Mickeyboro

Morning Limahl, and welcome to the forum 😇

As many of us have a bit of time on our hands, I thought I'd offer a chunk of Deke Leonard for your enjoyment and delectation. It's from The Twang Dynasty, his take on guitars and guitarists, and this is part of his observations on Eric Clapton. EDIT: BY PUBLIC DEMAND, SCROLL DOWN A BIT AND I'VE ADDED HIS TAKE ON JEFF BECK. The last time our paths crossed was when he kicked me out of the Royal Albert Hall. He was playing a month's residency there. He did it every February for a few years. Concert Sound were doing the PA. Again, I bumped into them at the office of Marshall Arts, and they invited me to tag along. I wasn't fussed about seeing Clapton because I thought his best days were long gone, but it'd be nice to have a night out with the boys. They left my name on the door and I got there early. It was about halfway through the residency so they'd settled into a routine and there was none of the bustle associated with a one-off gig. I gave the stage a once-over. Behind the band's gear was an arc of about fifty chairs that looked suspiciously like an orchestra set-up. The boys were hanging around the mixing desk, set up in the middle of the hall, switching things on. Except for Adrian, who was conducting a tea ceremony. All was right with the world. After some concentrated banter we settled into chat mode. We talked about the upcoming gig. They told me the show would be split into two sections. The first half would be Clapton with his band but during the second half they would be joined by a fifty-piece orchestra to perform ‘The Clapton Concerto'. A shudder ran through my soul. I am always wary when established stars decide to invade other genres. It always ends in tears. Listen, if you can stand it, to McCartney's ‘Liverpool Oratorio'. This is the man who wrote ‘Back In The USSR' – isn't that enough? What more does he have to do to prove it to himself? "How are you mixing the orchestra?" I asked Robert. All the instruments, he told me, would be individually miked-up and fed down to the basement of the Albert Hall where Tim Boyle, Concert Sound's in-house boffin, had a secondary mixing desk. Tim would sub-mix the instruments into blocks according to instrument and feed them back up to Robert on the main desk, so the whole orchestra would be on just five faders (ten cellos on a single fader – yum-flipping-yum). The doors were opened and the audience poured in. The place was soon filled with murmur, chatter and laughter. I love the mood of a hall just before a gig. The buzz of expectation that heralds great events about to take place is stimulating, even if it's somebody else's gig. I sat at the mixing desk and waited for showtime. Clapton's entrance, as you would expect, was greeted with rapturous applause. Andy Fairweather-Low counted the band in and they got down to work. Clapton was dressed in millionaire casual – Armani suit worn over a plain T-shirt, classy shoes and a diamante guitar strap. He was very good but he lacked the blazing conviction of the Yardbirds/John Mayall days. He'd gone all mobile phone, and it seemed a little incongruous to see a man dressed in a ridiculously expensive suit, singing songs of misery and deprivation. Which prompts the question – do rich men have the blues? Well, I hope to find out one day. Some chance. After a twenty minute break, the orchestra, rather self-consciously, shuffled onstage, wearing evening dress. They sat down, plugged in, made a few tuning noises and chatted amongst themselves until Clapton emerged and introduced the ‘Clapton Concerto'. I suppose it wasn't bad for what it was, but it was just as pointless as McCartney's ‘Oratorio'. It lasted, I think, for about forty minutes and I was bored senseless after ten. “I know,” I thought, “I'll go and see Tim Boyle in the basement.” Robert gave me directions and off I went. I entered the bowels of the Albert Hall. Following the directions, I ended up in a large, low-ceilinged room, directly under the auditorium. The room was dimly-lit, the only light coming from the overhead lamp above the mixing desk, where Tim sat in solitary confinement in the centre of the room. Rows and rows of supporting pillars stretched off into the darkness, and along one wall were stacks of chairs piled high. I hadn’t seen Tim for quite a while, so we had some catching up to do. I took one of the chairs, plonked it down next to him and lit a cigarette. We had plenty of time for conversation because, halfway through the residency, the sound was all sorted out and Tim had little to do but make sure it was all working. We had a ‘how the hell have you been?' conversation and then the talk turned to matters technical. Facing him were two large monitor speakers, spewing out the ‘Clapton Concerto', and a patchboard like a telephone exchange with row after row of little red lights. Each light, he told me, was an individual instrument of the orchestra. As the ‘Clapton Concerto' mercifully neared its end, Tim pointed at the patchboard. "Watch this," he said. The piece ended with a long, sustained note, held by the whole orchestra, but before the note ended, the little red lights started to go out, at first sporadically, then substantially. The sound began to thin out. "What's happening?" I said. "They're all unplugging themselves," he said, laughing. "They do it every night. They're getting ready to be first in the race to get to the bar. If Clapton ever sees or hears them do it, he'll go apeshit." "Can't they even wait until the end of the note?" I said. "I'd sack the flipping lot of them." "Which Clapton may very well do," said Tim. After it was all over, I said goodbye to Tim and went back up to the arena. The house lights were up and the crowd had gone except for a few stragglers. The boys were turning everything off. "We'll be a while," said Robert, "so why don't you go backstage and we'll see you there after we've finished." Rather than wander around the labyrinthine Albert Hall corridors, I took a short cut across the stage. I'd been provided with an ‘Access All Areas' pass so I could do that. The route from stage to dressing room at the Albert Hall is centre-stage. You go down a flight of stairs into a central hall, off which run corridors leading to the dressing rooms and the backstage bars. This central hall was sardine-packed with members of the orchestra. I picked my way through them, heading for the bar. As I passed through them, I overheard snippets of conversation. Clapton, apparently, had asked them to wait behind, because wanted to talk to them. They seemed rather concerned. While I was still in the middle of them, they suddenly fell silent as Clapton, now in civvies, walked into the central hall. He didn't look too happy. The orchestra parted like the Red Sea and he walked into the middle of them. They formed a circle around him and I found myself in the front row. Before I could excuse myself and leave, Clapton began to speak. His voice was low and full of menace. "You're supposed to be professional musicians," he said, "but you're behaving like rank amateurs. In future, anybody unplugging their instruments before the end of the set will be sacked. On the spot. No appeal. No extenuating circumstances." By now, his eyes were blazing, and I was tempted to say, "Hear, hear, Eric. Sack the flipin' lot of them." Then he suddenly noticed me. Well, I was the only one not wearing evening dress. He looked me directly in the eyes. "Who the flip are you?" he said. "My name's Deke Leonard," I said, trying to fish my Access All Areas pass out of my jacket pocket. "I'm a guest of the sound crew. They told me to come backstage and wait for them. I just happened to be here when..." "Well, will you please leave," he said, "this is private business." "Of course," I said. I didn't like to push past him into the bar so I made my way back up to the stage. As I picked my way through the orchestra, Clapton, speaking in a measured voice, tore them to shreds. I went back to the mixing desk and told the boys about the bollocking the orchestra were getting. "About time, too," said Robert. "He should sack the flipin' lot of them," said Adrian. "Too good for ’em," said Keri. After the boys had switched everything off, we all went backstage. The central hall was now deserted. There was no sign of the orchestra. Maybe Clapton had killed them? I know I would have. And I'd have told me to bugger off, too. We spent a pleasant, if somewhat raucous, hour at the bar, then we all left. I got to the stage-door at the same time as Clapton. He was deep in conversation with his tour manager (I assumed it was his tour manager because he was wearing about six backstage passes around his neck and carrying a briefcase covered in stickers). Clapton caught my eye. I shrugged and made a that's-the-way-the-cookie-crumbles gesture. He smiled faintly and nodded, before making an into-each-life-a-little-rain-must-fall gesture back.He got into his limousine and I got a tube back to Highbury & Islington. Life in microcosm. Clapton didn't kill the orchestra and he didn't sack them, but, I was later told, they never unplugged their instruments before the end of the set again. Well, it was either that or suffer a savage and sudden drop in income. That focuses, wonderfully, the mind of the jobbing musician. I haven't seen Eric since. We don't keep in touch. But I miss our little chats.

If it sounds as good as it looks...

Yes, this is what I would do!

Sold a book to Gary. Perfect buyer, perfect transaction. Thanks!

Your spull chucker has messed with you big time, but I get the gist! Enjoy Fred, and remember the good tomes - I mean times. And well corrected👍

The 24 hour rolling news society of today loves a story like this. Sadly...

Good to meet you too, Colin. Impressive player as well as a nice chap! Also impressed by the Groundhogs bassist who played a Guild 301 through a Sunn amp. If you find out more about him please share...

True in so many cases!

Stray and the Groundhogs, Southampton last night. Centre stage our own @King Tut Go Colin, living the dream...

I had the 102P and never thought I would change. Bought a Toyota Avensis and...damn, the wedge shape would not fit in the boot, no matter what I did. Switched to Barefaced, and ended up with a Markbass head. Did what was needed. But yes, 102P is a good and cheap one-cab solution. If you don’t own an Avensis!

The book was a waste of time!

Where’s Dave Edmunds and Man???!

Second the above. Minimax was an impulse buy that will stay, and the price quoted is a steal!

See you at Southampton on Thursday!

Tell me what the Hairy Bikers (Bykers?) are singing again?😂

Any of you Dave Pegg fans after his book? 😏

Our band’s first gig for 18 months bar a short support show last October. Our singer has been very ill, so it was amazing to see her fully recovered and really bossing the crowd. The outpouring of goodwill was amazing to witness; sometimes music can do that. Only disappointment was the drummer, who clearly missed his kit so much during the hiatus that he bashed the hell out of it at every opportunity. Numbers were done 20 per cent faster than they should. This really impacted on my bass parts, making me wish I had not bothered with the fretless. Fortunately my attempt at recording didn’t work so my fumblings will hopefully be forgotten. Sorry to vent, but I really can’t say anything without spoiling the singer’s moment - and she deserves it. Play each gig as if it were your last...

The Clash nicked it, but I heard and loved this version first. First band I was in had a great Jamaican bass player. The singer, rhythm (me) and lead guitarist are all now bassists!

Any tips as to the cheapest method? Thanks!

Well she has more hair than him, but in terms of talent... Ask me in 45 years😏

I am selling a new copy of his book if anyone needs it!