I was talking to Gavin Sutherland (Sailing, Arms of Mary
etc.) a while back about some of the experiences that we both had ‘on the road’
in our gigging days. He commented that people should stop talking about
bringing back National Service but everyone should be made to spend some time
as a ‘Roadie’ for a band. I can see where he was coming from – hard work, a
disciplined approach, tight schedules and they would certainly see a different
side of life!
Unlike Gavin who, as part of the Sutherland Brothers, was
quite a big name back in the day, I rarely had the luxury of a roadie and had
to do my own lifting, carrying and setting up before and after performing. It
certainly added to all the experiences I had during thirty odd years as a
professional. Indeed, people often tell me to write about some of those
experiences so I thought I might reminisce in some blogs so here goes with the
first.
It’s about a lead guitarist who was part of the band. A
lovely guy called Paul Newman. He came from a musical family and I recall once
doing a gig with his Dad who was no mean piano player. Anyway, Paul was a
brilliant guitarist if managed correctly. You see, Paul had one slight flaw in
that he liked a pint or two. Nothing unusual in that but stone cold sober, Paul
was rubbish and with too much drink inside him, he was rubbish as well. In
between, he was fantastic.
I remember a particular recording session when we had to
have a few cans of lager on hand. Paul arrived and said “Shall I start
recording my part?” “No Paul”, we replied, “Relax and have a tipple first”
feeding him the first can. The session continued with us rationing Paul as best
we could to keep him ‘in the zone’
Often, at the end of a gig, Paul would rush off stage to get
a pint before the bar closed and I have one memorable image of him standing at
the public bar alongside some burly workman still wearing his orange silk stage
trousers with a scarf around his neck.
That scarf came in hand at a service station on the way home
from a gig late one night. The restaurant was full of Hells Angels and as Paul
walked past one very big, hairy biker, he knocked his arm making him spill his
drink over the table. “Sorry Mate” the five foot four Paul said and duly mopped
it up with his scarf. I thought all hell was going to break out but the biker
was so bewildered that the incident passed without a problem.
It could have been even worse and another service station in
South Wales at the time of the Miners Strikes
in the Thatcher era. Bus loads of police were ferried around the country at
that time to deal with the strikers and, as we walked into service station
restaurant in the early hours, the place went silent as about three hundred
pairs of police eyes looked up at us. You could have heard a pin drop but it
wasn’t a pin that Paul dropped it was a small package that looked suspiciously
like a spliff (not that I would really know what that looked like never having
indulged myself!) Quick as a flash Paul picked it up and said loudly, “Oh,
that’s where my plectrum went”. Well done Paul, I was in fear of us all being
arrested and strip searched. As it was, the noise level resumed and we enjoyed
our late night snack. The force was with us – happy days!
Picture of Dion Charles & Pine Bluff (From Left; Roger Ellis, Paul Newman, Dave 'Boot' Jeens & Dion Charles)
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