Читать книгу Mad, Bad and Dangerous - The Book of Drummers' Tales - Spike Webb - Страница 26

One of the few bands from the punk era to have carried on playing without breaking up or re-forming is The Vibrators. Eddie Edwards has been their drummer from day one when Knox Carnachan put the band together back in the mid-’70s. He still tours with them all over Europe.

Eddie sent me some on-stage experiences that illustrate how dangerous a game drumming can be.

The Vibrators are headlining at a punk festival back in the ’70s. It’s the height of the punk era, the bands are attracting huge crowds, and tonight is a packed show. I am on a big drum riser at the back of the stage so I’ve got a great view of the crowd, who are going crazy as we approach the climax of our set. It’s that moment I always anticipate with excitement: the final crescendo at the end of the last number when I give it everything I’ve got to create that ultimate dramatic ending to the gig.

I leap up in the air to deliver that final crash on the cymbals. Then it happens. I feel the force of an incredible blow to the head. My vision goes blank as I begin to stagger. As I put my hand to my face and as my sight returns I realise that what I thought to be pure sweat is in fact blood.

But it doesn’t end there. Suddenly, the stage lights go to a blackout. I take one step backwards and find myself falling in limbo for what seems like ages. A brief thought rushes into my damaged head: ‘Ah well! If it’s my time I guess this isn’t such a bad way to go…’ And then I hit the ground. As a well of relief rises from within, I realise that I have survived with just cuts and bruises.

Of course, on these occasions it’s important to establish what has actually happened. It’s not long before I discover that I have smashed my head on the bottom corner of the giant red ‘V’ that had been erected above the drum riser. No consideration had been given to the fact that, as a drummer in a punk band, I might indulge in some flamboyant behaviour. Not only that, my drum riser had been set up right at the very back of the stage, behind which is a drop of 20 feet. There was only a gap of six inches between myself and the dark abyss behind. So even if I were not disposed to dramatic leaps but chose to leave the stage with a cool, casual countenance, I would still have plunged into oblivion.

Just to make absolutely sure I had no chance of escape, the lighting guys went for a dramatic blackout just as I was at the point where I was likely to need as much light as possible to avoid that 20-foot drop.

Put the drummer up on a riser. It’s a great way to show his kit off and get him out of the way. Just measure up the outer dimensions of the drum set and Bob’s your uncle. Then bung it all right up the back where all the colourful dangly bits are. Anyway, Eddie only needed four stitches – nothing to whinge about.

Hastily erected stages made out of chipboard are another excellent arena for musicians to behave like Charlie Chaplin. Eddie remembers one such stage at a festival in Libourne, France.

During our set, our heroic guitarist, John Ellis, leapt from the drum riser – as you do – and disappeared from my view. I figured he was lying on his back and giving it his all in true rock ’n’ roll style. But for some reason all I could see was hundreds of people convulsed with laughter. All became clear a few seconds later as helpers ran on to pull John out of a huge hole in the stage. Lucky for him it was just scratches and bruises and a chunk out of his Gibson. Needless to say, the rest of the set was devoid of acrobatics. In fact, Knox and the boys were walking on egg shells.

More embarrassing for me was a show at Middlesbrough Rock Garden, where an extension had been built on the front of the stage. Our encore at the time was ‘Troops of Tomorrow’, which starts with a mournful tom-tom beat on the drums and slowly builds to its climax. The cool thing was for me to walk on alone and start with the others following on gradually. But being a big-headed git I figured I could hog the limelight for a few seconds by going to the front of the stage and announcing the song. So I walk out so cooool that James Dean would look a nerd next to me.

Shame I forgot the lip at the front of the stage. I tripped over it, head-butted the microphone, plunged over the monitor and fell head first into the crowd, closely followed by the mic stand and monitor, and lay in a crumpled heap on the floor.

The crowd were falling about laughing so much they couldn’t help me. I had to struggle to my feet on my own, replace the monitor and mic stand and clamber back on stage to even more laughter and jeers from the crowd, even as the other guys were coming on stage giggling and smirking at my oafishness. Of course, I had no choice but to see the funny side but I was relieved to get back behind my kit.

At the end of the day, the drummer’s always the fall guy. Yes, it can be hazardous up there. Dylan Howe from The Blockheads has been there too…

Misjudging the height of a stage even by the tiniest amount can prove unforgettably painful. I discovered this at the Borderline venue in the West End of London. I was doing a gig with the excellent Canadian guitarist Tony Smith during one of drummer Neil Conti’s club nights in the mid-’90s. The house was full and we were assembling on the side of the stage after a good soundcheck and I was really proud to be taking the stage with these guys. Everything seemed just right and I was feeling full of energy.

As the rest of the guys started plugging in, instead of just carefully mounting the stage, I thought I’d go for gold – take a run up and jump it. Unfortunately, when I was halfway airborne my shin connected with the sheer steel edge of the stage. Arriving on the stage on your face with a throbbing shin is not ideal.

I immediately stood up, acted like nothing was wrong and tried to hobble round to enter the kit hi-hat side. It wasn’t until I had sat down and started rubbing my shin that that I noticed I now had a small red waterfall appearing through my jeans and my right leg was in an uncontrollable spasm. With the rest of the guys still sensitively enquiring whether I was OK, and with tears running down my face, I said, ‘Yeah, of course!’ It wasn’t until the end of the fourth song that my bass drum foot had stopped having an erratic mind of its own.

So we’ve seen how explosions, smoke, dodgy stages and the fact that drum risers are never big enough can all be a source of danger, but there are other risks involved in being a drummer. One of those is the fact that you are the one instrument that often acts as the unofficial conductor, and as such you are responsible for the general smooth running of things. If it goes wrong, you risk looking a complete idiot…