by DaNeo Duran
Nevertheless Trudie’s American secondment sparked growing desires to throw everything in and fly stateside. Johnny felt as strongly about this as anyone. Over the years he’d learned to relax around people who drank alcohol but he still had nightmares of one alcoholic, not knowing whether the ogre had lived or died and surreptitiously thwarted bookings within fifty miles of Carlisle.
Now though, one sticky sell-out July night following their principle support slot in Camden’s Electric Ballroom, Johnny handed a demo to a pretty redheaded who couldn’t have been much over eighteen.
He watched her gaze momentarily at the cover featuring Christine and Mazz looking sexy in black dresses and heels framing Johnny and Stu in their leather pants, black silk shirts and smug expressions.
The redhead had left the company of her friends and introduced herself as Grace. Given she seemed too young and shy to represent anything significant Johnny instantly forgot the name of the independent label she claimed association with and at first assumed she’d be no more than a new fan conning him out of a free tape.
Blushing and avoiding eye contact she flipped the cassette’s lid.
‘Contact details all present,’ her voice quivered.
‘You okay?’ he asked.
Her blush deepened. ‘I’ll give this a listen and call you. Will you be around on Monday?’
‘Yeah, after work.’
‘Oh. I finish at five.’
As all The Used Wonz attracted attention from the opposite sex especially after a show as infrequently brilliant as that night’s had been, Johnny assumed Grace must be too emotional to communicate fluently though she fought to maintain professionalism.
‘I’ll call you after hours then.’
Without knowing why Johnny asked, ‘Have you a card?’
‘What?’
‘A business card?’
‘No. I’ve … no.’
‘Okay, well I’ll look forward to speaking to you soon.’
Saturday 24th July 1982
The next day Johnny drove the van to The Marquee in Wardour Street for that night’s gig. They’d been lucky to get a Saturday gig given the venue typically had more successful bands playing over the weekend. As the second of three bands on the bill they hoped for their virgin Marquee appearance to have a capacity audience.
They got it.
Months earlier Christine had traded her normal keyboard stands in favour of chunky ones that allowed her to perform standing rather than sitting. She’d visited Nate’s music shop in Greenwich with Johnny and bought a Yamaha CS-50 – a proper synth. She’d found the more time spent adjusting her deep V-neck jersey the better the deal became and managed to offload her Logan (which never recovered from the pina colada she’d spilt into it one show) for a better string synth too.
For Christine the previous night’s Electric Ballroom gig had been amongst their best to date.
Preparing for the Marquee’s soundcheck she felt positive about having two big gigs in a row but knew as well as any of them that the performance would probably disappoint. Despite innumerable gigs under The Used Wonz’ belts they found several bad gigs followed good ones.
An hour later Christine slid into her dress and heels. After Mazz zipped her up she called the lads into the dressing room.
‘Look what Johnny’s got,’ Stu said getting a bottle of Jack Daniels out his bag.
‘What, he doesn’t drink,’ Mazz said.
‘I know it’s tea.’
‘Stu’s idea,’ Johnny said. ‘Drinking water on stage looks a bit wimpy.’
‘So you’re drinking cold tea?’
‘Yeah. Cool huh?’
Stu pulled his leather pants on and asked Mazz, ‘What’s the chances of a good gig tonight?’
‘We’ll do our best,’ she replied hopefully.
‘Right we will,’ he said encouragingly.
Stu loved Mazz like a sister but hadn’t let up on the quality of her playing despite its consistent improvement.
‘We’ll all do our best,’ Christine said protectively.
From the moment they took the stage Christine felt as good about the gig as ever. Something in the sound of Johnny’s voice filled her with hope. She saw him smile at the audience and at her. She felt the same contentment he showed. Looking beyond him, she and Mazz’s shared telepathy bonded. Like the previous night the band had the audience in their hands. Songs came out like prayers as band and audience unified in something beyond sound.
Afterwards whilst Christine set about shifting her gear she saw Johnny dragged from the stage to a table of girls. When she’d almost finished she became aware of a girl standing before the stage staring at her.
‘Christine?’ the girl said.
‘Hi,’ she said puzzled as to how she knew her name.
‘I’m Grace, from GMD.’
Christine raised an eyebrow.
‘Didn’t Johnny mention me?’
‘No, I don’t think so. What’s GMD?’
‘Global Music Development – a record company.’
‘You represent a record company?’ Christine swallowed the desire to chuckle reckoning GMD to be a school project.
Grace stood looking up at Christine. She knew her shyness betrayed her. It made it hard for others to take her seriously. But she knew sticking to her guns would see her through.
She’d left school at sixteen to help her uncle Richard’s record company in Chalcot Road. Since joining she’d listened to the hundreds of hopeful bands’ demos sent in each week. She hated most but had given up telling her uncle about the worthy tapes as he never cared.
He claimed the sound of buzzing industry interest around a band mattered more than their musical sound. If a band had a growing fan base he’d sign them before majors got them. Only then after paying for them to go into the studio would he get interested in the sound.
Not that Grace had seen any of this yet or the hazing Richard dished out ensuring his bands kept their feet on the ground before tying them to a management contract. Richard made money from its twenty per cent management fee and percentage earnings from the records his bands sold once he’d secured marketing and distribution with a major record company.
Grace joined GMD doubling its staff. She took care of so many of the things Richard used to that he should have had time on his hands. He should have been listening for the buzz of emerging bands but, so far as Grace could tell, he used anything as an excuse to avoid signing another act.
Grace understood the risks Richard took with every signing. She saw in GMD’s books large sums of money quickly spent but only dribbling back. Worse still they currently had no bands to manage since their last two split prematurely before recording new material. Despite the risks, GMD would have to find money and invest in a new band soon or go under.
Having decided to find GMD’s next band herself, Grace had spent weeks privately raking through demos compiling a shortlist. Only if she liked all of a band’s demo songs sufficiently would she checkout their live show. If they didn’t look, sound or play well she wouldn’t even spare them another thought.
Only four times had she found bands meeting her standards. None ended up signed to GMD.
Despite being shy she’d braced herself and introduced herself to the first band after their impressive live performance. But they neither took her seriously or remembered sending GMD a demo and fobbed her off with rudeness. The second band played equally well but after they’d welcomed her into their conversation Grace observed copious conflicting ideas with no single objective.
Bands three and four fared little better. Band three Richard dismissed because he couldn’t hear the industry buzzing.
Grace sought, approached and presented band four to Richard.
When he didn’t sign them she knew her uncle had lost his nerve. Band four signed to Columbia a month later.
‘Johnny gave me your demo last night,’ Grace said a little awed in Christine’s presence.
Squeezed into a tight dres
s she emitted a powerful eroticism with curves so soft Grace wondered if she’d retained a touch of puppy fat.
‘Oh, what did you make of it?’
Feeling like a bag of bones in Christine’s company Grace said, ‘Well, I was hooked by last night’s gig and so basically loved your demo. I can’t promise success but I’d like to meet you all if I may.’
Grace’s cheeks flushed when she mistook Christine’s offered hand and shook it.
Christine smiled pulling her onto the stage.
Knowing how young she looked Christine’s reserve hadn’t surprised Grace; and Johnny hadn’t taken her seriously despite being pleasant.
But, as Christine sent Mazz to rally to boys, she recalled her own reservation about The Used Wonz. They had a comfortableness that perhaps indicated a lack of bitter determination necessary for greater success. She feared The Used Wonz may have already achieved all they wanted from music.
‘Hi Grace,’ Johnny said appearing from nowhere and putting his arm around her. ‘Back so soon?’
‘Well, I’ve listened to your demo.’
‘I hope you’ve not come to tell us you didn’t like it?’
* * *
Grace imagined they’d find somewhere quieter; perhaps another bar. But the band didn’t want to risk letting their gear out of their sight.
Instead she helped pack their van and jumped in the back with the girls.
‘Where d’you live?’ Johnny asked her.
‘With my mum in Cheshunt.’
‘Where?’
‘Just north of the M25.’
‘And your mum lets you out alone?’
‘I was with friends but I’ll find my own way back.’
‘No you won’t,’ Christine said. ‘One of the lads will take you and I’ll keep you company.’
Put at ease Grace ended up round the kitchen table of the house the band shared. Out came wine and beers but Johnny shared a pot of tea with her.
Having to start somewhere she asked them how they’d met and learnt that the ease Christine now had amongst her bandmates had required considerable work. Questioning their ambition Grace recognised The Used Wonz had plenty though she didn’t know what to make of their desire for America.
It seemed the comfortableness she’d wondered about came from the fact that together they lived, worked, ate, played and Rock ‘n’ Rolled without ever tiring of each other.
She explained how GMD worked and queried why they’d not been picked up by another label. Stu confessed that they sometimes didn’t play such good gigs.
‘Well the two I’ve seen were fantastic,’ she said.
‘What about the demo?’ Stu said.
She winced. ‘Great.’
‘But?’
‘I saw you guys last night on impulse. The gig was exciting – spiritually moving.’
‘Wow,’ Stu said.
‘I’ll say,’ Mazz agreed.
‘The thing I’m wondering is whether I’d have come to see you on the strength of your demo alone.’
‘Given you’ve witnessed both, is that now so important?’ Johnny asked.
‘Yes, my uncle Richard will have to hear the demo before he agrees to see you.’
‘Oh, okay.’
‘If, I can get Richard to a gig you’ll have to look, sound and excite us as much as you did the last two nights. Most importantly we’ll have to pack the venue right out.’
‘But only if he likes the demo,’ Stu said.
‘And if I convince him there’s industry buzz around you.’
‘You got some ideas?’ Christine said.
‘I’ll have to think about the buzz but I’ll play the demo a few times in the background and as he leaves for lunch so it’ll go round his head whilst he’s out. By the time he hears it properly he’ll be familiar with it, subconsciously at least.’
‘You know we’ve got a sort of friend called Trudie who’s quite high up in Vanquar’s A&R department,’ Mazz said.
‘That’s brilliant,’ Grace said.
‘Not really. She’s gone to America and we can’t get a demo to her.’
‘D’you know when she’s back?’
‘No, but I’ve got her UK office number so I’ll see if there’s any new news.’
Wednesday 13th June 1984
The silver-haired man wanted a simple yes or no answer to his simple question. Sitting at his desk with phone pressed to his ear his listened to Kyle explain how he’d bypassed an alarm system, gained access to an office unit riffled through drawers and filing cabinet. None of that gave him more than part of the answer.
The silver-haired man neither cared about the rumours Kyle spread nor the papers he’d moved nor the flood he’d caused. In fact he hated Kyle’s behaviour.
He just wanted confirmation to his question one way or another. Surely Kyle’s other agenda would arouse suspicion. He wanted none of this to come back on him.
‘It’s okay,’ Kyle said. ‘I’ll get the information soon.’
‘Just get on with it. Right now this whole elaborate stunt looks to have been for nothing.’
Friday 06th August 1982
Grace approached her uncle having seen him glance at the clock. The red-hot weather had caused her blouse to stick to her back.
She tugged her shirttails and asked, ‘Before you take lunch, will you listen to this band?’
She dropped a cassette into the main music system.
‘Who’s this?’ Richard asked as Christine’s synths swirled amidst the humidity.
‘The Used Wonz. Their demo arrived a few days ago.’
She didn’t let on that she’d been feeding him song snippets from her desk’s cassette player or humming their basslines for the fortnight since meeting the band.
Grace watched his face relax as he entered his musical frame of mind.
As the first song reached its play-out he said, ‘They’re good.’
‘Good enough?’
He mopped his brow with a handkerchief. ‘There’re plenty of demos this good.’
Grace read points from the letter Christine had produced trying not to rush. ‘They’re aged eighteen to twenty-two; been together years. They’ve done several interviews with local music press and had interest from Vanquar. Their fan-base is ever growing.’
‘Ever growing – what does that mean?’
‘Well, they do plenty of five hundred plus venues. In fact they’re playing Dingwalls – tonight.’
At this she stopped to watch his reaction before saying, ‘I’m taking you out for dinner and then we’re going to see them.’
‘You’re kidding?’
‘You’ve nothing to rush home for and these guys are worth checking out. There’s no point my doing that without you.’
Richard tugged his top button. ‘Is it getting hotter in here?’
‘It’ll have cooled by evening. They’re second band on so if you don’t like them you’ll still be home in good time.’
‘I guess it wouldn’t hurt to see if the singer’s up to it live,’ he sighed.
An hour later, after Richard’s lunch, Grace filled him with more Used music then made a note of where their demo stopped.
‘See you after lunch,’ she said swapping shoes for trainers. She crossed the office exiting via the door that opened outwards onto a fire escape.
A breeze gently swept her hair relieving her of the office’s stuffy oppression.
Hiking the route she’d take with Richard she headed for Camden Lock checking The Used Wonz had enough posters displayed. By the time she reached Camden High Street she’d seen how busy the band had been with available space.
To her right lay the Electric Ballroom. She crossed her fingers hoping they’d pull a decent crowd after so recently filling the comparatively large venue. Dingwalls lay feet from Camden’s famous markets.
She passed through the market’s gates and after asking a stallholder soon found Johnny strumming his acoustic guitar. Beside him Stu, looking ever trendy, served
a young lady and after mentioning the night’s gig added a flyer to her bag of carrots.
‘Richard’s heard the demo,’ Grace said when they had a moment. ‘He’s agreed to come along tonight.’
‘That’s great, well done,’ Johnny said putting his guitar down.
‘I’ve seen your posters. D’you think you’ll get a decent crowd?’
‘The stallholders would prefer it was a Saturday but we’re mentioning it to all the customers,’ Stu said.
‘Cool, I’ve invited my friends and told them to make lots of noise and a fuss of Richard.’
‘Pray they snap his funk,’ Stu said.
‘I don’t know if they’ll be that friendly. I could do with a couple more posters for nearer the office.’
‘Christine’s got them. I’ll take you over,’ Stu said.
Stu led the way to Margaret’s stall where Christine worked in disguise it seemed. Grace wouldn’t have believed the drab looking frump hunched over boxes of second-hand records could transform into such imposing glamour.
* * *
After work Grace changed into T-shirt and skin-tight jeans and redid her makeup.
Richard had been unnervingly quiet since lunch.
Grace asked, ‘Are you ready?’
‘I rang the bank earlier.’
‘We need to make money?’ she said phrasing the inevitable positively.
‘We do.’
‘Well I’m paying for dinner so tell me whilst we eat.’
‘I don’t know if this is a good idea.’
‘Oh God, don’t back out now.’
She’d never spoken authoritatively with anyone least of all her uncle. Grateful for the potential dream job she couldn’t anymore sit doing everything he asked whilst the company slipped away.
Richard’s expression changed. Perhaps he read something in hers or her tone of voice.
‘Come on love. I know somewhere cheap,’ he said picking up his jacket.
* * *
They ambled along the towpath in now breezeless stuffy heat.
‘I could just jump right in,’ she said looking at the water.
‘You’d get tangled in weeds and that’d be your end.’
‘You wouldn’t save me?’
‘I suppose I’d give it a bash. I’d have to have something to tell your mother.’
Richard didn’t often crack jokes so Grace found his attempt at humour encouraging.
Ahead she could see the first Used poster. ‘Oh look,’ she said casually.
Richard approached it and squinted studying it. ‘Good.’
A couple of hundred metres later he spotted the second one.