“A four piece, made up of brothers Jamie and Dominic Thorne, on vocals and guitar. Danny Martin on bass and Mikee Long on drums. This track is called ‘Salvation’. I’ve only listened to this the once, but it sounds like we could be hearing a lot more from these boys in the future. Let me know what you think on the usual text and Twitter and at my email. Here we go, Lonely Souls and ‘Salvation’.”
Coming across the digital airwaves, the track sounded perfect to the band. This was their moment. Undoubtedly there would be people pricking their ears as the tune played. Some of them might even remember the name of the band and the song. Some of them would nod approvingly. Some would let it pass them completely by, the radio just providing background noise for them. The song would mean more to the band than anyone else in the whole world. For now.
Predictably, it was Danny who broke the silence. “FUCKIN’ COME ON! AND HE MENTIONED OUR NAMES!” Hugging Dom and Jamie under each arm, Danny’s hyperactive levels of excitement were now reaching off the scale levels.
Mikee snapped his fingers, beaming his big open smile. “Nice one Johnny, fuckin’ nice one!”
“I’m just as pleased as you are lads, Mike down at the station loved the tracks and said he’d get it played on one of the evening shows. I know it’s not daytime, but that’s not going to happen with an unsigned band.”
Nodding in agreement, Jamie said, “We need to gig more and get our name out there.”
Putting his hand inside the large patch pocket of the hooded orange canvas coat that he was wearing, Johnny pulled out a roll of stickers. “Which is exactly where these will come in.”
Tossing the roll into Dom’s outstretched hand, he said, “We can do a subtle bit of guerrilla marketing. Right up your street, eh Kong?”
Dom smiled at the awful pun. “Deffo Johnny, I’ll have ’em all over the place before you know it!”
“Excellent,” nodded Johnny. “Look at it as ‘band awareness’ if you will. Get these plastered all over town and people will start to recognise your name.”
Looking down at the beermat sized stickers, Danny grinned his approval.
With the band’s logo picked out in red letters against a black background, with the words ‘They’ll be your Salvation’ underneath, they looked the business.
“Easier than flyposting and you can carry them with you all the time. Pop ’em up, and spread the word,” said Johnny. “I’ve had a couple of thousand printed, so I’ll let you each have a roll.”
“I think that calls for a pint,” offered Jamie, clearly pleased by developments. “They going to play the track again, Johnny?”
“Hopefully, man. Suppose they’ll see what sort of feedback they get. I’ll email my mate and find out.”
“Who’s up for a pint then?” asked Mikee
“Sorry boys. I can’t make it. Meeting a girl later,” beamed Danny. “The bird that cut my hair. Loves it that I’m in a band. Meeting her in The Northern later.”
“Ooh yer dark horse. Kept that quiet,” Dom teased. “Think we’ll have that pint in The Northern then, eh?”
Appalled at his own schoolboy error, Danny said, “Fuck off! You wouldn’t?” He looked beseechingly at his friends individually. “Come on! Don’t ruin this. I’m quite into her!”
Putting his arm round Danny’s shoulder, Dom said, “We wouldn’t do that,” glancing at Mikee, “would we?”
Breathing an audible sigh of relief, Danny said, “Aw, thanks fellas. Right I’m off. Meeting her in 20 minutes. You okay taking my guitar, Mikee?”
“Cool, D-Mo. You get out there and do the business!”
Already heading for the door, having blasted some cheap smelling deodorant under his T-shirt and down the front of his jeans, he said, “See ya Sunday!”
“I’m going to have to bail on you as well,” said Dom somewhat sheepishly. “I’ve got a hot date as well. I’m not daft enough to tell where you though. See ya laters suckers!”
Shrugging his shoulders, Johnny said searchingly, “Just us three then eh?” Anything to delay his return to the hotel, he thought.
“Good for me. Just the one though I’m up early tomorrow for work,” said Mikee.
Jamie nodded his agreement whilst undergoing the ritual of stowing his guitar away.
Usual table. Usual round. Usual curmudgeonly service. The conversation was solely band based, much to Johnny’s relief, as he was sure Jamie kept eyeing him in a concerned fashion.
“I’m going to look at getting a website sorted. Nothing too over-elaborate at this stage. Somewhere we can post live dates, news, videos and that,” said Johnny.
“Like it,” said Mikee as he once again adjusted the angle of his baseball cap. Glancing simultaneously at his watch and already drained pint glass, he said, “Want another? That one never even touched the sides.”
Chapter 22
A groundswell of local support had been achieved through some regular gigging and continued airplay on XFM. A download-only single had been well received – selling almost a thousand copies. The record label interest had been a constant since the tracks were first sent out.
Hotly tipped to be the ‘next big thing’ out of Manchester – a somewhat dubious honour as the music press always seemed to expect the next incarnation of the ‘Manc Monkey Walk’.
Having been courted by a handful of labels complete with A & R men oozing phony sincerity, a decision had been made to sign with XL Recordings – an independent label currently basking in the success and vast record sales that Adele had brought them.
A sensible advance had been negotiated, the thinking being that the smaller this sum, the less indebted the band would be. Jobs and courses had been jettisoned with much glee. Johnny had served his own notice out, and upon hearing that he had opted ‘out of normality’ to work full-time with the band, Claire had instructed a solicitor to draw up papers allowing her to buy him out of their house.
Having had a lawyer check over the minutiae of the contract, the band were now poised to sign their names across an actual record deal. Things would change overnight. They would now be answerable to a paymaster, dancing to someone else’s tune. Working for the man…
***
The band bundled out of the classy yet understated XL offices straight into a cold drizzling January afternoon. Dusk was bleeding into the last vestiges of daylight. Eleven months from first gig to record deal. Preternaturally quick this day and age, but the adage that talent will out was writ large in Lonely Souls.
“We’ve fuckin’ done it,” whispered Dom, “We’ve got a fuckin’ record deal!” All talking in hushed tones, as if shouting it out would negate the transaction.
A ‘signing party’ was planned for a select audience of two hundred that evening at Koko in Camden.
“Let’s go to the venue. Get soundchecked and then head back to the hotel and have a beer,” said Johnny assertively.
“We got a guestlist for later, Johnny?” Dom asked casually.
“Should do. I’ll check at the venue. Let have names and I’ll sort it.”
Leaning into Johnny and speaking as quietly as possible as to avoid prying ears, he said, “It’s Emma. The girl from the Northampton gig.”
Johnny glanced down at his watch and the ubiquitous London traffic jam. “We should just hop on the tube. Venue’s right next to Mornington Crescent so it’ll be quicker than a cab.” Looking round at the band, he said, “You fully signed up rock stars okay to slum it on public transport?”
Laughing, Jamie scratched his head pensively. “I dunno Johnny, don’t want to cause a riot do we!”
With a studious nod, Johnny said, “I think we should be okay J, we’ll risk it. Limo next time. Promise…”
***
Arriving at the venue, they were met by the venue’s assistant manager who directed them to a hospitality room which was amply stocked with plates of expensive looking buffet food and a small bar. “Feel free to help yourselves, I’ll send Zak, the sound engineer, through in fifteen mi
nutes.”
The room was adorned with dark red drapes, subdued red lighting all set against a thick black carpet.
The dramatic effect was not lost on the band. Like kids in a candy shop, they stood wide-eyed at the platters of food and the shelves of chilled beers and bottles of spirits that begged to be unburdened of their stoppers.
Coughing an attention grabbing, “Ahem,” Johnny raised an eyebrow towards the band. “Look at this as a little test. Polish this lot off and play like twats and look like twats. Enjoy a couple of beers and deliver the goods later…”
Cracking a beer open whilst checking his phone, Dom looked over to Johnny. “You sort that guestlist place for me?”
“Will do. Anyone else need guestlist sorting?”
When he returned, the band were in the midst of a good-natured conversation with who he assumed to be Zak. A very good-looking black guy, sporting mini-dreads, a neatly trimmed chin beard and an aging ‘A Tribe Called Quest’ T-shirt was laughing and high-fiving Mikee.
“You must be Zak? Johnny. I’m their manager.”
Shaking his outstretched hand, Zak said, “Excellent. Relieved you’re not their Bez dancer. You Manc bands. You never know!”
Johnny smiled warmly. “No, those days are long behind me. Knees won’t take it these days.”
“Right then, you Lonely Souls, lets drink up. It won’t go off and let’s get you soundchecked,” Zak said, the Southern inflections in stark contrast to the band’s flat Northern vowels.
As they left the hospitality room and headed for the small auditorium where their gear was already set up, Dom’s phone pinged. Pulling Johnny to one side, he said, “It’s Emma. She’s arrived early. Can you meet her and,” scratching his head, “I dunno, let her have a drink here? I don’t want her watching the soundcheck.”
“Yeah, don’t worry man, I’ll see her in and get her a drink sorted. There’s plenty of it.”
“Wicked. I owe you one.”
Heading towards the front of the venue, Johnny was met by an exceptionally attractive brunette, her straight bob cut hair perfectly to her jawline. In a black leather jacket, sequinned AC/DC T-shirt, skin-tight blue jeans and some fiercely spiked heeled black boots, she looked every inch the rock star’s girlfriend.
Johnny just about resisted the temptation to ask her what her favourite AC/DC track was - given the younger generation’s penchant for wearing band T-shirts because they ‘like the logo’
Extending a hand, he said, “You must be Emma? Johnny. I’m their mana…”
Ignoring the proffered hand, Emma flung her arms round his neck and kissed him warmly on the cheek.
Choking back the overpowering smell of perfume, Johnny extricated himself from her clinging embrace, rearranging the paisley woollen scarf inside his coat.
“OH MY GOD! I CAN’T BELIEVE I’M GETTING TO SEE THEM PLAY AGAIN!” Emma squealed excitably. “Does Dom know I’m here?” She fanned herself with both hands. “THEY ARE JUST THE BEST BAND EVER! AND DOM!” Performing a dramatic little swoon, Emma was positively trembling with excitement, “AND I JUST LOVE DOM. HE’S JUST SO GORGEOUS!”
“I think so too,” said Johnny with a with a knowing grin, Johnny picked up the small black leather holdall that Emma had placed beside her. “I’ll take you through. You can grab a drink and wait for Dom. They’re just soundchecking now.”
Another excited squeal.” How long will they be? I SO can’t wait to see him.”
Leading Emma through to the darkened hospitality room, he said, “Grab a drink. The dressing room’s just down that corridor. I’ll tell Dom you’re here,” adding with a friendly smile, “Like he doesn’t know already…”
Picking up a beer and heading out to watch the band soundcheck, Johnny could not have been happier.
Zak was the consummate professional and the soundcheck was conducted with the minimum of fuss. With a nod of approval, Zak motioned to Johnny that all was done.
Placing his guitar down in its stand, Jamie asked, “Nice one Zak, fancy a beer with us?”
Mimicking Jamie’s turn of phrase, Zak beamed across to the stage. “NICE ONE lads, I’d love to!”
As the band listened raptly to Zak talking of bands that he had worked with, Dom slunk off to meet the expectant guest who was awaiting him in the dressing room.
Stepping back to help himself to a second plate of tiger prawns, Johnny looked at the band. His band. And smiled a contented smile.
Patting down his jacket pockets, Danny looked momentarily panicked. “Fuck. I’m out of cigs. Got a spare box in the dressing room. Gimme a minute Mikee…”
Watching him dash off in his ninety mile an hour fashion, Zak shook his head, laughing heartily. “He never stops does he!”
“Always in a hurry but happy to be here,” mused Jamie.
***
Throwing the dressing room door open with a bang, Danny stopped dead in his tracks.
Dom was sat facing the door on a foldaway chair, black jeans gathered round his ankles, his hands placed on Emma’s shoulders as she enthusiastically sucked on his cock. His previously closed-in-ecstasy eyes went to wide-eyed shock then straight to rolling back in grunted climax as he shot a projectile of hot sperm upwards.
Assuming a nonchalant air, she ran the back of her hand across her mouth in the definitive just-done-blow-job fashion.
“FUCK’S SAKE DANNY! WHY THE FUCK DIDN’T YOU KNOCK?” Dom snapped as he hastily pulled his jeans up. The moment well and truly sullied.
Emma, as coolly as you like, rose from her knees, stepped towards Danny, hugged him with her signature squeal and kissed him on the cheek.
Recoiling at where those pretty bee-stung lips had moments before. “Err. Hi Emma. Nice to see y’again.” Making large apologetic eyes at Dom. “Sorry man, I just wanted my cigs. I’ll leave you to it.”
Beating a hasty retreat, Danny scooted back to the hospitality room and beckoned for Mikee to join him for a cigarette.
Exiting through a fire-door at the rear of the venue, Danny leant against the band’s RV-cum-tour bus. “Fuck me, I love this business!”
Mikee accepted Dan’s light. “Me too bro. Still can’t believe this is all happening!”
Rocking on the spot with excitement, he said, “Nah me neither. And Dom,” tossing his head back with laughter, “he’s already got some bird sucking him off in the dressing room!”
Blowing smoke out with a satisfied sigh, Danny added, “Anyhow, don’t crack on y‘know. He wasn’t best pleased as when I rocked up just as he was about to blow his load!”
***
The show started at 10pm precisely with a full complement of XL staff and invited guests making up the 200-strong crowd.
Taking to the stage in total darkness, Mikee started the set with a slow pounding of his bass drum. Zak picked the figure of Jamie out with a red spotlight. “We’re Lonely Souls. But you probably knew that. We’re very glad to be here and we know you’re going to enjoy the ride…”
As ‘Follow the Mantra’ blasted the crowd’s senses, Johnny closed his eyes, and let out a long-contented sigh. It had only been a comparatively short journey to get this far, and it had come at a price personally. But seeing the band and knowing that they had a record deal in the bag, it was all worth it. One hundred percent.
Feeling a sharp pinch to bring back him from his thoughts, Johnny looked to his side and saw Emma, hands clasped to her face, making huge doe eyes at Dominic as he stood on stage, silhouetted in white light. Every inch a guitar hero. A new guitar hero for the 21st century.
Delivering a sharp-as-a-tack half hour set, the band played through their six strongest songs, finishing the set with an incendiary rendition of ‘Salvation’. It all looked and sounded as amazing as they could have hoped for. The delighted reaction from the gathered record company staff was quite literally music to Johnny’s ears.
The only blip being a Pollock-esque spatter of dried jizz that led from the thigh of Dominic’s jeans to just below the knee. It ha
d looked particularly eye-catching under the UV strobe lighting…
***
The first ‘meet and greet’ went entirely without incident. The band were introduced to a stream of well-wishing faces. Shook numerous hands. Air-kissed and accepted compliments and platitudes with eager gratitude.
Dominic kept Emma by his side throughout, partially that he was such a smitten kitten but also to cover the stain on his jeans that he had only just noticed and was now discreetly trying to scratch off with a fingernail.
Performing a quick mental calculation, Johnny reckoned that this aftershow bash would be costing close to three grand - give or take five hundred quid. The assorted guests were all making merry on the free bar. All part of their non-recoupable advance.
Was he really thinking like that already? He was now part of a team. A cog in the machine behind the band. Decisions would be made for them, that he would approve or dismiss. But he would now be answerable to the label. There would be pluggers, a press officer, a marketing team, wardrobe stylists, promoters, A & R, accountants, lawyers and the label’s management…
But they would always be his band.
Chapter 23
Sixteen gigs in 23 days. The band had never played consecutive gigs, never mind such an intense run of shows. Reading the email again, Johnny ran a hand through his hair and stared out of the window of the city centre apartment he was now renting. Waterside views. 24hr concierge. Underground parking. Ready-meals for one.
The label had booked them on to a UK ‘toilet tour’ as support act to an American college band that were currently making reasonable sized waves. This would be a real rite of passage for them. A tough slog on many levels. But they would love every fucking minute.
Once the tour was completed, it was straight into the studio to master the album.
The Rock 'N' the Roll. 'N That Page 15