Book: Venue Stories
Chapter: Bass Destruction
The walk to the now defunct Red Eye on Copenhagen Street in North London wasn’t exactly glamorous. It was 20 minutes from the bus stop and wound through to a crappy venue hidden on a council estate. For the first time the Fender copy strapped to my back was completely my own property. I’d finally paid off my friend for the bass so I could join a toilet circuit band.
Now, I felt the need to unleash my inner rock star Inside, the low lighting meant the 50 or so people in the audience were barely visible despite being within touching distance. Negotiating the set and avoiding tripping over the numerous cables was always tricky. Even harder was managing not to knock over other members of the band on the tiny stage. There’s so little space up there that you can hardly see the actual stage floor.
I managed to complete the set without spilling the beer placed precariously next to a mass of plugs. How no-one got electrocuted, I’ll never know. As I walked off stage, I threw my bass across the stage. This was not very far. It crashed down with a bang followed by a gasp from the audience. For a few moments, I was that rock god.
And so begins a journey of bass destruction across toilet venues. Some are no longer with us.
These are tales of blood, sweat and tears. Only some of it my own.