Five years previously, in 1987, it seemed so different. The hair was lengthening, blackheads deepening and acne rife. Something about that rock music said something. It said everything to me about my life! Let's go to Warby's and listen to Judas Priest singles, let's listen to Dio at Jazz's while his sister pretends to 'make love' upstairs, let's annoy the trendies in the class by singing along to Van Halen at break time, let's laugh at people who don't have tour dates on the back of their Iron Maiden shirt. Hey! We're forming a band and we need a bass player!
It was the best present my parents ever bought for me. How many of my hours were spent thwacking away at those four strings with my ear next to the fretboard? Straining to hear myself struggling through an incorrect rendition of Doctor Doctor (That's MSG's version of the UFO song, not the Thompson Twins you fool!). I quickly joined a band. Simon recruited me, Simon taught me what to play, Simon was the guru.
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What the hell did I think I was doing?
Outside my Aunty's house in full bored teenager mode with my bass, doing a George Formby impersonation for some reason. |
I was lugging my bass and my tiny Marshall combo to a bungalow in Stocksbridge every Friday. For a few weeks this overlapped basketball sessions at the Sports centre earlier in the evening and I remember one time plugging in and blasting out at the side of the court after encouragement from friends. Ten minutes later the manager came round and said wearily, 'That's enough now lad.' like I was the thousandth teenager that week to bring their bass into the sports hall and play that Fleetwood Mac bassline they used to have at the start of the Formula 1 coverage.
At first I was just glad to be involved in a band because the bass can be a bit limited as a solo instrument. I was making a noise that sounded something vaguely like my heroes and people seemed to think I was okay at it. But I quickly became frustrated. I was getting stronger on the bass each day and it led to questions: why are we still faffing about with the same 3 songs? Why do I have to turn my volume down? When do we get to do a Rainbow cover? Why couldn't they understand that the bass just played the chorus again during the 'Living on a Prayer' solo? I wanted to be in a band where I had a say, where I wasn't just the new guy, where I didn't have to play Bon Jovi. Against the (tone deaf) singer's instructions, I played a tape of our practice sessions to the girls in the year below, well at least the bass playing was okay, and I just can't say no to a girl who asks. It was the notch up to volume eleven which blew the singer's fuse.
I had already started another band with some other friends (that had put me up to volume 10 and a half with the singer and his fuse had begun to glow) so jumping before I was pushed was easy. I was free to dedicate myself to 'Son of a Cat' (the 1st incarnation). I left Simon to his poodle-rock leanings and was there at the front when they played in a battle of the bands competition at the Limit. Such a great night, Simon in his blue silk shirt complete with shocked fish-man impersonations, all the 'rock' contingent from our year at school semi-moshing before the stage and Jamie ripped his new leather jacket.
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Simon playing at the Limit with De Milo and obviously loving it like a shocked fish.
Note Scholey's Eddie Van Halen-esque tapping. I'm in the crowd somewhere. |
'Son of a Cat' (the 1st incarnation) didn't last long, quickly defeated by the inability to recruit a singer and someone bossy enough to push us along (sometimes I'm afraid you just need that arrogant person). In desperation I attempted the vocals for a cover of Beth by Kiss. Unfortunately, that desperation was more than apparent in the wobble and squeak of my voice and I still bear the scars of Jason's mum's pitiful reaction to my attempt.
By the summer, Jason (whose sarcastic curse of 'Son of A cat' became our name), Jarrod, Carl and I were carrying Carl's drum-kit back from Deepcar to Stocksbridge, singing the words of Thin Lizzy's 'Emerald' as we struggled over Bracken Moor. I was disappointed but we weren't getting anywhere. We had managed two half finished songs and the intro to Crazy Train. I had dreams of playing at Deepcar Village hall and I am so glad we never got that far. It would have been a real joke, none of us had a clue.
There's too much noise
And I've lost my voice
Here we are
At the Disco Bar
The people of Deepcar still remember the words of their anthem, Disco Bar. How could they forget? The memories it evokes of 1981 at St John's school: Book of the week; Father David's stand-up routines (who apparently later caused a bit of a scandal); going to a chess match in Mr Berry's Robin Reliant; Mrs Glasby on the piano; and, why did Miss Firth's class always seem to be making things out of cereal packets and loo-rolls? Did they ever do any proper work?
SJ Sounds had a wide-ranging repertoire. Imagine a song called 'Rock Man' written by 10 year olds ('It's Elizabeth Beet and she's got a lotta heat, for the, Rock Man now! Cool man Now! Hard Man now!'). Cast your mind back to 'Gentlemen of the Road' ('they can steal all your gold') and the half-finished Maze of Fear. So wide-ranging, in fact, that we had to play Disco Bar twice. Well at least we didn't revert to 'Mull-of-Kintyre' which had got us our entertainment badge for the Cubs a few months before. Continue»
