“Thanks man and cheers for the sniff.”
Looking momentarily puzzled. “Oh yeah sniff, cool, cool. You Northern monkeys.”
“Haha, yeah us Northern monkeys,” Johnny ladled extra emphasis - elongating his already flat Northern vowels.
Scooping up the five brightly coloured fabric Access All Areas passes, Johnny stood up, vigorously rubbing his nose to ensure that no rogue traces of coke were visible. “Cheers Ross, I’ll catch you later man.”
Already stabbing determinedly at his desktop computer keyboard, Ross glanced up with a predictable, “Cool, cool.”
Bowling back down the corridor, Johnny opened the door to see the band had found a long-deflated rugby ball that they were trying to throw quarterback-style onto the roof of the venue with limited success.
“Right, right children. I leave you for five minutes and you’re already trying to wreck the place.”
Putting one hand on his hip and wagging his other hand in an exaggerated school mam fashion, Johnny ‘tsk tsked’ at the band. “Anyhow, don’t lose them. In fact, as they are the first of many passes, I’d recommend that you save it for posterity. It’ll be worth a fortune in a few years.”
He gulped as the bitter line of cocaine dropped in the back of his throat. Exhaling deeply and composing himself momentarily as the drug rushed into his system,” I’ll move the van and you lot move the gear into the venue. Just leave it on front of the stage for now. We’ll wait and see how they want you to set up.”
Always first with an answer, Mikee clicked his fingers, impressing himself with the loud snap. “Nice one Johnny and have you seen the toilets, I’m bursting.”
“Err, yeah, just on the right I think as you get to the top of the corridor.” Unable to help himself, he mirrored Ross’s verbal tic, “Cool, cool.” Shaking his head at himself, Johnny got into the van, reaching for a bottle of now warm water, and gulped deeply to take away the taste of the high-quality coke.
Chapter 12
Assembling their gear stage right, the band looked round the venue. As they stood in silence taking in the surroundings, the air crackled with a voice over the in-house PA system, “Alright lads. I’m Pete and your songs are in my hands tonight.”
“Get yourselves set up in front of the curtain, the Sheds are already set up behind there. We’ll see what you’ve got.”
Jamie nudged Dominic and whispered to him, “Look at the lighting rig, and there’s even a barrier in front of the fuckin’ stage!”
“I know bro, we’re gonna have to be good tonight!”
Gaining rock star confidence by the second, Danny, who was practically hopping on the spot with excitement, “We’ll smash it tonight! Don’t know what you’re worried about.”
This was either beer fuelled bravado, or he really was oozing confidence. Johnny suspected both, but felt his attitude was way better than being a mass of nerves.
“That’s the spirit Danny, get the sound right and just enjoy it. Are you going to let me know what these covers are yet?”
“You’ll have to wait and see!” Danny grinned across at him.
Pete’s voice crackled across the PA, “Okay lads, enough of the team talk. Get set up and I’ll get you sorted for tonight. Sweet?”
This request spurred the band into action and like worker ants, they swarmed the stage and had their instruments, amps and speakers set up in no time at all. Mikee had been good to his word and his bass drum now looked resplendent with the band logo adorning it.
Johnny took up a spot at the rear of the venue, giving him a view of the whole of the compact stage.
“Now then lads, give us a tune, I’m dying to hear what you’ve got for me…” the sound engineer requested.
***
Feeling the effects of four strong lagers, Johnny decided he would visit the production office to see if he could procure a further rail of coke from Ross.
“Right, I’ll leave you to get ready for the gig. Stage time is 8.00pm so you’ve got half an hour. I’ll be back just before you go on. I’m just going to square everything with the promoter.”
With that, he left the band to prepare themselves in the cramped and badly ventilated dressing room.
Ross was mid-way through ordering his evening’s consignment when Johnny entered his office. Double checking stage times and the length of the set, a suitably chunky line of gak was quickly procured.
With a bugle induced swagger, Johnny knocked on the dressing room. “You all decent?”
Peering round the door, what he saw made his heart race even faster. They looked like a band. A real live rock ’n’ roll band eagerly awaiting their moment. Mikee was drumming percussive rhythms on the edge of a table, resplendent in a grey check fur trapper’s hat complete with ear flaps which waggled in time to his drumming. Danny, still in shades was swigging on a beer, black denim jacket, skinny black jeans and battered white converse.
Jamie and Dominic both looked amazing. Jamie had a black leather peacoat worn over his jeans, with his trusty red scarf again tied round his throat. His blue eyes held a fixed determination as they darted round the room gauging his fellow bandmate’s moods. Dominic was wearing a long sleeved white T-shirt with a black short sleeved shirt worn open over the top of it. Checking the tuning was just so and tightening guitar strings, the band were totally focussed, no words were being passed between them.
Few words were necessary, so Johnny kept it short and sweet. “It all starts tonight. Just enjoy this. I know you’re going to be fuckin’ great.”
Jamie, looking impassive, leant his guitar against the rickety looking table that sat centrally in the pokey dressing room, beckoning Johnny over and indicating that the rest of the band all stood up, he instigated a ‘group hug’. Speaking softly, not unlike his mum, “It starts tonight. I love you boys, and we’re all in this together. Let’s fucking go.” Holding out a fist. “TRUST!”
Gulping back raw emotion, Johnny broke the embrace, grabbed a beer and said, “I’ll see you lot out there…”
***
Entering the room, Johnny was hit by a wave of heat. It was probably two-thirds full and the chattering students were being entertained by the usual staple of indie classics. The mood felt very convivial - probably due to the 2-4-1 drinks promotion. Raising the average age by some twenty years, Johnny secured a suitable vantage point at the rear of the venue, with a perfect sight line of the stage.
Looking round at the fresh-faced students, Johnny felt a pang of regret at having missed out on this part of his education. Getting pissed/stoned/laid and a degree. Offset by the ubiquitous mass of student debt…
Snapping back to the moment, Johnny felt his stomach skip as the DJ faded out an Arcade Fire track he was struggling to remember the name of. The house lights then faded to black.
This was fucking it. He regretted that he’d not picked up another beer as his mouth was desert dry, down to a combination of adrenaline and the rising temperature within the room. And the cocaine.
Seeing the shadows of the four figures as they took take to the stage, Johnny’s pulse quickened. Thank fuck I’ve not crashed too much bugle off Ross, he thought; his heartrate would have been out of control by now.
A slow thump of Mikee’s newly adorned bass drum signalled their arrival, lights still down, Jamie made the introductions. “We’re Lonely Souls. You’re gonna love us…”
With precision timing the lighting rig kicked in and illuminated the band in searing white light, the guitars chimed in right on cue and the band piled straight into ‘Speaking in Tongues’.
The venues sound system was perfect, every instrument resonated as it should; Johnny would owe the Sound Engineer a large drink if things carried on like this.
As Jamie closed his eyes and passionately sang the first chorus, three hundred pairs of female eyes and doubtlessly a good number of males, widened and took in the lead singer hungrily. He looked both gorgeous and vulnerable, yet exuded a stoic assuredness, a belief in what he was singing. He looks like a
fucking rock star, Johnny thought excitedly. The chorus finished, and Dominic leant back slightly, his liquid guitar lines silky, yet still retaining a rawness, chiming perfectly through the speakers.
Danny stared the crowd out impassively, holding the rhythm down, his movements economical.
Mikee, who must have already been at serious risk of overheating in his newly acquired fur trapper’s hat, was a veritable blur, with his smile seeming to get bigger with every beat.
The amassed student crowd had responded to the band’s frenzied energy and killer songs, and by the third number, the front third of the audience were bouncing up and down and slamming into each other. It was civilised as moshpits go, but it was exactly the reaction that Johnny had always believed the band would elicit.
Having seamlessly raced through the previous four songs without a word, Jamie now addressed the expectant crowd. “You won’t have heard of us before. We’re Lonely Souls. Remember the name…”
This will lift the fucking roof off, Johnny thought as Jamie introduced the last of their own set. “This is our last song before we play a few you’ll already know.” Looking out across the audience, “It’s called ‘Salvation’…”
The song had never sounded so good, the chorus was made for venues like this – bigger! By the second chorus, everyone in the room was hanging on to every single note, every single word. “I’ll be your salvation, you’ll be my salvation, we’ll be your salvation…”
And then the middle eight dropped in, the lighting engineer faded the lights slightly, picking out Jamie with a red spotlight. Just as it finished the lights blazed on and Dominic launched into the fiery solo that saw the song to its chaotic conclusion.
Glancing admiringly over at his twin brother, Jamie than sang the last chorus again, his own guitar slung behind his back gunslinger-style.
The crowd went mental. Absolutely fucking mental. As songs go, it was immediate. Its anthemic qualities soaring. It was a song that people would love.
Clamouring for a beer to quench his thirst but curious to know what surprises the band had up their sleeves, Johnny made his way over to the sound booth where he had spotted a bottle of water aside the desk. Nodding at Pete and giving him a huge ‘Macca’ style thumbs-up, he said, “How good was that?!? Mind if I have a quick gulp of that?”
Gesturing that it was okay, Pete gratefully accepted Johnny’s effusive thanks for both the drink and impeccable sound, and agreed to meet him post-show for a well-earned beer.
And now for the cover versions.
First up a note-perfect ‘Helter Skelter’.
Rubbing a finger across his angular cheekbone, Jamie smiled out at the crowd. “Thought you might know that one. You’ve heard of The Beatles then?
“Any requests?” asked Dominic, his sweaty blonde hair now plastered to his head.
Before any response could be proffered, Danny’s bassline thundered the opening to a Mancunian classic – New Order’s ‘Touched by the Hand of God’.
“This is our last number. We’ve fucking loved this,” Jamie intoned politely despite the expletive. “We are Lonely Souls, you’ll be seeing us again.”
And with that they dropped a punked up version of a UK grime track that Johnny couldn’t name - but ‘the kids’ loved it.
Patting Pete effusively on the back and beaming a huge smile, Johnny pushed his way through the overheated students and headed for the backstage area, flashing his pass at the security guard without even making eye contact. By the time he reached the dressing room door, the band were already in full-on celebratory mode.
Mikee was swinging Danny around in a suffocating looking bear hug, whilst Dom and Jamie hugged each other - exchanging whispered congratulations.
Bowling in to the party and shouting, Johnny was ecstatic at the mood, “HOW FUCKING GOOD WAS THAT!?! And those covers!”
All turning to the door and willing to listen to all compliments, Dan, now released from the stifling grips of Mikee, grabbed a beer and beckoned Johnny in, roaring, “You fuckin’ loved us didn’t you!”
“That was fuckin’ blinding! They fucking loved you out there. Honestly lads, I couldn’t be prouder.”
The adrenaline was coursing through the room, the band talking through moments and songs excitedly, shaking heads in disbelief. The buzz was palpable.
If you could bottle this type of feelgood, the recession would be over in no time at all, thought Johnny.
“Right, sorry to be the party pooper but…”
In dreadful stage whisper fashion, Danny shouted, “Old bastard,” through his rolled hand - loud hailer style.
“Yes alright, Mr I’m not even fuckin’ 21 yet. Anyhow, shift the gear and load the van. Then you can get out there and find some young, student talent that will tell you that you’re the future of rock ’n’ roll and offer to suck your cocks for you!”
“Only messing boss. Tonight was sick!” said Danny. With a smile that threatened to split his cheeks.
“I’m going to have a catch up with Ross and then head to the hotel. I’ll raise the average age by twenty odd years if I hang around, as young Daniel has kindly pointed out.”
The band then set to with their ritual packing away of their beloved guitars, Jamie placing his sweat stained red scarf at the bottom of the guitar flight case and as always, tenderly laying his champagne Stratocaster down. The love that musicians had for their instruments was something that Johnny was always in awe of.
“Your shout first Mikee! Serves you right for stinking out the bus on the way down,” said Dominic as he towelled his sweaty hair.
Rolling his eyes good naturedly at the band’s playful shenanigans, Johnny reached for his wallet and chucked £100 in tens on the table. “Go and do the decent thing, watch the Sheds do their set, and get pissed. The hotel’s only down the road, keys will be behind reception all bought and paid for. It’s down to you to negotiate your way back there. Premier Inn. Turn right at the front of venue and it’s half a mile’s drunken stumble.”
Having conveyed the instructions, he couldn’t resist the next line, “Oh and no TVs out of the windows. We’re not at that stage after one decent gig.”
“Fucking spoilsport,” snorted Danny, reaching up from his guitar case to shake Johnny’s hand.
***
Having loaded the equipment from the vacated dressing room, Johnny sat on the rear step of the van and drank a bottle of water in one. Locking the RV’s doors, he jumped back in surprise as he was met by Jamie leaning against the driver’s door.
Recovering from the surprise, he said, “You okay? There must be a party to be had tonight.”
“I’ve had one beer and I’m not feeling it. Couldn’t top that gig.” Jamie fixed Johnny with his piercing stare. “I’m fine man, we can grab a quiet beer at the hotel if you want?”
“Sounds fine by me J. Jump in, we’re only two minutes down the road…”
Chapter 13
Standing at the anodyne hotel bar, Johnny smiled in the direction of the barmaid who had to break away from her mobile phone to take his order.
“Yeah, what can I get you?” Looking straight through Johnny, her blank stare was then hijacked by Jamie who was now leaning over the bar and craning his neck to look at the selection of bottled beers.
The affect that Jamie seemed to have on girls was Pavlovian. Like a switch had been flicked. Pushing a hand through her badly bleached blonde hair, pulling her ponytail across her right shoulder, she tried her best smoulder. “And what can I get you then?”
Jamie politely asked for a Magners with ice. Disappointed at her failed flirtatiousness, she passed the drinks across to Johnny, looking over his shoulder at Jamie, who had now taken up a seat, which conveniently, was within her line of sight.
“Eight pounds seventy please,” she asked solemnly.
Handing over a ten-pound note, “Ta, and your own.” Johnny took the drinks over and sat opposite Jamie. Tracy Chapman’s ‘Fast Car’ played not unpleasantly in the background
as Johnny raised his fully charged glass towards Jamie. “To a top gig and here’s to many more!”
“I’ll drink to that.” Jamie nodded back, enjoying the bite of the sweet cider against his strained vocal chords.
“I honestly can’t believe that was only your second gig!” Pausing to take a long satisfying sip, he continued, “Not many bands get to play a gig like that so soon. Not blowing my own trumpet. How come you’ve not played more? With songs like yours and that…”
Jamie again drank deeply, the cold alcohol relaxing him. “I wish we had played more gigs, but…”
His mood seemed to darken as he looked down at the faux-oak table top. “If I tell you something, you have to promise to never repeat it.”
Slightly taken aback by Jamie’s change in tone, Johnny raised both palms face up, “Of course. You know you can trust me.”
Whistling softly between his teeth, Jamie went on, “It was Dominic. At school. He had terrible acne. Really fucking bad spots man. Kids at school used to call him Dominos. Like Pizzaface but fuckin’ crueller.” He cringed at the recollection of his twin brother’s adolescent anguish. “It never really cleared up until he was about nineteen and he then had to have some sort of laser treatment to reduce the scarring on his face. Mum took a second job to pay for him private, y’know.”
“Fuck,” Johnny said with a sympathetic wince.
Taking a glass draining gulp, Jamie looked Johnny straight in the eye. “Fuckers at school made his life a misery. I could have cried on his behalf. I never had girlfriends as I knew he wouldn’t stand a chance with girls…” Sighing loudly. “It killed Mum. She was always proper protective of us. We had no Dad. He left her before we were born.” He looked wistful for a few seconds. “She did everything she could to try and help him. Bought every soap, spot cream and treatment possible. Took him to every doctor and what d’yer call ‘em, dermatologist possible. Nothing seemed to work.” Knocking back a mouthful of cider, and half-laughing, he said, “And we never had pizza. Even when they’d cleared up!”
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