The Eejit

Chapter 8 - The Outsider

Chapter 8 – The Outsider

On April the 9th 1991, I took the stagecoach from Victoria coach station in London up to Derby. The Alarm tour had been going for a bit and for one reason and another, not least of which was the considerable number of pub gigs I had committed to in London, I joined the tour late. There was already an official support band called Searching For Adam but with The Alarm being the kind of fellas that they are, room was made to accommodate me and my acoustic set on select dates on the tour. I should say that Searching For Adam were also extremely generous in making room for me on the roster too.

Searching were managed by one of the lads dads and his name was Nick. I remember this because they were from Hull and when Nick would ring my parents house, he would always introduce himself as "Nick From Hull" in a thick northern accent. Now coincidentally, my mums great friend and not so secret crush was a man called Nick Frommell who was German, and this led to some awkward misunderstandings which I will need therapy to get over.

When I arrived at the Assembly Rooms in Derby, I remember being surprised at the ease with which I gained access to the backstage area. I had I suppose envisaged a long and drawn out process of persuading the incredulous security guards that I was supposed to be there and that I really was playing that night, while they smiled politely but remained unmoved. This seemingly inevitable scenario had occupied my thoughts for most of the uncomfortable journey up to Derby in the company of another somewhat rotund passenger, whose sweaty feet and plastic shoes combo will live with me forever.

This was grown up rock and roll however and not my chaotic half arsed version of it, and the venue was expecting me. The first person I met was Kelly Doherty. Kelly or 'Ma' as we called her because she was basically our mother for the duration of the tour. Ma was American and encapsulated everything I love about America. Her vision of potential success was limitless, her patience was endless and her kindness and manners were both striking and an example to others. Ma could see I was out of my comfort zone by some distance and set about making every effort to ensure I had everything I needed for the show. Ma was essentially looking after Dave Sharp on this tour and by extension that meant me too. I was Dave's project. I imagined that the other guys in The Alarm who I hadn't met at this stage, probably regarded me as an indulgence. (Actually if they did, they certainly never showed it). I found Dave in his dressing room and suddenly I was back in Battersea with a good friend and much of the tension eased. Dave Sharp was extremely good at making you feel at ease in these situations.

As show time got nearer, I allowed myself a sneaky peak at the venue as it began to fill up. And fill up it did. I was really surprised at how many fans the band had although I'm not sure why I was so surprised; this was a band that had sold records and toured plentifully. They always had time for their fans and that relationship was rock solid.

"This guy will lead you out to the stage and to your microphone" Ma explained to me as she introduced me to one of the many road crew. "You need to follow him because he has a torch and it will be really dark" she explained.

Now I began to shit myself. As a performer, every potential scenario flashes across your mind in those final minutes before a show. Guitar breaking, falling over, forgetting songs completely, being booed off and trousers falling down accompanied by that clown noise that happens in circuses and a bass drum beat. All but the scenario last had happened to me at some stage. Ma's instructions had thrown up a new possibility; I would actually get lost in the dark whilst being led to the mic and basically not ever complete the journey only eventually being discovered when the lights went up at the end.

I had spare guitar strings in my back pocket, which I always carried for when I inevitably broke a guitar string and needed to replace it.

Show time.

Ma said good luck and the roadie led me though a dark labyrinth of effects racks, flight cases, monitors and guitar racks towards the mic stand I would be performing from. Other than the torch light which was being shone on the ground ahead of me so that I would avoid cables and steps etc, the only other lights I could see were the red and green lights on the various effects racks and amplifiers. It really was dark.

The auditorium lights went out and that rush of excited murmur rose from the audience who I still couldn't see.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please will you welcome our special guest, Toby Bourke"

I was at the mic, the roadie had gone and the generous Alarm fans cheered my arrival onto the stage to such an extent that I knew I would need to live up to their big heartedness.

My first song that night was one I saved for acoustic performances and it was called The Outsider. It was pulsey and dark and chronicled the disenchantment and alienation that accompanies the end of a relationship. I had written it at the time of my break up with Lulu – on the guitar she bought me and then took with her when she left. Here I was singing it to 2,000 people in Derby on the biggest stage I had ever played on with a thunderous sound coming from the colossal PA system.

I would have thought that breaking a coiled steel string with a small triangle of plastic was from a physics point of view, nigh on impossible. But I was shit at physics. So shit in fact, that I was instructed not to sit the exam for fear of traumatising my parents further.

It's a horrible feeling when the string breaks and the tension on the neck of the guitar changes just enough to throw your guitar out of tune. It's a musical kick in the balls but you need to power through it to the end of the song. Thankfully, it happened at the end of the song so the damage was limited but it makes the big ending harder to achieve.

The crowd cheered more than they had when I arrived which was consoling but I still had the issue of five strings on my guitar where 6 were needed.

I reached into my back trouser pocket and pulled out a collection of Dean Markley guitar strings. I identified the replacement and then did a very odd thing indeed.

"I can do this in 30 seconds" I said into the mic and a cheer went up.

I immediately set about the task of changing a string with sweaty hands on the biggest stage I'd ever been on in front of the largest crowd I'd ever played for. To add to the tension I started to hear the crowd chanting 19, 18, 17, 16, as they got into the spirit of this weird occurrence and counted me down to see if I was as good as my word.

I finished bang on 30 seconds and the generous audience whooped and hollowed their approval. I turned around with a 'Suck That', self - congratulatory look on my face only to see the same roadie who had led me to the mic standing at my side with a fully strung, fresh guitar for me and a 'No, Suck This' expression on his face.

And that was that. I never got the fresh guitar option again, and I was stuck with the 30 second string change. It was my thing. I had a thing.

The rest of the show was OK. I came off stage thoroughly elated and sweating profusely from the hot lights and the intense effort. I came off the stage a changed person too. It is difficult to describe the swirling and conflicting emotional impact of this type of moment. Someone has taken you at your word and you have to deliver. This is supposed to be the thing you have dedicated your life too and suddenly you are being asked to shit or get off the pot. I was getting nearly a thousand people a night coming to see me at the Swan but they had been building for a while. I had earned this audience at the Swan and had got to know a lot them and there was a familiarity there. This was different. This wasn't my audience. I had done nothing to earn this crowd other than be a friend of Dave Sharp. So it is that a part of you feels like a usurper; a magpie who has occupied another's nest and is unworthy of the treats on offer. But you have to make it work and to think like this is to do a massive injustice to the warm-heartedness of the fans who have become your new audience for the duration of this tour. However I got here, whatever the incredible good luck story about Dave walking into my living room in the middle of a hot night 9 months earlier, I was here now. I needed to step up, I needed to repay Dave's faith in my abilities, I needed to match the embrace of the crowd with an output worthy of their generosity, I needed to get over my catholic guilt based scenarios and take this opportunity seriously.

Needless to say, that night I got absolutely shit faced and lost all my guitar strings.