by Selena Kitt
Jag smiled and nodded, and Muzza held out his huge hand. “Muzza. This is Jag, and over there is Biff. I don’t know where Wood’s got to, probably hiding in the bogs until someone else has paid for the beer.”
Mindy laughed. Her Scouse accent was so strong Jag was reminded of the sitcom The Liver Birds, which had first showed when he was a kid and was still running. She beamed round at them all. “Why don’t we set up a tab and then split it when we’ve all eaten?”
Muzza nodded. “Sounds like a plan. I don’t know about you lot, but I’m going to go for the steak pie and chips.”
It turned out to be a pleasant afternoon. They ate, drank and got to know the others they’d be spending ten days with. It turned out the two guys accompanying Gash were just there as roadies-come-bouncers.
Mindy explained their presence to Muzza and Jag. “We’ve had quite a few instances of twats from the audience jumping up on stage and trying to grab us.”
“We get that, too,” Jag said. “They usually want to punch Wood in the face.”
She laughed. “Yeah — well, they usually try to grab our tits and dry-hump us from behind.”
Muzza shrugged. “Sorry about that. I promise I won’t do it again.”
Mindy slapped him on the leg. “I suppose we bring it on ourselves. Most of our songs are about sex, and we do abuse the fact we’re women playing to a predominantly male crowd. But still…” She shrugged. “If I’m going to get felt up and dry humped, I like to choose who’s going to do it.”
Muzza nodded. “So those lads over there are your boyfriends?”
Mindy shook her head. “No. Jan over there used to go out with John, the one with the ’tache, but that was last year. They’re just our mates.”
A couple more rounds were consumed before they made their way happily back to The Wheatsheaf to prepare for the gig.
* * *
Wood and Biff were still in the dressing room when Fresh Scabs opened the evening’s entertainment, but Jag and Muzza had positioned themselves near a pillar to one side of the mosh pit. Jag liked their sound; two guitars, bass and drums. The bass player took lead vocals and the drummer did backing vocals. They played about a 50-50 mix of original songs and covers. The audience, which was still fairly small, seemed to enjoy the covers more, which Jag thought must be annoying for the band. There was a fifteen minute gap between bands, and by the time Frenzy opened their set, the audience had doubled in size. The band rattled through their repertoire and every song seemed to be well received. The crowd quickly learned to sing along with the words of the chorus of one song:
What’s the point if the feeling’s dead?
What’s the point if you don’t give head?
What’s the point if I can’t play rough?
What’s the point? You can just fuck off!
They left the stage feeling pretty good about their performance, and twenty minutes later were changed into dry clothes and ready to watch Gash. When the stage lights came up Jag was taken aback by their appearance. The girls were all dressed in short skirts, ripped fishnets, Doc Marten boots and tight-fitting vests. None of them was wearing a bra. Their make-up was way over the top; thick eyeliner, gaudy eye shadow and lipstick, hair spiked up and spray-dyed in reds, greens, purple. Jag didn’t recognise them from the girls on the bus and he had to ask Muzza which ones they’d spent the afternoon in the pub with.
“That’s Mindy on left-hand guitar. Must be a wig, ’cos her hair wasn’t that long four hours ago.” Muzza studied the others. “And the other one, Jan, she’s on drums.”
The two roadies who doubled as bouncers were visible at the side of the stage. The band started playing and the crowd started to leap about. Jag liked the look of the bass player. She was tiny, about five-two and really petite. As she played the bass she bounced about the stage, never looking at the audience. It was Mindy’s fellow guitarist who stepped up to the mic and took lead vocals.
I woke up this morning in a stranger’s place
I was wet between the legs and had a smile on my face
The crowd cheered. Muzza leaned over to shout into Jag’s ear over the noise. “Why can’t you write classy lyrics like that?”
“How about I woke up this morning in a stranger’s bed, I was sore up the arse and had a bag on my head?”
Muzza laughed out loud. “Yeah, I can just see Wood singing that.”
Jag thought Gash put on a good show, but he was a little disappointed with their sound. Considering they’d an extra guitar compared to Frenzy, their sound was not as full. Basically, both guitars seemed to be doing rhythm. He thought they needed a few lead fills to break it up. He liked the bass riffs, but knew that was mainly because he liked the look of the bass player.
* * *
By the time The Riot got on stage, the place was heaving. Jag liked a lot of their songs and was impressed by them all as musicians. They were a very tight three-piece and reminded him of The Jam. The bass player and guitarist took turns in singing lead, and all the songs had a good beat. Their drummer was particularly good, with loads of Keith Moon-type fills and rolls.
Mindy and the bass player Jag fancied came over to stand by them. Both girls had put black t-shirts over their vests. They still had the full make-up and mini skirts on, but then so did most of the women in the audience.
“Lads, this is Debbi,” Mindy shouted between songs.
Muzza, Jag and Biff all smiled in greeting, then Wood draped his arm around her shoulder. “Alright, love?”
Jag was unimpressed. “Fucking cockney wanker,” he muttered in Muzza’s ear.
Debbi shrugged off Wood’s arm and glared at her friend. Obviously it had been Mindy’s idea to come over to stand with the lads from Frenzy.
* * *
The following night they played in a seedy club in Birmingham. Frenzy opened and there were several fights amongst the crowd. Gash was next up and their roadies were called into action several times as numerous members of the audience climbed onto the stage. The Riot didn’t get to finish their set because the police came and made the club management cut the power. Over a dozen punks were arrested, and it was obvious to Jag and Muzza most of these kids had taken something more than alcohol.
Although none of the girls from Gash had come out of the dressing room to watch the other bands, they all came out to watch the police clear out their audience. Debbi was standing next to Jag as they watched two policemen drag a screaming and kicking punk with a blue Mohawk and numerous piercings towards the exit. Even with an officer restraining each arm, the youth still managed to kick the glass panel next to the door, the impact of his boot causing a star-crack in the reinforced sheet.
“What a fucking dick,” Debbi said.
Jag looked sideways at her and smiled. “Yeah. Total twat.”
* * *
Later that night, Jag lay in bed thinking his first verbal exchange with Debbi was hardly earth-shattering. Still, at least they’d agreed on something. Muzza was fast asleep in the other twin bed in their small hotel room, and he let out a machine-gun fart in his sleep. Jag pressed his face into the pillow and tried to pretend he was somewhere else.
* * *
As Frenzy tuned up for their sound-check the following afternoon, Biff revealed they had a new fan. “You’ll never guess what — Beastly asked to borrow my Walkman last night. Said he wanted to listen to one of our tapes.”
Muzza laughed. “Hope he fucking paid for it.”
“Minus his twenty percent,” Wood added.
Towards the end of the song, Jag broke the second string on his guitar. As the others headed off in search of a pub, Jag told Muzza he was going to stay and change all his strings, and would try and find them later. As he sat at the side of the stage, Gash came out and started to do their sound-check. By the time they’d tuned up and started, Jag had all six strings on. He tuned up and quickly worked out the chords of the song they were playing, then turned his amp on. As Gash played the latter half of their song, Jag added
a few lead-fills and broken chords on the half-beat, just to give a fuller sound.
The lead singer—who Jag now knew was called Kelly—smiled and nodded to him, saying ‘I like that, keep playing’ between her own lines. Jag carried on, and added even more intricate licks as he got to know the song’s structure. After the song ended, Kelly, Mindy and Debbi all came to stand around where he was sat.
“That was really good,” Mindy said. “I can’t believe the difference you made to the song.”
Jag shrugged, a little embarrassed. He’d only been jamming to get his strings stretched ready for later.
“Show us what you did.” Debbi looked straight at him.
Jag felt his stomach flutter, which was an odd feeling for him. “I just played a few fills in the gaps, that’s all.”
“Yeah, but what were they?”
Jag placed his left hand on the fret board. “Just messing around, hitting notes in the chords.” He played the chord riff of the song while damping down the sound using the palm of his right hand on the strings as he hit them with the plectrum. “The chords are just G, E minor, C and D right?” As he ran through the chord changes, he started to introduce single or double notes between hitting the chords. “If you play different inversions of the chords, just pick a couple of notes from each, slightly off the beat to fill in the gaps.” He looked from one to the other, his gaze finally settling on Debbi. “Doesn’t matter if you play it differently each time. Let’s face it, the crowds we play to are hardly ever listening to these parts of the songs at all.”
Debbi smiled, and Jag really liked what he saw. She had dark brown eyes and very white teeth.
Mindy broke the spell. “Where are the rest of your lot?”
Jag looked around. “They went to get something to eat, but I’d bust a string, so I said I’d maybe catch them up. Or just grab a butty or something.”
Debbi went to lean her bass against her amp and walked back over to where Jag was still sitting. “I’m just going to walk down into town and grab a sandwich if you want to come. I need to find a phone box and call home, but that’ll only take a minute.”
Jag smiled and put his own guitar down. “Yeah, that’d be great.”
* * *
Jag and Debbi talked freely about their respective bands and the music that had inspired them to learn to play guitar in the first place.
“I learned to play classical guitar at school,” Debbi told him. “I could read music and everything. Then when I was about fifteen I saw Suzi Quatro on Top of the Pops, and I pestered my parents until they bought me a bass guitar. I thought she looked so sexy playing bass.”
Jag laughed but didn’t admit he used to masturbate thinking about Suzi Q when he was a teenager. “I have older brothers,” he explained. “So all through the sixties when I was a kid, I’d be listening to The Beatles, The Stones, The Hollies, The Who, The Kinks, stuff like that. When I bought my first guitar I just worked my way through the Beatles Complete chord book, starting on the songs with three chords, and when I could play them I’d choose songs with four or five chords. I’d try them in other keys to learn more chords. Then I got into Neil Young and learned a lot of his songs. Then I started writing a few things myself.”
Jag found Debbi easy to talk to. He realised he was telling her things he’d never told anyone else before – mainly because nobody else had ever asked. “We had a glam-rock band in school. We used to do Gary Glitter covers.”
Debbi laughed out loud. “I bet you looked great in your sparkly sequined suit.”
“Then suddenly everyone was playing disco stuff and I didn’t like any of that shit. Punk was like a breath of fresh air, so as soon as I heard it, me and Muzza started the band.”
“You write all your band’s songs, don’t you?”
He looked at her, surprised she knew. “Yeah.”
She nodded and smiled again. “They’re good. I bought one of your tapes after the first gig. Been listening to it.”
Jag was pleased she liked his songs. “Thanks. Who does the writing in your band?”
“Kelly writes some of them, and me and Mindy write some together.”
Jag nodded. “I like the fact you play your own stuff. I’m not a big fan of cover versions – they’re for people who want to play in pubs forever.”
Debbi laughed and stopped walking when she spotted a phone box. “Right, I just need to call home.” She looked around, saw a café and pointed to it. “Want to go get us a table in there?”
Jag headed off and found a seat by the window. He watched Debbi as she talked into the handset. He thought she looked agitated. She was moving her free hand as if trying to get some point across to whoever she was talking to. Probably her boyfriend, he thought, who doesn’t like her being so far away with all us undesirables. Jag saw she was very animated by the end of the call, and after hanging up she stayed in the phone box for a few seconds, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.
Debbi joined him in the café and they spent the next hour chatting about all aspects of music. Jag was embarrassed when he described the outfits he’d worn in the glam-rock band at school. She laughed at him and told him she’d auditioned to join a male punk band simply because she fancied the lead singer. Then she spoiled the story for Jag by revealing the singer had taken her out for a drink after the audition. He’d got her pissed, shagged her —then revealed the original bass player had decided to rejoin the band.
Jag and Debbi were the last ones back, and everybody cheered when they walked in. The two of them looked at each other and shrugged. It seemed everyone had been talking about them while they were out.
Jag went to re-tune the new strings, then wandered along to the dressing room to join the rest of the band.
Biff was walking around in just a very small pair of underpants. “Have you shagged that Debbi, then?”
“Yes, Biff. I had her over the counter in Chatwins while she nibbled on a Danish pastry.”
“We could have doubled up as a foursome.’ Biff grinned and rearranged his crotch. ‘I reckon her mate fancies me.”
Muzza said, “Yeah, you’d make a great couple. Dork & Mindy.”
Everyone else laughed, and Biff looked hurt. “Oi, fuck off.”
* * *
The Friday night session went well, with good performances from all four bands and no fighting in the crowd. Jag was amazed when Simon asked him how many more copies of their tape they’d brought with them.
Jag shook his head. “None. We gave you the hundred and fifty we had.”
“Well we’ve only got about a dozen left, so if you can get some more for tomorrow night, that’d be good.”
“Wow.” Jag tried not to show he was impressed. “We usually shift about ten after each gig.”
Jag went to see Muzza, excited. “Beastly just said we need more tapes,” he told him. “The master tape’s still in the studio. If I phone Ian to ask him to run off a couple of hundred copies in the morning, d’you think your Graham would drive them down here before tomorrow night? Tell him we’ll pay for his petrol and time.”
Muzza was nodding. “Yeah, I’m sure he’ll be up for that.”
By the time Jag and Muzza had changed and cleared up the dressing room, the club was empty except for staff clearing up the mess while the stage was being stripped of the gear. They’d agreed to leave it all in a locked store room overnight and pack it into the bus first thing next morning. When Jag went to tell Simon about his plan to get the tapes, he found him deep in conversation at a table with Wood. They both seemed embarrassed at being seen together, as if Jag had caught them doing something wrong. Back in their hotel room later, Jag told Muzza about Simon and Wood’s reaction to him finding them together.
“Well,” Muzza said, “maybe Beastly’s a shirt-lifter and fancies him. I heard that queer posh blokes like a bit of rough.”
Jag laughed. “Yeah. He may well have his middle-class lips around Wood’s cock at this very minute.”
Muzza pulled a face. “
What a fucking horrible image that is. I’ll be having nightmares about it.”
* * *
The Saturday morning was bright and sunny. All the bands loaded their gear onto the bus in good spirits. Debbi was wearing a black vest top, tight-fitting faded blue jeans and green canvas deck-shoes with no socks. She wore no make-up and her short dark brown hair was shiny and free of gel. Jag knew she was twenty-two, but thought she looked much younger. She caught him looking at her as she carried her guitar bag out the back door of the club and smiled at him.
Nick, the guitarist from Fresh Scabs, saw her smile at Jag. “You jammy bastard. She’s a bit of alright, eh?”
Jag just nodded and made his way onto the bus. They stopped at a greasy-spoon for breakfast, nearly everyone ordering a full English. After they’d eaten, Jag and Muzza went in search of a phone to call Ian and Graham to arrange the tapes. There was a phone box on the street corner and Debbi was just coming out of it. Jag thought she looked worried, but she smiled when she saw him. He wondered what was going on with her but hesitated to ask, knowing it was none of his business.