College Fun
I was in a few bands, as vocalist, at college. Mostly shite, we did Nirvana, Rage Against The Machine and Faith No More covers, as well as some of our own material, of the bouncy, grungy metal variety. The members of all the bands were me on vocals (a strapping goth-metal mutant), Ginger Paul on Geetar (a typical bedroom guitarist), Eddie Starr on rhythm Guitar(a mental 'proper' punk), Purple on Bass (strange goth-chap, now sadly dead) and Si on Drums (odd, spaced out chap who smelled of cheap beans)

Before our first gig out of college, The Four Horses of the Apocalypse (for that was our name at that point - we were also Burnt Toast, and Ten-Inch-Screws), we proceeded to meet at college at around Nine o'clock that morning, and work our way through several bottles of white lightening. We drank ourselves sober by lunchtime, then carried on, smoking weed, and drinking more White Lightening. By gig time, we were all blotto.

As this was a college thing, there were a few bands on. In addition to the Four Horses, I was also in 'Innov-8', featuring my future wife on keyboards and vocals, and I was singing 'Mustang Sally' for them. Both our respective parents were in the audience (I was sixteen), and I proceeded to introduce the song in the only way I knew how.

"Soul doesn't come from the heart - oh, no. It comes from the FUCKING BOLLOCKS", all the while grabbing my cock and balls and waving them around, sheathed only in a thin pair of combats, gothed up with face paint and covered in chains.

After putting in an admittedly impressive performance (I do a mean Mustang Sally - you HAVE to hear it sometime!), it was the main event.

The Four Horses of the Apocalypse were headlining. We climbed up on stage, and kicked out our opener, 'Breed', made famous by Nirvana. We were awful, completely pissed, and incapable of putting on a show. Eddie was more fucked than anyone else, and he proceeded to strangle his guitar, fall over, bump into everyone, and just swear into his mic. I made a big decision there and then.

I sacked him from the band, halfway through the song.

He looked at me, to gauge my seriousness. I stared him back, a 6ft Goth squaring off against a 5ft 4 Punk, dayglo multiple mohawks peppering his head. He got the message, lifted his guitar above his head, and tried to hit me with it. He missed, and he broke it on the floor. He stormed off the stage, and proceeded to steal all the mirrors from the bathroom, before glassing a bouncer who tried to get him to stop it.

We carried on, and put on a sprawling, stumbling mess of a show. People, afterwards did declare it 'brilliant' though.

He'd forgotten all about it in the morning, but we never again played a gig together.

A few years ago, I called him though. His Mum answered, and I got fits of giggles when she shouted 'EDWARD! Phone for you darling', and he replied 'Ok, Thanks Mum'. Just imagining the little chubby punk being so polite tickled me.

Sorry for length. Actually, no I'm not. Rawr. ROCK AND ROLL!!
(V3lvetPresley, Mon 3 Jul 2006, 14:34, Reply)