It's a gig, Jim... but not as we know it...

We gig in peace

The Hat really likes the idea of Chuck Berry and Blind Willie Johnson sharing a stage somewhere out there in the solar system. It's true. They were put together years ago for the Voyager Interstellar mission 'Golden Disc' recording and it is strangely comforting to think that, even as we speak, other worldly audiences may be appreciating 'Johnny B Goode' and 'Dark Was The Night' in crowded speakeasys around the galaxy. Both, in their own way, affected the path of our music here on Planet Earth.

There are several moments in the delightful movie 'Hail! Hail! Rock and Roll' where it seems quite possible that Keith Richards might cheerfully murder Chuck Berry live on camera. However, the man who brought us the Duck Walk and introduced the tennis racket and mirror combo into the teenager's bedroom seemed largely unconcerned by the chaos breaking out around him. It is well known that much of his ornery attitude was shaped by his treatment over money and race. Time can make a difference however. Although he made over 30 commercial records, street singer Blind Willie died a poor man whereas some years on, Chuck, despite his many brushes with the law and the IRS, has been and may still be a rich man.

It would be good to think that we have learned from that history and that these days, blues musicians at least are mostly treated as equals. I can't see Robert Cray being hustled in through the kitchens and the respect that accrued to BB King had fans queuing down the street. Nevertheless, sit backstage with a gigging musician and they will regale you with toe-curling stories of how the conditions at many venues have hardly moved on and the attitudes of some venue owners are as bad as ever. Everyone knows of the gig posters still rolled up behind the bar; the clueless sound man who thought you were a solo act and not a band; the sound system that cuts out when you hit a high note; the mikes that don't work and the war-zone toilet that doubles as a dressing room. Then there is the over-60s bingo going on at top volume in the next door bar and not least there is the wonderful magical mystery lottery tour of getting paid. Do you do a Chuck and demand a briefcase full of cash before you go on or do you offer a prayer to Saint Charity and hope someone slips you some folding before they go home? You could of course always get an agent to follow the money...but don't get the Hat started - he still has the scars - and we don't have the room. Anyway, does the landlord even know what you play or how hard you work and does he even care?

Engaging with venue organisers who actually care about and are interested in the artists they put on is a wondrous thing and the grapevine that runs around the gig network is often on permanent overload when a good venue emerges from the chaos. For example, perhaps the best warm feeling to come from the first Hebden Bridge Blues Festival was the feed-back from the musicians. They enjoyed themselves, they were treated like human beings, the sound was brilliant, they got paid without calling in the killer Dobermans and, best of all, they then asked could they possibly, perhaps, maybe come back again please? Ok. Don't get smug. It was far from perfect but as the first step on a steep learning curve it did pretty well. In the meantime, the Hat has just been reading the 'riders' attached to the world famous Adele's American contract. British beer only? Oh yes, we can do that. A packet of Marlboro and a lighter? We can just about manage that. Six separately wrapped cereal bars? No problem. Seems to me that at this rate we should have a lot of contented musicians for next year's festival.

Finally, here is my Astounding Fact Of The Year. That Golden Disc now playing in deep space apparently has a predicted half-life (whatever that is) of 4.5 billion years. That's a helluva gig.


Pip Pip!


The Man in the Hat