“Life In The Fast Lane. Surely make you lose your mind.” (The Eagles, 1977)
I’ve been a Naz fan forever. I was 17 when I first saw them live with Zal at the Glasgow Apollo on the Malice tour in 1980. I saw them there again on the Snaz tour where the wee prick who’d usurped ‘my band’ told me to “Fuck Off.” I should’ve just lamped him (Scottish for punched) and been done with it. He was still a member for the incredible 2XS show at Coasters, Edinburgh in ‘83. Next time I saw the band, he was gone. I was happy.
Fast forward to the late 1980s and the same wee prick was playing at Prohibition in Hamilton, my hometown. Keith (RIP mate. Jeez, that was a shock) and I went along to check him out. He was great. He could really sing, he could REALLY play. We were very happy. Billy singled us out as the two longhairs in the crowd, joined us at his break and thus began a 30-plus year friendship. We’ve hung out, attended gigs, drank a lot (and I mean a lot!), spent hours with each other’s families and, mostly, pissed ourselves laughing. I turned him on to The Wildhearts, my favourite band. He failed miserably to do likewise with the interminable widdling of his hero, Alvin. He even introduced me to him. Twice! He’s right about bassists and the blues. For me, it’s just listening to one musician’s musical journey up their own arse.
I saw him play hundreds of times. His regular Sunday night in the downstairs lounge of the Solid Rock Café in Glasgow was always a favourite. As a mate, I could wander down long before it officially opened. One Sunday, Billy was setting up and a dark figure was sitting with his back to me: “Hi, Barry,” sez Billy. “Have you met Chris?”
Chris? Glen?? Fuck me!!
Twenty minutes later, Chris had taught me how to do the Sgt. Fury dance and named two very prominent female artists he’d pumped. I realised then and there that if you were in, you were IN. I also discovered that Chris is one of the funniest guys I’ve ever met.
I came to understand just how much of a contribution Billy made to ‘my band.’ The ‘big box of cassettes’ was a revelation. I heard all of the demos on this site and many more. Hell, he even gave me copies. Who’s that singing the phenomenal high backing vocal on the Coasters version of Back To The Trenches or taking both solos on the six boys version of Talking To One Of The Boys? Wanna guess? Later, I was one of the first people to hear the demos that became No Jive, Move Me and Shake. I even played bass on some of his stuff, but I’m getting ahead of myself.
Billy, Keith and I were outside Prohibition in May 1990 when he casually dropped into the conversation, “Manny’s oot, I’m back in the band.” This time I was fucking overjoyed. Then the bombshell: “Wanna come to rehearsals?”
I don’t remember ever being so full of nervous energy. Keith and I were in Dunfermline at least an hour early. We wandered around Pittencrieff Park gibbering like a couple of fools. Jeez, we even had an earnest discussion about squirrels. Then it was time to head up to Jinty’s Bar, their pre-rehearsal meeting spot. And there they were. Billy, Darrell, Pete and Dan McfuckinCafferty. Yes, I really did say that to him in a drunken state years later. They couldn’t have been more welcoming. We drank, they told stories and we played pool. I can play a bit, so dispatching Billy, Darrell and Dan was easy. It was only as I racked up to play Pete that Big D casually wandered up behind me and whispered, “You DO want to come to rehearsals, don’t you?” Man, did I lose big or what? The rehearsal room at Shorty’s was tiny, they were LOUD and I’d played in rock bands for years. They all smoked Marlboro (we didn’t smoke) and it was boiling hot, but it was Naz, up close and about as personal as it gets. I had to take a break at one point. Here was Pete, right in front of me, playing all those licks I’d studied and learned. This was to be the first of many visits to Shorty’s.
Shorty's May 1990
Shorty's May 1990
Pete played MY bass at the Solid Rock Café. I sat in during the recording of the 1990 demos in Coatbridge. That’s me in the Solid Rock video during the soundcheck with my back to the camera (long hair, white t-shirt.) Keith’s beside me in black. We were around all the time.
In June 1991, the guys were in Germany recording what was to become No Jive when Keith received this letter. I think the flights were booked about 10 minutes later.
We were up at 4.30am for the flight to Frankfurt, via London, followed by a long train ride to Saarbrücken. Billy and Willie McQuillan (RIP mate) picked us up at the station for the drive to St. Ingbert. Big showbiz hugs all around at the studio along with the customary, “Wanna beer?” Billy then continued to lay down guitar parts for Hire And Fire. We all had dinner that evening at a nearby restaurant, then it was back to the studio for a very loud playback of the work so far and many more beers. The guys had arranged for us to stay in the studio’s flat in nearby Elversberg and even gave us a car to get there. Keith not drinking was a bonus for me. It was after 4 when we finally got to bed knowing we had another long travel night to come. The following day we watched Pete lay down the bass for Hire And Fire before he gathered the troops. Pete stuck out his hand and the guys all emptied their pockets. He then handed me a large wad of cash, “To help with the train fare.” They were flying to Berlin before travelling on to Cottbus for a Festival with Jethro Tull, but the flight was fully booked. Our rail journey included three changes, the last at 5.20am and we were in Berlin by 6.30. Eight hours later we’d been all over the city visiting the Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church, Brandenburg Gate and Checkpoint Charlie to name but a few. We met up with the band and crew in the afternoon at the airport.
Checkpoint Charlie, Berlin 29th June 1991
Energie Stadion, Cottbus 29th June 1991
Energie Stadion, Cottbus 29th June 1991
Energie Stadion, Cottbus 29th June 1991
Energie Stadion, Cottbus 29th June 1991
Energie Stadion, Cottbus 29th June 1991
Energie Stadion, Cottbus 29th June 1991
Energie Stadion, Cottbus 29th June 1991
Energie Stadion, Cottbus 29th June 1991
Energie Stadion, Cottbus 29th June 1991
Energie Stadion, Cottbus 29th June 1991
Energie Stadion, Cottbus 29th June 1991
Energie Stadion, Cottbus VIP pass 29th June 1991
Energie Stadion, Cottbus crew pass 29th June 1991
Cottbus Festival poster 29th June 1991
The taxi ride from Berlin to Cottbus with drum tech, Rab Kennedy (RIP mate) and Billy was hilarious culminating in Keith (who’s diabetic) taking off his jacket, tapping up a vein and pretending to shoot up with his EpiPen in the front passenger seat, terrifying the bejeezus out of the poor driver. At one point we found ourselves in a massive traffic jam where, despite Keith and I having the ability to speak some German, Rab insisted on taking charge. “Vot is happening here?” he shouted in the worst Brits-abroad German accent. This being only a year after the reunification of Germany, there were still vast differences between the (former) two countries, perfectly illustrated by the dramatic fall in the quality of the road surface as we passed from wealthy west to Communist east. At the Energie Stadion, we jumped between the bland footballer’s changing room which served as the dressing room and the main stage where Chicken Shack were entertaining the crowd. Come showtime, we had free access to the stage allowing for plenty of photographs, including one of Keith just before he fucked up handing Dan the bagpipes’ during Hair Of The Dog. We stayed to check out Jethro Tull, led by fellow Scot, Ian Anderson who’d finally calmed down after Billy played the riff to Aqualung during the bagpipes’ solo. Somehow, after the show, we all found ourselves at a disco in a local guy’s house. I finally crashed out in Pete’s hotel room sometime around 5.
Another hilarious taxi journey the following lunchtime with Rab and guitar tech Tam Sinclair to Berlin left us wondering why the real crew were being sent home after the Cottbus show despite an upcoming performance at Frankfurt Music Hall which was being recorded for television leaving Keith and me with the responsibility. Tam’s parting words were, “Dinnae dae our jobs too well lads.” He needn’t have worried. We took the Supertrain to Frankfurt and caught up with the band at the Marriott Hotel for a well-deserved day off which, of course, meant another long night in the bar. Scottish band Simple Minds were playing right over the road at a large arena and passes were offered by their crew. No takers. Simple Minds simply suck.
Shamefully, video footage of the Frankfurt debacle exists, but only edited highlights. Trust me, it was far, far worse on the night. Billy has some disparaging remarks to make about most bass players, but I can deal with more than 4 strings, honest. I was tuning all of the guitars and basses as well as being Billy’s guitar tech. Keith and I also had to play the tambourine on Vigilante Man plus cowbell on Whiskey Drinking Woman and Hair Of The Dog into an offstage mic. Add in the changeover to acoustic instruments and congas for Cocaine, then back, meant we were in for an interesting night.
“This won’t work,” said Dan noting the sheer number of low-hanging lights above the stage. “You need height for the lights and we will all get baked.”
“Don’t dare move my kit after the soundcheck,” said Darrell to the support band’s crew. They did anyway.
“Wanna beer?” said Pete seemingly oblivious to the onrushing crisis.
“You know which songs have changeovers or need the offstage mic?” I said to the local front-of-house sound engineer. He nodded. It was written on the setlist I gave him. The mic was never switched on or the DI box for the acoustic bass faded up.
“Where are the spare strings, winders and the gubbins required of a guitar tech,” I asked Billy.
“Dinnae worry,” he replied. “Ah wilnae break a fuckin’ string.”
D’you see where this is going?
Showtime arrived and Night Woman began badly. Someone had turned Billy’s amp down. Dan took care of the problem. That’s it, I thought. Crisis averted. Here we go. Razamanaz starts and Dan’s screaming across the onstage monitor mixer to Willie McQuillan, “I cannae hear a fuckin’ thing.” Then, towards the end of the solo, Billy does break a string throwing the whole guitar out of tune. You can clearly see Pete on the clip telling Billy how the song ends. You don’t see Billy shouting back, “I can’t.” I’m already head first in a huge flight case throwing stuff all around in a frantic search for new strings. Keith is pissing himself laughing from Pete’s side of the stage. Billy has a spare Strat at stage-side tuned and ready to go. Why the hell he chose to pick up the 335 with slide tuning for I Want To Do Everything For You, I’ll never know. The Les Paul has a locking nut requiring an Allen key to open it and string locks on the machine heads. It takes a looong time. Billy’s shouting, “Hurry up,” I’m sweating bullets and the song ends. Billy then demands his half-tuned guitar which he completes onstage at full volume much to Dan’s annoyance. Cocaine has the aforementioned DI problems requiring Pete to swap back to the Alembic mid-song.
With Willie McQuillan at Frankfurt Music Hall 1st July 1991
Frankfurt Music Hall 1st July 1991
Frankfurt Music Hall 1st July 1991
Colonel Gaddafi at Frankfurt Music Hall 1st July 1991
Frankfurt Music Hall 1st July 1991
Frankfurt Music Hall 1st July 1991
Frankfurt Music Hall backstage pass 1st July 1991
Unknown German newspaper 1st July 1991
Billy's 'Don't dare wake me up in the morning' note left for me an' Keith, Frankfurt Marriott 2nd July 1991
I look up at one point and a fucking pipe band has appeared on stage with some chick dressed as a cake. Really!! “She’s pretty,” I say to one of the TV crew near the desk after spotting a very cute girl on the other side of the stage. “Maybe I should fight you,” he replies. Wow, and they say German’s have no sense of humour. The remainder of the show passes without too much carnage. The offstage mic isn’t on for Vigilante Man or the others, but we had no way of knowing. Keith played tambourine and I played cowbell. Might have been the other way around. By that time, I was so hot I couldn’t breathe, or care for that matter. I spent half an hour after the show just sitting in an open window in an attempt to cool down before many drinks in the Music Hall bar. Utterly exhausted, I crashed out in Billy’s room around 4.
The final incident of the trip took place at Frankfurt Airport. Just as we were about to receive our boarding cards, Keith and I were interrupted by two uniformed, machine-gun-toting guards who, “Wanted a word with us.” If you’ve seen the Chevy Chase movie, Fletch, you will get this. We were escorted along a long, narrow corridor in a line: guard, me, Keith, guard. Around halfway, Keith suddenly burst into song.
He sang Moon River!
“Another town I’ve left behind. Another drink completely blind. Another hotel I can’t find.” (Motörhead: (We Are) The Road Crew, 1980)
The 1992 No Jive UK tour was a riot. Mainly because Keith & I were travelling and sleeping on the crew bus.
In the This Gun’s For Hire section, Billy mentioned the crew’s loyalty to the band and their fans and I heartily concur. The guys had always made us feel very welcome, but this was akin to joining the family. From the second we stepped aboard, we were part of the brotherhood. Within the first couple of minutes, we were allocated bunks and taught the keysafe code for the bus door (we already knew the secret knock to access the dressing room from previous encounters) and had a beer in hand. I would be remiss if I did not give a special mention to Ronnie Dalrymple and Rab Kennedy, who always went above and beyond with the hospitality. A courtesy that continued for many years after Billy’s departure.
Crew life is a strange adjustment. Their sleeping pattern is all over the place. They sleep when everyone else is up, and party after everybody’s gone to bed. I never really adjusted to it and slept very little during the trip. Lighting Tech, Ronnie Dalrymple had built the bus himself. It was in the shape of a giant flight case with bunks for eight, plus one over the cab for Ronnie and a spacious lounge at the rear. We’d gather there each night, hit the beers and turn the tunes waaay up loud. The crew were big fans of the band and the nightly playlist was always Naz-heavy. They already had No Jive word perfect so it was played at least once each night with all of us singing loudly along. They also brought up the fact that we were name-checked on the No Jive sleeve credits above them, every single night. A quick aside to take that in. I got a name-check on a Nazareth album!! (Well, actually two, but we ain’t talking about Move Me yet.) Wow, that’s a headfuck. Billy hadn’t forewarned us so the first time I saw it, I nearly blew my beans.
Crew bus
Crew bus bunks
The show at The Venue in Edinburgh passed without a great deal of incident. The new songs were brilliantly received and it was great to hear old classics Gone Dead Train and Alcatraz given an update.
The fun really started in Glasgow where a very proud (and very small) Mrs Rankin came along to see her laddie perform. Knowing The Cathouse well, it was clear that the only place she would have any chance of seeing the show at all was right at the very front. Mrs Rankin, in a raincoat strikingly similar to her son’s stage attire, was in the mosh pit against the crowd barrier directly in front of Billy’s twin Marshall stacks with Keith and me behind, arms linked, the other hand on the barrier for protection. Also, being a typical Scottish ‘Auld Dear,’ she insisted on keeping the raincoat fully buttoned-up throughout despite the blistering heat in The Cathouse. Afterwards, when I asked her if she enjoyed the show, she just stared back blankly and was apparently unable to hear again for a couple of days.
At the International II in Manchester, I managed to make a complete tit of myself in front of the support band’s singer and manager. The singer was press darling, heavy metal bimbette, Lisa Dominique who, despite minimal singing talent, had made quite a career by appearing regularly in all of the UK metal mags, wide-eyed and scantily dressed. Don’t get me wrong; she was very pretty in the flesh and her nightly favourite stage move of bending down slowly from the waist to pick up a drink from the drum riser, showing her ass to the mainly-male British rock crowd always went down well. Her manager had asked earlier if Keith and I would also sell her t-shirts and records at the merchandise stall and we gladly agreed. We were in a corridor after the show looking for her dressing room to return the merch when we ran into Lisa and her manager. After apologising for having made no sales and chatting briefly, we said goodnight. I turned around and walked smack into a wall before skulking off with her giggles ringing in my ears.
The Venue, Edinburgh 6th April 1992
The Venue, Edinburgh 6th April 1992
The Venue, Edinburgh 6th April 1992
The Venue, Edinburgh 6th April 1992
The Venue, Edinburgh 6th April 1992
The Venue, Edinburgh ticket 6th April 1992
Corn Exchange, Cambridge 10th April 1992
Corn Exchange, Cambridge 10th April 1992
Corn Exchange, Cambridge 10th April 1992
Corn Exchange, Cambridge 10th April 1992
Corn Exchange, Cambridge 10th April 1992
Corn Exchange, Cambridge 10th April 1992
Corn Exchange, Cambridge 10th April 1992
Corn Exchange, Cambridge 10th April 1992
Corn Exchange, Cambridge 10th April 1992
Town & Country Club, London ticket 11th April 1992
We are the road crew L-R Rab, Keith, Tam, Andy, Ronnie. Town & Country Club, London 11th April 1992
Town & Country Club, London 11th April 1992
Town & Country Club, London 11th April 1992
Naz 'n' Lisa April 1992
No Jive UK tour AAA pass front 1992
No Jive UK tour AAA pass rear 1992
Lisa Dominique - Rock 'N' Roll Lady 1989
An Access All Areas pass is a fantastic thing. It means you can go pretty much anywhere in the venue, including the stage (obviously excluding the performance area during the show unless you’re working there.) If you’ve seen Wayne & Garth heading backstage to meet Alice Cooper in the Wayne’s World movie, that’s me an’ Keith for the entire trip. It works wonders when a bouncer says you can’t be up on the fire escape for a better view. One flash of the pass and they’re gone. Same with taking photographs. Flash, beat it mate. (No pun intended.)
There was only one venue where it was necessary to be out front on stage: The Town & Country Club in London. The promoter had neglected to inform the band that the crowd barrier at the front was a costly ‘extra’ and tried to extort an exorbitant amount of money for its use. He hadn’t reckoned on good old Scottish crowd control. We’d been brought up having to deal with the legendarily brutal bouncers in the Glasgow Apollo. At showtime, one wag made it onto the stage and was invited to leave by a crew member. Then another, and another. This opened the floodgates and led to Rab, Tam, Willie, Keith and myself all removing punters. Once again, Rab Kennedy took matters into his own hands. As the latest invader stood at the front of the stage facing the crowd, legs spread, arms raised in triumph, Rab simply booted him squarely in the nuts from behind and pushed the crumpled wretch from the stage.
Funnily enough, nobody came up after that.
“Where dim lights bring forgetfulness.” (Andy Williams: Lonely Street, 1959)
On 23rd September 1992, Keith drove us through to Haddington in East Lothian. We were very excited as we were heading to Funny Farm Studios where Naz were recording three acoustic tracks which would eventually close the Move Me album. As huge fans of Marillion, we were also buzzing at the prospect of meeting their singer, Fish, who owned the place. It was great fun. Pete was on top form and everyone laughed all day. Fish was a gracious host who had no problem with the two hangers-on. We’d had contact a few times before à la ‘sign this please?’ but never on such a casual basis. Darrell even managed to get some studio time in when he added percussion to Razamanaz. It’s actually him playing with his bare hands on the top of a Marshall 4×12 cabinet.
In October 1992, a local promoter offered Naz the opportunity to play three gigs in the North of England. Travel arrangements were a little unusual as Darrell hired a car to transport himself, Pete and Dan with Billy, Keith and I in my car. Big D doesn’t hang around, so I spent most of the time trying to keep up with him at around 100 miles per hour (approx. 160kph.) Note: The speed limit on UK motorways is 70mph.
Me an’ Keith were selling the merchandise over the three shows.
I remember a little guy, maybe in his mid-40’s, approaching the merch desk at the Queen’s Hall in Bradford. He had a huge beer belly for his tiny frame and was wearing an obviously undersized t-shirt stretched to breaking point over it. He expressed his disappointment at there being no medium shirts and told us he liked to wear his shirts really tight. Ever the diplomat, Keith said, “Why?” We also upset one of the elderly lady stewards when it came to taking down the gaffer tape we’d used to display the shirts cos we took a fair bit of the recently applied purple paint (and a little plaster) with it.
At the Barnsley Civic, we found a poster proudly proclaiming that the support band were Barnsley’s top band, but really couldn’t figure out if this was a worthwhile boast. This show was also notable because, at one point, a large lady was helped onto the stage by some friends in the crowd for a reason that now escapes me. Dan, perhaps forgetting where he was for a moment, announced through the PA, “Have you got that in a smaller size, please?”
Walking past Middlesbrough Town Hall in the afternoon sunshine with the band, I asked Pete if they were going to soundcheck to which he replied, “Sounds fine to me,” and that was that. After the show, as Keith and I were clearing down the merch desk, we got chatting to a cute girl who appeared to be alone. She was, as they say in Scotland, grafting, and was looking for somewhere to sleep and clearly a companion to spend some time with. She had multiple autographs on her very tight jeans and, upon inspection, an arrow drawn on her inner thigh in an upward direction with ‘enter here’ written alongside. Having absolutely no desire to boldly go where many men had gone before, we left her wrapping cables with the local PA hire guys and got the hell out.
Queen's Hall, Bradford
Queen's Hall, Bradford 1st October 1992
Queen's Hall, Bradford 1st October 1992
Queen's Hall, Bradford 1st October 1992
Queen's Hall, Bradford 1st October 1992
Queen's Hall, Bradford 1st October 1992
Queen's Hall, Bradford 1st October 1992
Queen's Hall, Bradford 1st October 1992
Civic, Barnsley
Civic, Barnsley poster 2nd October 1992
Town Hall, Middlesbrough
Town Hall, Middlesbrough ticket 3rd October 1992
Town Hall, Middlesbrough 3rd October 1992
Town Hall, Middlesbrough 3rd October 1992
Town Hall, Middlesbrough 3rd October 1992
Town Hall, Middlesbrough 3rd October 1992
Town Hall, Middlesbrough 3rd October 1992
Town Hall, Middlesbrough 3rd October 1992
Town Hall, Middlesbrough 3rd October 1992
Town Hall, Middlesbrough 3rd October 1992
Town Hall, Middlesbrough 3rd October 1992
Town Hall, Middlesbrough 3rd October 1992
Town Hall, Middlesbrough 3rd October 1992
Town Hall, Middlesbrough 3rd October 1992
Town Hall, Middlesbrough 3rd October 1992
The Holiday Inn, Middlesbrough was a bleak, almost Eastern European kinda place back then, but it didn’t stop us partying into the wee small hours after the show. Hotel bars in the UK were required to stay open as long as guests were drinking, so the barmaid’s pleas for us to pack it in and let her get to bed fell on deaf ears. Willie McQuillan provided the evening’s entertainment by whiteying up after a cheeky puff and curling up in a ball at our feet. Upon spotting him, Dan simply said, “Well, that’s new.” The following lunchtime, we gathered in the lobby. Vinnie, the t-shirt guy, bumped me an’ Keith 50 quid each for a job we’d have willingly done for nothing just for the fun of it. Billy, Keith and I set off for the 4-hour drive to Billy’s house knowing he’d have little time to turn around before heading out to his Sunday night residency in Solid Rock Café. We were around halfway home when he suddenly announced:
“We have to go back. I’ve left my fuckin’ guitars in Middlesbrough.”
“She may be fine on the outside (oh yeah).” (The Temptations: Beauty Is Only Skin Deep, 1966)
1992/93 was an incredible time in Scotland music-wise. The Party Boys were playing regularly and me an’ Keith saw them many times as they morphed into The Sensational Party Boys then eventually SAHB when Hugh returned and Dan stepped back. We had much the same relationship with the Boys and SAHB as we did with Naz, which was unlimited access. We sometimes sold the t-shirts or drove the bus, but mostly hung out as often as possible. They became friends, especially Chris, and we even got an occasional word out of Zal. At the same time, Billy, Pete and Lee had The Broons who were just brilliant live. The Rocking Horse in Glasgow was the venue where both bands played most often, usually on a Friday and Saturday. It was only a small pub, and the stage was the raised area where they served food during the day, but the atmosphere was fantastic. It was always jam-packed, sweaty, smoky and loud. If playing on both nights, Dan would stay over at his brother’s place in Glasgow on a Friday and we’d regularly drop him off on the way home.
The Party Boys, Rocking Horse, Glasgow 1992
The Party Boys, Rocking Horse, Glasgow 1992
The Party Boys, Rocking Horse, Glasgow 1992
The Party Boys, Rocking Horse, Glasgow 1992
The Party Boys, Rocking Horse, Glasgow 1992
The Party Boys, Rocking Horse, Glasgow 1992
The Party Boys, Rocking Horse, Glasgow 1992
The Party Boys & me. PB's L-R Ronnie Leahy, Billy, Zal, Dan. Rocking Horse, Glasgow 1992
The Broons, Rocking Horse, Glasgow 1993
The Broons, Rocking Horse, Glasgow 1993
The Broons, Rocking Horse, Glasgow 1993
"It's E, Pete, E!!" The Broons, Rocking Horse, Glasgow 1993
In February 1993, we were once again invited to join Naz in Germany. This time it was the Carnival In Rock tour with Uriah Heep. I didn’t head out as much of a Heep fan having never really listened to them. I sure came home as one. Plus, they featured one of my bass playing heroes, Trevor Bolder. Work commitments meant it was a 3-day, literally, flying visit. After much research, I sussed out that the least expensive way to travel was to fly to Belgium then hop into Germany. I didn’t expect to fly from Glasgow to Edinburgh, a distance of only 40 miles first. We arrived in Brussels and almost immediately bumped into Auld Jock, another of the Naz family from Dunfermline. I always thought of Jock as a bit of an old geezer, but realise that he was probably only the age I am now. He was on a different forwarding flight, but we would meet up in Germany. I remember the layover seeming interminable before we were picked up in a minibus and ferried across the tarmac, passing the big jets, little jets, tiny jets and eventually arriving at what looked like a winged jeep with props. I wasn’t the greatest flyer then, so Keith shouting, “Wheee!” every time we hit turbulence certainly didn’t help.
Capitol, Hannover
Carnival In Rock tour pass February/March 1993
Carnival In Rock tour pass February/March 1993
We landed in Hanover, heading straight for The Capitol. Hugs all around, beers in hand, passes clipped on and it was like being home. It’s a very privileged position to be in (something we never forgot) and, after introductions, we were made to feel equally welcome by the Heeps who were an hilarious bunch. The on-tour catering was excellent and all it took was a, “They’re with us,” from Billy to ensure the two German ladies kept our bellies full each night before the show. My first live experience of Uriah Heep was something special and Naz were their usual brilliant selves. In the morning, I had breakfast with Heep drummer, Lee Kerslake, instantly becoming his best mate when I was able to order extra milk for the table in German after he complained of running out. Later, after Lee had departed and Billy, Keith and Dan appeared, we watched in amusement as the remaining Heeps furtively made up sandwiches at the buffet table and jammed fruit into their pockets to avoid the expense of lunch later. Seemingly, a daily ritual. We travelled between shows with Naz by minibus, always entertained by Pete, who is almost incapable of opening his mouth without something hilarious coming out.
The show I’d been looking forward to most was at the Grosse Freiheit 36 in Hamburg. Being a huge Beatles fan meant Hamburg was a magical place in my mind. It didn’t disappoint. The Reeperbahn was just as grubby, seedy and exciting as I’d imagined, like London’s Soho on acid. The gig itself looked like a cross between a country and western bar and the inside of a pirate ship. After checking in to the hotel, Billy, Dan, Keith and I went for a wander around. As we walked through the neon-lit streets laughing and joking, we heard a loud ‘crackkk!’ Keith said, “That sounded like a gunshot,” to which Dan replied, “It was a gunshot, just keep moving!” We met up with Jock, who we’d last seen in Brussels, and hit a few bars, ending up in the Zum Anker. Outside, on Herbertstrasse, just behind the tall barriers you had to jink through, were windows full of hot, available (for a price) women. They wore white lingerie and were illuminated by blacklight, adding to the allure. They also tapped on the windows with coins to attract you, beckoning you in with their fingers. We were enjoying a pint in the Zum, where the girls were visible through the side window when I jokingly said to the guys, “Man, I’d eat my way through that net curtain just to get to her.” Jock, missing the point entirely replied:
“Why son, ye hungry?”
Grosse Freiheit 36
Grosse Freiheit 36
Grosse Freiheit 36 side door
Zum Anker
Zum Anker
Herbertstrasse
After an incredible, sweltering show, we were all leaving by a side door. Standing on the bottom step was a tanned and stunningly beautiful woman in a long red evening dress whom everyone admired as we passed. We gathered outside until everyone in our group had joined us stealing furtive glances at her. No, scratch that, cos it was more like staring open-mouthed. As the last member departed, the German bouncer, who was about to close the door, spotted her and said in English, “You ok?” to which HE replied in a deep, baritone, “I’m great, thanks.”
And the mouths were firmly shut.
Billy, Pete, Dan, Keith and I headed out to the famous Goldie’s bar. It had been a rock ‘n’ roll haunt for decades and featured a wall of photos of just about every famous rocker actually in the bar. From Zep to the Purps, they were all there. As the beer flowed and the jokes flew, suddenly we were drinking green tequila, even teetotal Keith. Instead of salt and lemon, we were given cinnamon and kiwi fruit. Delicious, but deadly. Keith, who’s been talking to two much older women at the end of the bar, bounces up announcing, “She saw The Beatles at The Star Club.” More green tequila is necked. Dan digs me in the ribs, points and says, “Looks like the big man’s in there,” as Keith’s locked in a passionate kiss with his new friend. Looks like he’s discovered beer goggles. Billy seats himself at a piano in the corner and a sing-along begins with Naz centre stage. At one point, Dan sings Guilty, my favourite Naz cover. An incredible night.
Kulturhaus AMO, Magdeburg
Kulturhaus AMO, Magdeburg, Germany 27th February 1993
Kulturhaus AMO, Magdeburg, Germany 27th February 1993
Kulturhaus AMO, Magdeburg, Germany 27th February 1993
Kulturhaus AMO, Magdeburg, Germany 27th February 1993
Kulturhaus AMO, Magdeburg, Germany 27th February 1993
Me an' Trev, Kulturhaus AMO, Magdeburg, Germany 27th February 1993
Me an' Keith with the Heeps. Kulturhaus AMO, Magdeburg, Germany 27th February 1993
Uriah Heep promo signed at Kulturhaus AMO, Magdeburg, Germany 27th February 1993
Magdeburg was an odd place. Again, this wasn’t so long after reunification, and the former east still had a lot of catching up to do. There were no streetlights as we arrived and the only thing lit up was a bright new Mercedes-Benz car showroom gleaming incongruously in the gloom. After another great gig, me an’ Keith spent ages in the Heep’s dressing room laughing at their stories. They were so kind and made sure we’d be travelling home with free t-shirts and autographed photos. Knowing that the hotels in the west were of a much higher standard, we all travelled back after the show. Armed with a few beers, Keith and I ended up in Pete’s room where he spent hours telling the funniest Nazareth stories we’d ever heard, none of which will be repeated here. By the time we’d also finished off his minibar, we’d laughed so much that Keith had to use his asthma inhaler for the first time in years. No idea how late it was when we finally got to bed, but my head pounded all the way during the flight home the following day.
“Coolin’ in the studio, you know how the story goes.” (Boys II Men: Vibin’, 1995)
Roll on 1994 and rehearsals at Shorty’s for the upcoming acoustic shows. Relaxed and very much enjoying each other’s company, the band were at their creative best. The arrangements came quickly, and their innate vocal ability meant Pete and Billy knew their harmony parts without really appearing to try. The atmosphere in the tiny rehearsal space was electric and we just laughed all day. The setlist came together quickly too with suggestions coming from everybody. My cries of Simple Solution (which I’d been trying to get them to play for years) went unheeded again. Somebody suggested My White Bicycle and Billy came up with the arrangement. Dan couldn’t remember the words so Keith and I huddled to write down what we could. These were the most fun times. The acoustic gigs are still my favourites of all the Naz shows I ever attended.
In April, we were delighted to be asked back to St Ingbert during the recording of what would become the Move Me album. I relied on my diary entries for the No Jive section but, by this time, I stupidly wasn’t keeping one. Travel arrangements were pretty much as before, but this time we arrived wearing t-shirts I’d made up for the imaginary Strammer Max and Solpadeine Tour with accompanying dates on the back. Strammer Max being our favourite sandwich which came in many varieties and Solpadeine, the morning-after, caffeine-filled, soluble painkiller favoured by everyone as a hangover cure. The shirts were eventually left for Pete & Dan when we departed.
Man, was I in for a surprise just after we arrived. The majority of instrumental recording was complete, but the guys were still laying down backing vocals. After a brief voice check by Billy, I found myself standing with Pete at a mic in the studio, cans on my head, singing the bass harmony on the final line of Demon Alcohol. Looking out through the sliding glass doors, I could see Tony, Dan and Billy hovering over the mixing desk. It may be only about 7 seconds long, but I got to sing on a Nazareth album. Mind-blowing.
Strammer Max
T-shirt front
T-shirt back
In the early evening of April 2nd, Billy, Willie and I took a trip to nearby Niederwürzbach for a blues festival. Keith wisely gave that one a miss. After a few beers and blagging a couple of passes, Billy and I made our way backstage so he could pay homage to his guitar hero, Alvin Lee. Having little interest in the blues, I was suitably underwhelmed as Billy gushed praise. As Alvin’s showtime drew near, we said our goodbyes and left. We met a German friend of Billy’s in the crowd with his 9-ish-year-old son. The friend was a huge Alvin fan. Suddenly becoming Billy-big-baws, our hero announced that he could arrange an audience with said star and we all made our way backstage again. Billy burst back into the dressing room, catching Alvin in the process of struggling into his over-tight leather trousers. Anyone else would have apologised and left. Not Billy. He ushered the friend and his baffled kid into the room, and I was treated to the sight of guitar legend, Alvin Lee signing autographs in his white underpants with his trousers at his knees for a grown man and a child.
The following eight days were a blur of backing vocal recording sessions, nightly playbacks, great food and incredible quantities of alcohol. The local Irish bar in St Ingbert and Bar Eleven in Elversberg were regularly visited.Bar Eleven owners, Dieter and Gabby, sometimes joined us for a late-night playback. Other nights we sat around in the studio’s rec room watching movies always with a beer in hand. The short nightly stagger up the hill to the hotel Schürer Hof was a creepy affair as the massive forest of the Ruhbachtal was on the opposite side of the road creaking and cracking ominously in the darkness. Keith and I shared a room for a couple of nights then Darrell flew back home for a week, so Keith nicked his room.
Re-writing Stand By Your Beds. CAS Studios, St Ingbert, Germany April 1994
Me outside CAS Studios, St Ingbert, Germany April 1994
Late-night playback with Dieter & Gabby. CAS Studios, St Ingbert, Germany April 1994
Much of the time, Tony would be hard at work compiling the final mixes, calling us in as each was ready. He completed Can’t Shake Those Shakes, Rip It Up, You Had It Comin’ and Move Me while we were there, meaning we heard the finished result for the very first time along with the band. A track will never sound better than when played at great volume through the massive studio speakers. Early in the visit, we got to sit in with Pete and Billy in the rec room as they re-wrote Stand By Your Beds. That’s my feet at the right side of the photograph taken by Keith.
Can’t Shake Those Shakes (Mixed 6th April 1994)
During one of the late nights, the conversation turned to a title for the new album. At one point, Dire Straits was suggested, but deemed waaay too risky. Eventually, Darrell came up with Everyone’s A Critic to which Pete added God Help Us causing much hilarity. It was Keith or me (we’re not sure) who put them together with the Naz N in the middle in the best Loud N Proud and Snakes N Ladders tradition. My cassettes of the rough mixes and instrumentals brought back from the studio all bear the title Everyone’s A Critic N God Help Us. Once again, a wonderful trip was capped off a few months later when Move Me was released and we got another namecheck on the sleeve notes.
Let Me Be Your Dog (Rough Mix)
You Had It Comin’ (Rough Mix)
Crack Me Up (Instrumental)
Demon Alcohol (Instrumental)
“When you’re lost in a crowd, nowhere on the run.” (Mick Ronson: Pleasure Man, 1974)
At the end of April ‘94, Keith and I made a quick trip to London for the Mick Ronson Memorial Concert at the Hammersmith Apollo. A venue which held near-mythical properties for both of us and we were very excited. Mostly cos Billy had scored two Access All Areas passes, claiming that we were both his guitar tech. This also allowed us in for rehearsals the day before the show. It’s almost impossible to keep the fanboy down so we spent the whole day shamelessly autograph hunting, knowing that we’d probably never catch so many opportunities in one place again. Everyone we met was in high spirits, relaxed and more than willing to chat. I’d come prepared, so Roger Daltrey signed my Tommy CD, Roger Taylor signed Night At The Opera, Joe and Phil signed Hysteria and so it went. There were two big highlights for me. The first was spending an hour outside in the sunshine chatting with Steve Harley, whom I’d seen live many times and was a huge admirer. He even name-checked me during his next Glasgow show where he also signed the photograph of us together in London. The other was meeting Bill Nelson. Like Billy, I’m a massive fan of Be Bop Deluxe and had a few of their CD sleeves with me. He’s probably bored talking about a band he’d split in 1978, but spent ages telling stories about them. Little did I know we’d meet again later in the year, but that’s another tale.
Hammersmith Apollo 28th April 1994
Hammersmith Apollo 28th April 1994
Billy & Joe Elliott, Hammersmith Apollo 28th April 1994
Phil Collen & Ian Hunter, Hammersmith Apollo 28th April 1994
Hammersmith Apollo 28th April 1994
Me & Bill Nelson, Hammersmith Apollo 28th April 1994
Me & Steve Harley, Hammersmith Apollo 28th April 1994
Keith & Joe Elliott, Hammersmith Apollo 28th April 1994
AAA Pass Hammersmith Apollo 28/29th April 1994
Tommy CD signed by Roger Daltrey
A Night At The Opera CD signed by Roger Taylor
But we blew it.
Kevin Cann, one of the promoters cornered us at the stage door, reprimanded us for being autograph hunters rather than guitar tech’s and stripped us of the passes. We were out and couldn’t even let Billy know. Utterly dejected, we spent a pretty miserable night in London trying to figure out what to do next. We knew which hotel Billy and Mary were staying in, so a plan was hatched to call them in the morning. The problem was: What time do you call? Too early and they get woken, too late and we’d miss them. I have to admit that I crapped out and Keith made the call and, yes, you guessed it. He woke them up. Keith related our sorry tale, and we arranged to meet up mid-afternoon in town where Billy would give us his and Mary’s passes and hope to plead his case at the stage door later.
We headed into the centre of London to check out the record stores and ran into the Rankin’s outside Planet Hollywood at lunchtime, hours before we were due to meet. After we apologised for the wake-up call and received their passes, Billy said that they were heading inside for lunch with Joe and Carla Elliott and did we want to join them. Keith readily accepted. What neither of them saw was Mary, slightly behind Billy, glaring menacingly and ever so slightly shaking her head in a ‘Don’t you fuckin’ dare’ motion. I grabbed Keith, said, “No thanks” and we split ensuring our testicles remained intact and attached.
The show was a fantastic affair, The Spiders being the obvious highlight. The band were tight and went down a storm. Our spirits were slightly dampened by the fact that we could go backstage at any time, but didn’t dare try in case we were confronted by Mr Cann and got ourselves ejected again. There was an after-show party in a small London club where the headlining band were Bowie tribute act, Jean Genie fronted by John Mainwaring. After their break and much to John’s (and the crowd’s) delight, Billy, Trevor and Woody joined him on stage for a few numbers fully two years before they toured together as The Spiders From Mars. My other memory from that night was the eye-watering London prices for drinks.
21 quid for three bottles of Bud!!
“It’s Times Like These, time and time again.” (Foo Fighters, 2002)
On the 10th of June 1994, I achieved another dream-come-true moment. Almost. I drove to Billy’s house in Cumbernauld, dropped off my car, jumped into Billy’s and we headed up to Dunfermline to pick up Dan. We then made our way to the Lion Club at Rosyth Naval Base where Naz were rehearsing for the upcoming North American Tour.
Pete and Darrell had not yet arrived, so Billy, Dan and lighting tech, Ronnie Dalrymple, who is also a great drummer, were messing around onstage. Billy pointed at Pete’s Alembic sitting propped against his amp and gestured for me to grab it. Seconds later, we were playing Steamroller at full volume. It’s quite something to hear the full McCafferty roar blasting back at you from the monitors. Pete arrived towards the end of the song, so I passed his bass back, but for a couple of minutes, I played bass in Nazareth (without Darrell.)
At the end of the year, there was a run of about a dozen acoustic shows and this time they’d added Simple Solution, my all-time favourite Naz track, to the set. I attended most of the gigs and made sure I was in the dressing room just before every show cos they always ran through the ‘Damn you man’ section’s harmonies before going on.
A quick aside: After Billy’s departure from Nazareth, we did keep in touch with the band. Keith and I were invited to rehearsals at Sinky’s in Dunfermline around 2001. They were heading off to the States, but the setlist was pretty much the same as the Homecoming album. Mid-practice, I said to Keith, “Pete’s taking the piss out of me, that’s the bass line before the drum fill/final verse of Simple Solution he’s playing.” Suddenly, Lee counted them in and they launched into the full song. The first time I’d ever heard them play it as a rock band. I was utterly blown away. It’s the only time I’ve ever clapped at the end of a song during rehearsals. They had a brief chat then played it again and then again. By this time, I was shredded. Afterwards, over a beer, Pete told me they had decided to put it into the set, but kept it back in rehearsals until I was there just to see my reaction after years of begging them to play it. Now that’s pretty damn cool.
Anyhoo, back to the acoustic shows. They were so easy to do. Throw Billy’s 12-string, Pete’s acoustic bass, the backdrop and stomping board plus a nylon-stringed guitar and the 335, both of which were used on Guilty into the back of a car and head out. PA’s were supplied locally and most venues had a lit stage. A quick note about the backdrop. It was drawn by Pete’s son, Lee, and depicted the three band members: Billy with long hair, Dan’s short hair and Pete with none. This would haunt Lee in later years prompting him to joke, “You inherit traits from both your parents. Just my luck that I got my faither’s hairline and my mother’s cock,” leaving everyone crying with laughter. From Turriff in northern Scotland to London in the south, audiences lapped the shows up. The Turriff show was crazy. It’s a pretty small place in the middle of nowhere, and there’s not a lot of entertainment on a Saturday night. It was packed and they got rowdy. After a few shows in Scotland, the guys were heading down to England and were playing Rio’s in Bradford. I was desperate to go, but I had a full-time job and, more importantly, was married. Karen’s an understanding girl, but I did push my luck pretty often. I did a bit of grovelling, took Thursday and Friday off work and headed out to catch up with the band having promised faithfully to take Karen out for dinner on Saturday night when I returned. I first drove to Rio’s, but just missed the soundcheck and the guys. Fifteen minutes later I found them in the bar of their hotel. Y’know the drill by now so it was, “Wanna beer?” and business as usual. Another great show followed by yet another long night in the bar before crashing out in Willie’s room. I obviously hadn’t learned my lesson cos I’d shared with him before and never slept a wink cos of the incessant teeth grinding and squeaking in his sleep. Horrible.
The following day was going to be special. I drove Billy to Leeds where they were playing the Duchess Of York, a legendary local venue which had live music 7 nights a week. Pete had taken pity on me after my sleepless night and proposed a deal. I’d ‘do the door,’ meaning I would take entry money from the punter’s as they arrived, deal with the merchandise and the band would pay for my room at the hotel. Result! Billy had arranged to meet up with his new best mate, Bill Nelson, in nearby Wakefield so, early in the afternoon, we set off to meet Bill in his local pub. It was fab. He told amazing stories, including one where Be Bop Deluxe were recording in Abbey Road studios in London. After everyone else had gone home, he and the producer would sneak down into the tape vault and bring up various multitrack master tapes of famous albums. One night they even remixed The Beatles’ Sgt. Pepper. As I was driving, I wasn’t drinking. Billy, on the other hand, was drinking enough for both of us. Bill Nelson is a quietly spoken, introspective, thoughtful kinda guy. Billy Rankin is none of those things.
Bill was kind enough to invite us to his home, a lovely three-storey mews cottage. It’s eclectically decorated. For example, as we walked in, on a table, there was an old wooden radio with a big round glass dial and a period newspaper tucked underneath. We all sat around his large dining table in the kitchen, Billy drinking beer, Bill not so much and I had a Coke. Bill was playing us tracks from his as-yet-unreleased album, Practically Wired Or How I Became Guitar Boy! He told us how he’d set himself the challenge of writing and recording a brand-new song each week, playing every instrument himself, until the album was complete. No mean feat. It’s a beautiful album of instrumental music, layered and complex with superlative musicianship. I love the Move Me album, but layered and complex it ain’t. Billy’s loud, drunken insistence on Bill listening to various tracks wasn’t going down particularly well, so Bill tried a new tack. He produced an oriental carved wooden box. Inside was the largest lump of hash either of us had ever seen and he proceeded to roll up, presumably hoping to ease Mr Rankin down. It worked. For a while. I did not partake, thinking about the drive back to Leeds. Bill told more amazing stories then disappeared upstairs. He returned with a guitar case and inside was his beautiful Gibson 345 from the Be Bop Deluxe days. Billy, now pished and stoned, couldn’t wait to get his hands on it then proceeded to tell Bill, loudly, that one of the frets was catching a string in a certain way. He showed Bill what he meant; then he showed him again, and again, and again. It was obviously time to go, so I made an excuse of needing to get back for soundcheck and poured Billy into the car. Bill very kindly gave me a cassette of the Practically Wired album which I still treasure and let me know he probably wouldn’t make it to the show later. No real surprise there. I had a fantastic afternoon. Billy doesn’t remember much about it now. I only tell this story cos I was about to add my own disgrace to the proceedings.
Big Boy at The Duchess Of York, Leeds 9th December 1994
Love Hurts at The Duchess Of York, Leeds 9th December 1994
After dropping Billy at the hotel, I jumped into a cab and made my way to the Duchess for my stint as a doorman. I got bored very quickly so I had a pint. Still bored, I had another. By the time Naz arrived, I’d had quite a few. My frustration grew as I was trapped at the front door and could only hear the band tear it up in the adjacent hall. After the show and even more beer, I hoped we would be returning to the hotel cos my bed was calling to me. No such luck. There was a club in a nearby hotel. Chemically enhanced, I got my second wind. I vaguely remember singing Be Bop Deluxe’s Modern Music with Billy on acoustic guitar. I do not remember telling Dan, “You’re Dan McfuckinCafferty” multiple times like Billy with Rolf Harris or being found using the ladies toilet by the hotel’s manager. I’m told I even tried to pick a fight with a local, only to be dragged away by Billy. I’ve no idea what time Pete and Billy put me to bed or any memory of throwing up into the bath (why the bath??) as I discovered in the morning. I only know that, when we met up in the hotel’s foyer, Pete gave me a big hug, shook my hand and said, “Congratulations. You were so badly-behaved last night that you could almost have been one of the band.” They headed for London. I sat in my car in the car park for an hour trying to decide whether I was going to throw up again or not. The drive home was excruciating and I’m well aware of the stupidity of getting behind the wheel in that state. Karen came home from work to find me lying on the couch, sweating and shaking. Taking no pity, she said firmly, “Right, where are we going for dinner? You promised.”
We went out. She ate. I watched.
Billy has already mentioned the ‘Back pocket still nippin’ story back in section Naz 9. There was a bit more to it. I’d suggested this venue having attended the very successful SAHB gig in the hotel a few months prior. Despite Dunoon being a ferry ride away, I’d even gone over to deliver a stack of promotional posters weeks before the gig. The owner of the hotel simply couldn’t be arsed putting them up. There was maybe 20 in the audience. Keith and had I travelled over in my car with all of the band’s gear and a small lighting rig in the back. I think Willie transported the band. Before the show, Willie really did follow the manager around various ATMs in town, and they even raided the cash registers in the hotel. Despite the tiny crowd, it was a great show, mainly due to copious amounts of free alcohol. It was afterwards the real fun began.
At around 12.30am, Keith had a diabetic reaction. I’d seen this a few times before and knew he needed sugar, fast. Unable to find his jacket with the ever-present supply of glucose tablets, I made a beeline for the kitchen. A couple of hotel staff were icing a wedding cake. All I could do was offer a quick apology and grab a handful of frosting from the large bowl. Keith wolfed it down and soon recovered. Shortly afterwards he headed off to bed. Dan, Pete and Willie drifted away around 2, leaving Billy and me with the barmaid. Somebody came up with the bright idea of working our way across the drinks gantry by colour. It seemed only fair to share our good fortune, and free drinks, with the barmaid so each order of, “I’ll have a green one please,” or, “Did we try yellow yet?” was always accompanied by, “Have one yourself.” She even suggested some of the colours. We managed it too, so made a substantial contribution towards the nippin’ pocket.
I always try to eat something before bed after a drinking session and had purchased a shrink-wrapped, filled roll earlier and stashed it in my bag. When I got to the room I was sharing with Keith; it was gone. I was sure he’d nicked it, but wasn’t about to wake him to find out. In the morning, over breakfast with the band, I confronted him, but he pleaded innocence. I still had my suspicions. After breakfast, Keith and I loaded the gear into my car. He drove to the ferry before heading for our hometown, Hamilton, for the penultimate acoustic show. We were utterly oblivious to the background goings-on regarding the Move Me advance.
We dropped off the guitars at Blazers and went home for a few hours kip before the show. I was awoken around 5pm by the telephone and Billy wanting to know when I’d be arriving with the gear. “It’s already there,” I said, “I’m on my way.” It was only a ten-minute walk, all downhill. House PA and tiny stage were already set up, so it was soundcheck time. As there was no separation between the audience and stage, it was decided that Keith and I would be at the front to act as a buffer should anything kick off. In the dressing room, before the show, I was still bumping my gums about the previous night’s food larceny, but nobody took much notice. Nearing showtime, Keith and I took up position at the small, low stage. He in front of Billy’s chair and me Pete’s. As the band arrived onstage, Dan offered me a cheeky grin, said, “You might need this,” and handed me the missing roll. It was another outstanding show complete with all of the usual jokes and laughter. The only downside was the guy right behind me who was determined to get himself and his girlfriend to the front at any cost. He pushed, he squeezed and generally made a nuisance of himself. I explained that I was with the band and why I was there, but he was very drunk and beyond reason. I even tried to speak to his girlfriend. Mid-show he made a frantic dive for the front, launching me forward against the monitor, crashing the microphone right into Pete’s teeth. It was time for him to go. I grabbed him by the throat and pushed him hard, backwards through the crowd to the venue door where I passed him to the doormen and said, “Throw this fucker out!” I returned to the front where Dan announced, “Give a big hand for Baz.” The show continued as the band threw me ‘you ok?’ glances. It could have been a sour note towards the end of what had been an excellent run of shows, but I was able to enjoy the gig regardless.
Unfortunately, a few days later, on 21st December 1994, at Sinky’s in Dunfermline, I saw Nazareth for the last time with Billy as a member.
Blazers, Hamilton 17th December 1994
Blazers, Hamilton 17th December 1994
Blazers, Hamilton 17th December 1994
Blazers, Hamilton 17th December 1994
Blazers, Hamilton 17th December 1994
Blazers, Hamilton 17th December 1994
Blazers, Hamilton 17th December 1994
Blazers, Hamilton 17th December 1994
Blazers, Hamilton 17th December 1994
Me an' Keith, Blazers, Hamilton 17th December 1994
Blazers, Hamilton ticket 17th December 1994
Sinky's, Dunfermline poster 21st December 1994
Unplugged setlist 1994
Dan's Simple Solution lyrics 1994
Simple Solution at Sax, Cumbernauld 30th November 1994
My White Bicycle at Sax, Cumbernauld 30th November 1994
A few years later, Keith and I were invited to Hastings for a few days during the recording of Boogaloo, but the vibe was different. It just wasn’t as much fun. My favourite album has always been No Mean City and Simple Solution my fave track. Please don’t shoot me for this next bit. It’s only my opinion and we’re all entitled to one. Jimmy’s a decent guitarist but, for my money, he’s the weakest between Manny, Zal, Billy and himself. Plus, they absolutely miss Billy’s vocals live. Lee is a fantastic drummer, much better than Darrell. My dream live Naz line-up would have been: Dan, Pete, Zal, Billy and Lee. Imagine the racket they would have made. Nazareth died when Dan retired. Personally, I wish they’d stopped. The current band is a poor imitation of Naz, more like a tribute act, and THAT singer? Seriously?? I’m not trying to court controversy or even invite discussion. I’m sure many of you will disagree. I just had to get that off my chest.
“And so the days float through my eyes, but still the days seem the same.” (David Bowie: Changes, 1972)
After Billy was shoddily fired from Naz in February 1995, we just continued to hang out as before. He was still playing multiple solo shows every week. The Saturday afternoon residency at The Brewhouse in Glasgow was another highlight.
When the Party Boys took over, it was a revelation. Without a doubt, the best bar band I’ve ever seen. The Brewhouse was always packed. Notable incidents include the time that Billy and Zal were trading solos. Billy would go first then Zal would play his solo, almost identical, only better. After three or four rounds, Billy conceded defeat and they both laughed. Zal really is that good. Another time, Zal was shredding it up when my mate, Colin, dug me in the ribs and pointed to the phone booth at the far side of the bar. A hand was sticking out with the phone in it pointed towards the stage cos somebody had apparently called a friend and said, “You gotta hear this.”
The next time we played together was 18th June 1995, Colin Irvine’s birthday. Billy had an acoustic solo gig in Harleys, Hamilton which is one block from my home. He decided to have Colin come up to sing, which was an adventure in itself and asked me to bring my bass. Like me, Colin loves Demon Alcohol so picked that one. Pal, Bob Logan also joined in. It was only after it finished that Billy announced we’d also be playing Smoke On The Water by Deep Purple (Colin’s favourite band) that I had a moment of panic. I friccin’ hate that song and am no fan of the Purps. I’d managed to get through multiple bands and never once played that awful thing or any other of their songs. I knew the story about Pete in Greece with Ian Gillan, had heard the tape and pissed myself laughing. Suddenly, I realised that I didn’t know the 4th chord either. A quick word in Billy’s ear and I was fine, but he’s never let me forget it
Mid-July ’95, I was at work when Billy phoned:
“Can you get this afternoon off?”
“Probably.”
“Grab your bass and meet me at The Crowwood Hotel.”
So I did, and that was where I met Tony Rocker. Man, he’s a dude alright. Billy had set up his recording gear in a bedroom. He played me a couple of tracks, Four Leaf Clover and Just The Devil In Heaven then said, “Think you can do something with that?” I was pretty sure I could. I plugged in and a couple of takes later I’d put the tracks down. This was the first time I’d ever played on any of Billy’s demos. It wouldn’t be the last. I have to admit to being disappointed when Chris Childs got the trip to Hansa and played pretty much the same thing.
Jumping way forward to 1999, I received another call at work from Billy. Same deal, “Grab your bass and head over to my house.” Billy had been writing and demoing like crazy again and, at every other gig, he’d play me something new from the Datman. We settled on two bar stools in his kitchen where he let me hear his latest track, Nobody Home. I instantly loved it. Then he informed me that I’d have to drop the bottom E string to D which makes it sound heavier. We messed around trying to find a decent bass sound, he taught me the riff and off I went. I haven’t a clue where that bass line came from, I’d never played like that before, or since. He was happy, I was delighted and it made the Shake album. Somewhere in my house, there’s a cassette of a special bass and vocals mix Billy did for me. Just can’t lay my hands on it.
The third and final time I played of one of Billy’s tracks was when he invited me to play on his contribution to the Frankie Miller tribute album, Drunken Nights In The City. It’s a great song and I’m reasonably happy with it except the drum programming. Billy’s an excellent programmer but, this time, he let someone else do it and the drums, which are supposed to mimic Bowie’s Five Years, fall way short of the mark. I’ve sometimes wondered if that’s why the track is right at the end of disc two cos the production never comes close to anything else on the album, or anywhere near to the standard of Billy’s own home demos.
We had one more opportunity to play live together. Graeme, a DJ friend, had a show on a small local station called Radio West Fife. He invited Billy to come on to discuss the Shake album, and Billy suggested we do a couple of songs live during the broadcast. He came over to my house in the afternoon and we ran through a few ideas. I remember Billy’s 9-year-old daughter dancing around the living room as we played. Colin Irvine drove us through to the station that night. Graeme had invited a fan friend over from Europe to sit in who remains the only person in the world owning a copy of Shake signed by all three of us. I’d never sung any of the songs we’d picked before so had quickly printed the lyrics before we left. Unfortunately, Graeme forgot to record the majority of the show, so only an extract remains in very poor quality. Towards the end, it was decided that we’d do Backroom Boys/May The Sunshine again to get it on tape. By that time I’d given the lyric sheets to Graeme’s friend so, when it came to the breakdown in Backroom Boys, I didn’t know all of the words. You can hear Billy laughing as he realises I’ve lost it (1:13).
Radio West Fife 21st February 2000
“Like a band of Gypsies, we go down the highway. We’re the best of friends.” (Willie Nelson: On The Road Again, 1980)
On the afternoon of Friday 23rd November 2001, Colin & I jumped into Billy’s car and we set off for Campbeltown where Billy had a two-night solo acoustic stand at Whisky Macs, a distance of 150 miles on some pretty ‘interesting’ highland roads. It usually takes around 4 hours. We, on the other hand, made it as far as Torrance only 20 miles away before Billy suggested stopping for a pint. Seemed like a good idea. Suitably lubricated and already an hour behind schedule, we set off again. Inveraray is around half distance so we made another stop, ostensibly to empty the over-full bladders, but really to have a pint, or two. By the time we finally arrived in Campbelltown, it was dark o’clock and we’d still to find the venue, set up the gear and book in to the bed and breakfast which was also on the ‘where the fuck is it?’ list. Blind luck meant that when we pulled over to seek directions to the venue, the guy pointed at a door directly behind him. Gear in and set up, we split to find our respective accommodation. Billy in one (booked by the venue), Colin and I sharing in another. Owners, Mr & Mrs McGregor, were very laid back. Rather than tell us what time breakfast was served in the morning, they asked what time we wanted it. We settled on 10.30am, allowing us to sleep off what was sure to be a long night.
We’d already established that Billy would play for a couple of hours beginning at 11pm. It was only after the actual gig finished that the real show began. After a quick dry down and a beer, Billy, 12-string in hand, made his way around the bar sitting with guests and taking requests. He played a song for almost every punter in the whole place much to their delight like a human jukebox. He was really living up to the nickname Pete had given him years before: The Karaoke Kid. Eventually, we settled at the bar where The Kid continued to rise to the challenge, playing every title thrown at him, even Duran Duran’s Hungry Like The Wolf which came from Colin. It was pretty late when we left and my secret food stash was intact when we returned to the BnB.
The following morning, Colin & I were served a delicious fry-up by Mrs McGregor while her husband gave us the run-down on the local bars. He told us where to find the Rock pub, the Goth pub, the Under-age pub and so on, advising us to avoid The Ailsa right next door to Whisky Macs which he described as ‘The Star Wars Bar.’ He meant that was where everyone who was barred from entering all other drinking establishment in town would gather. This appeared to be good advice cos, when we arrived at the gig later that night, a Police van was parked right outside in anticipation of any goings-on.
Campbeltown is a tiny place,so it only took us about 20 minutes to walk around and see ‘the sights’ including the famous Picture House cinema from 1913. Reasoning that it was only midday and Billy wasn’t due to go on until 11pm; it was too early to go for a pint, we did the only logical thing: We went for a pint. Meeting up with Billy on the way, we arrived in a large bar whose name escapes me which had an extensive lunch menu. Food ‘n’ beer was the order of the day, but we would ‘take it easy’ on the beer. Fat chance! There was a big room to the side with an unattended pool table so we headed in. We played pool and drank for so long that, by the time Billy’s trucker mates had arrived from Glasgow, it was time for dinner, so we ordered more food (and beer of course.) For some unremembered reason, we were all fascinated by a poster on the pool room’s wall advertising an upcoming appearance of a folk singer in the adjacent bar. I’ve no recollection of his real name, but in our drunken minds, he became ‘Wrangbaw Bawbag, The Funky Troubador’ which we found incredibly amusing. At some point in the evening, the decision was made to head out on a pub crawl so we hit a few more bars including the aforementioned Rock and Under-age ones. The Star Wars bar was carefully avoided. Finally, we arrived at Whisky Macs to find even more of Billy’s trucker mates had made the journey. It was going to be a raucous night. The gig was great and, when the disco from the rear of the building emptied into the bar later, it got even rowdier.
Long after the show and punters drifted away, there was only Billy, Colin, me, the pub’s manager and his girlfriend left at the bar. Billy eventually gave up being the jukebox and the barman played a few tunes on the in-house sound system. I remember all of the lights being turned off as we all joined in loudly singing Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here. Well, all except Floyd-hater Rankin despite the fact he’d already played Brain Damage during his set. As the sun came up and started streaming in through the windows, we decided to call it a night. A quick time-check revealed it was 6am. Jeez, it had been an eighteen-hour session. Even by our standards, that was a record. We headed for the door only to discover it was locked. We were trapped. After some serious searching, we found the couple, slumped together, fast asleep in a quiet corner and, for the first and only time:
We had to wake up the bar staff to let us out of a pub.
“I’m not ashamed to say I hope it will always stay this way.” (Andrew Gold: Thank You For Being A Friend, 1978)
One final Non-Naz-type tale.
Really close friends can get away with anything. My best mates and I have spent decades embarrassing and generally ripping the pish out of each other. Billy took it to a whole new level.
Sometime in the middle of 1999, I was diagnosed with a spinal tumour. It didn’t affect me much for a long time and it was 10 years before I reached such a state that surgery was unavoidable. On 27th July 2009, I had the operation that changed my life, and they royally fucked it up. I’m now paralysed from the chest down and confined to an electric wheelchair. I have little use of my left hand, so bass playing is out of the question and I put this site together with Billy over a two-year period typing one-fingered with my partially damaged right. Oh, and the icing on the cake… they blinded me in my right eye.
I was in my hospital room a couple of days after the op and there were a few visitors with me when in rocked the bold Bill bearing gifts. Y’know, the usual crap from the gift store. Well….
Having already been advised of my condition on the telephone by my wife, Karen, and to the sheer horror of everyone in the room except me, I pissed myself.
He’d brought me a 3-D colouring book, crayons and glasses!
Postcard from Billy (front) 1990’s
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Fax received at my Wedding Reception 11th June 1993
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Fax received at my Wedding Reception 11th June 1993
Fax received at my Wedding Reception 11.6.93
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Fax received at my Wedding Reception 11th June 1993
Fax received at my Wedding Reception 11.6.93
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Fax received at my Wedding Reception 11th June 1993