Mad, Bad and Dangerous - The Book of Drummers' Tales. Spike Webb
of authority over an incensed Italian crowd.
Then something came flying over the curtain and actually sliced the drumhead off one of the rack toms. Even more worrying. Even when our intro music came on, stuff kept coming over the curtain top. By now, gun or no gun, I’d had enough: If one more f***ing thing hits me I’m f***ing off!
At that moment the curtain suddenly went up and I had no choice but to count in the first song after which I got pole-axed on the side of the face by a full can of beer. As the blood ran down my face I figured I couldn’t just walk off and leave my pals up there to take the flack. I had no choice but to accept my fate.
Don’t ask me how, but we went down a storm!
Another splendid example of how drummers are prepared to get the job done, even in the face of extreme adversity.
UP STICKS
Lee Levin is one of the USA’s top session players. He has recorded and toured with numerous artists including Barbra Streisand, Backstreet Boys, Pink, Christina Aguilera, Meat Loaf, the Bee Gees and Ricky Martin. He has also written educational drumming books, videos and CDs including Drum Programming Basics (Ultimate Beginner Tech Start Series) (Alfred Publications).
Lee told me about a dodgy incident while he was on a six-month tour of Latin America with Puerto Rican singer Chayanne.
We’re in a city in the western part of Venezuela called Merida, where they’re known for their fish-flavoured ice cream. Yum.
It’s quite near the beginning of the tour and we’ve made some slight changes to the visual side of things to improve the show. In particular, we’ve created a new ending so that the final encore now involves Chayanne leaving the stage while the band plays on. Then each member of the group takes it in turn to come to the front of the stage, take a bow and exit. The stage is set up with all sorts of ramps and risers, so each member has to run from their usual place to the front, which takes a good five to seven minutes in total. At the end, I’m left by myself to play a drum solo and then stand up, take a bow, and exit.
On this particular night, just before we take the stage, Chayanne’s manager at the time comes up to me and says: ‘As soon as you take your bow, throw your sticks to the audience.’ These managers are never short of bright new ideas.
Luckily, I have an endorsement with Pro-Mark and get my sticks for free, otherwise I might have thought twice about it. After about two hours, the show comes to a close, everyone takes their bows, filing off stage as planned and I’m left doing my solo. I finish, take my bow and then it’s time to throw my sticks into the audience. But there’s a bit of a problem.
My drum riser happens to be 12 feet off the main part of the stage, and flanked by ramps and platforms where Chayanne and various band members and dancers do their thing. This particular venue has a pretty low ceiling so, from my perch, I can almost touch the stage lights. So there’s not much room to toss my sticks. I can’t lift my arms up and toss them way up high into the crowded void ahead, so instead I decide propel the first one straight down towards the front of the stage, like a baseball pitcher, thus avoiding any of the lights just above me.
Bad move.
The stick hurls end over end towards the first few rows as intended. However, it finally connects with a humungous security guard who has been standing there to protect us. My heart sinks as it pelts him right between the eyes.
He doesn’t look at all pleased. I throw the second stick aimlessly up in the air and bolt off stage as fast as I can.
About ten minutes later I’m downing some water and walking back to the dressing room, thinking I’d got away with assaulting a huge tough guy whose job it is to look after the likes of me. Then I hear a door slam at the end of the corridor behind me. I turn and there he is, running towards me. He looks furious and has a large red welt on his brow. And he’s big, very big. What’s more, he’s holding the offending stick, so there’s no doubt as to the purpose of his mission. I’m shaking and thinking to myself, ‘I don’t want to die in Venezuela!’
As he approaches I resign myself to whatever’s coming. Then all of a sudden I am overwhelmed with relief as the guy grabs my hand, shakes it with a big smile, and asks me to sign the stick. Still shaking, I sign the stick and apologise for maiming him. He thanks me and strolls off like a true gentle giant.
Later in the dressing room I realise I’ve learned an important lesson: never throw a sharp object overhand at someone unless you want to hurt them.’
Lee was lucky. These security guards are not particularly well trained in the art of forgiveness, especially not when it comes to cheeky drummers. Lee told me he had tossed many sticks to many audiences after that day, but every single one had left his palm softly and with an exaggerated underhand motion. A lot less dramatic, but a good deal safer.
ROADIES
Roadies. That’s what we used to call them. We didn’t have drum techs, guitar techs, on-stage fold-back mixing engineers, lighting crew or special effects people. Just roadies. And they did everything, for nothing. When I was in Sid Sideboard And The Chairs, we used to joke that our roadies were to be paid £5 a year – but they had to work a year in hand before payment. When we split up we actually gave our last remaining roadie a fiver – a year later.
The point is, when you’re young and famous in your local town, friends who don’t actually play anything are still keen to be involved, especially if it looks as though you might be heading for the big time. Moreover, there was a genuine sense of camaraderie and a kind of passion about the whole thing. The band had taken on the essence of a worthwhile cause. These roadies knew that, in reality, if we became successful they wouldn’t be coming with us. But that wasn’t the point. These were people who really felt we deserved to make it.
So it was that for some four years a collection of faithful, unpaid mates humped gear, drove vans, set up drums (thank you Neil!), repaired drums (thanks again Neil!), mended amplifiers, put up second-hand lighting rigs and set off fireworks (special effects).
These friends of ours were actually very good at achieving what they did, given the limited resources at their disposal (with the exception of a BBC Dalek that kept poking me in the back during a gig at Watford College – where did they get that from?). However, not everything always went according to plan…
The Queens Arms, Harrow, Middlesex, Saturday night sometime in 1978. Sid Sideboard And The Chairs are due to play to a crowd of locals plus some home-grown fans of our own. The pub features a long bar along the back wall of a good-sized main room. Upholstered seats and occasional tables are positioned around the room and a small dance area has been cleared near the front of the stage, which is small and compact, as they always are when an establishment is first and foremost a pub and is transformed into a venue at weekends.
We haven’t played here before, but are here on request of the landlord, who has heard that we put on a bit of a spectacle and attract a good crowd. He reckons he can clean up behind the bar. So he’s laid on extra bar staff to meet the demand. We, or rather our roadies, have set up and the band and entourage are sitting at a couple of tables at the front, near the side entrance.
People are drifting in through the main entrance to the bar and it looks like it’s going to be a busy night. I glance at the various toys and props laid out at the side of the stage and notice a strange round object with a lead attached, which is trailing off to some hidden plug behind the stage. I ask one of our roadies, Charlie, what it is and he tells me it’s a new special effect and I’ll have to wait and see. It’s not unusual to see various mechanical or electrical contraptions lying around for which there seems to be little explanation, and as I’m not the most practical of people, the boys generally think it’s best to keep me away from that side of things. So I think nothing of it.
Around 9pm we take the stage to some applause and begin our set. There’s a small line of fairly primitive disco lights at the front of the stage, facing the band. They are flashing in a sequence of colours