I knew Friday night was going to be interesting when Dad turned up and demanded to know where the beer was. He had come around straight after work because we were going to an open mic session where 'Richmond' were playing (my guitar tutors band). When I mentioned that I didn't have beer in the house because it tends to get drunk before it reaches the fridge, he paused and looked disappointed for a nano-second before diving into the wine rack.
We got off the tube at Chancery Lane to look for the wine bar where the gig was being held. All along the way, Dad was looking out for pubs which would serve him a decent pint if the wine bar couldn't (poor dad doesn't drink all week and like a beer on a Friday, and I was taking him to a wine bar). Happily the bar was right next door to the Law Society (Dad's a Solicitor) so he began to calm down because he knew he could always get a good pint in there. I wondered if he could get me in. "Of course" he replied "I pay enough to be a bloody member for gods sake".
The bar itself was a lot smaller that I thought it would be and not how I imagined it. It was already quite busy and I felt if if I should apologise for some ridiculously "British" reason. Before I could be heard, Dad said he thought it was an intimate arena, and he liked it. He also liked the only beer they had on tap so we were off to a winning start.
There was a small stage where one of the acts was about to start. He called himself Wolf Man of 1. The kindest what to describe his peformance would be, enthusiastic! My ironic cheer of "Encore!" was met with steely glances from wolf weary listeners.
The second act was interesting. He must have been the wrong side of 70. He played brilliantly and swore relentlessly. His last song was played with the guitar on his knees and a lighter being rubbed along the fret to create a sound that must have been inspired by heavy and sustained substance abuse. His lyrics focused on familiar themes such as 'f**king kids' (not literally as this carries a heavy prison term) and 'space men'. Nevertheless, this didn't stop me from bumping into him later and telling him how wonderful I thought he was, and how I hoped I would see him peform again soon. "What you need is a manager!" I said. Yes I meant me, and yes it was a creepy thing to do. However I have a good excuse... I was drunk.
Dad and I soon bumped into Pete (my tutor) and he came over and bought us a drink (he really hasn't got the hang of this groupie thing). Rob and his friend Alistair, turned up and the four of us stood, talked, laughed and enjoyed the music. Richmond were up next and they were excellent as I knew they would be. The next band, were called Lopez. They were also very excellent. Pete reckons they may go all the way. So as the blog that breaks new musical tallent, click on www.lopezmusic.com You saw it here first folks!
After Richmond finished their set Paul, the lead guitarist, asked us what we thought of the set and then offered to buy us another drink (I should really start going to more gigs). I had quite clearly had enough to drink already as I agreed to do an open mic myself. Stupidly I broadcast this knowledge and I have quite a few people who want to come and laugh at me. They won't be laughing if they have heard me sing. I either sing or play the guitar, not both simultaneously. If I try, I end up concentrating so hard on getting the guitar to sound like the song I'm trying to play, that my singing becomes a barley audible whine. Having my voice amplified with a mic means that by law I cannot play within 20 miles of Battersey Dogs Home.
As the evening drew to a close, Pete came up to my dad and me and offered us a lift home (what can I expect from them if they crack the US market. A flat maybe!). So I got a lift with the band all the way back to Ilford. How cool is that.
On the journey home, Dad who is a massive music buff but completely tone deaf, talked about the industry, being successful, and about music in general. This led to a shock announcement the very next day. Dad had been pondering all night and has deduced that bands need something extra to help them stand out. Therefore he has selflessly decided to help young acts break into the big time by offering his services as a bongo player. He wants to by a good set and get proper instruction. He realises that his image may not fit the young and trendy acts coming through. Undeterred, Dad has agreed to shave off all his hair to make him look more hip. I worry for him sometimes, I really do. If he does go through with it, which of course he won't, I promise to post photos. If anyone needs a bongo player, please do get in touch. He's cheap!
With love,
Andy
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