Calling all victims of messed up situations!
After the last CST died, languishing in its own awsome stench of greatness, i’ve decided to try and create a new one.
Hopefully this will be the place where all the new blood, and of course, the more world weary, will come and share their own broken experiences of life… Yes Stuc & Shaft, i’m looking at you!
Anyway, to kick things off, i thought i’d repost one of my own! - SONG UNTITLED.
Me: needs no intro.
Marie: Sweedish Jazz singer.
Jade: English session singer.
The Band: will get intros as and when.
Kitty: my ex wife.
During the time I was married (this takes place in 2003, by the way) I was still very much involved in music, playing with various bands and frequenting the gigging circuit. It was one of the things that kept me sane, as it gave me the perfect opportunity to get out of the house and away from the thorn in my side that was my now ex-wife.
You see, there’s something about being able to write your feelings down in music form, and having others understand just where you’re coming from in a few simple verses, that’s incredibly liberating. The whole process of creating a song from the ground up, and then perfroming the finished article to an audience is a great experience. One that I’d reccomend to anyone. I’ve enjoyed writing lyrics, music and performing in front of an audience since before ‘…and you’ll be a man my son’, and with that episode as my inspiration my creative juices never really stopped flowing.
My main, and last, band were called Goatshop (we were together for 2 years. This story takes place towards the end of that period) where I played Bass and doubled up as the frontman. Yes, I know Goatshop’s a bit of a mad name. It came about after myself and my three other band members had finished a particularly ‘green’ and drink fuelled practice session and had decided to combine two very obvious facts, which were 1. Fran, our drummer, was from Sicily and had earned the name ‘Goat Fucker’ simply because he came from the countryside… Oh, and because he was an arrogant, spitefull cunt and no one actually liked him, and 2. I was an area manager for Game at the time, looking after three stores. Hence ‘Goatshop’. Well, in anycase, the name stuck and we decided to roll with it.
Our sound was Jazz influenced Metal, which was popular as there werent many other bands out there at the time experimenting with that format. The Jazz came from my fleeting fascination with the way the former Incognito Bassist Randy Hope-Taylor played. The Bass wasn’t my first choice of instrument but, like my sister, I’m able to play pretty much anything you put in front of me.
As a band we did a lot together: went to gigs, supporting our friends, as they themselves played in their own bands, going on regular pub crawls and, of course, practising hard.
On one occasion myself and my lead guitarist, Ed, were invited, with three days notice, to make up the numbers at a speakeasy Pub called The Wheatsheaf by the event organiser, Jim. The wheatsheaf was located just off Oxford Street, Central London. It was only a small accoustic event, but was frequented bi-monthly by other musicians eager to get responces, feedback and comments about the new songs they were working on from people who knew what they were talking about. I remember shitting bricks because, being quite a heavy band, we were short on accoustic numbers to play. However, on the short notice I did have, I managed to whip up one accoustic ballad called ‘Blackheart’, which Ed helped me put music to, and performed to a half-full room of other musicians. With both of us playing harmonies on the guitars, and dueting the chorus, the performance went well. We were even asked to perform another piece, which we had to decline because none of what we had, as a band anyway, seemed appropriate. As we saw the event as minor publicity for the group, we had agreed to not play any individual pieces before hand…
We networked with the other musicians, between sets, and gave great feedback where it was due. It had turned out to be a decent event, after all.
… And I even got the number of a pretty Jazz singer called Marie Chan-Strollier…
Marie was a born North Korean who had been adopted at an early age by Sweedish parents and had spent most of her life there, so to say that she oozed fuckability just by opening her mouth was an undersatement. Hearing her sing had the same effect on most of the other males there too, each wanting to slip her some digits or whatever else they had in mind. It wasn’t until the evening was over, however, that I found myself talking more in depth with her about what she had hoped to find in this country. It turned out that she was taking a break from her studies and that she wanted to sample London life before going back to Sweeden, finishing University and getting a responsible job. Like me, she performed as a hobby. She asked me what I did and I told her, expecting her to say, “you work for who?” she instead surprised me, by telling me that she herself had a more than respectable Nintendo console collection, back in Sweeden, of which she was only missing a few pieces to complete.
So we continued our chat, well into the night, with Ed leaving early with some other female guitarist for what we called a ‘jam, spliff and strum’ session back at his (im sure you don’t need me to explain that, do you?) Soon enough, it was just the two of us…
Me: its getting late, you should think about getting home… Where is home anyway?
Marie: I’m staying at a Hostel in Notting Hill Gate.
Me: really? I live just down the road from there, so we’ll get the same train… You don’t mind, do you?
Marie: not at all, I’d like that very much.
So we hopped on the Central Line Underground together, at Tottenham Court Road, and continued our conversation on the way towards Notting Hill Gate. Our chat took us through quite a few turns, the both of us feeling more comfortable with each other and flirting openly. I found out that she was a little younger than my then twenty five years but Marie, a very young looking twenty three year old, was definitely mature enough for what I had in mind. We finally ended up on the subject of my band, Goatshop.
Marie: so, its your band, then?
Marie: its not just you and Ed, though is it?
Marie: so come on, why so secretive! (she playfully punched my right arm and then held onto it with her small hands, trying to get them around my bicep) Tell me how many of you there are, how you met and all!
Me: sorry, I’m not used to talking about my band with women…
This wasn’t a lie because, up until this point anyway, the only woman I did speak to gave me such a hard time over anything which involved other people that I just found it easier to keep my mouth shut and avoid any questions which required an explanation. It wasn’t ideal, but it kept me out of trouble; so of course my natural response would be to clam up when put in the same situation with someone else. I did notice, by her silence, that Marie had made a mental note of my last comment, causing me to instantly curse myself for being so honest and for giving information away. After all, if you’re planning to cheat on your woman, you don’t want the person you’re with to know that you’re attached, or that you have any outstanding issues with the opposite sex, do you?
I explained our band’s meeting, being very careful with my words now, as we left the station and I walked her back to her Hostel. I went into depth about how I had met Ed while he was working at one of my branches, before moving onto a new, better paid, managerial job at Ivor Mirants’ musical instrument store. I also told her that the others just fell into their positions from Ed and i’s many Pub outings, ultimately forming, what I liked to proudly call, ‘a modern mess of broken individual sounds’. None of us really liked each other much, save for Ed and myself, but we played well together and managed to make an ok side income from our gigs.
Outside the Hostel, Marie asked if I wanted to come in to ‘continue our chat’. I obliged, and followed her into her dorm… We ignored the three other people there, continuing to get lost in our own little world of each other, and eventually went on to give them a pretty decent voyeristic show of slow, considerate sex… Marie had now become my second, official, groupie.
I made it home at about 03:30 the next morning to a triad of abuse from my then wife. Not that I cared. It wasn’t like she understood, or wanted to understand, anything about me anyway… I just gave my obligatory one worded answers and stayed up re-playing Final Fantasy 8 game saves until it was time to go to work, with a few cans of Stella for company…
Over the next two months Marie would attend all of Goatshop’s practise sessions, at the studio we hired in Sheperds Bush, and was present at all of our gigs, cheering me on. I was like a pig in shit. I had found, it seemed, a woman who had similar interests and a willingness to get involed. What I was missing at home, I found with Marie…
She did eventually find out that I was married, but didn’t see it as a problem, as she was just happy to be seeing me regularly without any proper relationship strings attacthed and, at this point in my life, I thought that was all I needed.
One day while hanging out with Ed and Marie at his flat, jamming and burning weed, the three of us found ourselves working on a new song we later called ‘Inches’. With Marie’s girlish Japanese influenced vocals and my own LaJohn (Sevendust) sounding gruff voice, we made a song to be proud of and decided to add it to our existing set of 15 songs and to perform it at our next gig which was only a week away.
Understandably we were all very excited, as the only other band we personally knew of with a female vocalist belonged to Ed’s friend, Barry. They were called Seratia Calm and were quite a bit more respected than us on the circuit, having played at larger venues, being invited to play at festivals and earning a one album record deal with a small Soho company… I didn’t like Barry very much…
The night before our gig my drummer, Fran, called me up to say that he had a spare ticket to see a Huge Norweigen band called Satyricon, who were playing at the Astoria that evening, as the girl he was supposed to go with had let him down. I told him that I would be there and got dressed to go out, ignoring my wife’s protests. I took a guess at what the crowd would be wearing, as different bands sometimes require slightly different clothes, and chose my wardrobe. At the time I had a number of silver piercings (eyebrow, lip, bullring, flesh tunnels and a few others I won’t tell you about! Most of them are gone now, though.) which I liked to set off with my usual black wardrobe. That night was no exception. I wore a tight fitting black tee shirt, showing off some of the self-designed Tattoos on my arms, with a pair of boot cut black chords and a pair of Bunker Boots. I wore my Dreads down, letting them partly cover my face… I was ready.
Fran and I bowled into the Astoria and instantly felt right at home with all the other Goths and hardcore Metalheads. As usual, I was in the minority and stood out like a dirt spot on a white sheet, which was no bother as I actually liked being different. I had been in there for no less than ten minutes, and was trying to make my way to the bar, before making eye contact with a tall, slim, English white girl wearing a leather lace-up basquette, leather miniskirt and knee length New Rocks. She also had on a pair of purple and black lace topped stockings which were just visible over the top of her boots and black lace fingerless gloves. The girl was pretty, with the obligatory black hair, black eye make up and blood red lipstick. She came straight up to me and said.
Girl: you look interesting… What’s your name?
Me: (eyeing her cleavage and belly button piercing It was a Bat with red eyes.) Sifu.
Girl: my names Jade. Do you like Satyricon?
Me: can’t say I know too much about them.
Jade: its gonna be a great gig y’know. I don’t think I’ll be staying for all of it though…
Me: how so?
Jade: cos I’m gonna get fucked tonight.
Me:…ok, someone’s eager…
Jade: (smiling) so, you gonna buy me a drink or what?
I bought Jade her drink, a double Vodka & Orange, and we spoke more about the band we were there to see, while Fran wondered off the get a better view of the currently playing supporting act, Cold.
Me: so do you usually pick up blokes at gigs then?
Jade: you make me sound like a whore!
Me: (well if the hat fits) not at all! Its just odd, that’s all, you don’t know me from Adam.
Jade: I don’t need to, I can see you’re worthwhile. Anyway, you’re not gonna tell me you’re already taken, or not into girls, are you?
Me: (putting my had around her slim waist and pulling her closer. She came to me with no resistance) what do you think?
Jade: hmmm…(whispering in my ear) Well I’m free… and into guys …(she gave my ear a quick nibble) … and girls, too…
Me: (checking my back pockets for the Trojans) cool. You got any mates here I should know about?
Jade: you couldn’t handle both of us…
Me: try me.
So I did…albeit without her friend. We ended up in the crowded men’s toilets, just before Satyricon started playing, ignoring the banging on the cubicle door from the pissheads dying to shit, snort or puke their lives away. The sex was violent and noisy, though not loud enough to be heard above the cheers of the fans at the venue as Satyricon took to the stage. When we were done, her arse in the air and head resting on the toilet lid, I told her that we should think about actually seeing the band, which we did, after she got cleaned up.
About half way through Satyricon’s set, Fran found us again at the bar, in time to see Jade bending over in front of me grinding her buttocks against my groin and arching her back to kiss me on the cheek. He made the comment that he couldn’t take me anywhere and then stood there, expectantly, with a dumb smile on his face. Under duress I introduced him to Jade, and left them talking while I went further up the bar to get a round of drinks in.
When I returned, Jade was all smiles.
Jade: you never told me you were in a band, and the frontman no less. That’s fucking brill!
Me: (frowning at Fran) yup.
Jade: I sing as well… Y’know, session. Maybe we can team up?
I was silent, staring at Fran. Could he really have been so stupid?
Me: … Sure…
Jade: So where’s your gig at tomorrow, then?
Me: (now wanting to kill Fran) its at the Metro Club.
Fran: (in his thick accent) 100 Oxford Street. Bring your friends! It will be good!
Jade: hmmm…(slinking over to me and whispering in my ear, again) you just get sexier and sexier, don’t you?
Now, don’t get me wrong. In an ideal world this would have been perfect. I had stumbled upon a great-looking submissive goth chick, who wanted nothing more of me than to be fucked… Hard. I should have been over the moon about it. As it happens, however, this wasn’t an ideal situation, and I wasn’t particularly happy. I had every intention of never seeing this girl again, simply because I already had my hands full with Marie and whatever I had to deal with at home. By his actions, Fran had reminded me just why he was known as the ‘Goat Fucker’. His small mind simply wasn’t able to realise the potential danger of what his dumb mouth had created and now, because of his inabillity to keep his gob shut, our biggest gig to date was potentially at risk.
Of course I, being the stupid sod I am, had decided to make the most of a bad situation and bumped uglies with Jade one last time on a park bench in the small square behind the Astoria before going home. Of course we were seen a few times, by some stragglers in the distance, but no one said anything to us. I worked on the premise that most people who travelled into Central London didn’t actually live there, and I was unlikely to see them again anyway.
Towards the end of our final session of the night, between grunts, Jade began speaking to me.
Jade: I’d really like to see you again, Sifu.
Me: you’re coming tomorrow aren’t you?
Jade: (switching from her knees to straddle me) no, I mean I want more of you…
Jade: (stopping and placing her hand on my cheek) …you DO want to see me again, don’t you?
Me: well, yes.
Jade: good. I’d hate to think you were gonna blank me tomorrow. I think I look good on your arm anyway so it makes sense, doesn’t it?
I chose to not answer her, instead I flipped her onto her back and fucked her harder, hoping to take her mind off the subject. She didn’t mention it again afterwards, but it still played on my mind.
Thing is, as much as I hated to admit it, Jade was right. As far as my band’s image was concerned, she did look great and was certainly more suited for the part of co vocalist than Marie’s oriental cuteness. She was also a much more liberal shagging partner, with almost limitless possibillities (the idea of having her and her mate at the same time had me thinking allsorts!) I just wished that I had met her before Marie… The girl who was actually growing on me in ways I haddnt accounted for…
When we were done, I got her number and made the kayfabe promise that she would be hearing from me soon. The only thing was that I really wanted to see her again now, if only for a rematch, but the potential complications had really put me off.