different things. Or nothing at all.
She rewound and listened again. She was less sure every time. How much had she had to drink tonight?
She listened again. Hiss, crackle, rumble. Now she had no idea. She’d talked herself out of it already.
She sighed, switched the Walkman off and left the room.
Knocked on Cal’s door.
‘Yup.’
He was in bed drinking wine.
‘Can I?’ she said. ‘It’s been a bad day.’
‘Sure, Munchkin.’
He held the covers open for her and she slid in, turning her back to him. He spooned her and she felt his familiar breath on the back of her neck.
She closed her eyes and tried to sleep.
Gig #1, 01/12/91
Elaine had never seen the Southern so rammed, but this was a special night. She was relieved she wasn’t working. It was crazy at the bar, punters six deep.
The place was buzzing because of the gig. Not for the Joyriders, but the other band rumoured to be playing. She looked at the crumpled ticket in her hand:
THE SOUTHERN BAR
presents
THE JOYRIDERS
plus
VERY SPECIAL GUESTS
BENEFIT GIG FOR THE SICK KIDS APPEAL
SUNDAY 1 DECEMBER 7 pm
THE SOUTHERN BAR, CLERK ST
£1 donation at the door
The ticket didn’t give anything away but the flyers did. ‘Very, very special American guests “Teen Spirit”’ were playing. The flyers were handed out at the door of the Nirvana show down at Calton Studios on Friday. Didn’t take a genius to work it out, which is why several hundred Nirvana fans had pitched up tonight. Apparently the band’s tour manager was the brother of someone in the Joyriders, and they had a night off between shows.
Nevermind had only been out for a couple of months but the buzz around the band was everywhere. They were on the radio all day, every magazine cover, every late-night television show. Jonathan Ross’s face was priceless when they tore through ‘Territorial Pissings’ on his show then walked off in a sulk.
They’d been equally violent at Calton Studios the other night, in a different league of aggression and melody. That’s what Elaine loved most, the melody. These were pop songs dressed up as grunge. You found yourself humming them while walking down the street. That never happened with Mudhoney.
The Joyriders were just finishing their set. They’d arranged a semi-acoustic set-up in the corner of the pub, where the singer and bass player were now arguing. The bass player swigged straight from a bottle of Jack, the singer threatening to chuck him out the band. The guitarist and drummer were shaking their heads as if this happened all the time.
She finished her lager and stood up to get the round in. Waved her empty glass around the table, received nods. On her way to the bar, she picked up half a dozen more empties from tables. Force of habit. Also, it would endear her to Big Al.
She squeezed through the crowd, deposited the glasses on the bar and caught Big Al’s eye. He nodded and began pouring.
She looked round the pub. Dark, sticky, noisy. Walls covered in gig posters – L7, Mega City Four, Smashing Pumpkins, local crap like Miraclehead and Cheesegrater. An old, knackered motorbike was mounted on the back wall. Everyone in black, lots of dreadlocks, tattoos. Everyone was getting tattoos and piercings now. Unthinkable a couple of years ago. She fingered the ring through her belly button, rotated it a little to make sure it wasn’t closing up, a nervous habit.
Al was back with the pints. ‘Seven ninety.’
She handed over a tenner and got change.
‘Are they here yet?’ she said.
Al shrugged. ‘Haven’t seen ’em. If they don’t show, there’ll be a fucking riot.’
She took the pints back to the table. Years of practice, four pints between two hands. Not a drop spilt, even with these crowds.
She got back to the table and put the pints down. An Eighty for Gordon, Stellas for herself, Dave and Gordon’s new girlfriend Sam. Sam and Gordon were deep in conversation. Elaine wondered if Sam knew about her and Gordon’s
She rewound and listened again. She was less sure every time. How much had she had to drink tonight?
She listened again. Hiss, crackle, rumble. Now she had no idea. She’d talked herself out of it already.
She sighed, switched the Walkman off and left the room.
Knocked on Cal’s door.
‘Yup.’
He was in bed drinking wine.
‘Can I?’ she said. ‘It’s been a bad day.’
‘Sure, Munchkin.’
He held the covers open for her and she slid in, turning her back to him. He spooned her and she felt his familiar breath on the back of her neck.
She closed her eyes and tried to sleep.
Gig #1, 01/12/91
Elaine had never seen the Southern so rammed, but this was a special night. She was relieved she wasn’t working. It was crazy at the bar, punters six deep.
The place was buzzing because of the gig. Not for the Joyriders, but the other band rumoured to be playing. She looked at the crumpled ticket in her hand:
THE SOUTHERN BAR
presents
THE JOYRIDERS
plus
VERY SPECIAL GUESTS
BENEFIT GIG FOR THE SICK KIDS APPEAL
SUNDAY 1 DECEMBER 7 pm
THE SOUTHERN BAR, CLERK ST
£1 donation at the door
The ticket didn’t give anything away but the flyers did. ‘Very, very special American guests “Teen Spirit”’ were playing. The flyers were handed out at the door of the Nirvana show down at Calton Studios on Friday. Didn’t take a genius to work it out, which is why several hundred Nirvana fans had pitched up tonight. Apparently the band’s tour manager was the brother of someone in the Joyriders, and they had a night off between shows.
Nevermind had only been out for a couple of months but the buzz around the band was everywhere. They were on the radio all day, every magazine cover, every late-night television show. Jonathan Ross’s face was priceless when they tore through ‘Territorial Pissings’ on his show then walked off in a sulk.
They’d been equally violent at Calton Studios the other night, in a different league of aggression and melody. That’s what Elaine loved most, the melody. These were pop songs dressed up as grunge. You found yourself humming them while walking down the street. That never happened with Mudhoney.
The Joyriders were just finishing their set. They’d arranged a semi-acoustic set-up in the corner of the pub, where the singer and bass player were now arguing. The bass player swigged straight from a bottle of Jack, the singer threatening to chuck him out the band. The guitarist and drummer were shaking their heads as if this happened all the time.
She finished her lager and stood up to get the round in. Waved her empty glass around the table, received nods. On her way to the bar, she picked up half a dozen more empties from tables. Force of habit. Also, it would endear her to Big Al.
She squeezed through the crowd, deposited the glasses on the bar and caught Big Al’s eye. He nodded and began pouring.
She looked round the pub. Dark, sticky, noisy. Walls covered in gig posters – L7, Mega City Four, Smashing Pumpkins, local crap like Miraclehead and Cheesegrater. An old, knackered motorbike was mounted on the back wall. Everyone in black, lots of dreadlocks, tattoos. Everyone was getting tattoos and piercings now. Unthinkable a couple of years ago. She fingered the ring through her belly button, rotated it a little to make sure it wasn’t closing up, a nervous habit.
Al was back with the pints. ‘Seven ninety.’
She handed over a tenner and got change.
‘Are they here yet?’ she said.
Al shrugged. ‘Haven’t seen ’em. If they don’t show, there’ll be a fucking riot.’
She took the pints back to the table. Years of practice, four pints between two hands. Not a drop spilt, even with these crowds.
She got back to the table and put the pints down. An Eighty for Gordon, Stellas for herself, Dave and Gordon’s new girlfriend Sam. Sam and Gordon were deep in conversation. Elaine wondered if Sam knew about her and Gordon’s
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