Читать книгу A Multitude of Sins: Golden Brown, The Stranglers and Strange Little Girls - Hugh Cornwell - Страница 6

You can probably guess what questions I get asked most.

‘WHY DID YOU LEAVE THE STRANGLERS?’ and:

‘WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO GET BACK WITH THE GROUP?’

And whatever answer I give, however lucid it might be, the questioner always looks at me with that ‘there-must-be-more-to-it-than-that’ look. So, I thought it would be a perfect way to start this book by answering these two questions finally, definitively … forever.

ROOM INTERIOR. SWISS COTTAGE HOLIDAY INN. 11 AUGUST, 1990. 5P.M.

The Stranglers are headlining a sold-out show at Alexandra Palace in north London, sponsored by Capital Radio. The gig is going to be filmed and we’ve done a lengthy sound-check earlier in the afternoon. I’m watching England bat against India in the second Test Match at Old Trafford on TV. The ninth wicket has gone down and Devon Malcolm, England’s number eleven, strolls out to the wicket. My interest perks up as Malcolm is always good for a laugh to watch, being such a terrible batsman. He takes guard and after a couple of almighty swings, he manages to connect with the ball, which goes sailing out into one of the stands for a six. Malcolm is all smiles and the crowd has woken up to cheer him on. Unexpectedly, I suddenly identify with this character and recognize that the effort being made to fight his way out of the straitjacket situation in which the Indian bowlers have placed him, perfectly mirrors my own current, repressed state within the group. As I watch the ball soar high over the turf, it comes to me in a flash that I should leave The Stranglers, tonight, after the gig.

Thinking for a while, I realize that the momentous decision I have just made has been staring me in the face for a long time, but I could not accept it any earlier as being the solution. The more I think about it, the more obvious it becomes. I cannot believe how I have managed to avoid considering leaving for so long, and the word

DENIAL

pops into my brain. When a moment like this occurs, it feels like the top of your head is going to explode, rather like having a hit of freebase cocaine. I want to share this moment with someone and celebrate the end of an era of uncertainty, but understand there’s no way I can say a word to anyone, just in case I change my mind in a few hours’ time.

Inevitably, Devon Malcolm gets himself out and his moment passes, but mine continues. The teams traipse off the field for a break between the innings and I’m left to weigh up the consequences of my decision. I feel terribly guilty and start to think I should have seen it all earlier. Therefore I have been deceiving everyone, including myself. But that’s a ridiculous conclusion to come to. I acknowledge this and stop feeling like crap. I remember the last time I felt like this, living in Sweden in 1974, when I handed in my notice to my professor at Lund University and stopped my PhD. That night I went to sleep thinking that I wasn’t going to wake up the next day, or that someone was going to switch off my daylight (see lyrics to ‘Always The Sun’). But the next day did come and to my surprise it was brilliantly sunny. The only difference was I didn’t have to go into the laboratory. That’s the trouble with commitment and loyalty, it brings with it a sense of obligation, accompanied by insecurity and a fear of the unknown, which creeps into the void created when you leave a situation.