Hearts & Hand
Grenades UK Tour 2026
Part Three Of
Three
Friday 05th June 2026
The Cart & Horses, London
And I thought yesterday was an emotional day. Little did I know that I’d be in tears before the end of the day.
Bus call was 11.00 and by the time the band arrived on time.
I’d already been up since 08.00, and checked on the van. Before walking into
Stourbridge town centre. Cash point. Shopping for more drinks and snacks. I cleaned
the van. Binned the rubbish. Checked out. Set up the Sat Nav and calmly waited
for everyone’s arrival.
I felt like an Oompa Loompa, short, round, and constantly in
a state of rolling my eyes, while letting Willy Wonka take all the glory. And I
wouldn’t want it any other way.
I made a mental note to Email the White House to ask
President Trump what shade of orange he uses at the salon.
Home town show for me tonight, well, close enough. The hotel
was a few miles from home and when I told the band that I lived a few miles
from the hotel, they were a bit confused as to why we didn’t stay at mine. They
were a lot less confused by my answer. They can fuck right off if they think
they can crash at mine.
Immediately after checking into the Premier Inn, Waltham
Abbey, we left for the venue as Stu, Luke and Tom from White Raven Down had
promised to pop over for the gig. We arrived nice and early. We parked up and
did the load in before going upstairs into the bar for food and drinks.
We sat. We ate. We drank. We chatted. And then I quietly
slipped away and had a meltdown.
The easiest way for me to try and explain it is like this.
The first time I saw H&HGs was at the Cart & Horses
on Monday 13th March 2023 and it really does seem like yesterday and
not three years and three months ago.
I only bumped into their music by accident, I just happened
to be online one night when one of their songs appeared on a site I follow. It was
complete and utter fluke. It was literally the first post on my news feed. If
Carlsberg did flukes…
I’d adopted all things Buffalonian, as I’m now a fully paid
up member of Buffalo Bisons (Baseball), Buffalo Sabres (Ice Hockey), and
Buffalo Bills (Hand Egg).
I’d seen their alter ego “Last Call” three times. I’d
been to Mickey Rats on the beach. I’d nearly plummeted to my death at Niagara
Falls. I’d been spiked. I’d experienced the full force of 911 in action. I’d
experienced one of those infamous Bills tailgate parties - which is worth
moving to Buffalo for alone. And I’d watched the world go into meltdown over
the death of Ozzy while I was at Buffalo Airport.
Oh yeah, then there was a small matter of Mike & Stef’s
wedding.
Other than that, my life was exactly how it was.
In the space of three years my life had been completely
turned on its head thanks to one random click on my porn machine. Talk about
sliding doors. If I’d had opened my porn machine one second later or sooner,
then none of the above would have happened. Just how lucky was I?
All of those memories poured into my head and my heart just
melted. Total and utter meltdown. I just had to get away and be by myself. And
yes, I cried like a big girlie.
In the same vein, while quietly chatting to Cory and Mike during the tour, I’d mentioned some of the above and I’d commented on the randomness of it all, because a few years previously, I was broke, beyond broke, I was going under and not only did I know it, I could do nothing about it, then Covid came along and offered me a reset. We were so close to never meeting.
Anyway, back to the gig. It is always great to see old friends turn up, so I guess it was totally predictable that Phil would find the Polaroid (who in a weird of twist fate was standing behind Skull at Cambridge when Skull found the Polaroid, and yes, I have the photo to prove it). But something pretty spectacular happened tonight, and it all go backs to that COTW performance and how I said it was more the perception of others.
Two people who live in the Bournemouth area, but couldn’t go
to the Bournemouth gig because they were working the festival, watched the
H&HGs performance from a distance and decided right there and then to go to
the London gig. They went online in the middle of the festival and bought
tickets.
We could hardly believe it when Emily and Dawn walked into the room.
The momentum was definitely starting to move in favour of
the band.
Saturday 06th June 2026
The Cobblestones, Bridgwater
Bus call was 10.30 and everyone was on time. I’ve loved how everyone has obeyed that one basic rule/threat and I promise I’ll explain that. I promise. Would I lie to you?
We were going to visit Stonehenge today, but the weather
was so rubbish, we decided to drive directly to Bridgwater.
It was a nice easy drive, my cargo slept, Mike and Stef rode
shotgun, which gave Mike and I a chance to chat and by 14.30 we’d arrived at
the Holiday Inn Express Taunton East.
We checked in. I got something to eat and while I sat in the
reception area catching up on my notes and sending messages to people, Mike and
Stef rocked up.
I tried to offer them answers to the questions they asked or
the observations they made. But I’m far from qualified to offer them a
critique. Here’s how I worded it. “Would you take a criticism from someone you
wouldn’t go to for advice?” Yes, they may have come to me with questions and
were asking for advice, but I’d like it be known, just for the record that I’m
far from qualified to offer advice to a band because I’ve never been in a band.
I was flattered and floored that they would seek my thoughts, and even though it wasn’t the first time I’d chatted to Mike, to be sat around a table with Mike and Stef, discussing the future of the band and what to do next and which direction go and what to do etc... it was something that really did arrive out of the blue and it caught me completely by surprise.
Something I’d done many months ago was to arrange for
tonight’s gig to be recorded for a live radio broadcast at some point in the
future. I don’t want to embarrass the person in question, so all I’m going to
say is that I got a message from him saying he had made a school boy error and
couldn’t record the gig. As it turns out, it ended up being a piece of good
fortune. Next time maybe. But it did make me wonder if the promoters or anyone
else for that matter had bothered to do anything similar. We all know the
answer to that question now don’t we.
We arrived at the venue on time, nice easy load in, until I
heard the immortal words, “Wood glue. I need wood glue.” Cutting a long story
short Jeremy had damaged his guitar peg.
I had my own issues to deal with. I went to move and park up
the van. I stepped into the street and literally bumped into Adam from Adam and
the Hell Cats, who was walking towards the pub. “Just the person I need to see,”
I said, “where can I get wood glue from?” I continued, I didn’t even say hello.
“What?” He replied, “Wood glue, don’t ask, long story, but Jeremy has fucked
his guitar…” Adam stopped dead in his tracks, he paused, thought for a second,
looked up the street, said the name of a shop and he was off like a speed boat.
I performed a right dodgy reverse manoeuvre and parked the
van, which just for the record cost me 90p, I put a £1 coin into that machine
and I didn’t get my change either. Robbed.
By the time I’d got back to the venue things had started to
progress nicely. Pizza had been ordered and had arrived. More beers had been ordered. Friends had rocked up.
Now this, this really was something I hadn’t envisaged. I
knew Ian Crawford and Mikey Ball were coming, because they’d told me, but the
others, nope. I suddenly noticed how the beer garden was filling up with people
coming to not only see H&HGs play, but they were friends too.
From the moment the band stepped off the stage at COTW
everything had changed, their phones hadn’t stopped ringing, the “Walk up’s”
were impressive, and now, now we had a yard full of fans and friends alike. I
spent the rest of the evening shaking my head in stunned disbelief.
Halfway through the gig there was a “Pop!” sound
through the PA. Not like a balloon sound more like a metallic pop sound. I
looked around to the soundman, he didn’t look to bothered, so why should I be.
A little later, there was another “Pop!” but this time I saw the
soundman start to react. Then there was a third and a fourth “Pop!” in
quick succession. This time I looked towards the stage, straight into the eyes
of Cory. Swoon!
Cory looked at me and gestured. I looked behind me before
turning back towards Cory, who gestured to me again. “Me?” I mouthed at him
from the middle of the room. “Yes,” he mouthed back. I quickly moved to the
front of the stage. Cory shouted and gestured to his 18” crash cymbal to his
left. The band parted and I stepped onto the stage to try to understand the
issue.
Cory then shouted that his cymbal was cracked. “What?” I
shouted “My cymbal is cracked,” he replied, while still smashing the shit out
of the rest of his kit. “Ciro, I need Ciro,” I thought to myself. I turned to
my left, looked out across the crowd. Ciro was stood at the back of the room
but was otherwise engaged with his own work.
I leapt off that stage like Nureyev on a promise and I
landed at the feet of Jason’s wife Linny, who I literally moved out the way,
like I was passing a rugby ball along the line. Everyone behind Linny neatly
and quickly stepped out my way. They chose wisely.
I ran up to Ciro, “Cory’s cracked his cymbal,” I shouted.
“What?” replied Ciro, “Cory’s cracked his cymbal, to his left, 18” crash I
think.” I replied.
We rushed to the cymbal case which was stage right and behind
the PA. Ciro had been with Cory since 2014, he knew what to do, I however did
not, so I just provided a torch in a sorry attempt to try and help. Ciro rushed
onto the stage. I followed and by the time I’d caught up, Ciro had removed
Cory’s cracked cymbal and was struggling to hold onto both. I took the damaged
cymbal and got off the stage as quickly as I could. Ciro finished replacing
Cory’s cymbal and met me back at the case.
And that ladies and gentlemen, is how I ended up a cracked
18” crash cymbal fully signed by H&HGs and Molly Karloff in my collection.
A nice gift that. Thank you very much.
Anyone following the band knows Mike hates C&W and we’d
being trying to get someone to rock up with a cowboy hat. Ian Crawford take a
bow. Once Mike had gone to the bar for yet another beer, we set about making
our plan.
Before the band went into “I Just Want My Rock” Cory
reached into a large carrier bag and removed the cowboy hat. “Put it on! Put it
on!” chanted the crowd under Stef’s instruction. Mike, knowing exactly who
wears the trousers in their relationship, did exactly what he was told.
Wow! Things really had changed since COTW. After the gig it was
chaos, so many people were milling around, photos, autographs, chatting,
laughing, joking… I stood back and simply watched. It was a joy to watch, I was
so happy for my friends. They really had put so much into this tour. They
deserved this.
“YOU FUCKING FRENCH CUNT!” Shouted Mike, at Cedric, the
French drummer in Molly Karloff and we all fell around laughing, no one more so
than Cedric himself. If I ever live to be 100 years old, I’ll never know why he
shouted what he shouted. But it was funny.
By now, the load outs were getting easier to do, the only
problem was we were running out of time and just as Jeremy had said to me earlier in
the day, by the time you get used to being on the road the tour is almost
over.
Sunday 07th June 2026
The Waterloo, Blackpool
As you may have noticed, today was Sunday and it was the last day of the tour. Would you believe me if I told you that as late as Friday, we were still trying to work out what to do regarding getting a hotel in Blackpool and how to get back to Heathrow Airport for Monday morning.
We all offered our thoughts, and then we all agreed that I
was correct. Seriously, what were the odds on me being wrong, if only they’d
have listened to me six months ago.
Six months ago, I suggested using The Waterloo’s rooms as
day rooms, unload, repack, and immediately after the gig, drive off to Heathrow
Airport and we’ll stop off at Beaconsfield Services on the M40, before the
final leg into Heathrow Airport.
It was, without doubt, the biggest mistake I was to make on
the whole tour. I was playing Russian Roulette with a fully loaded revolver.
But more on that later.
We got to the venue so early that it was still closed, this
was after we stopped off at the services for coffee and fuel, which was after
we had to stop on the side of the motorway for a comfort break, when you have
to go you have to go.
We went to KFC and Cory got involved with a photoshoot with
some locals.
The 15.00 load in was on time. We emptied the van.
Everything, and I mean everything, went into the dressing rooms. Wow! Now this
is how to look after bands. If only every venue was like this.
Cory and Jeremy did more washing while showers were taken
advantage of. I popped off to the sea front to buy the American’s sticks of
rock.
Speaking of Cory, he set about signing the drum head he’d
bought for Jowie. Jowie was the drummer in Molly Karloff before Cedric, and it
was Jowie who lent Cory his snare drum. Cory’s plan was to also buy a full set
of drum heads for Cedric as a way to say thank you for letting him use his kit.
He contacted me and asked if I could source them, which I
did. I hadn’t realised how expensive drum heads were. But Cory had looked after
me in Buffalo last year, so I wrote off the debt. It was the least that I could
do. Afterall, Cory was also fronting up the money for the crew T-shirts and the
Mr Magoo T-shirts too.
Speaking of American’s and before I forget, while at Blackpool Mike said, “I still don’t why I called him a fucking French cunt.” To which, all five of us, at once, and together, like we were in some kind of hypnotic trance said, “Because you’d been drinking all day.” I guess you had to be there, but it was funny.
Two completely bonkers things happened tonight and if I hadn’t witnessed it, I would never have believed it.
Firstly, three fans of the band rocked up. Nothing unusual in that except for this. All three of them had seen the band on the previous tour at the Lancaster gig. They didn’t know each other. What are the odds on three fans turning up in Blackpool after a Lancaster gig from three years earlier. You just couldn’t make it up. It was also one of those fans that found the Polaroid. He actually bought the last CD copy of “Where I Begin” too. So, it was the last gig, the last Polaroid and the last copy of “Where I begin”.
Secondly, as I stood at the back of the room taking photos,
someone walked through the door in a Buffalo Bills top. I almost fell off the
stool I was standing on. He then walked down to the front and shouted something
at Mike. But Mike Magoo, being blind as a bat, didn’t realise what was going
on, Stef however did, “I know him,” said Stef. Turns out he is the husband of
the women Stef works with back in Buffalo. He was in the UK and had travelled
up from Manchester for the gig.
After the gig, everyone hung out, and just chilled. I spoke
with a few interweb reviewers who needed info on the band, which I happily
provided and offered them the backstory of the band too.
I witnessed Mike hand over a wedge of cash to Simon and
instead of counting it, Simon just put it in his pocket. I saw it and I
commented on it saying that was pure class, and it was too.
I was then gifted two things, I was gifted Cory’s 18” crash
cymbal, fully signed by both bands, and I was gifted Jeremy’s guitar, again
fully signed by both bands. It was a jaw dropping moment, I could hardly
believe it. Thank you. What a gesture.
I was also gifted the back drop from the tour, Cory had
handed me the sticks he’d played with that night, and he’d also given me all
his spare sticks. Hold on a second. I was being used as a trash can. I see it
now. Bastards!
Eventually it was time to leave and do the load out in the
rain. I calmly waited for everyone to finish their goodbyes, slowly and surely
the van filled with tired and emotional band members all needing sleep and
wanting to go home. And that, as I mentioned before, was the biggest mistake I
made on the whole tour.
I’d forgotten to take into account that I was about to drive
to Heathrow Airport from Blackpool, just a small matter of around 250 miles or
4 hours, after being awake since 07.00 What I should have done was get a few hours’
sleep before the gig. I should have simply walked away from the
responsibilities I’d collected over the last ten days and got sleep.
I’d planned for everything, the time, the distance, the
service areas where we’d stop. I’d simply forgotten to factor in sleep.
The weather didn’t help either, driving all that way in the
rain, while already fatigued, it drained me so quickly.
Here is something else people don’t see about being on the
road.
By 23.30 we were at Charnock Richard Services M6 South, we
all needed food and coffee, while one of us needed a change of clothes.
Stef was still in her sweat soaked clothes, so at 23.30 in
the middle of Charnock Richard Services, in the pouring rain, and dark, me and
Stef dived into the back of the van where she grabbed her suitcase, flipped it
onto its side, slightly unzipped it, and thrust her arm in there, first elbow
and then shoulder deep, like a vet trying to reposition a breeched calf inside
its Mother.
The first item to appear was a fresh dry clean top and then
like a magician pulling a bunch of flowers from out of thin air Stef promptly revealed
a fresh dry clean pair of jeans. Good trick that.
As we waited at Burger King for food and drinks Stef
re-appeared in fresh dry clean clothes. I looked around. “Where are your
clothes?” I asked. “In the trash.” She replied. Stef had literally gone into
the toilets, striped, got changed and binned her sweat soaked clothes. Straight
into the bin they went. Never to be seen or worn again. In the space of a 10 day
UK tour, she destroyed the stage clothes.
And then you wonder why bands become ill on the road.
And on that subject. The previous day while at Cobblestone
in Bridgwater, Stef, Simon and Amy had a conversation about how to look after
their voices on the road, and which herbal teas to drink. Now that’s so Rock n’
Roll.
Also, on the subject of staying healthy on the road, when
the band went home, they promptly went down with the lurgy. They were all very
ill.
Maybe next time I will expand upon this subject, because it
really is such an eye opener. And something I think you all need to know and
learn.
We set off for Beaconsfield Services, it was cold, dark, and
raining, and I have no memory of any of it. Not because I’m writing this weeks
after the tour. I just don’t remember the journey because I was so tired. When
I woke up at Beaconsfield Services, I just thought, “How the fuck did we get
here?”
Actually, that’s a lie, I do have one genuine memory, and
that is feeling tired, not just tired, but properly tired. The blinks got
longer. The white lines started to hypnotise me. Zum. Zum. Zum. They passed my
eyes like a swinging pocket watch. My reaction times got slower. I caught
myself drifting. Once in a while I’d gentle caress the rumble strip. Nothing
special. I did however properly hit it once and only once. I just sat there
across the rumble strip, Mike leaned over and said “Careful killer…” I just
said, “Yeah”.
Normally in those situations I’d stop for coffee, I’d plug
my memory stick into the stereo and sing Wolfsbane songs at the top of my lungs
making me smile and sucking air into my lungs. The later in this situation was
not an option, as I had cargo that was sleeping. We did however stop for coffee
at Warwick Services on the M40. I have no memory of it, but I do have receipt.
So, it must have happened.
It’s not something I’m overly proud of, but this is supposed
to be warts n’ all, right? And as I said, When I point the finger at others I
looked in the mirror first. Not exactly my finest hour.
Dear family and friends in America, that will never happen
again. Promise.
And speaking of American’s, it’s “Wa Rick” and not “War
Wick” bloody American’s, bloody filling the bloody world, with people that
can’t bloody speak English properly.
We got to Beaconsfield Services on the M40 at 04.00 just as
I’d planned. Comfort break. We slept. We ate. We drank. We knew it was coming
to an end. Here comes that Mary Poppins moment again. Everyone became quiet.
Distant. Alone in and with their thoughts. Few words interrupted the silence.
And even as I write these words weeks later, I’m in bits. Why? Why is it
always the same? Why the tears? The release is so powerful.
Next time you watch an Olympian emotionally breaking down
while receiving their medals, it’s not because of where they have finished in
the race, it’s the fact they have finished the race, they got to the end, they
are remembering, reliving, all of those times that they were taken the edge of
insanity, bankruptcy, the edge of the abyss and peered into the never ending
darkness of failure and ridicule, but they still strode forth all the same. Just
in the hope of there being a bright light in there somewhere.
Hearts & Hand Grenades had started this tour knowing it
had already gone horribly wrong. Before they left their home country, they knew
the odds were against them, the dice were loaded and cards stacked. It was one
of the reasons the hotels were booked as we went along, because Mike was so sure
the promoters would pull the gigs. Why book a hotel and travel to a gig that
wasn’t going to happen? But after that COTW appearance, their phones never
stopped ringing, offers were pouring in. I listened to Mike refuse a five
figure sum to play a gig because they were already booked to play. They
literally begged him to cancel or play two gigs on one night. Yeah, mate, we’ll
do it, you provide the TARDIS.
Tell me again how Ciro, Cory, Jeremy, Mike, Stef and I, are
different from those medal receiving Olympians. Tell me again how it’s all sex
drugs and Rock n’ Roll. Try repeating that sentence to my face and see how far
you get before I slap you.
We all stepped into the darkest, and I’m proud of us all for
doing so.
Monday 08th June 2026
Heathrow Airport Terminal 2
After fuelling the van for one last time, we left Beaconsfield Services and made our way to Heathrow Airport T2, for the most part, in silence. Long live Mary Poppins.
We left Beaconsfield around 07.00 and we arrived at Heathrow
T2 around 07.30 exactly as I’d planned it and how I said it would happen. I do
love it when a plan comes together.
It gave my friends plenty of time to relax, not panic or
worry or stress, they could calmly do whatever they needed to do before their
flight.
When it came to saying goodbye however, I was in bits, I
just mumbled some bollocks between hugs and frankly I couldn’t get away quickly
enough, again, not exactly my finest hour or most dignified way to part with
friends you’ve lived, toured and dreamed with for two weeks.
In the almost 60 years of being on this planet (Hey, thanks,
you’re right, I don’t look that old…) I’m yet to find a way to deal with
goodbyes. I drove away and nearly crashed the van, simply because I couldn’t
see for all the tears.
What is that Bert says, “Goodbye Mary Poppins, don’t stay
away too long.”
I just love the smell of driving out of London in the
morning. Especially when everyone else is driving in. By 08.15 I was at Oxford
Services on the M40. I went for a comfort break before attacking the van in the
pouring rain.
Another Rock n’ Roll image shot down in flames. In the
pouring rain I set about cleaning the van. That van was going back to Vans For
Bands, cleaner than I picked it up. Why? Because I knew they would be watching
me and H&HGs like a Hawk, because it’s their job. As is the job of any vehicle hire
company, come on, keep up. I was also letting VFBs interview me without them
knowing it. Give me a number from one to four. I was also interviewing VFBs
without them knowing it, as I’m thinking of going back into Events via getting
a PSV Licence. I wanted to see how they operated. I was basically setting up a
future working relationship without them knowing it. It would also mean that
when it came to H&HGs touring the UK again, H&HGs would have no issues
with VFBs. If that van went back in a better condition than it went out then everyone
would be on a winner, VFBs, H&HGs and myself. It was a win, win, win. Three
wins.
And yes, just for the record, I really had been thinking
that far ahead, I’d told everyone what my plans were going to be. It was my
job, as Tour Driver to think in advance, about as many issues as I could, and
put them right before they went wrong, and with any luck no one would even know
we’d headed off a potential disaster. As I mentioned before, “Preempting the
negative”.
I got to VFBs around 10.00 I wasn't due to arrive until
mid-afternoon, the look on their faces when I rocked up early with a shiny
clean van. My work here is done. Number three you say…
I got home at 13.00 via Sainsbury’s for milk and I did my
last load in. And that is where the real work began. Somehow, on the first day
of being away, my fridge freezer had managed to explode, or should I say, a bottle of
fizzy drink had exploded, shattering everything around it and forcing the
fridge door open. Everything had spoiled, while the fridge freezer in a
vain hope of coping, had simply tried to keep everything cold.
It had failed, but it had gone down all guns blazin’.
It took two hours to clean up the mess. But it gave me such
a reality check. For the last two weeks I’d been living the dream. And this
brought me down to earth with one hell of a bump. It was exactly what I needed.
And that Ladies & Gentlemen, Boys & Girls, brings me
neatly to the end of the story. I hope these words, although lacking in my usual
piss taking, tongue in cheek, silliness, have given you a glimpse behind the
curtain. Being on tour may offer you the chance to say “Living the dream,” or “Every
night is Saturday night,” but “Sex, drugs and Rock n’ Roll,” it is not. It’s… Drive.
Sleep. Laundry. Repeat. Now that would make a really good T-shirt.
But, before I go, I need to tie up a few loose ends.
My official job title was Tour Driver. But let me make this
clear. We are not Maiden, Metallica or DC. Hearts & Hand Grenades are a
self managed and self funded band, trying to make people smile. Nothing more or nothing less. Ciro and myself were asked to join their gang. So as a gang, that’s
exactly what we are, a gang. Taking on the world, and you are all more than
welcome to come along and watch, to join us in our adventures (next time please
bring cake and beer).
We are six people taking on the world. So, when I write that
my job was Tour Driver, yes, that might work when you are touring with Maiden,
Metallica or DC, but not here, not at this level, at this level my job title
was, Tour Driver, Tour Manager, Stage Manager, Roadie, Merch, Gofer, Confidant,
Agony Aunt or Uncle, Fairy Godmother, and many, many more titles besides.
At this level there is no such thing as, “That’s not my
job mate...” It’s all hands on deck and you do want needs to be done, no
questions asked, no collecting of debts to be paid back at a future time or
place. None of that bullshit logic of, I did that last time, it’s someone
else’s turn. No, it’s everyone’s turn, all the time.
There were times when people on the tour didn’t realise
this. There were times on the tour when people just melted away WTF!?
When they did have the attitude of “That’s not my job mate…”
We are a gang. We are supposed to be a team. We live in a
travelling circus. H&HGs, Molly Karloff, and a third band each and every
night, promoters and a new venue each night, where we’d pitch our Big Top. We
are all in the same fucking gang. A touring gang. A magical touring circus of
travelling minstrels.
Whatever your name is or whatever you think your roll is, you have not been fully vaccinated from working hard and going above and beyond the call of duty. Ask yourself a simple question. Can you be replaced?
Next time. Up your fucking game.
If you have read the above and had a slightest negative
response, then yes, I’m writing about you. Cunt.
And while I’m on that subject, just because someone works at
a venue, it doesn’t mean that they know what they are doing. So, when I asked
them to either, go and get someone who does know what they are doing, or to
simply just stop what they are doing, and they got upset. That was not my
fault.
Stop working in this industry, it’s called the Music
Industry for a reason, it’s not called the Music Charity, it
is not run by your Mum on her day off.
Advanced ticket sales. Now. Let’s see how many people I can
insult and upset by simply telling the truth. Have you noticed how in recent times
venues and promoters have been posting messages all over social media, begging
us to buy tickets in advance? Well, I’m going to tell you two reasons why
people have stopped buying them in advance. Ready? Firstly, E Tickets and
secondly, mobile phones.
Before the interweb, we had real, physical, tickets. They
were either specific to that band, date, venue, or they were generic tickets,
blanks if you like, the venue would hand write, or print, a ticket for a gig on
a generic ticket. Then came the interweb, and the ability to cream a little bit
more profit off the top. No longer would a venue invest pennies in tickets –
which they would get back in booking fees anyway, now they could send us, at a
greater cost than a standard booking fee, an E Ticket, to your mobile phone or
to your porn machine via an Email.
Where’s the fun in that? Where’s the romance in that? A real
ticket was a historical document, not just piece of paper, it was proof of an
event. And more than that, you could buy it as a gift and place it into a
birthday card, Xmas card, it was something physical that could be touched and
passed on, gifted to someone.
Then of course there was the joy of bumping into the band
and asking them to sign your ticket. What are you supposed to do today, bump
into the band and ask them to sign the screen on your phone.
But why are mobile phones a problem? I’ll tell you why.
Remember before mobile phones, you would say to your mates. “Friday 9pm Dog
& Duck” and then the following Friday you’d all meet up at the Dog &
Duck at 9pm. Not anymore you don’t.
How many times have you had someone send you a last minute
text or message bailing on the 9pm meet only because next doors cat barked at a
low flying UFO or some other piece of total and utter bullshit. How many times
have you sent that text or message?
Well, it’s the same reason why no one buys tickets in
advance.
Promoters and venues have created the perfect storm. If
promoters and venues no longer sell real, physical tickets, and you are forcing
people to use mobile devices to access E Tickets, why should they commit to
going to the gig? If you have a real, physical ticket, at home, waiting to be
used, guess what is going to happen. It’s hardly rocket science.
In the days when people bought records this is how it
worked. If someone bought a single, they had invested in the song. If someone
bought an album, they had invested in the band.
Bands, promoters, venues, have conned themselves into believing
that they are competing against other bands, promoters, venues, and they
couldn’t be more wrong if they tried. There have always been other bands,
promoters, venues. What there hasn’t always been are mobile phones. What
bands, promoters, venues are competing against is the sofa.
We have created a Meh! Generation.
If you disagree with the above you are part of the problem
and not the solution. Stop with your internal dialogue, you are wrong and you
simply need to deal with it.
And finally…
As promised. This is how it all happened. In 2023, H&HGs
were touring the UK for the second time. I had tickets to four gigs. One of
those tickets was for the last night of the tour in Kent.
Ping! went my phone and porn machine. I opened the message.
It read that the money had been refunded to me.
Ping! went my phone and porn machine seconds later. The
promoter of the gig had dropped the ball. There was an issue with the venue,
the gig was cancelled and this second message was just to confirm that the gig
was off and that the money had already been refunded to my account. I looked.
It had too. Pure class from the promoter. Refund first, bad news second. Let
that be a lesson to all promoters and venues reading these words.
Ping! went my phone and porn machine, it was the band. Because
the last gig had been cancelled, they had gone back to Heathrow earlier than
planned. The band tracked me down via social media and then invited me out for
dinner. I instantly said yes. What’s the worst that could happen. And Dr Pepper
said that, and who am I to ignore a doctor.
I arrived at the Ibis, London Heathrow. A round of drinks
was bought, Mike & Stef then led me to a quiet part of the bar away from
prying ears. Stef sat with her back to the world and opposite me. Mike sat to
my right. “We have a proposition for you.” Said Stef. Gulp! went I… I’d been
warned about days like these, I thought to myself, and tried not to panic. I
mean, I know I’m an outrageous flirt at times and you’re both very attractive
and all, but… “Would you drive us on our next tour?” Continued Stef. Interrupting
my panic. I slumped back into my seat. There was a sudden and overwhelming
sense of relief. Thank fuck. I was wondering where that was going. I thought to
myself and I began to relax.
I looked at Mike & Stef. They looked at me. And without
flinching or without hesitation I said “Yes.” Mike & Stef both smiled and
relaxed into their chairs. “But I don’t think you can afford me.” I continued. Mike
& Stef looked at each other and then at me before Stef said, “We’ll pay
you, and you’ll get into the gigs for free.” I smiled. “I wasn’t necessarily
talking about money.” I said, letting the air out of the balloon.
Mike & Stef looked really confused. “Let me explain.” I continued. “Let’s say, we’re staying at this hotel, and
tomorrow we have a 09.00 bus call. When I say 09.00, I mean 09.00, it’s not ten
minutes past, or five minutes past, it’s 09.00, you will all be in the van by
ten to nine, at five minutes to nine the doors go to manual, and if you or your
gear isn’t in the van, I’ll leave without you or your gear… I’ve got a
reputation to protect.”
Mike & Stef looked at each other, then they looked at
me, and smiled like Cheshire Cats. “You are so the person we need to work with.”
Said Stef. “So do we have a deal?” I asked. “Yes.” Said Stef.
And that dear reader is how it all started. Once we’d all
relaxed, they told me about some of the issues that had been going on. It
sounded a lot worse than it really was. What it was, was a simple lack of
communication, nothing more or less. But it still worried me.
While I’m on this subject dear reader, let me offer you an
explanation to how it works.
If I, as a Tour Driver have very strict rules on Bus Call
times, it hands everyone a framework to build on, to hang things off. The very
thing that gives everyone flexibility, is that rigidity.
Look at like this. Skyscrapers reach thousands of feet into
the sky. They have solid foundations that go hundreds of feet into the earth.
They thrust skywards on a solid steel frame work that stands proudly, unmoving,
upright. But, have you ever been to the top of a skyscraper on a windy day or
even better in a storm, you can feel the skyscraper moving, bending, twisting,
flexing, you can actually see the water in the toilet bowl sloshing about. The
very thing that gives that skyscraper the ability to stand so tall is the
ability to bend, twist and flex.
That is what I was offering to the band. A solid foundation
to build on, a framework to hang their dreams off, and if a storm came along,
those solid foundations and framework would take any hit that came our way.
Fucking did too.
Epilogue
Would you believe me if I told you that I wrote this blog back to front? That I started at the end. That I wrote the Epilogue 12 months ago. Well, I did. And yes, that’s how far in advance I’ve been working on this blog.
From the moment Mike showed me the tour schedule at Mickey
Rats last summer and the tour was announced all I saw on social media was “Why
aren’t you playing…” [insert city, town, village, my kitchen].
When the tour got changed that constant moaning just got
worse. When will people ever learn that it isn’t the band that books a tour. If
anyone out there has a complaint, then complain to the correct department.
But more than that. If people out there really did feel that
strongly about the band not playing their local venue, then they had a choice.
Be part of the problem or be part of the solution. Stay sat on their fat last
arse doing nothing but moan, or become a promoter and book the band to play their
local venue. Guess which one they did. So, explain to me again how I’m supposed
to listen their constant stream of negative ignorant opinions and take them
seriously.
On a personal level (as my 2024 Bruce Tour blog proves) I
understand that not everyone can travel. People have financial issues. People
have mobility issues. But that does not excuse lazy moaning.
I was working for a band that is self managed, self funded,
this wasn’t and isn’t a band that is funded by a massive record company. They
have travelled across the Atlantic Ocean, to play nine gigs across the UK and
people still complained. What the fuck do people want? What the fuck is wrong
with them? Why can’t they self medicate with a fully working guillotine?
To qualify their attitude, let me show you what happened.
Cory and Jeremy live in Phoenix, Arizona, which is over 2000
miles from Buffalo NY.
Tuesday 19th May 2026, they drive to Buffalo, NY.
Arriving at 22.00-ish on Wednesday 20th May 2026. That is 2200 miles
in 38 hours.
Friday 22nd and Saturday 23rd May 2026,
were rehearsal days.
Monday 25th May 2026, they played Mickey Rats.
Wednesday 27th 2026, H&HGs leave Buffalo, NY.
and fly to the UK via JFK arriving on the morning of Thursday 28th
May 2026.
Friday 29th May 2026, the nine day UK tour
starts.
Monday 08th June 2026, the band fly back to
Buffalo NY. via JFK.
Thursday 11th June 2026, Cory & Jeremy
arrived back in Phoenix, Arizona.
For Cory & Jeremy that was a total of least 14,000
miles. And yet, there were still people in the UK complaining that they weren’t
playing their local venue. When those people have travelled 14,000 miles to see
a band play, then I will listen to them and take their opinions seriously,
until then, frankly, they can go and fuck themselves.
And let’s not forget the financial side. Let’s not get
blindsided by the miles travelled. There is a financial aspect to be taken into
account.
I got paid. I was on annual leave. The company I work for
covered my wages. Mike insisted on paying me a wage. I insisted that because I
was on annual leave and I would get holiday pay, then that was good enough for
me. All they had to do was to find me a somewhere soft and squidgy to sleep and
the occasional power shower. We agreed to disagree. I don’t want to take money
off my mates and my mates don’t want me to work for free. We were both too
stubborn to back down. A few days after the tour, Mike started to send money. I
sent it back. At the time of writing this blog we are hitting money back and
forth across the Atlantic Ocean like money tennis.
Jeremy too, was on annual leave and also got paid. No one
else did. Everyone else took unpaid time off from work and one band member was
to go a whole 29 days without being paid. 29 days unpaid while still having
bills to pay, just to have some cunt moan that they weren’t playing a venue
near them after travelling at total of 14,000 miles. Fuck off. Just fuck right
off.
Let’s do a quick bit of maths. Unpaid time off from work,
but still having bills to pay. Travel from Phoenix and then flights from
Buffalo to Heathrow via JFK (with Ciro flying in from Philadelphia via JFK).
Van hire. Extra baggage costs. Hotels. Fuel. Daily living costs. Before
repeating that cost back to Phoenix, Arizona.
I know the costings of the tour, and without divulging
confidential information, it was enough to put a deposit on a house. And yet
there was always some cunt wanting to moan that H&HGs weren’t playing their
local venue. Seriously, why can’t these people just simply fuck off.
The End
Let me try and end this blog on a positive. The last three
years have been a wonderful adventure. I have witnessed and taken part in
events that when I look back at, I smile and laugh like a drain, even getting
spiked and waking up dead in the street and being rushed off to hospital. Every
second of every minute of every hour, if it was connected to Hearts & Hand
Grenades, it bought nothing but a positive to my existence on this planet.
I’m not sure how many years I have left. I’m very aware that health and age are conspiring against me, that I’m running out of time. I do not know how many
adventures we will share in the future, if any at all, but the adventures we
have already shared, I’ll take to my grave with a big daft grin on my face.
I’ll be forever(more) grateful that they asked me to joy their gang.
I wouldn’t have missed this for all the tea in Boston Harbour.
Thank you and good night.
Noggin xx
This blog is also available in Super 8, Betamax, and hieroglyphics for the hard of hearing.
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