THE KIND OF CAR ROYALTIES GET YOU
In 1972, we formed the glam-rock band Geordie. We signed to Red Bus Records. We were excited. Fame and fortune awaited us. We would make our mums proud, piss off the teachers who’d said we wouldn’t amount to anything, and, oh yeah, there would be loads of birds to shag.
Our transport at the time was a six-wheel Transit Diesel. It was noisy and uncomfortable and very damp. You also risked being squashed by an avalanche of amplifiers every time you braked.
Our first record, “Don’t Do That,” went into the charts at number twenty-seven. Not bad for a first try. Red Bus said we needed a new van. We couldn’t afford one.
“Don’t worry, my boys. You’re family now. We’ll get you one—and a new car as well,” they said.
True to their word, they got us a Ford Granada 2-liter V4 and the van of vans, the godfather of music transportation—the Mercedes.
Sweet Jesus.
It was more luxurious than any car I’d ever owned. As soon as we had transport, we began to argue. Who was going to drive it when we were off the road? Then, of course, we found out that Red Bus had done a deal with Mercedes and we had to appear in an ad. We also learned that we were to be put on a salary and had to pay back every penny. I never did make any money with Geordie. I was stone-broke when I left, but at least I’d driven a Mercedes.