After a considerable musical layoff in order to learn how to look after my wife and sheep while all the time attempting to become a recording engineer, my once useful larynx has been reduced to a Wifred Bramble-esque squeak (“’Arrrr-oooold!”). So, in order to reclaim some of my former vocal glory, I have decided to form a new live band and to play my first gigs in two years.
Playing live demands many things of the average musician, but perching at the very top of that list, comes the understanding that no amount of rehearsal can prepare you for walking on stage in front of a body of people and making some music from your own throat and fingers.
A piece of cake you might say; learn the songs, brush your teeth, comb your hair, wear your cleanest pair of pants and try not to overdo the pelvis gyrations during the faster numbers. Rather unsurprisingly however, it’s not quite that simple. First you must choose a band, and as has been documented elsewhere in this series of blogs, a grumpy wife, a confused sheep and a predilection to collect Mexicans, do not a cracking live act make.
In order to find the correct human tools for the job, I dusted off my little black book, which is actually a laptop with the word ‘notebook’ emblazoned sardonically upon its lid and began to look out all of the musicians that it has been my misfortune (or indeed fortune) to know over the years.
PLEASE NOTE; some of the names have been changed to protect the incompetent.
Roughman
A small, silly man who bullshits for England and is always on the verge of the ‘big deal’. Once tried to manage me which resulted in nothing much other than him borrowing thirty quid and a guitar tuner from yours truly, neither of which I ever saw again.
Gary
I first met him at the Troubadour in Earls Court. A pretty darn good guitarist and songwriter but now a family man living in a seaside town who appears to be quite happy with his lot. Might not enjoy having to leave his family behind and live on my roof for the duration of this new band’s existence.
Bo
A great bass player and a wonderful person but whose recent output has been considerably cramped by being dead.
Minnie
This strange keyboard playing entity takes the prize for the scariest woman I’ve ever played alongside. You never quite knew from moment to moment if she was going to fuck you or stab you where you stood. She was fantastic with a piano but insisted on playing rather dodgy guitar instead. At no point was said guitar ever in tune but that never seemed to bother to anyone but me. Oh, no, no, no.
Paulos Of The Hills And Speeds
Yet another great musician who was part of Men Are Dead and has played on stage with me many times in a vain attempt to make me sound better than I actually am. Sadly, he is also mired in both a family and another musical project so is out of the frame for the moment. Bastard.
Phillophile
A rather ambitious drummer who once auditioned for Men Are Dead and who produced a ‘cease and desist’ restraining order from Phil Collins by way of a personal reference. I think not.
Rob Ramsay
My best friend and long time collaborator and of course he’s going to be in on this.
Stairwell
Another manager/musician who saw me play and told me he had ‘big plans’ for my groovy (yes he actually said that) sound. The following week, I found myself booked to play a wine bar in Windsor, opposite the castle. I played Simon & Carbuncle covers to inebriated Dutch tourists who enjoyed belching and farting almost as much as hurling breadsticks at me. A personal highpoint of my career.
Col
Original synth player and producer for Men Are Dead. A fantastic guy with a genuinely unique approach for making music. Now a far too busy and too rich professional tennis coach for a return visit. Proud possessor of the largest vintage synth and beat box collections in the western world.
The Canary Kid
A young, enthusiastic guitarist who played his solos so fast, I couldn’t tell where one note ended and the next one began. He also wore huge winklepicker shoes and a very yellow waistcoat which made him look like an extra from Felix The Cat.
Sir Ludovic Kennedy
Nah, I made this one up.
Tim Eyles
Current plank spanker for half of the bands in London right now. Tim has a boundless energy which leaves me puffing and wheezing in his wake. Totally professional and able to learn a song in less time than it took to write it. Yep, he’ll do.
Paradise Man
The gentle and phenomenally talented guitarist (now living in Brighton) who plays a mean woodwind instrument from time to time; I ended up in Estonia with him on tour once and almost never returned, we were having so much fun. Too cosmic for this band though.
Neek Kristerboberstov (a.k.a. Nick Roberts)
Quite possibly the most naturally talented guitarist I’ve ever met. Nick has the technical dexterity of Vai, the attention span of a goldfish and vital organs of a wino. Lord alone knows how he still lives after the life he’s led but whatever it is that keeps him going, I thank god for it. Another sure fire bet for inclusion should he survive.
The Amazing Burgundy Cunt
An astounding flute player who often joined me (uninvited) on stage at some of the open mic floorspot nights I used to frequent. I honestly do not know his real name but the man’s ruddy complexion and his drinking buddies’ predilection for yelling the word ‘cunt!’ as he played demanded the above moniker. Unfortunately, I haven’t seen him for years now.
With the selection of my favoured malcontents complete, I made some phone calls and before you could say ‘hello, could you come to my house to play some songs’, I was herding Rob, Tim and Neek into my studio. I then brushed off my biggest carrot (matron) and most fearsome stick to set about the task of finding out if there was some musical chemistry between us.
Fortunately, due to some subtle but brilliant psychology by me and some rather savage but equally effective cooking on my wife’s part (grilled goats arse with chocolate sorbet pellets), the musical ice was soon broken and the first chords of ‘Tearing Up The Room’ was wafting its way down the stairs which made my sheep tremble and boogie in all sorts of sexy (but ultimately illegal) ways.
Within the hour, the four of us began to play with something resembling a single purpose. At the post rehearsal drink afterwards, liquid was consumed in vast quantities, the sheep was wiped clean and everybody nodded knowingly at the notion that we were not that terrible. In fact we were okay, maybe more than okay and possibly better than alright.
Being British, we couldn’t even say we were good.
Within the next few weeks, the band snatch an evening here and an afternoon there so that what was good fun, becomes fantastic fun. The melodies flow, the chords changes are tight and the songs sound close to effortless.
Which brings me back to my original contention; no band, however well rehearsed, survives its first contact with a live environment intact. For some reason, what was once a lean, keen, strumming machine becomes a flaccid and feckless mass of noise that throbs with fear and frantic looks. The easy explanation is first night nerves but beneath the confusion and sweat, lurks a more insidious and unseen musical nemesis; material familiarity.
The average audience never sees the relationship that grows between a band, the material it plays and the space they play it in. Take a group out of its comfy studio and put it in a room where the sound is foreign, the schedule is tight and mistakes are shared with everyone and what once sounded familiar now takes on a life of its own in public. In short, the songs become semi-unknown territory again to those playing them (which is half the fun of playing live if you ask me).
This brings me neatly back to the news I was stumbling around at the start of this blog; my first live gig in nearly two years at The Urban Bar in East London on Saturday May the 13th (that’s FA cup Final day to you footie fans). Doors open at 8pm, and the musicians will be tightly rehearsed, nearly washed and mostly shaved for your listening pleasure.
I remain,
neatly trimmed.
Simon Walsh