Chapter Two
It was 9.30 pm on a Wednesday, presumably not too late to phone the lead singer of a rockabilly band (and the note had said 'ASAP' - he assumed his brother had quoted directly).
The phone was in the downstairs corridor, two floors below Theo's room. It could be a private place to chat as long as the door to the living room was closed and there was no one in the kitchen or on any of the landings. These elements seemed to be in place so Theo bounded down the stairs three at a time. He made it as far as the first floor landing when his older brother Jon emerged from his room, holding an empty mug and plate. Theo slowed so as not to crash into him, and Jon took the opportunity to move to the flight of stairs leading to the ground floor. Once there, he began to descend at a snail's pace. Theo tried desperately to pass, but Jon made it impossible, his elbows jutting out theatrically, mug in one hand, plate in the other.
"Sorry old boy, are you in a rush?" Jon asked.
"Can I just get to the phone? That message you left was—"
"Careful now" his brother interrupted. "Do you know how many people are injured every year by falling down the stairs? We wouldn't want that to happen to you now would we? What if you were to break an arm, or worse a leg? Imagine that! No bass drum pounding above my head day and night, no drumming along to Never Mind the Bollocks when I'm trying to revise for my finals. I'd be able to hear myself think, or possibly listen to my music if I fancied. How dull life would be!"
"Sarky sod" replied Theo. "At least I don't..." But then he tapered off, unable to think of anything annoying that his brother actually did, so he had to finish the sentence with the lacklustre "get in people's way."
"I wouldn't be so sure," came the reply.
By now they had reached the downstairs corridor, and much to Theo's annoyance, Jon made his way to the phone and picked up the receiver. Theo stared at him.
"Yes?" Jon's voice was dripping with disdain.
"I was hoping to make a call."
"Me too, and it would appear that I was here first."
Theo knew there was no point in arguing, so he traipsed back upstairs and sat outside his room, waiting for his brother to finish. After ten agonizing minutes, the call came to an end, so again he bounded down the stairs three at a time and got to the phone before anyone else picked it up.
He chose not to think about what he would say when the phone was answered, far better to wing it and sound casual than to parrot some pre-rehearsed script. But after dialling, he was not ushered through to a cosy chat with Wiltshire's great rock 'n roll hope, instead he was met by the blunt, shrill repetition of the engaged tone - the tone that told him someone else was currently talking to Lee Heritage. He listened on and on, willing the beep to suddenly reset itself as a ring, but it stubbornly refused to. And so began a frantic five minutes of dialling and redialling, until finally, joyfully, he was met with the luxurious purr of the ring tone. Before he could compose himself, it was answered.
"Hello?" A gruff, lazy drawl on the other end.
"Hi there," said Theo, suddenly aware of how posh his own voice sounded. "This is Theo Hanlon. You left a message for me to phone you. Hope it's not too late."
"No, it's fine." Lee's voice warmed slightly. "We need a drummer. We have a gig at Moles club in a month. Are you available?"
"Of course, of course!" He tried to keep his voice steady.
"We're holding auditions on Saturday. Could you make it at... three o'clock?"
Theo's optimism sagged. So this wasn't a done deal - there was an audition to get through. It made sense of course; a band this big wouldn't just offer him the job without trying him out first.
"Sure!" Theo replied, trying to sound casual.
"The auditions are in the rehearsal room below Sounds International in Chippenham. We're just gonna play 'Brand New Cadillac' by The Clash to see how you sound. There will be a drum kit there so no need to bring your own."
The call came to an end and Theo hung up. He ran back upstairs to his room, and too excited to do anything practical, leant out the window and sparked up a Consulate. This could be big he told himself. This band has record company interest! And a gig at Moles - the Bath nightclub that had played host to pretty much every important British band of the last five years.
But first there was the damned audition to get through. This, and the cloying taste of one too many menthols, snapped him out of his reverie. He stubbed the cigarette out halfway through and tried to focus. There was some planning to be done. He needed to master 'Brand New Cadillac', and he needed to choose an outfit for the audition.
Steal Guitars (originally called We Steal Guitars) was led by two brothers, Lee and Mark Heritage. Both boys had gone to Theo's school but had left years ago (the younger brother Mark had been expelled for throwing a chair at a teacher). They were 21 and 19 respectively, so older than Theo's 16 years. Both Heritage boys once had reputations as troublemakers, but they had mellowed over the years and now put all their energy into music. As well as rockabilly, the brothers were heavily into The Clash, and Lee based his performing style on lead singer Joe Strummer.
The choice of song for the audition pleased Theo no end. The Clash's drummer Topper Headon was a favourite of his and he regularly drummed along to their old hit 'White Man in Hammersmith Palais' for practise. 'Brand New Cadillac' was on the album London Calling which Theo did not own, but Jon might - he would have to sneak into his bedroom tomorrow to find out. In the meantime he leafed through his singles and found 'White Man'. He lined it up on his Panasonic Music Centre and listened.
The drumming was perfection: crisp hi-hat and snare, deep bass drum, and the occasional boom of thunderous concert toms. Nothing too complicated, just solid, precise drumming. That was what made Topper so great - he gave each song exactly what it needed. There were no unnecessary fills or breaks. They called him "the human metronome", and that was the key: to keep that metronomic beat going.
The music calmed him after the excitement of the last few minutes. He tried to imagine what the audition would be like. He knew the location for the rehearsal - the music shop Sounds International - because he had had drum lessons there a few years ago. The shop had a kit permanently set up in the basement and rented the space out for band practises when there were no lessons. It was cramped and dingy, and he wasn't even sure that a band with a double bass player could fit in it.
The Heritage brothers were striking to look at: tall, slim, bleached hair in razor-sharp quiffs, and eyeliner to add a touch of Bowie-esque androgyny. Their stage gear was vintage rock 'n roll: luminous Teddy Boy jackets, white shirts with bootlace ties, and black drainpipes. The double bass player was a comedic counterfoil: short, podgy and old. Theo had even heard a rumour that he was married with kids.
Steal Guitars live performances were raucous affairs, with the brothers throwing themselves around the stage or leaping into the audience, where they would be manhandled back on to the stage by appreciative fans. Teeo knew that the audition would be more subdued than a Steal Guitars performance, and that the brothers would not be in their stage gear, but even so, these were stylish guys and he wanted to make an impression.
So what should he wear? The only rockabilly clothing he owned was a pair of blue brothel creepers bought at great expense from Paradise Garage in Bristol, but they were difficult to drum in (the thick soles meant you couldn't feel the bass drum pedal) so he discounted them for now. He decided to keep it simple: a white T-shirt and jeans along with his blue Rucanor baseball boots.
But then he thought again. Wasn't the jeans/T-shirt combo just a little bit...safe? He wanted to look distinctive somehow, to impress his prospective bandmates. Determined to find something suitable, he rummaged through his drawers and wardrobe and came across a long-forgotten blue neckerchief. Maybe he could wear this to add a bit of rockabilly cred? He changed into the white T-shirt, tied the neckerchief on and looked in the mirror. Not bad, but the thin ends of the neckerchief were creased and wouldn't sit where he w
anted them to. No matter how he tied it, they kept sticking upwards and tickling his cheeks when he turned his head. He took it off.
Next he turned his attention to the T-shirt itself. He'd seen loads of guys wearing them with the arms cut off. He liked this look and was pretty sure that his arms were muscly enough to carry it off. So he fetched a blade from his art bin and set about removing them. Once finished he put the T-shirt back on and checked the mirror again. It looked good; the only problem was that his upper arms - which had so far been hidden from the sun this summer - were a striking white next to his tanned lower arms. Now what should he do? He couldn't sew the arms back on, and he doubted if he could get another white T-shirt in time for Saturday. Bollocks. He should have just left it. Maybe he'd be able to get some sun on his upper arms tomorrow or Friday so by Saturday he'd be tanned all the way up to his shoulders. This was do-able - the past few days had been sunny so maybe tomorrow would be too.
It was getting late and he could hear his parents coming up to bed, but his heart was pounding way too hard to even think about sleep. Not knowing what else to do, he sat at his kit again, but playing was out of the question. Another walk perhaps? Another Consulate? No, he was still feeling the effects of the last one. He leaned out the window and waited until ten cars passed. Still not tired. Then he looked through his record collection again - maybe just listening to some music for a while would do the trick.
His record collection consisted of approximately one hundred singles and a dozen or so albums. The singles were a mixture of hits from the seventies and more recent punk or new wave offerings. As far as he could tell, he didn't have a particular style of music that he preferred over all others. If anyone asked him what he was into, he replied "Anything, as long as it's melodic."
When it came to the albums, practically all of them were 'Best Ofs' and borrowed from (and yet to be returned to) his parents: The Best of Cliff and The Shadows, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Chuck Berry, Frank Sinatra, The Hollies, Phil Spector and of course Eddie Cochran.
The Eddie Cochran album was placed at the front of his album collection, facing out into the room. He was by far the best-looking artist in the collection. It was an episode of Top of The Pops that first introduced Theo to Eddie. Tony Blackburn announced Sid Vicious' new single 'C'mon Everybody'. When the song started, Theo's father Roger peered over the top of his newspaper and exclaimed "Oh how marvellous!" He then called out to Theo's mum Sylvie, who was in the kitchen: "Darling! The Sex Pistols have done a version of 'C'mon Everybody'! Ha! It's almost as good as the original! How funny!" He then proceeded to tap his foot and sing along with Sid.
When the song finished, Roger asked Theo if he had ever heard of Eddie Cochran. When Theo said that he hadn't, Roger told him the sad story of how Eddie's life came to an end in a car crash just a couple of miles up the road. He was only twenty one at the time. So young. So much promise.
His dad lent him his Best Of Eddie Cochran that evening. Theo listened to the original of 'C'mon Everybody' first. He instantly loved the trebly bass intro and the chunky acoustic guitar. He'd never heard anything like it. And when Eddie started to sing - well - C'mon Everybody! He sounded so young, so full of energy. So much livelier than the dark, almost operatic warblings of Elvis. This was the sound of being young! The rest of the album was just as good: 'Twenty Flight Rock', 'Something Else', 'Three Steps to Heaven'. Each song a two-minute nugget of pop perfection.
Some evenings, when he was particularly stressed, or just needed to be soothed by something familiar, he would play the album on his bedside record player, and let each song wash over him until he dozed off. Then the recurring thunk! of the needle as the record revolved around it would wake him up in the middle of the night, and he would have to reach out of bed and switch the player off at the wall.
But on this evening, he did not wake up in the middle of the night - the thunk! was still there when the alarm went off the next morning.