Listen to my music while you read....
The Gig Unceremoniously dumped by an English harridan (I'm being kind), completely and utterly broken/depressed/down-trodden, and that's just her, imagine how I felt, I decided to throw caution to the wind and mingle with some 'local' musicians. I ended up playing with a couple of guys who I actually respected; including the late Fred Davis (guitarist). He had a fantastic finger-picking style and was a formidable pedal steel player. Anyway, to cut a long story, at the behest of another local muso I took a very nice/beautiful girl out for a day in my car, thinking that this would alleviate some of the pain. Of course it didn't, we broke down (the car that is), but to the rescue came help in the form of Mervyn Beaver (artist) who I'd never met but nevertheless he very kindly offered to take us back to his place and feed us. I have to say that for this to happen in England these days is highly unusual. Usually, if you break down, it's fuck-off and die!
Anyway, Mervyn being an artist instantly recognised that I was different in some way and could somehow sense that I was a musician, so we had certain things in common as twer. Problems, problems and more fucking problems, of course we were unable to fix my car and as I had a piano gig that evening Mervyn offered to sell me a cheap car, which got us home safely and me onto the gig, much to my surprise.
After this we kept in touch and I went down to Cornwall to see him and his family again, we became good friends. He eventually introduced me to a number of Cornish musicians amongst which was John Fry aka Chuck Scirocco. I ended up playing quite a lot with John in his studio mainly; this inevitably led to a number of other encounters. Through John I did some session work for Sentinel Records where Gareth Young worked as a sound engineer.
Anyroadup, one day John phones me and said that he's heard of a possible piano/keyboard gig in Denmark would I be interested? Does a bear shit in the woods? I thought, of course, what's the deal? Apparently I had to go and see someone called Damian Rodd who was at that time working as a drummer in a cabaret band. The arrangements were made and I went to meet him at some god-awful holiday camp where he was playing. Anyway there were clearly some very good musicians playing in this cabaret band and although they were playing what I would describe as complete crap (theme to the A-Team etc..) I could tell that Rodd was different, yes he was going through the motions but occasionally there would be a flash of brilliance, a touch of the Vinnies about him, if you know what I mean. So, we met, and we arranged a rehearsal.
However, unbeknown to me John had completely exaggerated my abilities by telling them I played like Chic Corea!!!You have to imagine that being said in a slight Cornish accent. How should I say, one's credibility took a sudden nosedive.
Despite this, they all seemed reasonably impressed with my abilities when said rehearsal took place and we agreed to start rehearsals in preparation for this Danish 5 star hotel gig. I say gig, the contract was for one month, six nights a week, five hours per night.
I immediately liked the other guys; to me they seemed a very happy bunch despite living in what you could only describe as errr not exactly salubrious conditions lets put it that way. In fact they were living in caravans on the holiday camp site where they were playing and our rehearsals were confined to these caravans, to start with at any rate. They kept referring to one another as 'Ted' I thought this was some strange Cornish custom but it was simply there way of not having to bother remembering each others names. You have to say it in a certain way as well, with your tongue curled upwards. This gives you the local buffoon edge, so to speak. So, I became Ted for the duration.
The preparations for this gig for me was a welcome diversion from dwelling on the misery of a relationship break-up, however in the event no matter how far you run, no matter how busy you make yourself the pain barrier has to be negotiated, otherwise you're in denial, that's bad!
So, the final rehearsal took place and I ventured back to my hovel in my little Fiat 128. I say hovel, with the pant and sock fairy disappearance I don't mind admitting the place was starting to look a bit sad not to mention untidy. Anyway I forgot to say, I crashed the car on the way back, disaster already. I had to have some major repair work (chasis welding) done if my little Fiat was to make it all the way to Copenhagen. Yes, we were driving all the way, never mind Top Gear; this was an excursion that would make Jeremy Clarkson proud.
Watch this space for Part Two…
Higgsy
