Mad, Bad and Dangerous - The Book of Drummers' Tales. Spike Webb
atmosphere.
Towards the middle of our set, I notice that smoke is drifting onto the stage from the front. It begins to swirl around the amps and speakers, then my drums. Soon it begins to rise and the smell becomes more pungent and intense. However, we continue playing in the belief that the people responsible for this special effect will have it all under control.
Not so. As we play on, the smoke continues to rise so that the stage becomes a white haze and I begin to cough almost uncontrollably – not good when you are supposed to be delivering tight, reliable drumming. By now, even though they are only a few feet away, I am unable to see other members of the band. I can just make out their outlines through the smoke.
Eventually we finish the song, and there is complete silence. Not one solitary clap. Then we hear the sound of fire engines approaching. Someone opens the side door near the stage and the smoke begins to clear. As we assemble at the front of the stage, the smoke clears to reveal a deserted function room – except for one person, the landlord, who is standing behind the bar with an expression of anger and disbelief.
Someone from across the road has seen people climbing out of the pub windows as smoke billowed from the building and, naturally assuming the worst, called the fire brigade. After a series of explanations the firemen leave, satisfied that there is no fire. The landlord, on the other hand, is not at all satisfied about the way things have turned out and is definitely not impressed with our special effects team. Needless to say, we are not paid.
It turned out that the circular object I had spied earlier was a homemade smoke machine that generated real smoke. It was in essence an electric hotplate on which had been placed a kind of gunpowder designed for use as a smoke screen during World War 1. (Where on earth did they get this?) It had been switched on for effect, but was far more powerful than anticipated and, as the smoke rapidly filled the room, the person responsible for the device realised he didn’t know how to turn it off. Switching it off at the mains proved impossible because no one could find the plug socket in the thick smoke.
This particular gig was the first of two booked for consecutive weekends at this pub, so we were due to go back and play again the next Saturday night. Whether through naivety or sheer arrogance, we actually had the audacity to turn up. Not surprisingly, our second visit turned out to be a short one. As we sat having a beer waiting for the roadies to unload, the landlord approached us, accompanied by a huge, vicious Rottweiler. He told us to leave immediately and never return. In the van on the way back to our local pub, I politely suggested dry ice might be better next time.
Charlie said we couldn’t afford it. He’d have to modify the hotplate.
AN UNFORGETTABLE FINALE
Andy Wells, or Wellsy as he is better known, is the drummer with popular covers band The Slaves. In the early ’80s he played for Meat Loaf and, after that, Then Jericho and Romeo’s Daughter. Andy has also featured in videos and on TV with Roxette and John Parr. As well as committing to a busy gigging schedule with The Slaves, he and the band also compose library music.
This story takes us back to the 1980s, when Wellsy is drumming for the mighty Meat Loaf at a big gig somewhere on the island of Jersey.
The place is heaving, 10,000 people or more. We’re about half way through the set and the crowd are pretty wild. Suddenly, the manager of the venue comes on stage looking very serious. He stops the band and announces over the mike that there has been an IRA bomb alert and we all have to leave immediately. The entire venue is evacuated and we hang around chewing the fat while it is thoroughly searched.
‘Shame, that was going well…’
‘Yeah, I was looking forward to really giving it some on ‘Bat Out of Hell’.’
‘Trouble is, you lose momentum when something like this happens…’
‘Ah well, at least we’ve got the rest of the night to party somewhere…’
Then someone comes up and says the place is clear and it’s all on again. Some bright spark has decided to drag all 10,000 people back in for the rest of the show. We get back on stage and plough back into the set. As it happens, we seem to get a real rush of energy from the re-instated crowd and far from losing momentum, we actually gain it. Everyone’s up for it. Eventually we get to our last song, ‘Bat Out of Hell’.
The band give it their all, Meat really is giving it hell and I’m sweating buckets after hours of mental pounding. And I’ve kind of forgotten all about the bomb scare. We finish the song with an almighty crescendo. Then it happens.
There is this massive explosion. Big white lights and smoke everywhere. Of course, I think it’s the bomb, and it scares me big time. I’m all at once shocked and terrified.
After a while, I realise it’s the result of the special effects pyrotechnics team being a little over zealous. But my sense of relief has arrived a little too late and I fear for my drum tech, who I suspect will have some extra drum stool cleaning to do in due course.
Ah yes, fear can have particularly unpleasant physical consequences… Drum tech? Nice work if you can get it.
STAGE FRIGHT
One of the few bands from the punk era to have carried on playing without breaking up or re-forming is The Vibrators. Eddie Edwards has been their drummer from day one when Knox Carnachan put the band together back in the mid-’70s. He still tours with them all over Europe.
Eddie sent me some on-stage experiences that illustrate how dangerous a game drumming can be.
The Vibrators are headlining at a punk festival back in the ’70s. It’s the height of the punk era, the bands are attracting huge crowds, and tonight is a packed show. I am on a big drum riser at the back of the stage so I’ve got a great view of the crowd, who are going crazy as we approach the climax of our set. It’s that moment I always anticipate with excitement: the final crescendo at the end of the last number when I give it everything I’ve got to create that ultimate dramatic ending to the gig.
I leap up in the air to deliver that final crash on the cymbals. Then it happens. I feel the force of an incredible blow to the head. My vision goes blank as I begin to stagger. As I put my hand to my face and as my sight returns I realise that what I thought to be pure sweat is in fact blood.
But it doesn’t end there. Suddenly, the stage lights go to a blackout. I take one step backwards and find myself falling in limbo for what seems like ages. A brief thought rushes into my damaged head: ‘Ah well! If it’s my time I guess this isn’t such a bad way to go…’ And then I hit the ground. As a well of relief rises from within, I realise that I have survived with just cuts and bruises.
Of course, on these occasions it’s important to establish what has actually happened. It’s not long before I discover that I have smashed my head on the bottom corner of the giant red ‘V’ that had been erected above the drum riser. No consideration had been given to the fact that, as a drummer in a punk band, I might indulge in some flamboyant behaviour. Not only that, my drum riser had been set up right at the very back of the stage, behind which is a drop of 20 feet. There was only a gap of six inches between myself and the dark abyss behind. So even if I were not disposed to dramatic leaps but chose to leave the stage with a cool, casual countenance, I would still have plunged into oblivion.
Just to make absolutely sure I had no chance of escape, the lighting guys went for a dramatic blackout just as I was at the point where I was likely to need as much light as possible to avoid that 20-foot drop.
Put the drummer up on a riser. It’s a great way to show his kit off and get him out of the way. Just measure up the outer dimensions of the drum set and Bob’s your uncle. Then bung it all right up the back where all the colourful dangly bits are. Anyway, Eddie only needed four stitches – nothing to whinge about.
Hastily erected stages made out of chipboard are another excellent arena for musicians to behave like Charlie Chaplin. Eddie remembers one such stage at a festival in Libourne, France.