Wreckless Eric News Page September 2001

The Swan, Coney Weston, 31^st August - The Aftershow Party

It seemed to take all day to get there what with roadworks, rainstorms and petrol stops. We can't put in more than about ten quid's worth at one go because it leaks out where the filler tube joins the tank. It's an auto version of a hiatus hernia I suppose, and also means that I'm potentially explosive as I'm driving around.

When we got there the Swan was almost exactly the same as the Star Inn in Thaxted - same side of the road, same carpet, everything. Unfortunately the man who supplied the PA was a punk crusty (or should that be a crusty punk). He offered me some speed and he wasn't going to take no for an answer. I nearly told him to fuck off, because he'd already set up the PA, and as he evidently didn't know how to switch it on there was no reason for him to stay. But upsetting people isn't in my nature, even though he could've done with a bath and the only sensible place to be was downwind of him.
The landlord, Ben, and his brother Jim, in honour of whose birthday the gig was originally planned, were very friendly. So were the staff - particularly Mat, the barman, who'd probably like to be a rock star though I'm sure he can pull loads of birds without resorting to that. If I was the Michelin guide I expect I'd give them five stars.

Before I went on I was approached by two large blokes who wanted to know why the hell I was playing in Coney Weston. I explained that it was because of the carpet, and also because I'd been asked to. One of the blokes turned out to be John from Antigua. If anyone remembers John from Antigua was the first letter on the very first Letters Page. (There'll be another letters page soon if I can manage it - the teapots are a bit of a strain. I may have to find another theme, possibly gardening equipment.) John and his mate whose name I'm afraid I've forgotten (although I do remember that he played a Thunderbird bass) were old Len Bright Combo fans. They asked me to play Shirt Without A Heart off the first Combo album. I'd sort of already planned to do it because I'd had an email from a girl called Diane who'd also requested it - and I'm a soft touch where women are concerned, not that I'd ever admit to it.

When I went on I had to ask them to turn the light down - it was one of those efforts with about three bulbs in it, and it was hanging just above my head. The stage was an eight foot by four foot section of stud wall that had been painted magnolia in a previous existence. The light was reflecting off it and it was all very bright. I could see the audience in detail. The best that can be said for the stage really is that it covered up some of the carpet. Here's a photo of the event. The light fitting shows up quite clearly so you can see the difficult conditions under which I was working:

The photo was taken by the Mystery T-Shirt Man who made himself known to us last week by email. He's called Luke Broom-Lynne and coincidentally he's a friend of Jeff Higgott, who's a friend of mine - so it's all very eerie indeed. Even more so when you consider that Karen Hibberd, the girl in the paranormal t-shirt event, was also there and I was able to introduce them to each other. I have a photo of Luke and I together. If my vanity allows me to I might include it later on in this piece of splenetic rubbish I'm writing at the moment. (The word splenetic isn't in the dictionary by the way, so it's anyone's guess what it means.) But because it was taken just after the gig I seem to be looking a little less gorgeous than usual - but I still look better than some people look all the time. It's a shame there isn't a picture of Luke with Karen because she was looking lovely. If I do show this picture you'll notice a girl in the background. I've gone and forgotten her name but she was extremely affectionate and wanted to take me home for a cup of tea and fortunately, or unfortunately, whichever way you choose to look at it, she later made it clear that a cup of tea was all that was on offer. Another woman told Ina that if she hadn't been there with me she would've got me to autograph her bottom. It was a pleasing night all round.

I'm sure that at sometime everybody's been in a miserable pub - usually on a Tuesday lunchtime - where they have a noticeboard behind the bar displaying a huge collection of Polaroid pictures, the sole purpose of which seems to be to give the impression that at other times - times when you're not there in fact, the place is terrific fun, that fun-wise it's the centre of the red-eyed universe, especially when Dave bears his bottom for the camera. Friday night in Coney Weston was that noticeboard come to life - except that thankfully Dave didn't moon at the camera - or if he did, he did it after we'd set off home.

I could almost not tell you what I played. I found the list in my pocket this morning. By song three I'd deviated from it hopelessly and irrevocably. I don't think I played that well, it was good in parts. Because there were a lot of what you might call locals in the audience there was a good deal of noise. By looking carefully at the people I could see that a lot of them were listening, but some of them were busy shouting for Take The Cash, or discussing my guitar playing technique, or wondering aloud what my amplifier was, or just ordering pints of lager. Whatever they were doing they were making a lot of noise and as a consequence the dynamic suffered. I don't understand the mentality of people who stand right next to the stage and conduct loud and lengthy conversations - quite often these are the same people who, having obstructed you with their chat, their repeated demands for numbers you're obviously not going to play, and their all round oafishness, come up afterwards and tell you what a great gig it was. I don't expect an awed silence, or even a reverent hush - I like a bit of trouble, a bit of barracking, and I understand peoples need to converse at times. But sometimes it can feel as though some of the audience aren't with you, that for them you're some sort of inconvenience - like a Dire Straits CD playing in the background. Or that they regard you in the same way as a video - if they miss a bit they can always rewind it. Unfortunately you can't rewind real life.

I played Joe Meek, Reconnez Cherie, The Golden Hour Of Harry Secombe, Lifeline, Semaphore Signals, Harry's Flat, Comedy Time, Shirt Without A Heart, If It Makes You Happy, Walking On The Surface Of The Moon, The Final Taxi, Someone Must've Nailed Us Together, True Happiness, Whole Wide World, Personal Hygiene and Excuse Me. I think there were some others too, but I can't remember at the moment. There was a slight interlude while the crusty punk decided that I had to drink from his silver hip flask. He was very drunk, most unpleasant, but in between our arrival and this episode he'd at least had a wash and changed into some cleaner clothes. He'd been pissing me off all night, acting like Jack the Lad. He was at the stage of drunkenness where friendliness confuses itself with belligerence. I told him to fuck off and so did half the audience.

I had a problem with The Final Taxi. It's never happened before with that particular song - I forgot the words. Fortunately it was the second line so I was able to fuck it off and do Walking On The Surface Of The Moon instead. I can't imagine how that happened but it does sometimes. In the opulent Olde Dayes I've been known to ask a passing roadie for a clue as to the first line. I'm all right once I get going… I came back to the Final Taxi after Walking On The Surface Of The Moon and followed it with Someone Must've Nailed Us Together. I was rather pleased with that juxtaposition - 'there's only one destination in the final taxi' with attendant funeral march, followed by 'they say we're lucky to both be alive…'

The musical highlight of the evening for me was a broken string episode at the end of Someone Must've Nailed Us Together. It was the A string that broke. I carried on playing a raga on the open E string and the D while Ina took the old string off and replaced it. By the time she was replacing it the raga had developed into a wall of cascading feedback (whatever that means. At this rate I could get a job as a rock journalist - but I don't think it's very well paid). Having got the new string on I tuned the guitar on the run and carried on. I didn't stop playing throughout the entire process. It's the second time we've done that, the first time being in Swindon earlier this year. It makes breaking a string worthwhile when you can pull off something like that. Usually it's just a drag

As you can see I've decided to include the picture of Luke and myself. To fit with the Polaroid Pictures In The Pub thing I've had our retouching department colour all the eyes in red. Apart from that I've had them subtly retouch me - they've left Luke and the girl with the cup of tea alone because they're not stars, just me. I'm the one on the left by the way. It's nothing elaborate, just a touch of show-biz orange in the complexion and a slight whitening of the teeth. I'm thinking of having it done as a permanent job when I get some royalties. I owe it to my fans.

We're playing in Brighton on September 17^th, Why this date has sloped up on us like this I cannot say (well, I could but it'd only get me in trouble). If anyone's coming let me know - and please come and say hello. It's all right - I won't take the piss unless of course…