Sing the Blues, Janey
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-extract ROCK GUIDE TO THE GALAXY NO.2 Page 367
Re-printed by kind permission of Kerr and Stein, Inc., N.Y. and
R ock Life Magazine, London
NIGHT MISSION
Mike Adams (bass); Aaron Craig (drums, clarinet, guitar); David Hampton (vocals, lead guitar); Steve Morris (vocals, rhythm guitar)
London-based band formed by Hampton (ex-U.S. group, Blues Bread Line) and Craig, when fellow students at the Royal College of Music with the addition of school friend, Adams, who had previously played with Craig in school group, Safety Rule. They brought in Morris from failing band Scram, to sing vocals. At first self-managing, with the assistance of Adams' sister, Janey, the band played the pubs and clubs of London and south east England, building a fanatical fan following and acquiring a largely undeserved reputation for promoting violence. They rapidly became a cult band on the University and College circuit, where they attracted the attention of producer/manager, Gerry Woods (see separate entry, GERRY WOODS), who has helped to further their career. Neither Hampton nor Craig, with professional music careers already mapped out, were anxious to jump on rock/pop bandwagon, but their first single, Wild, Wild Cat, went into the Top Twenty, quickly followed by the splendid rock classic Drum Beat, which made Number Four in the U.K. Number One in the States). A series of fine concerts, including one at the prestigious Rock Top, where thousands of fans packed the streets afterwards, quickly established them as one of the finest and most exciting new bands to emerge in recent years. In the vanguard of the rock/ R & B revival, but with influences from many sources, notably early rock and roll, the Stones, Led Zeppelin and electronic music, and with an interest in the classical avant guarde composer, Stockhausen, Hampton and Craig have produced a unique and distinctive style - possibly the finest song writers since Lennon and McCartney.
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Chapter 1
The thin March rain slanted down under the orange London street light. Janey Adams shivered and turned up the collar of her leather jacket, as she crossed the road from her home to the old Mission Hall.
There were no fans tonight leaning along the railings, waiting for Night Mission to come out of rehearsal. It was cold enough to keep a polar bear at home.
She let herself into the Mission with her key and stood listening. The band was belting it out strongly, going over the same few bars again and again. The sound was impressive - rocking, exciting, professional. As it ought to be, she thought grumpily, after the months of driving hard work, and with their second single, Drum Beat, moving up the Charts rapidly.
As she listened the sound died in cacophony. There was a burst of laughter, then Dave's voice, sarcastic, and an outbreak of angry voices.
Another row. Janey's heart sank like a stone.Things were getting worse all the time. She hoped they were not going to get into the continuing argument about whether or not to turn professional, that had been tearing the group apart since Gerry Woods, the well-known manager and record producer had offered to manage them.
Why on earth had she come over? She had a stack of homework to do - her GCSE exams were only a few months off, and there were letters to write for the band, filing and accounts, plus two urgent phone calls about Saturday's gig.
But Steve had asked her to come. He said it was the only time he got to see her, and anyway he felt good when she was there.
She sighed and pushed through the inner swing doors.
Inside it was hardly more cheerful than the street outside. It was empty, except for a couple of rows of broken chairs against the dark brown walls. Two forty-watt lights hanging from the central crossbar failed to dispel the gloom but rather added to it. She wondered how the boys could stand it, but the band, on a low platform at the end were used to it. They had been using the dilapidated old Mission for rehearsals since they had started last summer.
They had rigged a couple of floods near the stand to give more light, and a battered gas heater took a little of the chill away. It was not exactly the kind of place where you would expect to find an up and coming band, with a big fan following. But it had its advantages - nobody else used it, they could make as much noise as they liked, and, above all, it was absolutely free. Also, as they had reminded themselves so often it had become a private joke, the acoustics were really great.
But tonight none of them were joking. Unnoticed, she watched them critically from the shadows at the back of the hall.
Ronnie Craig was doing most of the talking. As usual he was trying to calm everyone down and get on with the rehearsal. He was very attractive, Janey thought, with his strange, gold-flecked eyes, which always seemed to be laughing. He played drums in the band, but he could play a lot of other instruments too, including guitar and clarinet, which he was studying at the Royal College of Music.
'Look, Steve, there's nothing wrong with your voice. Dave didn't mean that!' he was saying.The flood picked out his smooth blonde hair and his expressive, gesturing hands. 'It's just the rhythm is wrong.'
'That's your department, mate. Rhythm. Drums. You get it right. Leave the singing to me. I know what I'm doing.' Steve Morris, Janey's boyfriend. He had the kind of good looks that made people take a second look, and so much smiling charm it was never easy to know what he was thinking. Just now he had a pinched, almost sulky look about his mouth, that Janey had learned meant he was furiously angry.
She groaned quietly. He must have been over-ruled or outvoted by the others again. It just wasn't fair.
'You've got the beat wrong.' Dave Hampton, his head thrown back arrogantly, glared at Steve.
'For Pete's sake, can't we get on?' Mike, Janey's brother, put his bass down and stalked over to an amplifier, and started to poke into it. He was doing a course in electrical engineering at the local College of Technology, but his real interest was in electronics, and he took on all the group's technical problems. His big muscular shoulders were hunched against the raised voices. Janey knew, that like her, rows made him feel sick. They both hated rows. There were too many at home.
Ronnie said patiently, 'Steve, this new song, the rhythm's the important thing. Like, one-er-two-er-three-er, four-five-six, to get the train rattling effect. Not...'
'Nothing about trains in the lyrics!'
Steve was the odd man out in the band. He had joined last, after the others had got together, when they needed someone with a good voice to do the vocals and play rhythm guitar. Ronnie and Mike had been at school together and had been friends forever, but Steve lived away on the other side of London. He was the only one with a real job.
'No, but it's implied, don't you see? Like the singer is on a train travelling and thinking.' Ronnie beat out the rythm again. 'It's all there in the music.'
'You're wasting your time with him,' Dave said. 'He doesn't understand what the hell you're talking about, Ronnie, and he's too bloody big-headed to be told.'
Janey did not know why they all disliked Steve so much. True, there had been disagreements and rows about the kind of music they were playing, about gigs, about rehearsals, money, and most of all whether they should go full time. But Janey was not sure, even now, if she knew what it was all about. There was personal bad feeling and intense rivalry between Steve and Dave, who was lead guitarist. They had taken each other's girls, and Steve was jealous of Dave's enormous fan following. But there was something more. Something the boys didn't talk about.
Dave was tall, with romantic dark good looks and dark grey eyes. He was a brilliant guitarist, and on stage he had a special kind of electrifying charisma. He was the star of the band. Nobody, least of all Steve, acknowledged it, but it was Dave the fans screamed for most. He was studying at the Royal College too, where he had met Ronnie, and together they were writing most of the band's songs.When Dave and Ronnie had flatly refused to give up their courses to sign a recording contract, Seve had taken it very badly, almost as a personal attack, and the rows had got worse.
He said, 'I tell you there's nothing about a train in the lyrics. I'm the singer of this band. It sounds better my way. You stick to your drums.'
Dave was losing his temper. 'Listen, sonny, Ronnie's correct.You've got the beat wrong. Do you understand? W-R-O-N-G. Just get it into your head and do it. We're playing it Ronnie's way. Okay?'
Steve said, in a jeering, goading voice, 'Oh yeah? Who says? Anybody would think it was a fucking symphony! As though it matters if there's a two beat or a four beat. This is pop, man.Who cares?
'I do!' snapped Dave. 'I wrote it. If you can't be bothered to sing it right, leave it alone.'
He was white and furious. Janey's stomach muscles clenched. Dave's explosive temper made a lot of trouble for them all. Generally he tried to keep a strong guard on it, but when it blew, it blew violently and spectacularly. Ronnie must have thought so too, because he began to talk even faster.
Janey stuffed her hands in her pockets and moved down to the platform.
'Good evening. Enjoying your usual cosy artistic chat?' she said, affably. 'Musicians are so romantic, so glamorous, so...so friendly.'
Ronnie looked relieved.
Dave grinned, reluctantly. 'Hi, Janey. You've got stars in your hair.' A reference to an old, embarrassing, joke. She laughed, colouring, and shook the raindrops from her long dark hair.
Steve put down his guitar and came over to her and kissed her.
She pulled away quickly. It made her feel uncomfortable when he kissed her like that in front of the others.
'Aw, come on, sweetie, I haven't seen you since last Saturday.'
She avoided looking at the others and made herself put her arms around his neck. This time the kiss lasted longer, but Janey did not enjoy it. She was too conscious of the watching eyes.
Dave went over to Mike to adjust the amps, and Ronnie began to play a long drum roll, followed by an explosion of thunderous bangs. Janey could not help laughing, and Steve finally let her go, but kept his arm around her, scowling at Ronnie.
Sometimes it seemed to Janey that Steve went out of his way to be particularly loving when the others were there. He was nowhere near as loving on the rare occasions they were by themselves. She wished he wouldn't do it.
'When you've finished, Steve,' said Mike, 'We're supposed to be rehearsing. Let's get on. What do you want anyway, Janey?'
She was annoyed. 'I didn't think I needed permission to come over.'
'I don't know why you've suddenly started coming to rehearsals. It's difficult enough to get you along to gigs these days. First I knew you were a fan.'
'I asked her to come. I want her here. Any objections?' Steve's voice was loud, truculent.
'Plenty. Nobody comes to rehearsals, that's the rule, and you know it. For Pete's sake, let's get on!'
'Janey's not just anybody. She's our manager. I want to know why you object to her being here. She's got us bookings, got us organised. She's made this group. I want to know why you're trying to keep her out.'
Mike gaped at him. 'Keep her out? You're crazy.'
'That's how it sounded to me.'
Janey said, bleakly, 'It sounded like that to me, too.'
Mike lost his temper. 'Look, I just want to get on with the music, without you two standing there snogging, practically having it off under our noses!'
Janey's face flamed scarlet. 'It didn't sound like you were working so hard when I came. You were having a row, as usual. So don't you go blaming me for stopping the rehearsal, Mike Adams!'
Mike glowered. 'Well, you've had your kiss and cuddle. Now clear out and let us get on.'
Without a word, hurt and angry, Janey turned and walked out. Steve followed her.
'I'm going home, too, Janey. I've had enough of them, and I'm absolutely bushed. Are you going on Wednesday, Friday? If not, I'll see you at Saturday's gig.'
'All right,' Janey said reluctantly. 'But I've got so much school work, I don't know how I'm going to get through it. What with the gigs several times a week, and the way the band is growing all the time, I don't know how much longer I can go on. I've just got to get those exams. I'm not losing my chance of going to College. I'm going to sing opera, and nothing's going to stop me. They'll have to get another dogsbody.'
Steve laughed and ruffled her hair. 'You wouldn't ditch us. You're just tired.'
It was true. She felt tired all the time lately. They were all tired and irritable. They had a gruelling programme of gigs, four, sometimes five nights a week, travelling back late after the show, having to get up early next morning to go to College or work. Rehearsals were Saturday mornings and most of Sunday. Mike, Dave and Ronnie worked in the basement of the Adams house at other times, trying out new ideas, writing music, experimenting with sound.
She had a lot of sympathy for the boys. They had got together originally for fun, to make some extra cash to help out their finances, and to try out their own music. It had been fun - at first. No one had thought it would develop as it had, with hit records and thousands of fans, but their music and style had some kind of magic chemistry, and almost from the start they had attracted a cult following of wild fans.
Now the band was under a lot of pressure from all sorts of directions. From Gerry Woods, urging them to turn completely full time; from the record companies, who, since the extraordinary scenes at their concert at the important venue, the Rock Top, and with the second of their singles at Number 12 and still climbing, regarded them as a particularly hot property, and were offering complicated and tempting contracts. There was pressure from their fans to make personal appearances, to appear at all their regular venues and some new places. There was pressure from organisers who wanted to re-book them months in advance. Most of all there was the tension and pressure of their own internal rows.
The fun had gone out of it all. It had turned into big business. Janey wondered how she was going to manage if the band did not turn professional soon. Originally, she had been asked to keep the accounts, and type the letters, but as time had gone on she did more and more of the business, while the band got on with the music. She fixed the bookings in clubs, pubs and colleges, auditions in West End clubs. She sent out hundreds of publicity letters. She made sure the band got to the right address at the right time on the right day - and got paid, which was not at all easy. She spent hours on the phone, arranging details, checking voltages. The band relied on her more and more, and it was due to Janey's good organisation that they owed a lot of their success. Organisers knew them as a reliable band, with a professional attitude, which turned up at the right time with all their equipment working.
But she was being swamped by the band's business - letters, invoices, publicity, receipts, press cuttings. Every day brought a new and larger load of mail. There was a big backlog of letters now, although she passed all the fan mail over to a friend at school, Kerry Briggs, who ran the Fan Club and Fanzine, with half a dozen helpers.
Everything, thought Janey, seemed to be getting out of control.
Copyright Liz Berry 2002. All rights reserved.
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