Hard Rock

It was Barry who first introduced Dennis to the band I played drums
with. He was a replacement for Jimmy, our lead guitarist, who had died
in a tragic motorcycle accident. Both Dennis Long and Barry (Buster)
Ellis were a lot younger than the original trio of Jimmy, Dave and me.
At the time we were struggling. It seemed people would more readily pay
some gobshite to play records they could listen to at home, than
encourage a live act. Admittedly, we weren't exceptional (more like
loose gravel than Rolling Stones) but we could knock out a decent tune
or three.

Dave was our frontman. He played a couple of chords on guitar and had a
passable voice. More importantly, he had a really wild mop of (dyed)
black hair that made him look the part.

Barry played bass. He too fitted his part. As he was in his day job as
a roofer, Barry was steady and workman like, almost to the point of
being boring. He wasn't the brainiest bass player in Britain; in fact,
he was as thick as his instrument. The label "Buster" related to his
stature. No, he wasn't obese, but he was more than tubby. I suppose he
could best be described as a "fat get". So being thick in mind and
stature, you can imagine how popular he was with the fairer sex.

Anyway, I digress. As I said, Jimmy Shaw, the real talent, had been
killed in an RTA when his Suzuki collided head-on with a corporation
refuse truck. So Buster introduced this Dennis, an old school mate of
his. Well my first impression of Dennis made me wonder about Buster's
lack of success with women and whether it had finally tipped him off
balance. Dennis was? well you know, a bit? well for a start, he walked
like he'd got too much air in his Nikes? a bit Stoke? limp at the
wrist. It was his appearance that made me consider whether he would fit
the image we were trying to project of a true red-blooded hetro rock
band. Despite our aggressive stage act, Jimmy Dave and me were family
men - we'd all been married for years.

As it happened, it only took one session for us to realise that Dennis
was exactly what we were looking for. Jimmy could play lead guitar,
keyboards and a bit of piano but this Dennis was classically trained.
To put it in a nutshell, he was bloody great. He could turn his hand to
anything from bagpipes to violin. (Not that we had either for him to
try. We had to take his word for it.)

It was after a wedding we played at the White Hart that I thought
Dennis really showed his colours. Everyone knew what Steve Biddle, the
proprietor, was like. He'd been on the tug since his partner, Nigel,
walked out on him. Although he knew where we were at, it wasn't unusual
for him to invite us for a stop back - a drink or two when we'd
finished our set. But that night Dennis stayed on even longer. I
suspected it had turned out to be more of a stop over than a stop back
for him. Not that it worried me; they were consenting adults so it was
none of my business.

So there we were, a happy little band of eejits and misfits: Dave and
me married, Dennis kicking with the other foot and Buster? ah, poor
Buster. But then things took a sudden twist. We were doing a charity
gig in Perry Hall Park (the nearest we'd ever got to Shea Stadium) when
Buster finally pulled.

He chatted her up when she was serving us pints in the beer tent. She
was a pleasant sort - easy to talk to. Shapewise, she was a little on
the skinny side but not too bad. The thing was she must have had a lie
in when they handed out looks. She had, what do they call them, pixie
features, is it? You know, a bit of a hooked conk and lugs that stuck
out, indicating she'd been a difficult delivery. The less charitable
could even describe her as "bloody ugly". Anyway she and our boy Buster
hit it off right from the start. I mean, for a chap who's usual pulling
was more like dragging, it must have seemed that all his birthdays and
Christmases had come together. We were all so pleased for the poor
sod.

Things progressed at a rapid pace and it wasn't long after they started
going steady that Buster moved Carla in with him. Head over heels with
each other, they seemed the ideal couple and soon marriage was on the
agenda. Being over the moon in his relationship, he offered Carla her
heart's desire for a special wedding present.

Having been such a steady fella for so long, he was far from short of a
few bob. Come to think about it, there are probably a lot of women who,
if they'd known Buster's bank account was nearly as fat as him, they
would've snapped him up years before.

Carla immediately came up with her wish for perfect present. What she
wanted was some of her physical imperfections ironed out before the big
day, i.e. a nose and ears job. Buster had no hesitation in agreeing. He
loved that girl more than anything in the world but even he had to
admit, were she a bit prettier, he might love her even more. So the
surgery went ahead. For sometime after her face looked as if she'd been
hit by a Metro tram car - a right horrific mess of bruising and
swelling - but it all came right well in time for the big day - a vast
improvement. She looked perfect on the photos.

The function took place at the White Hart. As the rest of us were stood
down for the day, Dennis supplied the entertainment on his own. The
highlight of his set came near the end, sitting at the baby grand,
crooning a few smoochy ballads. We hadn't let him sing much with the
band but, when he did, he had one of those voices that makes the hairs
stand up on the back of your neck - bit like Clifford T Ward. The oul'
dears (and a lot of the young birds) loved it. Even my missus, Kate,
was impressed.

It was then I started thinking about a lot of weird anomalies. First:
Why is it that a lot of women are attracted to gays? Then, although
Dave and me could give the other two a decade, we were still the wild
men of the outfit, as was the late Jimmy when he was kickin'? It was a
sad refection on what's called rock 'n' roll these days when performers
of the art were more likely to tidy a hotel room than trash it.

Were we dinosaurs? Did we need to take off in a different direction?
Even Rod Stewart was now doing ballads. Of course the biggest
contemporary demand, besides moronic, brain-dead DJs, was boy bands.
Perhaps we should promote our younger members to move their feet and
smile to a backing tape? Naah, I decided, stick to your guns. We'd
never make any big money anyway, so we may as well continue with
something we enjoy.

That year had started badly with Jimmy's death and I knew I'd always
miss him. But now, it appeared, things were on the up again. The band
had held together. If for no other reason than Jimmy's memory, we
should keep on rockin'.

* * *

That cosmetic surgery was worth all of whatever Buster shelled out on
it. He now had a very pretty wife. And yes, married life certainly
agreed with him. He was more enthusiastic about everything. It showed
in his performance. He was more animated and more imaginative in his
playing - a bit like an early, fat Paul McCartney before he got too
full of himself.

Bookings were rolling in at such a rate that I had actually mentioned
to Kate (only half-joking) that I was considering jacking in the day
job. She laughed and told me to get real.
'At you age,' she said, 'you should be considering early retirement,
not a new career in rock 'n' roll'.
That's what I liked about Kate; she had always been the driving force
behind me. I could always rely on her to instil me with enthusiasm and
confidence. Unlike Carla who turned up for all the gigs and rehearsals,
Kate was always glad to have me out the house and her hair for a
while.

Being more enthusiastic about what we were doing, it was Buster who
came up with an idea to capitalise on our recent success by improving
the line-up.
'Well,' he said, 'nearly every band has a female in it now, most
singing lead.'
Seeing Dave's jaw drop at the suggestion, I solicited his views.
'Er?' he replied nervously, 'I suppose it wouldn't hurt to use her as
backing. Be better if she could play something as well though. Can
she?'
Buster shook his head with disappointment.
'Tell you what,' Dennis broke in, 'I could teach her keyboards. That'd
be a start.'
'Yeah, and I suppose I could give her some coaching in the singing
department', Dave added unenthusiastically.
'Okay,' I agreed, thinking that a little glamour probably wouldn't go
amiss.

So it was all arranged that Carla would practice and rehearse at
Dennis' house, which, being a bachelor pad, was the most suitable
venue. She was keen to learn and it wasn't long before she was part of
the line up.

Although Dave wasn't that taken with it at first, we moved a keyboard
up front and soon had Carla duetting with him. With her newfound
confidence, Carla was moving more like Kylie! Dave began to enjoy it
and I thought we'd hit on the most successful presentation ever, for a
part-time rock band.

Soon we'd expanded our inner city Birmingham circuit right out into the
very depths of the Black Country: Old Hill, Bilston, Wolverhampton,
Walsall, the world was our oyster. I really began to believe that after
twenty years in the game, I was about to become a huge overnight
success. It was then that the bubble burst.

A seven o'clock Wednesday night meet had been arranged to discuss
several bookings for the coming month. I was first to arrive and
accepted a free pint off Steve in the bar of the White Hart. One hour
later, as I was still on my own, I began to think I've made a mistake.
Steve's was giving me funny looks so I decide to sling my hook.

Stepping off the bottom entrance step I was presented by the sight of
Dave swinging his old, but cherished, Scorpio onto the car park. As he
steered it passed me into a parking space, I noticed both nearside
doors bashed in. Well that explained why he was late - a row with
someone refusing to exchange insurance details no doubt.

He leapt out the car like a dosser on dole day - fit to be tied he was.
'See that?' He gestured angrily at that damage.

'Bit of a mess.' I understated the obvious. 'What happened?'

'That fuckin' mate of yours!' Indicating my inability to comprehend by
shaking my head only fuelled his anger. 'Fuckin' Buster - the mad
bugger! He's right off his trolley. Came round accusing me of havin' it
off with his missus. I can tell you, I'll kill the louse if I see him
again.'
'Hey, hey,' I attempted to placate him, 'Come in,' I motioned towards
the pub door, 'and tell me exactly what happened.'

Back in the bar, he rolled up some Golden Virginia while I brought the
pints over to a corner table. 'So what's it all about,' I asked,
slipping into the seat opposite him.
'You tell me,' he said, snapping the lid on his tobacco tin. 'There I
am just getting ready to come up here and that fat sod lands like a
raving lunatic. He starts off about me and his missus, and all in front
of Sue. You can imagine her reaction.'
I'd known Sue almost as long as Dave had, so I could well imagine her
reaction - far from pleasant. 'So what put all this in his head?'
Dave blew out smoke in a sharp puff from the side of his mouth. 'Oh
something about a message on her mobile. You know me, Ed, I can be a
bit of a prat but?' He halted for a moment's thought and took another
drag on his roll up, 'Oh, I know we mess about on stage and that, but
it's just part of the act, isn't it?' His brow creased with another
thought. 'I don't even know her number.'
'So how did you deal with it?'
'Got the daft bastard out of the house as quick as I could. I'm not
joking, Ed, he was fit to top me. I've never seen him like that
before.' He took a long shaky pull on his pint. 'Then, once I'd bundled
him out the front door, I got Sue throwing a right wobbly.'
'Did you make any progress with her?'
He gave me a look of dismay. 'What do you think? What would Kate be
like if it was you?'
It only took a moment for me to agree. 'Er? yeah - see what you
mean.'
'In the end,' he continued, 'I decided to get out, if only to let her
calm down a bit. Then? well you see what he's done to the car.'
I shook my head in disbelief. 'Can't understand it. It's so out of
character. Wonder if it'd help if I had a word.'
Dave jumped at the suggestion. 'Yeah. And first of all tell him
whoever's shaggin' his scraggy missus, it ain't me.' He paused for a
moment. 'And tell him I hope he's broke at least ten toes kicking my
fuckin' car in - the lousy bastard!'
'And what about Sue?' I asked. 'Can I help out there?'
Dave gave an emphatic shake of his long black locks. 'Be no good
anybody going near her at the moment. And even if she does calm down,
she ain't gonna take much notice of my best mate sticking up for me, is
she?'
'No, I suppose not,' I shrugged. 'So where do we go from here?'
'Well I don't feel much like thinking about the band so?'
'No problem,' I chanced a reassuring smile. 'Bloody Dennis hasn't
turned up either.'
Dave had maintained enough of his sense of humour to shout over the bar
at Steve, 'Oi! You ain't got little Dennis tucked away somewhere cosy,
have you?'
'No, I ain't!' Steve bawled back, less than amused, 'But when you find
the shit tell him I want my money back for that chiller he put in. It
hasn't worked right since the night he wired it. And if he's got
anything else that fell off the back of a wagon, he can stick it up his
arse.'

All of a sudden it seemed like all the wheels were coming off
together.

* * *

Besides Kate and my family, that stupid band meant everything to me and
I felt the need to do anything to get it back on track.

I began to feel that if this was the age of instant communication then
we needed to return to the jungle drums. It was so bloody frustrating;
neither Buster nor Dennis was answering their mobiles or landlines.
Dennis wasn't a real emergency. He could wait. It was Buster I decided
to track down first.

I couldn't catch him at home until the Saturday morning. He finally
answered the door, looking like something the cat had dragged in, after
my repeated hammering had all but took it off the hinges. His eyes were
like AA road maps of the West Midlands, his hair looked like he'd been
plugged into the mains, his chin was covered in a cross between
designer stubble and a thick mould, and his breath stank of stale fags
and alcohol. All in all, I think it's fair to say I'd seen Buster
looking better.
'Wadda you want?' he groaned, barring my entrance to the hall.
'A word with you,' was the best I could come up with, 'Can I come
in?'
He yawned, scratched his head, but moved aside to allow me free
passage.
'That bastard, Dave, been whingeing to you, as he?' Buster muttered as
he showed me into the bombsite of a living room. 'He's lucky I only
trashed his car and not him. I hope you ain't come round here to try
and talk me outta killin' him.'
'Well, of course, I would like to know exactly what's going on,' I
said, sweeping beer cans off an easy chair to make room for my arse.
'I've heard Dave's side. Now I want to hear yours. What the hell went
on, Barry?'
Buster flopped onto the cluttered settee, took out a Benson's and lit
it. 'I rumbled lover boy and my missus,' he said blowing a fume of
smoke into the air. 'that's what happened - end of story.'
'So where's Carla now?'
Buster gave a nonchalant shrug. 'How the fuck should I know? And,
what's more, why should I care?'
'She's left?'
'I threw her out.'
'But, listen, Barry, are you absolutely sure about all this? I mean
I've known Dave?'
'Yeah, yeah,' Buster cut in, 'you and him have been mates all your
lives? well I would expect you to stick up for him. Honest, Ed, I don't
blame you for that. I blame myself. It was me who suggested she join
the band. I shouldn't have given way to her. I should've known when she
was so persistent about wanting to play with us. Right bloody mug I've
been. Gave her everything, right from the start, and this is how she
repays me.'
'Whoa!' I tried to slow him down. 'Let's take it from square one. What
made you suspect something was up between the two of them?'
'The bloody phone - her mobile.'
'Yeah, what about it?'
Buster sat back and sucked in a deep breath. 'She was in the bedroom
tarting herself up when her mobile started. Save disturbing her I
picked it - it was a text from that arsehole.'
'And what exactly did it say?' I coaxed.
'Can't remember the exact wording but it was something like: I'll never
forget the beautiful music we made together last Thursday. Can you get
away again this week?.. Love, D.'
'Perhaps,' I offered, 'he was referring to practice - something as
innocent as that?'
'Bollocks,' Buster grimaced, 'I ain't that bleedin' thick. We all play
together now - there ain't no more lessons. It's him and her all right.
I mean, look at the way they perform in front of a crowd. God knows
what they've been up to behind my back.'
'Well, I'm sorry, Barry, I just can't have it,' I persisted, 'I know
Dave can act the eejit but he'd never do anything like that, especially
not on a mate.'
'That's the way it always is, ain't it.' Buster was just as insistent.
'Last to know, ain't that another pet phrase?'

He had me! He was right, it was always the people you trusted, the last
one you'd suspect that turns out to be the traitor. The last you'd
expect? it hit me like a ton of bricks? D!
My eyes must've lit. 'You did say it was signed D, didn't you?'
Buster sensed I was on to something and answered somewhat hesitantly,
'Yeah.'
'Well did you check the number?'
'What number?'
I was hardly able to contain myself. 'The bloody number it was sent
from.' Buster looked at me gone out. 'At the end of a text, the number
from which it was sent is always displayed.' Buster cheeks reddened as
he shook his head. 'Don't you see,' I continued, ' D doesn't have to be
Dave it could be?'
'Fuckin' Dennis!' Buster exploded.

THE END