September 5th – Look for the clues to
today’s band name; they’re in here somewhere.
I just wondered when a band stopped being a
band…no, no, it’s not The Band,
Dylan’s backstop; I wouldn’t make it that easy, would it…? It’s not as though
it’s a difficult thing to distinguish I mean either (not the band in question,
I mean when the band stops being a band…God this is getting silly, wish I
hadn’t started it… OK, start again. A BAND. You either are or you aren’t; I
mean, one day there’s a gang of you and the next you’re on your own, quick as
that; so, can you still continue to be a band?
The halls of rock-resurrection are littered with
bands that refused to die, of bands that fought tooth-and-nail to preserve what
they once were; often to the last gasp and beyond…even when the last gasp has
left the corpse of what was once a proud specimen of the rock genre, up to and
beyond the last gasp and on to the wake, the gathering at the fireside and eventual
cremation…on through the scattering of the ashes off’f the summit of Ben Nevis
on a force 10 gale, even then an ember of past greatness, camaraderie…love (?)
can still be glowing in the heart of just one of the original band’s
members…either that or they’re too shit to do owt else, one or the other.
It’s got to be a bloody-minded thing, I guess; a
refusal to see what others see, that whatever it was they had when they first
got together is no longer extant. Like a marriage that’s gradually lost its
haloed reflection of what you once saw in each other and that no amount of pulling
on a wishbone will cure.
The first crack to show itself in the band’s
gradual breakup is the drop in the level of patience with each other. Next it’s
the little things that irk; even though you’ve been gigging together for years,
writing songs and planning the tours, now, all of a sudden, the bass player
lacks sensitivity (are they ever infused with it?) the vocalist is getting too
full of him/her self (so, what’s new?) the lead guitarist is just a prick
(nothing further to add, M’Lud)…and the drummer’s always too freakin’ loud
(well, yes, having to compete against all that volume and ego, whaddya ‘spect?).
These things, seemingly, never occurred when you were in the first flush of band-romance,
and if they did you found ways to excuse them, to forgive them because it made
you, you…or so you thought back then. Now? Now if someone gave you the shotgun
but said you’d have to pay for the cartridges, you’d put your one hand on your wallet
and the fore-finger of your other hand onto the trigger;
So sad to
watch a sweet thing die
…who wrote that? No, no…wait a minute, don’t tell
me; The Merseybeats was it? No, got
it! The Beach Boys…! Yay! Can’t
remember the track, I’m sure someone will come to my rescue. Anyway, back to band’s
that fold…nearly…sort of all but. Given the writhing and thrashing that
accompanies any similar breakup (on-stage fights, name-calling, legal battles,
death and mayhem) even after all these hoops have been jumped through what
makes them worthy of being provided with a ladder to climb, Phoenix-like, back
up from the ashes? Well, briefly, I’ll tell y’s…oh, I’ve got it; Caroline, No… that’s the Beach Boys track…
Because when its right (the band) there is nothing
righter; it’s like a really, really right thing. It fills you with the yearning
to recapture that feeling, like a drug, it’s all-pervading. It takes you over
and the fear is that, unless you have exactly the same drug in the same amount in
your system it won’t ever be quite the same again…just like a marriage. But, as
those who’ve found the courage to drop their guard and fall in love again know
full well, what replaces it is often as good, it just takes on a different note,
colour, hue and you’re the better for the first experience because you approach
it with a level of learning and experience that allows you to deal with the
inevitable niggles, disagreements and idiosyncrasies that go together to make a
band.
Did y’ spot it? God, y’ rubbish.
Wishbone Ash!
Throughout their 40+ years of playing, breaking
up, reforming, breaking up, reforming, one member has stayed constant
throughout; Andy Powell. He’s played in the band through all its incarnations
and is still doing it today; there’s stamina for you, talk about not wanting to
see a good friend die. Could’ve been so different if there was a greater level
of sensitivity maybe? On this day in 1971, so just a year after Wishbone Ash had gained some rock
credibility, whilst they were playing a gig in Austin, Texas, a hot-dog vendor,
Francsico Carrasco, was shot to death. This had nothing to do with the band,
you understand, it was probably done over an argument about whose pitch it
was…them Mafioso lack a sense of humour when it comes to business. No, what it
was, see, was that in a prediction as to how they would weather the future
slings and arrows, Wishbone Ash wrote
a song about it, Rock ‘N’ Roll Widow.
Lacks a certain level of empathy, but at least Mr. Carrasco didn’t die in vain.
His murder had a slot in the musical cannon of a long-lived rock band; pity
theirs was longer than his but, hey-ho, at least they’re still performing it…or
at least Mr. Powell is.
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