Johnny and The USed Wonz

by DaNeo Duran

  Friday 15th September 1972

  The Border city’s secondary school had two music teachers, Miss Wilkinson and Mrs Rice. Barry returned after the summer holiday to discover Mrs Rice had left.

  Rumour had it she’d suffered a nervous breakdown – a common problem amongst the staff at his school.

  Mr Evans, as young as Miss Wilkinson, arrived as her replacement. Barry heard he had an extensive personal history of Rock ‘n’ Roll.

  Mr Evans would teach in accordance with the school’s curriculum by day and on Wednesdays (same night as Miss Wilkinson’s guitar group) hold an after-hours class for rock bands.

  The school only had one drum kit and one bass amp but somehow Mr Evans had managed to get enough money from the school to buy more used amps and a practice drum kit. He asked only that guitarists and bass players bring their own electric instruments and approach his Wednesday sessions as bands; not individuals seeking to join bands.

  By October Mr Evans would have three bands to coach; the youngest member being fifteen.

  With neither a band nor a working electric instrument, Barry had turned up at Miss Wilkinson’s after-hours lesson as per usual on her first Wednesday.

  The following Friday however, Miss Wilkinson kept him back after his class music lesson. He had no idea what she’d want.

  ‘D’you remember I said you would outgrow my guitar lessons?’ she said.

  ‘Yes Miss.’ He couldn’t remember her saying that specifically but didn’t want to sound daft.

  ‘Well I’m sure you’ll agree that’s happened.’

  He nodded and looked down.

  ‘Don’t look sad.’ She pinched his chin. ‘Mr Evans’ Wednesday sessions are what you need now; something where you can progress at your own rate. I’ve spoken to him and I’m pleased to say he’s expecting you next time.’

  As much as he didn’t feel ready for the big boys of rock he didn’t want to stop seeing Miss Wilkinson. ‘I can’t, you have to have an electric guitar.’

  ‘I thought you did?’

  ‘Doesn’t work.’

  ‘That’s fine, he’ll get it going again.’

  ‘Will he?’

  ‘If he can, yes.’

  He liked the sound of that.

  ‘Miss,’ he stood before her awkwardly, ‘you’re so nice to me. The thing is I’m facing expulsion for fighting.’

  She shook her head. ‘I know. News travels fast round the staffroom.’

  ‘Oh.’

  Her voice softened. ‘Between you and me pupils don’t get expelled for one incident.’

  ‘It’s not the first time.’ When she only gave him a surprised look he said, ‘Guess you were out the staffroom that day Miss.’

  ‘You’re unbelievable.’

  ‘Sorry. I didn’t start the fights.’

  ‘Okay, I’m not here to judge. The latest incident happened after the final bell right?’

  ‘Yeah, I was attacked outside the gates.’ He sighed. ‘It was only one punch. He started it and there was a gang of them.’

  ‘Alright, try not to worry.’ She held up calming hands. ‘Can you remember to bring your guitar in next Wednesday morning?’

  ‘Yes Miss.’

  ‘Good lad. Bring it to the music department and Mr Evans will lock it in the cupboard. What’s your next lesson?’

  ‘Double maths.’

  ‘Crikey, best you get going.’

  ‘Thanks. And, thanks for not being cross.’

  Barry hovered on the spot then acting on impulse hugged her.

  ‘Go on, get out of here,’ she said patting his back.

  Wednesday 20th September 1972

  Barry stood in the middle of the school hall clutching his electric guitar amidst more noise than he’d ever heard. His untrained ears couldn’t make sense of the racket the first band on stage made. The older fifth year lads looked like grownups to Barry making him feel insignificant and shy.

  ‘Sir,’ one of them said, ‘What’s he doing here?’

  Mr Evans looked from the stage where he’d been trying to stop the exhausted Olympic drum kit from wobbling away. ‘Oh, thanks Nicolas.’

  ‘I’d prefer you called me Tocky.’

  Mr Evans ignored that and jumped off the front of the stage. ‘Hi, you’re …’

  ‘Barry, Sir.’

  ‘Of course. Miss Wilkinson sent you.’

  ‘Yeah, but I can go if you like.’

  ‘It’ll be alright,’ he said fluffing Barry’s hair. ‘Let’s have a look at this guitar of yours. Miss Wilkinson says it doesn’t work?’

  ‘Yes Sir.’

  Mr Evans faced the stage and shouted, ‘You lot’ll be alright a minute?’

  The band’s lack of response seemed sufficient.

  In the music room Mr Evans unscrewed the guitar’s scratchplate and found his way to the instrument’s workings.

  ‘There’s usually a simple explanation. You might need to get a new pot or something.’ They both peered inside. ‘Messy. You got a plectrum?’

  ‘No Sir.’

  ‘You’ll need one. Here.’ He handed him an inch long piece of plastic. ‘You hold it like this.’

  Barry copied the grip whilst they both continued looking for anomalies amongst the guitar’s jumbled wires.

  Barry spotted it. ‘Sir.’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘I see a wire not joined to anything.’

  ‘Well done. Ah, no wonder. It should be connected to the volume pot.’

  Mr Evans heated a soldering iron but his chubby fingers couldn’t easily reach the potentiometer. Barry hadn’t used a soldering iron before but under the teacher’s guidance dropped a tiny blob of molten metal and touched the wire to it.

  ‘Neat job,’ Mr Evans said inspecting the work. ‘We’ll try it later.’

  ‘Okay Sir.’ For a moment Barry felt happy.

  ‘Now then, each band gets twenty minutes on the stage. In the meantime they practice together in one of the other classrooms. I’ll be trying you in the last band.’

  He felt anxious again. ‘Okay sir.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Miss Wilkinson says you show real promise on the instrument.’

  ‘She’s nice.’

  Leaving his side, Mr Evans popped open a guitar case and produced a fabulous looking electric guitar.’

  Mr Evans laughed seeing Barry’s expression. ‘It’s an Ibanez; as good as a Fender but half the price.’

  Barry had no idea of Fenders or how much they’d cost.

  ‘Show me where A is on the E-strings,’ the teacher said.

  After pointing this and all the other notes out, Mr Evans said, ‘You’ve probably been playing chords with Miss Wilkinson like this.’

  He performed a number of familiar open chords before saying, ‘I’ll show you something even easier and believe me thousands of rock songs have been written on nothing more complex.’

  With a single left hand position Mr Evans demonstrated power-chords. ‘You heard Machine Head?’

  ‘No Sir,’ Barry said not understanding.

  ‘Deep Purple’s new album.’

  Within sixty seconds Barry had learnt, Smoke on the Water

  ’We’ll start you off with power-chords with your band. Keep tight hold of your plectrum and keep practicing. I’ll be back in a minute.’

  With Mr Evans out the room Barry repeated the riff he’d been shown with the alien feeling plectrum.

  Minutes later Mr Evans returned with a fifth year girl.

  ‘This is Sonja. She sings in the band.’

  ‘Hi,’ she said with a surliness Barry couldn’t miss.

  She turned to Mr Evans. ‘Barry isn’t going to like this.’

  ‘I’ll be fine,’ Barry said to the pair of nuclear warheads tightly bound in the older girl’s jumper.

  Popping chewing gum she said, ‘Barry’s the band’s guitarist.’

  ‘Look,’ Mr Evans said, ‘young Barry here, has potential. The older Barry can still play lead guitar. Young Ba
rry will play rhythm to thicken up the bass end.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Sonia said.

  ‘Plus,’ Mr Evans went on, ‘having a junior will give the band more quirkiness. Record companies love stuff like that.’

  ‘Suppose,’ Sonja said.

  ‘Good. So your job’s to look after him; introduce him to the others.’

  ‘Right-oh.’

  ‘D’you hear that Barry?’ Mr Evans said. ‘You’ll be alright.’

  Barry nodded.

  Picking up his guitar he left following Sonja.

  ‘Okay,’ she said stopping outside a classroom door, ‘I’ll introduce you and we’ll practice some songs till we get to go on stage.’

  Barry couldn’t have been more nervous if she’d said, till we get to go in the boxing ring.

  ‘And for God’s sake pack in staring at my tits.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Barry said mortified. ‘I didn’t—’

  ‘Yeah yeah, you didn’t know you were doing it.’

  With cheeks burning with shame Barry followed her into the classroom.

  ‘What’s this?’ a big lad with an electric guitar and downy moustache said whilst two other equally big lads looked on.

  ‘This is Barry,’ Sonia told the lads.

  ‘What’s he doing here?’

  ‘Evans says he has to join us; says he’s got promise.’

  ‘Is that right?’ the older guitarist said pulling up the sleeves of his denim jacket and giving him a threatening look. ‘Well I’m the lead guitarist here so you can forget playing solos.’

  ‘I’m only to play power-chords with the bass,’ Barry said looking at the other two seniors not knowing which would be the bass player.

  Sonia introduced everyone.

  The lead guitarist seemed even less pleased about Barry’s presence when he discovered they shared the same first name.

  He looked at Barry. ‘What’s that you’ve got there?’

  ‘Guitar,’ Barry shrugged.

  ‘Yeah, a crap one. I meant what make is it numb-nuts?’

  Barry looked it over. ‘Dunno.’

  ‘Gizza look.’

  Trembling, Barry approached the older lad guessing he’d be taller than his older brother Frank.

  The lad snatched the instrument and burst out laughing. ‘Oh my god it is crap. It’s so crap it’s not even got a brand name.’

  Barry glowered and gritted his teeth whilst the older lad proceeded to play Smoke on the Water.

  ’It’s in tune I suppose. Here, have it back. I’d rather die than be seen with that.’

  Barry took his guitar and with a dejected stoop set off towards Sonja.

  He didn’t comprehend her suddenly alarmed expression before the sting of a slap to the back of his head shocked his eyes closed.

  When he opened them he’d already dropped his guitar. Spinning round he unleashed a tirade of punches and kicks into the older Barry.

  Chair and table legs screeched against the tiled floor as the other two lads rushed to break up the fight.

  The door swung open.

  ‘What the hell’s going on?’

  Barry faced Mr Evans whose eyes darted around the room.

  Nobody spoke. Nobody moved.

  ‘Right, Sonja, get him out of here. Wait for me in the corridor.’

  Barry couldn’t move. Sonja led him away by the hand.

  In the corridor she called him a crazy little man.

  He usually wanted to cry following such a fierce loss of temper but managed to keep it together by pacing and sucking the air.

  ‘Jeez,’ Sonja said. ‘Calm down. It’ll be alright.’

  Barry looked at her. ‘It won’t,’ he choked a tear back, ‘I’m gonna be expelled. My dad’ll kill me.’

  ‘People don’t get expelled for silly things like that.’

  ‘You don’t understand, I’m already maybe getting expelled for fighting.’

  ‘Really?’ she asked sounding almost excited, ‘looks like I misjudged you.’

  Barry stopped pacing. ‘I don’t want to get beaten up by my dad.’

  ‘No, of course not. That’d be awful.’

  He could tell she hadn’t believed him.

  Mr Evans came out the classroom and looked at his watch. ‘You’re on in a few minutes,’ he said to Sonja. ‘You go inside. Barry you come with me.’

  He followed the teacher down a corridor to the school’s deserted reception.

  ‘Sit down fella,’ Mr Evans said motioning him to the visitors’ seating.

  Barry silently obeyed.

  ‘I’m sorry. That was my fault. Sonja warned me Barry wouldn’t be happy. I shouldn’t have left you unsupervised.’

  Relief washed through him. ‘You’re not telling me off?’

  ‘I don’t think so this time,’ Mr Evans said. ‘But Miss Wilkinson mentioned you’ve been in trouble for fighting recently.’

  ‘I might be getting expelled.’

  ‘Look, as a new teacher I don’t always know what’s best. How about we go and see her afterwards and between the three of us agree to keep this incident from the headmaster?’

  Barry looked up from the floor. ‘You’d do that?’

  ‘I’m not saying you were justified but from what I gather Barry was out of order with you. As lead guitarist in the band it makes sense he’d feel threatened by a talented second-year pupil.’

  ‘I don’t like him,’ Barry said sulkily.

  ‘I know, but how about we get on stage and see if that guitar of yours works. I’ll keep an eye on Barry the whole time.’

  ‘Thanks Sir.’

  Before either stood up Mr Evans said, ‘You know, a young man of your age could do with learning to control his temper. If you could prove you were taking steps towards doing that it’d help your case against expulsion.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘What d’you do Saturday mornings?’

  Barry shrugged. ‘Practice guitar.’

  Mr Evans smiled. ‘You are keen. However, a course of karate might help you focus your energy.’

  ‘Really, karate?’ he said brightening.

  ‘It’s a martial art no doubt, but if you study it with the right attitude it’ll help you remain in control of violent situations.’

  * * *

  On stage Barry avoided looking at any of the older lads. Mr Evans positioned him stage left and plugged his guitar into an amp adjusting the gain to what might be a sweet rock sound.

  ‘Play some power-chords,’ Mr Evans said.

  With plectrum in hand Barry did as he’d just learnt astonished to hear rock sounds coming out the amp.

  On the other side of the stage the older Barry turned his amp and blasted a lead riff.

  ‘Can I just borrow that a sec?’ Mr Evans asked of young Barry. ‘I just want to check something.’

  He handed over his unbranded instrument and Mr Evans’ fingers danced all over the fretboard like Hendrix. Next he turned down the volume and tone before performing some rip-roaring finger picking.

  Barry exploded with glee. ‘I wanna play like that.’

  ‘Not as hard as it looks,’ Mr Evans said handing the guitar back. The older Barry pretended not to notice but turned his amp down a notch.

  At the end of rehearsal Mr Evans said, ‘Right one of you Barrys needs a nickname to avoid confusion.’

  ‘Well I’m Barry and I was here first,’ the older one said.

  ‘You want a nickname?’ Sonja asked the younger one.

  ‘Not bothered as long as it’s not stupid.’

  * * *

  Back home Barry raved to his delighted brother about how the guitar worked and what Mr Evans had played on it.

  He went to his room to practice before helping with tea. With their mother gone their dad expected everyone to chip in with meals. Barry went to the sink to wash what they needed. Frank chopped vegetables and their dad turned the oven on.

  No one spoke if they could help it. But halfway through the meal their dad asked
Frank about his day.

  ‘It was fine.’ The reverb of Frank’s words filled the following silence.

  Eventually Les asked Barry, ‘What about you?’

  Barry looked at Frank then said, ‘I joined a rock band.’

  His dad stopped chewing. ‘You joined a rock band?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said fearfully.

  ‘Good for you son.’

  Barry and Frank exchanged glances thinking that’d be the end of it before …

  ‘I hope you’re not expecting me to buy you a guitar.’

  ‘No, the music teacher fixed the borrowed one.’

  ‘That’s great. So how did you get on?’

  The mood lightened and Barry told him about the playing but said he hadn’t got on with the older boys. It turned out Frank vaguely knew them.

  ‘Did these, so called big lads talk about sex at all?’ Les asked pouring more Bisto on his potatoes.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Barry said wondering but not wanting to ask what that had to do with anything.

  ‘It’s all lads that age think about. Like Frankie here.’ Frank looked embarrassed but said nothing. ‘What you need is currency son.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘You can buy your way into their favour.’ He rubbed thumb and forefinger together. He turned to Frank. ‘How would you feel about going to the chemist and buying condoms?’

  ‘What?’ he said aghast.

  ‘Exactly. Lads that age want condoms. Makes them feel like men or that they might get lucky. But they’re embarrassed to buy them. Leave it with me son. I’ll sort yer some blobs.’

  Barry smiled. His dad showed him what he’d need to do by arranging a two and five pence coin in his trouser pocket.

  ‘In front of the lads you take your plectrum from your pocket.’ He showed him the two pence coin. ‘But you bring a condom out too.’ He re-pocketed the two pence coin. This time when the coin appeared the five pence piece fell out his pocket.

  ‘How d’you do that?’ Barry asked nervously.

  His dad repeated the trick. ‘Simple. You nip the two pence against the lining of your pocket. Whatever’s in their will also come out.’

  The decreased tension that usually hung around the two boys in their father’s presence soon spoiled when, after they’d emptied their plates, Les asked Frank to get him a can out the fridge.

  No one moved. Barry looked at his plate and figured if telepathy existed his dad must hear his pleas.

  Eventually Frank got up and handed him a beer. The sound of the ring pull triggered a flurry of activity from the boys who dumped the plates in the sink and vanished to their rooms.

  Wednesday 27th September 1972

  With a little digging Barry found where he could join a Saturday karate lesson free of charge and joined the Shotokan class.