Shane MacGowan: plus Paddy Rasta
Thursday 27 October 2005 - Cafe
Tickets 21 GBP (14 GBP concessions & regulars)
Doors Open: 8.30pm
Show Starts: 9pm
Shane MacGowan returns to The Lemon Tree after a great debut here last January for yet another famously shambolic live show.
He's been writing music for 25 years, from the early punk of The Nipple Erectors through the wild days of The Pogues and his original backing band, The Popes, with whom he recorded the finest work of his chequered and luridly documented career and he now embarks on a fresh chapter of his musical life with a new band.
Shagreen Leather II
or Musicians Need Apply
------------------------------
Irish treasure and punk legend (songwriting, vocals) is looking for guitarist, bassist, drummer, banjist, accordeonist, fiddler and whistler. If you are a multi-talented go-getter who takes pride in process and doesnt give a flying fuck about quality results and money, if you are looking for a premier opportunity to excel in your career with a world-wide recognized star, if you hate limitations, enjoy swimming against the current and risk for the sake of greatness, then you’re someone we consider the right type. Education is not required, knowledge is not required, playing abilities are not required, just a minimum of your free time. Drinking bent is welcome.
Contact xxxxxxxxx
Shane put the pen aside and read the anouncement again. He was definitely satisfied with the result.
Just about five weeks remained till the widely advertised gig with a new band, so it was time to stop wanking about, get shite together and finally recruit the promised new band.
"Joey!"
"Huh?" His lifelong friend was occupied with watching TV and didn't bother to turn his head.
"Take it to cupla rock magazines."
"What the fuck is it?"
"Joey! Look here, it's announcement! We need a new band, don't we?"
"OK, I'll call editors' offices tomorrow."
"Tomorrow? Joey! Your tomorrows are worse than mananas! Your tomorrows are nevers! It must be done today! It's urgent!"
"Look, it's late today! Nobody will sit in the office waiting for your ad! I'll call 'em tomorrow, I'll make a note right now!" answered Joey and kept staring at the TV screen.
"JOEY!!!!!" Shane waved the sheet in front of Joey's nose to draw his attention "It's urgent! I mean it! We have a gig in a few weeks! WITH NEW BAND!"
"Why do you shout? The new band can't hear you anyway! OK I'll make a call right now." Joey started to rummage around, searching for his phone, keeping his eyes on TV.
"No, Joey, take it and deliver to the office! In person! You'll feck things up again with your bloody phone."
"How? I will dictate it from your note. In your fucking presence! If there is someone to accept the call." Joey extracted a mobile from his pocket.
"JOEY! Take this fecking paper, RAISE your fat arse and and FECK OFF to their office!"
"Look at yours," hissed Joey but got up, took the troubling paper, put his jacket on and left, cursing quietly. Shane was again obsessed with the old idea of a new band. It was really better to feck off for a while.
96.68 sq. inches
He stopped a taxi, named a street and unfolded the sheet. He quickly looked through Shane's handwriting, getting stuck only twice. "And whistler," declaimed he. It sounded louder than he expected. And angrier.
"Beg your pardon?" asked the driver.
"Nothing!" retorted Joey, hid the paper and pulled out a book of tanka. Japanese poetry always helped him to restore his inner balance.
It worked this time too. After four verses he calmed down and felt almost OK. He looked out. Outside was a great evening, warm twilight and first lights. They were passing his bookmaker's office. He asked the driver to stop and looked around, searching for a proper bookmark. Nothing that looked like it, beside Shane's ad. Joey carefully tore the right margin off, with the word "whistler" on it, and closed the book with satisfaction.
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Bookmaker's office was already closed (to Joey's surprise) but there there were a few notes about stakes. Joey decided to write down some things he thought could be interesting for Shane and for him later. But he needed to find a piece of paper.
He looked around. There was a gay club poster but he decided against using it not to be blamed for prejudice and other things. He searched his pockets and yes! - he found that (ill)famed sheet of paper. He carefully tore off another piece (as small as possible) and raised his pen.
74.07 sq.inches
Sorting the things with stakes out, he recollected that there was a lovely pub, just round the corner. He was not there for cupla months and decided to peep inside to say 'hi' to the bartender and to have a pint.
The pub has obviously survived a reconstruction but it didn't undermine its foundations - at the end of the day it was still the same dim smokey hole with greasy tables and TV over the bar. He procceded right to the bar, ordered a pint and raised his head to the screen. Arsenal was smashing Everton.
Later he needed to look into gents. Three pints are three pints and you can't ignore them even if you are on a special mission... especially if you are on a special mission.
There was only one toilet – with unclosable door! Not only the lack of latch, also the lack of chance to keep it closed at all; the door kept proudly demostrating smelly guts of the venue and (occasionally) diffident figures of its unlucky visitors (symbolising maybe openess and frankness of the owners). To complain about the lack of lock on toilet's door was useless. Joey knew that joke quite well "As long as I've been here, no-one ever tried to rob a shite"...
He searched his pockets, got out the everhelpful sheet of paper, tore off a bit, folded it up and stuck it between the door and floor. The problem was sorted out.
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Getting out of the toilet, happy and satisfied, he encountered a bunch of his old pals. They were twisting napkins and beermats in their hands, and huge doubts turning into confusion could be easily seen on their pale faces.
"Oi, Joey!!!! Haven't seen you for ages! How is it going, you aul' bastard?"
"Hi!" carefully answered Joey. Their greeting was a bit too warm taking into considaration the time that has passed since their last meeting and the last meeting itself. Shaking hands, Joey tried to orient himself if they were going to ask something or to offer.
"Shite! Do you have a piece of paper? Or a tenner at least?"
'To ask' immediately guessed Joey and diplomatically answered: "Why?"
"Not to wipe our hairy arses, or we would not waste time and use these napkins!"
Or 'to offer'? Joey got interested and intrigued. "Can't you use the foil from your cigs?" He tried to verify his good expectations.
"Joey! All we need is a piece of fucking paper that could be rolled up!"
Joey showed them an edge of the long-suffering sheet.
"Great! Come with us, we know a good place."
58.08 sq. inches
<...>
Bidding farewell to his mates, he felt like sitting a bit and thinking.
He turned around the corner, then again and finally found what he was longing for - a lovely quiet alley with plenty of benches. But on that great and warm evening, all the benches were occupied, mostly by couples, so it was impossible to share a bench without violation of someone's privacy. Being rather in philosophical than fighting mood, Joey was going to say "fuck it" but then he noticed a free bench (at the last moment, just like it always happens in penny stories) and rushed to it.
Reaching the longed-for place for relaxation and thoughts, he found out why the bench was not occupied - some pig had got there with his dirty feet, or rather hoofs, so no decent passer-by could take a rest on it any more. No one but a passer-by with a piece of paper. Joey tore off another bit, wiped the bench and sat himself down.
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He was blindly staring at people and occasional cars for twenty minutes maybe, till he got cold and decided it was time to continue his way. Shane was waiting for him somewhere and editors' offices could get closed at any moment. He got up and set off, wandering in his imagination through endless corridors of some mystic editor's office.
When he got out of that haze, he found himself – well, not in the middle of nowhere of course, he was still in London, there were no doubts about it and he would not give a fuck if he was not in a hurry, but the sense of unfulfilled duty deprived him of the usual peace and easiness, and he even decided to ask someone how to get to xxx St. as quickly as possible.
Especially since a nice-looking girl was approaching.
He politely begged her pardon and asked the question of vital importance. The girl was not just nice-looking but friendly as well (really rare combination of gentle virtues)! She didn't try to run away but suggested that he follow her for two blocks and then she would show him the right direction.
They were chatting, Joey asked her if she was a musician by any chance as he was looking for musicians, she answered 'No, to my big regret', 'It's me who has to regret,' retorted Joey, 'but you are into music, aint you?' 'Yes,' smiled she and treated him to a candy.
Joey tried to play decent guy till the end and didn't stuff the whole thing into his mouth but delicately bit a small bit. The fucking thing was filled with liqueur. Sticky stuff ran down his chin and fingers. To use a sleeve was inadmissible, obviously, in such situation! He had to resort to the help of Shane's announcement (or remains of what previously was Shane's announcement) once more.
39.07 sq. inches
The kind girl offered him her handkerchief with a heap of sincere apologies; he refused courteously but used the great opportunity to ask for another favour - her telephone number. Before she could turn his cheeky request down, he tore off another piece of the sheet (with expressive gesture) and was ready to write it down.
31.87.sq.inches
She didn't try to hide her telephone number from him, she seemed to have got interested in that musician-searching gentleman. Then she showed him the right (and shortest!) way to xxx St.and kept waving her hand as long as his stooping back could be discerned in the crowd.
Joey, elated and feeling like a real hero whose dangerous and crucial mission was approaching completion, continued his way. In passing he bought a pack of crisps, ate them heartily and took out Shane's announcement for another look.
Not much of it survived, Joey had to admit. But even on the remains he managed to leave two greasy spots. Bloody crisps, thought Joey and tore off the corner with his fingerprints. He could not hand such spotted sheet to a nice secretary, and he was sure that in editor's office the best girls must be employed!
28.01 sq.inches
In five minutes he reached the office. He put his hand on the door knob and examined himself for the last time. Everything seemed to be OK (sexy leather jacket, almost new trousers), but shoes, shoes were dusty. He tore off a piece of the paper, spat on it, and beautified his once posh shoes.
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Now everything looked perfect and he was ready to face the nicest secretaries as well as the guilefulest security. To overcome all obstacles, to familiarize the whole world with Irish Treasure's call. Call to instruments and... he looked at the paper again. Well, with that stump it would useless to disturb even a cleaner in the editor's office... He took his hand off the door knob and set off to stop a taxi.
<...>
"Why so long, Joey?" It was Shane, greeting his lifelong friend, who got back by 4 am. "Were there queues in the offices?"
"No, but I thought I deserved a shot and peeped into one place." It was a sheer truth. He did peep into one place before he finally stopped a taxi and got back to Shane. But Shane didn't try to call in question. He was watching his favourite Scorsese movie and not going to start long debates.
"Everything's OK?" he rather stated than asked.
"Aha," nodded Joey. He understood it was not the right time for obtrusive details. He pushed the armchair forward and plunged into the movie he knew by heart.
Next day he decided not to return to his mission at all, he didn't want to grieve Shane. It could cause another writer's block. And a genius suffering from writer's block can be a real pain in arse! Joey knew it as well as cruicial remarks from Scorsese's masterpiece.
***
from The Lemon Tree website:
Thursday 27 October 2005 - Cafe Tickets 21 GBP (14 GBP concessions & regulars)
Doors Open: 8.30pm
Show Starts: 9pm
This perfomance is now cancelled, apologies for any inconvenience. Refunds are avaialble from our Box Office, please have you credit card details ready when calling.
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