The Rock 'N' the Roll. 'N That

by Steven J. Gill

  “It’s no good covering them up, Dominoes! I can smell the pizza from here.”

  Hearing the cackling from his two abusers, his knuckles tightened round the handle of his guitar case.

  “Weird shaped box to be delivering pizzas, eh Dominos,” came the shout, which was now getting nearer as his two abusers had now crossed the road to confront him.

  “DOMINOS! You not going to stop and say hello to yer old mates from school?”

  Stopping and pulling down his hood, the white ear buds dropping on to his chest. His nostrils flaring as his breath quickened. “Alright lads. Did yer say something? I didn’t hear ya.”

  He instantly recognised his two verbal assailants, Ryan Blake and Kyle Shott – aka keep tryin’ Ryan, on account of his limited academic abilities. And imaginatively enough, Kyle Shit. Schoolkids and their cunning wit…

  “Alright Dominos. What yer up to? Still playing in yer shit band?”

  The band had played a gig – their only other pre-Johnny live performance had been at a school battle of the bands event. A shambolically bad PA had only made their Libertines/Arctics/Beatles covers sound even worse. Jamie’s voice was just breaking and the whole unedifying ordeal had put them off playing live until ‘they were right’.

  Putting his guitar case down and staring at them individually, Dominic said, “Ryan and Kyle, isn’t it? How could I forget. Real shame we never kept in touch,” bitter malevolence lacing his words.

  “Eh, don’t be so fuckin’ touchy. We’re only having a bit of bantz!” said Ryan, his right hand shoved down the front of his acid wash Voi jeans.

  “Hilarious,” muttered Dominic. “Anyway. What you two up to?” His lips pursed like a twist of barbed wire.

  “Not working. Y’know how it is. But we knock a bit of weed out around the estate. Pays for a night out in town.”

  “Remind me to join you some time,” Dominic sneered.

  “Fuckin’ lose the attitude, Dominos!” snapped Kyle, leaning his face into Dominics.

  Laughing manically, Ryan tugged at the hem of his friend’s snide Ed Hardy T-shirt. “’Don’t go too close, you’ll catch his spots!”

  “Eww! Fuck, forgot about that,” he said, taking a step back, “cunt always thought he was better than the rest of us even when he had his full-on pizza face!”

  “I’ll be off then. Ryan. Kyle. Great to see yer both doing so well,” said Dom, relieved that the busy high street had afforded him some security from more than mere verbal’s. Pointing to his guitar case as he walked off, he added, “And this? Yeah. It’s gonna make me my fortune, YOU FUCKIN’ PAIR OF LOSERS!”

  Dashing across the road at a convenient break in the traffic, Dominic headed off as quickly as he could. The insults fresh in his ears, a reminder of what was, the case clutched in his hand very much what was now.

  ***

  “’Bout 1pm, yeah, we’ll see you in there.”

  “Ah that’s really good of you Jamie. I’ve not been there before,” said Cal as she admired her son’s new apartment. A warehouse conversion nestling proudly amidst the veneer of shiny sterile boxes that seemed to sprout up overnight like field mushrooms.

  “It’s got a great view over the canal as well. I still miss you both though. It’s just so quiet now…”

  “I know, but you knew we’d move out at some point and everything happening with the band so quickly, y’know,” Jamie said as he pulled his mum into his side.

  She sighed as she looked across the Manchester skyline. The infamous ship canal now reincarnated as a ‘water aspect’. The canal side Victorian warehouses now occupied by the new ‘digital industry’ – having none of the tangibility of bygone days when cotton was the currency in the North.

  Jamie stood in his bedroom selecting a coat from his wardrobe. The new apartment afforded him the privacy that he had long yearned for. A single mum before single mums were really ‘a thing’. Money had always been tight. But together they had managed. If things went to plan with the band then he would be able to help her out financially, give her that breathing room that she’d never experienced.

  As they made their way down the canal towpath, Cally took Jamie’s hand and squeezed it. “I always knew you’d make it with the band. I just never knew how it’d feel when it did. Do you know what I’m trying to say?”

  “Not really. But it doesn’t matter. None of us can say where this is going to go. But we’ll always be here for you. Me and Dom.”

  “I know. Thank you for saying it. Where is Dominic today? It would have been lovely if he could have joined us,” she said, swinging Jamie’s arm as carefree as the ducks that passed them by in their haphazard flotilla.

  “He popped in to see me before. He was off into town to get one of his guitars repaired. It took a bit of a battering on tour and you know how precious over them he is! He said he’d meet us later.”

  “Quite right too!” said Cally indignantly. “Cost me a fortune to buy you both your first guitars!”

  Walking in silence for a few minutes, the distant rumble of traffic not enough to break their tranquillity.

  “Don’t say anything to Johnny, but he split up with his partner ’cos he’d not told her about the band. And that he spent a load of money on us.” He glanced at his mum for a reaction. “He told me when we were on tour, seemed like he wanted to get it off his chest. Said there was a load of other stuff, but this tipped things over the edge.”

  “Oh, he should have told her really. But we don’t know the full story I suppose.” Cally frowned slightly. “He’s okay, isn’t he?”

  “He seems happy working with us. It’s what he wanted. And especially as things are going so well. He was so made up about the Roses support slot. He loves them. Saw them back in the day. Spike Island gig and everything,” he said enthusiastically.

  “I don’t know why they’re bothering. It’s all about money,” Cally said flatly. “I don’t know what all the fuss is about,” she added dismissively.

  “Don’t let Johnny hear you say that! He can’t wait for the gig.”

  “I might not even bother. All those people trying to recreate their youth. All a bit sad if you ask me.”

  “Come on Mum! You’ll have to come along,” Jamie said. Shocked that she would even consider not attending what would be their biggest gig to date by far.

  Trying to sound a little more positive, she said, “People should be looking for new bands. Like you. Not looking backwards.”

  Arriving at El Rincon, a well-kept secret on a Manchester back street, they were greeted by Johnny, mobile phone glued to his ear. He was balancing with his heels on the edge of the kerb, every so often losing his balance and hopping back up only to perform the odd little performance again.

  Ending the call and putting the phone into the inside pocket of his red Harrington style jacket. “Right. That’s that sorted! Great to see you both.” Kissing Cal on both cheeks, “Happy Birthday! And how are you then? You loving it being the mum of England’s soon to be favourite rock stars?”

  “Of course! I taught them everything they know!” she laughed, that little soft infectious laugh. The almost coquettish lowering of her head.

  “Nice threads man,” said Jamie, hugging Johnny.

  “Only problem with living in town. Nip out to get some food shopping and come back with a two hundred quid coat! Glad you like it. Wasn’t sure at first. But fuck it. Got to look the part when you’re the manager of a shit hot rock band!”

  Anyhow, let’s go in. I’ve got a table booked for one o’clock. Some nice tapas and afternoon drinking. Sound good?”

  “I know it’s my birthday, but I’ve got work tomorrow. Not like you two,” said Cal as they descended the dimly lit stairwell.

  A perfectly enjoyable meal was accompanied by several bottles of wine. They were joined by Dominic who seemed to be bristling about something as he barely spoke for the first hour, only loosening up after he had polished off a full bottle of expensive red wine.

  Cally
was charm personified as she regaled innocent tales of the twins’ childhood. Teaching them both to play the piano whilst they sat on her knee. Taking them carol singing dressed as Christmas elves. And buying them both acoustic guitars on their thirteenth birthdays.

  The boys had a lot to thank their mum for as far as their musical development was concerned, and clearly their good looks were a genetic hand-me down. On more than one occasion, Johnny caught himself staring at her. She had the most captivating tinkling laugh, which caused her to look down, almost in embarrassment that she was enjoying herself. She had a long slender neck and a beautiful face, the cheekbones sharp before they merged with her lagoon blue eyes.

  At 6.30pm, she announced that she was feeling more than a little drunk and wanted to curtail the evening before she was any the worse for wear. Johnny signalled the waiter to ring a taxi and the twins saw her safely to her carriage.

  The drinking resumed in a delightfully old-fashioned pub, The Deansgate, which boasted a wonderful first floor smoking terrace.

  “At the start of May you’re booked into the Limehouse in London to record the album. A month or so’s rehearsals. Get things tight as you like. Then recording a video straight after that, only two or three days, but means we’re busy for the next couple of months. Album is pencilled in for a late September release to follow up the first single which will be out at the start of that month.”

  Both brothers nodded, taking in the carefully planned schedule. “All good,” said Dominic, whose mood had now perked up at the mention of the recording. “Yeah, cheers Johnny. It’s gonna be wicked. I just can’t imagine seeing our first album in the shops. Unbelievable!”

  ***

  “What the fuck’s happened to you?” Mikee exclaimed, as Danny walked into the rehearsal room with a large white plaster over his nose and his sunglasses firmly in place.

  Taking the glasses off very gingerly, he revealed two extraordinary black eyes and a thick white plaster across the bridge of his newly reconstructed nose.

  “I look like a panda, don’t I?” he said, laughing at his own joke. “Did you know that the male panda does a handstand when it’s ready to breed. To let the female panda know he’s got the horn. How funny is that? A panda doing a handstand with a massive fur boner! I heard it on that IQ show.”

  Johnny had to check himself not to correct Danny’s malapropism.

  “Fuck the nature lesson! What’s happened to you, D-Mo?” Dominic asked, putting his guitar down and stepping towards Danny, for closer inspection. Not that any was required.

  “You’ve had that nose job haven’t you,” said Jamie softly, realising that now was not the time for inter-band piss taking.

  Sitting down on the up-turned beer crate, which was Johnny’s usual perch, he said, “I had to get it done now. We’re gonna be so busy for the rest of the year, and people’d suss if I had it done after we’ve done our video and that.” Looking up at the band through bruised eyes, he said, “Don’t rip the piss. You don’t know what it’s been like with this massive hooter all my life.” Looking at Jamie and Dominic, “Especially you two pretty boys. The girls fuckin’ love you…”

  “Good on yer D-Mo. If it makes you happy,” said Dominic, as he pinched at his own nose.

  “Thanks man, and just between us eh?”

  Putting a placating hand on his shoulder, Dom said, “Course man, you know that.”

  Chapter 30

  “Room 277 J. I’ve got your passes and I booked a taxi for your mum. Think all the rooms are on the same floor,” said Johnny as he looked out of the window of his hotel suite in The Lowry.

  “Cheers Johnny. I’ll grab them off you in five,” said Jamie as he checked and double checked his backpack that contained his on-stage clothing.

  Having handed over the passes, Johnny agreed to meet the band at 3pm, planning to get a cab across town with Cally.

  Manchester was at its finest when hosting big events. And none came bigger than the first of three-hometown reunion shows by four of the City’s favourite sons – The Stone Roses.

  Months of speculation had born fruition when a perfectly staged press conference announced what the world had been waiting for. The Roses would be back. The original line-up would once again play live.

  And although those that had bagged a ticket might be longer in the tooth, greyer at the temple, shinier of pate, and thicker round the midriff, none of this mattered. All-dayers were planned. ‘Reni’ hats dusted down. Monkey walks resurrected. Babysitters booked. The Roses were back, man.

  And amidst all of this, four young men who weren’t even born when Spike Island was a happening were now booked to play bottom of the bill to this most legendary of Manc bands. Just looking at the promotional posters featuring the band’s name – albeit in small letters – had got Johnny as excited as he could remember. His band. Supporting The fucking Roses.

  He’d loved being able to drop this in casually with Mark and Chris who were utterly gobsmacked – but equally desperate to secure guestlist places.

  “I’ll see what I can do, fellas,” he’d casually said, adding a gleeful and boastful, “Told you they’d crack it bigtime!”

  ***

  “Hi Johnny, is that you? it’s Cally.”

  It was quite an endearing little quirk that whenever Cal called anybody from her mobile, she always asked for confirmation as to who it was, even though she had dialled the number from her mobile phone’s memory.

  “Hiya, yes it’s me. You okay? Got your room key okay?”

  The phone went silent for a moment. “Hmm. About my room. It’s lovely, but it’s in between Jamie and Dominic’s. Now I know boys will be boys…”

  “Yes. No pictures necessary! We can switch rooms. No problem. I think I’ve got some earplugs with me.”

  “Ah thanks Johnny, I’ll be right across. What number did you say you were in?”

  “277. Just across the corridor.”

  With the room switch done, they jumped into a taxi and headed off to the gig. Cally looked amazing in a brown leather jacket with a fur trimmed collar, tight black jeans and distressed leather calf-length biker boots. She was also wearing a pair of large rimmed black shades. All exceptionally rock ’n’ roll and Johnny was suitably impressed.

  “You look great! And the shades. Nice touch.”

  Cally nodded her head slightly. “Thought I’d make an effort,” she replied quietly.

  In his state of heightened excitement, Johnny was oblivious to Cally’s subdued demeanour as he proceeded to talk ten to the dozen as they made the short trip to Prestwich.

  Arriving at the park, they were hurried through the VIP gate, and headed for the hospitality area.

  ***

  “You okay?” said Jamie as he again arranged the red scarf under his black leather jacket.

  Danny had been pacing round in tight circles, drawing heavily on cigarettes. “I’m fuckin’ shittin’ it. Absolutely shittin’ it! Have you seen how many people are out there?”

  With Mikee and Dominic also strangely mute, nerves were threatening to get the better of the band.

  Feeling that a dose of calm was called for, Johnny beckoned the band to huddle round him. “Okay lads. You’re here ’cos Ian Brown likes your tunes. Doesn’t get much better than that.” Looking at each member of the band in turn, he said, “I know, and you know that every fucker out there is only here to see The Roses. There’s no pressure. I promise you.”

  Squeezing Danny by the shoulder, given that he seemed to be in some sort of a trance, he added, “Biggest cliché in the world but just enjoy it. It’s a home crowd. Drop in that you’re local boys and you’ll be right. I promise you!”

  Back slaps, hugs and street handshakes were exchanged, deep breaths taken and at 5pm the band took to the stage.

  Adjusting the mic stand slightly, with his guitar slung round his back, Jamie looked at the plethora of Madchester revivalists, and with a facade of bravado, shouted, “EVENING MANCHESTER!”

  A smat
tering of applause heartened Jamie, as he tried to avoid looking to the horizon of the crowd. “Buses were murder getting here tonight!” A slight ripple of laughter played across the first few rows of the crowd. Smiling to himself, he said, “WE KNOW THE REASON WHY YOU’RE HERE!” And with perfect timing, Mikee hit the unmistakeable opening skittering drum groove to ‘Fools Gold’. A not un-sizeable roar was emitted from the cagoule-clad crowd. “ANYWAY. WE’RE LONELY SOULS AND YOU’LL JUST HAVE TO MAKE DO WITH US FOR NOW!”

  Johnny stood, stage right, approximately fifty yards back allowing him a view of them all. His innate pride swelling by the second, gulping back his emotion, he put his arms round his still disbelieving friends. “My fuckin’ band that I saw that night. SUPPORTING THE ROSES! Doesn’t get much better than this!”

  Their set went past in a thirty-minute blur. Danny felt like he had held his breath for the entire time, and was still sat in silence some twenty minutes later.

  “I felt tiny out there,” whistled Dominic, as he leant back on their dressing room wall.

  Having sought immediate sanctuary after their set, the band were slowly composing themselves.

  “Went okay,” said Jamie as he put his guitar in its case. As ever the ritual of his scarf being placed at the bottom of the case was strictly adhered to. “I’m happy with that.” Thumbing in the direction of the stage, he said, “That lot are going to go fuckin’ mental when The Roses finally come on. Absolutely fuckin’ mental!”

  “You seen ’em yet?” Mikee asked.

  “Nah, no sign,” said Dominic, “Hopefully we’ll get to meet ’em later, but wouldn’t be surprise if we don’t. That hospitality area will be rammed later.”

  “Anyhow, we’ve done our bit. We can just look forward to seeing them now…” sighed Jamie, his relief palpable.

  ***

  At just after 9pm, the anticipation in the crowd reached overload as the stage lights shone on the four figures that strutted on to the stage.