Johnny and The USed Wonz

by DaNeo Duran

  After silently rebuking herself she went downstairs and called Mazz away from the TV and other girls.

  ‘What’s up?’ Mazz asked.

  Christine hung her head and began a slow apology. ‘Thing is after a lot of thought I feel the band could’ve been good for us both. It’s just that, oh God would you believe it, I’ve lost their number.’

  ‘What?’ Mazz asked without freaking out.

  ‘I’ve lost their phone number.’

  ‘Are you certain you wanted to join Johnny and the Used Ones?’

  ‘Yes. Why, don’t you?’ she asked almost hopefully.

  ‘Of course I do. But do you?’

  ‘I just said so didn’t I?’

  ‘Okay, if you’re sure. I took the card.’

  ‘Why?’

  Mazz put her hand in her back pocket. ‘I didn’t want you sneaking off and telling them we weren’t joining.’

  Saturday 30st August 1980

  The next day the lads followed Christine’s directions to West Ham where she’d arranged for them to use their local youth club’s rehearsal space and equipment free of charge.

  Both lads had dressed up for the occasion but when they entered the freshly decorated building they found neither girl had made the same effort. Christine wore no makeup, though thankfully her spot had lessened. She wore jeans like Marlon’s and a washed out shirt; not that either lad complained about the missing button.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said catching Stu’s eye, ‘I won’t go on stage like this.’

  Regarding the better dressed Mazz, Johnny said, ‘I got you a present.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Don’t get too excited,’ he said handing her an item from his guitar case.

  ‘What is it?’ she said looking it over.

  ‘A metronome; to help you develop rock-solid timing.’

  Johnny showed her finger exercises and how to practice with it. Watching her dainty hands he wondered how she’d develop strength and a decent stretch until she explained being left-handed her strongest hand covered the frets.

  Cracking into rehearsal Johnny and the Used Ones soon morphed into something wholly modern sounding. Christine had resuscitated the outmoded Fender Rhodes sound by plugging it through guitar effect pedals she’d picked up cheaply. In addition to the Rhodes she used a second keyboard called a string machine from which she drew an ethereal density leaving Johnny in no doubt that they’d have to get their hands on one of their own.

  When the time to wrap up arrived Johnny proposed they book a gig for six weeks’ time. ‘It’ll give us focus and something to work towards.’

  With that agreed the guys packed up and headed to the local pub on Christine’s suggestion. Christine told Mazz to look as grown up as possible.

  Trading stories they learned that despite being twenty Christine still hadn’t been turfed out the home.’

  ‘They love her,’ Mazz said.

  Christine smiled. ‘I’m registered as staff and do a lot round the place. But it’s like free labour for the guys running it, given I’m signing on.’

  ‘She gets called Mother Hen,’ Mazz said.

  Sunday 10th June 1984

  Johnny sat on the coach surrounded by band and crew.

  ‘Is everyone comfortable?’ Dane asked standing in the aisle.

  ‘Yes,’ came the reply.

  ‘Everyone had enough exercise?’

  ‘Except you Dane,’ Johnny said.

  ‘Ah, well I’ve been exercising my brain.’

  On this occasion Johnny thought better of making more jokes.

  Dane continued. ‘Now then, tonight we’re supporting Jefferson Starship again. We’ve got a three hour drive to Las Cruces.’

  ‘Where’s that?’ Stu shouted.

  ‘South of here. Now, I believe everyone is aware of a few serious things stirring up the waters. Most importantly we have the task of repaying Linda Lake ten thousand dollars. And, because it affects us all, I propose pulling together to generate as much money as possible to repay Linda when we arrive in LA, as has already been suggested to me by Christine and Mazz. So, has anyone any practical suggestions?’

  ‘Stu has,’ Quinn said from behind the bus’s steering wheel.

  ‘Okay, what’s your idea Stu?’ Dane asked.

  Stu explained his club fight and Johnny watched the girls’ and Dane’s expressions turn to horror.

  When he’d finished Mazz surprised everyone by speaking first. ‘Why the hell would you do something so stupid?’

  ‘He did great,’ Quinn said but catching Mazz’s glare in the driving mirror concentrated back on the road.

  Stu faltered knocked by Mazz’s uncharacteristic bluntness. ‘I made us two hundred dollars,’

  ‘And what’s two hundred compared to the ten thousand we owe?’

  ‘A bloody start.’ Stu banged his hand on the headrest of the seat in front of him.

  ‘Well it’s a crap one. What if you’d been hurt? We’d have no drummer and no income from the rest of the tour. You weren’t being smart.’

  Johnny would have spoken up but hadn’t thought of it in quite such grim terms.

  Instead Dane clapped his hands together. ‘Enough. Stu’s right. We’ve got to have something to give Linda. But Stu, Mazz is also right. Risking the rest of the tour isn’t any way to help Linda or ourselves.’

  The silence darkened the mood further. ‘Does everyone agree – no more club fights?’

  Nobody spoke, not to the contrary anyway.

  ‘Okay. Any other ideas?’

  Johnny almost kept quiet about his previous night. But felt sorry that Stu had been berated for trying so hard to help.

  He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a bundle of bills.

  ‘Here,’ he said, ‘one hundred and eighty-three dollars. Add that to the pot.’

  Dane’s face lit up. ‘Well done, how d’ya manage that?’

  ‘Poker,’ he said.

  This time Christine blew up. ‘Poker – the same thing that got us in this mess in the first place?’

  ‘I was robbed,’ Johnny yelled back as if she’d forgotten that detail.

  ‘Enough,’ Dane shouted again. ‘Thank you Johnny and Stu. That’s great.’

  He took an elastic band from a cash box before banding the two lads’ earnings and handing the total to Johnny. ‘You alright minding the pot?’

  Johnny looked at the bills but considering the task. ‘Nah. You’re the manager.’

  He put the roll back in Dane’s hands. The two looked at each other a moment. Then Dane nodded and resumed his place at the top of the coach.

  ‘That’s almost the first half grand of the first of ten. Earned by two people in one night.’

  Mazz had gone quiet but Johnny saw Christine still shake her head.

  ‘Now then,’ Dane said. ‘I’ve got an idea. It’s low risk and nobody should get hurt.’ He smiled alone. ‘T-shirts.’

  Dane explained their merchandise typically netted five dollars per item. On a good night they’d been selling around thirty though poor nights only between five and ten.

  With seventeen gigs to play before LA he suggested they all actively push T-shirts even mentioning them at radio stations. They could put the entire proceeds towards the debt.

  ‘Aren’t we low on T-shirts?’ Christine asked.

  ‘The next batch should be with us tomorrow and we’ll order more if need be.’

  ‘How many T-shirts d’you expect us to sell?’ Stu asked.

  ‘Nowhere near enough to clear the debt but—’

  ‘How many would clear it?’ Stu asked.

  ‘A hundred and twenty every night.’

  ‘Quadruple what we’re selling now,’ Johnny said.

  ‘Quadruple what you’re selling on a good night,’ Dane corrected. ‘But, selling sixty a night would mean we’d something significant to give Linda. What does everyone say?’

  ‘I like it,’ Johnny said.

  ‘Sure beats poker,’
Christine said.

  Finding the comment unfair Johnny said, ‘I’ll remind you poker is what afforded you your keyboards and allowed me to keep my guitar. We wouldn’t have got far without it.’

  October 1980 – January 1981

  They played their first gig with Christine and Mazz at the Hope and Anchor; home of all firsts Johnny thought remembering Scarf Ace and his first gig with Stu. But, unlike those times not even the unmistakable nervous energy could save them from disaster.

  Having persuaded the youth club to lend them their Rhodes and the Roland string machine they’d turned up amongst a bunch of bands who still believed in punk’s ethos; ready to take the stage and pretend to be angry. Stu had recently passed his driving test and borrowed a van from Edward, one of the market’s stallholders.

  Following a discussion about image they settled on tight black jeans and white T-shirts. Like the Fonz from Happy Days, the lads styled their hair in 1950’s quiffs. The girls titivated with sharp makeup and sharper stilettos. Mazz’s sunglasses disguised her innocent eyes though she still looked younger than her fifteen years. For weeks, having only seen Christine looking dowdy, her swan-like transformation gave the lads extra faith in the band … until they played.

  After their first song they lost cohesion. Doing his best Stu thought they sounded like four musicians playing four different songs. He watched Christine sitting behind her keys seeming introvert. Mazz looked isolated, never lifting her gaze from her fretboard which left Johnny overcompensating for their lack.

  Stu felt any established hold on the audience vanish as one dreadful performance followed another. He itched to get off stage as the rumblings from the audience grew.

  Afterwards, leaning against the pub’s back wall, he wondered where it’d gone wrong.

  Christine approached him through the mass of people. He didn’t dare guess what she’d be thinking. He only hoped she wouldn’t leave the band.

  ‘Stuart,’ she said wearing a little-girl smile he’d not seen before.

  ‘Are you alright, after that?’ he asked.

  She wrinkled her nose. ‘Rubbish gig.’

  Stu nodded preparing himself for bad news.

  ‘But we’re okay aren’t we?’

  Until that moment Christine had given him and Johnny the impression that despite the hard work she’d put into the band she didn’t need it and they’d do well to remember the fact. Detecting a new and different vibe he hesitantly he put an arm around her.

  * * *

  After dropping the girls home Johnny and Stu sat at their kitchen table. ‘Well that was a disaster,’ Johnny said.

  ‘Was it?’ Stu said.

  ‘Wasn’t it?’

  ‘Musically it was so bad I thought Christine might leave.’

  ‘Don’t say that mate.’

  ‘It’s okay. I reckon she’s all front – she needs us as much as we need her.’

  * * *

  The girls had just enough time to make last orders in their local. Christine bought Mazz a Coke. ‘How did you find that babe?’

  ‘Thought we’d be better,’ Mazz admitted. ‘What did Stu say?’

  ‘We’re not fired.’

  Mazz relaxed.

  ‘Remember in the taxi after we met the lads?’ Christine said. ‘I asked whether it bothered you that they were just two lads wanting us to join their crappy band?’

  ‘I said they weren’t crappy.’

  ‘You were right. But it didn’t bother you that all that management and instant stardom stuff was a hoax. Why?’

  Mazz took her time to answer. ‘I guess it was just a feeling. I felt their genuine invitation meant we’d be joining, something.’

  ‘And you didn’t feel that with the Wenches?’

  ‘Hardly. I was there to make up the numbers.’

  * * *

  In the next rehearsal they decided to limit their practice to five songs; enough to support other bands.

  ‘We’ll rehearse them until we can play them in our sleep,’ Johnny said. ‘I’ll book us another gig for a fortnight’s time.’

  A fortnight later they borrowed the keyboards and Edward’s van and opened for a night of four bands at another London pub.

  * * *

  In the rehearsal following the gig Johnny said, ‘Obviously we’ve had another terrible performance. I’m concerned more might be damaging.’

  They decided no more gigging until they’d sussed their problem.

  ‘I propose,’ Johnny said, ‘we get gigging after Christmas and if we’re still not performing as we know we should we try intensive gigging instead; see if that irons things out.’

  Everyone agreed but minutes into the rehearsal Johnny noticed each player’s position within the room and thought he’d grasped the problem.

  He stepped forwards two feet and at once felt the band confidence quail. Two steps back and it righted itself again.

  ‘Hang on,’ he said into his mic mid song. ‘Let’s arrange ourselves like we would on stage.’

  The girls’ reluctance spoke volumes and before the first song’s chorus the arrangement fell apart.

  ‘Think about the two gigs we did; the poky stages,’ Johnny said. ‘That’s where we’re going wrong. In here we can communicate on all levels. On stage, with our backs to Stu, and me in the way of bass and keyboards we lose it.’

  ‘So we need to set up differently?’ Mazz asked.

  ‘We need to be aware of each other. Mazz, I need to make sure I’m not blocking.your view of Christine.’

  * * *

  Leading into winter they focused the majority of their attention on their chosen performance songs. Mazz would step backwards. From beside the drums she could communicate with Stu whilst seeing past Johnny to Christine who sat sideways to where the audience would be.

  Then, one rehearsal Stu suggested they attempt a song with the lights off. ‘It’ll help train us to play on darker stages and perform to the audience rather than stare at our instruments and each other all night.’

  Nearest the door Mazz hit the switch. The room fell into darkness.

  Christine’s fingers felt their way onto the keys aided by traces of light from the street. Not able to see anyone’s faces though she heard from somewhere in the darkness Stu counting them in. With fingers positioned she closed her eyes.

  The music sounded different. It felt different. It penetrated her more honestly than it did with the lights on. She heard new mistakes but they didn’t matter; the song and its sound had greater purpose.

  Stu’s drums made her want to dance, Mazz’s bass to copulate and, if Johnny’s guitar made her want to sing the sound of his voice filled her head dizzying her like a prayer; not just words spoken but a connection with something truly spiritual. She didn’t want to sully his voice with hers but when the time came to sing her voice with his flowed like rivers into confluent beauty.

  When Mazz flicked the lights back on everyone blinked avoiding eye contact until their eyes had readjusted.

  ‘Wow,’ Johnny said. ‘Did anyone else feel that?’

  ‘It felt brilliant,’ Mazz said.

  But Christine sensed that the darkness having evoked such passion had also generated twinges of embarrassment. Nevertheless its value won out and future rehearsals made time for darkness training.

  In one session Christine heard Mazz’s voice too.

  Johnny set up a mic for her and soon she sang along to Christine’s voice. Once she’d got it Christine developed new parts for herself.

  Saturday 10th January 1981

  Stu celebrated Christmas with his family. Getting more presents than his bandmates he argued they’d all benefit from the cymbals he’d received.

  Johnny spent his Christmas with Liz and Graham who gave him strings and plectrums. Graham’s band had started writing songs of their own and the pair discussed ways to save money on studio recording by booking one session for both bands.

  Christine booked Johnny and the Used Ones’ into a West Ham pub’s roc
k night; their first gig since October. Once again, the youth club generously facilitated the keyboards.

  * * *

  Faced with the pub’s tiny makeshift stage, Johnny rested his amp on the headline band’s Marshall.

  ‘Get that thing off my amp,’ a voice said behind him.

  ‘Sorry,’ Johnny said turning to see a lad Marlon’s age with blond office-neat hair. ‘There’s hardly room anywhere else.’

  ‘Not my problem son.’

  Johnny flashed with temper. Dumping his amp he left himself no room to perform.

  ‘That’s better,’ the office worker said.

  ‘Not for me.’

  ‘Well, when you’re top of the bill you can have more space.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to that.’

  Bitter, having played larger more prestigious venues just months earlier, Johnny suddenly wondered how he came to be bottom of the bill in an insignificant pub amongst idiots like this above him.

  ‘I’m Hal by the way.’

  ‘Congratulations,’ Johnny said walking away.

  But later, on stage wedged between amp and mic Johnny felt great. The gig went well with Christine and Mazz’s housemates giving them the support they needed.

  Afterwards the band stood at the back smirking as the singer from Hal’s band, Raging Reprieve, grabbed his mic and said to the guitarist, ‘You ready to rock this place?’

  ‘Hell yes,’ Hal said in a faux rock voice from his extra few feet of space.

  ‘What a sad case,’ Stu said to Johnny.

  Raging Reprieve certainly didn’t rock as their name suggested. To Johnny they sounding lamer than a pre-1976 Top of the Pops act.

  But suddenly caught, Johnny phased everything out including his dislike of Hal as the guitar’s sound gripped his imagination.

  Essentially happy with the Squire, Tooly’s mum had bought him Johnny never wasted time lusting after unaffordable guitars; believing as Mr Evans and Graham had suggested that guitar sounds lie principally with the guitarist playing them.

  Here though, in the hands of someone whose playing couldn’t have bettered Mazz’s much improved bass playing, Hal’s sunburst Fender Stratocaster sounded better than anything he’d ever heard.

  At the end of the night Raging Reprieve’s singer who seemed not to share Hal’s unfounded arrogance suggested the two bands play future gigs together.

  Stu agreed they should. At first Johnny baulked not liking to support such an unworthy band. But considering the other hand he wanted to hear Hal’s guitar again, plus he figured supporting Raging Reprieve would be harmless practice.