(First Gig)
Most days I sit down at the blank screen without any pre conceptions.
I just type, sometimes it’s funny, sometimes (I hope) it’s thoughtful, sometimes I rage… but, I just had this conversation on nightshift where I was impelled to tell a story from long ago, and it occurs to me that there is no written account.
This is from a time before mobile phones, before internet. A time of printed books, and 10p to make a phone call from a call box… everyone is conspicuously younger, I even have (ginger) hair.
Wavy lines wavy lines wavy lines
I was about 22 when I first picked up guitar, stumbling through the “bumble bees and railway tracks” (chord diagrams for the uninitiated) in the “Simon and Garfunkle Songbook”.
In that time, guitar, when it was played at all, was brought out at after pub parties, where two, three or more, equally unskilled musicians would crowd round one open book to attempt to follow a song together. I never really understood why we did not just take turns…
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Fiona was(is) a singer, and came from Port Logan. It’s right down at the bottom left had corner of Scotland, about 20 houses, some outlying farms, and a pub.
When she moved home, well in those days, if you moved house, it was me you got to help/drive/load (Luckydog was still a few days in the future). In my scale of removals it was an easy one, although it involved an overnight stop.
The night was spent in the pub by the sea conversing with the landlord – who had known Fiona from a young girl – and tumbleweed tumbling by. Fiona, suggested that when she got settled, she would invite a crowd down and we’d have a party in the pub. Why not? It seemed like a fine idea.
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On the drive back a thought came to me. We like to play music, Fiona likes to sing, but it’s always impromptu and disorganised. But there WILL be a party in Port Logan, we can look ahead with some certainty. I could forecast the likely guest list, and the place had been empty, we would fill it just with a few friends…
“So why don’t we learn a few songs properly….we could even (tongue firmly in cheek) get up and perform as a band?”
The suggestion was met with some approval. Fiona would sing at least a few songs, everyone would join in. A date was set about 6 weeks away.
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Two weeks or so go by with a few chords strummed and some desultory debate about which dozen(ten?) songs, until the phone call:
“The Landlord is delighted to have you there, but I had to make up a name for the Poster, so you’re -Wasters Corner (whole ‘nother story).”
I thought that would be fine, good choice……….”Poster?”
Posters….several Posters, advertising the forthcoming Glasgow band, oh, and an ad in the local paper!
…and one other thing…. There’s a support band. (History has taken away – from me- the name of that band, however at that time they were a household name across Galloway, synonymous with “Live Music”).
Heart Attack! I’m Having a Heart Attack!
No.
Not dead then?
How do I explain this to the guys?
“Eh…. ok Fiona…who’s coming?”
“Everyone”
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At the time, the choice seemed to be between fleeing to a small South American country with no extradition treaty, or….
“…so…we’ll need some more songs…and some practise…”
Some more songs turned out to be 30 numbers by heart – 2 solid hours of music with the possibility of an encore. That, was the easy bit.
“Some” practise.
Get up, have coffee, play four hours, eat a sandwich, play four more hours, eat dinner with Iain (who had a job as well), play another four hours, go to bed. Repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat.
I had never worked so hard towards a single goal, then or since. Blind Lemon Denim (Rab) was an unforgiving task master, but he brooked no simplifying, and learn I did. Lightning Bomber Harrison (Iain) had the hardest task working and traveling 9 hours as well as practising.
I was very nearly Lame Dog Wilson, but Iain would have none of it, my song was still to come, but the third member of Wasters Corner would be Lucky Dog.
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“Where have you guys been? No-ones seen you for two weeks? “
“Practising…we have ….a gig”
“Wow! Where’s that at?”
“You’ll never have heard of it, wee village down in Galloway, passed Stranraer. Playing the pub”
“When is it? I’d come to that…”
…and so it grew.
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In the end we barely had a friend who was not coming. The good people of Port Logan offered the scout hall as temporary accommodation.
A beach BBQ was laid on for the masses.
The “support” band, who had microphones and amps, and (it seemed) years of experience, were puzzled, but happy to play along with our unworldly plan of – we play an hour, they play an hour, we play another hour. (Why would we need amplification, playing for a dozen folk? They were kind enough to allow us to use their kit for our second set, when I had all but shot my voice).
Between the full levy of locals, the support bands support, and the exodus from Glasgow, it was standing room only. That’s a turn of phrase that doesn’t usually get taken literally. When I walked out to start (never more nervous), the front row of audience were literally sitting at my feet.
Busiest night the pub ever had.
First gig I ever played.
Wavy lines Wavy lines Wavy lines
Wasters Corner split (musical differences – with Mr Denim) and never gigged together again, although the Bomber and the Dog are still friends, and had many more musical adventures to come.
The pub, to which we returned for a number of New Years, is sadly gone.
Fiona still sings and now plays guitar, but she’s gone international (well at least European)
It was a few more years in the musical wilderness before I met Lesley, Bert, Susan, and I was in another band, this time with amps, drums, electricity…
I don’t think I could have done that, if I hadn’t already played Port Logan, but when the Tone Pigs needed a gig, we went north instead. To another place you’d probably never heard of;
Dalmally.
Next week on IaDL…. some mundane complaining
I can still see that packed crowd in my minds eye, and I amaze at how many of the faces there are still my friends today. We could never have done it without you out there cheering us on. Thank you.
Dalmallyfest the Asylum 