Irrational Encounters With The Modern World

Posts tagged “Eddie

It’s All Fun And Games Until You Realise You’re Being A Dick About Music.

When I was eighteen, I knew everything. I knew that I was smart, I knew that I was funny, and I knew that the music I listened to was the only music worth listening to. I especially subscribed to the mantra “if it’s not metal, it’s not music.”

This elitist belief denied me some of the finest music ever made, and although my taste widened enough to incorporate a vast amount of classic rock and even some indie, as well as the punk I had discovered at the age of 16, I deliberately denied myself the pleasure of anything vaguely termed “dance music.”

It was not always this way, but my earliest album purchases – Iron Maiden’s The Number Of The Beast and The Shamen’s Boss Drum – had seen me pursue the former as my way of (teen) life. I spent entire student loans on Maiden memorabilia, which is still in my possession (and soon up for sale.) I still love the latter album, but for years I stubbornly refused to acknowledge the artistry or musicianship involved in any of the music that got repeat radio airplay. There were songs that came out that I liked – Born Slippy by Underworld; Hey Boy, Hey Girl by The Chemical Brothers; Around The World by Daft Punk – but in an age when music had to be bought to obtain it (or taped off the radio) I didn’t engage with these iconic songs enough to purchase them.

 

It all changed when I was nineteen, and it all changed because of a girl. I think the age had less to do with it.

It was a chance meeting: I had gone to a gig with a friend to see some band he was into, their name being the only thing I now recall about them. Afterwards, he was refused entry to the club night due to a lack of ID. He went home, and I went in to see a casual friend I’d seen at the gig and recognised from school. She introduced me to the group she was with, and one girl in particular caught my immediate attention. This was in April 2001.

On the back of this turn of events, I found myself with a new social life, going to The Cathouse every Friday night to hear the same music played upstairs that now, in April 2013, they still play downstairs every Saturday night. The girl I liked, she despised Iron Maiden, and her own all-time favourite band was Depeche Mode.

Depeche Mode. “Haha, Depressed Mode!” I said, full of the ineptitude and cockiness that had helped render me entirely single for the duration of my life up to that point. This wordplay combined two of my favourite things – being a play on words and also a pop culture reference (it’s the name of a remix on Type O Negative’s Least Worst Of album) – or three of my favourite things if you include my longstanding habit of making quick-witted remarks at every available opportunity. Well, almost every opportunity – I’ve spent years learning that sometimes it is better to remain silent, for various reasons. Learning to enjoy the silence.

This conversation may have been the moment that changed my life.

I didn’t particularly want to belittle someone for their taste in music, finally maturing a bit as I then was, and I certainly didn’t want to do so ignorantly. Not to a girl I liked, anyway. I decided, perhaps for the first time, to check the band out before dismissing them out of hand. That way, I would have an informed opinion, grounds on which to judge them. If that sounds like a mixture of arrogance and common sense, then that is probably what it was.

It was the time of Napster and AudioGalaxy, of 56k dial-up modems that screeched intolerably as they downloaded one MP3 file every fifteen or twenty minutes. Depeche Mode had just released an album – Exciter – and I picked a track from it at random, probably based on the size of the file or the anticipated download time. I forget which track, although I think it was “Shine”, but down it came and I played it. To my surprise, I liked it. I liked it a lot. I downloaded the entire album, and burned it to CD using then-emerging technology. Given how commonplace downloading has become, the speeds now involved, and the gradual eradication of physical media formats, it is crazy to realise that a mere 12 years ago we still believed our VHS tapes were collectors items, while DVDs were some exotic and expensive novelty.

 

I enjoyed the “Exciter” album, and I went out and bought, on CD, in shops, the compilation albums “Singles 81>85” and “Singles 86>98”. The latter opened with Stripped, and I knew there was no chance that it could possibly be as good as one of my then-favourite tracks: Charlie Clouser’s remix of the Rammstein cover version. Again, I found myself proved wrong. Stripped, in its original form, is such a beautiful and subversive song. It far surpasses the excellent cover.

My eyes were opened, as was my mind, and I fell in love with DM and their melodic, entrancing music. I loved their experimentation with musical styles and with samples. I loved their music, I loved their lyrics, and I loved how dark and subversive they were. This is how it began. I started buying up their back catalogue on CD, including the occasional maxi-single when it appeared in the local second-hand record stores, and I picked up most of their early video releases in the same way. Again, those VHS tapes were collectors items at the time, yet they are now obsolete and (I suspect) largely worthless. I had been wrong.

I downloaded one of their tracks, so as to have a basis from which to decry them. And then I downloaded the rest of that album. Then I bought their two “best of” albums. Over the years that followed I bought the entirety of their back catalogue, various tribute albums, half a dozen second-hand videos, three or four DVDs, a paperback band biography, five t-shirts, a hooded top, some posters, most of singer Dave Gahan’s solo output, and tickets to see them on four occasions on three tours in two countries.

I think there was a valuable lesson in there, about prejudice, about arrogance, and about not being a dick. It has certainly led me to be a lot more open-minded, and was the first step in the considerable broadening of my musical taste. Not least because I barely listen to Iron Maiden (or even metal) these days, and now own a huge number of albums by The Chemical Brothers, Underworld, and Daft Punk. Underworld are one of my top five favourite live acts too.

As for this girl, who was the unwitting catalyst for this voyage of discovery? We dated for a few months, we stopped, we remained the closest of friends. She was there at the very start of my twenties, and she was still there at the start of my thirties. I trust and respect nobody on this planet more, and have mentioned before how her influence, inspiration, and significance in my life is second to none. This morning, I phoned the ticketline the minute it opened and bought our tickets to see Depeche Mode play live at the end of the year. It will be only their second Glasgow show in about twenty years. We were at the last one too, and I bought the officially-released live CD recorded on the night.

 

“You don’t have to come with me,” she said when I asked if she wanted me to get tickets, the nature of our friendship having changed although the fierce loyalty remains. “I’m happy to just go alone.”

I cannot imagine seeing them without her beside me. We made a pact shortly after we met in 2001, having just missed the Exciter Tour, that we would definitely travel to see them on the next tour. True to that, we went to Manchester and London in 2006 (when again there was no Scottish show), and saw them in Glasgow in 2009. I have every intention that we will see them together in 2013.

Now I am 31 and I am fully aware that I definitely do not know everything. What I do know, though, is that I was exceptionally fortunate to meet her.

 

 


Dubious Claims To Fame – 19 (b)

This minor incident is included purely for completeness, inasmuch as I have met and had stuff autographed by all three of Iron Maiden’s vocalists. There isn’t a great deal to tell about the time I saw Bruce Dickinson in person, one of the few encounters I have documented on here that involved virtually no conversation between us beyond a cursory “would you mind signing this, please?”

It was 2004, and Bruce was recording his BBC 6 Music show in Glasgow’s Cathouse Rock Club. The show would feature live and recorded interviews with some of the bands playing the Scottish edition of the Download Festival on Glasgow Green, the one year that the promoters brought a scaled-down version of the festival north ahead of the renowned Donington version.

It was the time when my interest in Maiden was peaking, if it had not already peaked, and it was less than a year before I first discovered Combichrist – the band who would replace Maiden in my affections and in a much more sociable way. Given the chance to finally see, probably meet, and certainly be close to the world famous Air Raid Siren, I picked up my free ticket and armed myself with the sleeves from some of the rarest Maiden releases and promos that I had by then lovingly accumulated. Bruce’s vocal booth was set up on stage-right, and there was a sofa centre stage for his interview guests. Although he did interview the Lostprophets, this was pre-recorded backstage at the festival, and all I remember of the band that he interviewed live in front of us is that I had never heard of, or had no interest in, them.

The crowd barrier had been set up, and I stood at the front for about three boring hours. People would use the breaks while songs were playing to pass items to the security guys, who would hand them to Bruce and then pass them back appended with that famous hastily-scrawled signature – a B and a squiggle and an overlapping D and a longer squiggle. I followed suit, one item at a time as was the rule they were enforcing, and at the end of the evening I engineered myself into a position where I could get a couple of other bits signed too as Bruce left the stage. His manner was, at the risk of punning, brusque. Although he did autograph the things I presented in front of him, there was no warmth from him. I suspect he was probably looking for friends, family, alcohol, or the green room – his evening’s work done.

Anyway, that’s it. It’s not much of a story, save for the nostalgia aspect of people reading this and remembering that Download did once do a festival in Scotland (Metallica, Korn, Slipknot, and Iggy Pop were some of the headliners.) It does, at least, account for the signed Maiden stuff I now have and will one day sell. The only real claim to fame is that, for a while, the BBC illustrated their 6 Music site dedicated to that show/broadcast with a photo of the crowd, taken from the stage. I was clearly visible and identifiable, but for whatever reason I didn’t right-click on the image and Save As, and that page of the site has long since disappeared. But there’s the claim to fame, and what a dubious one it really is – I once got the widely-acknowledged premier heavy metal frontman to scribble his name on things that cost me a small fortune to obtain, and then had my face plastered on the associated BBC website.

 


Dubious Claims To Fame – 19 (a)

I lost my job because of Paul Di’Anno. The original Iron Maiden vocalist wasn’t directly responsible, but he was partly involved – inasmuch as I skipped work to go to a signing he was doing at a record fayre.

It was 2003 and I was working in Index, The Catalogue Shop. If you can’t remember that particular chain, imagine Argos but with less sophisticated clientele. I was principally in at weekends, and the shop would regularly look like a bomb had gone off by the end of the day – catalogues, order forms, pens, and fast food debris strewn over every available surface. This was the shop where somebody ran off with one of the stereos that was on display, the police were called, and he was caught when he came back for the speakers.

In hindsight, I actually really enjoyed working there. We got away with a lot, we had a good laugh, we got loads of shit from arsehole customers, but we were also afforded responsibility and quite a high degree of trust. We abused the managers, of course, but compared to some people I have worked for since, they were remarkably reasonable people on the whole. More often than not, we all got on pretty well and had fun. At the time, I didn’t appreciate it quite so much.

The job could be quite demoralising, not helped by the deplorable bus “service” that I was forced to rely on, and I was late for my shifts more often than not. I got warnings about it, which didn’t improve my demeanour, and I know for a fact that I missed out on a promotion or two because of it.

The breaking point came when they refused me holidays one weekend, on a Saturday in March 2003 (as I recall.) It was a few days before Paul Di’Anno played a solo show at the Barfly, and as a long-time diehard Maiden fan, it was his first visit to Glasgow since I got into them. There was no way that I was passing up the opportunity to meet their first frontman, and to get oodles of merchandise signed. Nowadays, I’m less phased by it all – my love of Maiden has waned, and I don’t really bother with autographs unless I think it will eventually increase the value of the rarer stuff I still have. I spent close to £3000 accumulating my Maiden record collection – all kinds of memorabilia – and at some point I will sell it all, but the sheer amount of money and time I spent gathering it all should indicate my devotion to them back then. I phoned in sick from the train to the SECC, and my boss told me I had to come in as they were understaffed and had refused my holiday for that reason. I apologised but said that I would be absent.

The record fayre was large and well laid out, but very quiet. I browsed various stalls and picked up some more rare gems, a phrase I deliberately chose to use there because it sounds so utterly wanky. “Rare gems” – read: promo CDs, a scarf, a 12-inch or two. Di’Anno was there with some woman, I presume his mrs, and was predominantly occupied with signing and plugging copies of his autobiography. I bought the book, and got him to sign – looking back – a quite significant amount of stuff. He signed some of Maiden’s first singles and LPs, a Japan-only release, some rare US and Canadian pressings, a back-patch that I have never yet seen another of, some cassettes, and probably more besides. I actually got one promo CD signed by Blaze Bayley seven years later, and was surprised to discover when I got home that it had already been signed on the inside by Di’Anno. That was how much of my collection he autographed – I couldn’t even keep track of it all.

The proceeds from his book were going to some cancer charity, if I remember correctly. I do remember, vividly, that his mrs approached me as I walked away having chatted to him and got him to sign everything. She said that really, since he had graciously done that for me, I should donate a tenner to the charity bucket. I was caught so off-guard by this, eyes glazed over and happy at having met someone who fronted my then-favourite band, that I didn’t protest and just fished a note out of my wallet and handed it over, unquestioningly.

Once I read his book, and its revelations about his fondness for a particular marching drug, and about the fortunes he has made and lost, I had my doubts as to where that ten quid was truly destined. The general critical opinion of his autobiography was that the recollections therein should be taken with a large pinch of salt, and in the subsequent band biographies Paul has always been portrayed as being a little wayward, and a bit loose with the truth. His stories are wild and not always particularly reliable. However, he was certainly friendly and amiable, happy to talk and to answer my questions, although I wouldn’t ever want to cross him. He gets a lot of stick for trading on his past, since he only did two albums with Maiden thirty years ago, but it is increasingly well known that he sold all of his rights back to the band a decade ago now. He might sing the songs live and cover them on his CDs, but he makes no money from them any more. That might account for the benefit fraud that landed him in jail last year

His band played a gig a few nights later, and it was a set almost entirely of Maiden songs and a cover of “Faith Healer” – enjoyable, but I’ve forgotten most of it now. Like Index, the venue folded a few years later and neither company exists now. When I went back to work later that week, I had a disciplinary hearing and received a written warning, but I had already lined up other work in the theatre and with the Inland Revenue (which also no longer exists under that name, incidentally.) It didn’t surprise my boss when I went in and just passed her my resignation letter across the desk. When I served my notice and left, it felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders, and I realised how unhappy I had become working there. Nine years later, I look back fondly on those days – it was just a completely different time in my life. We got up to a lot of nonsense, but it was great fun. No regrets.

Di’Anno has played here once or twice since, but I’ve never made the effort to go and see him again. Not because I fear for losing another job, more due to a lack of interest as my taste in music has broadened and shifted. Maybe I’ll catch him again some day.