Tears, beers and reverberations.   Leave a comment

So right, uh, where else did I play? Oh yes, the Junction for Loop Soup. This was good, people came and stuff. And girls cried, or so I’m led to believe. There’s a rumour going around that I made girls cry, which is a bit unusual. I do recall mildly taking the piss out of some young women who were standing at the front, one of them with her back to me, having an animated conversation. I told them they “might miss something” and went to get my cock out inna rocknroll-style but then thought better of it, thank Jesus. Hardly enough to make girls cry though is it? No cock was glimpsed.

Once, long ago in Guildford (my spiritual home) a friend of mine’s Mum was flashed by some geezer who evidently dug flashing his Johnson at the bourgeoisie. And why not? Anyway when the cops came the detective asked my friend’s Mum with due seriousness whether she “glimpsed his penis”. This always made us laugh. I think I might do a solo album called “A Penis Glimpsed”. I did a demo tape once that I entitled “See My Penis!” just because it looked funny in a particular font. Anyway, enough about penises.

Actually I was quite scared at Loop Soup. The chaps on before me were making a lot of distressing techno noise (nothing wrong with that) but it’s an unusual warm-up sound for me these days. The audience were all young and largely non-rock too, and I started to get the fear. I’m happy as fuck to follow almost anybody, and sometimes the more ludicrously inappropriate the better, but sometimes I’m in trouble with that kind of crowd. Sure enough, half the people left, and I got aggressively into
entertainment mode with the rest. More and more I only really dig it when it’s relaxed and people are laughing between songs.

Then there was The Tate. It’s true – I played The Tate Gallery in London. It was my third gig in 5 days and I’d been to Brighton to video Andy and Ashley on the Tuesday, so I knew I had to be rested and fit for this potential career-saving event. Was I fuck. I had a fucking cathedral-size hangover as big as the room I ended up playing in. Luckily I went down on the train with Jesus Of Australia (formerly of these parts) and between him and the Guinneses I was cool by the time I got there. I started to get a bit uptight again almost immediately because I was liaising with Adrian from The Teenbeat (who works there) and he had to lead all the band people round and round the building to sign-in, find the backstage area, collect beer and sandwiches etc, and because I was wearing a suit and posh shoes I started to feel like I was in a job interview (with my shoes clacking on the floor like a professional cunt), which is a really non-rock feeling. The gig itself was a bit so-so for me. I didn’t get scared and I did dance and fuck about and stuff, but I was too hyped up to genuinely engage with people and I could see people getting the fear whenever I looked them in the eye, which isn’t a good sign. I also had the uncomfortable feeling that Ricky Spontane were better than me. The drummer was immediately one of my favourite musicians ever. Everyone I went down with seemed to be of the same opinion too.

Weirdest thing about playing at the Tate was the reverb though. No one has ever played in such an odd acoustic environment. You only had to go into the next room and all you could hear was a big mushroom cloud of sound. I couldn’t believe it when the soundman plugged my minidisk player in. Mind you, I don’t think he could either. I don’t think he’d ever seen one before. He offered to do my tape-changing chores for me, and for some reason I let him until the second awkward silence, when I noticed he was just pressing parts of the machine as opposed to the right buttons, or even the wrong buttons. Nice guy though, heh heh.

Met some geezer who made encouraging noises about putting a record out but he hasn’t been in touch so…
And that was that really. I played the Tate and nothing happened. Man, I reckon I could support Queen at Wembley Stadium and I’d still only sell one CD to the fucking guy selling the beers.

Predictably, and I predicted it, the gig the following Wednesday at The Boat Race for Mr. Sam Inglis was much more like it. I almost pulled out because I felt tired and stressed and I had work the next day, but I never pull out because it sucks. Actually I did once when Syd had a convulsion but hey. Anyway. Couldn’t do a thing wrong. CDs flying out of the box. Met a guy who reckons he can get me on Resonance FM (met them before, but we’ll see). Had to autograph a German’s CD “for my girl”.

Shit. Got to go. Strawberry Fair tomorrow.

Posted June 6, 2003 by peteum2013 in Uncategorized

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