February 5th – There’s a certain gene in everyone (don’t deny
it) that somehow, totally against the everyday persona that we project, makes
us take perverse delight in seeing or reading about a show-off someone or other
getting a smack across the face with a hypothetical halibut. I believe it’s
called the 'yah-boo-sucks to you' gene. Two personal stories that show me up in
the worst possible light to get the ball rolling.
Case 1:
I can recall, in Wolverhampton back
in the 90’s, being at a set of traffic lights on a Saturday afternoon and
having a couple young lads in a road altered, flare-wheel-arched, massive
exhaust piped (bigger the exhaust pipe – smaller the dick) Fiat summat-or-other,
rev the arse off their car behind me until the lights changed. As I turned
right they followed suit, skidding past me and setting off down the ring-road
dual carriageway at high speed. Now, what I knew but they obviously didn't was
this Saturday was a match day (this was a time when Wolverhampton Wanderers
actually played football) and ahead of us all, down the two lane and around a
bend, would be the usual LONG traffic jam leading to the island at the bottom.
Sure enough, I rounded the bend to see the car make its entry into the
shrubbery in the wide, grass-covered, council-planted carriageway partition
after completing its second roll over. No one else was involved, just these two
in the Fiat and, as I drew gently to halt at the rear of the queue I had the
pleasure of seeing the two lads emerge unhurt from the wreckage all
bewilderment and acrimonious discussion, on the verge of starting a fist fight
with each other and I thought;
'The one who was driving…? Probably
wasn't his car… The one in passenger seat...? Was probably his...'
I seem to remember waving and smiling
at them as I drove off; was this very wrong of me or was it just the uncontrollable
surfacing of the yah-boo gene?
Case 2: A regular venue we played at
throughout the 60’s/70’s was ‘The Hen and Chickens’ on the Birmingham New Road West
Midland bands of the time and often came into contact with them as
we all tried to either cross the void between semi-pro and pro or cement our
position on the pro-circuit. Suffice to say that competition was quite high
between us; we ALL thought we were the best band around, the only difference
being that, well, we were the best band around!
Cozy Powell was on drums in a band
called ‘The Young Bloods’ at the time, and they were quite good…if you like
that sort of thing… Over it now. Anyhow, we were booked to play ‘The Hen and
Chickens’ as their support (that went down like a cup of cold sick with us, as
you can imagine). So, we get there in the full knowledge that the dressing room
at the rear of the stage is a shared one and knowing the sort of commentary
that would be going on. I remember having to listen to them, and, it has to be
said Cozy in particular, lay on the ‘headline band/support act’ shit with a
trowel. Right. I’d like to say here and now, I thought then and still do now
that Cozy was a very good drummer. I also thought he was too much of a showman,
not ‘band’ oriented enough for me. Not a fault, just the way he was and it led
him on to great things, so what the fuck do I know? However, I believed then
and still do now that I was the better drummer…so you can tell immediately who
the arrogant one of us two was… So, we’re getting GBH of the ear’ole from ‘The
Young Bloods’ line-up throughout the lead up to our taking the stage for the
start of the evening. I seem to remember one of their closing lines to us
being, “They’ll boo you off after two numbers…”
Cut to the chase, at the close of our
set, which we ended with our version of Cream’s ‘Spoonful’ the crowd (packed
and knowledgeable…you’ll remember) wouldn't let us leave the stage. We did two
encores and they still wanted more. It was at this point that ‘The Young Bloods’
tempers frayed somewhat and they tried to force their way on stage whereupon
they were booed roundly… I remember struggling mightily with my yar-boo gene
but couldn't stop it from forcing me to catch Mr. Powell’s eye as he stood in
the open doorway of the dressing room and mouthing; “Who are you again?”
What’s brought on this personal
admission of my less than sporting behaviour and fellow feeling? Well, you know
by now, or you do if you've been paying attention this past month or so, that
I’m not a Rolling Stones fan. Always thought they were too pretentious for
their own good (and I was right; they've made NOTHING of themselves, have they?
Nothing.) So, imagine my delight when I rediscovered the news that on this day
in 1967 and just seven days after Mick Jagger had sued the News of the World
(aka News of the Screws) for using his name in an article about drug-taking pop
stars, the police raided fellow Stones member Keith Richards’ home and busted
all the Rolling Stones (including Mr. Jagger) on drug charges…that’s really
petty of me, I know; it’s that yah-boo gene again…
I now await the arrival of the Cozy
Powell fan club to come and wipe the smirk of MY face.
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