A Man Called Drake And His Project
(Part One)
I wasn’t going to write a blog for the Mandrake UK Tour.
Then I was asked to write a blog for the Mandrake UK Tour.
Well that pretty much deals with that.
Introduction.
The story you are about to read may not be true. But it
isn’t a lie either.
The telling of a story is easy, it usually travels along the
well-worn path of, Once upon a time… followed by a bit in the middle… ending
with, and they all lived happily ever after, or, they all died in a terrifying
blood bath. Depending on the style of story you’re telling.
The difficulty is deciding where you start the story. That
is where I find myself.
Like a genealogist looking at a family tree, how far back
you look before you stop, turn around, and start to tell the tale of a family
history.
I choose to start here.
2023 AD
I’d always wondered what I’d do if Bruce toured again, and 2023
AD was going to afford me the opportunity to find out.
If you’ve ever had the privilege to listen to members of the
security services talk, they will tell you about chatter, about how they gather
information, about how knowing what not to listen to is often more important
than the information they pass on up through the chain of command.
And weirdly enough that is where I have found myself since
1998. Let me try to explain.
The last time Bruce toured was in 1998 to promote the
Chemical Wedding album, and apart from a few one off personal appearances, the
only other gigs he did was in 2002 when he played six festivals across Europe.
So, every year, almost without fail, the rumour mill would
start up, Bruce solo album this, Bruce solo tour that, and God forbid that
there should be too long a time between Maiden albums and tours, then it would
really kick off.
None of it was true. It was never true. Not even close to
being true. I know. Hence, I would just roll my eyes.
But this time, this time it was different. The chatter I was
hearing in 2023 AD was different. Not only does a good operative need to learn
what not to listen too, they also need to listen to the silence. The Silence I
was hearing was deafening. All of my usual channels were firmly closed. It
seemed the game really was afoot.
Not only was Bruce going to release and album he was also
going tour. Or was he?
Smart Phones and the
Interweb
Bruce was always very public about not having a smart phone
or using social media. Him and me both. But there’s only so long you can try to
hold back the tide. Eventually you simply have to admit that being apart from
the modern world isn’t just frustrating, it actually places you at a
disadvantage.
So, when I started to see social media accounts claiming to
be Bruce, from Bruce, acting on behalf of Bruce, I was more than a little bit
dismissive. Having said that, not so much that I didn’t refocus, because that’s
exactly what I did.
By the time the summer of 2023 AD arrived I was following
every social media page I could find and as soon as I could, I signed up for
official mail shots.
I was right not to roll my eyes.
Music journalists and
paedophiles
Summer drifted gently into autumn, a UK tour was announced,
tickets went on sale, in venues bigger than anything he’d played in the 90’s
(except 1990 of course when he was still in Maiden) and three of the venues
sold out quickly. Such is the power of the Maiden fan boys. I wonder where they
were in the 90’s.
In the middle of all the excitement I noticed a PO Box
address at the bottom of an advert. Um… I Googled it. Double Um… I wrote to the
address. Dear Mr Mandrake and your Project. I’d like to volunteer for any
future experiments etc… etc… etc…
Sometime later I received a reply.
Then before I knew it, it was the spring of 2024, not only
were the Maiden fan boys wanking themselves silly at the thought of a Bruce
release, so were the press. Maybe they should have got together and had a group
wanking session and had their own mass release. Wankers the lot of them.
I mean really, is there anything worse than a music
journalist? Other than a paedophile. I think I’d rather be a fucking paedophile
to be honest. Too harsh? Really? OK, feel free to send me a link of a review of
the Mandrake Project that isn’t a wank fest… Feel free to show me a genuine
honest open critique of the album. Did no one bother to remember why Bruce felt
that he needed to part company with Maiden?
All they want to do is say the same positive bullshit so
they get the next interview and blag in on the guest list.
It’s at times like this that I miss Tommy Vance. Who am I
kidding. I’ve always missed Tommy Vance.
Meltdown
written by Bruce Dickinson, Alex Dickson.
Who the fuck are
Black Smoke Trigger?
In the spring of 2024, an extra date was added to the UK
tour, in Wolverhampton of all places, not that the venue or city mattered, what
mattered was it now completely stuffed up my travel plans and booking time off
from work. Thanks Bruce. Git!
And who the fuck are Black Smoke Trigger? And just how
stupid a name is that? Black Smoke Trigger, My Arse! Fucks sake. I just rolled
my eyes and thought here we go again, another support band that no one has ever
heard of and never will again. Six times I’m going to have to see them. Deep
fucking joy.
Isn’t You Tube a wonderful tool, especially when you manage
to block those annoying adverts that stop you doing your research.
I don’t do video, it’s just not my thing, but the Mission
Impossible style images of The Auckland Sky Tower were striking, as was the
girl in red dress. Was it the same girl in the different videos? As for Caught
In The Undertow, don’t try that at home kids, although getting a fully working
ocean into your house might be a bit of a challenge, so maybe no need to worry.
Whatever (1996 support) was going on here, there were some
very smart minds at work and some serious money being spent. I stopped rolling
my eyes at them and started rolling them at myself and my attitude. I was
wrong. Being wrong was going to become a running theme.
I’m going to see them six times. Result!
Actually, as a foot note, after an hour or so on You Tube, I
still didn’t really, truly, get Black Smoke Trigger, but in their
defence and to my own conviction, I was the same with GnR, I was given access
to Appetite For Destruction in 1987, the year of its release, and I just didn’t
get it until 1989. It took two whole years for me to catch up. I even saw them
at Donington 1988 (RIP Alan & Landon – do your research) and they still
didn’t properly connect. See you in 2026 lads…
And I still don’t know why they are called Black Smoke
Trigger.
The Red Thread of
Fate
In Chinese mythology, there is something called The Red
Thread of Fate. The red thread bonds you to a soul so that you are always
destined to meet.
Ever wondered why you always seem to meet people that you
truly connect with, as if you’ve known them all of your life? Like there’s a
greater power at work instead of it just being complete random fluke.
Learn to notice the red thread.
Albatross!
I was a very apprehensive before the tour started. I’ve
never hidden my loathing for fan boys and music journalists and I knew that
this tour would be saturated with them, and I wasn’t sure how their
reappearance would interact with the tour and me. I knew that I simply wouldn’t
be able to keep my fat mouth shut or my opinions to myself.
There was also an elephant in the room that I needed to deal with. Me. What
about me? I always wondered what I’d do if Bruce ever toured again, guess what,
I was about to find out, like a mirror when you ask it tells you true (Inside
The Machine), there was simply no running away from this.
Questions buzzed around my head and formed a neat queue and
waited patiently for their turn to ask their question while holding a mirror
for me to look into as I answered.
Are any of us the same person we were 30 + years ago? The
first Bruce UK tour was 1990 the last was 1998. Bruce has moved on and so have
I. Or have we? What would I do if he ever toured the UK again? Why am I doing
UK tour? Am I living in the past? One last roll of the dice? Am I trying to re
live past adventures? Is it like the Springsteen song Glory Days? Just wishing
for the wink of a young girl’s eye?
I’ve only missed four head line shows in the UK, I didn’t
set out to do it, it sort of happened by accident and if it hadn’t been for
meeting Olly and Big Jon on 19th May 1993 it wouldn’t have happened
at all (more on this later – another blog explaining that day in greater detail
is available).
Have I made a rod for my own back, a cross to bear, unable
to put it down? Do I continue to carry it around like a fucking great
Albatross?
Had I actually already stored away that weight, and in
reality, I wasn’t strong enough to pick it up and carry it around again.
What a cunt!
Have you ever read anything so self-important in your life? What
a cunt. But I promise you those thoughts and many more went through my head.
It’s not like I’m taking part in D-Day or something, it’s
just a hand full of gigs. Fuck’s sake.
I gave myself a jolly good talking to and I made a promise
to myself, not to be as self-absorbed in the future. But I can tell you one
thing, that albatross was, and still is very real. Schrodinger’s cat?
Let the Red Thread of Fate stitch us all together for one
last time, and if it does end up being the last time, so be it…
“I’ll see ya Monday morning… Anyway, I’m coming back…”
Warm Up Gig
(Sorry, I Lied)
Wednesday 15th May 2024
Hertford, Corn Exchange.
Black Smoke Trigger, Ascari, Almamor.
You know when I said I’m going to see Black Smoke Trigger
six times? Sorry, I lied. I’m going to see them seven times.
Just like the good old days of secret gigs and warm up shows,
BST did a warm up gig at Hertford, Corn Exchange. I couldn’t believe my luck.
Literally in the next big town up the valley. Six quid and three bands. That’s
two quid a band. What’s not to love?
As far as warm up gigs go, it went well. I was genuinely
impressed with all three bands. Out of the two support bands I personally
preferred Almamor. They are local to me too. I found a new band, that are local
to me, thanks to a band from the other side of the planet, I mean, could they
be from any further away and yet they introduce me to a band from the next
town. Weird how music works isn’t it. Red Thread?
Almamor also gave me their CD for free. I even offered to
pay for it, but they were so chuffed at being asked to play, that they gave their
CD away (that rhymed, write that down quick. I’m a poet ay I?). In fact, they
gave their CD away to anyone that was near enough to be handed one. I have a
wonderful photo of BST being handed the said CD and then asking Almamor to sign
it. What’s not to love.
I introduced myself to BST and their crew, Andhe and Sam,
and I made them a promise that I’d get in early to see them every night and get
down the front whenever I could, surgery allowing.
The night dissolved into the same old same old. New friends
made. Contact details swopped. Plans for future gigs made.
All in all. Not only was tonight a good night, but if this
is a sign of things to come, this tour was going to be great fun and the
apprehension I had for the tour was going to lead to nothing.
Day One, Gig One
(I’m not doing this tour for fun you know… this is
strictly doctors’ orders)
Thursday 16th May 2024
Wolverhampton, Civic Halls.
Bruce Dickinson, Black Smoke Trigger.
I got to bed at 04.30 still buzzing from the night before,
grinning like a loon, a bit like a kid on Xmas Eve. I’d gone from having
genuine worries about the tour to champing at the bit. I just couldn’t wait for
my alarm clock to go off, having said that, I so needed sleep. I’d have killed
for it too.
My alarm went off at 07.00 and by 10.30 I was at Euston
Station, which on reflection, was a little bit early for my train to
Wolverhampton, which was due to leave at 12.16 and to be honest, that was the
last time my train was on time.
Things then started to go a little bit strange. Firstly, I
got a message from Ranjit, who it turns out was on the same train, the 12.16
out of Euston. Secondly, the train got delayed. Well, there’s nothing strange
about that, it happens all the time. But then it got delayed again. Thirdly,
Kevin rocked up and guess what, no, he was booked on the following train. Then
the train got delayed again. And again.
By now the concourse at Euston was filling up, people were
running out of space and patience. Ranjit and Kevin both work on the trains so
they began to work out the logistics as to what was probably happening behind
the scenes and plan our escape from Euston and find a north bound train.
Our 12.16 eventually departed one hour late.
Just when you think things couldn’t get any stranger, it
turns out that me and Ranjit are not only booked onto the same train, we’re
booked at the same table. Then just as the doors on the train are closing Kevin
staggers into the compartment and plonks himself down next to Ranjit. He’s
decided not to chance getting the next train.
If Carlsberg did train travel.
Our train whizzed northward and we were making great time
until we weren’t. I say we, it’s not like anyone asked our permission to alter
where the train was going, or not as the case may be. And in this case it was
definitely now not going to where it should be or where we wanted it to be
going.
The train manager also complicated the whole situation by
telling us all different information and instead of just saying ”Sorry I got it
wrong” he continued to give us false information.
We got off the train at Rugby and waited for the next train
from Euston, which is the one that Kevin was originally booked onto. It started
to rain (not a grave in sight).
We eventually got to Wolverhampton approximately 90 minutes
late.
Carlsberg can fuck off.
The Maiden FC (Footy Thread) had arranged a meet up at the
Giffard Arms and an interesting time it was too. But I’d got a promise to keep,
plans to put into action and my own agenda.
It had finally stopped raining by the time I arrived at the
Civic, security saw me approaching the venue, they discreetly led to me the box
office neatly side stepping the long queue, where I collected my ticket and I
was in.
I love what they have done to the Civic, I don’t like the
renaming of it, it’s always going to be the Civic, we’ve had this conversation
before on other blogs.
Everything the Civic now is, and now stands for, is
everything that you need from a venue that has gone through an upgrade, except
one thing and one thing only. Ticketbastard and E Tickets. OK, that’s two
things but you know what I mean.
Ticketbastard and E Tickets are the work of the devil. Evil
in its purest form. There is no conversation to be had. Feel free to change my
mind. Educate me. But for every dumb reason you offer me, I get to punch you in
the face with extreme violence and prejudice. That seems a fair deal, right? I
mean, if you’re so convinced that you’re right and I am wrong, you’re in no
danger of getting punched in the face with extreme violence and prejudice. Not
so sure of your convictions now are you… Tell me again how I’m wrong.
I’m sure stranger things have happened at sea, but they’ve
only ever been witnessed by sailors drunk on rum while chasing mermaids around
the Caribbean Sea.
When I bought my ticket for tonight’s gig, I bought one in
the balcony, I have no idea why, I just did. I certainly didn’t know that I’d
be doing the tour just a few weeks after having surgery and I’d never have
thought I’d be doing the tour under medical supervision. I’m not doing this
tour for fun you know… this is strictly doctors’ orders.
Even though I bought a ticket up in the balcony I still went
down the front, if only to find mates who I thought might be on the barrier.
I made my way upstairs where I found a spider’s web of red
thread. I stumbled into a bloke in a Black Smoke Trigger T Shirt named Steve (which,
let’s be honest, is a really strange name for a T Shirt) who was actually from
Napier, NZ (BST’s home town) he was now living in Cornwall, he said he was
making a 200 mile round trip. He needs a new Sat Nav if he thinks Cornwall 200
miles away.
Then I bumped into Maranda and her pals who I’d seen at the
Hertford gig the night before. We all kind of stood at the top of the stairs
pointing at each other, it’s you, from girl from last night… (that wouldn’t be
the time I’d say that on the tour, but know the rule, what happens on the road
stays on the road).
Then I met Jodi, the in house photographer for the Civic,
she asked if she could take my picture, she knows a right dead sexy bastard when she sees one, until then she was
stuck taking pictures of me.
She made me look like the sex god that I am, who said the
camera never lies.
https://www.jodiphotography.co.uk/
While I was up in the top tier, I got a message from Dave
(yes that Dave, the one who I met doing Maiden in Paris, even though we only lived
maybe 5 miles apart, yes he’s the one that hassled all of those innocent young
school girls under the Eiffel Tower and then puked up all over the Metro –
although I really don’t like to mention it…) so, I popped own to the middle
tier to have a chat and watch Black Smoke Trigger.
Dave walked me through the technical reasons why the Black
Smoke Trigger sound was so crystal clear. I just nodded politely pretending to
understand and secretly regretted asking the question.
After the gig we made our way to the merch in the foyer
where I took part in my very own version of This Is Your Life. Who knew I knew
that many people or people that knew me. It was great fun to see so many old
friends again.
I’m not sure what BST were thinking, I just tried to
introduced them to as many people as I could, just to have someone else appear
and jump on me before starting the introductions all over again.
Speaking of BST, Charlie, Dan, and Josh (alphabetical) were
stood together in a line politely waiting to meet people while me and mates
bought total chaos to their networking. Baldrick however was nowhere to be
seen. He was ill.
Later on, once I’d left the building, I chatting to some
fans outside when Baldrick spotted me, he literally ran start over to me and
shook my hand. Pure class. In the middle of being ill and doing the load out,
he took the time to pop over and speak to the fans hanging around outside. This
band is going to go far.
Oh yeah. While I remember. Bruce Dickinson and Black Smoke
Trigger played a gig tonight. It was good. *
Back in March or April, I stated on Facefuck, that on paper
the band weren’t good enough to play anything from Skunkworks. I wasn’t saying
anything negative about the current band, I was saying something positive about
the previous one. Next time I will type slowly for the fan boys and thicko’s.
Tonight, they proved I was right, Bruce said, “Sorry, I
lied…”
I won’t apologise. I stand by my opinion.
Bruce came in so late it was beyond jazz. I can lip read, I
saw Tanya and Philip look at each, “Here we go…”
I got to bed at 02.30
* Was tonight the best Bruce gig that I’ve seen? Ask me
after London.
Day Two, Travel Day
(Strange the people
you bump into at a train station)
Friday 17th May 2024
Wolverhampton to Glasgow.
After stealing a massive four hours sleep I made my way to
Wolverhampton train station where I bumped into Ranjit and then Kevin, stalkers
the pair of them. They both went back to London, while I made my way to
Scotland, where the women folk are ginger and the men folk wear dresses. It’s
true and you all know it.
I love Scotland. Always have. Always will. I’d live there if
it wasn’t so far away. No, really, I’d be up there faster than Scotland getting dumped out of the Euro's.
After getting rid of one pair of stalkers, who should rock
up but Tanya and Philip. Just because I’m doing the whole UK tour, doesn’t mean
that they can just invade my space… Security…
I just let them get on with it, but, there was also no point
in me ignoring them either, that would be impolite and rude, especially
considering we were stood next to each other.
We started to chat. No photographs. No autographs. We are
simply travellers on the road, travelling under the umbrella of music. And that
Ladies and Gentlemen is how it works.
When it’s a gig day, for an hour or so, they run around on
stage pretending to be rock stars, and for an hour or so, we’re in the crowd
pretending that they matter, and that’s it, that’s our relationship.
As for days off, all the clues are there, it’s a DAY OFF!
They aren’t on stage and we aren’t in the crowd. We are travellers on the road,
tourists, travelling under the umbrella of music. Which is not to be confused
with a musical umbrella. *
As I’ve already mentioned it would be impolite, and rude to
ignore each other. Afterall, I can’t pretend
that they aren’t the band or that I’m a fan. And neither can they.
We travel on a two way street. We both know why we’re here.
We both know our place. And while we are on the road we look out for, and look after,
each other. As I said, we are travelling under the umbrella of music.
Once everyone knows and accepts the rules everything falls
into place.
For example, I can chat about the band, or the gig, but only
if it’s in the same way I would chat about normal stuff, like the weather, or
where the nearest sex shop is because I’ve left my favourite gimp mask in the
hotel.
It’s OK to chat about the band or gig, because that’s why we
are all here, what is not OK is for them to act like prima donna rock stars or
me to act like a fan boy.
For example, while chatting, Tanya calmly handed me a
plectrum. Not to be out done, Philip did the same. I offered my thanks and as Tanya
handed me her plectrum I commented on her yellow nail varnish and how it was
better than mine (bright red) and how you could see her nail varnish from the
back of the gig. We spent a few minutes chatting about nail varnish her
plectrums and future plans for plectrums. They weren’t being rock stars and I wasn’t
being a fan boy. It was just chatting. Were we chatting about the band, the
gig, or the nail varnish? See how it works?
Truth be told we spent most of our time together talking
about our families, while looking at photos on phones and talking about Hearts
& Hand Grenades because I was wearing one of their T Shirts.
Speaking of H&HG’s, another thing we spoke of was bass strings. My mate Stef plays bass in H&HG’s, she uses a Warwick 5 string Corvette $$ with DR strings. Tanya said she uses Sadowsky (I think) and they were better strings.
So, there’s me chatting to Tanya, a female bass
player, about my mate Stef, a female bass player.
Have I made my point? Good. Can we all just move on now? Good.
Glasgow. WOW! Just how warm was Glasgow. Bright blue skies.
Everyone smiling. Everyone happy. Girls wearing very little and short skirts
everywhere. Hold on. This is Scotland. Not everyone in a short skirt is female.
Oh well. When in Rome… I’m game if they are.
I met Mark at my hotel and with nothing else better to do we
both went off to the pub… for a soda water and lime. What a pair of nancy boys
we are.
We must have been in the pub chatting to Gus and his wife
for a good 20 minutes before I realised that the two blokes stood next to us at
the bar were Dave Moreno (drummer) and Sean Topham (drum tech).
Just as I realised it was Dave and Sean that were stood next
to us, Dave looked me straight in the eye and said, “It’s you, you were on the
train…”
Introductions were made and the rest of the night drifted
out of sight.
See how it works, we’re just travellers on the road, and
what happens on the road stays on the road. Have you seen anything from me and
my mates about that night in the pub? And you never will.
Over the course of the last two days, I’d invited both bands
and crew to the pub in Glasgow knowing it was a genuine night off. I promised
everyone that it would be a fan boy free zone. That promise was not my promise
to make. I had absolutely no idea who was going to be in that pub or if they
would turn into fan boys should my pals from the band and crew rock up. I just
hoped that Glasgow wouldn’t let me down and the rules I mentioned earlier would
kick in by default. Afterall, Glasgow wouldn’t let down. Would it?
Glasgow, you did yourself proud.
As did the Blue Lagoon and that large fish super.
I go to bed at 02.30
* When raindrops strike the outside of a musical umbrella,
the rain drops get turned into musical notes that instantly fall from the
inside of the umbrella, soaking the user with music. The greater the storm the
more notes cascade, thus the more beautiful the music.
Day Three, Gig Two
(Champions, My Arse! My Goldfish could win
the Scottish Premiership)
Saturday 18th
May 2024
Glasgow, Barrowland
Ballroom.
Bruce Dickinson,
Black Smoke Trigger.
I woke to a city that was buzzing. The sky was a dazzling bright blue. Glasgow appears to have secured a monopoly on summer. Celtic fans everywhere. The Duke still had a cone on his head and all was good with the world.
I made my way to Kelvington Art Gallery for a bit of culture
before the chaos. And as far as art galleries go, it’s well worth the visit and
I’m glad I made the effort.
By the time I’d got back into the city the streets were
crawling with Celtic fans. In the world of football, you don’t get Fan Boys per
se but you do get Glory Hunters. And Glasgow was full of them. They stick out
like a sore thumb.
Sometimes it’s because they look like Merchandise Mike, like
they’ve just stepped off the pages of the merchandise catalogue, from the photo
shoot. It’s like they’ve walked into the club shop with the catalogue in their
hands saying, I want that, and that, and that, and that… and have you got that
in blue… I look good in blue… You can hear them saying it.
Sometimes it’s because you see Celtic fans (as in this
example) walking around the city dragging suitcases on wheels looking
completely lost while trying to find their hotel.
Why would Celtic fans, in full Merchandise Mike mode, be
dragging suitcases around Glasgow city centre looking for their hotel? They are
from Glasgow right? They live in Glasgow right? They do go to games right?
Because if you lived in Glasgow you wouldn’t need a hotel, would you? You’d be
able to just go home after celebrating a league championship, wouldn’t you? You
wouldn’t be completely lost in the city you live in, would you?
I now found myself with a moral dilemma. Remembering what I said earlier about
being travellers on the road and looking out for each other. If I was asked by
a Celtic Merchandise Mike for directions to their hotel, would it be wrong for
me to deliberately send them in the wrong direction?
No! Was the answer to that question. And I was surprised at
just how quickly I arrived at that answer. Fuck em. Cunts the lot of them.
My walk up Argyle Street then Trongate towards Barrowland got
increasing more difficult but in a fun way, by the time I’d reached Gallowgate,
it was chaos, bodies everywhere, on top of bus shelters, hanging out of
windows, lying on the floor unconscious and some in real trouble too, but they
were being looked after. Bruce later described it as “Alcoholic Armageddon” and
frankly that’s exactly what it was.
I’d much rather be in the middle of that complete and utter chaos, than be
asked dumb fuck questions by Merchandise Mike and his suitcase.
Even the traffic lights went green.
In reflection, my arrival at Barrowland was like calm still water after what I’d just witnessed.
A few hundred yards down the road the chaos continued.
Emergency vehicles constantly screamed passed us, racing towards whatever drama
was unfolding, while we all calmy watched from a safe distance.
There were a few familiar faces already in the queue, I’ve
been there and I’ve done that, good luck to the lot of them.
I’d already decided to stand at the desk tonight because of
two reasons. Firstly, I wanted to see if the sound at Wolverhampton was fluke.
Secondly, I wanted to take photos of the ceiling at Barrowland.
Later in the tour I was chatting to a band member who
randomly mentioned the ceiling at Barrowland and how stunning it looked under
different coloured lights. Yeah.
I bumped into Wayne outside, he introduced me to Neil and
they were promptly spirited away by security. At the time I had no idea how
much that action was to influence the rest of my tour. Who knew there was early
access for disabled ticket holders. I didn’t.
The same security team then escorted me to the box office to
collect my ticket. Again, that was a new variation on a theme.
The box office didn’t give me a ticket, they just stamped my
hand and let me in. Which all left me with a problem that I had not envisaged. Now,
completely by fluke, I found myself in an empty Barrowland. Should I go on the
barrier or stick with my game plan?
I decided to stick to my game plan, with a large, wide,
empty barrier, I went for a walk and chatted to people. I bumped into old
friends, I made new friends, thoughts of writing this blog were bouncing around
my head and I needed to find my angle. What I hadn’t realised is that I’d
already found an angle, in fact, I’d found two.
I do wish that I could get to Glasgow more often. Edinburgh
is the place to go if you want history and security. Glasgow is the place to go
if you want to experience the spirit of a frontier town. The city just simply
crackles, like damp wood in a fire, it cracks and spits and snaps and if you
let it, you will get burnt. Glasgow never lets you down.
Tonight’s audience… What does it tell you about a city and a
venue, when you leave the building asking which one was better, the crowd or
the band?
After Wolverhampton I asked, was that the best Bruce gig I’ve
ever seen, ask me after London. I’m not convinced we’re going to get that far.
My comment was heavily influenced by the crowd reaction. For both bands the
Wolverhampton crowd were up for it. Tonight, Glasgow, has the tour peaked? Is
it all downhill from here on in?
After the gig I was allowed to stay inside and continue to
taking photos.
It was a strange walk back to my hotel. The streets were now
deserted of all things green and white. Men in bright yellow were scrubbing the
city clean. Glasgow city’s very own Oompa Loompas, albeit yellow Oompa Loompas,
were unstickying the streets.
At midnight I sent my daughter a birthday message. Who’d
have that thought the 19th May would become such an important date.
Intermission
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