Car-Wrecks, Crackheads and Bastards

Evenin’ all.

It’s been an interesting couple of months in the Dragnerve-Camp. Sorry for the lack of bloggy updates recently – I’m lazy. Sue me.

So then, what’s been happening? Unfortunately, we had to say goodbye to firm friend and founding member Alain a little while ago. Life and injuries we’re mounting up, and he made the decision to call it a day and focus on other things. To say we were all gutted is a fucking understatement, and his final gig with us at Belushis (which has kinda turned into our home away from home… more on that later), was a seriously emotional affair. It’s been said before but I’m going to say it again anyway – good luck ya crazy Belgian bastard… we all miss ya.

It’s not all bad news though… we were lucky enough to get another bass player (and a shit-hot one at that!) on board in record time!! So for those of you that don’t know, please welcome Rolly Lyons to the Dragnerve fold!! Rolly used to play in the critically acclaimed Flict, and has helped us out in the past while Alain was studying for his law degree, so we knew we were getting someone we knew and loved, with the added benefit of already knowing a lot of our stuff… Bonus! So it’s done - he’s in, he’s sorted and he’s got a couple of gigs under his belt already. The angry, hairy, snarling juggernaut that is Us rumbles on unabated…

So aside from that and the fact I haven’t done one of these for a while – for which I’ve been getting a lot of shit from the boys (but not quite as much as I get for constantly forgetting the merch bag and banner whenever we play… whoops) – we’ve had a couple of pretty interesting weekends recently that I thought I’d share with y’all….

It was a couple of Fridays ago. We we’re playing a show at Belushi’s in Camden (which was fucking AWESOME by the way), and a cracking night was had by all. Sharing the bill with us were the mighty Blood Meridian (for the umpteenth time, and we wouldn’t have it any other way – those BASTARDS just get better and better every time I see them… but I digress) and our new buddies, Glass Artery (who are also shit-hot by the way). I was depressingly sober due to being Driver-Boy that particular night, but regardless we still had shits and giggles all round, and a great night was had by all… until the journey home.

We left Belushis at about 1.30 (actually we left about 1am, it just took half a fucking hour to get everyone together and say goodbye to the world) – I had Laura (my other and considerably better half), Lee and his lovely lady Kate in the car, along with a bunch of bags, amps and instruments and assorted jiggery-pokery in the boot. Pauly (who was also driving) had his (not inconsiderably sized) drum kit jammed into his motor, as well as the little monitor we’d been able to borrow for the night, so I had slightly more than a cat in hell’s chance of hearing what I was singing over the general noise-fest of those other three noisy bastards. Rolly – God love ‘im – went off to catch a bus home coz we’re all travelling South, he’s heading North, and the only way he was getting in either of those cars anyway was in lots of little pieces… seriously, it was like equipment Tetris.

So anyway, the cars are loaded (as are most of the passengers!) and off we jolly well.

Barely 5 minutes into the journey and we’re tear-arsing down Marylebone road with Lamb of God blaring, when Lee’s phone rings. Down goes the stereo, swiftly followed by all the colour from Lees face. It was Paul on the phone, and he’s in a spot of bother.
A swift and panicky about turn was made, and now we’re tear-arsing back up Marylebone road in the opposite direction. Two minutes later we discover what all the fuss was about – there are police cars everywhere. There’s glass all over the road. A little way down from that is an ambulance… and a bus. In the middle of the intersection, wrapped sideways around a lamp-post is what remains of Paulys car. Things are not looking rosy. As you can imagine, the 4 of us are swiftly filling our proverbial knickers around about now. The more we see and take in of the scene, the more it becomes obvious what’s happened – he’s been hit by a fucking Bus.

A Bus!!!!

For fucks sake!?!?

Some BASTARD (I want to pause here and use the word again, because if ever there was a truly suitable situation in which to use the word bastard, then this bastard of a situation would be it. You ready…?) …some fucking BASTARD had nicked an old Route Master London bus, ran a red light, turned right on a no right turn, and ploughed straight into my fucking drummer!! If that’s not enough, the bus then careers down the street, clocks a bollard, mounts pavement and cracks into the roadside railings, inserting them into the busses chassis a good 4 feet. Of course at that point the thieving, gypsy, cock-sucking, crack-headed BASTARD that nicked the bus in the first place wakes up and does a predictable runner.

Un-be-bastard-lievable.

I think however, that the Gods of Metal were smiling down on us that particular Friday evening because, despite the utter, mangled write off that was his car, everyone’s favourite drummer survived completely unscathed!!

We spent a couple of shaky, worrisome and cold hours on the street corner waiting for the paramedics to check Paul out, the police to interview him and the AA to rock up and tow the remainder of his car away, all the while making sure his good lady wife knows she still has a husband and their kids still have a Dad. He finally shuffles out of the Police car at about 3am, wanders over to us, puts his hands on his head, surveys the scene and says: “Fuck! I hope my drums are alright”.

I love him.

*****TANGENT (and unpleasant language) ALERT*******

This is a personal message to whoever nicked that particular bus. You, my friend, are a certifiable, 100%, 5 Star, A-Grade, 1st Class Cunt. Someone, somewhere, in this life or the next, is going to fuck your shit right up. Enjoy.

OK, I’m back.

We decided to have a bit of break from Belushi’s the following Friday, and went off to Essex to play a show at the Harlow Square. Thankfully that night was devoid of dramatics…we opted just to have a laugh with some old (and new) friends instead. In particular, it was great to see Trippy Wicked play!! I used to be in a band with their bass player Dicky yeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrssssssssssssssssssssssssssss ago, so it was a double treat for me, as I haven’t seen the hairy git in ages and I’m very pleased to say that yes – they were fucking awesome!!!

But the very next week, all returned to normal and Lo and Behold we were back at Belushi’s yet again. Surprise Surprise, so were Blood Meridian and Glass Artery!! =) We wouldn’t have it any other way…

Friday 24th April – the Anti-Camden Crawl. Our good friends Mark and Lara Lackie at Belushi’s decided to stick the middle finger up at all the floppy-haired, Indie bollocks that was suffocating Camden that particular weekend, by booking 3 of Londons angriest, noisiest, titanium coated, unsigned Fuck-Wits to scare the b’jesus out of any poor unfortunates who happened to wander in hoping to hear covers of “Wonderwall”.

Fuck that. And God Bless ‘em, I say!!

And a cracking night it was too! Glass Artery were a sweep-picking noodlefest of nastiness and had the crowds heads bobbing as always. Blood Meridian we’re nothing short of amazing - a towering, flame spitting behemoth of evil – and we’re not only better this night than I’ve ever seen them (and believe me, I’ve seen them be fucking brilliant a fair few times now) but they actually made me want to go home, hide under a duvet and give it all up. Seriously, these boys are twisted good. If they’re not HUGE in a few years time, there is something seriously, drastically, terribly wrong with the world and all the people in it.

By the time we hit the “stage”, I was too drunk to see (driving duties suspended that evening, boys and girls!!!!) so I’m afraid I couldn’t give you an accurate assessment of our set. However, I do know I was hoarse as hell and covered in bruises the next day, so I’m guessing it went alright. =p

It was AFTER the gig though, that things got really interesting.

I vaguely remember at the end of the set, lots of hugs and High-Fives etc. with a number of people, some I know, some I don’t. But there was one guy there, gushing with praise, who seemed…. I dunno, just… a little out of place.

He was a little guy, maybe 5’5, utterly unassuming in every way (pretty out of place to begin with for Belushi’s on a Friday night), probably of Indian or Asian extraction, mid-forties…. “Dumpy” would describe him well. He’s wearing a brown jacket, nondescript shirt and jeans, neatly cropped hair, thin little Porn Star ‘tache. Like I said, utterly unassuming…. Except maybe for the Porno ‘tache.
So we’ve just finished the set, we’re trying to pack all the gear away, dripping with sweat, drunk and knackered and this guy is milling around us not entirely unlike a bad smell, desperately trying to catch our collective eye. To be fair though, he’s being extremely complimentary about the band in a squeaky, heavily accented voice to anyone who will listen… ideally one of the four of us.

So, time flows by (but none of it passes…. HA!) and we’re starting to take all the packed up gear to the waiting cars outside (yes – we might like to think we’re a bunch of Rock Star cunts but in reality, we still have to schlep our own equipment around, kids), and who should be waiting for us by the side door but the little pygmy unassuming mid-forties Dragnerve fan.
He comes up to me and asks if he can speak to me. Not wanting to brush him off entirely and come across like a complete twat (all evidence notwithstanding) I decide to indulge him for a minute.

He starts telling me that was the greatest things he’s ever seen, we’re the greatest band in the world, those we’re the greatest songs he’s ever heard yadda yadda yadda, and I have to say, I’m getting a bit uncomfortable with this. Anyone who knows me will tell you, I’m not at all averse to having my ego stroked (that’s what SHE said…), but this was getting a little much. There’s only so many times you can say “thanks man, glad you enjoyed it” ad infinitum before things start to get a little weird… and judging by the crazed and cracked out look in this guys eyes, HIS world is pretty fucking weird already. If this Oompa-Loompa hadn’t been Sucking on a Glass Dick before he went out, then I’m the fucking Dali Llama.

A good 5 minutes of this “you’re the greatest…” stuff goes by – he’s got me by the shoulders at this point and I’m half expecting the guy to drop to one knee and propose any second when he busts out the Doozy he’s obviously been dying to ask since we were inside packing up:

“Please… I have to join your band”.

You can imagine my response.

I do my very best to politely but firmly explain that there’s just the four of us, that’s all we need, thanks for coming though, hope you enjoyed it, go have a good night. His response…?

“No. Please, you don’t understand… I have to join your band”.

Ha ha. OK. Very good. The answer is NO, thank you for coming down, have a good night. So I go to walk away but this guy is STILL holding on to me. Only now he’s crying.

Yes. Crying.

Not rolling around on the floor “Why?! Why!? WHY!?!?” crying - I could have dealt with that… stepped over the dick for a start.

But just a single tear, running down each cheek like I’ve just run over his Puppy, crying. He pulls me in and keeps begging me to let him be in the band!!!

I’ve lost all patience at this point. The gentle “softly softly” approach hasn’t worked, so I start threatening the guy - if he doesn’t let me go and fuck off home RIGHT NOW, I’m going to punch him, and I’m not going to stop punching him until he stops asking to be in the band.

It’s making no difference; he’s still just begging to join the band.
I actually asked him outright if he understood that in 5 seconds, I was going to break his fucking jaw if he didn’t go home? “Uh-huh, yes…. Please, please let me join your band”.

He’s clinging to me like he’s Linus and I’m a blanket, I start counting down from five when my mate Darren (“Big D” as he’s known… bit of a Viking) picks my little pygmy friend up by the scruff of his neck and carries him off around the corner to avoid him getting pasted, and me getting nicked.

Where were the rest of the band??

…Standing around the car, watching the whole scene, laughing their fucking arses off.

Bunch of bastards.