You better run, run, run

I was out in the mist and rain and cold this morning doing my usual 6 mile plod around the sites and sounds of north Leeds. As so often happens I allow my mind to drift and found myself back in my parent's kitchen circa early 1975.

I was about to leave primary school and start at big school. There would be new opportunities there, one of which was to learn a musical instrument.

"What instrument would you like to learn", my father enquired.

"The guitar", I responded without hesitation.

"Oh that's an easy instrument, you can learn that when you're older. I mean what proper instrument."

I was dumbstruck. The guitar was the only instrument I wanted to learn. Having become addicted to Top Of The Pops some three years earlier, I would ape the moves of The Sweet, Mud, David Bowie, Marc Bolan, The Rubettes or The Osmonds in my bedroom with my tennis racket. I knew all the words to Blockbuster and all the guitar moves. In fact, in the playground at primary school me, the two Michaels and Matthew had a popular beat combo that used to enact that week's glam hit to the adoring masses (well a handful of girls from our year). Incredibly I was the singer. This was as a result of me knowing the words and not on account of my vocal prowess. That and clearly being the best-looking and most charismatic 9 year old in the school.

I didn't argue with my Dad. Foolishly, wanting to please, seeking parental approval, as was my wont, I thought hard for several minutes to come up with an isntrument which would meet his definition of a proper instrument.

"French horn?", I said, hesitantly, hopefully.

What on earth, you might ask, made this budding Mick Ronson veer so wildly away into the lands of the eighteenth century chamber? Well, the only classical music I knew at the time (and sort of liked) was Mozart's Four Horn Concertos. I had a copy on a 3M Scotch reel-to-reel tape given me by one of my father's friends; a hi-fi buff and classical officianado. Which was great, or would have been if we had actually owned a reel-to-reel tape recorder. Despite this minor obstacle to my listening pleasure, I treasured the reel of tape. Mum threw it away one day without asking me and I was heartbroken. She said I never played it. I pointed out that I couldn't, us not owning the requisite equipment. She failed to appreciate how much I just loved the clear plastic reel, the magnetic ribbon and the green and white cardboard case regardless of the horning aural tosh it contained. A propos of nothing, the same friend of my father also introduced me indirectly to all things Italian through his love of the cars, the wine and the food. And probably the women, but what did I know at that age?

I don't recall what happened following my approval-seeking horn suggestion, because by the time I started at secondary school, the French horn had become the trumpet, which in turn became the trombone once my tutor saw the size of my mouth! For six years I laboured away on that bloody trombone and it would be fair to say that for six years I bloody hated it. Six wasted years when I could have been practising Shine On You Crazy Diamond or Bohemian Rhapsody or even Pretty Vacant. Instead I was farting around doing Grade 3 and Grade 4 pieces for tenor trombone and playing second trombone in the school orchestra. Awful, just awful. What bloody use was a trombone? It wasn't exactly a chick magnet. More of a bird repellant, a cacophonous scarecrow. Hi, what do you do? Oh I'm the second trombone in the school orchestra. Okay, well I must go over there now to tell my friends and laugh really loudly. Fair enough.

It was only aged 17 at 6th Form Colleage that I finally rebelled and said, no more. When I got to Leeds and university, first chance I had I sold the damn thing. Never been near a brass instrument or brass band since. I also bought my first guitar aged 17, but that story is for another day.

The first rehearsal

A date has been set for the first band meeting. That said when the register is called we may not be three, we may be two. But we may be three. Depends on circumstances beyond my control and to do with us being three middle aged men with teenage daughters. But a first date has been set nonetheless.

30th January the amps get plugged in, the guitar straps strapped around necks, volume turned up to 11 (or maybe 2-3 since we're meeting in a home not a rehearsal room and you have to think of the neighbours) and strings get tuned.

My bass is here and looks mighty fine and sounds mighty fine too. That is it would do if I could play more than Goodbye Cruel World, Babylon's Burning, the introduction to Another One Bites The Dust and a half-arsed attempt at some rock and roll bassline. But you've got to start somewhere. Been a busy couple of days so I've not had sufficient time to really focus on this, but next week is pretty free so expect some sore fingers soon.

Gathering speed

No not that sort of speed! We're really not that rock and roll...well not yet anyway.

Now we are a definite three. It's not just a figment of my imagination. So we're Police-sized, Rush-shaped, Supergrass-types. Mind you all of those included a drummer. So we're more like The Beatles after they sacked Pete Best, but before they hired Ringo. Two guitars and a bass. Except we have a drum machine. If only John, Paul and George had had one of those, they might have made it...

Guitar 1 is Huw. He's got previous. Done a stint in an Asian punk band 30 years ago. One single. Got played by John Peel. Almost supported The Specials. Guitar 2 is Dave. Played in a number of bands around Manchester, mostly in pubs and other drinking establishments. Knows people who know people. Then there's me. Mostly played on my own. In my room. But never the bass. Oh and Al (full name Alesis SR616). He's on drums.

I've now bought the bass and amp. For those of you who like to know these things it's a Squier Standard P-Bass Special in Antique Burst and a Fender Rumble 25. So there.

So as the sun sinks on Day 1 of LKFZ we have the founding members, I've bought my first bass and amp, and we've almost agreed when to meet up and play together for the first time. Maybe we should split up now. You know, quit while we're ahead.

Change...and not a moment too soon

When all the anger has gone is there anything left to say? Anger is a great motivator, bile the catalyst to creation. Well, it is for me anyway. But when the red mist has faded, it all seems a little pointless, a little self-obsessed. Hmmm, a blog is self-obsessed, so that's not changing, I guess.

But it's time to be me. Can you see the real me, well can you, can you? From now on the subject has changed. This will be a diary of a band. A new band. So new, we've not played a single note yet and we've not even got a line-up. So new, some of the members don't know it exists yet and some of them don't know they're in it.

Day 1 (for future historians) is Tuesday 12th January 2010. Remember what you're doing today because in the future you'll be able to say to your grandchildren I was gazing out the window, squeezing a blackhead, twiddling my thumbs when "???" (we've not got a name yet, although my daughter proffered LuftKussenFahrZeug since it's my favourite word in German) formed.

So who is in the band? Well, me, obviously. I'm going to play bass. I don't have a bass right now mind and I've never played bass before, but I'm not going to let that stop me. It can't be that hard judging by some of the numbskulls you see slapping the damn thing. You notice the singer, the guitarist, the drummer even before you notice the bass player. So it's always given to the one with the least to show off, mainly because he/she is the most inept. Not always true, I grant you. There are exceptions to the rule; John Entwhistle, Flea, Geddy Lee, Paul McCartney, Gail Ann Dorsey, but you know I'm right otherwise.

Other members? Well I'm awaiting a reply from one and he's almost famous. One other is up for it, since he put the idea in my head. I'll post more when there's more to say. I don't want to compromise their artistic integrity by aligning them with The Band With No Name when they don't know it themselves yet. They're both guitarists (my actual bent too, but they're better than me, hence my new found desire to play bass). So we'll need a drummer, but shouldn't be a problem. I hear Zak Starkey has a window in his diary now Oasis have gone (not a moment too soon and several years too late).