No cigar
Often, whilst regaling my friends with various amusing anecdotes from my long (though not particularly fruitful) career in popular music, they will fix me with a slightly glazed eye and exclaim, "Why you should write a book!" In an attempt to tantalise any potential publishers out there, here are some possible highlights of what could be called ? Close, but no cigar.
1. THE TIME I GOT LOCKED IN SUGGS' TOILET.
The touching tale of how, on my first visit to his house, I managed to get myself trapped in the singer's W.C. Experience at first hand
the horror of getting down on your hands and knees yelling "Suggs!" under a lavatory door. Madness.
2. THE TIME I ATE ELVIS COSTELLO'S CHEESE.
Ever wondered what it's like to have one of your heroes ask, "Who's had my fucking cheese?" Wonder no more. Share in my celebrity dairy shame.
3. ONSTAGE PALAVERS.
These would include shutting myself out of King Tut's Wah Wah Hut after the last song in my set. Instead of enjoying a triumphant return to
the boards and a well-deserved encore I found myself stuck out in the freezing Glasgow rain. Also featured would be the time in Tokyo that
Eddi Reader failed to join us from stage left but found herself in a department store instead. A bonus of several arse-over-tip moments
in front of paying customers could also be included.
4. MY NAME IN LIGHTS.
Several billing disasters here. B.O. Hewerdine, Bootlewerdine and the evergreen Eight O'Clock Hewerdine. I rarely arrive to find my name spelt
correctly. Also, who could forget the first time my Texan friend Darden Smith played in London? Instead of his group being billed as the Big
Guns they found themselves called the Big Buns. To an American this would have been interpreted as Darden Smith and the Large Bottom. A feast
of misprint hilarity.
5. GHASTLY MISUNDERSTANDING.
The Bible once had the misfortune of being mistaken by Melissa Etheridge for Level 42. Re-live the full harrowing tale here.
6. EVEN GHASTLIER MISUNDERSTANDING.
After playing an animal rights concert my band was put up by some activists. My room had a huge poster of a long forgotten combo called Doom.
Somehow I managed to get to sleep. At four in the morning one of our hosts got into my bed. I have never listened to a Doom album since.
7. VIDEO NIGHTMARES.
All the promos I have been involved in are completely appalling. In early Bible vids I was so skinny I resembled someone who might have been
brought up in a cupboard on a diet of rice cakes. Later, learn more of my recent (though rarely screened) performance in a wetsuit in which
I could pass for a walrus. One of my videos was shot in Spain. I have never been to Spain; they filmed my bit in King's Cross. Every one a loser.
8. DRUG NAIVETY.
Roar with laughter as I tell of the time I came into a hotel room to find an unnameable rock star 'chasing the dragon'. "Oh," I piped, "I see
you're doing some soldering?" How uncool. I'm the sort of person who would take a game of Twister to a crack house.
9. STAGE INVASION.
Being leapt on by a frankly out of it young woman as I left the stage at the ICA. Due to the fact that I was sucking a throat sweet at the time
(something called, unbelievably, a Negroid) and the force with which my assailant brought my head smashing down on the floor I lost a back tooth.
Agony. My heavily pregnant girlfriend, hormonally muddled at the time,assumed I was "getting off with" a fan. Not a good evening.
10. JUST PLAIN STRANGE.
Pretending to play bass with Buffy Sainte Marie on Wogan. Surrounded by flaming torches the guitarist became overcome with fumes and was sick,
live!
The Bible supporting Mud in Aberdeen at a vets' graduation ball. Les Gray making a play for our bass player. She was called Constance and used
to play in a band called Christian Death.
Being lined up at the side of the road by an irate bus driver eager to find out who had defecated in his lavvy. Made all the more exciting by
this happening in the Deep South and our interrogator's Vietnam past.
Playing at a San Diego jive club. A dreadful booking. My gloomy folk songs endured with barely concealed hatred until I play my one up-tempo
number and the floor comes alive in Jitterbugging relief.
This is only scratching the surface. Diabolical B+B's with collapsing furniture, a diabolical collapsing producer who attempted to strangle our keyboard player. All of this and more. Honestly I could go on for hours.
If there is anyone out there that is interested they can contact me via adhoc. Serious offers only please.
Boo Hewerdine.
