The Band With No Name Blog

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Long ago and far away now, but at the time.. A guitarist friend of mine asked me to join his band after their bass player left with only two weeks before a 'battle of the bands' gig. The singer is a bit of a prima donna (but mostly a cab driver with delusions of adequacy). Comes the day we go to the Queanbeyan Leagues Club - think Shriners of Baltimore - and do the sound check at 3.00pm.

Then we head home to spruce up before the 9.30 slot. At least, most of us do. The singer, a Jimmy Barnes fan (think Joe Cocker crossed with Ian Dury) stays at the venue soaking up the rock'n'roll lifestyle and drinking his way through a bottle of scotch.

When we get there he's a little strange but we're too busy with gear and nerves to notice much. Our time comes, on we go. We start with Roxanne by the Police, and get through it OK. He's a little extraverted but he remembers the words. We start our next number and, flushed with success from the first song, he cuts loose, twirling the mike stand wildly and then tripping over it, yowling all the while.

Luckily his forward progress is arrested when he put his right foot squarely into a foldback wedge. He heaves his leg back, throwing the speaker across the stage and then steps straight into thin air dropping five feet off the stage. He bobs up in the crowd, blood streaming from a gash to the head and singing to several girls. He's feeling no pain, and doesn't notice the girls dancing away as fast as they can.

Meanwhile.. the guitarist and I wander forward, still playing, and have a quiet chat:

"Is he with you?"
"Never seen him before."
"They'll let anyone in these days.."
"Oughta be a law."

A soundtech runs from the desk to the stage:
"One more song then you can F**K OFF."

Great days. I can still see him crumpled in a stairwell, farting, snoring, and burbling quietly to himself "Mate, Maaaaaaate, Jeez maaate, we was robbed.. maaate..."

What, and give up showbiz?

The Band With No Name Blog
The adventures of an accidental band manager.
About Me Name: Lee Dalton Kear Location: Canberra, ACT, Australia View my complete profile Previous Posts Ahhhh....that's better.... I'm sorry constable, you're not our kind of guitar... Tonight we review the world's biggest-ever gig - t... ...and even as we speak...another idiot approachet... We traded the psychopath for a Yarpie...did we do ... ...oh, that reminds me... And now a brief pause for reflection... BOOOOMMMM...tinkle tinkle tinkle..... Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes... A Day Late and a Dollar Short... Daily Reads	Sunday, April 24, 2005 What? and give up showbiz? dotcommies Long ago and far away now, but at the time.. A guitarist friend of mine asked me to join his band after their bass player left with only two weeks before a 'battle of the bands' gig. The singer is a bit of a prima donna (but mostly a cab driver with delusions of adequacy). Comes the day we go to the Queanbeyan Leagues Club - think Shriners of Baltimore - and do the sound check at 3.00pm. Then we head home to spruce up before the 9.30 slot. At least, most of us do. The singer, a Jimmy Barnes fan (think Joe Cocker crossed with Ian Dury) stays at the venue soaking up the rock'n'roll lifestyle and drinking his way through a bottle of scotch. When we get there he's a little strange but we're too busy with gear and nerves to notice much. Our time comes, on we go. We start with Roxanne by the Police, and get through it OK. He's a little extraverted but he remembers the words. We start our next number and, flushed with success from the first song, he cuts loose, twirling the mike stand wildly and then tripping over it, yowling all the while. Luckily his forward progress is arrested when he put his right foot squarely into a foldback wedge. He heaves his leg back, throwing the speaker across the stage and then steps straight into thin air dropping five feet off the stage. He bobs up in the crowd, blood streaming from a gash to the head and singing to several girls. He's feeling no pain, and doesn't notice the girls dancing away as fast as they can. Meanwhile.. the guitarist and I wander forward, still playing, and have a quiet chat: "Is he with you?" "Never seen him before." "They'll let anyone in these days.." "Oughta be a law." A soundtech runs from the desk to the stage: "One more song then you can F**K OFF." Great days. I can still see him crumpled in a stairwell, farting, snoring, and burbling quietly to himself "Mate, Maaaaaaate, Jeez maaate, we was robbed.. maaate..." What, and give up showbiz? link \| posted by Lee Dalton Kear at 4/24/2005 05:59:00 PM \| 5 Comments: alex commented at 7:03 PM~ That it proved crowded and full of smoke did not trouble him at all, nor did the admiring pleasantries which the splendor of his apparel calcium immediately called forth.. 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