Never Meet Your HeroesThey're bound to disappoint - like the time we booked Wayne Hussey for the B3ta Radio Show. Five minutes before we're due to record, Wayne
phones, lost on the M25 with his Brazilian wife screaming in the background. Not so much the King of Goth, as a hen-pecked flake.
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chthonic, Thu 25 May 2006, 14:17)
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Back in the '80s...I was a fan of not-that-successful-band The Blow Monkeys, fronted by "Dr" Robert. Through many a pimpley, hormonal evening spent trying to get off with blokes sporting mullets and spangley jackets, I dreamt of Dr R.
Years later, still holding a (kid's birthday party sized but still burning) candle, I saw Dr Robert play a small pub in some backwater dump in North London. Now fallen on hard times, the Blow Monkeys but a distant memory, there was my idol - somewhat fatter and slightly depressed, but in the flesh nonetheless...
I turned to my friend, as Dr R began to strum his gee-tar, and told her about my teen crush. Suddenly, the faux PHD holding strummer stopped playing, looked directly at me and said "WILL YOU JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!"
Everyone stared. I shrivelled. My dreams crumbled. What a bloody twat - he might have got a shag off me as well, I was planning to hang around the stage door after the gig... Oh, well. Signed - Daft Girl
(, Thu 25 May 2006, 23:12, Reply)
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