and the words I’m mouthing are becoming more heated and severe. I’m making wanking signs at him with my fist, I’m waving two fingers in the thick sod’s direction, I’m shouting
“YOU STUPID FUCKING BASTARD, YOU SILLY NOBBING TWAT-HEAD DICK-BAG FREAK FACE DRAGGING PILE OF DOG SHITE!!! SPEED UP YOU WANKER-CRETIN! YOU FRIG BRAIN! YOU! THICK! C**T!!” All the while I’m doing the gestures that fit it all and all the while he’s blinking like a nobhead, smiling through it all, completely oblivious to everything.
We finish the gig and my blood’s boiling - you know how these things get out of proportion when you’ve built them up for so long, and THEN he goes to me
“Oh hey, Mark. Great gig!”
and I’m going
“Oh YEAH? GREAT GIG!??” and I’m about to lunge in at him when Rich puts a hand on my shoulder and pulls me away before the silly sod notices I was about to lamp him.
He’s looking at me, smiling; so fucking naive, waiting for me to finish my sentence about how great the fucking gig was. I catch myself and my temper and I look at his soppy face and my heart melts a bit and suddenly I’m glad I didn’t hit him and I’m glad we never had a big fight. This was the last gig and I don’t need to work with him again and he’s such a nice guy and means so well and I couldn’t bear to burst his little bubble of non-reality. So I relax a bit and smile and say
“Yeah, Figgs. Yeah. Great one to finish on. You’re right, it was a great gig.” and he goes
“Yeah! And my girlfriend filmed it all!”
Wednesday, 8 September 2010
EIGHT
The Lonely Hearts were a heavy rock band and when the singer left, he formed his own band. The rest of The Lonely Hearts kept their name and he called his new band A Lonely Heart. The lead guitarist in the Lonely Hearts was at a house he was doing some electrician work in and he got talking to the tenant there and it turns out he was the lead guitarist in A Lonely Heart. They laughed at the coincidence and then, as it was a sunny day, they sat in the yard on some deck chairs and drank tea and slagged off the singer they both had worked and were working with.
“Does he always face the mirror in rehearsal?”
“Fuck yes! It’s laughable!”
“Does his girlfriend still come to gigs and....”
“...dance like a maniac by herself at the front whilst staring at him? YES! Hey. with your band would he do a mantra backstage before a gig under his breath?”
“Are you kidding? ‘Energy, truth, momentum, success’ is the punchline to so many of our jokes!”
“He says it’s his *code*. Who the fuck has a code who isn’t in like, the marines?!”
“I know! Oh god, does he still do that thing of counting in the songs himself? Our drummer used to get so pissed off with that.”
“Haha... but no. Actually he doesn’t I don’t think. Our drummer though, he’s sick, I don’t think even Ray would have the arrogance to step on our Liam’s toes.”
The guitarist from the Lonely Hearts sat and thought,
“The truth is, I suppose, that our drummer’s just not very good.” he said. And then the other said
“Ah mate, I’ve got a great idea!”
A week later, the drummer from The Lonely Hearts was reading the local newspaper which the guitarist had given him earlier that day in rehearsal and noticed a red pen ring around one of the adverts in the Lonely Hearts classifieds. His eyes widened as the words sunk in:
Another Lonely Heart looking for a band to beat his out of time heart with. (we love you Smithy but we didn’t know to tell you to your face. Sorry, man, your drums are at your dad’s.)
“Does he always face the mirror in rehearsal?”
“Fuck yes! It’s laughable!”
“Does his girlfriend still come to gigs and....”
“...dance like a maniac by herself at the front whilst staring at him? YES! Hey. with your band would he do a mantra backstage before a gig under his breath?”
“Are you kidding? ‘Energy, truth, momentum, success’ is the punchline to so many of our jokes!”
“He says it’s his *code*. Who the fuck has a code who isn’t in like, the marines?!”
“I know! Oh god, does he still do that thing of counting in the songs himself? Our drummer used to get so pissed off with that.”
“Haha... but no. Actually he doesn’t I don’t think. Our drummer though, he’s sick, I don’t think even Ray would have the arrogance to step on our Liam’s toes.”
The guitarist from the Lonely Hearts sat and thought,
“The truth is, I suppose, that our drummer’s just not very good.” he said. And then the other said
“Ah mate, I’ve got a great idea!”
A week later, the drummer from The Lonely Hearts was reading the local newspaper which the guitarist had given him earlier that day in rehearsal and noticed a red pen ring around one of the adverts in the Lonely Hearts classifieds. His eyes widened as the words sunk in:
Another Lonely Heart looking for a band to beat his out of time heart with. (we love you Smithy but we didn’t know to tell you to your face. Sorry, man, your drums are at your dad’s.)
SEVEN
It wasn’t as though we’d never been in a studio before, but it’s fair to say we’d never been in a studio like Townhouse before. I signed in at the security desk at the same time Dave Gilmore was also signing in! He was in the mixing suite in studio 2 and we were in studio 1 to record our debut single. We had a six album, worldwide record deal and it felt absolutely amazing!
“Getting signed is just 1% of your career” our A&R guy kept telling us but what did he know?
I'd arrived before Stevie and Nath and I was sat on one of the big leather sofas in front of the huge flatscreen showing MTV2 and I was trying to act cool and read my book (The Wasteland) but I was actually just too in awe of everything. It had taken all my energy not to play on the PS3 that was next to the sofa too because I wanted to keep it all cool. Stevie and Nath were buzzing and doing little to conceal it
“ANNA!!!!!!!!” they ran at me and lifted me over their shoulders like some sort of football goal celebration but I didn’t even try and resist. Now that I was with my band I didn’t care about trying to look cool to the reception guy anymore.
“ARRRRRRGGGGHHHHH!” I yelped at them and we all made some excitable animal noises: monkey, wolf, donkey, cockerel, and then we did our own high five thing where we do it as a three and spin round and then spank the person to your right’s arse after spitting on your hand.
“OK kids, when you’re ready...” our manager, Martin had come in but he didn’t seem embarrassed by us or anything, in fact he looked a bit preoccupied and it was annoying because he was inadvertently raining on our little parade with his worried face.
He led us round the corner down the corridor a little way and into Studio 1; it looked like the Starship Enterprise! I walked into that room with my guitar on my back and I just felt like at that moment in time there couldn’t be a happier 22 year old girl on the planet. Stevie and Nath were probably feeling quite similar but Nath didn’t have anything to carry as he walked in though because they’d hired in like, the most amazing DW kit London town owned. We could see it sparkling in the live room through the window! I’d never seen such shiny floor.
Martin introduced us to the assistant and to the engineer and we said hello to Wayne, the producer who we’d met at dinner the previous week. There was another guy standing there who nobody had introduced. He was a little bit older than us, skinny jeans, short sleaved shirt, stubbly beard, muscular, quite fit actually. I was too shy to say anything but Nath went straight in there;
“Hey man, obviously Martin’s forgotten his manners eh? I’m Nath.” and he stuck out his hand and Martin said
“Right. OK. Erm. This is a bit awkward. I’m afraid there’s something we all need to talk about.”
“Getting signed is just 1% of your career” our A&R guy kept telling us but what did he know?
I'd arrived before Stevie and Nath and I was sat on one of the big leather sofas in front of the huge flatscreen showing MTV2 and I was trying to act cool and read my book (The Wasteland) but I was actually just too in awe of everything. It had taken all my energy not to play on the PS3 that was next to the sofa too because I wanted to keep it all cool. Stevie and Nath were buzzing and doing little to conceal it
“ANNA!!!!!!!!” they ran at me and lifted me over their shoulders like some sort of football goal celebration but I didn’t even try and resist. Now that I was with my band I didn’t care about trying to look cool to the reception guy anymore.
“ARRRRRRGGGGHHHHH!” I yelped at them and we all made some excitable animal noises: monkey, wolf, donkey, cockerel, and then we did our own high five thing where we do it as a three and spin round and then spank the person to your right’s arse after spitting on your hand.
“OK kids, when you’re ready...” our manager, Martin had come in but he didn’t seem embarrassed by us or anything, in fact he looked a bit preoccupied and it was annoying because he was inadvertently raining on our little parade with his worried face.
He led us round the corner down the corridor a little way and into Studio 1; it looked like the Starship Enterprise! I walked into that room with my guitar on my back and I just felt like at that moment in time there couldn’t be a happier 22 year old girl on the planet. Stevie and Nath were probably feeling quite similar but Nath didn’t have anything to carry as he walked in though because they’d hired in like, the most amazing DW kit London town owned. We could see it sparkling in the live room through the window! I’d never seen such shiny floor.
Martin introduced us to the assistant and to the engineer and we said hello to Wayne, the producer who we’d met at dinner the previous week. There was another guy standing there who nobody had introduced. He was a little bit older than us, skinny jeans, short sleaved shirt, stubbly beard, muscular, quite fit actually. I was too shy to say anything but Nath went straight in there;
“Hey man, obviously Martin’s forgotten his manners eh? I’m Nath.” and he stuck out his hand and Martin said
“Right. OK. Erm. This is a bit awkward. I’m afraid there’s something we all need to talk about.”
SIX
One evening Rich brought a hacky sack into practice. None of us had ever seen one before or even knew what it was, but his brother had just gotten back from a year at university in the states and apparently he’d gotten dead into it there so he’d brought one back for Rich.
“There’s like, five rules I think: 1) Don’t let it hit the ground 2) Don’t use your hands 3) errrrr Oh yeah! Don’t say sorry! I think that’s it actually, so maybe it’s three rules.”
I said “Huh? Don’t say sorry?” and he smiled and said “you’ll see!”
So we pushed the amps to the sides of the room and we shuffled the kit back a bit and moved the mic stands and kicked away the empty beer cans and Howard kicked one that had been serving as an ashtray for the past six months and the ash went everywhere and the carpet was damp from the beer that Rich had accidentally kicked over and there were bits of broken Pringles trodden into the carpet too but we managed to clear enough of a space. We stood in a circle and started to play hacky sack. Rich was right; it was incredibly hard not to apologise when you did a shit pass or dropped it or elbowed someone accidentally. We were pretty rubbish, but there was something compelling in it.
Tom arrived when we were a good twenty minutes into it.“What the fuck is this?” he said and he looked pissed off.
“Hacky sack!” I said, inviting him to play but he was storming over to his kit.
“Who the fuck moved my kit? Didn’t you even notice that the key to the hi-hat clutch was loose? Now it’s on the fucking floor somewhere in this shit hole!”
“Alright, alright, MATE” Howard said, “you’re the one who was fucking late anyway!”
The rest of the practice was a bit tense but we took a break in the middle where we played some more hacky sack though it was more difficult in amongst all the gear. Tom didn’t join in but sat smoking at his kit, staring at the wall.
At the end of practice I said “Hey Rich, are you bringing your guitar to hacky sack practice on Thursday!” and we all laughed apart from Tom who said “If you guys are gonna fuck around with a beanbag then I think I’ll stay at home” and Howard said
“Well I think we know who doesn’t need to bring their sticks to hacky sack practice then.”
and Rich was smirking but I felt a bit bad so I said tried to speak softly and seriously,
“Look Tom, I guess we meant to talk to you a while ago, we’re sorry it’s just...”
and Rich said “YOU SAID SORRY!! LOSE A POINT!!” and I went
“AHHHHHHH NOOOO!!!” and we all started laughing apart from Tom.
“There’s like, five rules I think: 1) Don’t let it hit the ground 2) Don’t use your hands 3) errrrr Oh yeah! Don’t say sorry! I think that’s it actually, so maybe it’s three rules.”
I said “Huh? Don’t say sorry?” and he smiled and said “you’ll see!”
So we pushed the amps to the sides of the room and we shuffled the kit back a bit and moved the mic stands and kicked away the empty beer cans and Howard kicked one that had been serving as an ashtray for the past six months and the ash went everywhere and the carpet was damp from the beer that Rich had accidentally kicked over and there were bits of broken Pringles trodden into the carpet too but we managed to clear enough of a space. We stood in a circle and started to play hacky sack. Rich was right; it was incredibly hard not to apologise when you did a shit pass or dropped it or elbowed someone accidentally. We were pretty rubbish, but there was something compelling in it.
Tom arrived when we were a good twenty minutes into it.“What the fuck is this?” he said and he looked pissed off.
“Hacky sack!” I said, inviting him to play but he was storming over to his kit.
“Who the fuck moved my kit? Didn’t you even notice that the key to the hi-hat clutch was loose? Now it’s on the fucking floor somewhere in this shit hole!”
“Alright, alright, MATE” Howard said, “you’re the one who was fucking late anyway!”
The rest of the practice was a bit tense but we took a break in the middle where we played some more hacky sack though it was more difficult in amongst all the gear. Tom didn’t join in but sat smoking at his kit, staring at the wall.
At the end of practice I said “Hey Rich, are you bringing your guitar to hacky sack practice on Thursday!” and we all laughed apart from Tom who said “If you guys are gonna fuck around with a beanbag then I think I’ll stay at home” and Howard said
“Well I think we know who doesn’t need to bring their sticks to hacky sack practice then.”
and Rich was smirking but I felt a bit bad so I said tried to speak softly and seriously,
“Look Tom, I guess we meant to talk to you a while ago, we’re sorry it’s just...”
and Rich said “YOU SAID SORRY!! LOSE A POINT!!” and I went
“AHHHHHHH NOOOO!!!” and we all started laughing apart from Tom.
FIVE
The venue was smaller than Chris had expected and the sound guy looked pissed off.
“You’re late” he said.
“Sorry man, traffic was bad and how often do sound-checks actually run on time, eh?! One of those sod’s law things isn’t it...” Matt was trying to lighten the mood but the sound guy wasn’t having any of it.
“Well you’re here now, just set up yeah?”
“Sure man, I’m Matt by the way” and he extended his hand. “Sonny” said the sound guy giving a dry and quick handshake and the others tried hard not to snigger. It was just like, you know when someone well doesn’t suit their name?
Sonny brought out the DI boxes in a huff and Matt and Tim plugged their guitars in.
“Why are you playing your acoustic?” asked Chris from the wings, he was looking for the house kit.
“I mean, where’s your bass, Tim?” and Tim looked at Matt and Matt looked down at his pedal as though something were terribly wrong with it.
Chris couldn’t find any kind of house kit and began to worry.
“Sonny?” he called out into the black, stale room. Someone was behind the bar putting bottles on the shelves and Sonny was nowhere to be seen. He walked over to the bar and asked the guy if he knew where Sonny was.
“I think he’s out front” he said gesturing toward the double doors with a bottle of Sol.
Chris left Tim and Matt with their tuning-up and went through the doors and up the stairs to the front of the venue. It was so bright outside compared to the black walls of that small room and it took his eyes a little while to adjust before he could see the unfamiliar poster on the door:
THE MYRE - ACOUSTIC DUO £5 DOORS 8pm
“You’re late” he said.
“Sorry man, traffic was bad and how often do sound-checks actually run on time, eh?! One of those sod’s law things isn’t it...” Matt was trying to lighten the mood but the sound guy wasn’t having any of it.
“Well you’re here now, just set up yeah?”
“Sure man, I’m Matt by the way” and he extended his hand. “Sonny” said the sound guy giving a dry and quick handshake and the others tried hard not to snigger. It was just like, you know when someone well doesn’t suit their name?
Sonny brought out the DI boxes in a huff and Matt and Tim plugged their guitars in.
“Why are you playing your acoustic?” asked Chris from the wings, he was looking for the house kit.
“I mean, where’s your bass, Tim?” and Tim looked at Matt and Matt looked down at his pedal as though something were terribly wrong with it.
Chris couldn’t find any kind of house kit and began to worry.
“Sonny?” he called out into the black, stale room. Someone was behind the bar putting bottles on the shelves and Sonny was nowhere to be seen. He walked over to the bar and asked the guy if he knew where Sonny was.
“I think he’s out front” he said gesturing toward the double doors with a bottle of Sol.
Chris left Tim and Matt with their tuning-up and went through the doors and up the stairs to the front of the venue. It was so bright outside compared to the black walls of that small room and it took his eyes a little while to adjust before he could see the unfamiliar poster on the door:
THE MYRE - ACOUSTIC DUO £5 DOORS 8pm
FOUR
“Nobody ever listens to MY ideas!” Liz was screaming but nobody was particularly listening to her. Jacko and Dan were trying to work out the shape for F#9 with an G# bass and Freddy, who wasn’t even a guitarist thought he would offer his suppositions.
“Am I talking to myself here?!” she was going on but they were all so busy.
Hecks came back in the room with a cup of tea,
“that bastard charged me for this tea even though HE was the one who made me spill my last one by making me have to have fucking gloved hands. Why doesn’t he put some fucking heating on in this building instead of breaking all our strings and fingers this winter with the bitter cold that sleeps in these sodding walls?”
Nobody really said anything. Liz was slumped at Freddy’s keyboard sulking and the other three were still trying to find a better inversion of the chord that actually had the G# on the bottom.
“What’s the matter with you?” he said to Liz, taking his seat behind his drum kit.But just as he asked this, a loud tone alert sounded on her phone and she buried her head into the business of reading and sending text messages. Hecks sat there, looking at the others crowded around a guitar.
“Whatchya doing?” and without looking at him, Jacko said
“It’s a chord thing, Hecks. You know, music? Ever heard of the fucking thing?!”
and Dean nudged Jacko and said “I think there’s a better way of doing this don’t you?”
and Freddy said “ Hang on! If you just slide your pinky up two frets...”
and Hecks said “What? Better way of doing fucking what?!”
and Freddy said "no no, your PINKY finger..."
and Dean said "Look, Hecks, this isn't how it should happen..."
and Hecks was shouting now "HOW WHAT SHOULD HAPPEN!? BETTER WAY OF DOING FUCKING WHAT??!!"
and Liz looked up, thunder-face, “Of sacking you, Hecks. They want to sack you.”
and Freddy said “That’s it! You’ve got it.”
“Am I talking to myself here?!” she was going on but they were all so busy.
Hecks came back in the room with a cup of tea,
“that bastard charged me for this tea even though HE was the one who made me spill my last one by making me have to have fucking gloved hands. Why doesn’t he put some fucking heating on in this building instead of breaking all our strings and fingers this winter with the bitter cold that sleeps in these sodding walls?”
Nobody really said anything. Liz was slumped at Freddy’s keyboard sulking and the other three were still trying to find a better inversion of the chord that actually had the G# on the bottom.
“What’s the matter with you?” he said to Liz, taking his seat behind his drum kit.But just as he asked this, a loud tone alert sounded on her phone and she buried her head into the business of reading and sending text messages. Hecks sat there, looking at the others crowded around a guitar.
“Whatchya doing?” and without looking at him, Jacko said
“It’s a chord thing, Hecks. You know, music? Ever heard of the fucking thing?!”
and Dean nudged Jacko and said “I think there’s a better way of doing this don’t you?”
and Freddy said “ Hang on! If you just slide your pinky up two frets...”
and Hecks said “What? Better way of doing fucking what?!”
and Freddy said "no no, your PINKY finger..."
and Dean said "Look, Hecks, this isn't how it should happen..."
and Hecks was shouting now "HOW WHAT SHOULD HAPPEN!? BETTER WAY OF DOING FUCKING WHAT??!!"
and Liz looked up, thunder-face, “Of sacking you, Hecks. They want to sack you.”
and Freddy said “That’s it! You’ve got it.”
THREE
Mark had this idea for a song but I thought it was shitty.
“That’s a shitty idea, Mark” I said and he punched me in the face. It didn’t hurt that much and I’d deserved it after I’d slept with Fran last month. It hadn’t been the worst thing I’d done or the worst thing that the band had been through, but it was up there. It put strain on things. I mean, I could handle it OK and so could Mark; we’d grown up together you see. He broke my arm when we were six and I threw his bike down a flight of steps when we were ten and he broke my sister’s heart when we were seventeen. He was a shit, but so was I and that’s how we worked and we wrote fucking ace songs together.
I think sometimes it must have been hard for Phil, like being in a band with two brothers. Mark and I would shout our heads off at each other at practice then get twatted that night and share an amazing adventure and write a fucking cool song about it. Phil was a uni friend of my sister, that’s how we met him when we’d moved to the city. But he wasn’t from our town and he didn’t understand our ways of doing things. This practice, when Mark had punched me in the face for saying his song idea was shitty, Phil had said
“Come on boys! This is ridiculous! You can’t just keep punching each other and getting mad at each other all the time! We all know it’s not about the song, I really think you ought to just settle what happened instead of acting like you’re fine about it.”
Although my face hurt, I couldn’t help but laugh. Mark was laughing too and we looked and each other, laughing our heads off. Mark was still looking at me and pointing at Phil when he said “This guy! HAHA! This guy!!” and I was laughing too.“Mate,” I said still looking at Mark but talking to Phil “you took the number 15 bus, but you don’t even live in Cloughton!!” and Mark and I pissed ourselves. “What?” that was Phil, all confused by our back-home jokes.
“You’re in the wrong band” Mark and I chanted in unison and we were still pissing ourselves as Phil was slamming the praccy room door.
“That’s a shitty idea, Mark” I said and he punched me in the face. It didn’t hurt that much and I’d deserved it after I’d slept with Fran last month. It hadn’t been the worst thing I’d done or the worst thing that the band had been through, but it was up there. It put strain on things. I mean, I could handle it OK and so could Mark; we’d grown up together you see. He broke my arm when we were six and I threw his bike down a flight of steps when we were ten and he broke my sister’s heart when we were seventeen. He was a shit, but so was I and that’s how we worked and we wrote fucking ace songs together.
I think sometimes it must have been hard for Phil, like being in a band with two brothers. Mark and I would shout our heads off at each other at practice then get twatted that night and share an amazing adventure and write a fucking cool song about it. Phil was a uni friend of my sister, that’s how we met him when we’d moved to the city. But he wasn’t from our town and he didn’t understand our ways of doing things. This practice, when Mark had punched me in the face for saying his song idea was shitty, Phil had said
“Come on boys! This is ridiculous! You can’t just keep punching each other and getting mad at each other all the time! We all know it’s not about the song, I really think you ought to just settle what happened instead of acting like you’re fine about it.”
Although my face hurt, I couldn’t help but laugh. Mark was laughing too and we looked and each other, laughing our heads off. Mark was still looking at me and pointing at Phil when he said “This guy! HAHA! This guy!!” and I was laughing too.“Mate,” I said still looking at Mark but talking to Phil “you took the number 15 bus, but you don’t even live in Cloughton!!” and Mark and I pissed ourselves. “What?” that was Phil, all confused by our back-home jokes.
“You’re in the wrong band” Mark and I chanted in unison and we were still pissing ourselves as Phil was slamming the praccy room door.
TWO
Dixie and JJ and Carl were hammering it down the A1. Carl was sleeping in the back before the partition where their gear slept too. Dixie and JJ were singing the end medley of Abbey Road with every bass lick, guitar crunch and drum fill. When it was appropriate, they hit two-part harmonies, and though they were not perfect, they were pretty good all the same. JJ was driving and Dixie was hitting the glove compartment and being careful not to hit too near the cupholder which held a now-cold black coffee from the services. When it got to the drum solo in ‘The End’ where Ringo goes mental, Dixie gave it his best shot even though Carl was the drummer.
JJ indicated and turned off the A1 and a few roundabouts and suburban streets later they were outside Carl’s house. It was 2.40am and a damp fog clung to the yellow light from the streetlamps.
"You keep him talking" said Dixie to JJ before leaping out of the van and going around to the back and JJ was shaking Carl awake. A few minutes later, Carl was blinking on the kerb watching the van drive off and couldn’t understand why, next to him in a neat pile by his feet, were all his drums and cymbals. They always kept all of their gear in the van in a locked garage at JJ’s house.
JJ indicated and turned off the A1 and a few roundabouts and suburban streets later they were outside Carl’s house. It was 2.40am and a damp fog clung to the yellow light from the streetlamps.
"You keep him talking" said Dixie to JJ before leaping out of the van and going around to the back and JJ was shaking Carl awake. A few minutes later, Carl was blinking on the kerb watching the van drive off and couldn’t understand why, next to him in a neat pile by his feet, were all his drums and cymbals. They always kept all of their gear in the van in a locked garage at JJ’s house.
ONE
Johnny grabbed the microphone even though he was only the bass player and started singing a version of that song by JLS. He was the latest addition to the band but he had an arrogance that was un-beffitting the usual etiquette of ‘last one in’. He made us change our name to Yelps. Not even with a ‘The’. I’d never been in a non-The band before. The others were sat on their amps, smoking and I was behind the kit, sticks poised. We were in a circle facing inwards and as Johnny reached the chorus he gave a little wink to the others and they all sang:
“EVERYBODY IN YELPS, PUT YOUR HANDS UP, EVERYBODY IN YELPS GO PUT YOUR HANDS UP!”
and they were all laughing and giggling and putting up their hands and I thought it was reasonably fun at least so I swayed along and put down a kick drum and sang along with them and put my hands up. The moment I did this, they all stopped and looked at me. I stopped the kick and looked at them, baffled at the sudden silence. Johnny said the following words to me over the fucking microphone:
“Uh, Lee, why have you got your hands up?”
“EVERYBODY IN YELPS, PUT YOUR HANDS UP, EVERYBODY IN YELPS GO PUT YOUR HANDS UP!”
and they were all laughing and giggling and putting up their hands and I thought it was reasonably fun at least so I swayed along and put down a kick drum and sang along with them and put my hands up. The moment I did this, they all stopped and looked at me. I stopped the kick and looked at them, baffled at the sudden silence. Johnny said the following words to me over the fucking microphone:
“Uh, Lee, why have you got your hands up?”
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