Freedom @ Littlesea

Littlesea is a quaint little holiday park situated on the South Coast of England, the surrounding countryside compliments it's tranquility and ... oh blah blah... bollocks!! It's the same as all the others. I really couldn't keep up the Judith Charmers routine there, I was making myself ill even trying to.

It's a nice park, a little nicer than most, but contains mostly all the same elements as the others:

1. Caravans, lots of them and many for sale. From the minute you arrive there you have advertisements and leaflets thrown down your throat about what a good deal it would be to shell out £20,000 of your hard-earned pounds for what is essentially a tin box on wheels... with furniture in it. One of the incentives is "Have your holiday costs refunded!" upon a sale. Well considering most of the holiday makers only paid £99 for a week from a Sun Newpaper Promo, I hardly see that as an incentive. Still, it would pay for the Fish, Chips and McDonalds they'd have thrown down their throats that week!

2. Arcades. Where once there were little coffee shops, Information booths, a post office and perhaps even the odd piece of unspoilt land there is now a load of slot machines. Probably as good as a money maker as selling Caravans. They are low maintenance and there's not a shortage of fuckwitts available and willing to beg, borrow and steal (more the latter I should think) to fill up.

3. Fast Food Outlets. Burger King and KFC seem to be the main choice. There's usually a Fish And Chip shop too. Not the place to come if you're on a diet or if you are the conscientious type that at least tries to eat sensibly because you'd end up starving there due to nothing being available anywhere for you to eat. And if you care not for Heart Disease and Obesity, "COME ON IN, YOU'RE IN MOST WELCOMED AND AMONGST GOOD COMPANY!!!"

4. Asbo Scum. Think Vicky Pollard, Wayne and Waynetta from Harry Enfield's Television programme and mutliply their numbers to about 3,000 and that would give you a general week at any Haven or similar holiday park mid August.

Of course I am speaking very generally here, there's also your normal family folk too. Perhaps a lot more so than the Asbo Scum. But as the Asbo Scum tend to draw a lot more attention to themselves than regular Joe Schmo, it's them you tend to think of when accounting your experience, and this time is no different.

The drive down to from Wales to Weymouth (Where Littlesea is situated) was enough for me to never want to get in a car again, the traffic was horrible. What should have been a 3 hour journey turned into over 4 hours. I know it's not a massive margain of a difference but when you're hardly moving in traffic it feels a hell of a lot longer. I now how Michael Douglas felt in the movie Falling Down.

Once there, I rendezvoused with Phil and Jay, got the drums out and set up. Phil and Jay had done everything by the time I had arrived. A little space was left for the kit, with all my mics (that I'd left with Phil) already connected up to relevant cables for channel inputs.

We sound checked and went to a quiet pub for something to eat. The waitress asked me what I'd like to drink, "Tea please" and she replied with "Ok, I think I can arrange that for you!" in a oh-jesus-we-have-an-awkward-bastard-here type of way. I was quite taken back and almost asked her what her problem was? Was Tea such an odd request especially being in the land where Tea is national treasure? I wouldn't have thought so. But instead I said, "Okay, I'll have a Double Vodka and Diet Coke please!" We finished dinner and went to Phil's to hang about before having to get our arses to the gig.

The set ran smoothly, no fuck-ups. Well, one or two but nothing worth mentioning. Truthfully, I cannot remember any of them but I knew it wasn't a perfect gig. My drum solo was crap again. Phil and Jay said it got people going, I suppose I am so oblivious to it as I seem to shut off and don't take note of the audience's reaction. I can't understand why I play solos so bad when there's an audience, when I am alone, I am so much more fluid and inspired. I think it's the fear of an audience listening that clams me up. I don't enjoy it. But it's part of a show that goes down well, so I'll continue doing them for that reason but not enjoy it.

I will say that the crowd were shit. It seems anything other than Eastenders, whatever fucking Premiership Football side they support, Big Brother or some shit such like and they aren't interested. It's a sign of our times, the apathy is in measurable. These bastards care not for 3 people playing and singing their hearts out and doing a fine job (in my humble opinion) in providing a show. No, fuck all in terms of appreciation!

After the show, we set down and went back to Phil's house which is only a few miles away from the Park.

At his house, we chatted for a while before my falling asleep on his couch prompted them to hit the hey themselves.

That night I had the weirdest dream about Aliens (The ones with Sigourney Weaver) invading Gendros and running a mock! It was mostly about the panic to make my mam's house as locked down as I could, meanwhile through gaps in the boarded windows and the letter box of mam's house, I could see them running around outside and attacking a mutalating small children. It was horrible. It was a nightmare, I'd not had one in years!

- One of them horrible Alien fuckers that were wreaking havoc in Gendros in my dream!

It was bit like the gig at Littlesea.

Freddy on Mercury part 5.

-Mercury is the innermost and smallest planet in the Solar System,^[8] orbiting the Sun once every 87.969 days. The orbit of Mercury has the highest eccentricity of all the Solar System planets, and it has the smallest axial tilt. It completes three rotations about the axis for every two orbits. The perihelion of Mercury's orbit precesses around the Sun at an excess of 43 arcseconds per century; a phenomenon that was explained in the 20th century by Albert Einstein's General Theory of Relativity.^[9] Mercury is bright when viewed from Earth, ranging from −2.0 to 5.5 in apparent magnitude, but is not easily seen as its greatest angular separation from the Sun is only 28.3°. Since Mercury is normally lost in the glare of the Sun, unless there is a solar eclipse, Mercury can only be viewed in morning or evening twilight.

Phil's alarm woke me at 5, we'd only been asleep a few hours and I was feeling pretty fucked up! It wasn't beer or lack of sleep though. There was something up, it felt like I was dying of some weird Spanish Bastard Flu. My throat was in agony and my head was pounding like there was a dwarf in my head trying to break out with a sledgehammer.

I was the last to leave the Villa, a trait that had become common place these last few days, leaving the Melon I had bought the day before. So much for best intentions eh? I imagined it feeling abandoned, alone and suicidal having being neglected by its keeper. I am a bad man.

- Melon, couldn't go on with life without me.

At the Airport, Ian was busy filling his lungs with smoke while we waited patiently in the line to check in. After all the security checks we were at a coffee shop, ogling at all the fanny that walked past. I swear we were all like bloody Meerkats!

"Hey Darren, look at that one over there... phwwwwwwwaaaaaarrrrrgh!" etc

On the plane, Phil learned from his mistakes and switched off his phone during the security announcements.

Once in Heathrow, Darren had left important car parking documentation as well as his passport on the plane and rushed back to get it. We waited at baggage claim for him. After what seemed like an hour we headed for Costa coffee for him.

When he turned up, Ian was outside filling his lungs with smoke. He explained that having no passport upon arrival is not generally taken well by UK security and so a host of procedures had to be conducted. But as he clearly is NOT an illegal immigrant (he's as much a chirpy cockney character squire as Bob Hoskins) this was shorter than it would have been if he was one of them free-loading scum.

Before Ian and I were to drive the 4 and half hours to back to God's Country, we all had one last fry up at Darren's expense, God bless 'im. Then it was back to the land of song for me and Ian. The weather upon our return was lovely. That was UNTIL we crossed the Severn bridge, no shit! I collected my car at Ian's and headed back to Swansea in time for tea.

What a weekend!

Freddy with some Mercury part 4

The second day here started much like the first; everyone waking up groggy sporting a slight hangover (Phil) due to the heat. Me, not so much so. I mean, it was hot but for fuck sake, stop whining about it you little bitches! We could still be in the UK! (which typically was having pretty good weather in our absence)

We headed off to the bar to shove another one of John's awesome breakfasts down our gullets. After chatting to him about his background, I was to discover that he used to run an independent Supermarket in Essex for over 25 years. I asked what made him sell up and move to Spain thinking it would have been Tesco's, Asda or another major name moving down the road. Alas it wasn't, "Retirement" he said was the reason. How cynical have I become eh?

The bar itself was something he started to relieve the boredom. His original plan was to have a quiet little Tavern to keep his hand in as it were. But never did he expect it to become so successful. He quite casually offered me to buy it off him, "It will be the best quarter of a Million you'll ever spend!" Hmmm, now where did I put my wallet?

After breakfast, we headed into the town and picked up some groceries. Ian picked up some baccy. I bought a Melon, it seemed like a decent idea at the time.

During the trip, Darren was looking in a shop for some shorts as he planned to lounge by the pool all afternoon with Phil and Gary. There was a Chinese owned/ran shop where they sold everything from socks to guns. Well, not really but it was like one of them pound shops where there's seemingly no catagorisation to the displays so you'd see powertools next to tinned foods etc. I asked the woman, "Perdone, ¿usted habla Inglés?" (excuse me, do you speak English?"

"No!" She replied. So thinking hard, I asked her,

"Bien, ¿dónde puedo encontrar el mayor pantalones cortos?" (Where can I find the largest shorts?"

Thinking my Spanish was still pretty good and feeling quite the international traveller she replied with,

"Yo no hablo Inglés!" (I don't speak English)

With my ego somewhat dented, I repeated what I said a lot slower and she seemed to get it this time. Which was a good thing because one more time and I would have been saying, "WHERE'S THE FACKIN' SHORTS!" She explained that they don't have any in his size (pointing to Darren)

So we headed back to the Villa. Phil and Gary went to the pool, I chose to go for a run feeling a little guilty at not doing any exercise and eating like Billy Bunter these last couple of days.

- Billy Bunter (strangely enough looks a little like Darren our bassist!)

The run was ok, I basically set the timer for 30 minutes and ran around the blocks of Villas 3 times before the alarm sounded. It was rather tranquil for the most part but coming up to the 30 minute mark, my legs and feet were really starting to hurt. Running the roads is a far cry from the cushy treadmills of gymnasiums I can tell thee! Still I felt much better for it, even if I didn't look so as the boys pointed out upon my panting return.

The 20 minutes by the pool was sufficient enough to turn Phil into a burning Lobster, he was quite in pain! That's why I never do the sunbathing thing, even though I normally don't burn and go brown (much to the envy of any female company) I stay away from it. The health reasons are so scary; regular sunbathing increases the risk of skin cancer by 75% so none of us should ever go out with at least a wet suit and a welder's helmet. So given these health reasons, I prefer to stay in the shade and smoke cigarettes safe in the knowledge I have my health at heart.

The second gig was musically a lot better. There were more people there for starters so I thought we was going to have a bouncing gig, but they took quite a while to get into it. Gary did his Freddy bit which worked a treat even though it did seem to take a while longer than the previous night to take effect. Ian was doing his Twister thing with the keyboards, Phil and Darren both played well. On the whole, it was a lot better than the previous night. The bows at the end were strange, I always think that when people do that (unless they are really huge like U2 or Bros) they are showing oodles of showbiz wank.

- Naked beach twister, sort of like Ian playing keyboards with one on a stand and another to his right on a coffee-style table... sort of.

After the gig, we drank loads again, hung about with the staff (some of which were really hot) and generally thanked John for the risk in bringing us over. He'd made a few quid on the couple of days and we chatted about how we could save them money next time. As we had to be up for 5 am to get to the airport, we didn't hang around too long.

At the villa, we sat around on the veranda, ate Pineapple, drank coffee and smoked Cigarettes. I was sad to be leaving in a few hours. The last few days went so quickly but have certainly become the highlight of my year. It will take a lot of topping to beat it and judging from the gig sheet I have coming up, nothing is likely to compare.

Freddy and his Mercury's part 3

So after getting accustomed to the Spanish way of life by throwing as much alcohol down your throat before closing time (oh wait, that's the British way of life!) before being kicked out and then going to bed, we did just that. Next morning we were awake early (mostly through the heat) ready to get to the bar and set up and sound check.

The venue was a typical Spanish bar but the owner had erected a stage and canopy just outside for the gig.



The owner was a really nice chap from Essex. In fact they were all really nice and ALL from Essex (if not, certainly the around that area) staff and customers alike. The whole weekend we hardly saw a Spaniard anywhere, it was quite weird. It also puts a little in perspective when people moan about the hordes of immigrants in UK, spare a thought for all them Spaniards over the decades that have had to endure the smell of Pie, Mash, Fish and Chips, cries of "CAAAAMON YOOO 'AMMMERS!" on Saturday afternoon, being greeted in the street by, "awwwight geeza!?" Chaz And Dave records being played loudly and the endless ramblings about "Landan" but hardly ever going there. All this amongst other things must have really tested their resolve over the decades. Those poor people!

After a monster breakfast, we waited patiently for the pa company to arrive. When he did, he was in no rush to get any work done. This is typical of and more typical of a Brit in Spain; everything is done with a sense of "mañana" It must have been two hours before he opened the back of his Van! And considering this was his first job for the Bar, you'd think he would have applied a bit of urgency, but noooooo! He was a Brummy and given my experience with them this year, he was quickly showing the trait in them! Not that I like to tar with the same brush, but the coincidence is undeniably uncanny!

After a long time waiting about for ANYONE to do any work at all, we thought "bollocks to this" went back to the Villa and got us 'eds down - siesta style!

We got back there around 5ish and saw that they eventually got the pa up and put all the backline in place, sort of. The drum kit was pretty crummy but beggars aren't choosers. It was ok, certainly ok enough for the likes of me. It was however set up for a cunt to play; The toms were positioned flat and almost either side of the kick drum, the seat was so high I it looked like he'd been using it to pain the ceiling and it was filled up with so much cloth and fabric that it would have been a fire hazzard!

I started adjusting stuff which prompted the owner of the kit to pop his head up and come to the stage and 1. introduce himself and 2. make his feelings known about me making adjustments. He was subtle about it but fairly obvious. For fuck sake, what did he expect? I couldn't have played it the way it was if there was a gun to my head; the seat was so high I would have feared for my safety! One thing I thought I'd mention about this kit though, I've seen Cymbal stands used at Microphone stands; in fact by nature of their very design are far better than the typical microphone stand. But I have never before this day seen this:

- Yes, that's a microphone stand doctored to be used as a cymbal stand. It worked ok I will say, but it mars the idea of someone getting funny about his shit being messed with!

Meanwhile, another ruckus was kicking off off-stage. There were issues about the supposed backline and pa we were getting. In short, what they said we'd get we didn't get, not even close! The bass amp for Darren was a £100 practice amp and the guitar amp albeit better than the bass amp, was certainly not a Marshall or anything if it's quality. Thankfully, that mattered less because Phil had all his sounds pre-programmed on his effects unit he took with him.

Ian had issues too, they gave him two keyboards and but only one stand and didn't think to wonder how the other one was going to be positioned; perhaps they took it as red that Ian is in Fact one of the X-men and thus could just use his telekinesis to suspend the other keyboard into position. I mean, seems plausible doesn't it? Suffice as to say, this is NOT the case and so he had to improvise with a table leading him to have to twist his posture in a way that looked somewhat painful to be able to play both at the same time. Fair dos to him, anyone else would have seriously fucking kicked off but in true Ian's valley boy charm of "aye whateva butt'!" he proceeded with no complaints.

- keyboard 1 to the left, keyboard 2 to the right much lower down on a table, still with ickle bit of Ketchup on it from lunch.

The pa "engineer" then started getting a little lippy to Darren which was treading on thin ice to say the least. Darren is someone well high up on the "not to be fucked with" table. Think of the term used in the media as "East end hard-hard" men and you'd get an idea. He was cast to play Lenny McLean in a movie that sadly wasn't made. Darren has spoken about some of his "instances" of ass kicking, Method acting?!?! Fuck me!

- Lenny McLean "Where's me faaakin' guns eh?"

- The Krays "you go back and you tell Rutherman no-one fucks with us"

The Mitchells. Eastenders well 'ard men! 'Nuff said!

Anyway, we all tried to calm Darren down because he was seriously winding himself up to give the guy a tuning that he'd not forget in a hurry, nor would any siblings he may have in the future for that matter. Eventually, everything calmed down. We did our sound check and had another awesome meal from the bar! A shit load of steak worked well to calm tensions.

After a brief stop at the villa to change, it was back to the gig. They had a support band playing as we arrived that consisted of more expats. They were actually really good though the guitar player sucked. The drummer was using an electric kit.... er, thought I'd mention it.

Then it was our turn. Gary came out with all his Freddy gear on and boy did he have all Freddy's moves and banter off! Musically it could have been better but also could have been so much worse. There were no train wrecks and we all responded to each others' fuck ups really well leading to no-one spotting it was in fact our first gig and second time we were all in one place at the same time (musically speaking)

After the gig, feeling quite euphoric, we all went to the nearby tavern and proceeded to throw as much alcohol down our necks before closing time... just like the Spanish do... Oh wait, I've done this one haven't I?

-- Post From My iPhone

Freddy And The Mercurys part 2

Did I happen to explain the name of this band before, no? Ok, we are NOT a Queen tribute as such, hence none of us other than the Freddy dude dresses up supposedly to impersonate any of the members. Which is just as well as it would be a fucking debacle if we tried. I mean, imagine me with a "Choose Life" T-Shirt, Blonde spikey wig and a pair of Ray Ban shades!!! Not only that, me trying to sing I'm In Love With My Car or something. Then Poor Phil with tight as fuck black jeans, tight striped T-shirt and a curly black wig that he'd have to fight Anita Dobson for to obtain. Then Darren, who's as far removed from John Decon's build that Nelson Mandela would more likely pass as a double. Then Ian, where would he come in? He'd have to be the session muso at the back on the live gigs that no one knows or gives a fuck about! (So what's new about that then Ian eh?) So, yeah, we are not a Queen tribute as it would be so woeful, blind folk would turn down a chance at sight if it was us they'd see first!

- Queen

But Gary does a pretty mean Freddy Mercury, especially when done up so I was to find, so that's as far as a normal Tribute act as we go. Though musically, we have tried to remain as faithful to the original Queen act as we can. So, on with the gigs.

After the brush up rehearsal, we packed the gear into Phil's van and proceeded along the M25 to Gatwick Airport. At the Dartford tolls, I had my normal rant about how the fact they (Tolls) are the sole cause of the miles and miles of tailbacks everyday; The tolls shouldn't even be there as they were originally put to recoup the costs of the tunnel/bridge, which have since been paid long ago. Fucking Charlatan Bastards! Same as the price of Fuel, Oil prices dip, Fuel remains high, Rip Off UK!!! Bring on the revolution, French Stylee!!!

- my proposed idea on how to deal with our self serving, plum talking, pompous prick politicians, French Revolt Stylee!

At Gatwick, we stopped into a nearby pub and ate something before parking up the van and checking in at the Ryan Air desk. I made that sound like it was routine and speedy, was it fuck! The hours of queues and hanging about I generally skipped but rest assured they happened. I hate Airports, well I do when they are chocka with Jonny Foreigner, but most appear to be leaving so I shouldn't be too down on them, I should in fact be helping with their bags and being generally really supportive!

Before I am bombarded with hate mail, that was just a joke for all you liberal do-gooders!

Then it was all the security checks. Despite them bastards being caught (Walthamstow Terrorists) they still won on some level with all the crap we have to go through just to take a plane. Before the flight we pitched a last attempt to get shit faced in the pub in the terminal, then it was the frantic rush to get to our gate.

On the plane, the stewardess, sorry, flight attendant (for fuck sake, TROLLY DOLLY!) was going through the whole, "This bit, goes through this fucking bit! And should cabin pressure decrease, Oxygen masks will fall down as if by bloody magic...." Meanwhile Phil was watching Night Rider on his iPhone. Miss T. Dolly took umbrage to this and proceeded to talk rather condescending to Mr. Walker.

"Excuse mee, doo yoo Jnow, jwhere, zee lif jackits 'r kipt?" (with J pronounced like you're clearing your throat of Phlem)

Phil was quite humbled by her Russian tone and demeaning manner with his response, "no I don't I am sorry!" This made her day this would seem, she felt rather smug about have to point out where there are. But seriously, if there was a crash, we'd all be fucked quite severely including miss T. Dolly and her all important life Jacket.

"News just in, a Boeing 737 has smashed into a mountain in the northern region of Spain after losing power in both engines at 33,000 feet... Fortunately, all but one passenger survived the crash. The reported casualty wasn't wearing his life jacket!"

- this was the face he made when she was talking down to him, the EXACT same face!!!

With us up in the air and levelled out, it was refreshments time; "Bring it on!!! Oh, excuse me what's that? We have to pay for it nowadays??? FUCK THAT!!!! I'd starve before I lined your pockets" The conversation with Miss T. Dolly went something like that.

Two hours later, we were on the ground in Alicante. It was approaching midnight and Ian was gagging for a power fag and a power pint! (For power fag, check blog entry Jersey show one)

Alan, the agent, met us, loaded us up into his car and proceeded to fuck off all that normal check-the-band-in shit and find us the nearest pub open at that time. Fortunately, the one he found us was only a yards from where we'd be staying. Within moments, we were suitably liquored up and my mind was awash with so many memories from when I lived in Spain. There's something about even the simple things that brought it back. In this case it was the typical design of the bar and the folk that ran it. It was like I had never left.

Alan, the agent, is a northerner and has been living on the Spanish coastline for about 7 years. But he typifies everything about an ex-pat. Think the TV shows, Duty Free and shit failed Soap Opera Eldorado and you'll know what I mean.

The Villa they gave us was lovely, though it could have seriously benefited from Air-con. I said Air Con, not Con Air!

It wasn't a problem for me as I'd been used to living in far stuffier environments to this, but the others weren't dealing with it that well. But it was very nice none the less and I wouldn't have rather been anywhere else.

We crashed out around 4 am. 6 hours later, we'd be up to go to the bar where were set to play and go through some hassle with the PA company. More on that in the next entry.

Freddy And The Mercurys part 1

These were two gigs I'd been looking forward to for sometime. It was chance to get back to Spain, a place I'd lived and loved between 1995 and 1997 even if it was only for a few days. Not only that but to tribute a music that I had loved from a kid; I had loved Queen way before I'd even thought about playing drums and even when I did finally start playing, Mike (my older brother) and I would Jam Queen songs until "shut the fuck up!" O'clock!

Main rehearsals took place at the end of July but we were having a brush-up the day before we flew. Gary (the freddy as it were) wasn't there so it was hard to play through the songs almost a month after we had first rehearsed them with no lead vocal reference but none the less we all felt it prudent to do so.

Of the 15 or so songs, only a handful were played through without stopping, this was a worry as I could envisage this happening on more than one occasion on the gig. With a lot resting on this gig it was paramount that we came across like a band that had been together for a while. But with the experience of us all, I am sure that we'd somehow avoid any train wrecks.

The flight out was on the Thursday but Ian and I stayed at Darren's the night before. We did the same when we first came up to London to rehearse. And like that time the sleeping arrangements hadn't changed. Meaning that we both had the sofas, which bothers me not. Not even when considering the one I was saddled with would have made a Hobit feel cramped! Ian in fairness did offer to swap for the larger of the two but being that he's a wee bit taller than I, I felt it would have been a little cruel. All said, it's not like I wasn't used to it, Andy Higgins (Circus of horrors bassist and Pa system owner) has the same sofa. Hmmm, I wonder if they got a deal going where whoever has got me staying over, they arrange a meet to give the midget sofa over to the other.... Just to fuck me up!

Paranoid? Moi?

While we were there, Darren had arranged to meet with a chap he was buying a DW twin pedal off. This chap transpired to be a drummer I saw playing with a band balled British Lion in 1991.

Anyway, think of someone you know that cannot help talking about themselves at any instance (we all know at least one, personally I could make a league of 'em) multiply it by 100 and you'd only be a fraction of the way to this guy! Within seconds of him introducing himself he had DVDs of him playing with his band. A DVD that he claimed was a direct live mix from the desk, despite them being a trio there were extra vocal and guitar parts; "direct mix from the desk eh???"

- in a coughing voice -

"BULLSHIT!!!!"

There was almost a Stevie moment. These are times where my brain get shoved into 1st gear, the mouth opens and some shit comes out that I come to seriously regret.

For example. Recently we (route 66) stayed at a premier lodge. I got chatting to the receptionist who apart from being very pretty, was expecting. After getting rather candid with her, I asked, "so when is your baby due?"
"I'm not pregnant!"
"I'll get me coat!"

So going back to Mr ME-ME, he says "before the crash, I used to have a girlfriend, now I don't"
And I almost said,
"Well that's women for ya: they're like cats, stop feeding them and they'll fuck off!"
Fortunately for me and all that were there to witness, just as I was about to spout this he said, "...she was killed in the crash!"
Good timing I'm sure you'll agree!

For someone you've just met, he was rather forthcoming with some heavy shit about his life. Bullshit maybe? Who knows. I personally don't think he was a bullshitter per-se, just someone lonely (or downright incredibly self absorbed) enough to carry DVDs, other bumf of his band and photos of a car accident he had some years ago which wasted his girlfriend for the entertainment of random people he may meet in the street, or pub, anywhere. From there he would steer the conversation from himself to his look on himself and what you'd might possibly think about himself. Not that it matters because as long as he thinks highly about himself what does it matter what other people think about himself.....

...himself!

Suffice as to say, we were all pretty glad when he left the pedal and fucked off with the money in search of someone else to bore. Thought this was after I had exchanged contact details with him in hope of him passing some work my way. It's the London way it seems, shake hands and smile while you secretly think they're a fucking bastard.

Oh man, what have I turned into?!?

More on the gig in part 2!


-- Post From My iPhone

Shit bands, fuck me they're everywhere!!

(this video clip is an example of the subject matter of this post, IT'S NOT ONE OF THE BANDS I WAS IN OK???)

My first band came together more or less the same day I had my kit when I was 12. My older brother Michael was already 6 months or so into learning guitar having moved from Organ. So the same day I sat at the kit, Mike and I jammed Billy Joel and Queen tunes, it was awesome for a young boy whose friends were outside on BMX bikes or indoors on ZX spectrums/Commador 64 playing Manic Miner and Jet Set Willy - the fucking brainless twats! (I say that because they took the piss out of me for learning drums)

It was pretty much from that point we had our first band, this consisted of mainly friends of Mike's from the area. We played only cover versions though. Mike was already writing tunes at this point though it wasn't until some years later we got to play anything resembling an original composition live or otherwise.

My first gig with this band came when I was 13, it was at a Halloween under 15s disco.

I felt like a rock star... And I was!!! There were groupies, dope was flying around backstage, the singer got a blow job while I was doing a drum solo and I had my first line of Charlie and I knew from that point that this was the life for me!

Ok ok, the last paragraph was a fabrication of totally smelly bullshit from my own imagination.

Over the years, I went from pop/rock bands to rock bands, to metal bands moving abroad to strange new Cities in foreign countries in hope of making a mark on the world music scene. Suffice as to say that never happened but I made some great friends and have some wonderful memories that I'll cherish forever.

Then came the inevitable move to caberet land!!! To make it sound credible, I had turned professional. In reality, I decided to play drums to make a living instead of getting one of them "day job" things you hear people talk about; It was a natural progression.

Over the next 10 years, I'd play summer seasons on various holiday parks, contracts on Ferries and do the rounds of theatres as well as the bread and butter "Tours" of Wales' social and working mens clubs. I played on albums and depped with as many as I could fit in. The criteria to be able to hold your own doing all these is higher than the spotty, arrogant, appothetic fucking teenager guitarist in a wanna be post grunge/Nu metal shower of fucking shit would ever be made to appreciate, and I care not to try.

In all, it was my apprentiship in music. What it all boils to is a firm understanding and appreciation of what makes a band work, or not! Whether it be a cover band or an orginal outfit, I can say with a degree of authority that I have come to understand and appreciate this through being in a lot of very good bands with very very gifted musicians. And needless to say, the opposite is true also... boy were some of them so down right bad I'd prefer to have a kidney removed to help Charles Manson live a few extra years than get in a rehearsal room with them again!

So why are so many bands on the circuit so absolutely downright shit that it defies comprehension? Have these people not cut their teeth much like I have? When you talk to them about it, they claim to have! I'm not even talking about kids with their black clad floppy fringe pursuits, I'm talking old school boyos; musicians that were supposedly "pro" back when I was just picking up my first pair of knitting needles - air drumming to Uptown Girl - in 1985.

Surely it cannot be Rocket Science to look introspectively at whatever band you're happen to be involved in and think, "what the fuck is wrong with this picture?" It could be the singer (it tends to be more often than not!!!) His lack of timing, pitch or ability to learn the words? It could be the guitarist who tends to abbreviate rhythm parts, his decision make his own solo up on Hotel California but go as far as learn the opening few lines. The Bassist who wants to slap on everything (that's not to say he CAN slap in the first place) or the drummer (the best 'til last) who rushes every fill, lacks dynamics, decent time and takes every song ending as it's the Armageddon and he wants to get one last DRUM SOLO in before meeting his maker? And most importantly, decides to do all these PISSED UP thus making the effect faaaaaar worse.

Or could it be a combination of all the above?

It is in my book for a lot of local pub bands about. But what gets me most, is that they don't realise it and even worse, actually think they are good!

In between Route 66 gigs and well, since I came home from Dubai in September, I have been trying to get out and see as many bands as I can. Quite a few of the local original metal bands are in fact very impressive. It's the "COVER CUNTS" as I'd like to refer to them for this post's sake that grip my shit. I'd rather not name names, not that it matters here really, but as there's a chance I might be asked to gig with them at some point, I don't wanna fuck my chances up of a dep. Oh yeah, I am true musical HARLOT!

I jammed with a band just yesterday, guys older than me and had been in bands since their teens. Well, all save the bassist who'd only decided that apart from Brick-Laying and fighting, he'd like to play bass at the age of 40! By 41 he's in his first gigging band. They called me up and asked if I'd dep as they've lost their drummer.... literally, they don't know where he is! So as they have some gigs coming up I said I'd dep until they found someone that could commit.

I arrived at the practice hall promptly on time. I was greeted by the singer who apparently my sister went to school with. He was lovely chap and pre warned me that "my voice is rough today" A worrying sign at a first meeting I fear I am sure all you experienced musos would concur! He felt rather proud that he owned a radio mic.... Not a Sennheiser/AKG/Beyer Dynamic all singing all Dancing, £1000+ endorsed by Phil-Tory Cunt-Collins bells and whistles affair, oh no!!! Just a plain Radio Mic the like you'd get from Maplin for £150. He referred to it as his "Pride and Joy" Then I met the bassist.

Imagine if you will, a Caveman around 50,000 BC, shaved.... in shorts and a vest.... with a bass. Except the Caveman would have been more intelligent. I knew I was in for a shit afternoon.

I set the drums up and the guitarist turned up with the PA (stands to reason that the singer doesn't own the PA, I felt like I had stepped back to 1990) He seemed ok, decent enough gear and an ok guy. In fact, they were all ok guys, just fucking woeful musicians. He tuned up using the 5th fret technique, no harmonics or chromatic tuner, the technique that's taught on lesson one of "play guitar prick-fashion" My eyes rolled to the back of my head and a laid back like a prostitute would with an old fat bald guy pumping and a sweating hoping it would be over sooner rather than later.

I played through the whole set within an hour. It consisted of songs by Snow Patrol, Stereophonics, Keiser Chiefs, Snow Patrol, Steroephonics, Foo Fighters, Snow Patrol, Steroephonics, Snow Patrol and more Snow Patrol with a little bit of Snow Patrol AND Steroephonics for good measure.... all played really badly with wrong chords, lyrics, structures. After each one they'd High Five and say shit like, "Hey that's sounded better than it ever has!" If I'd had a Magnum (not the Ice cream) I'd have painted the ceiling red with a hint of Brain.

After the running the set, the guitarist asks me, "So what do you think?"
"Boy it needs a LOT of work!" I said thinking quickly as to not say, "You all suck balls!"
After all, as nasty as I might be coming across here, I don't want to offend them; they were all nice guys and enjoyed what they did and I empathise with that so much. A lesson on "How not to be a fucking woeful band" they should learn, but I am not the one that wishes to teach them, I have better things to do! Not surprisingly he took my reply with a surprise, like he was expecting me to say, "Fuck me on a Bike wearing knickers, why haven't you been discovered yet???!!! I have won the musical Jackpot! I am going to take us places I fuck yee not! This is how Brian Epstine must have felt in the 60's!" So I had to elaborate and explain that over the last 15 years, I have been blessed with playing with some incredible players and fantastic people on and off stage, so I am spoilt. As a result, my musical bar as it were is very high. I probably came across like a arrogant prick which wouldn't be my wish in the slightest.

If only he knew what I really thought.

So bringing this to a close, I said I'd gig with them but I am hoping that I am busy on a night they call me for.

SHIT BANDS, STOP IT.. STOP IT THIS INSTANT. STOPPLAYINGNOTGOODSHIT!

I really tried to end this rant on a poignant note but after 20 minute wracking my brains, literal brutality was my only course.

-- Post From My iPhone

Bournemouth Pier Theatre

- look! It's a freestanding poster (a wee "in joke" for all those in the know, thrown in free of charge!)



This is going to be the penultimate blog entry for the Route 66 summer tour 2009 as it's almost come to a close. Sob sob, oh woe is me! Actually, it is a little sad; as much as I have tried to detach myself from anything personal to do with the show and think of it as just business, I've become ever so fond of 90% of the characters within. The remainding 10% can die in a pool of their own piss and shit for what I care! Ok I'm joking, a pool of their own piss would suffice.



Piss



And shit!

Clive, Ian an myself arranged to meet at Ian's at 12:30. I've been going to the gym again and so wanted to get a burn out before setting off. So in I went at 10:30 sweated like a Jew at a whip round, was showered and outta there by 11:30 and was heading straight up to the ancient civilisation known as TREDEGAR!

Much to Ian's surprise, I was there before Clive. And when Clive turned up, he almost shit himself! Well, he blames me for being early but we all know the truth about him and his dicky bowels don't we?

Ian was sporting an infection in his left eye which was red and swollen up making him look like he came worse off in a slight disagreement with Chuck Norris. (don't fuck with Chuck!) Another description could be his eye looked like whore's minge after a gang-bang with a herd of wild horses. Yeah, it was nasty!

Here's a photo.


Ok, it's not a photo of his eye. But here's one that's a little similar.



Clive elected to sit the back seat and let Ian drive as he was tired from working his over-active ass off to get his business affairs in order in preparation for his holiday tomorrow. This generally had him in his office until the wee small hours most nights and most specifically the night before this gig, so he needed the rest.

Along the way, I played Ian a Cd which I had been talking to Ian about. It was the re-workings of some classic early Genesis tracks by their ex guitarist Steve Hackett. Clive chose to put his iPod on and fill his head with his usual mix of random psychodelia of which Phil has become such fan.

... That ladies and gentlemen is what's known as Sarcasm! Should you know Phil on a social level, be sure to ask him what he thinks of Hocus Pocus by Dutch band Focus, he loves that one, especially the live version!!!

It pissed down all the way, strangely enough as soon as we crossed over the Severn into England. By all accounts the weather in Wales was lovely all day. It's usually the other way around.

Upon arriving at Bournemouth, we were to discover that we'd have a bit of a pig on the load out later as the theatre was at the end of the pier (a clue in the title me thinks) and they only had one small trolly.






Pissing rain.


Even in the pissing rain there were still folk that figured it was still ok to don swim wear and go building sand castles and play in the sea. We have to be the only country in the world that does that!

I build the kit up, soundchecked and then went for something to eat.


Clive, Phil, Ian, Jim, Wayne and myself decided on Harry Ramsden's world famous fish and chips. After looking at the menu, I decided I wasn't going to eat here but I had a drink with them as not to be rude. This apparently wasn't good enough for Clive who them proceeded to take the piss in the way that only he knows. I left and said, "sorry goto go, I can't stomach you fucking losers for another second!"

I decided on a salad at KFC, t'was well nice and I wasn't surrounded by cunts while I ate it, so everyone's a winner.

Before the show we had a coffee in the cafe at the back of the theatre. I was busting for a piss and decided to piss off the end of the pier, I could have used the cafe toilets but that would be too normal. I had an epiphany whilst straining the greens too! There's something very therapeutic in taking a leak off a pier on the pissing rain, I'd highly recommend it.

Then it was showtime. There were just over a hundred people or so in, so after a spate of good audiences it was back to shite again, and just in time for the tour to end leaving us all with a high note to look back on.



- "be on your game folks, we got another packed house tonight. It's going to fucking ROCK!!!"

That was sarcasm again folks in case it wasn't bloody apparent enough!!

Apart from the audience size, they were very responsive. The show went well and I played notibly well according to the others. I would prefer to play well all the time, and although I try and for the most part I succeed, there are some nights where there's a little bit extra in the tank as it were.

So with the show done, the kit packed down, I carried some of the drums along the pier to Clive's car by hand and on my back - do I hear a "Hell Yeah!"??? (I'm such a self-righeous twat on times)

I slept most of the way back to Ian's.I loaded the drums from Clive's car into my own and slewed off back to Swansea to get in for around 03:30 or so.

So that's almost it for this tour in its theatre format as the next gig is a festival. The next blog entry will be the last. I only hope something funny happens, fuck whether or not the gig is good or I played well; you gotta get the priorities right haven't you!?

-- Post From My iPhone

Teignmouth Music Festival

I was awake well before the others so I watched some TV. An hour or so later, Phil come down from upstairs as did Wayne and Jaime.

Jim turned up for some reason or other but didn't get to hear what it was as I was well engrossed in tech talk with Wayne; he's buying a new phone soon and wanted to pick my brains.

...hmmm, pick my Brains.

"Steve you should have that Brain, it suits you better than the other one"

We all went off to have some breakfast. Still fresh in my mind was the lyrical content of a Frank Zappa song, one I'd known for years but only yesterday I noticed more of the lyrical content and couldn't stop laughing. So I sang it outloud for all in the queue, serving and eating around me to hear. Allow me to enlighten you on the poetic genuis that IS Frank Zappa:

Why does it hurt when I pee?

Why does it hurt when I pee?

I dont want no doctor

To stick no needle in me Why does it hurt when I pee?

I got it from the toilet seat

I got it from the toilet seat

It jumped right up

And grabbed my meat

Got it from the toilet seat

My balls feel like a pair of maracas

My balls feel like a pair of maracas

Oh God I probably got the

Gon-o-ka-ka-khackus!

My balls feel like a pair of maracas

Ai-ee-ai-ee-ahhhh!

Why does it

Why does it

Why does it

Why does it hurt...when I

Peeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee?

Are you enlightened?

So with a stomach full of shit, it was off to Teignmouth. I travelled with Phil while Wayne took his own car, James had Nathan, Leona and Laura and Clive and Ian went up ahead some hours before.

Upon getting there, it quickly became apparent this might be a nice gig. It was festival like but more the public one you have that the councils put on rather than some paid to get in affair. None the less it would be nice to have a decent sized crowd if nothing else.

There was a very young band playing already. They did a mix of originals and covers, but for young kids (none were older than 19) they were brilliant. All very good players and the spotty little school boy looking one on lead vocals had an amazing voice! The drummer was very good too, his general playing didn't strike me that much but the little shit could play double strokes on the kick drums at about 150-160 bpm; I have tried to do this for years and only crappily manage it at slow tempos. Bastard!

We went off to a quiet pub to discuss the set. Having only an hour spot we needed to trim it down but keep key moments to the show in.

Whilst doing this some typical pissed up cunt decided to hang about, make and a complete nuisance of himself by chirping up when Clive would list off songs by saying, "Ah, not Neil Fackin Diamond... Heez fackin' SHIT!" etc. He cornered Dan, who entertained him for about 30 seconds and was slowly loosening up to twat-him-bastard mode. He then turned to me, at first I tried to given one word answers. But I quickly realised that if I could keep him occupied then he'd then leave Clive and the others alone and thus shit would get done without ANYONE getting punched.

Upon inspecting his facial features a little closer, it was a good call too. First up, he had half an ear. I know what you're thinking, "That doesn't mean he's a hard bastard, he could have got that in an accident" I agree, an accident involving someone else's violent rage driven mouth and teeth! As well as this, he sported a mixed bag of marks and scars all over his mushki. His nose looks like it's been broken more times than a crack whore has been fucked for a tenner. Though it is said that the hard ones don't have scars generally. Either way, I didn't want to find out so I indulged in conversation for a while whereby he'd flitter from being a quite decent chap to chat with, to a complete arsey wanker. I am surprised I got through the incident without having to smack him across the head with the huge bottle of loose change on the bar before he did the same or worse to me!

Before us was a new age Ska/Indie Band. They were good at what they were doing but it wasn't my cup of tea. My Cup of Tea is a cup of Tea....

Phil and Ian before show time

View from the stage

Audience view, Indie Ska band playing.

The bands turned around via a 30 minute break. So it was quickly up and put my cymbals on stand and pedal on the kick drum. I decided to use the house kit as it were. It was a Tama Granstar, much like the one I used to own until 6 years ago. I took a photo of it:

Tama Granstar - Percussive symbol of the 80's

Dan Reeve - line checking

We quickly line checked and flew straight into the set. At first people didn't seem to respond to us that well but as the show went through, they loosened up a bit. Before I knew it, we were done having to extend the end a bit as we were 15 minutes early. So it was high time for the BIG END FROM HELL!!!! It was like, "ok, I have had to hold it down all gig... it's the last chance to fucking go for it! Forget all that artistic and musical expression shit, the person that plays the most notes wins.....1, 2, 3 - GO!!!"

We hung about for a bit while the band after us were playing. I got chatting to the nice drummer for the last band where he gave me some rather nice compliments, which was nice.

Nathan had some friends down to watch as they were living locally. One of them was a singer in an Abba tribute band.

This is her in her Kitchen...

...But wait.

It's the band's VAN!!! I was so in awe. It has beds, shit house, shower and space for all the pa and gear and as an icing to the transiting-of-musical-folk-and-all-their-shit cake, it has an awning. Tranformers FUCK OFF! I've been hunting for contender for the "Best Van in Britain" award. I think I might have found a new winner!