We’ve played some remarkable gigs since The
Boys reformed: thunderstorms in Germany,
saunas in Bratislava, furnaces in Texas, freezers in Berlin
………..But: we have never before played in front of a human waterfall. But more
of that later.
The BA “direct” flight from London to
Buenos Aires actually stops at Sao Paolo, Brazil, and waits for 2 ½ hours on the tarmac. Those travelling on to Argentina are
not allowed to disembark and stretch their legs. The whole shooting match takes
over 16 hours during which time I became more and more aware of a cold developing nicely within, and a little
man in my throat with a piece of sandpaper busily scraping away.
As Liz and I cleared customs, there was the
promoter Mariano’s friend, Mariano, waiting for us (at that stage 67% of the male
Argentinians I had ever met were called Mariano) together with an autograph
hunter. “Hola” I tried to say, but what came out was nearer to the last
testament of a pair of bellows.
From the album covers I was asked to sign,
and the signatures thereupon, I could see that not only had the Air France
flight with the other lads arrived, but this time we would play a gig in the Americas
with Cas.
“Farmacia”, I gasped at Mariano, and we
promptly found one. Would you like antiseptico, antibiotico, spray, gargle, or
tablets I was asked. “Yes”, I replied, and bought the lot. Here I was playing
one of the cities I had waited a lifetime to play. I was buggered if I was
going to do so without a voice.
With a clear blue sky two things strike you
as you arrive at the centre of Buenos
Aires. First, the stunning quality of the light which
glows like a summer lakeside morning and, second, the strong European flavour
of the buildings, which are a cross between Paris
and Madrid.
But first things first and it was off to
lunch with the lads, including Martin our new Vom (worth two of the original if
measured purely in inches) and the real Mariano. Our first introduction to the
simple but superb cuisine of Argentina:
empanadas, steaks, salad (“hippy food” according to Cas who just had the steak)
and Malbec wine, all finished off with a round of brandies.
There are few things more crap than a Boy’s
rehearsal at the best of times. A Boys rehearsal with a new drummer and a
singer with no voice is a truly horrific affair. Many people often make the
mistake of attending Boy’s rehearsals, thinking they will be like a gig. They
are, instead, a catalogue of
lacklustre mistakes performed by beer swilling ne’er do
wells, who would rather be elsewhere. Add to that a singer trying to save his
voice by singing like a flat robot and, well, you get the picture.
As we finished I could see the faces of
Mariano, Gonzalo, Liz and various Argentinians thinking; “What was that? This
is going to be a train crash”.
“Steak?” said Cas, not for the last time,
and not for the last time the rich baritone voice of Mariano said “I know a
good restaurant”. And he did. The best steaks and red wine you will ever taste
sitting on a street next to a traffic light, accompanied by plentiful hippy
food and mashed potato. “I’ll pay” said John and we all fell off our seats.
“Which poor sod has leant him money” we were all thinking as we picked
ourselves up or “maybe he nipped round the corner and held up a sweet shop”.
In fact all that food and wine for 10
people cost John the princely sum of 200 pesos. That’s £40 in real money, i.e.
£4 per head.
The morning of the first gig dawned and I
felt truly awful. A full blown cold and vocal cords from which the only sound
emerging was that of one hand clapping. Mariano had some tablets which are
meant to be good for singers, so I added them to the cocktail.
The breakfast room was occupied by a
football team called Arsenal. Cas was excited but it was a local team who play
in the Argentine second division.
The first gig was in a club. As we arrived
it looked like a second hand furniture store with a mountain of tables and
chairs stacked outside. “I wonder where they are going to put those?” I
thought. Once an army of Gabriella Sabatini lookalikes had scrubbed the floor
down it became apparent they were putting them in front of the stage. “Oh good”
said Duncan, the New York Doll’s brilliant roadie from Sunderland,
“I can do my puppet show while they eat their chicken”.
As the show approached the temperature rose
backstage and I felt truly dreadful. People were speaking to me but I was
reduced to sign language.
However, there was air conditioning on
stage to get my temperature down and the adrenalin kicked in, aided and abetted
by my first experience of Argentine audiences. They made the long journey
worthwhile.
Imagine the entire Kop singing all The Boys
songs in full voice and you are half way there. Of course they ignored the
tables. What I didn’t realize at the time, even in the midst of a between song
chant of “Dooncan, Dooncan, Dooncan” was that they would be as nothing compared
to the night after. Not that they weren’t great. Just that the night after
there would be ten times more of them.
As usual, the show went in a flash. There
were plenty of mistakes especially as it was Martin’s first gig but overall it
was a triumph. I even managed a bit of a voice. Clearly over the counter,
Argentine, antibiotic, antiseptic, cocaine spray works well.
I fancied watching The New York Dolls from
the front of house so Liz & I went over the stage and into the audience. Imediately
I was rushed by a wave of handshakes, kisses (and that was just the men),
“Dooncan”s, and general all round friendliness. As Cas said: “how on earth
could you go to war with them?”.
The next day, or rather, late morning
dawned and I woke wondering whether I would have any voice at all after having
hammered it the night before. I breathed a huge sigh of relief at not only
feeling slightly human but also being able to speak in something approaching a
normal voice.
What can I say about the Teatro Flores
gig? It’s a great venue. An old style
theatre with the seats taken out. Not unlike the Lyceum when it used to be a
rock venue. A big stage and a big auditorium but intimate nonetheless. At the
front of the stage, barriers had been erected where the old orchestra pit used
to be, giving a two meter gap between stage and audience.
Given the Buenos Aires traffic and the fact it was an
early gig with a curfew, we had decided to stay at the venue after the sound
check rather than go back to the hotel. John needed some new guitar strings
which Duncan
(now known as Dunc to avoid confusion with me) had. “Money first. I know who
you are.” Said Dunc. We fell about. John’s reputation spreads far and wide.
We waited through the two support bands,
who played to a near empty hall. The second of them deserve mention for being
more glam than Sweet.
The stage had a curtain at the front so we
went on to set up. “You only play for an hour don’t you?” said Mariano. I
confirmed that was true so he said “Plenty of time”.
The curtain went back. Martin hit the
opening to TCP. Panda-fucking-monium.
The place was packed. Everyone was singing
the words. At any one time there were at least 5 people, usually more, crowd
surfing. The action came when they reached the front of the audience where
there were no more people –just the old orchestra pit. Over they tumbled like a
human Niagara (or Iguazu for those who know Argentina) Falls. All through the
gig they kept on coming, to be picked up by the security, dusted down and sent
back to have another go.
What an audience. Totally inspiring. What
also gave me a kick up the backside was looking at the side of the stage during
Soda Pressing to see all of the New York Dolls watching. “Right oh” I thought,
“better give them something to think about” and stepped up the gas to give it
an extra 10%.
It might have worked as well, because the
Dolls were very complementary about us and put on a great show themselves. Much
better than the night before.
It seems that our set is a lot longer than
an hour now. An hour and five minutes later we still hadn’t played the encores
which , because of the strict curfew, we couldn’t perform. Still, you can have
too much of a good thing.
After the show the American ambassador turned
up with a delegation to say hello to the Dolls. Can you imagine that in the
70’s? Johnny Thunders would have probably thrown up on his shoes. There was a
great bunch of other people there as well including Seba and his wife who it
was fab to say hello to. I think they mentioned leaving two kids at home, 800
kms away, but that can’t be right since they are only fifteen themselves!
So, that was that. The end of a great
weekend. Liz and I had a 7 o’clock flight in the morning up to Brazil to check
out the beaches near Sao Paolo (stunning, let me tell you).
John, Cas and Martin were playing with Sami
from the NY Dolls and a local guy on guitar the night after. I hear a lot of
gin was involved.
Liz and I are heading back to Buenos Aires in the
morning as I write, since we have a date with Die Toten Hosen. I can’t wait to
see more of the Argentinos in action..
Beunos Aires. Probably the craziest
audiences in the world.
Duncan Reid
