July 26th saw a flurry of emails regarding pics from the
Chopper Club gig and general website maintenance. I was quite surprised when I
saw the pics…
“Just looked through the pics,” I wrote. “Can I propose that
we ban anyone in the band wearing shorts, please! Not a good, bluesy, rocky
look, I must say. Let’s face it, we’re not going to win any Sex-God
competitions, but let’s not draw attention to the fact! Ouch!”
This was primarily aimed at George, who really did look like
granddad out for a spot of sun. All that was missing was the knotted
handkerchief. Nige was a bit put out, however. I know he always makes jokes
about being the ginger one, but deep down, I think he thinks he’s a bit of a
catch… Well, with arms the size of tree trunks, he does make the ladies’ eyes
flutter, so we’ll give him that one.
This day also began to separate the men from the boys. One
of the ‘to-be-auditioning’ drummers – an American in Shepherds Bush – was
kicking up with Nige about the auditions being during the day. Kept on about
something to do with having a job and a wife and kids.
“My initial reaction was to tell him to go and fuck
himself,” wrote Nige. “If he can't commit to an audition how can he commit to
all of the gigs we are going to have. I require your diplomatic guidance old
chap! Or, should I just tell him to fuck off?”
I added a diplomatic alternative to the ‘go forth and
multiply’ option.
So, the auditions were down to two. A bloke called Barry and
the ‘up for it’ Ant.
In between times, we (Nige, George and I) were batting
around ideas for recordings. There is a place near Milton Keynes called
Rockhopper Studios that does a package of four live recordings, plus a video
shoot for one of the songs: £250 all in. It sounded like a good deal… But when?
The day of the auditions came, Barry was in first. He was
ok, he could keep time, but there wasn’t much in the way of flair. I certainly
didn’t rate him over Angus.
Then Ant arrived and set up. He gave a quick couple of hits
on the snare and then a run around on the toms. I whispered to Nige: “We’re
going to have to turn up, mate. This is the real deal.”
And so he was. He knew the vast majority of our material and
hooked in to the endings without a murmur. The odd one caught him by surprise, but
once he had heard it, he knew it. His power was unbelievable, his runs expert
and appropriate, and he led us in the big endings with a great deal of aplomb.
I was worried we wouldn’t be good enough for him.
Afterwards, we were nattering outside as he and Nige had a
cigarette. His name was Ant. Ant what? Where did that come from? Where did he
live? How did he live? All questions were met with (at best) evasive answers.
The most we could extract was that he lived near Reading and lived off
royalties from a successful gig back in the 80s and 90s.
Again, I thought he was being like this because he didn’t
want to play with us, but he said he did – and he seemed to mean it… But he
wasn’t going to get drawn on anything personal…
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