Musical Tat.

Coincidently, the conversation then drifted into a selection of musical anecdotes. Fat Kenny remembered the occasion when a friend of his, who was a member of a totally shite, rock band, was ‘setting up’ for a gig at the Blue Parrot in Aspull. The club was owned by local impresario Bill Leyland who, at the time, also happened to be the only gay in Wigan. He ran the club on Sunday afternoons as a strip joint but occasionally would throw in some free music in the form of an auditioning band. This was to him, a smart, cheap manoeuvre. 

Kenny’s mate as well as being a bad musician was also a poor drinker. The remnants of ten pints from the night before were still ‘kicking in’ just as he had finished the sound check. He slumped into a chair on the stage promptly falling asleep. In the meantime the first stripper began her routine. Thinking that it would be an amusing ‘titbit’ for the audience, she began massaging her sagging breasts into the face of the sleeping rock star. Raising his left eyelid he uttered the words “Is that the best that you can do, luv?” Before he could return to his slumbers she cracked him across the face smartly at the same time carrying on, unruffled, with her routine. I recall a similar incident when I was gigging at the The Lower Ince Old Hall, a local, notorious shithole. A young girl from the sparsely assembled crowd, volunteered to perform a strip for the five people that were left in the room. Having removed her bra she revealed two tiny bee sting nipples. Attached by masking tape were two silver tassels which swung around independently. She clumsily gyrated, stick like, tottering around as a wounded, fragile insect until the music itself died. Attempting to collect some money for her efforts from the resident hookers she was battered to the floor because “she had brought their noble profession into disrepute”. Bruised and bleeding our keyboard player offered her comfort for the night. She left her tassels as a parting gift for him in the morning. There was a four piece harmony band called ‘The Chimes’ who had scored a major hit in the sixties but having faded in popularity during the eighties were destined for the national club circuit. They were in the North East for a mini tour taking in some of the rougher nightspots. Before they came on stage the Compare was apologising for the quality of the previous acts. “You’ll be glad to know that we have sacked our concert secretary together with the entertainments agency that he used; but sad to say we still have to retain some of the artists that he had previously booked. Not to worry, we are down to the last of the ‘crap’ acts. Please put your hands together for ‘The Chimes’. Their second spot was introduced even more succinctly. “Please welcome back on stage; four coons from Liverpool, ‘The Chimes’. The final tale and possibly the most humorous came later that evening when Andy Lewis recalled an ‘after time session’ in the Oak when his band had returned, in the early hours, from a gig in Lancaster. The band members were sat around with the Doc discussing all the stuff that they hadn’t seen since childhood. Each member had to volunteer something from the past: Andy suggested ‘Sherbert Dip’, Jimmy the Axe ‘Jubblies’, Carlos spoke of liquorice and Alan of ‘gob stoppers’, so when it was the turn of the Doc everyone expected much of the same, ‘space dust’, ‘broken biscuits’, ‘pea wet’ or ‘babbies yeds’, but not to disappoint, the Doc offered “I’ll tell what I’ve not seen in many a year, ...... ....!” The immediate silence was broken with the group suddenly realising that it was very late and they really should be off home. Having the very same reaction I grabbed my coat and returned home, again uplifted by the ‘craick’ in the Oak.