Declan's Excellent Rock 'n' Roll Adventure.

Chapter 1

It was colder than I’d expected. So I nuzzled my head inside the lapel of my overcoat and let the wine glug from its bottle into my mouth. The Isle of Man Steam Packet Company’s ferry the King Orrey had just entered Douglas Bay and was bearing down on the harbour. There was a breeze, but the sea was fairly calm. The passengers would have had a good crossing. I knew they wouldn’t have been delayed. This meant the time was about six o’clock.

I’d left work an hour before. Changed from my suit into jeans, and instead of going straight to my local, Bushy’s, bought myself a bottle of wine (probably Graves) and headed up Douglas Head to admire the view, and gain some benefit from the sun. It had been shining all time I was working. I found myself a suitable spot, where I had a view over the harbour and the Bay towards The Promenades, the town and suburban mess of Onchan. Douglas is a hilly town so from my vantage point I could see most of the town. I had an excellent view of the building work which was fulfilling the financial sector’s ceaseless desire for ugly, out of character office blocks. While I was having a look I had a good skeet at the new card-board style estates being built to house come-overs working in these new offices. These estates were expanding the boundaries of the town to swallow the villages of Strang and Union Mills. I could also see that the town Commissioners and the Island’s tourist “industry” were tiding up for the summer season, which would begin the following week, with Practice Week. For two weeks a year the Isle of Man is overrun with by motor-cyclists who come over for to see the T.T. Races. I watched the exciting preparations. All along the Promenades the guest houses, chippies, gift-shops and cafes that had been shut through the winter, while their proprietors were living off the income of the summer months and taking holidays abroad, were getting spruced up, a thorough dusting here, a coat of paint there or a complete face lift.

The King Orrey had docked and all the passengers had disembarked. I’d recognised one or two faces but the majority I didn’t know – a few were families returning from holiday, a few were businessmen, and some constituted the first wave of bikers to descend on us, these were probably German, who always seem to arrive first and leave last. I’d misjudged the strength of the May sun and had begun to feel quite chilly. I drained the last dregs of wine. Stood up. And began my unsteady progress to the Quay.

____

Bushy’s Brew Pub is situated in an Old Yate’s Wine Lodge on the corner of the Promenade and Victoria Street. It gained popularity by brewing it’s own bitter and strong ale in the basement. This pleased the locals because previously Isle of Man Breweries were the only brewing company on the Island. Over the last few years Bushy’s has expanded rapidly – extending the pub itself taking, over the Albion (now called the Rover’s Return) and the Duck n Castletown; and supplying its own beers including Dark Mild, Manx Stout, TT Pilsner lager, lager, and Xmas Bitter, to pubs throughout the Island.

Bushy’s pub itself has three bars. The first is a games room with one armed bandits, pin-ball machines, a jukebox, a table-football table, a darts board, and a pool table. It also has a television but this is only on, on a Saturday for the football results, and during the week if there is a match on.

The second bar is full of tables and benches and drinkers sit and chat. It is the quiet bar. In the days before the Big Bar opened there was a definite split between the two bars – you were either a pool room person or a middle bar person – the middle bar was thought of as the trendy drinking place where all the people who weren’t regulars went, the pool bar was for regulars and we viewed the other bar with distaste. The two groups never met except when the bar in the middle room was closed and they had to come into our bar to buy a drink, or we had to go through the middle bar to the bog. That all changed when the third bar opened.

The third bar is known as the Big Bar and is the newest. It is dimly lit and has music played by a D.J. It has an area which is slightly raised, to serve as a stage when the pub holds its infrequent rock gigs, or comedians, or Frank Sidebottom shows, and on which sits a large table, popularly known as the Goff table. There is a dance floor in the middle, on which people just stand and drink – nobody dances. The rest of the room is taken up with seating, a bar, a log-cabin style Gent’s, and a blue police box for a ladies which looks like Doctor Who’s Tardis (I went in one drunken New Year’s Eve and it is bigger inside than out).

Douglas Corporation in a moment of truly inspired perception or extreme stupidity had paved off the part of the street outside Bushy’s to form a sort of courtyard and on good sunny days, in contravention of the licensing laws, but with the unspoken consent of the police, this area was packed with holiday makers, bikers admiring and discussing each others bikes, locals, office workers on their way home and hardened drinkers starting the evening’s revelry early (about lunchtime), all enjoying an alfresco pint or two.

____

Today however, the weather that had forced me down from my hilltop perch and back to sea level, had also forced most of the drinkers inside and outside was reserved for a few stragglers from an office party and a pair of motorcycles were left outside (a Honda Goldwing and a Ducati – no one would have the nerve to dismount a 125 or a moped in front of the critical eyes of the crowd – even the non-bikers would laugh). I walked past these and went into the middle bar.

There’s a period of early evening, say between about seven and eight when the pub goes quiet. The hardened drinkers who’ve been in most of the day suddenly remember that they’ve not eaten since breakfast, or they were supposed to be home hours ago, or the tub of ice-cream they had in their bags when they popped in “just for one” is now liquid. The office workers have finished their beers and gone home to change from their suits into something more suitable. So when I entered the bar there was just the remnants of the hardened drinkers; a few office workers , that lived too far away to be bothered going home to change and ordinary drinkers making an early start to the night.

In the Isle of Man a night out isn’t the regimented pre-planned military exercise it is in England. There’s no “I’ll meet you at such-n-such pub, at such-n-such time have one drink go to another pub and have one before going on to a night club”. On the Island we take a different view. You go down the pub on your own. Buy a pint. Survey the assembled drinkers. Sit down at the most convivial-looking table. You don’t bother arranging to meet your friends, there’s bound to be someone to talk to and if there isn’t there soon will be.

I took this approach. Bought myself a pint of Murphy’s Irish Stout and chose a table at which several friends were sat. I went towards it. Many times in the following week, I wished I’d chosen another table.

Chapter 2


Sitting at the table, which was really a bier keller style bench, were lots of people – Little Simon; Pete the Hippie and his girl; Tristan; Stevie Hendrix; several Peel Pop Stars; half of Thora Hird and Phil. Phil was famous. Sort of. He was the singer/guitarist for a group called Colon. Now Colon weren’t the most popular group on the Island that was the Problem. And they weren’t the most promising group that was the Peel Pop Stars. And they certainly weren’t the cutest. But they had released a record! Which hadn’t sold very well. More importantly though their record had been played by John Peel and to add to the honour Peelie invited them to London to record a session for him – just like Elvis Costello, the Birthday Party, the Smiths, Nirvana, the Pixies, the Fall and lots of other bands that nobody’s heard of since, but quite a few of us secretly still search for in the bargain bins of Record Shops. This made Phil a slight celebrity – at the Reading Festival if I told someone I was from the Island, they’d ask “isn’t there a band from there” and it was rumoured that someone had heard the single being played outside a tent on the campsite.

It was Phil who greeted me, “Now here’s someone we can get. Declan, I’ve got a proposition to put to you.”

I closed my eyes. This sounded like trouble. Phil, in common with everyone else in the Manx Rock Scene, myself included, was prone to grand schemes and ideas. These ideas usually started in Bushy’s. People would get to talking about some music. Then someone would say that it would be a great idea to make that sort of music with a nineties feel. Then everybody would agree that it was a great idea, then someone would say the immortal line “we really must get together sometime”. Phone numbers would be written down. And the newly formed Pop Phenomenon would go home, all fully intending to phone the others the next day and arrange a session. No one ever did.

As a result I have nearly invented the Indie-Dance crossover, nearly formed an acapella quartet, nearly played in a band where everyone played different songs at the same time (this does happen regularly in rehearsals) , almost become the new Simon and Garfunkel, and nearly played Delmore Schwartz and Nick Cave in Velvet Underground – the Movie.

This was Phil’s proposition –

“Have you heard the news from Africa lately,” I hadn’t, “There’s people starving by the millions. It’s happening again.”

“Wow, that sounds like a great excuse for a charity gig” I said flippantly.

“I know it’s the liberal-western reaction but we’ve got to do something,” I was right it was a great excuse for a charity gig, “so it’s at the Continental on Saturday, a week tomorrow, all day, two til two. How long are you going to do?”

My immediate reaction was to say yes. My immediate answer was to say no – I was between bands again although that didn’t usually stop me. I’d built a slight reputation for providing charity gigs with a certain something by being guest vocalist with friends bands doing manic versions of Hey Joe and Wild Thing. The reputation was based on not actually rehearsing with the band (I’ve only rehearsed for gigs I haven’t done), not knowing the words entirely (the last time I sang Hey Joe I had to pretend to forget the words) and jumping around and shouting. I had grown even more bored than the audience with these performances. I wanted the next time I played live to be something special. This is the reason I said no.

I’ve heard actors talk about the lure of the stage and maybe this started to grab me. Anyway, I got to thinking, “It’s been a long time since I’ve played live and well I’ve been talking about forming a duo with Paul – and after all it is for charity!”, so about five minutes after I’d said I wouldn’t, feeling full of pride at my compassionate nature, I said I’d do the gig.

All that remained was to persuade Paul.

____

That evening Bushy’s was very exciting. Everybody had moved into the Big Bar and were talking about the gig. Members of established bands were asked whether they were playing. People kept asking me if I was playing. Others came up to ask me not to play. Bands were forming. All around me people were having great ideas. Phil had committed to playing in at least three bands. All over the pub I heard voices saying, “we really must get together some time”. Stevie Hendrix wanted to do the Shoop Shoop Song. Suddenly, someone remembered that Saturday was the Cup Final and twelve bands threatened to pull out if they weren’t on after the match. So the gig was put back until half seven.

When Paul arrived I put my idea to him.

“You know we’ve been talking about forming a band, well Phil has asked me if I want to play this charity gig. For the starving in Africa. Are you interested in playing? IT IS FOR CHARITY!”

He said yes, and asked, “When?”

“A week tomorrow.”

“That doesn’t give us much time, then does it.”

Paul, who was also a member of Thora Hird, was told later in the evening by Shim, Thora’s singer that he was playing the concert with them as well.

The rest of the evening Paul and I spent discussing the gig over a few pints. We had a few problems, finding time to rehearse. I had a full time job which a daytime practice was out. Additionally, I was spending two nights a week at night class studying for A levels and Paul had to rehearse with Thora Hird. Which didn’t leave us with any evenings to get together. We had arranged to meet for a snooker game the next day so I’d come in earlier and we’d do a proper rehearsal on the Sunday. In order to save time, it was decided we’d only do songs Paul could already play.

Paul suggested “The Singer from that Nick Cave tape you did for me. We could do that – you’d have to do a bit of guitar though – it’s dead simple you know that bit that goes Duh Duh Dah.”

I was well impressed – the thought of playing guitar live – when I couldn’t play guitar at all, appealed to a perverse side of my nature. Still does. And agreed to it. I was learning to play guitar anyway and it could’t be too difficult to go Duh Duh Dah.

The other songs we decided to do were She Paints by Biff Bang Pow! from Creation’s Doing it For the Kids compilation that Paul and I had practised a couple of times when we were trying to form a band with Young Bob. I liked the song because it showed a side to me that the Manx Rock Scene hadn’t seen before – that I could carry a tune. It was also decided to do the Velvet Underground’s Sweet Jane.

This choice of cover versions was considered good because it was unlikely that the audience would know the songs and it was different from the same tired cover versions that were trotted out at these events.

When I left the pub all I could hear was conversation about the gig.

Chapter 3

Up until Monday, everything was going according to plan. Paul and I had practised for about an hour on Saturday and about three hours on Sunday. It seemed to be going well to me. Paul had shown me how to do the Duh Duh Dah bits of The Singer and I had this worked out ok. The only problem seemed t be with my timing on She Paints. I was singing it slightly faster than Paul was playing it. (I argued it was Paul playing too slow). But that would come together with time and practice.

On Monday I had been at work all day before going up to the college for my English lesson, due to the vagaries of the Manx Government’s transport policy there is nearly two hours to wait between college finishing at nine and the bus home at ten to eleven. As a result I went straight to Bushy’s. There were several people I knew in the pub including Paul.

Paul wanted to talk to me. He was busy. He had a lot of work for the college to do. He was rehearsing most nights with Thora Hird and didn’t have time to do the gig with me.

I thought that was that.

____

On the Tuesday I met Phil in Strand Street and told him I couldn’t do the gig. He asked me did I know anyone he could get to do the gig. I was suggesting he got in touch with Young Bob when the man himself joined us.

He was happy to do the gig at the Conty, although his band didn’t have a set worked out. I told him that I wouldn’t be able to do the gig because Paul was too busy.

“Now you surprise me,” he said in his best Lancastrian accent; “he was dead keen yesterday morning. Tell you what we’ll do something together.”

Now Bob and me seem doomed. The times we’ve tried to get something together. We first tried to form a band a few years ago, when Bob was Really Young Bob. But nothing came of it – Bob’s still got some of my lyrics. We’d tried again, with Paul, during the winter. I’d even booked the nursery school at Port St. Mary Town Hall to rehearse. But this was unsuccessful – Paul ad Bob wouldn’t play the same song at the same time and we all had different ideas about the sound.

This time was to be no different. But you can’t fault us for trying. Throughout the week Bob and I were in almost constant communication. There were endless phone calls, band conferences on the last bus home, and Bob even came into the bank on Friday to discuss the gig through the bullet-proof screens of the counter. Unfortunately, we could never get Bob and me and a guitar in the same place at the same time. In the end we decided to practice on the morning of the gig.

As you can imagine I was beginning to suspect that the chances of me actually playing at the concert were pretty slim. I decided that I’d practice on my own doing a version of The Singer that I had worked on with Paul. The song is very simple it tells the story of a singer whose days of fame, glory and notoriety are gone. The Singer has lived the American Dream. He has been a great success. But now, he has lost his fame, his fortune and who knows what else. He is left wondering how he will be remembered. If he was to be remembered. I love this song. It seemed simple to play. There is a subdued backing of chords which Paul had been due to play. It is then sparsely punctuated by a primitive three-chord guitar run at the end of each vocal line (the Duh Duh Dah bits). I decided it might work if I just sang the vocals and did the Duh Duh Dah bits. I thought, “I might be able to pull it off”. Besides I was past caring.

____

I wasn’t the only one having problems though. Andiamo, a lumbering dinosaur of a soft-metal band, who were due to play a well-paid series of shows, between strippers, at the leisure complex, Summerland, to drunken bikers during the TT fortnight had pulled out because they were too busy rehearsing.

The Shambelahs a bizarre, and incomprehensible, band, which was one of the many Colon spin-offs due to appear split up. If there was a reason for this I can’t remember.

The Void who were listed on the posters to appear never actually existed.

The Psychedelic Rottweillers, who hadn’t practiced together for six months, didn’t practice during the week before the gig either.

Bob’s Band and Thora Hird spent every night writing songs, learning cover versions and practicing.

Phil spent the whole week in a state of shock, running round trying to finalise a running order. In the end this is what he came up with –

Time.........Band

7:30.........Psychedelic Rottweillers
8:00.........The Syndicate
8:30.........Bob’s Band
9:00.........Sunflower
9:30.........Thora Hird
10:00........Declan (or Psychobable as I called the Group.)
10:15........Cath the Poet
10:30........Colon
11:30........The Problem
12:30........The Peel Pop Stars

Chapter 4



When Saturday came, me and Bob still hadn’t practised together. We arranged to meet at Bob’s in the morning. It wouldn’t have took us long to knock a three song set into shape. I phoned Bob’s house at about ten. His Mum answered,

“Hello is Bob there, please,” I said in my best work telephone voice.

“No he didn’t come home last night,”

”Oh! thank you.”

I then resolved to do the Singer on my own. I ran through the song once myself. Before catching the bus into town to watch the match in the pub.

____

When a match is on you usually see the same faces in the Bushy’s – Raz, Little Karl, Nobby and Colin.

Nobody wants their enjoyment of the match spoilt by people playing pool or unnecessary noise from the jukebox, so it has become traditional during big matches, for the juke box to be switched off and the pool table to be unused/

It is in these conditions that I’ve watched the Crystal Palace unluckily lose the cup final, Germany progress uneasily past England in the World Cup, and, most distressing of all I’ve seen Arsenal just sneak the league championship. Today Tottenham Hotspur were to face Brian Clough’s Nottingham Forrest. The majority of people in the pub were shouting for Forrest. To provide a bit of rivalry Nobby brought a Spurs supporting friend – this gave us added reason to support the Nottingham side.

[2003 edit …. Yawn… in the original manuscript there now follows a long, irrelevant, and tedious description of the 1990 Cup Final…which I can’t be arsed retyping … suffice to say Spurs won 2-1 and Gazza got injured… if you wanna know more see the Rock ‘n’ Goal Years.]

I stayed in the pub for a few more pints before leaving at about seven and making my way along the Prom to the Continental. At the door I got in without paying – you don’t pay at a gig you play! Inside the audience was beginning to gather. On the stage Thora Hird were going through the motions of a soundcheck. Bob came up to me.

“Hello, Declan”

“Alright Bob. What’ve you been up to.” I laughed as I indicated his hand. Which was bandaged.

“Well…”, Bob described how he’d been to Reflections – a dodgy Heavy Metal night club on Broadway and fell over a chair. He had put a hand out to save himself onto a broken glass.

“Yer daft get … can you still play guitar?” I’d already given up the idea of him playing with me when we hadn’t practiced that morning. I was just concerned that all the time and effort he’d spent rehearsing with his band would be wasted.

“Awe man! I’m sorry we missed you before. Do you want to have a run through in the corner?”

----
The Continental is not the chicest night spot the Island has. Then again the island is not noted for it’s chic night life. The Conty is generally frequented by the Irish brickies that were working on constructing the office blocks for the ever-expanding financial sector. It is at the far end of the Prom from Bushy’s. At one end of the room there is a large window, which gives a view of the bay. The stage, with a D.J. booth, at this end. In front there is a dance floor, with tables and chairs around the edges. To the left of this there is a bar and at the back of the room are the toilets.

Apart from the disco itself the Continental is also a hotel. It was in the foyer, whilst the Psychedelic Rottweillers were on stage, that Bob and I went about putting a set together. We played and sang the Rolling Stones song Honky Tonk Woman. We also quickly wrote a song called We Really Must Get Together Sometime. I wrote the words about the Manx Music Scene and Bob wrote a simple tune. We had decided, therefore that the running order of our set would be – We Really Must Get Together Sometime, and followed by Honky Tonk Woman.

----

In the main room the Rottweillers finished their set and The Syndicate started theirs. I didn’t notice much of this I was too nervous. I spent most of the time drinking, reading and re-reading the lyrics to the songs and asking friends, to applaud “even if I’m crap”. Suddenly, and most unprecedently I’d developed nerves. I would pace up and down, make repeated visits to the toilet and was unable to sit still for very long.

Bob’s Band were next on stage. Their gig, whilst not exactly being my favourite type of music, was good. All the practice they had put in was paying off. Their music was well received and they finished the set with an encore of a Hard Rock cover of EMF’s Unbelievable. Despite my nerves I danced to this track. I felt I owed it to Bob. After all even if we didn’t do the set I’d been touched by the way he had attempted to help me.

Next up were one of Phil’s bands – Sunflower. This band consisted of Phil and the rest of Colon dressed in comical indie-dance costumes – daft hats and colourful jackets, doing spoof versions of various dance tunes. They also did a dance version of a Jesus and Mary Chain song. Despite my nerves I danced to this as well.

Thora Hird followed Sunflower on stage. It was their best gig. I was pleased for Paul and the rest, as for the first time playing together. I began to have doubts – would our own lack of practice show us up. Phil came up looking concerned.

“Declan, I think you should talk to Bob.”

I ran off and found him holding his hand out for me to see. I held it carefully, playing the guitar during the set with his own band had made it swell up to twice it’s normal size.

“Don’t worry about it, man, it’s not your fault. You’ve tried your best.”

“Let’s have a quick run through to see if I can manage it”

“I’ll say one thing for you you’re game! Look of it hurts don’t bother”

Now as you can imagine I was rather drunk by this point. So as Bob and I walked to the hotel foyer I decided that if Bob was unable to do the gig I’d do the Singer on my own. Luckily, and uniquely for a man with Celtic blood, I am not a sentimental drunk, if I had been I would probably have kissed Bob for all his efforts. As I say I am not a sentimental drunk, so I didn’t. As we went through to the other room Thora Hird were playing a sponsored version of Primal Scream’s Loaded. This meant that they played the song until everybody got so fed up with it that they paid them to stop. We were due on stage next.

In the foyer, with bemused guests passing us to go to their rooms, it soon became obvious that Bob would be unable to play. Everytime he started a song he played a few chords and broke down. He tried again and failed.

“Bob your not gonna be able to do this are you?”

“No”

“Lend us your guitar. I’ll do the gig meself.”

____

I took Bob’s guitar and walked into the main room. I spoke to Phil, “Bob’s not gonna be able to play. So I’m gonna do one song myself. It’s not gonna be any good but I’ve told people I’m doing the gig. So I’m doing the gig.”

The expression on Phil’s face that had looked worried about everything that day, and very worried about my contribution, turned positively panic striken.

“Don’t worry,” I said in an effort to reassure him. And me. “I’ve always been able to get away with this sort of thing in the past”.

“Oh we’re in for a certifiable-classic-Manx-rock-n-roll-experience then, are we?” I could tell he wasn’t convinced.

“Yes!”

On stage, Thora Hird’s version had raised twenty-five quid and wasn’t gonna raise anymore. So they quickly brought the song to a climax and left the stage, I was up next.

I picked up the guitar, gave Phil a reassuring smile, and strode towards the stage. As I passed a friend I mumbled “this is gonna be crap”, with a knowing nod.

Behind me I heard Phil tell Cath the Poet, who was due to follow – “I must warn you he’s gonna jump around and shout and you’re gonna have to apologise for him”.

Chapter 5

I was still clinging to the idea that this was a band – Psychbabble. Even if I was its songwriter, leader, vocalist, guitarist and only member. So as I got to the mike I said “Hello, we’re Psychobabble and you won’t believe the week we’ve had.”

I looked at the guitar, and noticed that it was electric. I didn’t know how to plug it in. This presented a problem. In desperation I asked the audience “Could some muso plug this bloody thing in.” B. the second guitarist in Thora Hird was putting his on guitar away, he plugged the guitar in for me and wished me luck.

Paul came up to and quite reasonably, I thought, tried to talk me out of it. “You’re not really gonna do this are you?” Then he found that I really was Paul set the guitar’s controls to sound best for The Singer. Then B, and Paul departed leaving the stage to me.

I was tense as I sang the first line-

- As I walk these narrow streets where a million passing feet have trod before me.

I paused momentarily to check that my left hand was fingering the correct fret. And struck the strings.

- DUH DUH DAH

I couldn’t back out now. No matter what happened. I relaxed and sang the next line.

- With my guitar in my hand suddenly, I realise that nobody knows me

- DUH DUH DAH

As my memory for lyrics is poor I had too put a copy on top of a stool, I leant over and read the first couple of words in the third line.

- Where yesterdays the multitudes screamed and cried my name out for a song

- DUH DUH DAH

I looked up. Little Adam and Paul Clague from work and their mates had started to chant, quietly at first – DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN. I laughed. This wasn’t gonna be so bad after all.

- Now the streets are empty and the crowds have all gone home

- DUH DUH DAH

- DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN

The chant had left its little group and began to spread as more people joined in. I was beginning to enjoy it now.

- I pass a million houses but there is no place where I belong

- DUH DUH DAH

- DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN

I nearly fluffed the next line because the chanting had started me laughing but I controlled myself in time.

- All I had to give you was song after song after song

- DUH DUH DAH

- DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN

Pete the Hippie seemed to know the song from either the Nick Cave or Johnny Cash version and was kneeling on the ground singing along.

- All the truths I tried to give you were as distant to you as the moon

- DUH DUH DAH

- DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN

The chant was growing and had spread across the room.

- Born two hundred years to late or two hundred years too soon

I played the wrong note on the guitar.

- DUH DUH DOO

- DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN

“****!” I cursed loudly through the mike. It didn’t matter. I was in control. The audience were in the palm of my hand. The chanting continued DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN. I leaned back in a mock Jimmy Page Guitar Hero pose.

- I’m a child of this age locked inside the pages of the book,

- DUH DUH DAH

- DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN

The singer from Thora Hird, Shim, was dancing in time to the DUH DUH DAHS. Waving an arm in time with each note of the guitar. The room was taking on a party atmosphere DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN.

- But when I am but dust and clay will all the children stop to take a look

- DUH DUH DAH

- DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN

Cath turned to Phil and said “I’m not going to have to apologise for him am I”

- Will they marvel at the miracles I did perform and the heights I did aspire

- DUH DUH DAH

- DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN

Bob was trying to attract my attention to say that he wanted to do Honky Tonk Woman, bad hand and all. Unfortunately, I didn’t see him.

- Or will they tear out the pages of my book to light a fire

- DUH DUH DAH

- DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN

It seemed to me that the entire audience was chanting my name. I was slightly worried that they were missing the point of the song. In fact their reaction was directly opposite to the lyrics of the song. But there was nothing I could do about it. It was just an ironic aspect a decidedly surreal night.

It had surprised me that a gig that I hadn’t even known what I was going to do five minutes previously had produced such a reaction. After all I was expecting to be crap. Perhaps they had realised the problems I had had. Perhaps though the crowd appreciated the situation because I’d had to have B’s help to plug the guitar in. On the other hand perhaps I was actually good. Most likely the audience was drunk. DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN

- Now the streets are empty and the crowds have all gone home

- DUH DUH DAH

This was the last bit of guitar I had to play. So I let the instrument hang loosely round my neck.

- DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN

The chanting got even louder. DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN I was building for a big finish. It was time for a dramatic pause DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN The noise was so loud I couldn’t get it out. I waited before I delivered the last line for the chanting to die down a bit. DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN . Then I delivered it.

- Did you forget this ****ing singer so soon – and did you forget my song.

That was it the song was over. The chanting remained. DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN I removed the guitar from around my neck and balanced it against the monitor. Someone else could unplug it. Gave a slight wave. DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN and with the merest hint of a smile said “GOODNIGHT”. Then, head bowed I walked across the dancefloor, through the still chanting crowd and into the Gents at the back of the room. I could still hear the audience chanting . DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN

DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN DECLAN
I should perhaps point out that Chapter 5 includes "elements", oh ok all the lyrics from the Folk Singer by Johnny Cash.

What happened Next Phil joined Psychobabble and the band went on to world domination, well the 1993 Best Indie Band Awards (because I rigged the vote). And then stopped.

But the best part of this tale is what happend the following Thursday, because the Manx Independant printed a review of the gig. Which included the best ever review anybody can ever have it read (and after all these years I can still remember it in full)

quote:
Then came some fella called Declan. Anybody who knows Declan should buy him a drink, because it took a lot of guts to do what he did.

I highlighted the relevant passage and carried the review round with me. I got ****ed for free for months on the strength of it.

One day I'm gonna write this review about someone else.