The first time..

..&
roll and proudly wearing my legendary brothel creepers (made in Australia).
There was a dance on at the local hall. They had a Maori band playing who could
play anything and they were pretty good I thought. They must’ve had a
talent quest segment because I found myself up on stage and the band was asking
me what I wanted to sing. I think I told them When the Saints Go Marching
In and we were off.
It was magic. The crowd went wild and I won the talent quest – I don’t
think there was a prize, but the crowd reaction and the sheer intoxicating fun
I had singing with a band in front of an audience for the first time in my life
was reward enough. Dreams were born that night and I couldn’t wait for
the next weekend.
Eventually it arrived and sure enough there was another talent quest. There
I was again, up on stage and we launched into When the Saints – only
this time there was something missing. The reaction from the crowd was muted
and I stumbled from the stage wondering what had gone wrong.
I’d discovered one of the eternal truisms of live performance – and only
one and a half songs into my career. If only somebody had been around to help
me identify what had just happened I might’ve profited from the experience.
There again, I might have just as easily ignored or resisted any words of wisdom,
as per the opening argument.
Anyway, what I might’ve learned at that early stage is that anticipation
is a fickle sentiment and best dispensed with altogether. While it’s OK
to express positive sentiments about an upcoming gig in conversation, it’s
best not to actually believe what you’re saying yourself as you’re
bound to be disappointed. On the other hand, I’ve been to many a gig where
everything about the venue is wrong, from the stage, (or absence of it), to
the sound, even to the audience, bless their hearts, and yet it’s ended
up been one of those magical occasions that one remembers fondly for quite a
long time. (I hesitate to say for the rest of your life..)
In fact, it might’ve been so good that you couldn’t help looking
forward to doing it again.. (I didn’t claim it was easy).
Sometimes whether a gig works or not has got nothing to do with the venue or
the audience and it’s simply down to your personal disposition at the
time. Punctuality is a vital self-discipline in any field, but when you’re
a self-employed musician it’s even more crucial. People will put up with
almost any kind of behaviour from a free-wheeling musician, in fact they might
be slightly disappointed if you aren’t a little weird in some
way, but nobody loves you if you’re late.
Maybe as a consequence, Bill and I have developed a penchant for being a little
too punctual if anything, often resulting in our waiting forever to actually
start performing. (Hurry up and wait!)
This is not good for the psyche and can lead to some bizarre outcomes. I told
Ross (The First Time) Wilson this story when we played the Neale Johns’
benefit together a couple of weeks back and he thought it was amusing,
so I’ll tell you. It might’ve been one of the last times we played
The Continental. (Sigh! The Continental! There’s still no replacement
in sight, so we’ll just pause for a moment to reflect on what we’re
missing..)
Anyway, it was the release of the I’ll Be Gonz compilation CD back
in 2001* and there was a big crowd in the house. We’d been there most
of the afternoon and sound checked and light checked ad infinitum.
We had Ross Hannaford as one of our guests and there was a certain amount of
anxiety in making sure he was there on time and totally prepared, but at last
the moment arrived and there we were trouping out onto the stage. I was the
last in line when I was suddenly overwhelmed with the necessity to have an urgent
crap – so I turned sharp left and rushed into the toilet, leaving the
others on stage milling about wondering where I’d disappeared to. Rudderless,
so to speak.
Which, of course, breaks one of the primary maxims of rock & roll performance;
i.e start well and end well and it doesn’t really matter what goes
in the middle. There’s your recipe for the perfect rock &
roll sandwich..

*It might’ve been another time actually. Bill and I have slightly different
memories about the precise details..