We printed a thousand flyers and decided to record a special 40-second radio commercial for the pirate stations. I used the anthem ‘Pacific State’ as a soundtrack and we recorded it at Noise Gate Studios in south east London. I wrote a script and presented it to the studio’s voiceover specialist, but wasn’t happy with the result and asked him to put a bit more life into his voice. Insulted by this request, he replied that I should do it myself if I thought I could do better!
I’d never spoken into a microphone before so I felt embarrassed, but grabbed the mike and gave it a crack. My chosen backing track always conjured up great memories, so in a slow and clear voice I started to read from my hand-written script:
In a secret location, somewhere in London, Genesis ’89 proudly presents the Chapter of Chapters.
An invitation to all Genesis members and veterans. Entertainment will be supplied by an all-star DJ line-up, including: Fabio, Grooverider, Mickey Finn, Tony Wilson, Dem 2 and Bones.
A production of the highest quality includes 60k of turbo-sound, lasers, special effects and cinematic-sized projections.
For the information hotline, please stay tuned. Genesis ’89 is live and kicking.
This only took one take but I knew it was perfect. I could feel every word. Even the voiceover guy had to admit the playback sounded the nuts, pure class. I discovered a new talent that day, and have since recorded around 70 professional radio commercials – a nice little sideline!
We went all out to promote this event through every avenue open to us, including Camden Palace, Heaven, Astoria, Shoom and small parties around town. We placed flyers in record and clothes shops. Promotion wasn’t very hard because everyone had heard of the party and wanted to attend anyway.
On party night, we arrived at the warehouse by 5 p.m. as usual, with two vans of equipment following us. We drove on to the private road alongside the river, which led straight into the warehouse yard. Keith went into the entrance and opened the large loading-bay shutter. It was only then that we realised the electricity source hadn’t been checked.
We hunted down the fuse box and found it smashed to bits, with all the fuses missing! Fuck, fuck, fuck, how did we forget that?! We got WD, our sparks, on the blower and fortunately found him at home, but he lived on the other side of the water. It would take him at least 45 minutes to reach us. There was nothing we could do but wait in the hope that he could fix our problem.
During the previous week I’d met a guy who owned a lighting company and had two lasers for hire. Nobody I knew of had used lasers in a warehouse before so I had booked him for the weekend. Lasers added a new dimension and created fantastic special effects in a nightclub. Imagine the atmosphere this could generate in a huge warehouse full of people! Top fucking buzz, mate!
The electricity not being on was an obvious sign of something being wrong. The laser geezer turned up, quickly sussed this and wanted to leave straight away. Fortunately, I persuaded him to stay by promising him an extra £500. If the laser got confiscated, I told him, all he had to do was produce a receipt and collect the equipment from the nearest police station. If Dibble wouldn’t give it back, we’d pay for the fucker. Twenty grand? Sweet, he’d have it by the morning.
We always carried a float of five grand or more, just in case the gig got stopped. Certain people still had to get paid – this was their bread and butter – and just because we’d lost out didn’t mean everyone else should. Five jib would keep them quiet until Monday, but if we didn’t have any money at all there’d be a scream up. I gave him £1,800 for one night’s rental, which was a lot, but what the hell – we had fucking lasers!
To break the tension of impatiently awaiting the arrival of WD, I turned the car stereo on. The first tune was ‘Can You Feel It?’ by Fingers Inc., which included the famous Martin Luther King words: ‘I have a dream’. These words sank into my heart: we felt like we were living out our biggest dream of all. We didn’t have to worry about Old Bill turning up because the night watchman had taken a bung of a bottle of whisky and had a walkie-talkie to alert us if anyone approached the road. We knew we could make as much noise as we wanted. The next track was ‘I need a little bit, got to have a little bit, I need a little bit, of respect’ – a wicked tune, man! Our phones were off, and for a brief moment I found myself lost in music.
Somebody started banging on the door and we quickly switched the music off. I called the night watchman on the walkie-talkie and he told me that he’d been calling for five minutes trying to tell me that a black guy in a red car had pulled into the yard. Phew! It was WD.
I ran around to open the door and straight away showed him the fuse box. WD said it was so bad he wasn’t sure it could be fixed, but he would do his best to sort it. Time was running out: it was 6.20 p.m. We needed to start setting the equipment up, despite having no lights or power.
I decided that we should start the engines on all the cars: I figured that the full headlight beams of all the vehicles lined up together was better than nothing. I’d give everybody petrol money to compensate later, and at least this way their car batteries wouldn’t run down. While the lads set things up, I got on the phone and called our back-up crew. Their equipment wasn’t up to our usual standards but they could do the job at a push. The big advantage of our back-up crew was that they didn’t give a fuck about a venue being illegal; all we had to do was to tell them where it was. They’d break into it themselves, and quickly do the business. As long as we gave them a wage, they’d do anything.
The stand-by warehouse we’d prepared for this evening had electricity and wasn’t too far away, but was a bit complicated to find, so we knew we’d have to recruit guides to lead people to the location. It also only had the capacity to hold 2,000 people, which would definitely cause chaos in the surrounding area. This was why we had kept it purely as a back-up venue, only for use in extreme emergencies.
I told the boys to hit the road and head towards the substitute venue and phone me once they got there, then went to see how WD was getting on. He said the fuse box still looked pretty bad, but could be fixed if he went to pick up some parts from a friend’s place in south London. By then it was 7 p.m. and, in another two hours, thousands would be at the meeting point, five minutes down the road. We had to act fast. The nearest street lamp was a long way down the road and we knew that if we got wired up to that lamp we’d be spotted straight away. WD promised it wouldn’t take him more than an hour to go and return with the missing parts, and it wouldn’t be long after that before full electricity would be restored. Quickly making an exit, he was on his way.
The equipment crew, meanwhile, was doing very well and most of their equipment was already in place. We didn’t have a ladder high enough to reach the ceiling, so a lot of the lights were attached to side walls. The laser would fill the top half of the venue with its green and blue beams and just needed to be plugged in. Martin walked in and called us over: he had his bong filled up ready to be smoked. We had a hit, thanked him, then returned to facing our stress and pure worry.
I took stock of our situation. We were standing in a warehouse with no fucking electricity, with one-and-a-half hours to get organised before thousands of people congregated at the meeting point. Not only that, but this gaff was only ten minutes away from the one we used when I got nicked, so there was a very strong possibility that the area would be governed by the same police chief. If he turned up, it would quite certainly be all over for me.
‘Wayne, the guy in the red car is driving into the yard,’ said the watchman’s voice over the walkie-talkie.
‘Yes! It’s WD!’ yelled KP.
Our sparky came running through with fuses in hand, stuck them into their slots, and the lights came on. The adrenaline spread from my brain and filled my tired soul with energy. My promoter’s nerves had all but disappeared: our pre-designed Twilight Zone was taking shape. The lasers were plugged in and went through their special effect routines and looked amazing. This was really going to set pulses racing!<
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‘Wayne! Emergency, emergency! Two police cars are heading your way,’ crackled the radio.
‘Listen up, everyone, Old Bill is here,’ I said. ‘Here’s the story: this is a film shoot for TV. You don’t have to say anything apart from that. If they ask questions, send them to me. This is just a precaution.’
I walked over to the warehouse shutters and began to open them. As I did so, three policemen stepped underneath the barrier. The main lighting was off and the lasers and lights were on. Before I could say a word, one of the officers commented on how fantastic the lights looked, and walked into a position where he could get a better view.
‘Who are you, and who’s in charge?’ asked one of the officers.
An inner voice told me to tell them my real name.
‘Hi, I’m Wayne Anthony from Channel Four Films. It’s my responsibility to manage and maintain this site. The head of Youth Programming is Janet Street-Porter: she’s my boss,’ I replied.
‘Oh really? The one who did that programme years ago, on Sundays?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, that’s her. She’s come a long way since those days. She manages most of the programmes on Channel Four now.’
‘So where are the cameras?’ he asked me.
‘The camera equipment and production team is arriving within the next three hours. For the moment, we’re just finishing the set.’‘Our chief will be here shortly,’ he informed me. ‘Tell him what you’ve told us, and everything will be fine. The lighting show looks great. How long has all this stuff taken to put up?’
‘The lighting and sound technicians have been here all week. Now, I hope you don’t think I’m being rude but I have some work to be getting on with. Please feel free to look around the building.’
I went back to the main entrance, where Keith was talking with WD. Telephoning the back-up crew, I checked how things were going at the other warehouse. They only had to attach some lights and position the sound system; we didn’t expect them to clear away the rubbish as well. It was only 8.15 p.m. and already hundreds of people were gathering at the point, so I sent someone there immediately.
Flashing lights stopped in front of the shutters, car doors slammed shut and in walked a flat-cap flanked by ten plodders. The main lighting was now on and the full extent of our work was on display. As I made my way across the warehouse, I heard one of the policemen tell the chief what a fantastic light show we had. Before I could say a word, the same officer asked me to show his boss the special effects. I called for someone to hit the light switch and the laser beams pierced the dark warehouse interior and went into one of their programmed routines.
‘Are you doing that on purpose?’ the police chief asked.
‘Doing what, exactly?’
‘Switch the main lights on immediately!’ he replied.
I did.
‘Who are you, and what are you doing here?’ the inspector asked me.
‘My name is Wayne Anthony. I’m special projects manager for Channel Four Films. We’re going to be filming a scene for use in a future film production to be screened on Channel Four.’
‘A film for Channel Four? Where are the cameras?’
‘The production team arrives at midnight. We’re shooting the entire scene with steadicams to allow us full interaction with the extras on the ground.’
‘Do you have paperwork to that effect?’
‘I have a copy of the lease relating to use of the venue, but the production contracts are at the office.’
I handed the police chief the Mickey Mouse document.
‘Would you mind stepping outside, please, sir?’ the chief asked me.
‘Is there a problem? Do you realise you are standing on private property?’ I asked in a stern voice.
‘You are not under arrest, sir. I would merely like a private talk with you alone and not with your entire crew.’
I agreed, and led the inspector out of the entrance and into the yard. There were around 400 people standing in a neat line against the warehouse wall. Everybody went quiet as we walked through the door and over to a perimeter fence, where we couldn’t be heard.
‘What did you say your full name and address were?’ he grilled me.
‘My name is Wayne Anthony and please don’t try to play games with me,’ I bluffed. ‘Your intimidation tactics won’t work. If you have a problem, then let’s hear it. My legal department will rip you to shreds. I don’t have the time or the patience to play your childish games.’
‘Now look here, Wayne, I’m not stupid. You’re not from Channel Four and there’s no filming happening here tonight. Before you say anything, I know exactly what’s going on and how much money is involved. Are you telling me my information is wrong, Wayne?’
‘You are as far from the truth as we are from the beach,’ I said. ‘I can see we’re going to have a problem here so I’m calling my lawyer. You have no idea what you are starting. My company is represented by some of the best law companies in the world.’
‘I find you very cocky and irritating, young man,’ said the inspector. ‘I’m trying to solve this situation as best I can. Don’t threaten me like some common constable. I could be the biggest spanner in the works you’ve ever encountered.’
‘I am from Channel Four,’ I repeated, slowly. ‘We are shooting a scene for a TV movie. You’ve seen the hire lease, and everything is in order. My cocky and irritating attitude, as you call it, derives from representing a powerful company, who will not take kindly to a paranoid and interfering police chief. I respect you and the law you stand for, but please go and play with somebody else.’
‘OK, Wayne, is there anyone standing in that queue of people who could confirm your name to me?’ he asked me.
I looked at all the people waiting to be let inside and scanned the faces, trying to find somebody that I knew. A mate of mine from the East End was halfway down the line and I called him over.
‘Crimble! Everything’s all right, mate. Can you do me a favour and tell this police inspector my name?’ I asked.
‘Nah, sorry, I don’t wanna get involved,’ he said.
‘Honest, it’s sweet, bruv! If you don’t tell him, he’s going to stop the shoot.’
Crimble looked at me for a sign. I nodded.
‘I think it’s Wayne something,’ he said. ‘Wayne Anthony. Can I go now?’
‘Cheers, mate. Go straight to the front. I’ll see you in a minute.’
‘How many people do you expect tonight?’ the inspector demanded.
‘We have 800 extras plus a crew of a hundred.’
‘Let me inform you, Mr Anthony, the time is now 9 p.m. I will leave, and return at 11p.m. with a full riot squad. If there are any more than 900 people here you will be held personally responsible and promptly escorted to a warm cell to await charges. I don’t like you, or what you represent. If I find any untruths in what you’ve told me I shall see to it that you serve a prison sentence. Believe me, I know a lot more judges than you do.’
The police chief signalled to the other officers that they should clear out. Yes! It was party time! I phoned the point man and told him to give everyone directions: I knew thousands of people were already there. Our command centre upstairs was operational, and the warehouse looked the nuts.
The DJ hadn’t shown up yet so there was no music, but KP had his record box in the boot of my car so I rushed out to get it. I brought the box inside and tried to get someone to play the tunes, but everyone bottled it. Now, I’ve always been into music but never at any time wanted to be a DJ: the business of music and promoting is my thing.
The warehouse was quickly filling up: there were about 3,000 people already, and no fucking DJ. A small crowd started clapping and within minutes the whole place echoed with people putting their hands together. Then the legendary chant could be heard: ‘Aceeed, Aceeed, Aceeed’. It was clear that I had to do something pronto.
Nervously, I went to the decks, put the box on a table and searched through its contents for a tra
ck that I recognised. My first tune was ‘Real Wild House’, which has a wicked piano riff. The warehouse erupted and hands shot into the air as lasers displayed an imaginative routine of effects. I had never tried mixing in my life and so simply faded the track into the next one, which was ‘Seduction’. I was kicking butt, man! I could get used to this job: it’s not as hard as it looks. ‘Sueno Latino’ was my last track before I let the DJ, Tony Balearic Wilson, take control. He mixed his first tune in perfectly. He played ‘Jibro’ followed by ‘Flesh’.
The warehouse was nearly full, so I went up to the office and checked to see whether everything was running smoothly. It was: we had collected 60 grand already. Keith was so busy counting the money that he didn’t have time to take our fortune to the safe house. The office had an en suite boardroom with a long, recently cleaned, wooden table where we were sorting all the wonger. A few of our mates were in the other room, sniffing out of ounce-bags of quiver.
There was a window that overlooked the yard where a load of cars were parked, and suddenly a white minibus came speeding past the window and into the last remaining tight space. He shouldn’t have been there in the first place because there was meant to be someone stopping vehicles from entering the private road. This idiot might have killed someone and, unluckily for him, we had spotted him. We ran downstairs and over to the van, whose occupants were getting themselves together and jumping out of the vehicle.
‘Are you fucking stupid, or something?’ said Keith, grabbing the driver.
‘What have I done?’ he asked.
‘The lot of you, get back into your van and piss off, you pricks,’ screamed Keith.
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