Always Read the Label Chapter 20 Johnnie Cash

It was the new song that seemed to clinch it. A slow tune with an unexpected country tinge and haunting words about wanting to marry in the morning. I loved it the first time it was unleashed in rehearsals, but reckoned it wasn't like what we usually did. Which proved to be its biggest asset. Hey, I'm only the drummer.

It was ready for the next gig which was our first headline at a much smaller venue than the Town and Country. Back to earth with a bang and dirty toilets. And luckily no colourful birds. There were though the by-now-usual 'people from the record company' to be avoided in all the shadowy corners, except when we needed to discuss who to sell out to. The support act were a band from the north who had a crap name, Verve, but were getting loads of press. They were a bit too arty and precious for me; too studied in the way they preened about playing the rebel, nothing to write home about. But Like I say, I'm only the drummer.

Howard and Ray had created a feeding frenzy, which I guess Ray had plenty of experience of. There were offers on the table and everyone started to believe we'd arrived and just needed to hold tight while we got airlifted away from normal life. Except Jeremy who Howard had decided didn't cut it. I liked him but just wanted to sign on the dotted line and live the dream, I didn't care who with. Like a coward I kept quiet while he was replaced by Ray's brother, Mick. He'd been a session musician so he could really play which made him stand out from the rest of us, but he'd also got an annoying cynicism through not getting anywhere for a long time which was only covered by his continual drinking. He was pissed every time I saw him. It didn't affect his playing but it started to affect ours trying to match him drink for drink.

We also acquired a press office where I used to go to sit and read the copies of NME and Melody Maker they always seemed to get first. I'd fallen out with Scottish Paul as I kept finding excuses to let him down. I hadn't bothered to find other ways to earn money yet, so was keen to get a deal signed. But not as keen as Moose who had found out his girlfriend was pregnant. He was desperate and had to be regularly persuaded by Howard and Ray that we had to think long term. The increased money we got from gigs helped a little, but there was always a nagging background need to get us a regular income, usually when the rent was due.

When we signed it was a relief to everyone, especially Howard and Ray who creamed off an immediate 20 percent. All four of us got a three grand lump sum and then a hefty £600 a month which was way below what we expected, but was all the money would stretch to after we'd bought better instruments. It was only at the last minute that we remembered these, forgetting we might have to do something for the money.

As soon as the cheque cleared we didn't rehearse for two weeks while we all went on mini spending sprees. I bought the loudest stereo I could find and a Nintendo. I'd just moved into Chalk Farm and never wanted to leave the flat. It was always lizard hot without having any visible form of heating and the only time I went out into the approaching winter was to buy Rizlas or score weed from a guy we'd met who was happy to sell us some anytime, night or day. I was living a lifestyle I'd not yet earnt, but clocking up massive scores on Super Mario. I could all too comfortably afford to do this as I'd stopped paying to get into gigs, got given handfuls of records every time I visited the press office in Camden and was getting a discount we were buying so much weed. It was all too easy.

"You're going on tour. Fifteen dates all around the UK next month. You need to come to the office tomorrow to find out more and meet the Tour Manager".

My first thought had been 'do I have to?' when Howard hung up after issuing the summons. Christ knows what real fame and fortune are like. I'd already forgotten there was more to this, like actually playing gigs and making records, rather than being a 'plus 1' at gigs where I ended up helping other fledgling bands finish their riders.

I went running the next morning before I had to head off to Howards. It made me realise how lazy I'd become. Every stride around Primrose Hill made it feel like my lungs would burst and I ended up walking more than I ran. How the fuck would I manage to play every night for over two weeks? At least I'd started to think about priorities. I swore to run everyday until we went on tour, even before the rehearsals which were planned to fill every remaining afternoon before we went.

Howard had assembled an audience he was keen to impress. Dave from the record company, John from the Press Office and a new face, Tom, the Tour Manager. He kept us all sat round his desk while he made endless, pointless phone calls until Dave mentioned Spinal Tap which forced him to hang up and show us the list of where we were playing. The furthest point was Aberdeen, but there were other real treks to deepest Wales and Exeter. It became exciting when I realised I'd not been to most of the places and we got spending money daily, plus food and a rider. We were travelling everywhere on Tom's coach which made us a real self-contained invasion unit. I couldn't wait to set off on this adventure. First though we had to record a single. The problem being it had to be brand new songs. Which had to be written by the following week. Thank God I'm only the drummer.

There was a panicked rehearsal the next day which had only been booked in the hope that something would fall out of playing together again. It didn't though and sent us all home at the end thinking we'd have nothing to record.

I went running the next morning before turning up at the rehearsal room to find just Moose there with an acoustic guitar he was strumming while sat on an unplugged amp.

"What do you think of this?"
It was fantastic. All about a river never running dry and easily good enough to record, even with just the acoustic version to work from. Moose started to tell me it had come to him this morning when he couldn't sleep for worrying about what he'd do when his child was born. This made it even better. The others arrived and we all started working on it without having to discuss or suggest anything, everything just fell into shape. When it was finished we walked out of the room to find the hippie guy at the front desk asleep and all the other bands gone. We left him asleep, tip-toeing through the door to find it had been snowing. We'd been so wrapped up in the new song, time and the weather had been unable to disturb us.

It sounded even better recorded the next week in a shiny studio we thought it was really generous of the record company to pay for. Along with a real engineer who'd worked with loads of bands I'd got records by, some I'd even paid for. Making real records means playing the songs over and over and over until he's happy. Some of the fun gets worn away and I never wanted to hear the song again at one point. Until it's been tweaked and tweaked and what you hear is unrecognisably amazing. So good it's hard to believe you were involved.

Back at the flat I put the tape on for Johnnie while playing the usual all night Super Mario. He's not dismissive of it, but will only shrug 'it's alright', nothing more, which I put down to the fact I've just found the magic key and am racking up loads of points while he isn't. He seems so keen to make me aware that he's down though we stop playing, which is unheard of, and I ask him what's wrong.

"I owe some money".
By this I know he doen't mean a tenner or so, so ask how much.
"£500. Can you lend it us? I can pay you back next month".
Jesus. I think of Dee and how he got a lifetime reminder for just £100. I'd have thought Johnnie would have learnt his lesson after having to start dealing to pay that fat bouncer before we left home. I've got the money and he knows it. I reckon I either lend it and probably never see it again or come back to find everything in the flat sold. Nice choices. I ask him about it a bit more, but he's just batting all the questions, who it is and what he owes for, away. He's clearly scared about it though, so if he's worried it's probably best that I don't know too much. I certainly never want to meet them.
"OK. I'll get it tomorrow, but make sure it sorts out the debt. Plus you've got to promise no dealing. Especially not from the house".

He agrees but I don't believe him, having to forget about it when we set out on tour a a week later. The tour starts, like I hoped, as an adventure. A poorly attended adventure for the first few gigs, but better attended when we got single of the week in the music papers.

There's nothing like being driven around by someone to bring out childish behaviour, magnified when wherever you arrive there's a queue of people waiting for you . Not a massive queue stopping the traffic, but people affected enough to make the effort to be there. Then you do what you like doing best (now I'd remembered) and they applaud and sometimes scream your name. Afterwards you get given drink while you chat to fans who are unashamedly interested in what you say. With us it was usually boys who wanted to form their own bands and needed intense advice, but sometimes there were girls.

There's a problem that no one tells you about that happens to every band on their first tour. Nothing can help you prepare for being asked for an autograph. I just didn't know what to do, too embarrassed to sign the record sleeve thrust in front of me. I didn't feel worthy, no better, just lucky, revealed as a fake. I wanted to say all this but then thought of the disappointment if I didn't sign. But could I live with myself if I did? Was it pretentious? OK, I'll have to sign, but what do I write? Do I sign like a cheque? Full name? First name only? Nickname? Do I write 'the drummer' at the end? I'd worked out how to do it without the dilemma by about the fifth time it happened, which turned out to be about 10 days later, so no need to worry about getting cramp just yet.

There's also a rule. No solids in the bus toilet. That one's a bit easier to deal with. The bus is your home and you want it to still smell nice a few days in, so the toilet rule stays religiously in place.

None of us had seen as much of the land we'd lived in all our lives before we went on that bus. It was easy to spot the times you changed counties and how different regions are while still retaining similar characteristics. There were shocks - the biggest being how they fry pizza in Scotland and how well off areas like Cheltenham are compared to say Swansea or Morecambe, but everywhere looked like it belonged on the same island, just in varying shades, which turned out to be a lot bigger than I'd realised.

There was loads of regional radio to advertise the gigs and our first TV. It's easy to sound stupid on the radio, but TV offers the opportunity for people to see just how stupid you are. Especially when they leave you waiting in a room with a well stocked free bar while they set up. Setting up takes a long time. There's no training or preparation, you just learn fast that different rules apply when what you do is being recorded, ready for you to regret later. When this drunken TV interview appeared on Snub, BBC 2, Monday nights, 6pm, it was the first time anyone from home knew I was in a band. And I was heading home to spend Christmas with my mum straight after the tour.