Life on Tour with Bowie. Sean Mayes
some striking live photos.
Later Anna had to go, so we rode down in one of the waiting cars. Coming back up I sat in front with Jason the driver, clean-cut in his uniform. He told me he had studied philosophy before his chauffeur job, which is funny because I took philosophy before joining a group. In his quiet way he seemed to be a character you would only meet in America - not typical but truly American. I found his politeness strange and put it down to a professional manner but looking back I feel that may have been the way he was.
Back at Eric’s, Jason stayed in the car and declined even a soft drink. I headed back into the party where I met my friend Art, whom I knew from 1973 when Fumble supported David on his US tour. A rock ‘n’ roll freak, Art was delighted at a ‘50s band turning up with the record company he worked for. As he and I are both typewriter bashers we have managed to stay in touch. It was good to see him again and catch up on news from the past few years. Eric appeared, “Hey there, guys, everything OK? Want to join me in a vodka?” He produced a bottle of one hundred per cent proof, frosted and smoking from the freezer and poured us each a fierce slug which burned all the way down.
Later we roared down the canyon in Art’s VW Beetle and went to a couple of bars. I enjoyed ligging about in LA, swigging beers, chatting to one or two friends of his. He just introduced me as a guy from an English band. I was surprised at first but realised it made sense. I’ve since learned it’s better not to mention the Bowie connection first thing on meeting someone or the conversation always hits the same groove.
As he drove me back to the hotel I said, “You know, I feel strange being in a top band. It’s funny how these things happen.” He told me how he used to be chummy with Bob Dylan (they both liked Jerry Lee Lewis). One night Bob told him, “I’m putting a new band together - know any good guitarists?” “What an opportunity to do someone a favour”, Art said, “but I just couldn’t think of anyone at the time!”
Next morning we had breakfast in a little roadside café, a Californian concoction of eggs, crispy bacon, fresh fruit and salad, then went to a couple of garage sales. LA is a collector’s paradise - clothes, cars, bikes, furniture, records, kitsch - you can pick up a chunk of the American Dream for a few dollars. Then it was time to join the excursion. Into the limos, on to the plane, off to Houston, Texas, and the south.
CHAPTER 4
SOUTHERN STATES
Saturday, 8th April
The five-hour flight continued our North American slog, eighteen cities in four weeks across the States and Canada, ending in New York.
Houston is America’s fastest growing city, near Galveston on the coast and the space base up the road. We arrived early evening at another Hyatt extravaganza - three-storey lobby and lighting by Damocles.
It was Saturday night and free so we asked the staff about the best clubs and hired a limo to go visit them - Carlos, myself and a couple of the crew. The first place didn’t like the way we were dressed. After that they were too smart, too rough, wanted ID, looked like clip joints or closed last month. We ended up back at the hotel with a couple of six-packs and a bag of potato chips. Next day I found out Lou Reed had been playing in town and had a party afterwards at the hotel!
The show next day went well, an 18,000 seater. However, they had four huge video screens up in the dome, which I found distracting and never quite got off on the show.
After the gig I cleaned off my make-up, showered and had a beer. As I dropped to ground level in a glass bubble elevator, I was still slightly irritable. There was a crowd of fans in the lobby standing around or sitting in the sunken cocktail bar. Simon was talking to a couple of eye-catchers, a blonde in a black lace corset and a brunette in a shiny silver spacesuit. They waved to me.
“Hi - it’s the piano player! - are you Sean?” (I think she said “Seen” which always bugs me). “What shall we do? Where do you wanna go?”
Searching for a quick put-down I said, “Where’s the best gay club in town?”
“Oh, that’s that old Plantation - we were going to take you all there. Everyone goes to The Plantation.”
I had a puzzled beer while they sorted out transport. Half the lobby squeezed into three cars and off we went.
The Plantation was a large, ranch-style place, very friendly. Drinks were cheap and the club was buzzing, plenty of jeans and cowboy boots, a few people dressed up. There was a drag act on-stage, four guys doing the Pointer Sisters, tacky but fun. Most of the people had been to the gig - “Nice show, guys!” - but no hysterics. Kathy - silver suit - told me that down south all the kids go to gay clubs as the atmosphere isn’t heavy like the straight places. This was certainly relaxed and I thought David and Coco might like to come over.
I tried to ring them but ran into problems, of course. I didn’t know their room number and it’s no good saying breezily, “Hi, I’m in the band - could you put me through to Mr. Bowie?” So I tried calling Frank, the security guy. He wasn’t in his room so I left a message with the operator. Next morning Coco told me I had started a minor panic - “David thought you’d got into some kind of trouble and called Frank to come and rescue you!”
Anyway, back at the ranch we went back-stage and met the boys who looked rather plain without their glad rags. Later, I asked Kathy if she would come back for the night. When we dropped Linda off, she insisted on getting her camera and a faulty flash to have a picture with me. She could hardly stand and broke off every now and then to lie on the grass and laugh. We were all fairly giggly by this stage but Kathy and I made it back to the hotel and negotiated the Apollo elevator without incident.
I had a 9 o’clock call next morning - a drizzly Monday. Fortunately, Kathy’s outfit was reversible to black so she didn’t have to face the rush hour in a silver space-suit! I had a bad hangover and grabbed a V8 (tomato juice) in the coffee shop under the hanging light. I felt better at the airport after steak and eggs and some great reviews.
We flew into Dallas again and drove in from DFW airport, past our old rehearsals hotel. This time we were staying at the plush and classic Fairmont. Even the sand in the ashtrays was monogrammed - molded into the letter F. The rooms were cold though, as we were taking bad weather on tour with us.
There were several familiar faces back-stage at the Convention Centre and there was a party atmosphere as it was Pat’s birthday. Pat Gibbons was David’s business manager, looking like an American college kid but with the quiet assurance of one whose father has just endowed the college with a library. He used to promote concerts at the Tower Theatre, Philadelphia when he was 22 and remembered Fumble’s birthday party for George Washington in 1973. But tonight was his birthday so the local caterer who had looked after us during rehearsals had made him a huge cake. A shy Pat, who’s not used to being the star himself, had to blow out all the candles.
That night’s show went really well - the first one where we all settled in and just enjoyed ourselves. Four numbers were filmed for TV and later shown on the Whistle Test.
Back at the hotel, David invited us all for supper in the Venetian Room, the hotel’s restaurant. We had a couple of long tables near the stage and wine and seafood started to arrive. We toasted Pat and his wife Peggy and I gave him a Snoopy card with some reference to Beauty and the Beast, then the lights went down and a band took to the stage. Billy Davis and Marilyn McCoo were appearing and their band came on first to play a few numbers. I nudged Coco, “Hey, look at that piano player!” The lights were down but I sensed something special about the dark figure who took command of the stage. Black, short-haired, plumpish, in a tight tuxedo, striking face but… was it a guy or a girl? The lights went up on-stage and we decided it was a woman. (“Hey David,” Coco whispered across the table, “look at the piano player!”) She was fascinating, counting the band into each number, playing with great style then jumping up to conduct the last bars for a tight finish.
The stars came on and were very good but we were mostly watching the piano player. At one point Billy Davis said, “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a