The gig report in full, snappy thread title eh? very "in keeping" I thoguht.
Preface
This is the unexpurgated version, the gig stuff will probably start on about page 16 :) I was on a true mission on this one, and I was taking onboard data from every single thing around me the whole time, and I was interested in EVERYTHING. You may not be, but I'll try to keep it stodge-free.
Think of it as a "concept post", as apparently I had a "fanclub" for my rantings (I blush dear hearts I truly do). So I figure this will sicken some of them of me, and make others drool with glee, like any good concept album (mail me if you know one other than War of the Worlds)
Chapter One: Roadtrip
It's 430am on Monday, and we find our hero being woken by Ceremony blasting from his phone. He's had 4 hours sleep that night, and 1 the night before. OK, no more third person present, it's too hard to keep up :) Suffice to say I started off knackered to a biblical extent. As I said as well, the old swollen bits were VERY swollen (hidradenitis suppurativa, if you;ve not eaten and are of strong gut, google it, then think "spacehopper", that's all I'm gonna say on the subject without consent from the poor sods who may read this). Not the most auspicious start.
It improved from there, the whole getting the boat experience was flawless, even found a bank machine that doled out Bank of EngERland notes in the Belfast terminal. . We stuffed our faces on the boat, burger kind @ 0800hrs (albeit at a fiver a touch!), slob bliss. The crossing via HSS from Belfast to Stranrar, is intersting and frustrating. the HSS can do $FUCKING_STUPID_SPEED, I mean you can (and some mad fucks have), ski behind the thing. However, although it looks like a fairly ordinary (if huge) catamaran, there's some sort of hydroplane dealy going on too, cos when seen from shore, it rides up in the water as it accelerates. it leave NO visible wake, just a propulsion wash. I draw your attention to the word "visible".... Some 10 mins after it's passing on nearby shores, things get interesting. Let's just say that anyone from the Belfast Lough or Lough Ryan areas who was in indonesia last boxin day, would not be running down to the beach with a video camera, but would have been away t' fuck up the road like a spide with a dole cheque. The sea rolls out......the sea rolls back, with megavengance. It once came a good 50 yards up a nearby beach and trailed a mother, her kid and their dog halfway to their doom. It's nearly had me twice, and I'm used to it. But I say it's a Darwin award thing, if you can't work out that when a big white boat goes by, and the sea goes away, that something unusual is about to happen (especially in consideration of the signs that say "look out for unusual waves after the big white boat goes by"), it's just genetic cleansing if you drown :)
So anyway, they slow the thing down inside the Lough's (it was slowed down when it did the above). The upshot of which is, it takes about 25 mins from the coast of ireland to the coast of scotland, but 2 and a half hours to do the trip.
Driving through Scotland was wonderful, it's just crazy looking in places. We again stuffed ourselves royally (on kfc this time, Ian's a chef, so all he eats is junk food apparently???)in Carlisle (the reason for feasting I will get to shortly). Belfast had been fucking cold, Scotland had been worse, Carlisle we thought, would not suck so much, further south and all....wrong, colder still. Bear in mind as well, that this is cold thru, the Curtis Coat, a German Army shirt (anyone who smokes/smoked hash will appreciate the qualities of that particular garment, if you don't know already......it's blimproof! and warm of course), my ceremony shirt....my addmittedly tissue thin (but pocket rich to a truly whovian extent) trousers, the increasing unlikely sounding shorts and a pair of the best cotton boxers. the reason for gob stuffing in carlisle was that although we weren't that hungry we knew that the next food would be at westmoorland services. By stuffing our guts we could play "spot the gouge" rather than being on the receiving end. We did succomb to a minor gouge in the end, I think they took me for a quid fifty for a tin of redbull. So then I played a new game.....Stand in the middle of Cumbria smoking a fucking fag that you can't taste cos you're too cold, or inhale cos you're panting from said cold. But, even though the fag was a waste of time, and hypothermia was an increasing likelyhood, that's one fucking awesome bit of land. I remember saying to Iain, "it's no wonder they fight like fuckers to defend this place", and vaguely recall briefly humming Jeruselem.
But by now we we'd gone past "kid on Christmas eve", and were approaching "dog in the back seat of a car with the window down" levels of excited bliss. Roadsigns started flying past with Holy words on them "Salford" and "West Didsbury". After 10+ hours mobile, we're stuck in traffic in Central Manc, and for the first time, I'm like "C'mon t' fuck". WTF is wrong with the traffic lights in that place? all the cylces are like 10 mins long, you could die of old age waiting on the green man to cross the road.
At last, chorlton street coach station (all nice looking compared to my last visit). Stepped of the coach and AUDIBLY emitted an entirely involuntary "fuck this" as soon as the air hit me, I didn't know the whole City was refrigerated, coldest place yet, and I'd been sure that even if the more pleasant geography hadn't made the place warm, that at least a City microclimate would prevail, Belfast melts snow out to about 5 miles :) Less wall insulation you cheap Northern cunts!!!!!
My occassionally photographic memory, having been well and truly briefed on all the important locations for our trip, now went into recall. Worked a treat, I got us to the Hostel instantly with no messing around. Checked in and bags dumped, we set out to find JB's. Apart from losing heart about 30secs before we seen it, that went brilliantly too. Iain just kinda trotted along, accepting (outwardly) that I knew where we were going.
Chapter Two:The Grail (well Joshua Brookes)
So with the pub attained, we entered.....
Nick ( who I thought was the other nick, Barney Army initially, Doh), grabbed me almost instantly and proceeded to parade me to you lot. I cannot believe what a lovely bunch you all are, notable remaining memories are..... (sorry if you are not included but you know how it was)
Nick who meeted and greeted me. Al Jarvis for being a fucking star, and giving me a grin a handshake and a badge before I could open my gob. Personally I'd have forgiven him in a flash if he'd nutted me for all the "soft southern cunts" abuse I spout :) Barney Armey, top bloke. Uncle Liam for explaining how and why Bangor was shit. The Entire Stoke Order, especially Clayhead, man, despte what was going on with myself later on I was still thinking of that gaunt face I'd seen, flagless, devoid of joy. Digital Mike, sir you are as mad as an entire set full of badgers who've been in the hat trade for generations. I think I mentioned that the whole way down, every time we passed a tesco, I was fumbling for my camera. I still don't really get it, I assume it's down to you stalking them in tesco :) And thanks for the CD's....might I suggest (as I did elsewhere) that you avail yourself of the one or more of the following...
- Singing lessons.
- A taller hat.
- A ruddy big stick to keep the rest of the Senior Vikings away from said hat
- some viking sized gags. The quality of the Brixton gig is great but there's a couple of bits where it's defo a vikngs gig with NO doing backing. Actually, I rather like it that way, and hope, webcast notwithstanding, that a simmillar offering of the apollo might be forthcoming. The BogOrder(south), top blokes all of them(cept angel obvously, who while definitely top class, is decidedly not a bloke), now I know why no cunt in Dublin's from the place, all the Dubliners are off around the world rioting at gigs, or running youth hostels or any one of a million other things..."And what do you want to be when you grow up Shaun?" "Somewhere else Father" :)
Rocket Mick, awesome ID you had on the kebs there mate, a veritable 10 holed badge of office.
And all the NOOL-ettes.....holy fuck if I'd known chicks that looked like you lot went to NO gigs, i'd have been going a long time ago. Ness, I think I kissed your hand when I arrived, sorry about that, I was quite overcome with joy at my welcome, and to be presented with such a lovely vision in the midst of it was too much :) Ashley, I already apologised to, I was off in steveland and should have talked to you.....what I didn't mention before was that I was convinced that I was sitting in your BF's seat and that some big scarey bloke was about to appear and tear the heed off the perv chattin up his bird, and I also had a vague suspicion initially, that you may be an innocent local who was wondering who all these fucking psycho's were. I always had the idea that if such a thing as a female NO lover existed she'd be either a bunnyboiling bearded man hater, or look like those chicks (shit their name eludes me, the two really brutally hideous lesbians that used to be on factory). I was genuinely shocked that each and every one of you was pretty and pleasant.
How's that for bulk mail dating then?
Poor Iain was, I since found out from my sister/his GF, completely traumatized by you lot. It seems he'd interperated "we're meeting a few guys off the NOOL site in the pub" as "meetin a coupla mates", the poor sod was completely unprepared for he reality of a pub full of NU_ODDAAAH-ing 
s . When I told him that some of you had barely missed a gig since the 80's he went white. It didn;t help that I zoned out into my own little world once I'd said me hello's. I think he didn;t feel worthy to be there or something the daft sod. I should tell him that even tho we never did the gigs, we've done our duty for New Order for a LONG time, and time served has to count for something :)
That's almost all I remember of JB's. By then tiredness was starting to kick in, and I had felt the first intimations of the coming storm. I necked the last dose of my painkillers, washed down with vod and redbull (clever fucker me eh?), and set about gathering some strength. The beer etc affected me just like my mum and the pharmacist had said it would....That each pint would just make my guts feel like I'd had ten, be gentle and it wont be possible to drink too much, I'd know when to stop. All I drank was 2 pints and a vod and red, slowly and methodically, making sure to let each gulp settle so I didn't suddenly end up with a nasty reaction or something. I felt a tiny bit queasy from time to time, but nothing too bad, entirely as expected. And by the time I left I was fine.
If you met me, and chatted to me and didn't get a mention (ooops forgot Chris Nash), I'm so sorry, but by then i'd had my whole day's worth of nice opoid ( I think that means they are a synthetic as opposed to a true opium derivative, which would be an "opiate") painpills so was rapidly heading to ozzy osbourne levels of coherence. Not only that, but the usual accent thing that folks from all round the country suffer is easily multiplied (or in Barneyspeak "timesed by"), by such factors as...Never havin met the person before, and therefor having to run various accent codecs against their voice till you get a lock, having people from a dozen different places near you at once, And in my case, by having screwed selective hearing (really fucking handy thing for a musician/engineer, if I try to concentrate on a certain sound, I'll always find it obscured by the others, it's almost like only being able to see with your peripheral vision, anything you stare at vanishes ROFLMAO).Nobody seemed to have a terrible problem understanding me, which was a little surprising, but then again, Bangor people ARE snobs who speak nice, or maybe yous are all just better at disguising the "WTF" look :D I shoulda called this "Zen and the art of meeting friends you've never seen while fucking bolloxed on perfectly legal things"
Chapter Three: Climb Mount Fuji!!!!
(50 points to your house and and a copy of Mike's Brixton CDs to the first person to spot what that's a reference to)
So, I told the Irish Order we'd go with them to the Apollo, and almost imeadiately seen that Ness was leading a gig detail out the door and we decided to join on (knowing Irish reputation for relaxed behaviour i had a sudden suspicion that "we're heading in a minute" could mean almost anything :) ). Some bloke, who's name completely eludes me walked along with us, and me and Iain and he had a major photosession in front of the old factory building., we caught up with Ness in time for her to double back to grab the rest of the bunch she was meant to be leading ( who I think, after all that, had got a cab). For some time I lead a small knot, they didn't seem to think I was any kind of a guide, but I had committed Macnhester to memory, so I knew it was "up the road, find a any convenient wide, well lit road running left, and use it to make it to the London Road, which would be obvious by virtue of being perpetually crammed, then turn right and Stevie Wonder could find the gig", I'd tagged on with Ness cos someone mentioned a "rough estate", and figured a pilot might be a nice plan. (I'm sure my fellow musicians, and most of the vikings have their own "find the gig" stories, I prefer the musicians ones myself, cos, well if THEY don't find it..... :) ) I think Ness and maybe some others caught up with us again, I'm not sure, I do know that one of the others I was with was keen for us to wait on her, not sure if that was cos they thought she may come to harm (that never entered my mind until afterwards, she impressed me as no simpering "logistical support vehicle for a pair of baps" and perfetly capable of assessing and dealing with danger, nothin like a good snap judgement eh?), or much more likely, they were STILL thinking, "why is this mad Irishman stumbling along like he knows where the fuck he's taking us". Not an entirely unreasonable position, especially since the pills and booze, not to mention that which I was about to witness, were combining to form a gentle sort of warm fuzy haze around me by this time, fucking handy in freezing fog and intermittent non-specific-precipitation. Actually, it comes back to me now that I was fucking overjoyed to discover it was raining upon leaving the pub, "rain in manchester, outside the factory offices, on my way to see New Order, I'm fucking dead, right?" was my general frame of mind. I'm pretty sure that if it had made the effort to really PISS, I would have treated The Second City to a rendition of "singing in the rain" in a hookybass impression.
And there it was.
Chapter Four: Apollo:And Beyone The Infinite.
(same prize for the reference, you're a bunch of cultureless slobs with the obvious exception of NO, and I'll beat the piss outta any googlers.)
So I wandered into the Apollo, with nothing more than a "good evening" from the gorrilas, I REALLY wanted every nuance of that night burned into my mind, so for the first time in about ooooooooooh 10 years I was unbolloxed on a night out. [1]. So I headed right down to where I always knew I'd be going, in front of hooky's rig, and lo and behold, there were half the contents of JB's. The remainder presumably positioning themselves to leer/jeer at barney.
While the DJ was "playing", I got another twinge of things to come, "that's a bit fuckin hefty for the warm up DJ" thought I to myself in between bouts of "nu oddah"-ing. ACR rocked, every time I hear them I think "that's almost what NO would have turned out like if they ever learned dick about music, glad they never did". Sang me bollox of to Big E, went for a slash expectin to come back for Good Together or something, and they'd fucked off. In fairness that did validate my plan to piss as close to the start of NO's set as I could risk :)
When Alan Wise appeared, I almost passed out with uncontrollable glee, the excitement was like instantly coming up on the world's craziest drug, the moment he appeared everything went wobbly, unreal, detachted, I was dead and obviously lived a better life than I had thought. It was like my first gig in a band, my first solo gig, my first shag, my first victory in an online historic Grand Prix (don't laugh til you've tried 37 laps of monza in a 1967 F1 car with 19 other guys inches from you (virtually speaking you sickos!) most of the time), my first online team one-two (at monaco, cool or WHAT?) and my first fish, all wrapped into one and cooked up a treat, then left in the pot overnight to mature.
The can was a true highlight of my life, whoever threw it's a hero (only since it didn't hurt or even phase the bugger, if it had i'd feel very different about it ), I laughed myself mental at that.
Chapter Five: NewOrderNewOrderNewOrderNewOrder
And so the sneaky bastards came on from stage right, While I and most people were gawping off into the stage left wings lookin for them.
And Bernard mumbled his usual greeting And the tears welled up And Hooky took his bass from the tech, and it was plugged in and and turned on while he did so,(he's been playing HOW long and still does it hehehehe good man)so it went "kerrrunchiiinnnnnnnnngggg".
And at that point nothing else in the world mattered, it couldn't matter, could not impinge upon my private joy. I thought briefly of my favourite Claudia Brucken song...."The world explodes and I'm absolutely imune", and even if I wasn't I didn't care cos i'd done it, I'd made the journey, and heard all I needed, just the mumbled greeting and the strings crunching on that eccleshall bass was enough, if I died then I'd die happy, though I'd just as soon hung around long enough to see the 6 string in action, and hear barney say loads of really silly things.
Hooky's tribute to Phil was really sweet, would have been better if fuckface had kept his mounth shut and not put hooky off, and even better still if we'd been hearing anything but the wedges and sidefills (I'm coming to the sound later). I didn't know anything at all about the guy at that point just that he was "one of us" (in the children of the damned sense), and is currently having a pint with Ian and Rob and Martin, but still it was somehow touching to hear the tone of Hooky's voice, and know that he actually gave a damn.
And then, Ceremony, and my feet came off the ground and I went forward about 20 feet, and my arm got caught between the two vikings(possibly not) nearest my left, and my watch was never seen again :) Been a long time since I was in quite that big a carve up, wonderful stuff. Was still feeling fine, but realising that spending a year more or less inactive since my last outing to an evening of loudness and jumping had left me sadly out of condition. So I survived the intital onslaught very well, no worries, I was just still trying to wrap my head around seeing New Order, and I couldn't. I tried the Arthur Dent technique of trying to cope with seeing a very small bit of New Order to ease myself into it..."I've seen Hooky's bass" I told myself, but the answer came back, "does not compute". I was very impressed with what I can only describe as a line of "enforcers" behind us, that being Al, DigiMike, OldMonkey(I think) and others, who made sure no one (mainly me :) )got too far out of the mellee. At one point I turned round...i must have looked like a creature just spat from hell in my wild excitement....and they all just looked at me like "Where'd you think you;re going son" and someone spun me round so I pretty much wandered back into the pile up without noticing.....very kind of them, made sure I got me money's worth. It WAS all getting a bit hot under that fucking coat, but i was prepared for pain to see NO, and besides, every pint sweated is one you don't have to piss :). Somewhere around the end of love vig and the start of regret, I found a quiter place about 2 feet from where I'd been and was thinking of settling in for the night. Odd how when I really needed to move my progress was not impeaded. Then it happened. I had been trying to pin it down to exactly where and when it all went funny, and one of the ladies posted the exact time here, and I heard it for myself on the webcast.....just as Crystal goes into the second verse, the sound goes from too loud, to "what the fuck".... SO let's talk sound....... Before the gig someone mentioned the apollo having a big of a fat arse accoustically speaking...."innocent" thought I, "He's not been in The Point Depot in Dublin". I'm SUPPOSED to be wise about sound, but it never occurred to me that The Point rings very VERY low, it's like having an all over massage when the room rings, unless The Orb do it, in which case the straighter 3rd of the audience look for the fire exits. It also never occurred to me that a building that rang just as much (or more) at a HIGHER frequency could be WORSE. What was it 60hZ? 70hZ, If you were there, you don;t need a physics lesson to know that it meant. Those HUGE growling noises that shook your mind out of your ears, weren't the speakers overloading, it was the room resonating. I know the natives warned us about it, and as far as they're concerned this is old news, but holy good fuck what a racket. I thought "hmmmm resonant room" in a homer voice right up until.....
Chapter Six:Fall Out
Half way thru Crystal (to get back to the story). Suddenly somewhere in the engineer's head, it's "I can't hear hooky, I'll turn him up, and the whole thing seems a bit camp and light on it's toes, I'll just adjust that crossover" and BANG. Whatever that crazy bitch did (every time I looked there was a female flying the front of house), she needs lockin up man. Suddenly I felt the bass right up into the centre of my chest instead of just way down my guts. Normally I'd have been orgasmically elated, and for maybe 2 beats, I was, then,
My stomach, full of nasty painkillers which foam, chased down with like 3 drinks, that had been absolutely fine the whole time since, just said "right mate, you;ve had your lot, I draw the line at being shaken too". And I felt that horrible rush of heat you get before you chuck (which was quite an experience on top of my already seering skin). I headed back to the lea area in front of the sound desk.....the logic being..."she cannot possibly know the sound is SO resonant down there, so it MUST be saner sounding up here" WRONG!, she just liked it that way. But it was a little cooler and the crowd was calmer (not to mention that I was serisouly amused to discover that the beer that had been raining on me up front, far from being accidental spillage, was in fact a bombardment in the precise style of "Bob's country bunker"....band do good thing, throw beer, band do bad thing, throw more beer, but of course the plastic pint pot is not a creature of the air, so it all landed on the front few rows, and even the most ambitious droplets scarcely touched the wedges, perfect really, I mean sod barney and phil, there's guys with instruments up there!)... so i thought that, with only the sound to contend with, I'd do OK. Also wrong! I was fine until Turn, INSTANTLY I started feeling VERY pukey, which made me nervous, which made me cough (I always cough when nervous, a modified fight or flight response perhaps? clean the lungs of tar and crap in preparation?), and you know what effect a cough has on a stomach that's contemplating rebellion.
I bolted like a crazy man out to the audience left hand side. Right into Dr. Clayhead, despite my own condition (which I thought my new position would aleviate), I actually felt for the poor cunt, I think I may have been the only witness to this particular phase of his pain. I mumbled some comfort about "man, who would do that," and "who would want it, it's not a long list of suspects". Then I emitted, at about 80 degrees upwards, thankfully not at the good Dr, and totally involuntarily, a tiny fountain of foamy goo, which arced beautifully and landed on the floor. Panic took hold, I remember the guy nearest me on the edge of the crowd[2] sort of half-heartedly tossed a pint pot at me, it could have meant either "in this you fuckwit before someone kills you", or "you just ruined my warm pissy beer" or "crap! It isn't glass and I don;t have time to punch the fuck out of you, you ignorant minging savage". I just stared at him like a rabbit caught in a hydrogen bomb blast, and sprinted as fast as my deteriorating function would permit for the back. The whole time my thought processes had been reduced to a series of alarms, pretty much all screaming "BOLLOX BOLLOX BOLLOX"...too hot "bollox", feel really ill "bollox" don;t want to let the side down "bollox" miles from home "bollox" all alone "bollox" might be a delayed alcohol reaction and I'm minutes from death "bollox" MIGHT NOT SEE THE WHOLE GIG "BOLLOXBOLLOXBOLLOXBOLLOX"
I found a seat cut into the wall near the bar and flopped down head in hands. The alarms shut down and my brains came back online :) Another little spurt of puke came out, this time I managed to get a crisp packet. It's only foam. It happens now and then, if the painkillers end up being the only thing in my guts, the best way is just to go for it and puke me brains out then get on with life totally happy 2 mins later.....but I was SO ashamed of myself, and SO scared of being chucked, I decided to opt for damage control.....hand on heart, I didn't want to mess up the apollo (if I'd known what the place would look like after I may not have cared), and I REALLY didn't want to let down the badge on me first outing :)
And then the first of the strange and wonderful experiences of this rather unpleasant period occurred. I was putting my trousers back on ( did I mention the shorts had been on and me trous tied about my middle since someone told that mad bastard Mike was in JB's) as I was losing body temperature control (caked in sweat, being ill, and freaking out all at once, your homeostasis (right word?) would take the night off too), and while I was reattaching my shoes, a bouncer came over and started shining his torch at them, and I thought "great, he thinks I've getting a bag of pills out or something" and made sure he could see exactly what I was doing...turns out, the guy really was just trying to help me put me kebs on, rubbed me head and said "you alright mate", I said "get back to me in five". Nice bouncers....what a town.
The first thing I missed seeing was YSF, and I fucking cried because of it...I had me head between me knees still when Barney introduced it, and I remember thinking "you cunt, can't you play piss stream and suck the cock first while I recover". I literally fought my way to my feet and over to the rear railing, but didn;t even make it that far before all the "Bollox" alarms started ringing again and I had to head back to the shelf thing. I kinda sat there mumbling vicious curses at myself, i dare say I looked far gone into total madness, weeping and clenching my fists. When it came time for Hooky to play the high part on the bass after the first verse, I threw myself at the barrier, and hung on for dear life. With all that bass resonance still happening, and the fact that I had boat and bus legs (you know where you're on moving things so long that standing still on dry land seems like your moving all over the place). And I stood there until Barney finished his little melodica solo ( which was without doubt the MOST wonderful performance of it ever), and flopped down again, spent, and only slightly less heartbroken for having finally seen the 6 string in the wood as it were, and hearing that stunning melodica part, and half of Manchester shouting "piss off" obviously :). Reading this back to myself I am damn near crying, and damn near sick again so clear is that memory.
Somewhere During WFTSC the bouncer came back over to me, and said "that's it mate you can;t sit there all night, out you come" and I thought, well that's that, and he took me out to the foyer. Then he says "sit yer arse down there mate, and c'mon back in when you've had a rest", I told him what the deal was and that it'd take 15-20 mins to get over, and he was cool with that. Again......how mad, nice bouncers. the chap who was watching the door had a wee chat with me too, but could see I wasn;t too chatty. All this time, i was preparing my backup plan ...... that being that if it all went finally wrong and I turned into something between that kid from the exocist and "Mr Creosote" (look, just google it :) ).....I would go undercover, lest I bring shame on all NOOLers.... I'd take off my badges. Button me shirt over me Ceremony T Adopt one of those pompous snobby QUB (Queens Uni Belfast) accents, and to re-enfrce that, claim my name was Patrick, spelled Pzxc-gkxfbjk.b, despite me never having been IN Ireland, much less understanding the lingo, in fact having only spelled my name that way to annoy the uni staff who I can then claim are bigots, and it not being a real spelling anyway. My cover would be that I was there by mistake and had actually been sent by the SU Ents committee to check out BSP for a possible gig in the Mandela hall, and that some loutish New Order fan had in fact given me REAL shandy instead of tinned.
Smooth eh?
The St. johns came along and had a word with me, presumably because I looked half dead as well as having a face like the proverbial "lurgan spade" for missing bits of NO. I explained score and they said "what would you usually do to sort this out" and I said "stuff me gob, or smoke a huge joint"......fuck me if you;d seen their faces "oh we wouldn;t advise that". Firstly I was NOT about to build a fucking rocket even if i'd had the means, and get fucked into the hands of the cops at my first NO gig, even if, the English cops, from what I;ve seen are not mental about a tiny bit of dope, and even if, they only seem to dick around those who dick them around first, and I never dick around with peelers....it would still be a less than wonderful way to end the night. Secondly, not very medical, not "Oh yes, that's meant to be a decent anti-nauseant, but owing to the laws, we can't advise you to do that", just "drugs are bad mmmmkay".
Chapter Seven: Cunt
So anyway, the SAS medics (as in Saturday And Sunday) fucked off, convinced I wasn't in any danger of death, and I was JUST starting to recover, and realising in total horror that I'd just missed Barney sing the line about my lovely Leanne, cos she really dose have changing eyes, and I really HAVE never met or seen anyone like her before. That got to me again, and would have go to me more, when who walks out the door, but Anthony H Cunt.
Up I get and move towards him in whatever was the rapidest gaite available ( somewhere between stumble, trudge and topple I think), booming "Mr Wilson, my dear chap". He looked fucking terrified.....i think he must be used to abuse at gigs, and the bouncer at the door moved over. I said "I just wanted to say thanks Mr Wilson", and he stopped backing away, stepped forward and stuck his paw out, I shook it, and he said "they're with different people now", I said "I know" (forgoing, "do I look like a dick") "I just wanted to say thanks ( I think my hand involuntarily clutched at my heart) for all the music you brought us Mr Wilson, thank you SO much". And he mumbled a variation on his time honoured "I just hung around with the right people", and departed.
There was sadness in the man's eyes, a tiny touch less perhaps when he left me than before, and for that I feel kinda fuzzy and warm, but still there was sadness. I wanted to, would have in the absence of the bouncer, spin him around and say...."you stupid fucking CUNT, stop with the "i did nothing, they made the music" bullshit man, they made it, true. Who exactly would have heard it without you and factory? fucking no one! Even if those bands had been signed elsehwere, they'd have been A+R'd to death and contracted into extinction." I wanted to yell "we're not all brainwashed by that movie, we know our heros in there were much more to blame, and yes you were right about what they would become at london", to tell him "maybe you kept em poor, but you kept em pure, very nothern...and look at em now, we're all in there with our head's up our hole's pretending that's really New Order, but it's only a shadow, and that's NOTHING to do with the breakup and EVERYTHING to do with them being on a proper label".
As it was, I didn't even call him a cunt, I couldn't, it would have been cruel, he looked so, so dissappointed, like a father who's found out his angel of a son has in fact been dealing crack at the local primary school. I assumed it was for the same reasons that ping the nerves of all of us who remember The Factory Order....the introductions, the fucking tape machine, the band who only know 25 of their own songs, that kind of shite. Maybe not, I dunno, I just wish I'd removed more sadness than I did from him, he brought me New Order, that little smile I put on his gob didn't seem enough somehow. But, he's a busy man, and I was probably the 500th prick to talk to him that night, so I left it at thanks and wandered back to my slumping spot.
Chapter Eight: Once More Down To The Beach Dear Friends.
The encounter with Tony shot adrenalin into my system, so about 10 seconds after I sat down again, I was up again, and headed back through the door. I said to the bouncer "not every day you meet the boss of the world's greatest label, does fucking wonders for the consitution", which he seemed to like :).
I got in in precise time to see the start of BM. Although it's not exactly the greatest NO track, it IS the perfect club tune, and seeing it (half) live was a moment I'd been waiting for for 20+ years. But the pleasure of that was wiped into oblivion by what happened at the end of it...... When Barney started to play the chords from TPK, I burst into floods of tears, without any control (or shame either I might add). I knew they wouldn't play it, but just to hear that one part of it, was the most special thing that happened that night. If Mr Lyons had been on the ball he could have pulled the bass out and left steve barney phil and hooky to jam for a while.But still, those chords, just SHONE out, and wrapped round me and it was like them saying "thanks for making all that effort man" and giving me a big electronic hug :).
As for the encore, not a lot to say really. Except that I'm gutted about the webcast because you just can;t hear hooky, and it was the first time he and Bernard ever managed to sing the same thing on SLC. Hearing Warsaw was odd, I remember thinking like 15 years ago while listening to it, "I'll never haer THAT tune live".
Chapter Nine:Shellshock.
I went back into the mellee as everyone else was leaving, to find Iain and any vikings that may be around, and in the vain hope of seeing the body of my watch. On the way, I had a shocking reminder of something, I'd forgotten to put my sunglasses on, and as such was at risk of losing me goggles, what reminded me? the sight of at least 2 pairs of atomized specs as I headed to the front. I seem to recall talking to some NOOLers down there, but my brain had gone to bed already. The moment Iain turned up, we bolted, pausing only for him to get a T shirt for the mrs. It transpired, and emerged as we walked, that the pretty girl Iain had been dancing with, at whom Hooky kept winking and posing, was in fact Mrs Bernard, git, I hope that made up for the viking trauma. We wandered down the London Rd towards the city centre, with Iain looking at me in the sort of way that got ME worried, and kept offering me his coat. i was admittedly dying of cold, but figured that one corpse was better than two, so declined. Kept having flushes and stuff, all fairly normal if I don't puke those bloody pills out when they go wrong, which was really not making the freezing fog and drizzle any better. At Picadilly station I thought "ahhhh a taxi for the other 400 yrds" Daft but vital.
I have to say something nice about London here, which doesn;t choke so bad anymore since the London order are clearly only cunts by birth, and are actually a lovely bunch. In London, you don;t get in a black cab unless you can navigate between any two points inside the M25 at will, in your head, on demand, make allowances for time of day, seasonal and weather conditions and of course roadworks.
In manchester, what they apparently did, was go to India, scoop a driving license test form, cross "Indian driving test" out and write "City of Manchester Taxicab qualification test" on it in crayon, and make a bunch of photo copies.
Tester:"Raaaight, can u drive yer car forward" Mr random mental patient from uzbekistahn:"knernik" vrrrrroooom T:"can you drive yer car backwards" RMP:"zeeebglooval" grindlegargladgevrrrrromclank "has anyone been killed" he checks the bumpers. "Congratulations Mr random mental patient, 'ere's yer certificate and yer keys, now fook off......your house?, oh it;s out there, left, left again, right, on up........" 5 mins later Toot TOot "what dya need now? FFS, it's between yer hips, midway between your stomach and your thighs but round the other side....OTHER SIDE!!!....use BOTH hands will ya......"
We only wanted the nice man to drive us the last like, what 400 yrds, in warmth.maybe the chap just couldn;t undersatnd that we only wanted to go a distance we could have walked in 5 mins or less.....but one look at me should have told him that I'd have needed a taxi to take me to the platform if I'd been getting a train. The idea that he was just baffled by these two tards wanting to go 100 yrds, is contradicted by the fact that since he really didn't know where we were going, we ended up getting him to drop us at the top of portland street ...... result...we'd been round the block and ended up, what...100 yrds, (less)? further on from where we'd been? If he'd known where we were going, and could see we were determinded to get there by cab, he might at least of put us outside the door of the place. Basically, he got a fiver to move us almost nowhere and leave us to walk in the freezin cold again, he must now believe that cold Irishmen are extremely generous retards ( I got "keep the change" out but choked on "use it to buy a map").
Back in the hostel I was still suffering post travel imagined movement, kept feeling the sofa move a foot to the left and stuff. Beds were comfy and unlike any other time I've slept away from home I actually snuggled in and felt sleepy. thoughts of the wonder of New Order were keeping the brain going tho, as was the City of Manchester which, at about 12:30 was much less sleepy than me. The window was open, and in addition to the cold air that poured in it and down onto my feet (a welcome source of cooling for one who's lost some of the ability to self regulate, it took a long time to recover), in came every yell and clank and clunk, then it calmed down. then the fucking cops battered down the road, the empty road, with the horn on, cheers guys. Then the fucking bin dudes (at an hour than seemed really improbably), then the sodding place woke up and the sun came up. But I did get, ooooh 3 hours of real sleep. That brings the running total from 9am saturday til 9am tusaday to a positively rip van winkley 8 hrs.
This one has my GP baffled, he says that any normal rational human being passes out, if given the slightest chance (he actually said he'd been on them once and they'd made him into a cat, left anywhere warm and soft he was off) after 2 of those pills. They only thing I can think of is that I fight the tiredness so much that when it wears off I'm hyper active....I never EVER grew out of that thing kids do of forcing themselves to stay awake no matter how cogdety and fucked up they get....I do all my best work in 6 or 7 hour bouts that start 20 mins before I should be in bed :)
Chapter Ten: In The Shade Of The Morning Sun
And so we set out to kill Three and a half hours in Manchester, and do so reletively cheaply and in a manner that would not overstress my inerds. For in truth, my stomach was still sulking. Breakfast, and indeed, lunch and dinner on Tuesday were composed almost entirely of orange juice, occasionally branching out into lucazade. Basically between Carlisle at lunchtime on Monday, and my house at midnight on Tuesday, the only solid food I had was a coupla bites of a thai chicken wrap and a single complimentary biscuit. Even when I got home all I had was a slice of bread with a bit of chicken shoved in.
We set out,following the huge Arndale sign like the bat signal, for we had been informed by the wise of NOOL that many great things were to be found near that cathedral of corporate madness (I know a guy who got lost for 6 hours in there, and that was before my knuckledragging countrymen errrr "prompted a redesign".). We did the Urbis, what a cool building, tho only to get our paws on the saville CD, I was too wobbly to do the photo show that was on. Then we did the big wheel. Believe it or not I'd never been on a ferris wheel of any kind in my life...good way to start. Great experience, took twice as many pictures from the wheel as I did at the gig (all the gig ones suck ass, cos I left my flash on, which just illuminated the backs of heads and threw the stage into relative blackness). There was some discussion on these hallowed fora, as to the nature of the commentary ont'wheel. The alledged former Fred Dibnah soundalike is gone, replaced instead with a very quiet recording of a woman speaking in a BBC NW accent (as opposed to any actual real accent). Bloody good show that wheel, second best thing on the whole trip, second after the quality of the toilets in....hang on...I mean second to NO :)
I sort of wanted to go play on the trams, but we weren't sure how far they went or when we'd get back. thanks for the warning BTW, someone mentioned the metrolink beforehand, I thought, bus or light rail...no one said "WARNING, KEEP YOUR BRAIN IN GEAR AT ALL TIMES, SILENT KILLERS ROAM THESE STREETS". My heart sank when I seen em, I thought, it's only a matter of time before I wander in front of one of those. I like the big Dodgem bumper on the front tho, looks like it might almost be fun. they just couldn;t have those in Belfast, the wires would be too much use to fucktards in the riot season.
And so we settled in that cool cafe with the excellent chairs near the coach station. We watched Manchester go by, and mused about a longer stay. For a huge city, that we'd been in such a short time, we seen a surprising number of familliar faces in the street. faces that wandered past us at the gig, a chap who'd been running a little newsagent's the night before wandering along the road. And even the coach driver who'd brought us from carlisle the previous day and was about to take us back. Spittin image of Pete Waterman so he was. A little oasis of calm, looking out at the city. We talked about how it was quiter and not as bustly as Belfast, or even Bangor most days, and concluded that the obvious reason for this was that Belfast only happened between 0800hrs and 1800hrs, after that it's "Belfast is closed, fuck off". A flat guitar pedal battery in Belfast at 2000hrs is a MAJOR logistical situation. If you can't buy it in a pub or a chippie, it's either a hike to find a garage that's open, which will, like any oasis, have attracted all sorts of wildlife, or just fuckin give up and wait til morning. It sort of stood to reason, or what passed for such in my bass-pummelled head, that Mancunians had 18-20 hrs to do the same shit Belfasters had to get over and done with in 10, and therefor the place was less hectic. Very few spides around too, most pleasing that.
Chapter Eleven: The Voyage Home
And so with heavy hearts, but with heavier, and consequently bed-obsessed, bodies, we climbed aboard our National Express coach and left this city of our dreams, and the greatest night of our lives, and headed North. Do you have any idea how hard it is to sit in the middle seat at the back of a coach, half asleep, still not feeling the best, and wearing a very slippy coat? Every time the thing braked I slid down inside my coat until it was a case of either taking action or me being on the floor while the coat remained seated. Fookin annoying when you're clutching for a 5 min powernap or anything to get you home. The trip was relatively uneventful, apart from seeing some crazy guy doing that "parachute with a fan on your back" deal over that FUCKING HUGE promentary beside the motorway before you start to head up into "serious cumbria". He had it going on to say the least, bugger had got himself JUST so, and he was pretty much just hovering and climbing. I mused and mulled about whether that was more or less fun than seeing NO, twas a close call, but I had to give it to the order, tho mainly just cos the walk back to the car from wherever he was gonna end up,looked a LOT less fun than even my deathmarch down the London Road the night before.
Carlisle bus station was upon us in no time. I think I would really hate to live in Carlisle, as we drove in, you could see the rows of houses lining what was essentially a motorway, the place was just BUNGED the whole time.....I can't fathom it either, the bleedin main road is miles away now isn't it? NOT a place to raise kids or hedghogs. And then we piled aboard our beloved Ulsterbus tours wagon, and we felt like we were home already. The feeling of homelyness increased signifigantly as the bus began to pick up speed, for some tosser, had, at some point kicked through some of the coachwork between boot and cabin....result, a MASSIVE blast of ice cold air coming in at the back....mainly through the toilet, to add the delicate aroma of stale piss and chemicalbogstuff. Home indeed.
In no time it seemed, we were in the Stena terminal again. The place was hiving with peelers, and for the first time, my decision to bring my passport along was bourne out as they wanted ID. Then the flippin magnetic doobry went off. Turned out it didn;t like my baccy tin, which I produced for the guy, who then said "mind if I look in it", of course I said "work away"....but was thinking; I KNOW I put roaches in my rollies, and all my mates know that....but this guy is gonna see the ripped rizla packet and think "spliffs", and that could get all annoying.
The boat over was a bit rolly, and our impending return to NI was once again heralded by two pissed cunts, seemingly father and son, fighting in burger king on board, it seemed to be the typical return from the typical day out to scotland to fight with relatives. I just shrunk in my seat and thought "ahhhhhhh home at last". It's so much fun watching pissed people on boats, at least twice blows were exchanged because the boat made one of them appear to be lunging at the other.
From the minute the boat docked til I got home is just a blur, 40 mins of my life I wont miss.
I flopped into my computer chair with all it's sore arse friendly soft bits and started to look into how other people's gigs had been. The full horror of Clayhead's loss was shocking, but certainly cleared up that look on his face when I bumped into him in the Apollo. lost all sympathy for him as I recently found out he likes girls aloud, tragic, he seemed such a nice chap too.
Chapter Twelve: Retro
Was it worth it? HELL YES CAN I DO IT AGAIN TOMORROW MUMMY PLEASE PLEASE.
What did actually go on in my insides in the Apollo?
As far as I can tell, it was just too many Painkillers (not an overdose, although for a while i thought I'd taken 12 instead of 8 that day). they tend to build up, and by JB's I was Mr oblivious. That was part of the plan, aim to have the highest concentration in my blood at around gig time so I'd be pain free. Was I pain free? yes, apart from the fact that pogo-ing hurt like fuck on account of the various mountings for my bits having to carry a much increased load owing to swelling, felt like me nuts would tear off every time I landed. The odd getting up and down from a seat manouvre was sore. But apart from that, the first constant annoying pain I felt since the train on Monday morning, was as I walked down the station concourse at the belfast buscentre to get into Iain's old boy's car to come home. It seems the universe really did give me 36 hours off like I asked, despite the state of things.Next day and since, I've been seriously fucking sore, and reluctant to take too many painkillers in order to let me guts heal up nice.
I only had a couple of drinks in JB's, booze metabolizes REALLY fast, especially in terms of reaching full concentration. And in support of that, after each drink I felt a noticable twinge of unsettledness in my guts, but it passed, I acted like a grown up and was fine. If booze had been the cause, I really shoula went wrong in JB's or on the road, or at the VERY latest, when I walked back into the heat at the Apollo. But y'all saw me before and during ACR, I was as happy as a pig in shit, loving every minute. And so I continued until Crystal. I think the final diagnosies must be that too little food, some booze, and those pills, on top of 10 hours movement and complete nervous exhaustion, set my guts up for what was the final blow.
And that's what I carry on my shoulders now. My reputation is in tatters. I'm the local bass monster. It was I who slept on/in the Sabres of Paradise' bass bins during their set at the arts college. Me who prays in front of the Orb's bass bins. It's me again who tours venues looking for the bass traps before sitting down/picking a spot. At college when everyone else was still standing round drinking coffee at rehearsals, I'd be in to the live room, and pluggin me bass amp into the PA speakers, and basically messing around with the controls to acheive the perfect sub-bass nirvana, the rest of them knew when I'd got it right cos stuff started flying round the kitchen, but nothing could be heard :)
And I, I who has achieved all this, was made sick by New Oder. My lifelong favourite band, a band who, in the eyes of my friends, feature a "wannabe guitarist" who's bass makes a "widdly widdly plink plink" noise. They'll never understand what that room sounded like, or what it felt like on guts that had been already pushed to the limit.
I reckon the FoH engineer was blitzed, ACR's vocal was on one side, and NO sounded pretty foul through no fault of their own. There were a catalogue of little balls ups all over the place with sound (eg Dawn singing her tits off on WFTSC, that was mostly inaudible on both night and webcast). But who the fuck cares, personally, I missed their wasted hayday, so I feel the bolloxed sound was cool, and just for me :) I don't mean to be too critical anyway, 90% of the problem was that room, I say again, those huge farts you could hear on the night and on the webcast were the room quaking not the speakers overloading. At least on the webcast they got a chance to turn down the bass off the whole mix and peer through it to the music :) Nothing else that happened was beyond dumb ass shit i've done myself, mind you I'm sure I'm cheaper :D On the other hand, the room was so bad i'm not sure even the world's greatest engineer could have heard half the faults never mind fixed em.
I always get kick out of live music, I'm sure it's why I was SO prolific at college and just after when I was doing sound all the time, and going out to other gigs when I wasn't. And why I do so little these days. After coming home from NO, I've started on my community 2 songs, and found playing the bass easier than it was last week, especially if I let my strap go long....hmmmmm interesting.
Even tho it was only a shadow of the New Order I grew to love through the 80's they still surpassed my expecations by so far it genuinely stunned me. Fuck every thing and everyone else. Nuoddahnuoddahnuoddaahhhhhggaggghhghgh.
I MUST see them again, and even more so, all you bastards too, i can't wait for NOOLday so we can speak in a civilised environment. One of the advantages of engineering (as I MAY be if they can;t find anyone good :) ) is that if i want to talk I can turn the band down :D
Last week I was a lifelong, unfullfilled New Order fan, this week I'm a little baby....
And it feels good. there's much love for NO and all you buggers in me wee heart right now, cos things have been MEGASHITTY as some of you know, and I walked out of that gig the other night thinking "fuck it, I can die happy (even happier than earlier) now, any time you like universe". My ONLY real regret, was not buying lots of drinks for you all, in fact i somehow ended up making a profit on one round I attempted to get in. Still, not coming home completely skint had it's advantages, like food and electricity :)
And so that's it the saga, or even LEGEND of our trip to the Apollo to see the greatest band on earth. Could have it been simple? maybe, but who'd want it to be. I wonder if the rest of you all had your own crazy time getting there, your own encounters with the unknown, or did you all just get in the car/bus/train/plane and arrive at the pub/gig ready to go.
I'm sure further bits will come back to me, I've been holding my typing a little so as not to spoil this little adventure novel.
Fair ye well my Viking chums, until the next time, and (band willing) there WILL be a next time....I've a LOT of catching up to do.
[1]Actually that's not true, I learned at my first Orb gig, that sound systems can damage people on drugs, especially alcohol, acid and, oddly enough, E's?!?!, I was only a VERY slight casualty that night, a mere fleshwound you might say, mainly brought on by the consumption in 20 mins of 2 ltrs of ratpiss, antifreeze and industrial alcohol that some bastard had waved an apple over, stuck in a brown bottle and lablelled "Cider", followed closely by the panicked necking of a ten deal of hoodhash on the grounds that we were first in the door and there were more security than people, and it looked like being a LONG time before any joints would be happening. After that (and another incident I'll get to later), I've been a VERY good little boy, coupla smokes, and a pint of the black food or too, and it's sit back and watch the casualty cabaret, you can predict who's gonna go first and how bad from what they order of the dealer on the coach (this comes from going to see The Orb, who play "Music" with a bunch of ravetard E heads who are under the unfortunate illusion they're going to a rave, the coach home and subsequent discussions are always the same, I loved every nanosecond of it, straight(ish) and pogoing furiously or stoned-bastard-swaying and taking in everything, the rest of them, confused and enraged by all the strange noises than kept occuring in between bouts of BoomTishBoomTishBoomTish). The second incident, was actually previous in time, twas 88 I think, that me and Iain, the very one I was at the Apollo with, also on a fucking freezing november night, went to see The Shamen and Happy Mondays in the Limelight in Belfast (can't remember what they call it now, but it'd be a good gig for one of the tribute bands, they get a lot of them in there). "Doors 8:30" it said. So we arrived at the place about 8 with much queue booze, the limelight at the time allowed you to check your carryout at the door and pick it up upon departure, and we were for partying BIGtime afterwards. thing is, 10 o'clock came and went, we were still outside, and the 2am booze was all gone, I was a puddle dressed in a black HATYM coat, Iaian was kicking me periodically to see if I was alive. I wasn't sick or anything, but dear God it was a close call. People were saying "WTF is that" to which Iain replied "a joy division fan", and they always said "ah right" and left it at that. Ended up deciding descression was the better part of valour and there was no fucking way either of us would get in with me the way I was (Qtr bot of vod and 8 horrible beers in like 150 mins is bad), so I wandered through the nearby scarey republican estate, pausing at the local IRA feeding hole for a pasty, which was all I was sure I could afford and still get the train, that's me and my Prod name, and my Bangor accent walked shitfaced into a chippie in the markets (ok beside the estate), then marched right through all the murals of men with guns and stuff I couldn't read written above it (always a good one, "what's that say mate"..."it says, I'm boned I think") and shit, to the station.The rest of the journey is a total blur. the gig was fairly shite aparrently, but it took me a few days to assimilate that fact, so I SUSPECT I may have actually been pushing the bounds of alcohol toxicity for a short period that night, thank fuck the liver fixes itself if you leave it be for a while. Never Again.
[2] someone mentioned it being bunged to the sides in Brixton and cited that as evidence of a madder gig. they do the same thing in Belfast, but Dublin is usually more like Manc, always room at the edges. I would therefor contend that it is the sign of a city with manners :)
