The Eejit

Chapter 10: Hey Lord, Don't Ask Me Questions

Dave's advice was still ringing in my ears as I walked off the stage at the Coliseum having played one of the best shows of my life, to that point. I walked off stage behind the Mr Benn Shopkeeper Torch Guy with my guitar held aloft, feeling like a champion. I hadn't broken any strings, I'd let the space into my songs like the sun through previously closed curtains and I still had a small but significant proportion of the royalties from countless Commodores hits in my pocket from yesterdays pool school. I was in this brief and sweet moment a King amongst men and the bar at the hotel was calling sweetly to me.

I finally met Mike that night after the show. I would defy anyone not to instantly like Mike Peters. Mike is a physically impressive looking guy and his strong features and long thick blonde mane adds to the overall first impression. It's why he's a great front man. The thing is though, when you are up close and one on one with him you realise that his human currency is his authenticity. He is disarmingly polite and charming, and nothing about him is pretence.

"Hey Toby, I'm so glad you could come and do some of these shows with us. I really love your stuff" All this said with a firm handshake, eye contact and a smile as wide as the Severn. I grew up listening to and admiring artistes like Dylan who had made it their life's work to dodge even the remotest suggestion of a label. Dylan's greatest rebellion was that he couldn't be cornered or pinned down about who he really was. Mike was in another mould altogether.

Until I met Dave – and by extension, Mike, I had idly pigeon - holed them with people like Bono; a slim line, lightweight caricature of righteous commitment to easy causes. This wasn't a comment on the music, which I had always liked in the case of both bands but I know people at home in Ireland who refer to their ex girlfiends and boyfriends as 'Bonos'.

"Ah sure she was gorgeous, like, and my dad loved her but I fuckin' hated her in the end . She really pissed me off. A real Bono of a woman" etc

And so I had taken Bono's endless bellendery and evenly applied my dislike for it across all the bands of the same era and ilk. A lazy stereotyping that now had me face to face with my appalling error. Mike was nothing like this. There was no self - righteousness, only righteousness and there's a big difference.

By way of comparison, I had been fortunate enough to have been backstage at all of Bob Dylan's London shows at the Hammersmith Apollo in February of that year, thanks in no small part to Dave Sharp. I had in fact very nearly been Dylan's support act that year, again thanks to Dave. He had put me in touch with Elliot Roberts, Dylan's manager and also Sam Henfry who worked closely with Barry Dickens at International Talent Bureau Ltd , the agency who booked both tours for both The Alarm and Bob Dylan. The Alarm had just finished touring with Dylan in the states and Dave had been generous enough to put in a very big word for me. Before long I was talking with Elliot Roberts on the phone and we were discussing dates. Sadly, Elliot Roberts dad became ill and he couldn't manage the tour itinerary, handing it to his tour accountant, Marty Feldman – no not the guy with the funny eyes – someone else. Feldman, being an accountant, chose to switch direction and accepted a late buy – on from Graham Parker. Buy – ons are when you pay the main act to support them in return for exposure. I was gone faster than a cupcake at weightwatchers meeting. My consolation prize, like a losing contestant on a big game show, was a week – long, back - stage pass at all the London shows. It was one of those "now then, let's see what you would have won..." moments.

Actually, I hadn't lost very much.

I'll freely admit that I'm pretty one eyed in my love of Bob Dylan, but even I thought he was crap on that tour. He was utterly disconnected with his art and the shows were devoid of even that single solitary flicker of unbearable brilliance that has sustained him through many of the other duff shows I've seen him do in previous years. And the malaise didn't end there. Graham Parker, who I always though was awesome, the genius behind 'Hey Lord, Don't Ask Me Questions' just seemed to sing covers. He even sang like No Woman No Cry by Bob Marley ffs. How indecent can you be?