(First published in Ragtime magazine, in 1996. Used by permission.)
Times have changed. Back in the seventies, being in a band meant trashing hotel rooms, consuming vast quantities of drugs and trying to write songs that will offend your mother. And it may be that there are still some angry young bands out there doing all of the above as I write. But in the five years that I've been with Uncle John's Band, one member has turned up at one practice with a hangover. That's the entire extent of our rock'n'roll debauchery.
Practices usually begin with a cup of tea and chocolate biscuits. On a good week, we might even score some homebake, which really enhances our performance. I'm not sure if it's the bananas or the wholemeal flour but those muffins definitely take us to a higher plane of creativity.
Sandy, Deb, Trish and I review what's happened to us all in the past week. Sandy and I suss each other out for any new rude jokes. After about half an hour, Peter turns up. He's sorry he's late, but he was playing golf. Had a terrible game. We put the kettle on again.
The practice then moves into Phase Two, in which Peter and I check out each other's shirts. Ever since he joined us last year, I've had to stay on my toes in the sartorial elegance department.
Eventually, the conversation turns to a song that needs working on and suddenly we remember - this is why we're here! Out come the guitar, bass, saxophone and songbook and we run through four or five songs before stopping for a teabreak.
An increasing number of our gigs require the part of our act which we call The Funny Stuff. This is where we rummage through the dress-up box. Some people find this weird but if you've never sung "Chapel of Love" dressed in an Elvis suit and bridal veil, you're in no position to criticise. We shoot a few sacred cows too. There's something refreshing about performing "Anarchy In The UK" as a doo-wop number or "Return To Sender" to the tune of "Pokarekare Ana." The latter is a sensitive area - Elvis fans can be quite touchy.
Sometimes, we go "on the road" to far-flung places like Manaia and play to upwards of nine people . We once went as far as Wanganui. After the gig, we cruised through town to try and burn off that post-gig rush. We settled for a pie-cart. It was either that or let Sandy trash her auntie's spare bedroom.
When Trish and I got married last year, Deb and Sandy rode with us in the limousine - a foretaste of future stardom. I said that this was probably the last time we'd all ride in the same limo. "We'll all hate each other by then," added Sandy. Imagine the scene - me in my limo, with my lawyer, who's on the phone to Deb's lawyer in her limo: "Andy wants to know if Deb's singing 'Lowlands' tonight."
Occasionally we take a big tumble. At a recent festival we had to abandon a song midway through. The guitar, bass and sax were all out of tune, my backing vocal was flat and the whole thing was too slow. Trish, Peter and I tuned up lengthily onstage, feeling increasingly flustered, with about 200 people looking on. Thankfully, instead of yelling "Get off!" they were calling out for other songs. We redeemed ourselves with our Abba medley- "Portaloo," "Dunny Dunny Dunny," "Pooper Scooper" and "Diarrhoea (Here I Go Again)." If all else fails, use toilet humour.
I love this band.