Mmmmmmm, nice Reprinted by kind permission of Future Publishing Introduction I started drumming at the age of six, when I got a pair of bongos for my birthday present, (a bit disappointing considering I was expecting kettle drums), and my first public performance was at the age of eight at St. George's International school in Rome, where I backed my class doing a tribal rain dance. The head teacher actually commented on my playing and said that she thought I would go far as a drummer; but she warned me it was a rocky path to choose, with many obstacles to overcome on the way. There would be good times, bad times, great times, sad times. She said that sometimes I would stare at the stars and scream "Why me?" And yet there would be times when my very soul would be uplifted to that place where very few men are lucky enough to have their souls uplifted to. At least I think that's what she said, but unfortunately I couldn't understand a word of Italian. For my tenth birthday I got a snare drum, and for my eleventh I got a pair of sticks. When I was twelve I got a bass drum, for my thirteenth birthday I got a cymbal, and for my fourteenth I got a poster of a tennis player scratching her bottom. My first band was a school one called Voyd, and during my last five years at school between 1975 and 1980 I played in several bands whose names and styles followed the trends of the era, starting with "Hyronimous Murkin" and "Legend", progressing to "The Bad Smells", and ending my illustrious career in "Plastic Napoleon". When I left school I joined a local semi-pro band, "John Thomas", and enjoyed my first taste of the highs and lows of playing the pub circuit, sometimes to an enormous adoring rent-a-crowd of mates, but more often than not to a tired landlord or landlady, his or her drunk wife or husband ("Billy Ocean, mate, I knew him when he was nothing, absolutely nothing. I managed him, I did you know. But he went off with some wide boy, I could have done so much for him . . . .), a couple of interesting drunks and a dog. Having got bored of cleaning hospital floors (which I did during the day to keep me in touch with reality), I went to college to train as a teacher of children with special needs, and supplemented my grant whilst there playing the fantastic variety of venues that are the British Working Men's club. I could never work out why every club had the same person calling the bingo, the same old man in the corner telling us to turn it down, the same skinny bloke who plays a bit of guitar, ("I always get up and do 'Jonnie Be Good' with the band you know"), the same old jobsworth hassling you to get your gear down and out as soon as time has been called, and the same inebriated grandmother who's drivelling away about how lovely you are whilst you desperately try to get your car keys in the door. In my last year at college I thought I'd hit the big time, joining Peachy Keen, one of whose members had just been on tour with Barclay James Harvest, and another who had been one of Mari Wilson's early Wilsations. Stardom was sure to follow, but two years later (and a session for Capital Radio no less), nothing had happened, and I moved with the sax player to the fledgling Shev and the Brakes. A couple more years on and things were going so well that Robin Miller was recording the band at the Power Plant for CBS America. "Yes, yes, yes," I thought, but it was "No, no, no" to the band, and Mr. Shev signed a solo deal. Still not jaded I carried on with Nigel the bass player (who renamed himself Reggie. Well, what name would you choose if you were called Nigel)? We teamed up with some old mates from college who had written some good tunes. Dusay was born, rave reports started coming in, the demo got a five star review in Making Music, and even the mighty Rhythm magazine predicted great things. Companies were sniffing around, we toured Switzerland, went to the Montreux jazz festival, and ......nothing happened. Stalwartly, we changed our name to the Tin Gods, wrote a completely new set, got more rave reviews, went back to Switzerland, got a manager, and .......nothing happened. In the meantime I'd got married, had a daughter, (Jessie), and another was on the way, (who would become Joe)! The time had come to join a band who already had a deal. Phoning around a few record companies, I discovered East West had a major new act auditioning would be rock stars. After a lot of blagging I persuaded the A&R girl to let me have an audition, and when the big day arrived I had a shave, brushed my hair, put on my best Cat in the hat T-shirt and Dickies boots, and set off on the long journey up to Birmingham. I knew nothing about this new band except their name, and when the door of the studio was opened I was confronted with the full, delicate, hungover beauty that is Ginger, along with his mates The Wildhearts. We stared at each other with shared disbelief. "I'll get me coat" I said, but decent fellows that they were they let me have a jam anyway. Five minutes later I was saying goodbye to the manager. "Don't worry about ringing" I said. "All right" he replied. Still, the trip wasn't completely wasted, because on the journey home I learnt all the words to "Honey" by Bobby Goldsborough, and I must say, I found some comfort in his tragic tale. There really are more important things in life. That night I went to sleep with the words Bobby himself said on hearing his girl had crashed his car still ringing around my head; "What the heck." (Incidentally, my wife saw through me and hugged my neck). Undaunted I carried on, checking out the Melody Maker adverts. I got myself an audition for a "Serious band with management, tour and imminent deal. No time wasters." The address for the audition should have set the warning lights flashing, but I thought St. Peter's Church Hall may be their own converted studio. When I eventually found it I was a little late. A bloke named Spam greeted me; "Quickly man, get your gear up, the Vicar wants us out by half nine." I went in, played along with two Goths and Spam, got told I was brilliant, that the job was mine, but that I'd better get the gear down quick because when the meter ran out there wouldn't be any light to see by. I enquired after the manager. "He'll be along soon," said Spam, "when he's closed up the Kebab house." Fortunately, I suddenly remembered that my mum had said I must be home by ten, so I made my apologies and ran to the car quicker than Cinderella running home from the ball, conveniently forgetting to leave my phone number. I was doing some supply teaching to make ends meet, and was close to jacking it all in, when out of the blue came a call from an old friend who was playing with World of Leather. He had to go off to the States to tour with Wishbone Ash, and did I want the job. They really did have a deal, an album coming out, a lot of stuff in the press, gigs etc. Okay I said, as I was sure I'd heard of them. When I asked my wife, she said "Everyone's heard of World of Leather." That was good enough for me. Maybe this was it at last. He sent me a tape, I learnt the set, and set off for a rehearsal the night before my first scheduled gig with them. When I got there a bloke was setting some drums up. "It's all right" I said, " I've brought my own kit with me." A strong Scottish accent replied "These are mine pal. You can set up next to me." "What do you mean?" I asked. I then discovered that World of Leather was in fact a fifteen piece band with twelve guitarists, a bass player and two drummers, sometimes three. "It's a great laugh, but there's no money," he told me. And he was right. At the Orange next night, where my debut with WOL, as they were affectionately known, took place, I'd never experienced anything like it. The place was heaving, there were clowns and jugglers mingling amongst the audience, celebrities such as Claire Grogan and Carol Decker kept popping into the dressing room, and an air of expectancy hung over the other fourteen members of the band. I walked on-stage, put the notes I had written for the song arrangements on a music stand, and started the tom tom rhythm that hailed the entrance of the other World of Leatherers. Immediately a dry ice machine went off under my stool, and I lost sight of the audience, the guitarists, the other drummer, and finally my notes. I never saw anything until forty minutes later when we came off stage. But boy, it was the best fun I'd had in years, and afterwards, when talking to Alec, the other man with sticks, I discovered that he had been the drummer for The Jags. "Wow, I'm playing with a real pop star" I thought. I loved the Jags, but maybe I shouldn't have reminded him that he had worn a Superman outfit when they performed "I Got Your Number" on Top of the Pops back in the late seventies. He looked a bit embarrassed. There was no money in World of Leather, but there were a lot of grins, and a lot of good experiences. I made a video, did sessions for GLR and Radio 1, played some infamous venues, and had my photo, name and drumming on an album which was available in Our Price, (though the guy behind the counter didn't seem very impressed when I showed him. "Are you going to buy it or what?" he asked. "Of course not" I replied, "I have free complimentary copies." "Then get out" he said). But more important than the feeling that in some small way I had acheived some of my teenage dreams, was the fact that in WOL I had made some very good friends with some very good musicians, and made some terribly useful contacts. It was the perfect band to launch the career I had now resolved to embark on. For I, a simple drumming soul, who had spent all my musical career with just one band at a time, had at last decided there was now only one path for me. I was going to become one of that most envied, coveted and generally lusted after species, best known as ........ the Session Drummer, freelancer to the stars, a radio jingle here, an album track there, and a TV backing band appearance anywhere. So I did! And here, for your pleasure or whatever, is an account of the highs and lows, the ups and blows of my first year in the trade. The Secret Diary Of A. Drumming Soul, Aged 33 Ê Part 1 Tuesday 11'th July Went to see the Stones at Wembley. Charlie got the biggest cheer when the singer introduced the band. Wednesday 12'th July Hurrah! Some decent work has come my way, which is nice. Seems that next month those talented singers Bill Waddington, Amanda Barrie and Johnny Briggs (also known as Percy Sugden, Alma Baldwin and Mike Baldwin) are making an album for Christmas with some of their chums (also known as the cast of Coronation Street), and I've been asked to drum on some of the tracks. To make it even more exciting we're recording at Abbey Road, and to make it even more exciting, the three remaining Beatles will be recording there at the same time. Wonder if I'll catch a glimpse? Friday 14'th July I bought myself an egg shaker today. It's time I treated myself. Saturday 15'th July I seem to be suffering from d»ja vu. I went to see the Stones at Wembley and Charlie got the biggest cheer when the singer introduced the band. Tuesday 18'th July Aaaaagh! Never work with children or animals, that amusing fellow Dennis Norden says as he wets himself over some actor "fluffing" his lines in "It'll Be All Right On The Night 27." Well, I hate to admit it, but it seems that for once something Dennis has uttered isn't total tosh. I remember being asked for my occupation when my daughter started nursery, and thought I was pretty cool when I tossed my head back and said "Oh, I'm a session drummer you know." "Great," replied the headmaster, "Perhaps you would help in our summer show which the senior class puts on each year." "Sure," I said. "No problem," and thought no more of it. Well, that was nine months ago, and now the rash promise has been called in. "Rats" I thought, which by some strange coincidence is the name of the production. It should be called "Craps", but that probably wouldn't be much good for a junior school show. It is about the Pied Piper of Hamlyn, but sadly the children keep coming back. Anyway, public spirited fellow that I am, I duly took my drums along for the dress rehearsal this afternoon. The children are quite good actors, but they sing very quietly. "Shhhhh" the director said as I started the first number. "Shhhh" she said when I switched to brushes. "Shhhh" she said when I stroked my egg shaker. "Shhhhh" she said when I mimed. "Shhhh" she said when I'd left the room. I hope they ask me again next year. Wednesday 2'nd August Rhythm arrived this morning. Query: Why doesn't Chris Kontos change his name? Thursday 3'rd August I received a tape in the post today. Seems I'm to record "Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life" and a rather nice old music hall ditty called "Tra la la la", written by Bill Waddington himself. They're both rocking songs, but I can't help feeling that Percy Sugden singing "Life's a piece of s*~#" is not going to be an enormous unit shifter. After all, most of his fans are little old ladies with colostomy bags. Sunday 13'th August It's the big day, I loaded up my drums and headed for St. John's Wood Hill, happy in the knowledge that today I would meet one of my all time faves, Percy Sugden. (Obviously I am not a little old lady, but I do use a colostomy bag, though purely for medicinal purposes). Just before I got there I had to wait at the world's most famous Zebra crossing (which, I never realised, is right outside the Abbey Road studio - obvious really, I suppose), for a bus load of tourists who were getting themselves into groups of four and crossing whilst their friends snapped away with glee. As I waited I wondered how many photographers have been killed here over the years? Security at the studio was tight, and I made a bit of a fool of myself questioning whether Percy Sugden merited quite such strict safety precautions. The receptionist raised an eyebrow and said coolly, 'Actually, it's not for him.' Of course, I remembered, the Beatles are in the house, remixing some tracks. Still blushing, I was taken through to the studio, which is big enough to record a 120 piece orchestra. Typical, I thought. Opportunity for an awesome drum sound, and I'm going to be playing a waltz. The other musicians and the producer arrived in dribs and drabs. I knew them all from our days together in World of Leather, a band which at one time was famous for its three drummers and twelve guitarists. We rehearsed each song a couple of times, and then took a break whilst we waited for the arrival of Sir Percival. Legendary stories of the studio's history began to be told. Mick, who was playing keyboard, pointed to a piano between takes and authoritatively told us that it was one of fifty nine pianos used to play the chord at the end of "A Day in the Life". Perry, who was playing guitar, wandered over, gave it a whack, and said "Rubbish, doesn't sound anything like it." Allegedly Michael Jackson was recently shown around, and when he was taken into the studio said "Is this really it? Oh I'm so thrilled. Isn't it exciting to be in the studio where it really happened? I can't believe I'm actually standing here in the room where Roger Whittaker made his last album." Apparently he's a big fan. Perry then mentioned that he'd been in recording another track a couple of days ago, had gone to the studio restaurant only to find a queue of Beatles standing in front of him. Paul had even said "Hello." So we all decided to go and get a coffee, even though there was a coffee machine in the control room. Alas, the restaurant was empty, but the tape op came down and told us our own superstar had arrived, so back up to the studio we traipsed. Percy Sugden, aka Bill Waddington - what a bloke! He'd had a long train journey down, and been hassled by some football fans on the way, so needed a rest before we started. He sat down on the sofa and chatted away as if he'd known us all his life, about the Street, home, and his music hall days, when he'd written a lot of his own material, including "Tra la la la" which we were about to record along with "Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life." He was a bit unkeen to sing the "Life's a piece of s*~#" line, but the producer had already got a set of lyrics printed up with the offending words altered. Rest time over, we made our way down to the studio, and took up our positions in a semi circle around Lord Percy. Ridiculous as it seemed, I actually found myself feeling quite nervous; the songs were rehearsed and extremely easy, but that old breaking wind came on as usual when the take was about to be taken. We did Tra la la la first, and HRH Percy, performing as if on stage, with a little nod here and a big wink there, managed to coax that little bit of extra performance out of us. First take, brilliant. And it was the same with "Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life." No sooner had we started than it was all over. So, I shook hands with the great man, got the obligatory autograph for the mother in law, and packed the drums away. What a happy day.......No sign of George, Ringo, Paul or George mind you. Can't have everything, I suppose. Tuesday 22'nd August Mike Westergaard phoned this morning, my heart leaped for joy at the prospect of a scintillating session in his studio, but alas, no, the blaggard just wanted me to come and do some samples. (To be honest, that's all he ever wants me to do). Mike is one of these fantastically talented producers who should be a household name, but unfortunately isn't. Still, he's successful enough to own his own 24 track studio, having worked with Julia Fordham, the Blessing, Phil Gould and many other vaguely famous "artistes". When I got there he put me in the booth with an array of different things and asked me to hit them. I started with a snare drum, moved on to a selection of latin percussion, and finished with his kids. The youngest made the loudest noise. Friday 25'th August Today I decided to give my little boy his first drum lesson. He broke my snare catch. I'll try again when he's three. Saturday 26'th August The phone rang this morning. "Hi Mark, it's Tot. Do you fancy drumming in the house band for the Jack Dee show?" "Yeah, okay " I replied coolly. "Whoopee" I screamed after I put the phone down. Roll on 11'th September, that's what I say! Part 2 Thursday 31'st August This month I have been mostly practising ratamacues. Friday 1'st September I wonder who I'm going to be backing for the Jack Dee show? I remember on the last series they had people like Daryl Hall and Marcella Detroit. What a dream. Monday 4'th September Tot rang this morning. Apparently Bjork and Chrissie Hynde are appearing on the show. Yes yes yes. We're going to be rehearsing on the Monday and recording on the Tuesday. Wednesday 6'th September I got Rhythm this morning. Hurrah! I get a mention from Pat Reid. Well, sort of. In his album review for World of Leather, he says "Slimmed down from last year's economically unfeasible triple drummer line up but still peddling witty glam pop....." Well, I was one of those three economically unfeasible drummers, which in my book counts as a mention. Sunday 10'th September I went to a boot fair today. On one of the stalls I found the album Buddy Rich Very Alive at Ronnie Scotts. Nice one, I thought, and bought it then and there. I saw him once at the Fairfield Halls, and everything I'd heard about him was true. He really did have an exceedingly big nose. I couldn't believe the things he was doing. During his solo he was playing a roll, when suddenly with a loud thwack both sticks went flying up in the air, his feet came off the pedals, and still he kept the roll going. Fastest nose I've ever seen. Anyway, I got home with the record, eagerly turned on the stereo, slipped my hand inside the cover, only to find that the disc inside was not Buddy Rich at all, but rather an old children's record called The Songs of Pinky and Perky. Hardly the kind of chops I was looking forward to. Monday 11'th September Well, it's the big day. Obviously I couldn't get to sleep last night, so it was with some difficulty that I pulled myself out of bed when the alarm went off at half past six. It never occurred to me that if you're one of the band you would have to be first there. I had to arrive at the Wimbledon theatre at 8.30 a.m. sharp, with the instructions that I should unload my gear at the Stage door, go park my car, and then meet a man called Bob in a caf» opposite, who would give me a raffle ticket with which I could purchase a "full English cooked breakfast, tomatoes or beans, fried slice or toast." Apparently there was no pass word needed to get this golden ticket, so any Tom, Dick or Jack could have just sidled in and got one. Well, being a lover of anything that's free, there was no way I was going to miss out on this food feast, so I loaded up my drums and set off nice and early, happy in the knowledge that I would get to Bob long before anyone else. Unfortunately, roadworks at Streatham Common had other ideas. I sat and fretted in the car, listening to the Bjork album for the sixty third time that week; (well, you've got to be prepared, I mean she might fancy a jam or something, and anyway, I didn't know yet which track we would be doing). When I got to the theatre it was 8.33 a.m. precisely, and the road was completely filled with cars of mothers and fathers dropping their offspring off at the school next door. I was just about to start crying when I saw in my mirror a space become available opposite the stage door. I reversed as quickly as possible but as I arrived some 20'th Century Schizoid man in a BMW shot in to the space. I jumped out of my car as he was vociferating at his son "Come on Jasper, Mrs. Fraser Campbell is waiting", but the boy wouldn't budge. "Oh Blap," I thought, and left my car blocking the road as I started to unload my gear onto the pavement. I only had the bass drum left when some bloke started to beep his horn. "Sorry," I shouted "I'll just be a minute. I'm playing with Jack Dee." "I don't care what you're doing with Jack Dee mate, get out of my way!" By the time I got to the caf» I was convinced that Bob would have given my mealticket away, but fortunately my fears were unfounded. While I enjoyed my hearty free breakfast, the rest of the band arrived. There was Tot, the Musical Director, who'd produced the Coronation Street album, Perry, who'd done the Percy Sugden session with me, Gus, who'd been in World of Leather, (buying a sofa apparently), and Paul on keyboards, whom I'd not worked with before. It was at this point that I learnt from Gus, who'd recorded the previous week's show, the woeful news that we wouldn't actually be backing Bjork and Chrissie Hynde. Apparently the pop stars sing to their own backing tracks for the show. All we were to do was provide backing music for the variety acts and entertain the audience during the interval or whenever there was a technical hitch. My disappointment was immense. It was nearly as depressing as my sixth birthday, when I'd asked for Bongos as my present, thinking, as a lot of six year olds probably do, that bongos are kettle drums. Even when I saw the small package at the bottom of my bed I presumed that they must fold up into the beautiful big drums I had been dreaming of. As I gleefully pulled the paper off, my heart sank, and the difference between bongos and kettle drums to a six year old is pretty similar to the difference between backing a variety act or Chrissie Hynde to a grown man. At half past nine we traipsed over to the theatre and were shown our stage, a tiny platform located above the centre stage entrance, (out of which would come Jack and guests). Having lugged my cases up a ladder, it became apparent that there was not going to be room for a full kit, so back down the ladder went the floor tom, crash and stool - I sat on Gus's bass amp, which was only a couple of inches higher than my stool, and the extra space this provided gave me the luxury of being able to use a hi-hat. Having got the gear up and miked we jammed a little and waited for the first act, Jim Tavarre, who I'd seen on telly before and who was very funny. When he came up the ladder he seemed quite nervous, so I asked if he was afraid of heights. "No, just musicians" he replied. He then proceeded to tell us what his act involved and how he wanted us to enhance it. To say that what he had in mind was a little unusual would be to do his uniquely obscure sense of humour a major disservice. Basically, he had a grand piano on wheels fitted with windscreen wipers, car alarm, lights, a water squirter, an airbag, a stool with a Piano GTI Haynes manual, and a large sampler strapped onto the underside. When he pressed certain keys on the piano, various car noises were triggered, including an engine being turned over, screeching breaks, revving up and a loud horn. Bizarre! All he wanted us to do was accompany him with a twelve bar as he was "driving along." It should have been simple enough, but as we could never tell when he was going to start, when he was going to stop, (to look under the bonnet), when he was going to sing, when he was going to speed up, (to get away from a windscreen washer at the traffic lights), or when he was going to crash, it was not quite the doddle we had at first assumed. But if we thought Jim Tavarre's act was complicated, it was nothing compared with Una Lanka, (I'm sure he was introduced as Una Paloma Blanca). In essence, Una does a balancing act, though that's like describing Mick Jagger's marriage as having a few ups and downs. What he does is so unbelievable that during his first run-through I got in trouble for stopping playing in order to clap. He starts by balancing a bottle of champagne on a balloon which is balanced on a stick which is balanced on his nose which is balanced on his face. He then pops the balloon, and the bottle falls onto the stick and stays upright. Wow! Then he gets a golf club, puts a golf ball on it, gets another golf club (I think it was a putter) which he lays across the ball, puts the lot on his nose, which is still balanced on his face, then with another stick he reaches up and sets the horizontal golf club spinning, then he picks up a flute and plays a little solo. To accompany all this we had to play a blues jam, the theme from Mission Impossible, a drum roll and a funky groove for him to solo over. As had been the case with Jim Tavarre, this was not as easy a task as it at first seemed. Understandably, it took Una a different amount of time to do the various parts of the act on each run-through, which meant none of the bits of music ever finished at the end of the bar. We spent most of the day rehearsing with Jim and Una, changing keys, tempos and cues, and the rest of the time was spent learning a selection of cowboy theme tunes, including Apache, Rawhide and Bonanza with which we could entertain the audience in the breaks for the following night. Tuesday 12'th September Although the show wasn't to be recorded until tonight, and most of the day was to be spent with Jack and the guests who were not going to need our backing running through their bits, we still had to be there to meet Bob for breakfast at 8.30 a.m., just in case. There then followed a morning of hanging around waiting for the dress rehearsal of the show, scheduled for 4 o'clock. As is always the case when you're hanging around, you chat a bit, you wander a bit, you watch people rehearse a bit, you read a bit, you drink coffee a lot, you chat a bit more, you read a bit more, you watch people rehearse a bit more, and, because of all the coffee, you wee a lot. Every time I went up the back stairs to the toilet I passed someone famous. The first time I passed Jack himself, who acknowledged me with a nod, which was nice; the second time I passed Bjork, who smiled and said Hello, which was nice; and the third time I passed Chrissie Hynde who looked straight through me, which, in its own way, was nice. At about 2 o'clock there was a bit of a commotion, with all the crew whispering to each other and then walking out of the hall. "What's going on?" I asked someone. "The Page 3 girls have arrived" came the excited reply. Apparently they were here to assist one of the acts, Simon Drake, an illusionist. As a politically correct married man I'm obviously above mild titillation, but I must say they were extremely beautiful. Everyone watched Simon Drake's run-through. The dress rehearsal went okay, but with a few hiccups, Una Lanka narrowly missing losing the sight in one eye when he dropped his golf club, and Jim Tavarre's sampler packing up, so he had to verbalise the car noises (he's got a very strange idea of what a car horn sounds like). After this we had a break for supper, and I chatted a bit with Jim Tavarre. He wasn't best pleased when I told him I normally carry a horn in my traps case, but that I'd leant it to my daughter for her bike. "I hope she falls off" he said, but I couldn't see his tongue in his cheek. Anyway, by the time the audience had arrived and we'd taken our place for the show, the sampler had been fixed. I'm not usually prone to nerves, my confidence being considerably greater than my ability, but for some reason the knowledge that a cock up by me could result in Jack having to redo his introduction, the performers having to redo their act and the audience having to sit through the act again, thus losing the spontaneity of their reaction and therefore spoiling the show for everyone, made me feel just a little anxious. Thankfully, it was "All right on the night" for me, though there were one or two opportunities from some of the acts for snippets to be sent to Dennis Norden for him to wet himself over. I mention no names. At the end of the night I got some fantastic news. Tot told us EMI were giving serious consideration to releasing Percy Sugden's version of Always Look on the Bright Side of Life as a Christmas single. Yes yes yes. Christmas Top of the Pops here I come. Part 3 Thursday 14'th September 1995 Matt Lewis rang up today. He used to be the social secretary at Wye college in Kent, part of London University. The only place I have ever played completely naked. (Well, I lost a bet, and anyway the drum riser was really high and right at the back of the stage, and my drum kit hid most of my body. It seemed like a bit of a laugh until Jim and Reggie downed their musical tools and dragged me out to display my not so musical one to a baying crowd). Anyway, as a result of my extra curricular performance, this Matt Lewis kept booking the band back, presumably because he thought we were such wags. I knew he had left the college, so I was a bit surprised that he was phoning. It turned out he was setting himself up as an agent, and that he'd had an idea for a live Karaoke band to play in the colleges. Did I know any musicians who'd be interested? "Certainly not" I replied. "Real musicians would never do such a thing." "Oh that's a shame" he said, "because I've got two gigs in Scotland booked for the week after next at a grand each." "I'll phone you back in five minutes" I said slamming down the phone. Within three minutes Reggie (from my Tin Gods days),and Paul (from my World of Leather days) were in the band, the van was booked, and the dollar signs were flashing in my eyes. We decided to call it the Balls Band, (both because it would play at college balls and because it was a fairly good description of what we were doing, I suppose), and over the phone we decided on a song list which we would learn individually and then get together to rehearse. Thursday 21'st September I dropped an E this morning. It rolled under the table and fell through the floorboards. I hate losing letters when I'm playing scrabble. Sunday 24'th September We had our Balls Band rehearsal today. As there was no singer involved we ran through the fifty songs very quickly, and for the first time I realised why Chick Corea, Jeff Beck et al play instrumentals. No need to worry about being too loud, smoking, working with someone who has a complete lack of timing, changing the key the song's in, or even the smell of hairspray. What a pleasant way to work. I wonder if it will be quite so easy when the students get up and sing? Tuesday 26'th September Well, tonight's the night, so we set off for Edinburgh at 6 a.m. to beat the traffic. At 9.30 we were still on the M25, which wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't for the fact that the van we had hired had one of those internal exhaust pipes that cheap hire vans are always equipped with. Just after Manchester we stopped at a Motorway caf». A half witted youth in a hat served us with a doughnut and coffee, which came to £7.68. Bargain! I don't know how, but we arrived at Queen Margaret's college on time, to be greeted by a very nice Scottish chappy called Andy. After the soundcheck he took us back to his student digs where we were going to kip for the night. In all my student years I swear I don't remember ever seeing a duvet so stained. "Here's a bed for you, Mark" he said public spiritedly, pointing to the offending duvet. "Thanks" I replied tactfully. Both Reggie and Paul had a smirk on their faces when shown their rooms, with pristine linen and a basin in the corner. The more I got to talk to this Andy, who was the social secretary, the more he reminded me of Prentice from the Crow Road; a few mild narcotics, a few mild women, happiness, sadness, ups, downs, life basically. Iain Banks, what an amazing writer. I wonder if he got the idea for the Morse code ending in that book from personal experience? When we got back to the gig there were a lot of very keen students wanting to sing with us. It seemed that virtually all the variety of tracks we had chosen (everything from Smells like Teen Spirit, Satisfaction, Losing my Religion, Parklife and YMCA to My Way and Love Me Tender) were going to be sung. It suddenly dawned on us that we were about to be paid a large amount of money to do something that we had never tried out, and barely bothered to rehearse. For the first time in a long time I felt very nervous about a live gig. Fortunately, the singers were all so bad, (without exception), that no one noticed we weren't much good ourselves. In fact we were incredibly popular and everybody loved us, a bit like Rik from the Young Ones. We got back to Andy's very late and very drunk. A good evening had by all, further improved by the students favourite late night munchy, dried toast and used tea bag tea. And the duvet? No worries, I tricked a completely drunk Reggie into swapping rooms. Wednesday 27'th September I was woken early by an extremely irate Reggie, who reckoned that his chundering in the en suite garden during the early hours of the morning was not so much a result of the drinks he'd imbibed but rather the smells he'd inhaled from the aforementioned duvet. Still, rubbing it in my face was going a bit far. We're playing in Glasgow tonight, so we decided to spend the day looking around Edinburgh. What a beautiful place: cobbled streets, hilly lanes, Toy Museums, excellent pubs and fantastic architecture. We got to the castle just in time for the changing of the guard, an unusual ritual involving four grown men stamping up and down. We set off for Caledonian University, Glasgow, a bit later than intended, and got stuck in a horrendous tailback into the city. All the usual "I told you we should have left earlier," "They'll be bloody angry," "We won't get a soundcheck," "Oh damn, this is really unprofessional" "Shut up you twit" "I hate you" etc. banter and argument was tossed around for an hour whilst we sat not moving. By the time we eventually arrived at the college the band had split up. But, as usual, when we got in to the hall the PA was still being set up, the students didn't give a tinker's cuss, and the social secretary didn't want us to soundcheck till much later anyway, because Glasgow Rangers had a European cup match that night and the bar we were playing in was showing it on the big screen. All that angst and bad vibes for nothing. Will we never learn? Anyway, it was a real treat to watch Glasgow and see the erratic Gascoigne in action again. Tonight he was magnificent. I bet he'll be Scottish player of the season, and despite all the flack he'll get from the press before Euro 96 (he'll probably smash up a plane or something), he'll still be one of the players of the tournament. Probably help us get to the semi finals, and no doubt he'll score the goal of the tournament against Scotland. (This diary was genuinely written before Euro '96, honest.) The gig was the same as the night before, though we did play a bit better. The only nightmare was that they wanted us to warm up the crowd with a few songs ourselves. The last time I sang Ziggy Stardust was at the age of seventeen in a school band, Plastic Napoleon, and someone else had played drums whilst I preened around the stage › la Bowie. Singing and playing Ziggy at the same time was hard enough, but I swear Reggie and Paul put it up a key as well for what they obviously thought was a laugh. They certainly seemed to find my squeaking "Ooooooh yeah" very amusing. Anyway, at least it gave the students more confidence to get up and have a go. I could see them looking at each other as if to say, "Well we can't be worse than that"! But some of them were. Because we went on so late, we didn't actually get packed up and ready to leave until three o'clock in the morning. And because we were tight we'd decided to leave Glasgow by seven so that we could have the van back to the hire company by five o'clock that afternoon, saving a days hire ( all of fifty quid). We were then taken to the most luxurious hotel I have ever been to (all the cheaper ones had apparently been booked by the fans of Glasgow Rangers' opponents). I could not believe that for the first time in my life I was in a five star hotel which served breakfast all day, had a room with furniture Charlie Watts would have appreciated, and a jaccuzi in the bathroom, and we had to be leaving in three hours time after snatching a couple of hours kip. And we couldn't even phone the van hire company to extend by a day, because apparently the bloke had made Paul promise he would have it back as it was booked out for a fortnight and being picked up at five thirty that afternoon. Aaaaaagh! Thursday 28'th September A very subdued and extremely long journey home. When we got to the van hire company at four o'clock the bloke told us that actually we could have had it another day, as the guy who'd booked it for a fortnight had cancelled. Aaaaaaagh again! Monday 2'nd October I listened to Led Zep 4 today. Absolutely brilliant, but I seem to remember Robert Plant recently taking the mickey out of Kylie Minogue, singing "I Should Be So Lucky," on some TV show in a sicky voice. Now I'm a big fan of the Zep, but I have to say I think there's something a bit strange about a fifty year old man who's made a living out of screaming B-b-b-b-baby, and singing about a lady who is under the delusion that everything that glitters is made of gold, taking the mickey out of a sweet Australian girl who happens to be very lucky in love. I'm sure Jason would agree. Thursday 5'th October Another gig for the indomitably abominable Balls Band, this time at Warwick University's Freshers Ball supporting M-Beat and Baby D (who doesn't look quite the same in the flesh as she does made up and lit by candles in the video, which was a sensible marketing move, as seeing her now, in the flesh so to speak, makes it hard to actually let her be my fantasy. Baby D? Granny Dee more like). Paul was going to arrive late as he is working today with a new EMI act, Howard New, though even by his standards it was pushed a bit fine, arriving quarter of an hour before show time. But yet again all the fear, nerves and worries, ("He won't make it, I know he's not going to make it", "What are we going to do?", "I wonder if M-Beat's keyboard player knows Smells like Teen Spirit" etc.) leading to heavy stress (the one thing I thought I would be able to avoid having not followed my mother's choice of career for me, namely Barrister, or, failing that, Managing director of Saatchi and Saatchi), were in vain as we took the stage, wowed the crowd, and backed the first set of half decent singers we'd had the pleasure of working with. I thought Bono was actually on the rostrum with us at one point. Friday 6'th October I phoned Tot today to see if he'd heard any more about Percy Sugden's potential single release for Christmas, and he replied that it was indeed to be. Yes yes yes! I got straight on to the Musicians Union to find out what, if anything, I stood to gain from this potentially Clive Dunn's Granddad beating number 1 smash hit single, and the news is good. Every time Lord Percy sings live on TV to my backing track I will receive £200, and, should he desire a Backing band, as the drummer on the original piece I shall be offered first refusal on being the man to mime behind HRH Percy. When I put the phone down my eyes glazed over. I can see it now, we'll all be at my parents' house for Christmas, there'll be a log on the fire, snow on the ground, and for the first time ever we'll be allowed to watch Christmas Top of the Pops before the obligatory Queen's speech; my dad will see my grinning face beaming from the screen, and he'll look at me with a smile and say "Son, I'm sorry I ever doubted you. You really are a pop star now". The tears rolled down my cheeks. Part 4 Friday 20'th October Yes yes yes! A real job at last. I had a call from Jeff Foster today, who's the chief engineer at George Martin's Air studios. Did I want to do a session tomorrow at Wessex with producer Paul Gladstone Reid, who was recording a new WEA artist, Martin Okasili. "Ooooh, yes pleeeease," I said, and asked if there was any sheet music. "No, it's all quite good actually," he replied! Tuesday 24'th October I got to Wessex quite late in the evening for the session. For the studio where Bohemian Rhapsody, Pretty Vacant and a large amount of the Clash's material were recorded, it was not quite what I was expecting; the ambience, decor, comfort and aroma were not what I'd come to anticipate from world famous recording studios. Maybe that was the point. Would it actually have been possible to create the meisterwork Never Mind the B****** in the luxury and opulence of Air? Would the Sex Pistols even have been allowed in? Probably not. When I arrived there was a bodhran player doing some overdubs onto a track. It was absolutely amazing to watch this guy's hand wabbling around over the drum in what looked like an uncontrolled spasm and to hear this beautiful rhythm coming through the studio speakers at the same time. The two just didn't seem to correlate. When he'd finished and came back into the control room I shook him by the hand, only to have my arm virtually wrenched from my shoulder. I think he was still psyched up. I chatted with Martin, Jeff and the producer about the track, which was completely finished save for the live drums. They just wanted me to come in half way through, when the gospel choir and strings were starting to go for it. "Fine" I said. Once I'd set the kit up, we started trying to get a sound. I tune both heads on my snare drum as tightly as possible to get maximum ring and bite. The first thing Jeff did was come in, slacken both heads right down, loosened the snares, and, adding insult to injury, put an O ring on the top head. So I went into the control room, rolled his graphic, and tweaked his knobs. We then started running through the track. I was playing what I thought the song needed, with lots of little grace notes and press rolls, when through the headphones I heard Jeff's dulcet tones. "Come on Mark, it's feel we want, not chops. Anyone can prrrr, you're here to thwack on the two and four. Stop mucking about in between and get on with it". Duly complying, but wholly disagreeing with this interpretation of how to back the song, I simplified up, did "the take" and went back into the control room. I couldn't believe how good it sounded, and, to be honest, completely right. I will never doubt a producer again. Martin then suggested we tried another song, "Sweet Colleen Mulligan", which hadn't been worked on at all and was at that stage intended to be recorded with some percussion, but not kit. Whilst messing around with a few possible rhythms I did something accidentally on the bass drum, and everyone shouted "Yeah that's it." It took me ten minutes to work out how I'd done it, twenty minutes to practice it, and when we recorded the track it took intense concentration. On take forty three I got it right. Thursday 2'nd November I tried to teach my boy a paradiddle today. He was fine on the "para" part, but when we got to the diddle he misunderstood me and wet himself. Saturday 4'th November Today I did some Tom Tom overdubs at the Music Sculptors, for the BBC's forthcoming documentary "The Gulf War". What Mark Sayer Wade, the producer, wanted, was basically a cacophony of noise for the tank scenes, so I duly complied, doing overdub after overdub. This was actually completely knackering, but as there was no window between studio and control room, and I wanted to maintain an air of being cool, I didn't divulge that what I really needed after each take was a five minute rest. Whilst the tape was being rewound each time I just lay on the floor, cursing under my breath and massaging my tired wrists. As I did each take, my face was creased up in agony, but I wasn't going to admit it was hard. At the end (after overdub number thirty six), Mark came in with a big smile on his face. "That was pretty easy, wasn't it?" he said. "Yeah, no problem at all" I lied. He burst out laughing, and then, in his best Jeremy Beadle voice, pointed out that as they don't have a window, they have a remote camera instead. My whole performance had not only been witnessed, but recorded for future mirth. I hope Saddam Hussain dislikes his music. Thursday 9'th November I saw the Wadaiko Ichiro Kodo drummers at the Fairfield Halls tonight. Amazing! The guy playing the big drum defies belief with the sheer physicality of his playing. Go and get two cricket bats, hold them above your head for twelve minutes and play a selection of ratamacues, rolls and triple flamadiddles on the wall. Struggling? Well that's what he did. Tuesday 14'th November I went to see Bowie at Wembley. He was totally brilliant, and I can't believe the slagging he's been getting in the press. In his defence, a) He said he wouldn't be playing his "greatest hits" ever again, and b) the re-arrangements he did of his old songs were wild and wonderful. There's nothing more boring, (apart from reading Ronan Macdonald's and Simon Braund's comments on Neil Peart), than artists reproducing their albums note for note when you go to see them live, so hats off to David, that's what I say. Actually, with reference to Neil Peart, I think Ronan and Simon are just jealous. They're simply suffering from a severe case of "Peartus-Neilum En-virus", or, to give it its more commonly used medical abbreviation, "P-Neil envy". Sunday 19'th November A friend gave me a clipping from the Daily Mail today that sent my heart a flapping. The headline ran "Percy's pop at the charts", and the piece went on to say "Percy Sugden, Coronation Street's old soldier, could be in the running for the Christmas Number 1 pop spot......Percy, played by Bill Waddington, performs the Monty Python film song Always Look on the Bright Side of Life, backed by the rest of the Street cast." It neglected to mention that I was on drums, which was a bit of a disappointment, but still, it's great news. Monday 20'th November Right. If Percy Sugden's going to be Number 1, I'm going to be blagging some gear. I phoned Yamaha, (as I already use a 9000), and left a message for Brad Willets, artist liaison manager. I said that at this stage all I want is a front bass drum skin with the Yamaha logo, and maybe a signature snare drum. The receptionist said he'd get back to me. Wednesday 22'nd November My brother's birthday and my mate Paul's Shakespeare's Sister audition. Phoned them both to wish them luck and happiness. Friday 24'th November Paul phoned this morning, his audition didn't go well, but apparently they're also looking for a drummer. I rang Shakespeare's manager, Steve Blackwell, and his secretary said to send a tape and biography if I wanted an audition. Aaaagh, what can I put on my demo tape? Percy and Jack Dee are hardly going to impress Siobhan. I spent the morning putting my best performances from my pre session days on cassette, and decided to take the tape to the office myself. It's always good to get a foot in the door by hand delivering and having a little chat with the person face to face. But when I got there I wasn't allowed in to the actual office. I had to leave the tape with a doorman, and a chat with him wasn't going to open any doors, whatever his job description. Monday 27'th November I hadn't heard from Yamaha, so I rang again today. This time I spoke to Brad, and he told me that a Percy Sugden single was hardly grounds for an endorsement, and that he'd phoned and left a message to that effect with my daughter last week. It wasn't his fault that she hadn't passed it on. "But she's only four!" I said as he put the phone down. Tuesday 28'th November I haven't heard from Steve Blackwell about a Shakespeare's Sister audition, but I won't blow my cool and show how desperate I am by phoning. Wednesday 29'th November Still no word. Friday 1'st December Should I phone? Monday 4'th December This is killing me. I still haven't heard. Tuesday 5'th December I couldn't stand it any longer. I phoned Steve Blackwell this morning. "We've already got a drummer, thanks" was all his secretary said. Aaaaaagh! Sunday 10'th December It's been on GMTV's Christmas number one contender list, they've taken bets at Ladbroke's on it, (I got odds of 33 to 1 for my fiver, poor fools), and now Percy Sugden and the cast of Coronation Street, with Mark Walker on drums, (though surprisingly it doesn't actually say that on the cover), have stormed the chart entering at number 35. I'm on my way! Christmas Top of the Pops here I come! Sunday 17'th December For the first time since I was fifteen I listened to the whole broadcast of the charts today. As we got nearer and nearer the number one spot my heart beat quicker and quicker. Surely it couldn't be number one already? What a dream! But my dream soon turned into a nightmare. Michael Jackson was number one. Percy Sugden was nowhere to be seen. He'd peaked at thirty five and dropped back out. It was all over. The tears rolled down my cheeks and dripped into my coffee. Happy Christmas? Crappy Christmas more like. Part 5 Monday January 1'st My New Year's resolution - I will not shave for three months. Thursday 1'st February My beard is magnificent. One month's growing and it is truly a monument to the male chin. I saw Paul this morning, he liked my beard, and he told me that Nut, who are signed to Epic and have an album recorded, were looking for a drummer, so I rang their management and blagged my way into the auditions for tomorrow. Friday 2'nd February Nut audition, Nomis. It was a fifteen minutes each audition, in and out. I bumped into percussion supremo Miles Bould just before it, had one of those cool "No, I don't really want the job either" conversations, and then noticed on the board that Pulp, Michael Hutchence and Lenny Henry were in Nomis that day. "Blimey" I thought, "these guys are all certifiable. Maybe Nut is the collective name for some new supergroup." My little heart began racing with anticipation, but when I was shown into the studio I was greeted, not by a group of Chameleans, Comedians, Corinthians and Caricatures, but rather by a quiet bunch of musicians, including two guitarists, both named Pete. It turned out that Nut was the name of the singer, a small, unassuming and sweet young girl, whose moniker was being used for the band name, a bit like Bon Jovi, though the comparison ended there. And it turned out that Reg, who I'd once done a live session on GLR with, was on bass. Anyway, I listened to two tracks, played them with the band, and said goodbye, wishing them luck in making the right decision, and advising them that getting a person with a compatible personality is as important as the actual playing. When I got home, their manager, John, phoned, and it seems they think I've got a compatible personality! Yes yes yes! He said he'd send me a tape of the album to learn, so that I could be ready for duty on Tuesday. Presumably I've got the job on the strength of my beard. Monday 5'th February The tape arrived by courier bike this morning. Blimey, they must have quite a budget. Should be a good earner, and a bit of fun, as the songs sound great. I think I'll have to beef them up a bit, mind you. Tuesday 6'th February Nomis, first day with Nut. It was quite good fun, but Pete, who as well as playing guitar had co-written the songs and produced the album, wasn't too keen on my attempts to heavy up the rhythm section. After I'd commented that I thought the guy who played them on the album was a bit of a soft boy, Pete informed me it was him. Turns out he used to be the drummer in House of Love before turning his talents to the guitar. Good start! We had lunch in the Nomis restaurant. I'd presumed our food would be on account, (on account of the fact that I had no money), and had ordered accordingly, but we had to pay for ourselves. That'll be the last time I have the crab salad, profiteroles and a half bottle of Chablis to wash them down as my dinner time reposte, that's for sure. In the evening John the manager joined us. He called me outside for a business chat. "First of all, money" he said. "It's fifty quid a day for rehearsals, seventy five pounds a gig." I think my wide open mouth gave away the fact that I was a little surpised at the smallness of his package, so he quickly added "You'll be part of the band, and that's what they're all on." "Blimey, part of the band , I'll be on royalties then?" I nonchalantly replied. "Wooah, well, not quite yet, um, we'll have to see, I think that's a bit early," he spluttered. I thought I'd handled that well, subtly letting him know that I was too old a cat to be had over by a kitten, and gaining a commanding role in our relationship; but he quickly recovered his composure and retook the initiative, downing me with a cruel blow. As he looked at my chin, I thought he was admiring my manliness. "About the fuzz," he said. "Presumably it's a joke and it'll be gone by the morning?" I was knocked out in the second round! Thursday 8'th February Today we rehearsed at Ritz studios in Putney, a far cosier place than Nomis. I've discovered that the "Nuts" don't talk much. Unfortunately I'm one of these people who gets uncomfortable in silence, which is probably why I'm often referred to as 'Mr. Fill the Gap.' I don't know what possesed me, but today I flled the gap thus: "Is it just me, or does everyone have a couple of pairs of dodgy old underpants they only wear when everything else is in the wash?" They looked at me with a blank expression, then Reg broke the silence: "It's just you" was all he replied. Even I couldn't fill the gap after that. Friday 9'th February We were back at Nomis today, and working on a song called Blue Genes, a clever little number with a subtle play on the spelling of the word jeans. "I'll give you my blue genes" sings Nut provocatively. Monday 12'th February Nomis, with a showcase booked for Rob Stringer, head of Epic's A&R department, who is currently giving his blue genes to Julia Carling. We were only going to play three songs, but he rang John the manager about an hour before he was due to arrive, apparently in a foul mood, as he'd had a load of hassle with Michael Jackson's rehearsals for the Brit Awards. Anyway, there was no way he was coming down to hear just three numbers, and John was asking if we could please do five or six; "Sure, no problem," I'd said, but whilst John was phoning Rob back, it became apparent that the rest of the band weren't happy about this; their attitude was blow the company, and once Mr. Stringer turned up, I was inclined to agree. He's not exactly the most charming person I've met. Won't be long till Julia goes back to Will I would imagine. Tuesday 13'th February Nomis. I got a box of sticks today, and charged them to the Nut account. John called me out for a little chat this afternoon. Apparently the gorgeous Rob Stringer was concerned about the way the band was sounding heavier. Had I ever thought of using brushes, he enquired. Phew, seems I got a 'free' box of sticks just in time! Thursday 15'th February Nomis. Today it became apparent that Reg and I shared the same influences in our youth, and together we jammed through Rush's "La Villa Strangiato", Yes's "Roundabout" and AC/DC's "Whole Lotta Rosie." The rest of the band did not seem to share our enthusiasm for the great music of yesteryear, and left for a coffee. After half an hour Pete came back in and suggested we had a stab at rehearsing the Nut material. Sorry! Friday 16'th February Nomis. I'm definitely warming to the two Petes, and I think they are warming to me. Well, they smile at each other whenever I talk. They both have a very dry wit, and although they don't speak much, what they do say is always very funny! Presumably they think the same about me. Tuesday 20'th February Nomis. Pulp are back in the studio. I have to say, Jarvis is one of the true heros of our times. I think I'll try and get his autograph. Thursday 22'nd February Nomis. I took my Pulp CD in today, psyched myself up, and went into the caf» to proffer it under Jarvis's nose, but as I strode in I saw he was talking to Michael Hutchence, and suddenly the whole idea seemed very uncool. When I went back into the studio, I realised that the 'Nutters' thought it would have been very uncool too! Wednesday, 28'th February Gary phoned today, to say we've got a warm up gig on Friday 8'th March, which sadly means I'll have to miss Deep Purple. Friday 8'th March Nut's first gig, at the Forum in Tunbridge Wells, where we were supporting a local band, whose average age, judging by the packed audience, was thirteen. I know I'm getting on a bit, but this lot were nearer my daughter's age than mine. Nut looked at me strangely when I vocalised this thought. Monday 11'th March Gary phoned this morning. I've been sacked! Oh no! Apparently Nut don't feel they could live with me on tour. Why? Was it talking about my family, or my age, or my underpants? Was it asking for royalties? Was it agreeing to do six songs for Rob Stringer? Was it charging my sticks to their account when they wanted me to use brushes? Was it for moaning about missing Deep Purple? Was it asking for Jarvis's autograph? Was it jamming and talking about progressive rock? Was it commenting on Nut's lyrics? Hmmmm! Come to think of it, I'm surprised I wasn't sacked before! Oh well, at least I'll be able to grow my beard again. Tuesday 19'th March I saw my first Nut poster on a billboard today. They know how to kick a man when he's down. Part 6 Tuesday 19'th March Tot phoned today, asking if I'd be interested in doing the pilot for a new Sky TV talent competition, Make or Break, a bit like "Stars In Their Eyes" or "Opportunity Knocks." The money wasn't brilliant, but I'd have first option if the show went to series. "Okay" I said, thinking that it might be a chance to get into the big time. Well, it worked for Lena Zavaroni and Peters and Lee. Wednesday 20'th March My three year old son played his first flam today. I knew I should have christened him Jason Zak. Friday 22'nd March Make or Break pilot rehearsal at John Henry's. We're backing three singers, a 'comedian,' a dancer and a lion tamer who uses pet cats because he can't afford the real thing! "Grrrrrrrr-eat" said Gus, the bass player, who used to be a voice over artist. Saturday 23'rd March Make or Break show. I've just found out that Gary Bushell is presenting the programme. Aaaaagh! I mean, Gary "Tells it like it is, does he hell" Bushell. I might as well drum for Adolf Hitler. If I was any kind of a man I'd put my coat on and walk out now in protest, but that wouldn't be fair on the young starlets who we rehearsed with yesterday, and anyway, I'm still a boy. Things turned from bad to worse when it emerged that the judging panel comprised Tom 'Lard' Watkins, Bob ' Even Lardier' Mills, and the token bunny girl from Emmerdale farm. The token bunny was hopping, but Tom and Bob were sadly fopping. As expected, when the show was recorded in the evening, the Lard brothers tore a strip off the performers, whilst the Emmerdale bunny tried to heal their wounds. (At the after show party, Perry, the guitarist, asked her if she'd lick his wounds, but she just smiled sweetly and hopped away. "I think that was a no," said Gus, who used to be a body language interpreter). The show itself was so awful that even if it does go to series, I won't be doing it. Towards the end of the party Tot told us that it had all been a rip roaring success, the MD's of Sky had said it would probably go to series, and that we'd be on £600 a show plus rehearsal each for a series run of 26 shows. Yes yes yes, a new car and a foreign holiday here we come. Suddenly my principles dropped away. The show wasn't that bad anyway, and nor is Gary "Tells it like it is, yes he does" Bushell. He says he's not a member of the National Front anymore, and I believe him. "Don't count your chickens" was all Gus said, but then again, he used to be a farmer. Saturday 30'th March Jeff Foster phoned this morning, wondering if I wanted to come up to Maison Rouge and record a loop for a B-Side with Martin Okasili."As long as I'm finished by five no problem," I told him. "Claire's going to the ballet tonight, and I'm looking after the kids. If I'm late back....." "It's only a loop" he interjected. When I got to Maison Rouge, which puzzlingly is painted throughout entirely in red, it was eleven o'clock. It was nice to see Jeff and Martin again, and after a quick chat I set the kit up and we had a desirable sound by twelve thirty. "I'm ready to loop" I told Jeff through the cans, at which point I learnt that the plan had changed. "We're going to do a proper track" Paul Gladstone Reid, the producer, said. "The bass player and guitarist should be here any minute" he added. It should be fine, I thought, we've still got four and a half hours. When they arrived at three, my relief was immense. It should be fine, I thought, we've still got two hours. Paul then started to explain and teach us what I swear is the most complicated arrangement I've ever had to perform. At four forty five we were ready to roll. It should be fine, I thought, we've still got quarter of an hour. "Oh no" said Jeff in our cans, then everything went silent. Three minutes later he came out to say something had gone wrong with the tape machine, but that maintenance would be along to sort it out. At five fifteen it was fixed. It should be fine, I thought, there won't be any traffic. Half way through the first take the bass player's E string snapped. Toward the end of the second take my stick broke on a particularly flash fill. On take three the guitarist confused us all by going to a chorus when we thought it was a bridge. Before take four I said "I've just got to make a phone call." It should be fine, I thought, I'll buy Claire another ticket for the ballet tomorrow. "Tonight's the last night" she said as the phone went down. I stayed to do percussion and backing vocals after that, and then hung out in the lobby. The later I got home the better as far as I was concerned. April 1'st I had a phone call from a girl at Food records this morning. Apparently Dave Rowntree has left Blur and I've been suggested as a possible replacement. My excitement was immense as she took my details, but when I asked her name she just said "April, as in April Fool" and hung up. From elation to rejection in the space of a minute. When I went down to tell Claire she just said "Yes, I know," smiling as sweetly as her revenge. Wednesday 3'rd April I rang Tot today. No news from Sky. Friday 5'th April Mike Westergaard phoned this morning. Would I like to come and do some samples for thirty quid. It wasn't a lot, but drummers can't be choosers. "Sure, what gear do you want me to bring?" I enquired. "Just your sweet sexy voice" he replied mysteriously. When I got to the studio I expected to find a truckload of gear waiting in the control room, but it was empty. "What's the crack" I enquired? "I told you," said Mike. "I want your deep sexy voice." And he did! I spent the next twenty minutes reading a weird poem in my deepest, sexiest 'Denim' voice. "Brilliant" said Mike after I'd finished. "I'll just go upstairs and make some coffee." After he'd gone I noticed a letter on the desk with the same address as on the top of the poem I'd just read, so I picked it up. "Dear Mike," it said. "Here's the poem I want recorded. I hope the guy you are using has as nerdy a voice as you say, because it's essential it sounds as naff as possible, Best wishes........." I dropped the paper on the floor. As I ran upstairs Mike shouted out "How many sugars Mark?" "You can stick your coffee, and your thirty pieces of silver" I yelled as I slammed the front door behind me. Thursday 11'th April Because I'm nice, (and because I've got nothing else to do at the moment), I've said I'll help out the amateur orchestra my wife plays in at their annual concert. Tonight was my first rehearsal, and I haven't played in an orchestra since I left school fifteen years ago, so I was secretly quite excited about the prospect, though I made Claire think it was the massive favour I still owed her. My excitement was short lived mind you. After an hour and a half I realised that the old adage about never working with animals or children should be extended to "animals, children or amateur orchestras." Tuesday 16'th April I rang Tot today. Still no news from Sky. He said he'd let me know if he heard anything. Thursday 25'th April I saw Stomp on the Oscars tonight. They must have been very angry. They kept slamming doors and banging brooms. Tuesday 7'th May I rang Tot today. He said as we hadn't heard by now it was looking unlikely that the show was going ahead, but that he'd phone if he heard anything. I said that's what he said last time, and he hadn't phoned me. "That's because I haven't heard anything" he replied. He sounded a little irate. Saturday 18'th May I was asked to accompany the recorders at my daughter's school fete today, who in turn were accompanying the school's troupe of Irish Dancers. "There's just two feels," said the music teacher, "6/8 jigs and 4/4 marches. Just look over the shoulder of one of the recorders for the music." There were four tunes all on the same sheet, the first being a 4/4 march, so after the dancers had trouped out and the teacher counted us in, I started playing a straight 4/4. The feel of the recorders was appaling, but I put that down to their youth. By half way through they and the dancers were really struggling, as was I, so I switched to a 6/8 jig, and suddenly it all fell into place. When it finished the teacher looked at me. "You got there in the end" she said. "Didn't I tell you we were starting with 'Cherry Blossom' at the bottom of the page?" "No you blooming well didn't" I said under my breath, and the girl in front of me sniggered. Maybe the old adage should be 'Never work with children, animals, amateur orchestras or music teachers.' Monday 20'th May. I rang Tot this morning. "Look, it's definitely not happening" he shouted. "Now leave me alone!" he added as he slammed down the phone. Tuesday 21'st May I can't go on like this. All I seem to do these days is favours for people. I'm going to have to get a second snare to my drum, or at least something I can do to supplement my pitiful income. This afternoon it came to me. I'll become a journalist, sell the secret diary of my sessions. After all, they're blooming interesting. Wednesday 22'nd May I rang the Times today, but the editor wouldn't speak to me, so I tried the Daily Mail, who's features editor told me they didn't accept unsolicited material. Next I got onto Q, but they said their's was a music publication, not a muso one, so I went to Making Music, where the editor said he had more diaries than he knew what to do with. He put the phone down when I suggested that maybe he could try reading them. Finally I tried Rhythm, as I knew they printed any old garbage. "Yeah," said Ronan Macdonald. "Send it in, we print any old garbage." Well, looks like I might have a new career to go with my drumming. A journalist. Hmmmm, I like the sound of that . . . .