We were sitting in the airport lounge, waiting for the shuttle to London, when Noel told everyone that, for whatever reason, they were not to put The Real People on any future guest lists. This came as a shock to everyone.
Liam told him to fuck right off. ‘I’ll put on whoever I want,’ he said angrily. ‘And then I’ll take them off,’ came the reply from Noel. He would soon take to checking the guest lists and removing people he didn’t want. This would cause constant problems for the rest of us.
The recordings from the studio in Bootle, and also the recording we released as ‘Supersonic’, had original production credits to the Claggies. This is what Noel would call the two Scousers as a joke and was part of the deal we struck when we had arrived at their door with a desperate look and three songs. I had noticed no production credits on the album’s version for them, though.
We were on a 12-hour flight and already into the complimentaries. Noel had sat himself away from the group after the fracas in the lounge. To amuse ourselves, I suggested we decide which Monkey character each band member should be. We all nominated ourselves for Monkey himself, but Liam insisted that it has to be him as he was the lead singer. I wasn’t sure about the logic on that one, but we moved on. Guigsy was put forward for Pigsy, mainly because of the fact that one name rhymed with the other, but also due to his eating habits. Bonehead’s haircut was similar to the cut sported by Sandy the Fishface, so that was him sorted, which left me as Horse. When asked by a stewardess why I was called Horse, I explained it was due to my large genitalia. Seemed to be a distinct lack of service from there on in.
Somebody asked, ‘What are we going to do for the next eleven hours?’ It was a good question. Liam thrust his hand in his pocket and pulled out a bag of capsules.
‘Tomazees!’ shouted Guigs, and quickly threw two down his neck. Rather untypically, he had being getting amorous with one of the stewardesses, so hopefully the tablets would calm him on two fronts.
Myself and Liam followed suit and within the space of 15 minutes, it seemed, we had crossed two continents, slipped through a wormhole and were ready to land at Ota, the main airport for Tokyo.
12 SEPTEMBER 1994. TOKYO
The large jumbo had hit the tarmac with a shudder and a squeal. We gathered our belongings and shuffled off the plane. Nobody really knew what to expect in Japan. We would soon find out.
Everything in Japan seemed to be neon-lit. Even the airport looked more like a casino. As we made our way through the bright corridors, we heard a commotion ahead. Rounding a corner, we found ourselves faced with hordes of people – mainly young and female, and mainly crying and hysterical – waving posters and banners. They were being controlled by policemen. The cameras flashed in a white explosion. When we were able to refocus, we realised the posters depicted ourselves and the banners proclaimed ‘Oasis’. Fucking hell. We were immediately set upon. Photographs were taken and autographs were given. Then came the gifts. Walkmans, Game Boys, jewellery, clothes, Beatles memorabilia, underwear, DVDs, instruments, photographs, CDs. As these gifts were bestowed upon us, I decided there would be no need for Christmas shopping this year. Liam looked over at me. He had at least thirty girls pulling at him – his clothes, his hair, his ears. But he was laughing as he tried to extract himself from their grasp. We managed to regroup and fought our way out of the airport to the waiting vehicles. As we did so, the clawing crowd moved with us. To be honest, that crowd would move with us for the next five days or so. Oasismania!
The waiting vehicles sped off into Tokyo centre. Along the way, we passed buildings that reached far into the night sky. The neon lights attached to these buildings gave off a fluorescent glow that lit the night, making everything luminous and magic. It was extremely impressive, but I wouldn’t like to see the ’leccy bills.
We arrived at our hotel, which was already a staging point for another two to three hundred fans. They stood outside, in eager anticipation of our arrival. The group seemed to be a carbon copy of the airport crowd, who would also be heading this way shortly, hot on our tails. This was the first time the band had received such adulation and, to be honest, we were all a bit thrown by it, in particular Liam. More flesh was grabbed at, clothes torn and presents received.
Paul Slattery had also joined the tour. Liam had insisted he travel to Japan with us to document our Far Eastern adventure. He was clicking and flashing away to his heart’s content.
We booked into the Roppongi Hotel and were informed that our room had three single beds. So there were three single beds and only me and Bonehead to fill them. There was a fella from Levenshulme called Fatboy who had also accepted Liam’s invite to come along, but had had to pay his own way. He overheard our room arrangements and asked if we minded him bedding down. We were unsure at first, as Fatboy was in his forties and the nightlife could get a bit hectic. Last thing we needed was a 40-year-old sat there when we returned. Things were weird enough already. But Fatboy was one of us, so we offered him the third bed in our room. Always looked after our own. Loyalty and trust counted.
Me, Bonehead and Fatboy headed to our sterile hotel room. Plastic, white and spotlessly clean. No television or mini-bar, which suggested that our reputation had preceded us. And the fact that we had been placed on the 15th floor meant that anything thrown from a window really would be deadly. I made this point to Bonehead. We immediately threw our bags under the bed and headed back out towards the adulation, leaving Fatboy behind. He had some knowledge of Tokyo and had promised to take the band to the finest noodle bar in town. Judging by the size of him he probably had excellent knowledge of most types of restaurants. We were not due to play until the following night, so like excited children me and Bonehead were off into the noisy and frantic Tokyo streets.
We had two hours before we met the rest of the crew for some food, so we decided to go for a drink. Bonehead located a bar or, ‘izakaya’, and made to enter. He was stopped and asked to remove his footwear. This request was met with some hostility. ‘Yer can fuck off if yer think I’m taking me shoes off. I’ve got big fuck-off holes in me socks,’ Bonehead told them.
The door staff were adamant, though, and it was not long before me and Bonehead were sat on a slightly raised cushioned platform, facing each other with legs crossed. Bonehead’s big toe peeked out from the end of his sock. It was hairier than his head. He was shouting for wine, wine, wine. The bartender came over, poured out some local sake and explained in English that is wine made from rice.
‘Rice?’ replied Bonehead, incredulously ‘Wine is made from fucking grapes, mate, not rice.’
‘They don’t have mass use of grapes in Japan,’ I said, trying to help Bonehead cross that great cultural divide.
‘What, not even in the supermarkets?’ Bonehead slurred back.
I shook my head. He had not even started proper drinking yet. We both raised our glasses and saluted each other. We then threw the sweet-tasting liquid down our throats. Bonehead paused for a moment and then his eyes lit up; he ordered two more. Within an hour, he was completely decimated and I was glad I had restrained myself. He wound up telling me he was going to try and ‘ferment a box of Uncle Ben’s’ when he returned to England. We were late, so I told him the rest of the band would be waiting for us and we needed to head back to the hotel. But, yeah, good idea with the Uncle Ben’s.
Bonehead tucked his feet under his ankles and laughed, but then lost his balance and rolled off the platform onto the marble below. He was floundering on the polished floor of the bar, lying on his side but still in a lotus position. He looked at me helplessly, unable to free his legs. The rest of the bar looked on in disgust. I laughed and decided I’d better get him back to the hotel and into a cold shower, so I untangled him and we left.
When we returned to the hotel room, we were met by Fatboy’s duvet rising up and down at a furious speed. I guessed that, like most people who had got on the Oasis bus, he had been intoxicated by the hype and furore surrounding the band. We were impressed by his sp
eed of conquest, though, it had to be said. After all, he was in his forties, balding and shaped like a dough ball. But then again, considering the circumstances, I suppose it wasn’t that hard. Bonehead set about trying to shower while mullered, as the duvet continued to rise up and down and muffled grunts and groans were emitted. Bonehead shouted encouragement from the bathroom as he showered and then reappeared.
‘I need to iron my gear,’ he slurred.
The shower hadn’t done him much good, by the look of it.
‘You look great,’ I lied. We left, with Bonehead looking proper chuffed with his crumpled rock star look.
We headed back down to the bar to find the rest of the group as arranged, using the stairs so as to bypass the groupies. Noel, Liam and Guigs were sat waiting for us. They all looked deliriously happy. At the bar stood Fatboy, who was mouthing ‘Do you want a drink?’ at us.
Me and Bonehead looked at each other in confusion. If Fatboy is here, then who the fuck is writhing around in our room? Fatboy later admitted to giving his key to one of the road crew, who had told him he needed a shower. I told Fatboy that the shower in question might not be the one he had imagined.
We headed off for a night of noodles and JD. Not the greatest of bedfellows, those two. It seemed that the mob of fans had disappeared until Liam pointed out of the noodle bar window.
‘Fuckin’ hell, check this out,’ he said.
There must have been three hundred girls headed down the street towards us. Cars had ground to a halt in the melee, horns blaring. As the pack got nearer, the sound of girls screaming gradually increased. One girl floated from nowhere in front of the window and simply pointed at Liam, her mouth agape. The noodle bar owner, who at first had stood watching in some perplexity, suddenly realised that we were the attraction and the hordes were heading his way. He barked some orders and the door was locked and the waiters sent out to guard the steps to the entrance. This absolute fucking bedlam would surround us until we left, five days later. We were eventually ushered out the back and advised to return to the hotel; we would see more kitchens than foyers on that trip.
The Japanese were very musically aware and really knew how to enjoy themselves. They immersed themselves in the experience. Without wanting to sound chauvinistic, that evening I eyed up a pretty little thing who kept fluttering her eyes at me. She had an innocent look and seemed quiet. After I got her alone, all that changed. I had a right talker. I wasn’t interested in talking, though. As she rattled away at me, I was mentally planning how to get her back to my room. I went for the direct approach once more, but she insisted we sit and drink and talk first. Or rather, she talked. I drank, frustrated by her talking. We finally headed back to my room where, after some more talking, I finally got her to the point of no return. She headed off to the bathroom to defrock. There was now nothing between me and a night of oriental passion. When she returned, she was stood in front of me wearing a bra and an impenetrable pair of hard plastic knickers. There was a key-shaped hole on the side panel where these ‘knickers’ could be unlocked. I stared at her, not knowing what to say.
‘You ain’t got a key for them, have you?’ I finally asked her, forlornly.
She shook her head.
‘I didn’t think so.’
Time for sleep.
The following morning, the band were up early and communicating only by room phone. The corridors were still awash with girls trying to locate where we were. I spoke to Guigs, who wasn’t himself. Guigs had never been one for the ladies. I’d tried to explain to him that cricket statistics or the correct direction for shaving facial hair would not interest them, but he remained shy around women. This was the worst possible place for him to be. No weed and a hundred women wanting to talk to him.
For the rest of us, though, it was open season. We were young and full of trouble and we were worshipped for it. We had a No.1 album and we were the biggest band in the UK. We didn’t think in terms of words such as ‘consequence’, ‘responsibility’, ‘morality’ and ‘self-control’, as they didn’t apply to us.
That night we played our first of four consecutive nights at the Quattro club in Tokyo. The final two nights, we were to head off for Nagoya and Osaka. All nights had sold out. The crowds were jubilant and really knew how to enjoy themselves. Their energy rubbed off on us and we began what would be a set of six supersonic performances. Liam was playing football with the crowd and they hung on his every move, silent at every utterance. He was as happy as I’d ever seen him.
The Japanese elders had a very clean-cut image of how a rock ’n’ roll gig should be arranged. For all the intense fanaticism and rock ’n’ roll debauchery that occurred before during and after the show, we would have to be finished each gig by eight o’clock at night. Also, the clubs where we played would have no bars. The only intoxicant was the music. This seemed a happy compromise. The seniors had their self-righteousness serviced, while the younger generation partied away afterwards. The whole culture was built on respect. We would greet people by bowing our heads and joining our hands together as in prayer.
As each gig would be finished by eight in the evening, it left us the rest of the night to fill. And we did some filling. We were at one small club when a Beatle tribute band scrambled on to the stage. It seemed that the city revolved around bands and musical influences. We all swayed in rhythm, with the help of the sixties sound and more sake.
Suddenly, Noel said, ‘Fuck this’ and promptly jumped up on the stage with the band. He soon had a guitar strapped on and was happily playing away, to the enjoyment of the band and the crowd. We moved on to the next club, which was a bit more disco. Me and Liam watched as the floor in the middle of the club lit up with frenetic strobe lighting. Suddenly, a couple appeared at the far side of the dance floor. At first I thought that perhaps a new dance craze had stormed Japan. It seemed to involve the man dragging the woman by her hair across the floor and then, with some force, twisting away while she followed behind. It became apparent it wasn’t a dance when he slapped her. Liam was over in a flash and I followed.
‘What you doing, dickhead? Let her be,’ Liam shouted.
He then tried to wrestle the woman from the man’s grasp. The man shouted back furiously in Japanese as he held onto her tightly. I reflected that Japanese is a great language to use when you’re angry, as whatever he was saying sounded fucking terrifying.
Liam didn’t flinch or shout back, though. He was a good foot taller than his opponent and shot out a sharp left instead. Crack. The man’s eyes opened wide as he realised he’d been socked. In that moment, Liam finally wrestled the woman from his grasp and pulled her to safety. Liam would always step in if he believed an injustice was being carried out and I admired him for that. Socked and shocked, the man made his exit.
We headed back to the hotel and sat in the lobby, drinking. It was just the five of us and we talked about how mind-blowing Japan had been. We had all consumed a lot of drink and Guigs was firing from too much Jack Daniel’s and sake. His usual stoned silent observer role was gone. He hadn’t stopped jabbering for an hour. Noel and Liam started on their childhood and how difficult it had been. That was unusual in itself. They didn’t often talk about their upbringing. It was almost as if they had learnt to repeat what the papers had been writing. I’m not belittling Noel’s issues, but their upbringing was virtually the same as everyone else’s in the band. It was the seventies in Manchester. That’s how it was.
I headed for the toilets. These were a very simple affair. It was as if someone had cut a circle in the middle of a pallet and then placed the pallet over a hole. As I weighed the situation up, Guigs arrived.
‘Fuckin’ hell, I can’t believe how bad Noel had it,’ he said.
His eyes were rolling from the drink. I argued that it was the same for a lot of people, which Guigs immediately took to mean something else.
‘You don’t care? You don’t care?’ He was sneering at me..
‘I didn’t say that,’ I said in my
defence.
‘Yes you did,’ he snarled and walked out of the door, announcing loudly towards the rest of the group that ‘Tony said he doesn’t care about your childhood, Noel.’ What the fuck is wrong with him, I thought. It would become apparent a couple of days later.
When I left the toilet, Noel was standing there, waiting for me. I told him, ‘I didn’t say that.’ He said nothing. Just stared at me. Then headed to his room.
14 SEPTEMBER 1994. NAGOYA
I was in Liam’s room. Liam had almost completed his intense education around all things Beatle, and in particular John Lennon, that he had started in the States. The book pile was reducing. I could see how Liam would relate to Lennon and thought he made a good role model: that fighting Scouse spirit that had helped us back with the Realies, and a sense of social injustice to boot. All underpinned with a proclamation of world peace. I explained to him that Guigs had twisted my words the previous evening. I didn’t have to, though, as Liam knew me and told me not to worry. Noel was not as understanding.
The final gig was at Club Quattro, Nagoya. Nagoya was yet another neon lit, obsessed fan-filled city. We travelled there during the day on board a silver bullet train. All the adulation had had a euphoric effect on us and we were in severe party mode. The paddy fields whirred by as we passed through the lush and wet Japanese countryside.
‘What are they called?’ asked Guigs, as he pointed out the train window.
‘Paddy fields,’ replied Noel.
‘I went to school with a kid called Paddy Fields,’ slurred Bonehead, who had now adopted the title Captain Sake.
We arrived late at a futuristic-looking train station, to be met once more by a mass of screaming and pawing. The performance that night went down as one of the best performances I ever took part in. Even Liam was smiling out front. We did an encore, our first. It was ‘Rock ’n’ Roll Star’. I had thrown my sticks into the crowd at the end of the show, so had to go back out and retrieve them. I then later returned them to the same fan. Bonehead had been drinking sake and, that evening, the emotion of the event had overtaken him. As we finished the encore, he grabbed for the microphone. We all stood by, bemused. He made his way to the front of the stage, where he struggled as he sat down. When he finally settled, he put his hand over his mouth to stifle a small cry. He looked at the crowd with his doleful eyes, shiny with tears.
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