PART TWO…
Don Powell of Slade is looking forward to a couple of gigs at a large arena in the Czech Republic. Slade are sharing a two-night bill with an American band currently enjoying a lot of success, as they are responsible for the theme tune to a very big American film. It should be a good night.
Somewhat unusually, the promoters have arranged for him to use the other drummer’s kit. Don’s OK with that because Slade are on first and he can have the kit set up the way he likes it. Anyway it always makes sense to reduce the changeover time wherever possible and, hey, we’re all grown-ups. After all, it’s not as if he’s going to go mad and destroy the other guy’s drums.
So when Don arrives at the arena early afternoon for a soundcheck, he is more than a little surprised to learn that the drummer is not going to let him use his kit. What’s more, he’s not particularly friendly about it. It’s almost like: ‘How could you have the audacity to assume you could?’
There’s no point in pleading with the guy and, anyway, Don has no desire to do so. However, his own kit is in another country and there’s nowhere open within practical distance where you can hire any drums. He is, unbelievably, up there without a paddle, so to speak.
Then someone has an idea.
It turns out that one of the event organisers knows someone with a drum kit who lives round the corner. Don feels a sense of relief, although he still has his doubts as he has no idea what the kit’s like and, more importantly, will the person hire it out?
‘Don’t worry about that,’ says the guy in the know. ‘He’s only a young kid – he’ll be chuffed to lend it to you!’
Alarm bells are ringing now because the whole thing seems a bit bizarre. Nevertheless, 10 minutes later Don is walking down the street where the young lad lives, looking for the right house. Suddenly it hits him:
‘Hang on! I’m in a band, which has sold millions of records. We’ve had 16 Top 10 UK hits and toured the world umpteen times. Our Christmas song is the most well known Christmas pop anthem ever. They’ve been playing it every year for 34 years on every radio station, in every shop, at every party! And here I am a few hours before a capacity gig, walking around trying to borrow a small boy’s drum kit?’
Eventually he finds the house and, strangely nervous, knocks on the door. A middle-aged lady answers the door and looks surprised. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Sorry to intrude on your afternoon but…’
‘Don’t I know you?’
‘I don’t think so. I’m Don Powell from Slade, we’re playing round the corner tonight…’
‘Oh! My God! I don’t believe it…’
Then a man, presumably her husband, appears in the hallway:
‘Everything OK, Olga?’
‘Yes darling. I can’t believe it – this is Don Powell from Slade…’
‘Well, I never!’
Don explains awkwardly: ‘Hello… it’s a bit embarrassing really. I’ve been let down at the venue we’re playing tonight and need to borrow a drum kit. I believe your son has one?’
A few minutes later Don is standing in their son’s bedroom looking at the drum kit in the corner with a measure of relief because it’s not at all bad. What he hadn’t known is that the parents have always been huge Slade fans and their son seems to have followed suit because there are Slade posters all over the walls. In particular, there’s a huge poster of himself right above the drum kit. Don arranges to have the kit picked up a bit later and invites the whole family to the gig and backstage afterwards.
For Don, what began as a slightly absurd situation has turned out to be a pleasant encounter and a happy reminder of how generous and refreshingly genuine people can be. Unlike the other drummer who wouldn’t let him use his precious kit.
During the gig Don takes care to show the utmost respect for the young boy’s drums and not play too hard. After all, kids in the Czech Republic don’t always have a lot of money to spend on replacement skins.
However, the next night is a different story. The drummer of the American band has been persuaded by the promoters to let Don use his kit. Given the way things have turned out, he decides to give that guy’s drums a bit of a bashing. In fact, you could say he has the ‘eye of the tiger’, because he completely annihilates the kit, which doesn’t go down too well – even with the drummer of a supposedly ‘rocky’ band. But Don figures he had it coming.
And anyway, all’s fair in rock n’ roll.
Drummers may appear to be an awesome race, but we are, of course, essentially human. And, like all other humans, we are sometimes subject to fatigue and irritability…
NICE TO MEET YOU
Gary Powell was the first drummer with Pete Doherty’s band The Libertines. After front man Carl Barât’s much-publicised fall out with Doherty, the band split and Barât formed Dirty Pretty Things, taking Gary with him as drummer. Since then they have enjoyed several UK hits, the first of which, ‘Bang Bang You’re Dead’, reached number 5 in the UK singles chart. They’ve toured extensively and featured at festivals like The Isle of Wight and T in the Park. Gary has also played with The New York Dolls.
I met Gary in a Soho pub for a quick chat and we ended up eating sushi in a Japanese bar just off Leicester Square. It was there he told me about a regrettable incident a few years ago…
It’s been a heavy-going couple of weeks of rehearsals, culminating in a performance with the Dirty Pretty Things at the Fuji Festival in Japan. I’ve just checked into my hotel after a long flight. I’ve been drinking on the bus for five hours with no sleep all night, so I’m completely knackered and can’t wait to get my head down for a couple of hours. My room is on the seventh floor so I get into the packed hotel lift with my luggage and my drumstick/accessories bag slung over my shoulder. As I squeeze in, I am aware that my Vick Firth drumsticks are sticking out of my bag, possibly poking in the face of whoever’s standing behind me.
The doors close and the lift begins its slow assent upwards. Then a voice pipes up from behind: ‘Ahh! Vick Firth, someone’s a drummer!’
Someone’s taking the piss. All the tension of the last few days releases itself and I reply: ‘Oh Vick Firth, somebody’s a WISE ASS!’
The lift stops at the first floor and the doors open. A few people leave and the doors close once again. Unable to resist, I turn round to face my wise ass. Surprisingly, I recognise the face. Then the face speaks: ‘Hello, I’m Mitch Mitchell.’
Mitch Mitchell, the drummer in The Jimi Hendrix Experience! Someone Gary has admired ever since he started playing the drums. In fact, he’s a genuinely wise guy with whom Gary would have loved to have struck up a conversation, but now wouldn’t know where to start. Nice one.
Gary clams up. Well, he can hardly say, ‘I’m so sorry, Mitch. If I’d known it was you, I’d have been a lot more friendly because you’ve been one of my heroes ever since I started playing. Any chance we can start this conversation again with me being nicer?’
So the rest of the journey in the lift is conducted in total silence, with me staring at the lift doors. I can’t wait to get out. It seems to take forever to get up to the seventh floor, and the longer it takes, the less appropriate it feels for me to strike up another conversation.
Well, what could he say… ‘Anyway, you doing much at the moment?’
Or: ‘I’m doing the Fuji Festival. I could get you a back stage pass if you’d like to come along…’
When