Tall But True Tales of Touring
NEW AND EXCLUSIVE! Want to peel back the curtain? Want to learn the gritty truth about life on the road with the Angel Brothers? Then you need to read Keith Angel's Tall But True Tales of Touring.
The Spinning Lady of Henley
The Intrepid Angel Brothers sometimes end up in the strangest and most mystifying of places. And so it was that we found ourselves in Henley-On-Thames, performing at the Regatta infront of a sizeable assembly of penguin - suited toffs and ball-gowned and ball-gowned toffettes, with ne'er a crusty dreadlock or a pair of voluminous tie-dye festipants to be seen. Even the p.a. crew were forced to wear dinner jackets and had to pack the sound gear into numerous pink vanity cases and wheeled hat boxes.
Now, we usually go down quite well in most places, but we're hardly the Pasedena Roof Orchestra and by the time we'd got into some of our more dubbed-out, improvised material, well... the crowd was looking about as puzzled as they were sozzled on the over-priced witch-pee being passed off as 'champers'. One seriously 'bolloxed' couple gamely attempted some kind of bizarre fox-trot/waltz hybrid dance affair to 'Lost In The Loop' - which was precisely where they ended up...
About five numbers in, I looked over to Happy Sahota, who despite a beatific yet bewildered experience was going at it like a real trooper on the tablas. Using a series of secret signals (known only to the Angel Brothers), eyelid semaphore and E.S.P., he drew my attention to a pair of sizeable women revellers who were dancing and gesticulating wildly in what I believe used to be referred as a 'Wig Out' (thanks Dave F) back in the days of Woodstock, brown acid and The Pipkins.
Slowly at first, one of the women began to rotate - looking just a wee bit like a cross-dressed, over-accessorised Sufi dancer. Faster and faster she span, firth hither and then thither until this brazed diablo of a debutante hit the stage - with her coiffured head jammed between the Telford Tornado's tablas! She didn't shift, and appeared to be unconscious until Happy yanked her head out from between his precious instruments, whereupon she proceeded to lovingly rub and stroke his shaven head with her sweaty palm. Harprit, ever the consummate professional, carried on to the end of the number before giving her the 'heave-ho'. Well. I'm pleased to report that from that point hence, the gig passed off without further serious incident and we were, in fact, mobbed after the show by a large number of closet Glasto-goers who had been masquerading as silver-service waitresses, executive valets and ornamental paupers.
I'm also very sorry to report that Henley-On-Thames, being perhaps the
richest 'hood that we've played all year, also turned out to be the meanest
in the hospitality stakes, with a rider to the equivalent of a quarter
of a tinned (pink) salmon sandwich, 6.5 crisps and a bottle of warm Netto
beer per band/crew member. Come on you tight fisted hooray-henrys! Don't
you know the war's overr? In South Shields the pre-gig food and wine was
so good and so copious that the band were provided with its own private
vomitarium. Next time we want tripe and chips - all fried in beef dripping
and wrapped in the latest edition of Country Life! Or we're not coming
back! Ciao.
