Oasis: The Truth

by Tony McCarroll

  ‘This Guy’s in Love with You’ by Burt Bacharach had been played constantly on the bus, courtesy of Coyley. I had pointed out the drum shuffle to Noel, as this type of drumming would sit well with some of the more acoustic songs he was developing. Noel listened, with his head cocked to one side. He said nothing and moved off. You took silence from Noel as approval, so I continued to work on this idea.

  25 SEPTEMBER 1994. SAN FRANCISCO

  The streets of San Francisco were melting, even in September. The cars shimmered as they approached us from the distance. The highway was filled with commuters and tourists. We were staying at the Abigail on McAllister Street.

  There was a direct correlation between our ever-growing popularity and the number of ‘celebrities’ that had begun attending our shows. Someone had mentioned that Patsy Kensit was planning to be at tonight’s gig. I told everyone that I reckoned I was in with a shot, which started them howling. ‘Just watch,’ I replied.

  During the gig, I spotted her. She was stood at the side of the stage. It seemed that every man that passed her became instantly nervous. ‘How ya doing, kid?’ I said to her with a smile, when we came off stage.

  ‘All right. What’s a girl got to do to get a drink round here?’ she asked.

  Better not tell her that, I thought, and then instead offered, ‘Why don’t you meet us on the tour bus? It’s quiet there, we won’t get interrupted.’

  ‘Interrupted?’ she asked.

  My mind was three steps ahead of the situation. It was the fact that it was Patsy Kensit that had made me lose all control. I had never succumbed to being star-struck and honestly believed that confidence would get me anything. Only almost anything, it seemed.

  I hurried her onto the bus trying to ignore the last statement. She wore a Lycra stretch top, which was matched with a short black mini skirt. She had not come dressed for winter and looked absolutely stunning. I just couldn’t get the image of her and Mel Gibson in Lethal Weapon 2, writhing around in a caravan on a white beach, out of my head. I smiled as I pictured her bouncing up and down on Gibbo just prior to him being attacked by yet another group of revenge-driven terrorists.

  ‘What you smiling about,’ she asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ I replied, with a laugh.

  I just wished I could have been in Mel’s position. (By that I mean getting laid, not getting petrol-bombed by terrorists.) We linked arms and made our way to the tour bus. Already present were the rest of the band. I walked on, trying to pretend that me and Patsy had made a connection. The rest of the bus started to roar with laughter, seeing straight through my charade. This left Miss Kensit a touch confused. She took a seat in the middle of all of us. I wasn’t fucking happy. Already her eyes were off me and were firmly fixed on Noel. It was funny the way he attracted women. He was not exactly Hollywood handsome, yet he still seemed to get plenty of attention. Then again, I suppose even Shane MacGowan’s got a woman.

  She sat in front of us all, facing towards us. Now, this was not a woman short on confidence. We sat mesmerised, as we couldn’t think of anything decent to say. With an innocent laugh, she then said to Noel, ‘Right then, you northern hooligan. Shall we see who is capable of partying harder? I don’t believe there is a man here that can drink or smoke more!’

  Jesus. This was the innocent and delectable lady known as Patsy Kensit, sat with a mouth like a Liverpool dockworker. Who’d have thought? Her challenge was accepted by everyone.

  Here was an actress whose poster adorned most men’s bedroom walls in Manchester during that period. And before too long there she was, drinking and flirtatious. As I looked at her, I realised that I’d a snowball’s chance of it being me, as she seemed in complete awe of Noel. Funnily enough, it was about as quiet I’d ever heard Liam. Who’d have thought his future wife was sat here trying to get his brother’s attentions?

  I think it’s important that I take this opportunity to point out that the normal jealousies and insecurities that are part of most average groups of people did not apply to us as a band. It is not for me to take the moral high ground, and I know that in retrospect it was a very promiscuous and irresponsible attitude, but we were young and on the crest of worldwide musical domination. Just ask Alan McGee.

  We had the day to ourselves and top of the agenda was to hunt down some bugle. If we couldn’t score in Frisco we couldn’t score anywhere, it seemed. The days of selling trainers from the van had come to an end and instead we had to front Maggie for our daily allowance early. This was always left to yours truly, the others implying that Maggie had a soft spot for me. Whether she did or not I didn’t know, but I certainly had one for her. She was a straight-talking-from-the hip kinda lady and her self-assurance impressed me. She was also completely unflappable in every frantic or critical situation – and we put her through enough to know.

  I spent an evening with Maggie and a couple of bottles of red on one occasion. She looked at me with a worried face and then said, ‘You know that Noel will kick you out of the band if you continue.’ I asked her what I was supposed to do. I had tried to approach him, but he would have none of it. So fuck it. Nothing I could do.

  ‘You should stop arguing with him,’ she insisted. I told her that what she called arguing, I called defending yourself. I told her how we all grew up together and had in some shape or form been together for previous 10 years. She was amazed by this and told me she hadn’t realised. I laughed and went on to tell her stories about Jimmy the Butt and Trampy Spike. She was a great girl and a trusting confidant on what would be a rocky tour.

  26 SEPTEMBER 1994. BOTTOM OF THE HILL, SAN FRANCISCO

  Frisco was freakin’ fantastic, as one of the locals informed us. That Monday, we were at the Live 105 radio station. We sat in the green room, which was painted bright yellow, and awaited instructions. Suddenly the door opened and Damon Albarn popped his head round. He clocked Noel first, but ignored him.

  Then he spotted Liam and offered, ‘All right, geezer?’

  I liked Damon Albarn. He was a genuinely nice fella and we all – bar Noel – held him in high regard, musically. We never told him this, though.

  ‘Fuck off,’ said Liam.

  Damon didn’t look too impressed. The rest of Blur followed up behind Damon and laughed off Liam’s insult as a joke. It wasn’t. Nor was he an act. It was just typical Liam.

  We played at Bottom of the Hill, a very aptly named bar. It’s an old converted wooden house that looks like it might collapse in a heavy shower. I suppose it had survived numerous earthquakes, though, so it couldn’t have been all that unstable. We rocked the foundations that evening and all of us were happy; Blur stood at the back, tapping their feet and nodding their heads. I’ve always thought them a good set of lads, even the strange one who makes cheese.

  We headed off back to the Abigail for a heat-induced drinking session followed by a sweaty evening’s sleep.

  27 SEPTEMBER 1994. MELARKY’S, SACRAMENTO

  We hit Route 80 the very next morning and made the short trip to Sacramento. Once again, the heat made the air con on the bus an essential. We played Melarkys’ on Broadway and after the gig we drove overnight to Los Angeles, some 392 miles away. There seemed to be a general excitement surrounding LA, or the Lunatic Asylum as we tended to refer to it. Another man that Mr McGee introduced us to was Jeremy Pearce, who was the Chief Executive of Sony. Jeremy was a good bloke and a very shrewd operator. Although he was a most effective businessman, he wasn’t your run-of-the-mill chief executive. He actually understood music and was popular with all the band – partly due to his musical knowledge and, of course, partly due to his limitless company credit card. ‘Do you know, I’ve never realised what an important part of this band you are,’ he told me.

  Bullshit or not, ‘Did you hear that Noel?’ I shouted, chuffed by the comment. A compliment at that stage was as rare as an honest politician. There was no reply from Noel. Just that look. Lately, his insults had become particularly cutting. The rest of the group picked up
on this, and we were all treading on eggshells.

  28 SEPTEMBER 1994. LOS ANGELES

  I woke in a cool and dark hotel room in the Hyatt on Sunset Boulevard. From Levenshulme to Los Angeles. Bonehead was still sound asleep in his bed next to mine. I was itching to get out and discover a bit of Los Angeles, though, so I dressed quietly and slipped out the door. The hotel had been dubbed ‘the Riot House’, due to the large number of touring bands that had stayed there. I made a mental note to let Bonehead and Liam know this. Got to keep our end up. I could see the attraction for bands, though. Nightclubs such as The Roxy, The Rainbow and The Viper Room, were just around the corner. Also nearby were The Wiltern Theater, Universal Amphitheatre, The Hollywood Bowl and Hollywood Boulevard. The Whisky a Go Go, where we were due to perform the following evening, was local too. I headed out into the crisp morning sunshine.

  When I returned, Bonehead was proper excited. Later that day, he was meeting Martin, his brother, who had moved to Los Angeles. As it was also a day off, he was planning a heavy drinking session. Liam and Noel were visiting radio station KROQ for yet another interview. We tuned in to listen. One fan asked Noel if he had ever considered a penis extension. Noel replied that the band already had one on the drums. The hotel group laughed and pointed at me with some attempting a pile-on, which I fought off. Even I had to laugh at Noel that time.

  I told Noel later how ironic it was that he was making jokes about penis extensions when he had the smallest penis in the band. He didn’t find this funny.

  We all headed out in good spirits. We first dropped in on a couple of the local bars, where I began to notice people in our troupe whispering together; like schoolboys holding their very first pack of cigarettes, they were passing something among them. Liam barged in and grabbed it. ‘What the fuck’s this, then?’ He held a small, clear square aloft and then looked through it as if it was a monocle. ‘It’s crystal meth,’ came the reply. Liam removed it quickly from his face. Crystal meth was not the wisest road for us to choose that evening, but as usual we all tried to outdo one another.

  After Guigs stared at the present, he recounted the various issues that were associated with it: ‘Hyperactivity, dry mouth, headaches, diarrheic, blurred vision, convulsions, coma, heart attack and death.’ He had saved the best for last.

  ‘Do you want some?’ we asked.

  ‘Yeah, go on then,’ he replied.

  We head to The Viper Room which was owned by the actor Johnny Depp. The previous year, a fellow actor, River Phoenix, had overdosed and died on the pavement outside, which had given the club a certain notoriety. Wasn’t sure if I really wanted to go.

  We made our way there, with me and Liam leading the way while the rest of the band were a couple of minutes behind us. The two of us entered the club and waited just inside for the rest.

  Pap. Pap, pap. Gunfire rang from outside the door. Everyone in the club foyer dived for cover. Liam looked at me with panic in his eyes.

  ‘They’ve shot our Noel,’ he yelled, as he turned a 360, unsure what to do. I immediately ran to the front doors, to find that some unfortunate stranger had been gunned down just before the arrival of our group. Guigs was crying, hands to his face, some thirty yards up Sunset Boulevard. He had always been easily alarmed and he took this incident harder than most.

  29 SEPTEMBER 1994. THE WHISKY A GO GO, LOS ANGELES

  Five am. This was not good. The gun incident and the dose of crystal meth had left everyone wide awake all evening. Everyone was wired and most seemed still out of control. We had a gig that night, for fuck’s sake. I headed to my room, fully aware that if I didn’t grab a few hours’ sleep I simply would not be able to perform that evening. I left the rest as they start to drop E to negate the effects of the crystal meth. For fuck’s sake. The drugs in America were simply too strong for the band as a unit. Not the normal washing powder-diluted narcotic we would ride on back home.

  That night I turned up for the gig feeling terrible. The rest of the band were a fucking mess too. We plugged in and began the show. We had to start ‘Rock ’n’ Roll Star’ twice because no one knew what the fuck was going on. Liam was barely audible, Noel’s backing vocals were out of tune (he even squealed at one point) and he forgot to start the intro. He and Bonehead then played the wrong chords on the bridge and then Liam sang lyrics from a completely different song. Finally, Guigs’s amp blew. Top fucking class. It seemed that everybody had different set lists, so there was up to three different songs going on at the same time. A major fuck-up. Everybody was still methed out of their heads. To make matters worse, Ringo Starr was watching from the crowd. We’d done it again. Noel was looking round at everyone, obviously unhappy. We were not doing much to raise his bad mood. I raised my arms outwards, as if to say ‘What?’ I had kept in time and drummed the right song, yet most of Noel’s glares were heading my way. Nothing new there. Bonehead’s reaction to the breakdown was to start taking photographs using a disposable somebody had thrown on stage. He roared out laughing, with his thumbs up to the crowd. He didn’t notice Noel’s icy cold stare from the opposite end of the stage. The gig went from bad to worse. Liam had a parcel of powder that he had put down behind my bass drum. In between songs he was literally taking handfuls and troughing down, hidden behind my kit. The excess was blown over my kit. With a wipe of his face and a wink to me, Liam turned back to face the not-unsuspecting crowd. He screamed and contorted his face like he was in a wind tunnel. We muddled through a shambolic set until we reached ‘I am the Walrus’. With the gobbledegook Lennon lyrics, I guessed it didn’t matter how fucked Liam was and he sailed through it. Noel cut his final guitar section, though, and simply marched off the stage, leaving the rest of the band staring at each other in bewilderment.

  Afterwards, Noel was as angry as I’d ever seen him. He dragged Liam into the dressing room, where Marcus was already waiting, and slammed the door shut, leaving me, Guigs and Bonehead outside.

  Bonehead slurred, ‘Fuck this, I’m going for a drink.’

  Like that was needed. Me and Guigs waited nearly an hour and amused ourselves by signing autographs on records, clothes and breasts. Guigs moaned, ‘The whole band should be behind that door. It’s about all of us.’ I shook my head in disbelief and replied, ‘Open your eyes, Guigs. It is about them and you know it. Tell them you’re unhappy when they come out,’ I teased.

  When Noel and Liam finally exited the dressing room, Guigs gave it. ‘Everything all right, Chief?’ The question wasn’t even acknowledged. Noel simply made an exit. We wouldn’t see him again for a week.

  Liam was looking apologetic, to a degree. He sidled over and whispered, ‘Let’s get the fuck out of here.’ We found out which bar Bonehead had been directed to and made our way there. Liam told me he had been dressed down in the dressing-up room. His drinking and drug consumption was seriously affecting the band, he had been told. Liam had agreed with this diagnosis, in an attempt to get out of the room so he could party on. I laughed, until Liam told me that Noel wanted to see all of us the next morning.

  We arrived at the Rainbow Bar and Grill on Sunset Boulevard. Bonehead was hurrying towards us from the opposite end of the bar. Towering behind him was one of the largest ladies I’d ever set eyes on. I was sitting with Liam as Bonehead rocked up.

  I looked at the girl stood next to Bone. She was a fucking mountain. Don’t get me wrong. She was not fat. There was not an ounce of fat on her body. It was all sheer muscle; I was wondering whether she took steroids. Then she introduced herself, though I’ve not used her or her sister’s real names, for obvious reasons.

  ‘My name is Hilda,’ she sang, in a Scandinavian accent. Hilda the fucking bodybuilder I thought. Brilliant. ‘And this is my sister, Tove.’

  A delicious brunette had appeared at her side. Slender and petite, she was the polar opposite of her well-endowed sister. Me and Liam looked at each other. It was now a race to see who could impress her first. The Drummer didn’t fancy his chances against the Lead Singer. After a
quick question-and-answer session between the two, though, it became apparent that Liam was maybe a touch too young for Tove. This left the door open for me. Get in. It soon became apparent, though, that maybe I was a touch too unattractive for her. Can’t win them all.

  After an hour or so we headed back to their apartment, which was situated in Santa Monica, in a small complex of Spanish-style villas. Bonehead immediately opened another bottle of red and we moved to the balcony, where we watched the peculiar and eccentric Californian public, rollerskating or jogging beside the Pacific Ocean. It was eleven at night and they were still at it. I was in the country that never slept.

  It transpired that Hilda had something of a reputation among the bands of Los Angeles. Her sister now informed us that she had a thing for extremely rough sex and had left a number of men hospitalised. We all looked at each other with eyes wide and started to laugh.

  Eventually, we headed back to the Hyatt, to be confronted by Marcus, who for once actually looked like he was flapping. ‘Noel’s gone,’ he told us.

  ‘What do you fucking mean?’ asked Liam.

  Rather angrily, Marcus replied, ‘I mean he’s not here, he’s moved on, disappeared. What the fuck do you think I mean?’

  Liam was visibly shocked, as Marcus had never even raised his voice before, never mind sworn. He then told us the story. After the lockdown in the dressing room, Noel had told him he’d simply had enough; he had relieved Maggie of all the tour money and fucked off to LAX. Liam’s immediate concern wasn’t the mental state of his brother, but rather why the fuck Maggie had let him take all the money. Marcus simply shook his head at that question and, as if he had all the world’s problems on his shoulders, sighed and made his way to bed.

  30 SEPTEMBER 1994. LOS ANGELES

  The next day, the general topic of conversation surrounded Noel’s disappearance and state of mind. Bonehead laughed it off: ‘He’ll be back today,’ he assured us.