Always read the Label Chapter 24 Forever Changing

I thought all hostilities would end as we boarded the ferry to France with a van full of equipment. A snide remark about not making any mistakes made sure they didn't. Fuming, when we got to Paris I wandered off, glad to not know where I was going or what was being said around me. When I got back to the venue, the headline band had turned up but my band had disappeared.

Inside were Arthur Lee and his new backing band, Shack; the drummer John, bassist Martin and the Head brothers, Mick and John. I'd worshipped the Head brothers since their days as the Pale Fountains and all through Shack, where they used to end gigs with covers of Arthur Lee's A House is Not a Motel.

Here I was stood in an empty theatre looking up at the stage with them where the man who made the worst selling best album of the sixties was singing really badly into a mic on a unlit tiny stage at the front of a small club below the Moulin Rouge.

They say never meet your heroes. It should be expanded to include never meet your heroes on the day your team has lost the league title. It might not have been Michael Thomas who wore the crown this time, but it wasn't us and I wasn't allowed to forget it by Mick.

Arthur Lee was having some problems remembering the songs, but the Head brothers knew every single word and chord. You could see and hear the confidence flow back into Arthur Lee as he heard his songs played perfectly. Those who had bothered to hang around realised something special was happening and started to shout out requests. It was like having unlimited credit on the coolest jukebox ever. Every single song asked for got played after a short refresher course for Arthur from Mick or John. A House is Not a Motel, Orange Skies, Your Mind and We Belong Together, Red Telephone, Live and Let Live, Alone Again Or, She Comes in Colours and a chilling Signed DC. After every song half a dozen people clapped until their hands were sore, including the promoter until he had to reluctantly turn off the PA as the Moulin Rouge opened at midnight and wasn't allowed to be disturbed by mere legends.

I'd only ever seen pictures of Arthur Lee in his late sixties heyday. He looked just the same in pretty much the same style of clothes and spoke like he was still there. It was all 'cool', 'cats' and 'far out', which was forgiven like he was a favourite uncle. There was no way anyone could let the night be over after that and the promoter produced a crate of beers to make sure it wasn't. We all sat around in a circle drinking it while listening to stories about The Doors, Los Angeles and the Troubadour club. He could remember the sixties and he was there, picking up an acoustic guitar to strum while he talked. Mick and John couldn't just listen and soon picked up guitars. Acoustic versions of all the songs and another crate flowed quietly through the night.

It had been raining outside and the tarmac was glistening as the damp morning chased us to the only bar we could find still open, which was full of Algerian's waiting to get the call for some casual work. We'd stumbled into the equivalent of Moorgate. They were all drinking coffee unaware of the legend sat at the only table were beers were being drunk and the stories continued. I reckoned not many of the Algerians had been in the citrus sucking sunshine surrounding the riots that happened in Paris just after Arthur released his masterpiece, Forever Changes. They'd seen nothing change in the following 25 years.

I suspected the rest of Paris would be as immune to the legend in their midst, but when I headed to the venue, it was surrounded. We played a quick set in front of a crowd uninterested in any delay to their proving they still knew every word to every song by Love. I went and sat with them so can confirm that they did, even though it was their second language.

Backstage was just as full of people and praise. I joined the queue and got Arthur to sign the poster I'd been given by the promoter. He managed to scribble his name while wearing pitch black sunglasses. When the fans went, we were taken up to the Moulin Rouge and led into a VIP area. Despite the free drinks we didn't stay very long in what felt like a goldfish tank, heading to some anonymous small bars. One of Mick's mates from Liverpool had turned up to make sure the night lasted a bit longer and I ended up convinced I was actually in the sixties. Man. The banging at the door the next morning brought me back with a bang. I had to be ready to leave in 10 minutes. Bummer.

An uncomfortable silence got louder on the way back, which I was in no state to fight against. It was like being at a party the morning after when you hadn't been invited in the first place. Except I couldn't leave as we were speeding along an Autoroute, or Motorway for those who don't speak French. I managed to escape it for a while on the ferry but it resumed when we reached home soil, all the way to the rehearsal room where everything was unpacked.

As I walked back to the flat against the flow of people heading out early on a Saturday night, I tried to work out what was going on. The door was double locked which was weird as I'd expected to find Johnnie sat inside moaning about his bail conditions. Instead I found just more silence. After ordering a delivery curry, I unpack my bag, taking the carefully rolled-up signed poster out and holding it up against the wall to decide where it would be put on proud display. I've decided on the front room by the time the curry arrives, and sit staring at the poster while I eat it without tasting before dozing off with the half empty plate still on my lap.

At first I thought it was a raid, then realised the police might not bother to knock. In the dark, the clock on the video glowed 11.30 and the thought dawned on me if it wasn't the police, it could only be someone even worse. Creeping through the hall to behind the door, I could tell there was a gang of people stood outside. After deciding they probably wouldn't go away after knocking that hard, all I could think to do was shout 'who is it' from behind the door, not thinking the reply might be a lie.

"It's Angus. Let us in".
Angus? Now I was really suspicious. But had no choice, they knew I was inside. I took off the chain and expected the worst.
"Alright. Been a bit of bother with Johnnie. We need to come in. Not sure if it's over yet".
I was glad to see it really was Angus but not too happy about what he said. Some of the others I'd seen at the flat, but didn't really know. Except Scottish Paul, who seemed even more surprised to see me. I let them all into the flat and noticed as they passed they were all wide eyed with pills. None seemed able to sit down and just sort of stood on the edges fidgeting when they'd trooped through to the living room.

"Mark's been in a bit of a nasty fight. You know he had that do with Baz? Well they caught up with him tonight as we we're waiting to get into a club. There were quite a few of them and they've done him with a bottle. He's down the hospital now with Mini - who I think you know. He asked us to head to the flat and make sure it was OK".

"Russell's there as well. Remember him? Rambo Raider. I was well glad he was with us tonight" Scottish Paul looks at Angus who nods to agree this was a good thing. "It's mad to see you again like this. He'd mentioned his flatmate's name but I didn't think it was you".

It's a lot to take in: Fights, bottles, the unexpected reappearance of Scottish Paul. All I can do is ask what happened and hope to take a bit more in this time when Angus tells me.

"We were stood in a small queue outside the Milk Bar when Baz pops his head round the corner. Mark, or Johnnie, whatever you want to call him, spots him and starts running towards without saying anything. No one knew what was going on but one of the lads Mickey, Russell's cousin, decided to follow. As soon as he gets to the corner he shouted over to us. We all legged it round and see Johnnie being bent down by two blokes while another smashed a bottle then slammed it into the back of his head. Mickey tried to push him away and got a slap for his troubles. When they saw there were only another three of us heading towards them they started to enjoy it and take their time, making sure we could see them dragging the bottle across his head, until Russell, who hadn't realised what was happening at first, popped round the corner and layed into them. He evened up the sides a bit, especially after he saw his cousin had been hit. There was a bit of toe to toe above Johnnie who's now slumped on the floor clutching his head, and then the guys strolled away as if nothing had happened. The whole thing seemed to take about a minute, which was long enough for that snake Baz to have disappeared.

"Cos it happened so fast, the police didn't show up, which is lucky with Johnnie out on bail, so we wrapped his head and sneaked towards the taxi rank and then Charing Cross Hospital, where we left him to get stitched up while we made our way over here. Have you got anything to drink or is there an offy?".

I realise we haven't and point from the walkway to the offy down below. I think we all need a drink and grab for one when Angus returns.

"I didn't like that Baz from the minute Johnnie introduced him. He was trying too hard to be a gangster, just like his lovely mates who are always punting moody pills and what have you. There's no need for that kind of business in the sort of clubs we go to. The big places for the tourists, like Camden Palace, are fair game. But not the more select venues. What do your reckon Paul?".

"I've never wanted to be involved with gangsters. I'd knock it all on the head if I had to deal with them. They forget the idea is to have some fun not just make money. Too greedy. Too much dirty money involved. It's just a matter of time before a bigger fish comes and eats the little fish".

Everyone's in shock and stands sipping at the cans like they're at a wake. The sound of a key in the door directs everyone's gaze to the hall where Johnnie's silhouette, topped by a hat of glowing white bandages, now fills the doorway. I expected him to be subdued but he's flying. Mini and Russell follow him in wearily shaking their heads.

"No one can put me down. Come on, give it your best shot. Bring all the bottles you want. Bring swords. I'll fight you all. Does anyone know who they were? Or where they live?"

Which means even though he's now he's wearing bandages and dark stains down his back and shoulders, it's not over. Angus realises this and tries to calm him down.

"Best to walk away now, while you still can. There's nothing you can do. Forget about Baz. Stay away from the clubs where you know him and his mate's will be for a while. At least until the cuts have healed".

"No fucking way. I'm off out tonight when I've got this turban off. They're not stopping me going out. Fuck 'em. Bunch of cockney gangster wankers. Let's see what you're made of".

There's a groan which Johnnie chooses not to hear as he heads to the mirror and starts to unravel the bandage. It snakes to the floor revealing five random angry wounds still weeping from below untidy thick brown stitches. His head's drained of all other colour apart from these abrupt dashes and the streaks of yellowy iodine used to clean them up. It looks painful enough from here, never mind being attached to it.

"The tetanus was the only bit that hurt, but the nurse was well fit who did it. Who's for going out then?"

"It's a stupid idea. You've just stopped bleeding. You've lost a load of blood. There's no way you'll get let in a club looking like that".

Paul's right but Johnnie has a plan.

"I'll wear a hat. Come on, don't chicken out on me now. Let's go.

It's met by silence. You can tell he's starting to unconvince himself and eventually sits down with a wince, putting a small bottle for pills on the table.

"If anyone wants any just help themselves. It's codeine. Nice and strong. Or have we got anything better?"

Paul rises to the challenge with a small bag of red and black pills.
"Dennis the Menaces. To you my friends, a fiver each. But only while we're here. No buying to sell later. We've seen where commerce gets you. Who wants one?"

It's a sell out and an end to my early night. The stereo's moved into the front room signalling there's no point in trying not to join them. Everyone starts dancing around and trying to block out what's happened. The music gets louder and louder. More pills get swallowed. The booze runs out and Russell and Mickey head off to a place they know in Kentish Town, returning with a crate of beer and some soft drinks which are more popular at first. Paul is shouting something in my ear about it being a small world and telling me how he knows Johnnie from recent nights out. I have trouble understanding him at the best of times but manage to gurn in all the right places. I hear but can't quite make sense of Russell's story about his previous run in with Baz and his firm. The lights look amazing. Must be a new bulb. On it goes until the booze is gone and the morning creeps through small gaps in the curtains. The music gets lowered and Mini falls asleep in one of the armchairs. When Russell does the same and I can see Johnnie is about to start recruiting for his lynch mob again, I head to bed.

It's dark again when I get woken by the phone and stumble into the hall.
"We were cut up you couldn't come out to play last night. We missed you and your jokes. You usually have us in stitches. Now it's your turn. It's up to you now. You've had your warning".
I realise I'm stood bare footed on the coiled up blood-splattered bandage while I'm listening to this message not meant for me.