August 18th – You know, no matter how street-wise
or sharp you think you are you can always get tripped up by believing in your
own inviolability; it’s that starting to believe
your own press cuttings thing we’ve touched on before, where those
constantly in the news, the curse of the slebs for want of a better phrase, and
who fall foul of the law or their fans because of their inability to realise
they’re just human, albeit with a lot of money and fame, but human all the
same. Let me tell you a true story:
When I was in my teens and in rock bands full-time, I partied
quite hard; not quite to the extent of an Iggy Pop or a Keith Richards but hard
enough to create a dent or two in my psyche. I think that, being on the
periphery of the fame thing, as a support band, I could see from a distance the
problems that could be encountered and the car-crash lives that were being
lived by many I came into contact with…maybe that scared me a little (no bad
thing, I guess) so I was always able to steer clear of the hard stuff. In
honesty, in the circles I moved in (working class) alcohol was the prime
ingredient with which to enhance one’s social life; the cause of much
catastrophic damage to many, I know, but that’s how it was, that was the norm. There
are images that stay and I’ve written about before now in this daily shuffle I
do…suffice to say that the scene in The
Wall when the shot is given to the performer to get him on stage? Seen it
done, and more than once too…but I’m sure it was just Vitamin B12.
So, not surprising I shunned anything I knew caused early
demise; everyone says;
“It’ll not get me.”
I’m here to tell you it will. End of. Sorry, off the story a
bit….
When we’d finished gigging, we (the band) would split to
various clubs and hostelries we were known to frequent to drink, jabber and connect
with the local female population to roll the night away or at least what was
left of it. One such watering hole was The
Wilson’s Arms in Knowle near Brum. Our vocalist, who you’ve met before, was
something of a womaniser, the fact he was engaged counting for nothing in the
scheme of touring (what goes on tour
stays on tour). He was also very aware he had a certain something that
women found irresistible (buggered if I knew what, I mean, I figured I was at
least twice as desirable and yet he always got the girl… sod him; but I’m over
it now, as you can tell…) He could always be counted on to pull…always… This
lent him a certain air of superiority within the band dynamic which, in turn,
lent him certain arrogance on stage, essential for the vocalist/front man so no
complaints there. So, we finish at some place or other this particular night
back in 67 or 68 and we bugger off to the The
Wilson
We said it more in anger than in hope but, lo and behold,
after a very short time, very, they left together, our boy giving us the
Agincourt salute as they linked arms and exited; we, of course, all wished him
luck by return.
The following evening we did the collection of the band
members on our way to another gig and were all struck by the rectitude of our
vocalist to recount his triumph of the previous evening/night/morning. Usually
he would regale us with every sordid detail (sorry, ladies, I’m not proud of
it, it’s just the way young lad’s talk…sorry) but this time we had to
practically drag it out him: I give the details…joined together and absolutely
accurate, and in his words…except for my dramatic additions for mood and result
(people of a nervous disposition look away now).
“Not only was she a
stunner but she also owned a drop-top Sunbeam Alpine…red. Her hands were all
over me as we walked to the car then she dropped the hood and we climbed in.
Away we sped into the night both of us bent on a night of pleasure. After a
short while she drove the car one handed, her other hand slipped across onto my
lap and then up to my groin as she began to massage my massive erection…”
Well, I say massive
‘cos that’s the word he used; that was his dramatic addition, I guess; to
continue…
“I slipped my hand
across and began to massage her firm breasts and then let my hand drop down to
her stomach… This was too much for us both and she made a left onto a country
lane and pulled into a gateway. Immediately we were into a clinch, indulging in
a kiss of such strength and passion that would have removed my tonsils had a
surgeon not whipped out when I was seven. She quickly unbuckled my belt and slipped
her hand down my trousers as I, not wanting to seem lax, slid my hand rapidly
up her skirt and beyond her suspender belt (realising as I did so that she
hadn’t put on any underwear) to where my eager hand was filled with the biggest
pair of bollocks in the universe… I was up and had vaulted out of that car
faster than a 200 metre hurdler. As I ran up the road in a crouching sprint, my
one hand grasping at my trousers the other, the one that had so recently been
full of testicles, being dragged through the dew-soaked grass verge in an
effort to wash away the memory, I heard a voice shout, “Wait, please! Can’t we
talk about this!?”
This incident was brought sharply to mind when I read that,
on this day in 1991, Billy Preston was arrested on charges of battery after allegedly attacking a
16-year-old prostitute, but only after Preston
had discovered he/she was a transvestite. Of all the people; Billy Preston, he of The Beatles, Joe
Cocker, The Rolling Stones fame; I mean, you’d have thought;
“Well Billy, if you’ve not learnt by now…that’s the way God
planned it.” See, it can happen to anyone, no matter where you are in the fame
tree… no, bugger that, it can happen to anyone period.
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