THE BARNET’S WORLD TOUR OF MADRID

This was it. This was what every young and ambitious music journo prayed for each night before finishing his cocoa, kissing his uncle goodnight and rolling over to slip gently into the arms of Morpheus.

The opportunity to follow one of Hersham’s largest bands around the world to Madrid and live side by side, cheek by bum cheek with the travelling troubadours of dodgy cover versions, was an offer I simply couldn’t turn down.

I got the call on the Thursday evening from the enigmatic front man, Mark to “throw some clean kacks in a bin-liner, cash up some Euros and bring loads of fags, we are off to Madrid tomorrow.”
The band wanted me to shadow them in order to give a fly-on-the-wall account of the tour from their point of view. The gig was for EA games, which was organised by their man in Madrid, the irrepressible Alex Efefefef Martinez and his events company, Revolution. The same Alex Efefefef Martinez responsible for the massive 46664 Mandela in the park gig, at London’s Hyde Park earier in the year.

The band’s chaffeur, Tom (The brother’s dad) picked myself, Mark, Arron and Stormy up early doors the following morning. To mark the occasion, he’d bought a new flat cap and flourescent vest. John Lee Hooker accompanied us on the CD player as we made the dawn sprint to Heathrow. The mood in the tour Escort was sleepy yet excitable, partly due to Stormy pointing open mouthed at the planes.

In no time we arrived at the terminal where we met up with Kenny and Toni. Something very odd happens when you walk into an airport with guitar cases. Apart from security looking as though they want to give you an internal, everyone notices and stares at you. Fellow passengers, check-in staff and cleaners all think they know or should know you. Of course, the fact that Mark had his fake Top Gun aviator shades permanently welded to the bridge of his nose added to the illusion of fame.
We checked in and made our way to the bar. (Well, it was 7am.) Guinness and bacon rolls were ordered whilst Mark and Stormy retired to the gents for a crafty fag. 3 pints later and the band are getting quite refreshed. Excited chatter crowded the air. Loud swearing and belching jostled with the planes for airspace.

Mark still had his shades on. Then Kenny announced that “We should f*ck off to the gate.” Pints were thrown back, legs were raised for comedic farting, and we were off.
What we didn‘t realise was the fact that our gate was so far away, it was almost in Birmingham. With one red eye on the departures board, the pace quickened to what can only be described as a frenzied limp. When we finally made it to the gate, the guitar cases wove their magic and we were fast-tracked through the already assembled passengers, onto the plane where we were immediately greeted with more booze. A traveller’s tip: next time you fly, get pissed, loud, obnoxious and carry an empty guitar case. It gets you places.

As the plane bumped it’s way up into the blue, much mirth was made about Toni’s untethered breasts bouncing about - by his own admission, he is out of shape. Peter Pan with tits.
The rest of the flight was uneventful save for some cracking drunken banter and calls for more beer. The plane landed. Ciggies were lit. On leaving Madrid airport, we were met by Alex Efefefef Martinez. Do you know what the combined anal gas of 12 pints of Guinness, 8 cans of Heineken, 5 cheesy baps, 300 cigs and a can of Redbull smell like? Poor Alex does. In the confined interior of a Mercedes van, it was enough to melt the dashboard. We couldn’t get to the hotel quick enough.

The Hotel was all you’d expect; large, clean and functional. Again we were stared at from behind large broadsheet newspapers as we trailed fart vapour and cigarette smoke through the marble-covered foyer. The 2 rooms were divided up between smokers (Toni, Stormy and Mark), and non-smokers (Kenny and Arron). I drew the short straw and was forced to sleep in the maid’s cupboard in the hallway. As I was unpacking my gear and hanging it on the back of the door, I could hear a steady, heavy sobbing coming from Kenny’s room.
Tentatively, I peeked through the crack in the door and was met with the vision of Arron nestled in Kenny’s shoulder, weeping like a baby.

They must have heard me as the next thing, 5’ 11” of prime Irish spud in the shape of Kenny came hurtling towards me, teeth bared and gnashing furiously. “Pish off!” He slurred. “He’s homeshick, and wanted a cuddle, thas all!” So touching to see this giant human potato gently soothing a hobbit and stroking his hairy ears. That’s what life on the road is all about, you look out for each other.

Kenny finally managed to calm Arron down with some juice and a biscuit, and the three of us called in on the others to go to the soundcheck.
If there is such a thing as Hell on Earth, it resided in room 286. The door opened up to a darkened room which appeared to house a dirty grey storm cloud. Closer inspection revealed that it was infact the combined cigarette smoke of its residents. You could just make out the 3 glowing tips of their cigarettes in the eye of the storm.
Eventually, everyone managed to get dressed, with the right shoes on the right feet, and wobbled our way over to the venue.

The EA Games party was to be held at the Shoko nightclub - one of Madrid’s finest. It used to be a large cinema right in the heart of Madrid. It is still a beautiful building - you walk up a sweeping staircase, through a foyer into a large, open dancefloor with bars lining the walls either side of you. Above, a mezzanine floor juts out, providing a bird’s eye view of the rug-cutters grooving away below. Infront of you is a large stage framed with massive floor to ceiling plastic bamboo trunks, each lit from inside, that gently pulsate and change colour like the tentacles of a giant jellyfish. I start to wonder whether this is all too good for a bunch of drunken herberts from the London suburbs.
I watch as they climb up on the stage, all that is except Arron who calls me over to hold the chair steady to stand on in order to reach it. As they walk around pointing, open mouthed.

The sound system in Shoko was fantastic. After everything had been mic’ed up the boys actually sounded like they could play a bit. A grin split Stormy’s face apart when he found out he had a drum-riser to elevate him above the heads of the rest of the band. The grin took on Richard Branson proportions when he found out he could actually smoke whilst playing! Yep, very few bars, clubs or restaurants take notice of the smoking ban. In typical ‘Madridian’ style, the ban is simply shrugged at. Good news if you smoke. Hell if you don’t.

With the sound check finished, Alex took us to a local bar. Tapas and more beer being the order of the afternoon. The sun was looking tired and ready for bed as we fell onto the street and made our way back to the hotel and, on Daddy Arron’s suggestion, retired for a forty winks. Mark must have misheard this as there were some odd rustling noises coming from under his duvet.
IT’S SHOWTIME!
A buzz filled the hotel as the boys, freshly spruced up in their stage wardrobe, gathered in the lobby. Like a fearless warrior leading his troops into a monumental and historical battle, Mark staggered through the traffic, shouting insults at the cars for driving on the wrong side of the road. We swept into the venue, into the backstage area and into the welcoming arms of some free beers. The boys milled about on the balcony overlooking the stage as the venue filled up. From here, we watched the support act, an Argentinian comic, die on his feet. To protect the innocent, we shall call him Nicky O’Spectre. Bless him. He was a decent, talented chap but unfortunately for him, the audience were just not bothered - they just wanted to chat and drink.
Then, before I knew it, the band were onstage, tuning up and nervously going about their pre-gig rituals; Stormy wraps everything in gaffer tape. Toni adjusts his trouser to avoid unwanted chaffage. Mark gargles with brandy and lights a fag. Arron plumps up his built-up insoles. Kenny moves his hair around to stop his scalp getting burnt from the strong lighting.
The audience sense there is something special about to happen. They can smell it.
It is the smell of Rock! and the boys are dripping in it.

Stormy counted the boys in for the first song...1,2,3,4...BANG! The sound was phenomenal, it hit you in the chest like a sledgehammer and was as unforgiving. Straight away, the audience of 500plus, were up and at it. Looking around at the beaming faces was a joy in itself. A look that was reflected in the band's faces as they got stuck into a meaty set. They not only sounded the nuts, but looked it too. Kenny, wearing a halterback clingy top and flats, hacked and flailed at his axe. Mark sported a Freddy Mercury catsuit, slashed to the waist, and made the stage his own. Seated high at the rear, Stormy thrashed himself senseless in a yellow sparkly lycra all-in-one with brown piping down the sleeves. Toni stood at his keyboard in a pair of high waisted, flared sailors trousers, green blouse and matching kitten heels. Arron leapt around like little Lord Fauntleroy in a salmon pink, ruffled shirt, a feathered fedora and jodhpurs. Together they were a feast for the eyes as well as the ears.

Song after song, the audience screamed and whistled their appreciation. This really was something special. Then, before you knew it, it was all over and I was left with a warm, fuzzy ringing in my ears. To tell the truth, in all the excitement, I can't remember if they came back for an encore.
I managed to blag myself backstage but could not get near the boys as they had locked themselves in their dressing room. All I could do was listen to backs being slapped, bottles being opened and lots of sniffing noises. They must have picked up a nasty cold on the flight.

So that was that. I had a return flight early the next morning so I floated back to the hotel and left them to it.
A warm glow filled me as I lay on my bed, thinking about my time spent with the band and the gig I was lucky enough to have witnessed.

As I sit here on a snowy January Monday writing this, I would like to thank everybody involved at EA Games, and Alex and his team at Revolution for giving myself and the band the most fantastic and memorable weekend in Madrid.
We must do it again sometime!

Anyone for beer and tapas?