The Rock 'N' the Roll. 'N That

by Steven J. Gill

  “You seen anything of the other band yet?” asked Mikee as he drained a cold Peroni in two gulps. Putting his hand across his mouth to stifle a gassy belch, he said, “They do keep themselves to themselves.”

  “Fuck ’em,” said Dominic as he leaned back on his chair, idly strumming his unplugged Fender. “Probably worried we’ll blow ’em away. Daft Yank twats!”

  “We should go and check ’em out, see what they’ve got,” said Jamie, as he changed into a fresh white T-shirt.

  “Bang up for tonight! Crowd were lovin’ us. Let’s go and get big. Really wasted!” said Dom.

  Assembling at the crowded bar to watch Butterfly Caught deliver a reverb and feedback-soaked set, the band were soon striking up conversations with a host of amorous well-wishers.

  Jamie was fielding intimate questions from a gorgeous redhead who wanted to know his favourite songwriter, food and sexual position. For what it’s worth – Strummer, Chinese and the same as yours…

  Also being interrogated were Danny and Mikee. However, the attentions’ heading their way were from two fanboys – music students who were bombarding them with some serious muso questions. Danny’s riposte of, “Can I fuck read music! I just plug the fucker in and play,” was patently not the answer they were looking for.

  Dominic, meanwhile, was knocking back shots with an attractive couple, the boyfriend oblivious to the outrageous flirting his girlfriend was on the receiving end of.

  In between shots, Jamie leaned over his brother’s shoulder, nodding towards the stage. “Not for me at all. No fuckin’ tunes or melodies. They can play a bit, but we’re twice the band this lot are.”

  “Have you seen the fat fuck on guitar? He only plays it to cover his belly!” Dom said uncharitably.

  As the set came to a frenzied conclusion with ear-piercing feedback screeching through the venue’s speakers, a bleary-eyed Johnny appeared, “Right. Help us get the gear loaded and I’m heading back to the hotel. I’m shagged,” he yawned wearily. “Early night. Cup of Tea. Family Guy and a wank. If I can stay awake for the latter…”

  “Ah, cheers boss,” laughed Mikee, “Let me know if it’s a good ’un.” Comedic pause. “The episode of Family Guy…”

  “You look done in man,” said Jamie sympathetically, “I’ll just drink up and we’ll be with you.”

  “J, we’ve been invited to a student night at some club that Shona and,” pointing at his newly-found drinking partner, “Sorry what’s yer name again?” Dominic slurred ever so slightly.

  “Scott,” came the obliviously unoffended reply.

  “Yeah. Scott the Scot and Shona have asked us to this club. Supposed to be decent.”

  “Nice one. Count me in. Let’s just load the gear out and let Johnny get off.”

  With the gear safely packed away, Johnny wished the band well for the evening. “Good gig that lads, have a top night. You’ve earned it.” Yawning loudly, “Only a short hop to Glasgow tomorrow, so we get a lie in. I won’t wait up.”

  “Cheers boss, I’m after getting some more ink tomorrow. I’m booked in at a top tattooist down in Leith. Feel free to join me!”

  “Err, yeah. Cheers Mikee. I’ll leave my mid-life crisis at packing my job and splitting up with my girlfriend for life on the road with a rock ’n’ roll band if that’s alright.”

  “Suit yerself. But don’t say I didn’t ask. Now you get off and get your beauty sleep, “replied Mikee

  “Indeed, indeed,” said Johnny as he climbed into the driver’s seat and headed back the short distance to the hotel.

  Clapping his hands together, Dom put an arm round Mikee. “So then, Kong, shall we sniff out some chop then?” Rubbing his nose in anticipation, he said, “My new mate, whatever his name is, and his fit bird said they can sort us.”

  “Cool,” whistled Mikee, “Still got all of my grown-up spends so far, so let’s get big!”

  “Excellent,” replied Dom, “Proper big!”

  ***

  A night of bad behaviour duly ensued. After being treated like proper rock stars with free entry to the club, and no queuing, the band made hay.

  Jamie took the very inquisitive and equally obliging Alice back to the hotel, whereby she proceeded to ask him his life story before giving him the best blow job of his life. Ever the lady, she had indicated that ‘it wasn’t the right time for sex’ but promised further oral favours in the morning, thus securing herself board and lodgings for the evening.

  The cocaine had saved Dominic from an early bath, with the not too badly cut coke sobering him up sufficiently to have sex in a in the Ladies’ with the very lovely Shona – whilst her unsuspecting boyfriend chopped a line out for Danny in the neighbouring Men’s’. Upon climaxing, Dom had coarsely whispered that Shona, “Remember this when I’m famous!”

  Who said romance wasn’t alive and kicking…

  Mikee was seeing off all comers in a winner stays on arm wrestling competition, and at a fiver a go, was £55.00 up on the deal.

  Sticking to his vow of fidelity, Danny was telling all and sundry that he was going to get married when their first album went to number one. This only succeeded in alerting any listening female that he was in a band and not just your average run of the mill pisshead.

  Life on the road was starting to have its perks and the band were starting to like what they saw…

  ***

  “Satisfactory wank boss?” asked Mikee, gingerly patting down the dressing at the top of his right arm.

  After only three hours’ sleep, he had been up at 9am and had spent several hours at the mercies of a Leith tattooist.

  “Yes. And thanks for your concern Michael. 7 out of 10. And a Family Guy I’d not seen before.”

  As the rest of the band assembled, Danny was busy reading the itinerary. “This is the same every day and you take us everywhere. Do we need really need this?”

  “When you put it like that,” he paused for dramatic effect, “Yes. It means I don’t have to put a tag around your necks like Paddington. ‘If lost please return to owner’. The itinerary tells you where we stay and where we play.”

  Packing the last of the personal luggage away, he said, “We all have a good night then?”

  The half-smiles and yawns said all he needed to know. More of the same in Glasgow tonight and they’d soon be a seasoned band on the road. “All ready to do the same again tonight? Top venue and the crowd will be mad for it.”

  “I think we can manage that Mr Harrison. It was a good ’un last night. Were you all safely tucked up with a hot chocolate and a good book?” Dominic asked. A little too sarcastically.

  “All that, ta. Remember who does all the driving and fetching and carrying when you’re next getting your dick wet eh!”

  “Yeah, yeah okay boss,” replied Dom as he dabbed at his coke reddened nose with a used tissue.

  ***

  The Glasgow, Newcastle, Preston, Leeds and Liverpool shows passed by in a flurry of booze, sexual conquests and increasingly vitamin-free diets.

  Service stations were now being scored out of ten. Tebay on the M6 scoring a particularly impressive 10 out of 10, housing an authentic ‘Farm Food’ shop.

  “Best scotch egg ever. Even though it’s in England,” Danny had stated with the air of a connoisseur.

  Dominic was leading the way with three amorous admirers left in his wake. He’d learn about leaving his mobile number with them every time – as the morning after was spent fielding a plethora of unwanted textual promises.

  Danny had ‘accidentally’ been the recipient of a blow job in Leeds. “But I didn’t shag or her or even kiss her. So really I haven’t done anything wrong!” he protested a little too loudly. And a little too desperately…

  After his Edinburgh encounter, Jamie had been reticent to repeat more of the same. The female attentions were welcomed but he seemed slightly ill at ease with just how little effort he had to make.

  And Mikee, aside from a broken shower cubicle door in Newcastle whilst attempti
ng to reenact some over the top scene from his favourite porno, had been quietly enjoying himself without the hint of a grumble or moan.

  An afternoon in a Preston laundrette whilst they did their much-needed laundry had elicited much dissension. Johnny’s, “I’m fucked if I’m doing it for you,” brought that argument to a swift conclusion.

  Heading off down the M6 to Liverpool, Mikee, again riding shotgun with Johnny, piped up, “I’ve still not seen the main band. Fuckin’ weird. They won’t let us watch their soundcheck and as soon as they’ve done they’re either back at their hotel or smoking weed in their dressing room.”

  “They’re piss poor anyhow,” sniped Dom, “Not for me at all. I’ve seen ’em a couple of times now and it bores me shitless.”

  “Anyone fancy The Beatles Museum when we get to Scouseland? I went a while back with…” His words drifted off as he turned up a Kasabian track on the radio.

  A lively show in Liverpool, with the band on particularly incandescent form - although the restless natives seemed intent on reminding the band that they were ‘Manc twats’ between every song, only giving up when they realised they weren’t another Gallagher wannabe band and could indeed play a bit.

  The thought of a home stopover had been met heartily by the band and they left straight after their set. “You’d think they’d get over the fact they’ve not had a decent band since The Beatles,” Danny had quipped whilst they were loading up at the rear of the venue. Eliciting a raised eyebrow from Johnny.

  ***

  The domestic pitstop refreshed the band for the second and longest leg of the tour. The Manchester date saw the band at their most relaxed. A groundswell of now familiar faces gave them a partisan welcome. There was no official aftershow, but the band partied as hard as you can on a wet Wednesday in March at local favourite booze haunt, Big Hands.

  Dates ticked by, notches on the bedpost were increasing daily, with Dominic revelling in the abundance of sexual offers that wafted his way. The chat Johnny and Jamie had in Northampton explained this zealous and dismissive attitude to his burgeoning love life.

  Jamie began to appreciate that his voice was something that needed to be nurtured and protected, particularly with shows on consecutive days. And as his twin embraced the ready-made attention from eager well-wishers, he became more guarded.

  The trusty rhythm section went about their business in a carefree eyes-wide-open fashion. Another sexual faux pas in Nottingham saw Danny admit to penetrative sex. With the extraordinary caveat of, “I never shot my load so that doesn’t really count does it?” he had asked imploringly. Only to be met with a series of guffaws and howls of laughter.

  Conversation turned to Jamie - with him confessing that he was not one for giving oral sex, Johnny had ‘tut tutted’ loudly, adding a worldly wise, “You’ll learn J, you’ll learn. It’s an art form you have to have in your locker.” A dismissive pull of his face had surprised Johnny. Especially from one so sensitive.

  ***

  Spirits were given a further boost with the big news that Steve Lamacq had played a ‘white label’ track of theirs on his BBC 6 Music evening show. This was the widest exposure the band had received and the track (‘Salvation’) had been brilliantly well received. This felt like the start. And their Brighton gig that evening had been given a heavy plug. Momentum was building, and the tour had convinced the band that their long-harboured dream was now a rock ’n’ roll reality…

  Chapter 25

  The penultimate date of the tour saw the band at The Haunt in Brighton. A seafront hotel with actual sea views and single rooms for all. As with most British coastal resorts, the winter season lacked the high season lustre and the rooms were a fraction of the price – not that the band needed to know this minutia.

  The Haunt was an art-deco style venue a stone’s throw from Brighton’s stony beachfront. A full house was expected and with the band having amassed a dozen or so gigs in the past three weeks, were as tight as you like, with Jamie’s on-stage confidence growing by the show.

  “Big aftershow tomorrow night that the label has put on. To close the tour and that,” Johnny said as he reversed their trusty but now somewhat fetid tourbus into a parking bay behind the venue.

  He had maintained a healthy distance from the band once their set had finished. This was the longest time that they had spent together and having secured a record deal so quickly, he had made the conscious decision to ‘behave’ and show the band how professional he was. It was early days with the label and any signs of weakness with management side of things could have put him under unwanted scrutiny.

  “The sound’s as good as we’ve had all tour, and it looks full out there already,” Danny added, turning off his phone having just sent the umpteenth missive of love that day to Dee. Who was apparently ‘missing him like fuck’. Quite…

  With the gig being on a Friday, showtime was slightly later and with the drinks promos that the venue was running, a full house would be watching Lonely Souls.

  There seemed to be a tangible shift in the attitude to the band as they took to the stage. The exposure on 6 Music had given the band a ‘next big thing’ sheen. People wanting to say they’d seen them first. Shrouded in darkness, the band struck up, Mikee’s bass drum counting them into ‘Follow the Mantra’.

  As the first song fizzed to a finish, Jamie took a moment and stared out at the sea of faces. The clapping. The pleased-to-be-here faces. The I-saw-them-before-they-were-huge smug faces.

  “We’re Lonely Souls. We’re gonna be your favourite fuckin’ band before you know it!”

  Striking a minor chord from out his guitar, his presence commanding attention, “You ready for us? Cos we’re fuckin’ ready for you.” Wiping at a bead of sweat on his eyebrow, “Brighton, LET’S FUCKIN’ GO!”

  Screaming into ‘This Is Not Tomorrow’ Jamie had never been more strident, more believing in the band’s abilities. Bursting every sinew, he wrung the notes of his guitar, twisting into the mic to deliver his fiery heartfelt vocal. Mikee powered the song along, never missing a beat, and the frenzied middle eight whipped the crowd up further, Dom looking effortlessly cool as he coaxed the spiralling solo out.

  The lightshow was tremendous, a separate lighting engineer able to work the stage, drowning the band in shades of red, picking out Jamie or Dominic in ultra-white spotlights when they shared a mic for vocals.

  As they reached the end of the set, Jamie, now stripped of his black denim jacket, was stood, a white T-shirt plastered to him, his red scarf worn loosely round his neck, drinking deeply from a bottle of water, tossing the half empty bottle into the crowd. “BRIGHTON. YOU HAVE BEEN FUCKIN’ AMAZING! This is our last song. It’s called ‘Salvation’. We’re called Lonely Souls,” pausing and flashing a quick smile at Dominic, who was adjusting an effects pedal with his foot, “AND WE ARE GONNA BE YOUR SALVATION! YOU FUCKIN’ NEED US!”

  BANG! The chorus as ever, sounded huge. The three-way vocal of Jamie, Dominic and Danny sounded immense. Danny picking out the groove, hopping slightly on the spot as the song soared.

  Second chorus and the crowd were loving it. “I’ll be your Salvation, you’ll be my Salvation. We’ll be your Salvation…”

  It sounded huge.

  Sky-scrapingly huge.

  The drop saw Jamie lead the crowd in a mutual hand-clapping as they pushed the song to its conclusion. Standing back and watching his brother lean back, eyes closed as the shimmering solo flew skywards. It was magnificent.

  They exchanged a quick glance as the song finished. There was almost a mutual knowing that they had arrived. It was all in place now. A record deal. Touring. Radio exposure. And crowds that were going to grow and grow. And quickly grow to love this band. With a knowing smile, Jamie lifted his guitar in one hand above his head, “Thanks Brighton, you rocked like fuck! We’re Lonely Souls. Fuckin’ follow that…”

  ***

  Backstage, Johnny was ecstatic. He’d been stood soaking the atmosphere up, feeling the buzz that
the band had generated. “Fuck me! That was outstanding lads. Fucking outstanding. Pleasure to have seen that!”

  “You finally gonna join us for a party tonight then, boss?” goaded Danny, clicking his phone on to check for messages.

  “I think that as it’s not a school night that can be arranged,” said Johnny, accepting a beer from Dominic. “That was fuckin’ brilliant. Crowd loved it. Absolutely loved it. And who’d want to follow that?” he laughed, gesturing towards the neighbouring dressing room.

  With the gear safely back at the hotel, which was only some two hundred yards away, showers were grabbed, and fresh clothes donned. Several of Brighton’s excellent bars were visited, the band happy in their anonymity. Beers were knocked back, shots slammed, and Johnny had accepted a chunky line of coke from Mikee, a full-on bear-hug and the, “I fuckin’ love you man,” had been the cherry on the top.

  Earlier that day, Johnny had received an email from Claire advising him that his half of the house was ready to be transferred across to her, having raised the necessary funds to buy him out. The email was curt with a pointed final line – ‘You’ll get your money once you’ve signed the papers. I suppose you’ll spend it on your precious band…’

  I don’t need to anymore, was his immediate thought – followed by a sadness that a big part of his life was well and truly over. He’d never wanted to hurt Claire, but she had been very much collateral damage. All this beautiful rock ’n’ roll was exciting him like nothing ever had before but he was still tinged with a little sadness at the finality of their relationship.

  The night, that should be morning, ended at 4am for Johnny. An all-night cellar had been located and a hefty bar tab had been accrued. Upon returning to the hotel, he had been horrified to see that the bar was still open, with a few hardy stragglers demanding the night porter continue serving. With bloodshot eyes and an exhausted bladder, he said, “Right, you fuckers, I’m done. Bed. And I don’t care what you say!”