Johnny and The USed Wonz

by DaNeo Duran

  ‘So if I don’t sign them this’ll have been a wasted trip. You know, yours isn’t the only studio we use?’

  ‘None of the others are available or as good,’ Grace said chipping back into the conversation. ‘Sorry.’

  Austin thanked her. ‘I could use a break from recording the tat record companies send me so, I’m prepared to either record two Used Wonz tracks for free—’

  ‘You’d do that?’

  ‘Or,’ Austin said nodding, ‘you sign them and instead of paying fully up front, pay only half in advance and the rest from future record sales.’

  Richard stroked his chin for a moment. He gave Grace a serious look then turned to Austin. ‘You must really like this band.’

  ‘Well I haven’t met them yet so I reserve the right to withdraw the offers.’

  ‘You know what, you’ll probably get on fine, Grace thinks the world of them. And, one of those offers is too good to refuse.’

  Grace offered to fetch someone from the band and hurried through the noise of the last band and its remaining supporters. The doorman nodded and allowed her to access backstage.

  ‘Brilliant gig, well done,’ she said to the four bandmates. ‘Austin’s out there singing your praises to Richard by the bar.’

  ‘Is Geoff still there?’ Johnny asked.

  ‘There’s someone who might be him, yes.’

  Soon Mazz left the dressing room with Grace and Johnny.

  Johnny saw Geoff standing with a couple of mates by the bar and on cue reciprocated his poker signal for game on.

  ‘Hi,’ Johnny said first to Richard, positioning himself so he and Austin would get a good view of Geoff intercepting Mazz and blatantly handing her a business card.

  Richard congratulated Johnny on the show and suggested they meet up at an all-night café.

  ‘Can you give us a few minutes, we’ve not loaded the van yet?’

  ‘Tell you what,’ Richard said, ‘we’ll go on ahead. But let’s meet an hour from now. That’ll give you time to get your gear back safely.’

  Grace hung back after the two men left. Climbing into the backseats after Stu slammed the doors of the loaded van Mazz asked, ‘D’you think Richard’s gonna sign us?’

  Grace followed her. ‘Well not tonight, obviously. But I’ve never seen him this close to a deal. I watched his face when Geoff handed Mazz the business card; reckon it might worry him into action.’

  Before long the gear had been stowed and the band changed. Johnny drove soon pulling them into a space by the door of a large glass-fronted café.

  Looking past Johnny, Stu saw several customers. Richard and Austin had found a table by the window.

  Once inside all seven took over two tables. None of the bandmates had eaten in ages. The excitement of their biggest most prestigious gig had quashed their appetites. Stu looked at the menu’s all-day breakfasts with a rumble from his stomach decided to order.

  ‘You eating?’ he asked Mazz.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said. That didn’t surprise him. She’d still be excited, keen to sign anything to anyone; Johnny too for that matter. Unlike them Stu didn’t feel the same wanton desire to sign just anything and, in contrast to Grace’s enthusiasm, he found Richard’s apparent ambivalence discomposing.

  He wanted to sign a deal that would get them Stateside and knew a UK independent label couldn’t facilitate that. He himself had written the first of the two new songs they’d played that night. He’d called it New York (just gets better and better) but his bandmates vetoed the name arguing the compromised, This Town (just gets better and better) would more effectively win a London crowd and Richard’s confidence.

  Stu would have preferred to expose his true passion for America and the hell with Richard if he didn’t want to sign a band destined for the US.

  That said he noted Austin’s eager character. Though Austin didn’t dominate the group’s conversation, when he spoke everyone listened. Stu focused on the young Yorkshireman’s vibe. Clearly he wanted to record the band and from what Stu had heard of the records Grace had given him that had to be a good thing.

  Whilst tucking into eggs, beans and fried bread Stu stayed quiet but as he listened his feelings began changing. Several thoughts began forming.

  He’d thought Richard didn’t like The Used Wonz and would only sign them if it made intellectual sense. But as both Austin and Grace ironed out his reserve Richard’s appreciation became evident. Then Stu began figuring if GMD took them on, The Used Wonz would be the only active band on its books and would therefore receive its full attention.

  Austin spoke with passion and reckoned if he recorded The Used Wonz album it’d be his best work to date. Stu believed him.

  Another element that endeared Stu to GMD transpired when he learned the record company aspect of GMD didn’t actually do anything other than record.

  It seemed a band’s success, outside of its own efforts, existed largely in the hands of marketing and distribution. Christine understood this and now Stu realised that if the impassioned team in the café created a fantastic musical product it would then be pedalled elsewhere, a major record company, and that might reopen the possibility of America.

  Stu’s sausages suddenly tasted heavenly. Looking around the table the other six faces appeared angelically luminous.

  Most of the bandmates had no family outside each other. Stu thought back over their time together; the deepening of bonds superior to anything he had with his own family members. Seeing Grace sandwiched between Mazz and Johnny, occasionally resting her head on his shoulder he realised the family had recruited at least one other member.

  Though their hope of Trudie at Vanquar Records making their dreams come true had passed, GMD’s passion couldn’t be rivalled.

  Eventually money came into conversation. Stu felt little surprise when Richard became the arbiter of bad news.

  The music business required money and everybody wanted a share. Bands, always the last to be paid, would get the remnants assuming profits had even been made. Nevertheless as far as Stu could tell after GMD had its percentage and paid for The Production Annex the rest of the money once stripped by some major or other, taxed, battered every which way and as long as the band stayed together, toured and kept writing sensational songs recorded by Austin they could still earn more than they did on the markets.

  Stu pushed his cutlery together. Whether America happened or not he knew he’d be a Used Won till he died. And he’d never known such positively since he joined.

  ‘Okay,’ Richard said suddenly. ‘Will you excuse Austin and myself a moment?’

  The two men left the table and stood by the café’s entrance.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Mazz asked.

  ‘One of three possible things,’ Grace said. ‘Two very good, one bad.’

  ‘Favourable odds,’ Johnny said who, like Stu, sensed the family coming together.

  Through the window he watched the two men on the street shake hands and return with big smiles.

  Wednesday 20th June 1984

  After leaving the office Linda drove from work to the gym and called in to see her mom who didn’t look well and didn’t get up to greet her.

  Speaking through bluish lips despite her mixed race skin tone she asked, ‘How’s that young man of yours?’

  ‘He’s ten years older than me,’ Linda said plumping cushions to make her more comfortable.

  ‘That’s still young.’

  ‘Compared to you maybe. How are you today?’

  ‘Not feeling so young today Linda.’

  The response didn’t surprise her. In the kitchenette Linda started cooking and fortunately her mother perked up when presented with one of two plates of sausage and mash on a tray. Sitting with the other, Linda ignored the TV and looking at her mom considered how strong she’d been until recently. Women, her mom had taught her, had to be strong.

  Before America’s civil war her maternal grandmother’s family arrived in South Carolina from Sierra Le
one. Losing their freedom as catchers of fish they became slaves of Scottish immigrants. If abuse of young black girls had happened it’d remained secret. But when Linda’s grandmother had controversially accepted the honourable advances of an Outer Hebridean farmer, volcanos erupted on both sides of the family. Incredibly they married and Linda’s mom arrived soon after.

  Her grandfather’s family history would have been a chronicle of desperately hard work. Even after slavery’s abolition several next-generation Scottish settlers adapted to laziness having been the first born into wealth beyond poverty. And so Linda’s maternal grandparent’s comprised of an apparently lazy white man and overworked black lady; a pattern which imprinted on their daughter – Linda’s mother.

  On the other side of the family, Linda’s paternal grandparents also arrived in the Carolinas, this time from West Scotland’s borderlands. The border folk generally kept themselves to themselves but her grandparents’ son (Linda’s father to be) broke from the MacAlasdair clan and married Linda’s mixed race mom after getting her pregnant with Linda’s brother.

  Years later after many unsuccessful attempts they produced Linda who remembered helping her mother clear up after her lazy father and equally lacklustre older brother. Whilst still an infant Linda listened to her mother complain with mantra-like frequency that men are different animals – necessary but idle. She compared families to prides of lion. The big strong dominant male would protect the pride with superior strength but leave all the general work to the females.

  Later, whilst clearing the trays and washing up, Linda thought back to Fiona’s observation days earlier. Fiona had actually accused her of being wrong about men and what she wanted from relationships.

  Back in the living room, as her mom fought for breath against premature emphysema, Linda wondered how much her mother’s opinion had conditioned her own. For Linda comparing families to prides of lion sparked images of men being as scarce as flowers in the desert. And, just like prides where male cubs are shunned as soon as their manes appear, her brother had taken off before Linda had learned to pronounce binoculars.

  But if Linda’s black grandmother marrying a white man caused uproar, it must have seemed even more astounding when it happened again two decades later, especially as Linda’s mother’s marriage to a white man happened during an era of societal hypocrisy and segregation.

  For Linda it hardly mattered that in her society men truly existed in plentiful numbers and without racial segregation; the conditioned lie – ironed onto her soul stated: men are rare and shouldn’t be upset for fear they leave.

  Somehow, the lie even held fast when her mother remarried another white man. Two years after her father’s whisky-pickled organs ground to a halt and three years before Martin Luther King’s famous speech, Linda had yet to start high school when her mother married Bob Lake.

  Though Bob had been a wonderful man sharing his name and home with both his wife and Linda he, just like her father before him, never lifted a finger around the house. He worked during the day but expected to be waited on hand and foot afterwards despite his wife also holding a day job.

  Unlike her father Bob didn’t drink excessively. But he did eat. Within a few years his broad shoulders gave up competing with his broadening waist. Tragically he dropped dead of a heart attack the moment Linda’s mom showed signs of her own ill health.

  Linda’s mom’s philosophy about men might have ground its way shaping the woman she’d become but it didn’t mean she’d be happy. Maybe Fiona had a point. At the time Earl arrived on the scene, Linda had been happy to spend Bob’s inheritance on the first office and keep his name for her business. But, though Earl appeared ideal on paper she feared upsetting him she and still didn’t feel happy. Upset hadn’t just followed it’d got well out of hand.

  Thursday 14th July 1983

  Grace sat silently in the GMD office waiting for Richard to take his lunch break. On the dot of noon he nodded her way and pushed his way out onto the fire escape.

  Grace pulled open her desk draw, took out her college prospectus and spent the next five minutes leafing through looking for suitable fulltime courses. Nothing took her fancy. The booklet’s pages blurred as drowsily she closed it along with her eyes. She rested her face on it. Safe in her loneliness her mind recalled a time months earlier when The Used Wonz’ energy reflected the promise of a brighter future. She never would have imagined having to leave GMD.

  The Used Wonz hadn’t appeared in the office together since February when they’d proudly unveiled their album. Having signed the GMD’s contracts in August they’d waited until late November before Austin could facilitate serious uninterrupted sessions after which they returned to London brimming with stories of their recording experiences.

  Christine had been most animated. Having listened to three decades of recorded vinyl borrowed from the stall where she worked she claimed to have developed a keen ear for quality and maintained Austin deserved national recognition. She described how the studio in contrast to its tidy sonic brilliance had been a mess of scrappy furniture unwashed coffee cups and tangles of leads.

  On their first day she’d sat on Johnny’s knee so Austin could take the captain’s chair by his state-of-the-art mixing desk which lay amongst mountains of ancient studio equipment some of which look homemade. Austin discussed with them the magic of their live performance and how it’d failed to appear on the demo which he’d subjected them to again.

  In the GMD office Christine had yacked through the first track pointing out the Jupiter-8 and Memorymoog synths Austin had brought in to add verve to the project.

  Whilst Grace had listened to the triumphant album Johnny had said many of the recorded parts had been performed with the studio lights out, and capturing the abundant magic had required extremes of patience.

  The project had run over several weeks. Austin, present at the unveiling, said it would go down as the best thing to come from The Production Annex. Richard agreed saying GMD had never had a finer product to peddle.

  Still with her face resting on her desk Grace recalled the reservations she’d had about the album. To her its emotional maturity existed at the expense of pop sensibility. Though she loved Johnny’s melodic outpourings she felt they’d have better suited a future record.

  GMD needed something that’d ruthlessly grab the public. Though she’d anticipated Richard would struggle securing marketing and distribution she never guessed it’d take so long as to jeopardise the company’s existence. But that’s what had happened.

  She didn’t want to leave for college; she wanted GMD to succeed and for Austin to receive the balance of his payment.

  The Used Wonz had kept the rooms in their house during the recording of the album and had since returned to the markets and local gigs which Grace occasionally attended. One band member or other would call into the office for intermittent and embarrassingly scant updates.

  Wondering when she’d last seen any band members Grace didn’t hear approaching footsteps on the fire escape. If she heard the handle or the door pull open she didn’t have time to react.

  ‘Mazz?’ she said bolting upright as if electrocuted. The prospectus, having adhered to her cheek, dropped into her lap.

  Mazz strode in. ‘Are you alright, I thought you were dead?’

  Grace felt her blush rising mumbled an apology, rubbed her eyes and seeing her visitor in full makeup said, ‘You look great.’

  ‘Thanks. No Richard?’

  ‘He’s on lunch,’ she said fanning her face. ‘I’ve not much news I’m afraid.’

  ‘That’s okay.’ Mazz grabbed one of the office’s plastic chairs. ‘I got news. Trudie from Vanquar; she’s back in town.’

  ‘Trudie.’ The name rang a bell. ‘The lady you did work experience with ages ago?’

  ‘The very same. She was seconded to the US division.’

  ‘Oh.’ Grace’s mind sprang to action. ‘How did you know she was back?’

  ‘I ring Vanquar periodicall
y; this time they said she was in.’

  ‘Brilliant, I’ll get Richard to take her an album this afternoon.’

  ‘No need, I’ve just been there.’

  Grace stared a second then grabbed her calendar. ‘Today’s Thursday. We’ll give her the weekend and see what she thinks on Monday. Would that be too soon?’

  ‘Too late more like.’

  ‘Too late, how come?’

  ‘Calm down,’ Mazz said. ‘The situation is she’s not found her feet back here yet. So she didn’t mind me visiting in person.’

  ‘With the album – which she listened to there and then?’

  ‘Actually, we had a chat. I told her what we’d been up to with you guys and Austin then I left.’

  ‘But you said—’

  ‘I know, I’d said bye and was on my way out the building. I’d got the lift to the ground floor and one of the receptionists on the phone collared me; sent me back upstairs.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘Seems Trudie’d heard enough of the first song before I got out the lift.’

  ‘And liked it?’

  ‘Loved it.’

  ‘And the rest of the album?’

  ‘Loved that too.’

  ‘It doesn’t make sense,’ Grace said rubbing her brow.

  ‘What, that she’d like our album?’

  ‘Well obviously it doesn’t make sense that everyone’s been slapping us with rejection – including Vanquar for that matter. But with that I don’t get why she’d be any different. Did you say what you’ve been up to since recording?’

  ‘I told her not much,’ Mazz admitted.

  ‘Eh, that makes even less sense then. Richard would be first to tell you, in this business being interested in something nobody else wants is mighty odd.’

  ‘But it makes sense,’ Mazz said unruffled. ‘Trudie said we’re just not right for this country.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘She reckons America would eat us up.’

  ‘I see,’ Grace said considering the validity of Mazz’s statement. She’d considered presenting The Used Wonz to other countries but Richard had said Britain couldn’t be beaten as a place to break bands, and to approach other countries would appear as an admission of defeat.

  Before she could spare another thought Richard came back from lunch.

  Grace shoved her college prospectus back in her desk. Together they went back over Mazz’s story and to Grace’s surprise he didn’t object to the suggestion that the band would be better suited to America.