Читать книгу Mad, Bad and Dangerous - The Book of Drummers' Tales - Spike Webb - Страница 27

John Lingwood is a personal friend, perhaps best known as a member of Manfred Mann’s Earth Band from 1979 to 1987. He featured on the albums Chance, Somewhere in Africa, Budapest Live, Criminal Tango and Masque. Between 1998 and 2002, John played with Company of Snakes, largely made up of ex-members of Whitesnake. He has also spent many years touring with Roger Chapman from ’70s blues-rock band Family.

John told me about a particularly scary performance back in the early ’80s, when he was playing drums in the then-longest running musical of all at a major London theatre.

I’m drumming in a hugely popular West End musical, renowned as the author’s best work yet. It’s hard work, as my concentration has to be spot on. I always look forward to the last song as I can relax into a dramatic ending, which is always fun and rewarding. So far each performance has been a roaring success.

Tonight the writer and composer of the musical is in the house. To mark the occasion a special encore has been planned for the end of the show, a reprise of some musical high points followed by a rousing finale. To put the icing on the cake, the much-celebrated writer of the musical has agreed to wow the crowd by taking the stage to conduct the finale.

So we get to the end of the show. Usually the crowd applauds enthusiastically, but tonight there are cries for more and we begin the encore to ecstatic cheers. Right on cue, the celebrated composer walks on stage. There is rapturous applause. The effect is electrifying. I can feel the anticipation of musicians and audience alike as the band begins the chorus of the last song in the medley. Then we hit the last coda which is prolonged into organised chaos for a truly dramatic finish on the last note.

Bliss. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for. All the hard work and concentration is behind me. Nothing can go wrong now. The audience are applauding already. Someone stands up in the front row. Then others follow suit. Soon the whole place is standing.

I am shimmering my cymbals in a frenzy for maximum dramatic effect. I continue until it feels right for the show to end with a final stroke from the whole band. I look up in anticipation for the writer-turned-conductor to signify that final stroke, but the man with the baton looks back at me with a worried expression. What could be wrong? There’s nothing left to go wrong!

So I carry on, waiting for a sign. But nothing happens. He just looks increasingly more distressed. Panic ensues. The violinists are looking pleadingly at the man with the baton as their arms begin to ache with the strain of frantic random bowing. Cellists glance at each other in alarm. Even the audience look confused. Heads turn in all directions, looking for some kind of sign as to when the music’s actually going to stop. Suddenly everyone turns to look at me.

I have a choice. I can wait for the conductor to do something, which is what I’m supposed to do, or I risk everything and take the law into my own hands. Oh well, here goes. I deliver a loud, slow roll round my tom toms to signify where the last stroke of the conductor’s baton should be. Luckily, it works and the piece actually finishes reasonably well. I can’t believe the look of relief on the conductor’s face.

Later, we are both leaving the building via the backstage door to visit the pub opposite. He turns to me: ‘Thanks for that.’

I tell him I’d like a pint of Guinness.

It’s the stuff of nightmares: no one seems to know when to stop or how to end the piece. The truth is the conductor, not being a real conductor, had no idea how to signify such an ending with his baton. So once again it’s down to the drummer to take hold of the situation and, in a split second, pull a happy ending out of the bag.

But make no mistake – if it hadn’t worked, the whole unfortunate business would have been John’s fault.