31

IN WHICH… THE SHOW MUSTN’T GO ON

Dave Mason was the sole (sorry) writer of ‘Hole In My Shoe’, Traffic’s follow-up hit to ‘Paper Sun’, and its ‘out-there’ psychedelic feel was again combined with nursery-rhyme-style lyrics, mixed with weird musical input. Mason’s involvement with these two Top 10 records singled him out to me as someone to follow wherever his musical meanderings took him, which is how I came to acquire the majority of his oeuvre. This made it a certainty that when he came to my neck of the woods to play a gig with his own band a couple of years ago, I was going to be there. I was so keen not only to be there but to get a prime viewing spot for this seated concert that I was actually the first person to book front row seats in the balcony, the best viewing spot offered in the Alban Arena. My booking was made months before the scheduled date of the show, and I marked it boldly on the calendar.

A few weeks later, I was contacted by the Alban Arena, telling me that it had been decided ‘by the band’s people’ that the balcony area should not be made available for the show and that everyone attending should be in the stalls. ‘Come on,’ said I to the minion deputed with the task of passing on this information, ‘It seems to me that the only reason for a band to make such a request would be that the concert is selling so poorly that the sparseness of the audience will be all too obvious if all parts of the auditorium are available.’ The minion did not confirm that this was the case but neither did she deny it. From that point on, I had a lurking feeling of dread about whether there would even be a concert, and a day or two before the scheduled gig I rang the venue to confirm the ‘doors open’ time, only to be told, ‘I’m afraid the concert is off. Dave Mason is unwell.’

I was shocked. Sympathetic, of course, had he been struck down by illness. But, call me a cynical hack, to me this sounded extremely suspicious. My journalistic instinct was sharpened to the point at which I decided to make the local media aware of my belief that this concert might have been called off as much for disappointing ticket sales as any health issues. The media got to work, doing not much more than believing me, and sticking a story online outlining the cancellation and one fan’s idea of why it was not taking place! Not many hours after the story was published, I received a phone call from someone claiming to be Dave Mason (I believe it was him) who assured me that there was indeed illness in the camp, and that was the actual reason for having to scrap the show. It isn’t every day one of your musical heroes gives you a bell, and apologises personally for not being able to fulfil a commitment. But those legendary days of ‘the show must go on’ have clearly departed.

‘We’ll be playing in London in the not too distant future,’ the voice that was probably Dave Mason’s said, ‘so…’ He’s going to give me complimentary tickets to make up for the disappointment, that’s nice of him, I thought… ‘so, if you come along, have a word with our merchandise guy and he’ll sort something out for you.’ Great, pay up again for another gig in central London, inevitably more expensive than this one, and if you’re lucky and believed by the merchandise bod, we might chuck you an oversized, badly printed t-shirt or some other bit of tat.

This wasn’t my first experience of a high-profile no-show. My then girlfriend Sheila and I were anticipating a good night when we turned up at the Farx Club in Southall to see Status Quo in the very early 1970s. I’d very much enjoyed their big hit, ‘Pictures of Matchstick Men’, in early 1968, and I was one of the few equally keen on its under-achieving follow-up, ‘Black Veils of Melancholy’, back in the day when the received wisdom was that ‘if a record is a hit, the follow-up should sound almost exactly like it.’ Tamla Motown were amongst those following this invariably inaccurate advice, which usually resulted merely in big hits being followed by sound-alike, but lesser, imitations.

‘Matchstick’ made Number 7; ‘Melancholy’ didn’t even crack the Top 50. Quo quickly changed tack and by August of the same year were back in the Top 10 with ‘Ice in the Sun’. They under-performed during 1969 as ‘Are You Growing Tired of My Love’ (no question mark) misfired at Number 46 and had to wait until May 1970 for ‘Down the Dustpipe’ to restore them to the Top 20. By now, the band had made the decision to dump commercialism for what they wanted to play and were establishing a live following for their three-chord, heads-down boogie rock-blues trademark sound.

I think we turned up to see them around the time of ‘In My Chair’ which would just miss out on the Top 20 in late 1970, but the style they had now adopted appealed big time, so there we were, sitting in front of the curtained stage, shortly before scheduled kick-off time. We’d said ‘good evening’ to the guys who ran the place, with whom I’d become pally through my association with the local paper. We were so busy having a drink and a chat that we hadn’t realised how few people were coming through the doors. There were maybe a couple of dozen of us sitting around when a head popped through the curtain, looked quickly around at the sparse audience and rapidly disappeared back behind what was beginning to look literally like a black veil of melancholy covering the stage. More minutes passed. Then another Quo peeped through the curtain and actually took to the stage. It was – and this must be true as it is my now wife Sheila, who has a razor-sharp memory, recalling – bassist Alan Lancaster. But he was the only member of the band to appear, and, after stuttering out some kind of barely believable excuse for the band not appearing – outbreak of rabies, Rossi abducted by aliens or some such nonsense – he skulked back behind the cover of the curtain and that was the end of the non-gig.

Dave Mason and Quo disappointed me by not performing, but I am also concerned when a band does appear – and then expects me to become a choreographed part of their show. I detest, hate and resent audience participation:

‘Let’s hear you all sing along with the band on this one…’

Why? I am paying to see and hear you entertain me, not vice versa. If I were as good a performer as you, there’s a chance it would be you paying to see me in action, but I’m not so why are you expecting me to get up and embarrass myself by croaking out a few words of one of your songs?

I also hate:

*People leaping up out of their seats to dance as soon as the concert starts, thus ensuring that those unfortunate enough to be sitting behind them either have an entirely blocked view or have to get up themselves, thus spoiling things for the people behind them… Also, just because you were too tight to shell out for a decent ticket, why do you feel you can rush down to the front of the stage and ensure a lesser experience for me?

*People who attend concerts to watch them through the tiny perspective of their mobile phone, recording tinny versions of the live amplified sound, rather than experiencing the full three-dimension actuality of what is going on. And those who keep taking flash photos during the gig.

*People in smaller venues who apparently come along prepared to pay the entry fee in order to sit or stand, drink to excess and talk/shout through the performance – particularly the ballads and quieter songs while we’re trying to listen to the act and not hear about your holiday, your aches and pains and your bloody new car.

*Lengthy breaks in performance – so that ostensibly the act can go off and recuperate after putting all their energy into their first half exertions. Rubbish. It is just so that the venue can sell overpriced drinks and flog glossy but insubstantial programmes. Get on with it, play through – blimey, the majority of people work for hours before getting a lunch-break and you’ve had all day to relax and prepare, so just play through, without an interval – we’ll appreciate you more for doing so, be more well disposed towards buying a CD, and enjoying a drink after the show all the more – and get home half an hour earlier!

Let me ask you this – how often is your buying of a record by an artiste for the first time influenced by seeing them perform live?