In the days when I would frequent other people’s open mic nights, I would turn up at nine o’clock, make myself known and take whatever slot I was given. It seemed the right and polite thing to do.
At my open mic nights (it seems – and as I write this I am thinking of dozens of exceptions) there are a good few people who don’t turn up until well after nine – sometimes ten, and in the case of a certain diva and another rather stupid South African, as we are playing the last number. Even then, they pull a face when you ask them to go up, as they are obviously far too important to take ‘that slot’ – whatever ‘that slot’ might be.
Here’s a lesson I learned many, many years ago, my fellow musicians and singers: Only one act can headline and only one act can support the headline – and the chances are neither are you!
Right, so, slightly unfair rant over. Unfair because the vast majority of people are very accommodating and understand that when you have a dozen acts to get through in an evening, then they should take whatever is on offer… Which they do… And jolly lovely they are, too…
Meanwhile. Back at The Plough in Stoke Poges on a showery evening, I was sitting alone, with the clock ticking towards the moment I had to start playing, whether anyone was there or not.
Imagine, then, my delight as I looked out the window and saw Kev the Bassist hauling a Peavey bass combo that was pretty much as big as he is (and he is by no means small) up towards the door. I went outside to greet him and a slight bloke hidden behind him, who turned out to be Angus the Drummer. A bassist and a drummer?! How’s that for open mic night luxury?
“Great to see you guys!” I enthused. “gggrrrmmmmmfffmmmmnnggg,” said Kev. I figured he wanted to avoid conversation for a minute or two. The good thing was, I knew, that if Kev and Angus were there, then Simon the Guitar, Caroline the Sax and even possibly Ruth the Sass would all be along shortly.
Then, to my delight, Skinny Hips Tomkins rolled up in the house on wheels he calls a car. Even if no-one else arrived, I would not have to fill the whole evening by myself and there were even enough musos for a jam at the end.
“Glad you could make it,” I said to Skinny Hips. “Thanks for coming.”
“Thought I’d better check it out,” he said, beaming. “But I’m going to get in trouble at the session at Stubby Ash for not being there!” I assured him that I appreciated it very much.
I went inside and plugged in. I started with Mad World (using an acoustic guitar effect with choral voices on my guitar synth), then switched to straight guitar for Oliver’s Army… Then, as ever when performing alone, I went utterly blank – simply could not think what it was I should play, and thus played a couple of numbers unsuitable for my voice, if not the event.
By the time I had run out of steam, Simon, Caroline and Ruth had arrived, so I hauled them up to get things really going. They were great. A full band playing rehearsed numbers – it sounded excellent… With the small exception that I don’t think they have ever worked out how to finish a track.
While they captivated, I made captive my performers. There was Skinny Hips, and now Deano the Psych had turned up, as had Andrew Williams (I have to call him Andrew. Not for legal reasons, but because he hates being called Andy Williams) and another guy, John. This was all going to be lovely, I was certain.
I put John on after the band, as I had no idea who he was, what he did, and whether he was any good. Well, he was very good – probably better than anyone else there that night, actually, although very much a ballad singer. He played and sang very, very nicely and for his fourth and final number he said: “Right, a bit of a toe tapper for the last number, so, er, if you have toes, you can tap them.” And then promptly played another slow ballad. Bless him – I hope he comes back.
By now, another singer, Rob the Crooner, had turned up and, sure enough, as ten o’clock approached Slowhand Robin and Diva Michelle arrived, carefully missing any chance of being on early. I wasn’t remotely annoyed. Actually, I was delighted. By now I had attracted a good dozen people to the pub, many of them were drinking and the landlord was smiling… What is more, I had sufficient performers to keep me going till closing time – including a bit of self-indulgence at the end with the band, of course.
And if Slowhand Robin and Diva Michelle were late, they were nothing compared to The Colonel Aureliano Buendiaz, who managed to turn up at about five to 11.
“Thank God I’ve found you!,” he breathed. “I’ve been driving around here for hours! In the end, I had to put my sat nav on!” The Colonel finished off the set for us with a Long Tall Sally and a High Heeled Sneakers and everybody slapped each other on the back and said what jolly fun it had been.
I lit a cigarette (outside, of course) and breathed a huge cloud of smoke and relief. Not bad for an opening night.
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