Always Read the Label Chapter 15 Counting to Four

I wish I could say a mystical force entered the room and took us all into a special magical place where we found ourselves able to communicate without words like long lost brothers. But no, the first rehearsal was as bad as all first rehearsal

But by the second or third it was becoming less one long wail and more of a series of short wails that were starting to have a shape. The wail of sound was taking shape. I spent a lot of the time waiting watching the door for a real musician to burst in and unmask the imposter who had claimed he could play the drums.

Moose knew exactly what he wanted. It was his band and he quickly had everyone playing what he heard in his head, and by the sound of it, there were some great songs in there. Russell I wasn't so sure about. I preferred singers with a lot more guts and much less mumbling. If he got embarrassed in the rehearsal room, how would he be with an audience? But that was still a long and unmentioned way off. 1, 2, 3, 4 and off we go again trying to beat the songs into shape.

The rehearsal room is taking up nearly every evening and just about all my cash. I'm still working with Scottish Paul, but for how long I don't know. There's been a falling out between him and Mini over something. The contractor we all work for has noticed this and told them to fix it, but neither will back down. So everyday is now a clash between the two heavily-recruiting factions that have formed. Do I wanna be in their gang?

The windowless room is one of several directly below Camden Road train station. The trains rumbling about overhead sometimes influence the tempo, or at least I'm quick to blame them. It's a nasty space to spend so much time and probably won't win many awards for the decor, but when you're playing and hoping, you forget to notice. Except the carpets which are sticky all over and it's best to avoid thinking about what with.

The guy who buzzes you in through the door is one of those people you wonder how they survive in todays world. An old hippie who's probably seen more dreams fade than is good for him. He seems to just sit about occasionally heading off to find a mic that works, with a permanent joint in the ashtray. He offers it to everyone who passes through, but it's made with rolling tobacco so stained brown and wet. A few times...at the end of the night...if I'm desperate.

From Record Swap, where the others are financing these rehearsals, we've suddenly acquired a bass player called Jeremy who doesn't suit his request to be called 'Jez'. Pretty quiet, but he's desperate to fit in even though all his songs get rejected. In fact there's only one persons songs that get accepted, not that there's much voting on the matter.

We get a chance to try out Russell's mumbling in front of an audience when the guy I saw talking to Chris after the gig a few weeks back arrives in the middle of a Wednesday night rehearsal along with a similar aged, but much fatter, red-headed guy. No introductions, they just sit nodding their heads awkwardly through three of the five songs we've been working on, then leave without saying anything. It's more unnerving than being told that you're crap and should give up now.

'It won't cost that much and it's what Howard and Ray say we need to get gigs and the record companies interested'. This is Moose talking about making a demo. Howard and Ray were the silent members of our first audience, who obviously haven't been silent getting their advice back to Moose. 'There's a place in Brixton which is pretty cheap if you work through the night at weekends. We can get 2 nights for £300 all in - they've got a drum kit and all the amps there'.

After scraping the money together, we head over on the last tube to the final stop on the Victoria line. The studio's under another set of railway arches, which seem to have played an unmentioned major role in the music business. We're already buzzing with the adrenaline of doing what real bands do; recording and staying up all night, but Russell's brought a chunky wrap of speed to help make sure.

'Let's try that again, maybe a little slower' gets whispered in my headphones by the engineer, who in this lack of light looks like the twin brother of the guy from the rehearsal rooms. I'm a bit too enthusiastic and having to fight the urge to keep stopping the songs and say how good they are. By 5 in the morning we have 3 songs recorded and ready to be mixed tomorrow. There's no tubes running yet so we sit and have probably the first talk about how we're going to conquer the world.

'So we get Howard and Ray to give out the demo and see if they can get some labels and Press Offices involved. Chris has said he can get us some gigs as support and I know a few of the NME writers from Record Swap. Sounds is too heavy metal, but Melody Maker might be interested'.

It's a cynical but realistic take on how things work and after sitting the next night listening to the same three songs again and again before mixing them to something we're all happy with, it's one that eventually works. Howard starts giving out the tapes and we step up the rehearsals for a gig in Windsor with Chris's band. Fame can only be just around the corner.

There's a slight delay in becoming superstars and while waiting I have to head back to work still upside down after not readjusting from staying up all night and sleeping all day while finalising our first gold record. I'm like a zombie, preserving my energy by only joining in when absolutely necessary. I've told the others at work about recording a demo and they're now taking my quiet exhaustion as a sign that 'I think I'm a popstar'. You know that time in a job when you just want to say fuck it, it's not worth the bother, that's where I'm at. But way to aware of how unprepared I am. The practicalities always keep you from walking out, especially when the council have just served notice on the squat, meaning we've got about a month at the outside before being evicted. The saftey net always seems to disappear when you finally need it. Time to grin and bear it, pick up the money and bite your tongue.

On the day of the gig we stuff the old transit with all the equipment we've managed to buy and borrow. No drum kit, I've arranged to use Chris's, but some battered amps which are about to get even more battered while loading and guitars made delicate with soft cases. There's only seats for 3 up front so as a sign of solidarity I squat among the amps with Jeremy. Its exciting for about 10 minutes, then it just gives you cramp. Confirming another delay in our superstar status arriving.

We get there in time to see the end of Chris's band soundcheck. Which makes me nauseous with nerves that we're expected to sound just as good. They're all really friendly and let us borrow whatever we need. We haven't got many songs, we run through them all twice. They sound fine but do nothing to edge out the nerves so we start to play them again until the guy doing the sound tells us we don't have time.

I've never been to Windsor so head off for a quick lap of what turns out to be not much to see if you're not as interested in castles like the American tourists you brush past every few minutes seem to be. Still, we're in town to play a gig which if you look at it while squinting heavily is like a Viking invasion. One that you arrive at in a transit van and without much rape and pillage.

We're due to play just before nine so I rush back with only 2 hours to spare and find only the promoter in the empty venue who tells me 'everyone's has nipped off to the pub', but not which one. I get a drink and sit on the benches outside trying to forget I'm nervous which I succeed with until a few bunches of students start arriving for the gig, triggering that don't notice me/ please realise I'm in a band dilemma. They sit nearby and start a bragging competition about who's seen Chris's band the most, which escalates to who saw tonight's support act first. It takes a while for me to realise they're talking about us and there's no point in telling them it's our first gig. Still, it's a sign that a myth may be forming.

Looks like I'm not the only one who has been trying to calm their nerves when the others return from the pub, now with Howard in tow. There's a bit of nudging and giggling going on around the benches when they realise it's the band they've come to see in front of them. The small queue that's formed also wriggles at this sighting.

With about half an hour to go we all start asking each other 'are you nervous?' and lie when we answer with a 'no'. Inside the venue looks completely different now it's night and there's a DJ playing to the growing crowd. A realisation dawns on us that this dream could be about to happen which sends us scurrying to the bar this time for shorts.

Everything goes into silent slow motion when we get pushed out onto the stage. The lights have gone down and the music seemed to stop hours ago. I try not to look at the crowd and concentrate on watching the others pick up guitars they now seem unfamiliar with and nervously try to adjust straps and amps. We look at each other then its down to me to count to four, which I do at breakneck speed. No one notices though and we glide through a song without any real mistakes. I'm forced to look at the crowd at the end to see why they're cheering. They actually liked it, which I'm starting to do as I start to count the next song in. 1, 2, 3, 4...off we go way too fast again. More cheering. And again. Its starts to feel like a dream I've had all my life, something I'm familiar with but had never experienced. I never want it to end when we start the last song. I feel like I'm flying, soaring above the crowd. Suddenly I'm nearer the ground. The floors a lot nearer and I'm definitely sinking. Over the top of the kit I can just about see worried glances from the others. At the side of the stage I can make out Chris killing himself laughing at what no one in the crowd can really see. I'm all over the place now and the others begin to realise there's something wrong and I've not actually chosen to sit on the floor. We stop and the crowd cheer thinking it's just a short song. Which it is tonight, but wasn't meant to be.

'What happened?'
'The drum stool started slipping. I was sat on the floor by the end. I thought it was brilliant though before that happened'.
Chris is still bent over laughing. Eventually he straightens up and catches his breath.
'Sorry. I couldn't resist it. I undid the nut on the stool. It looked hilarious. You should have seen your face'. He then does an impression before bending over to carry on laughing.
I'm not finding it quite as funny, but when everyone else joins in I'm forced to pretend I can see a joke. A smile hides the word revenge which is flashing through my head. Howard appears through the door asking what happened with the last song which starts up a fresh round of laughter. Despite this I can still hear the crowd cheering and decide this is what I want to do for the rest of my life.

It became a long night. Chris's band played, after he'd made a big show of checking his stool when they went on stage and we all stayed for ages afterwards having a drink (except Jeremy who was told he had to drive back),patting each other on the back when the venue had closed. On the way back we got pulled up by the police just outside London at about 4am for a drawn out futile reason, leading to another day of vampire living where I waited to come alive with the arrival of the night.

It's alright living through the night when there's someone else to do it with. With Simon now released from his interrogation but sticking to more traditional hours as part of his parole, I was getting bored killing so many hours of darkness. I still had Emma's number somewhere and after a frantic search I found it, gathered all the change I had and headed outside to the telephone. A few rings and it was answered with a very clear 'hello'.

'Is Emma there please?'
'Just hold the line a minute, I'll find out. Whom may I say is calling?'
I tell her and wonder how big the house is if you don't know if someone's in it?
'Hiya. I was hoping you'd call. Polly tells me you've been playing some gigs'.
I tell her about it pointing out it was only one and slowly nudge the conversation round to what she's doing on Sunday.
'Mummy always cooks for the family. Do you want to come over?'