Bandwagon

by Andrew Fish

the group managing to greet each other before an argument begins. Interestingly enough, a bet in the name of N.J. has been placed on the possibility of the break-up occurring in the dressing rooms before the concert at 500-1.

  For some bands the trauma of continually breaking up and reforming simply isn’t worth the publicity benefits that it brings. Invisible Eric attempted to manufacture a series of break-ups and reunions with his invented sidekick, Inaudible Ernie, but this wasn’t hugely successful since the fights, although allegedly public, could neither be seen nor heard. Probably the most unique attempt, however, was that of the Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band. The album title, Let’s Make up and Be Friendly, may have sounded like a reunion album but, since the band hadn’t actually broken up, the effect was not as successful as it might have been. The stress of not having a reunion proved to be a fatal blow to the group and a break-up soon followed. There was a brief reunion some time later but, unfortunately, further reunions are now impossible, since the late, great Viv Stanshall is no longer with us, though his legacy lives on in the canyons of our minds.

  Possibly of less moment than a reunion, a homecoming concert is still a significant event for a band whose career has taken them away for any length of time, and provides fans with a chance to break out the hats and hooters when their heroes come home.

  Word of Blood and Oil had spread far beyond the Fadoran stage in their absence, causing the streets around The Turret to be thronged with fans, eagerly awaiting the return of the conquering heroes. Not for the first time, many had to be turned away due to capacity regulations. The line-up may have changed and the repertoire expanded to encompass songs that had never yet graced an Ezran stage, but there was no element of rebuilding their success this time. Every song, whether an old favourite or an instant classic, was greeted with screaming and applause and the obvious polish of the band’s performance was almost submerged beneath the noise of the crowd.

  Ben, sharing a centre-stage microphone with Riff for most of the gig, concentrated on the emotional impact of his voice, whilst his fingers gently felt their way around the strings of his bass guitar, converting the occasional accidental note into an intentional one by sliding and hammering. Riff, playing his guitar with a passion, allowed himself to be carried on the moments as they came, improvising around the solos and augmenting the riffs with practiced grace. Keys, glad to be home, listened carefully to the individual contributions of his bandmates and played the right thing to complement them, or to bring them forward, without ever trying to steal the limelight for himself. Occasionally, he came forward with the portable keyboard or a guitar to play beside his friends, but even then he was one of them and no more.

  Behind them all, Hal provided a steady beat and a dispassionate eye. He himself didn’t feel that the cheering fans were there for him – he was still the outsider, the new guy; even if he had resigned from the jazz band to take on his role permanently and he was made to feel part of the band by his colleagues, he felt that it would be some time before the fans saw him in the same way. He played a brief fill and returned to the steady backbeat of the verse, watching the fans surging towards the stage, almost crushing each other in their desire to come within a few inches of their heroes. He watched Ben bending forward and singing down into the front rows, toying with the girls whose outstretched arms fell too short to reach him. He watched as Riff and Keys, playing guitar together for Rooms by the Hour, turned back to back and leaned on each other as they traded licks. This was their moment and, after all they had been through, they deserved it.

  Eventually the curtain fell, the lights went down and a tired but happy group of wanderers settled down backstage for a rest. Keys toyed with an acoustic guitar, picking out a melody and using clawhammer playing to provide a basic accompaniment.

  ‘Sounds good,’ Riff told him.

  Keys nodded. ‘I might be able to work it up before the next gig,’ he said. He played around with the notes and Ben picked up his bass and joined in.

  ‘How did you get so much time to practice that?’ Riff asked the human. ‘We didn’t get much time when we were at the club.’

  ‘I just practiced during the set,’ Ben admitted. ‘I figured that I wouldn’t sound any worse than the rest of the band.’

  ‘That’s true,’ Riff admitted. ‘Whose daft idea was it to have them play a warm-up for us, by the way?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Ben. ‘They never mentioned it to me. Perhaps Emil asked them.’

  Riff shrugged.

  ‘The odd thing is that people seemed to like them,’ said Keys, stopping mid-slide and putting his guitar down. ‘Admittedly, not everybody had come in from the bar at that point, but it did attract a reasonable crowd.’

  Ben shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘What’s the world coming to when people are happy to pay to see musicians who can’t even play?’

  The discussion was interrupted by a knock at the door and the group looked towards it as one. ‘Who is it?’ Ben asked.

  ‘Emil,’ came the reply.

  Ben and Riff exchanged glances. ‘Come on in,’ said Ben.

  Emil was dressed in the kind of smart but casual way which seemed to be his hallmark: his collar was slightly open and his hair slightly mussed as if he had been brushing it but had given up after a few minutes. The group looked at him quizzically.

  ‘I’ve just been talking to the fans,’ Emil explained. ‘Friendly bunch, but they do like to touch people.’

  Ben nodded. ‘That’s why we’re waiting until they go home,’ he said. ‘Have Gearhead left?’

  ‘Just now,’ he said. ‘They seemed to go down quite well – whose idea was it to have them play warm-up?’

  The band adopted a uniform blank look. ‘We thought it was yours,’ said Ben.

  Emil shook his head. ‘They never mentioned it to me,’ he said. ‘I’ve signed them up for a few more gigs, though.’

  ‘Not opening for us, I hope,’ said Ben.

  Emil grinned. ‘No,’ he said. ‘They’re going on the road with Hal’s old band. Give the people a bit of contrast.’

  ‘That’s one way of putting it,’ said Hal.

  ‘Anyway,’ Emil continued, ‘I was wondering what you wanted to do next: only I’ve managed to get hold of a fully-equipped music studio and I thought that maybe you’d like to lay down a few tracks. No pressure, you understand, and you don’t have to release anything you’re not happy with, but an album might do you a lot of good.’

  The group exchanged glances. They’d known it was coming, of course: ever since Karl had told them about Emil’s shopping spree they had expected something of the kind. A thought crossed Ben’s mind and he looked at Emil nervously.

  ‘What?’ Emil asked him, catching his gaze. ‘You aren’t worried that I don’t want you involved, are you?’

  ‘It’s not that,’ said Ben. ‘It’s just that, if you don’t mind me being nosey, where did you get the money for all this stuff.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Emil.

  ‘It’s just that, after the whole Tony thing, I want to be sure exactly where I stand.’

  ‘I see,’ said Emil. ‘Are you speaking for everyone here?’

  Ben looked around at the robots. They all nodded.

  ‘Nothing personal,’ said Riff. ‘It’s just that we’ve been down this kind of road before.’

  Emil looked uncomfortable. ‘It’s like this,’ he said. ‘When I told you about how well we did in Fadora, I wasn’t entirely open about it.’

  Riff looked at him sternly. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked.

  ‘I didn’t want you to feel that all there was to life was playing onstage – I knew we’d pull in bigger crowds later and you’d get the money back.’

  Riff was extremely puzzled now. ‘What are you trying to say?’ he asked.

  ‘You played a packed house for what, two weeks,’ said Emil. Riff nodded.

  ‘Well,’ Emil continued. ‘I took a lot of the money from that and invested it.’

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sp; ‘Invested it?’ Ben queried. ‘That’s a bit of a quick return.’

  ‘OK,’ Emil admitted. ‘I took it down the casino – I’ve always been lucky, you see and I felt that, for you guys, I had to do things quickly.’

  ‘So you gambled our money?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Emil.

  ‘But you must have won,’ said Keys. ‘You couldn’t possibly have got all that property if you’d lost.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Emil.

  ‘How much of the money is left?’ asked Riff.

  ‘Pretty much all of it,’ said Emil. ‘I did say that I was lucky.’

  ‘And you were worried what we were going to think?’

  ‘Well, it was a risk.’

  ‘I think the sign of a good manager is one who knows which risks to take,’ said Hal. ‘We’d probably never have known how much money we’d made and it’s not as if we’re used to being rich.’

  Emil smiled nervously. ‘Thanks,’ he said.

  ‘Just don’t go down the casino on the proceeds from the albums.’

  Emil grinned again. ‘Have you heard about The Inferno?’ he added, looking slightly more serious.

  ‘What about it?’ asked Ben.

  ‘It burnt down last night,’ replied Emil. ‘No indication of how it started – it appears to have started in the bar, but the barman was taking the evening off at the time.’

  ‘Is he alright?’ Ben asked, remembering how kind the barman had been to him.

  ‘Oh, he’s fine. Nobody knows if anyone was hurt yet.’

  ‘No bodies?’

  Emil