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| poster by mae voogd |
The big night is a week on Friday, March 14th, at The Cube in Bristol; a 100 seater mini multiplex, a retro tardis with a whiff of shabby chic. The space is full of character due to its many guises; it started life as a gay avant garde art centre, before becoming a chinese restaurant, a girls school, a deaf and dumb institute and an illegal gambling den. And now it's home to the premiere of one of the most eagerly anticipated films of the year, screw the Oscar's, this is what it's all about! How NOT to be in Band; a madcap adventure in an old renault 4 that we can't reverse, where everything that can go wrong does go wrong, where microphones are fashioned out of branches and bass player's sleep in piano cases! The film is complete, it's even been sent to London to be graded and mixed (how very posh) and now it's waiting for its big day! 9 more sleeps people, 9 more sleeps!
We've been trying to practice for the event - not our film watching faces obviously, cause that would be daft! Can you imagine; 'Fancy a pint tonight?'
'I can't mate, i'm practicing watching films!' - we're playing live after the viewing you see, so we've been dusting up on our set. We drove high up into the forest of Dean last weekend, to the drummer's log cabin, and this time we went the right way; we didn't horseshoe it, we went direct; crossed the bridge with the sun on our faces, feeling very proud of ourselves, and then took the wrong road and drove into Newport! An hour and 40 minutes later we finally arrived, the old Renault seemingly more overloaded than when we were on the aforementioned tour, and struggling on the hills. We set up the gear and sat down to practice, doubled back, grabbed wellington's and coats and bounded off into the spring sunshine. Rehearsing could wait! We scampered down the steep valley, winding through the tall trees, sharing tall tales and squinting when the sun flashed through the foliage. We came out into a clearing at the bottom, beyond that was the River Wye. We bounded the fence, checking that the animals that grazed by the river were cows and strolled through boggy grass towards the water.
'I can't mate, i'm practicing watching films!' - we're playing live after the viewing you see, so we've been dusting up on our set. We drove high up into the forest of Dean last weekend, to the drummer's log cabin, and this time we went the right way; we didn't horseshoe it, we went direct; crossed the bridge with the sun on our faces, feeling very proud of ourselves, and then took the wrong road and drove into Newport! An hour and 40 minutes later we finally arrived, the old Renault seemingly more overloaded than when we were on the aforementioned tour, and struggling on the hills. We set up the gear and sat down to practice, doubled back, grabbed wellington's and coats and bounded off into the spring sunshine. Rehearsing could wait! We scampered down the steep valley, winding through the tall trees, sharing tall tales and squinting when the sun flashed through the foliage. We came out into a clearing at the bottom, beyond that was the River Wye. We bounded the fence, checking that the animals that grazed by the river were cows and strolled through boggy grass towards the water.
"Err, there's a bull!" said the drummer. We peered over to the grazing beasts.
"Which one?" said the bass player.
"That massive one over there that's walking towards us!" he replied. "Don't run just walk purposefully and don't look back!" We walked purposefully alright, striding like soldiers before breaking into what can only be described as apprehensive skipping, throwing careless glances over our shoulders while trying to navigate a widening bog. The piano player, the only one of us in trainers was in a spot of bother so I hoisted him onto my back and stumbled on as best I could, but it wasn't long before I sunk deep into the mud under the extra weight. Stuck fast. I couldn't move, we were doomed, the bull would spear us, it was only a matter of time. I closed my eyes and waited for the horn to pierce my side! Waited to be impaled and raised high above his steaming nostrils with the piano player throttling me as he clung from my neck for dear life. But the next thing I heard was the drummer.
"He's moved away" he said "he doesn't like the bog either. You're safe!"
"He's moved away" he said "he doesn't like the bog either. You're safe!"
"I'm not safe, I'm sinking" I yelled, "Now take the boy off my back!"
The piano player was peeled off me and I was pulled free. We scrambled up the bank and began the long hike home. "I don't remember walking up this hill on the way down!" complained the piano player as we fashioned walking sticks in an attempt to propel us up the valley. It took us an hour and 40 minutes to get back!
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| ghostly goings on.... |
The rehearsal commenced in earnest, we buzzed through the set before becoming stuck on learning a song for someone's wedding, then fled to the village pub. Later, inspired by the surroundings we skipped out into the night, walking along the river to the derelict and gothic Tintern Abbey, up-lit looking like Dracular's liar. We spooked ourselves. Made scary photos by flooding our faces in the large lights that circled the abbey. We tiptoed inside, the piano player sold a paintball session to some ghosts and we went merrily on our way.
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The next day was a wash-out, like a damp and dirty dish cloth. The filming we'd planned was shelved, as was the photo shoot. We recorded a few slide solo's with the guitar player, who'd been absent the day before, due to buying his first house! We put the bass player back on the train to London, waved goodbye to the drummer and went our separate ways; having spent most of our rehearsal weekend stuck in the mud or spooking ourselves out.
The next day was a wash-out, like a damp and dirty dish cloth. The filming we'd planned was shelved, as was the photo shoot. We recorded a few slide solo's with the guitar player, who'd been absent the day before, due to buying his first house! We put the bass player back on the train to London, waved goodbye to the drummer and went our separate ways; having spent most of our rehearsal weekend stuck in the mud or spooking ourselves out.
But it's all go now, we're working to deadlines, the bass player's on overdrive with all the post production work he's doing for the film. We're editing a trailer for ITV news, an audio-trailer for BBC radio while writing a variety of pieces for the papers. But we still don't have a red carpet!
Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrring! Brrrrrrrrrrrrrring! it's the piano player.
"Hello, what do you want?"
"Nothing, just seeing how you are." he asks.
"Well I'm stressed, trying to organise this premiere, my tux has got a hole in the crotch and i can't find a carpet, all i've got is a turkish rug!"
"Well I'm stressed, trying to organise this premiere, my tux has got a hole in the crotch and i can't find a carpet, all i've got is a turkish rug!"
"That'd look cool!" he chirps.
"Anyway how are you, you sound cheerful?"
"Anyway how are you, you sound cheerful?"
"I had the best day selling paintballs, 7 sales!" he boosts.
I quickly did the maths, 7 x £60 equals a lot of cash. hmmm...
"I wonder, could you lend us some money for a red carpet!?"
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| THE RED CARPET! |
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