It was after our first interesting three month stint in Bulawayo as the "Five Piece to end all Trios" (see previous blog), that Anton and I enjoyed a successful few months of being unemployed musicians.
In those days, bands worked in three month cycles at various venues. You would be booked for three months at a hotel or restaurant with a mutual option to renew the contract for a further three months; providing both the management and the band were happy with the agreement.
If you didn't have a contract sorted at least a month before your existing contract finished, there was a strong chance that you may not have work for the following three month cycle.
Back in Johannesburg after Bulawayo 1977, we tried different styles of music, various line ups - duo, trio etc. and at one time a seven piece band with a brass section; had numerous "auditions" - I hate that word too - but to no avail.
The live-in argument was unimpressed... she thought she was living with a potentially wealthy rock star.
At one stage, whilst not playing, I decided to take my Hammond L100 to pieces in order to rebuild the cabinet.
When I bought it, I reckoned it would look really cool if it was split in half (similar to the bigger B3 model).
So I duly modified the cabinet and voila! there was this customized Hammond L100. Later on I decided to sell it, as I now had the A100, (that's another story), so I stripped the entire organ. Unsolder-ed all the leads and wires (there were over a hundred if I remember correctly), and very carefully wrote everything down as to what went where.
I stored all the parts at Anton's flat as there was no room at my place. Somewhere along the way, Anton moved from Hillbrow to Berea.
All the Hammond parts went along with the move, and it must have been almost a year later that I had rebuilt the cabinet, and it was now time to put it all back together.
All the parts were there.
All the wires, all the leads, the two keyboards, the amplifier and speakers, the volume pedal, the dreaded tone wheel generator - everything; except my very carefully written down diagrams telling me what went where!
If only we'd had digital cameras in those days.
Eventually the Hammond was sorted, but for some reason the top C on the upper keyboard would not play all the tones from the drawbars. There was one missing - the very top register.
It didn't seem to bother the guy that eventually bought it - in retrospect maybe he couldn't hear those high frequencies!
I often wonder where my very first Hammond is now.
I still have the A100 and now an M100 as well, courtesy of my in laws, Leon and Ruth.
I've sidetracked again!
After all those auditions and different line ups, things were not looking all that marvelous and then we received a call from a long time friend Gene. He was playing drums with a band at this Greek restaurant in Kempton Park called Adam's Inn.
It transpired that the keyboard player and bass player from the resident band were leaving and would we be interested in playing restaurant music for the next six months, maybe even longer.
It was time to make a choice. Do I keep on "auditioning" with all sorts of ridiculous line-ups still believing that musical ability may count for something, or do we look at reality - the rent, bills, music shop accounts and the inevitable evening argument.
It's amazing what malnutrition can do to one's musical expectations.
A friend with a van very kindly transported all the gear from our flats in Hillbrow / Berea to the gig in Kempton Park.
As to rehearsals for this gig, they just didn't exist! Having spoken to Gene (whose band it now was!), about rehearsals, he says "relax, it'll be fine"!
Fortunately he also played guitar, so he knew the keys that the songs were in and what chords were involved.
On the first night he's calling songs that neither Anton or I had ever heard of. But he's making up for it by calling out the chords while he's playing drums, and singing as well!
Every time he sang a song it was different - he couldn't remember the words, or else didn't know them, wouldn't have them written down, so he'd make them up as the song was going.
We were sometimes in hysterics as to what he was singing...
The dining audience and Adam, the owner, were non the wiser.
Because it was a Greek restaurant, Adam asked if we could play Zorba the Greek?
I duly learnt the piece on the violin, and we played it almost every night.
We'd been there a few weeks, had "learnt" Gene's repertoire, threw in a few of our own songs, and were now pretty confident we could handle the restaurant scene.
The first night we played Zorba, this guy comes along and starts dancing in a Greek fashion.
In those days, when I played the fiddle, I always played with my eyes closed.
To the uninitiated, the piece starts slowly, and with every verse, becomes a little faster until the tempo is quite frantic.
Imagine my horror when as the piece gets going I hear this crash!
I knew that Gene's cymbals did certainly not sound like that - my eyes flew open and there was this Greek traditionalist, smashing plates on the dance floor!
I can still see Adam's face beaming with joy as his customers were obviously enjoying the music, but more importantly, were buying his cheapo plates to smash!
On one particular night, I'm playing Zorba merrily away when this guy stumbles on to the dance floor carrying a pile of plates. (I knew this, as I had my eyes wide open by now).
He must have been holding at least twenty of them which he was intending to smash in front of the band in his appreciation of the music.
I think he'd had maybe one Ouzo too many because as he reached for the first one, he stumbled and his entire collection of bought plates crashed onto the dance floor.
He was most put out as he had not had the privilege of smashing them himself, so he went back to Adam, bought some more and this time approached the floor more carefully in order to break his plates.
By this time we had played Zorba at least five times through as he kept requesting the song so that he could do his ritual of plate smashing!
Due to previously mentioned financial constraints, I had no means of transport.
Carrying guitars, my violin and a few bits extra, Anton and I would take the bus from Hillbrow to the Johannesburg train station, take the train from Central Johannesburg to Kempton Park, and then walk to the gig.
We never thought we'd be mugged or anything, we just did it!
I can still smell the strange aroma of the inside of the train compartment - it was like a burning electrical, rubber type shorting of something?
I remember asking the ticket collector what that strange smell was. He looked at me as though I was mad, slapped his forehead and said "Ek Weet Nie!" (that's Afrikaans for - I don't know).
As I recall, that was his stock answer for just about any question he was asked.
Not the brightest chap!
We had been there for possibly four months when Anton and I were approached by one of Johannesburg's less illustrious music agents to attend a meeting.
Another waste of time we thought.
The reason for this meeting was to put together a five piece band that would be support act for Australia's John Paul Young and his Band on their first South African Tour.
We were to open the show in Durban, and then back to perform with them in Johannesburg.
The remaining concerts were already organized with other support acts.
We thought this is it! This is the break - we are on our way...
Adam was not happy that his resident band was shortly to become his non resident band, but was very understanding and let us go.
Gene, in the meantime had to find another keyboard player and bass player.
I'm not sure how they played Zorba after that, but there were no doubt many plates still being broken!
We called the support band Trigger.
A very fine guitarist from the U.K. John; Anton on bass, a loose cannon on drums - in retrospect quite scary - , myself on keyboards and fiddle, and a lady vocalist Desi.
We rehearsed flat out for three weeks and then went on the road.
We boarded this luxury bus and headed for Durban. The gear was traveling separately.
The John Paul Young Band and their road crew were following later.
When we arrived in Durban, we were greeted by this mob of teenage girls!
I thought, that was a quick rise to fame!
They all wanted our autographs.
That was what one did in those days.
There was no email, yahoo, facebook, whatsapp etc., you actually wrote down the person's name, address maybe, and got him or her to sign it.
We signed our names happily away thinking today Durban, tomorrow who knows?
Unbeknown to us, they thought that we were the John Paul Young Band.
So somewhere in the world, there are a number of middle aged women with our autographs thinking, who are these people and why did we want their signatures?
The show went well, but unfortunately all the South African audiences wanted to see was an act from somewhere other than home.
The night we opened the concert in Johannesburg, John the guitarist was missing.
Remember that this was long before Cell phones and as a result, we didn't know where on earth he was.
We were due on stage in an hour.
This was the big opener - Durban had been the warm up.
We were all in the dressing room backstage waiting and wandering where he was. The non illustrious music agent walked in with his daughter demanding to know where John was.
His venomous attack on the professionalism of the band was somewhat diminished by the fact that his daughter (possibly in her late twenties) was wearing a totally see through top - much to the delight of the male remainder of the band.
John strolled in about 15 minutes before we were due on stage, high as a kite.
He explained that he'd driven down to Swaziland with his girlfriend to buy some really cool marijuana and had car trouble on the way back.
The loose cannon drummer was so furious that he hit him.
It was then that I realized that this was not going to be it.
We were not on our way to anywhere...
We did the gig and that, unfortunately was the end of "Trigger" - no shots had been fired!
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