The thing that irked Bill the most about being an impoverished musician was the impoverishment, but the prospect of making a quick buck in a Spinal Tap tribute band wasn’t enough to lure him away from what he considered to be his true musical path. Luckily for me that meant Bill was reliably by my side as we trudged through a largely threadbare forty-four years pursuing some undefined musical dream.
Not that the journey wasn’t rewarding in other ways. We travelled to the UK a couple of times in the ‘70s and recorded at Abbey Rd Studios, as well as recording an album in West Germany in the early ‘80s and some low-key touring in the US and NZ – and I suppose the rather amazing thing is that, given that we’ve never made any money over the years, we ended up actually not owing anybody money either. (Except for you, Mike Brady – I haven’t forgotten).
There were the occasional pay-offs of course. The Long Way to the Top tours saw Bill at his happiest, playing alongside and socialising with our musical contemporaries and getting well paid for it made for a truly blissful period in both our lives.
On the first LWTTT tour there were always two band rooms at the venues – the ‘good’ and the ‘evil’ band rooms. Because I’m a non-smoker I chose to be in the ‘good’ band room. The ‘good’ band room was very well-behaved and so quiet you could hear Vince Melouney ironing his socks and Tony Barber scratching his memoirs into his diary. The ‘evil’ band room was about as opposite as it’s possible to get. You could hear it well before you got there – raucous chatter interrupted with raucous laughter, usually followed by raucous coughing.
Bill was torn. He’d tip-toe mournfully around the ‘good’ band room for a decent period and then hightail it to the ‘evil’ band room and dispense his tall tales and massages in equal measure to the smokers and tokers. It means our memories of the LWTTT tours were completely different and it’s a shame we weren’t able to knuckle down and collate them with a book about our adventures in mind.
Bill’s sudden departure may yet have some good results in terms of
reforming my own unsociable ways and perhaps my dropping in to visit Jim Keays
today marks a first step. It’s not that I’m particularly anti-social,
more perhaps a little too reticent for my own good, but whatever the case
it’s no longer good enough shy away from the company and potential friendship
of players whom I admire and whose paths have run parallel to my own for most
of my adult life. Bill was there one minute and gone the next. I didn’t
have the chance to tell him how much I loved and respected him, not to mention
how much I appreciated his unstinting support over more than four decades
– and he was my best mate. It’s a reminder, should we need it,
that we only get the one shot at it.
In Bill’s memory I’ll try to make my presence in this world count
for more in future and try to remember to let the people know who love and
support me that I love and appreciate them in return.
And now, finally, from everybody in the room, goodbye Uncle Bill..
1) Harry Shearer as Derek Smalls 2) The Muppets' Floyd
Pepper