Me and Mark McKendrick reminiscing (A review of ROCK-TIL-YOU-DROP at The Fiddler's Elbow, Chalk Farm)

It's 2015, and I'm backstage at the Forum in Kentish Town chatting with Mark McKendrick of The Dipsticks. His band is minutes away from playing a set at ROCK-TIL-YOU-DROP/LIVE-in-LONDON.

Me: Hey Mark, you remember the time I had you on at the Fiddler's down the road? What was it? A Wednesday night, or somethin'? 2009 or '10?

Mark: It was, it was a Wednesday, man. 2009. That's right. I remember we headlined.

Me: That's right. That was the first time you headlined a ROCK-TIL-YOU-DROP night. You'd played one of the early Dublin Castle gigs and gone on first and the place was packed from the off. Great night that was. Remember the Grapefruit played that night too?

Mark: And Spirit of Play, man.

Me: That's it. But the Fiddler's man, remember how empty it was?

Mark: Not as bad as Guildford, man!

Me: Fuck, no. I mean, it wasn't a total disaster, or anything. It was just alright. You were great. All the bands were great. It's just there was only about 30 people there. And I'd worked my arse off to promote it, it was all over the internet, and on Facebook and stuff. Fucking Facebook. Remember how much time we used to waste on fucking Facebook, man?

Mark: Yeah, I do, man.

Me: I remember I had to run home and get a CD player to play those CDs of
ROCK-TIL-YOU-DROP bands, cos the PA guy didn't have one. And I put a Pocket Rocket CD on, cos we'd just recorded it, and I wanted to show it off. I remember that. And I remember how the cymbal stands were held together with parcel tape!

Brian Caulfield, alias The Lone Groover enters the room. He's sweating profusely through his customary shirt and waistcoat, and clearly buzzed, having just come off stage.

Me: Hey man! D'you enjoy that? Sounds like they want more?

Brian: I really enjoyed it Tobe, thanks, man,

Me: I saw the first part of your set out front, but I had to get back here and sort some stuff out. Sounded fantastic though

Brian: It's like a dream come true playing to an audience like that. They were all singing along to me last song, man. Me wife and the twins are out there too. Shall, I go back out?

Me: Why not, man?

Brian: Is there time?

Me: For you Brian? Just quickly though, I was just saying to Mark, you remember that gig at the Fiddler's, way back? You came down on your own, as always...

Brian nods enthusiastically, but the words don't come out, he's too excited. Naturally, his mind's on getting back out there to play an encore. He looks repeated from my face to the door and back again.

I persevere.

Me: The twins we're even born yet, if I remember. You came to all those shows, man. Even before you were playing 'em.

Brian: (hurriedly) Yeah. Well, it's been worth it mate. Look at today.

Mark: Yeah, man. Look at today.... Where's Angie, man, anyway, she should be here by now.

Brian: Anyway, I better get out there.

Me: Sure man, go for it.

Brain grabs his towel and legs it out of the room.

Me: C'mon Mark. You can't be fretting about Angie, you know she'll turn up in the nick of time. Always does. Shall we go and watch this encore from the side of the stage?

Mark and I get up and make our way down the narrow corridors that lead to the side of the stage. We pass Barry from Strange Behaviour on the way.


Me: Well played, Barry. Happy?

Barry: Thanks Toby, yeah. Great. Loved it.

Me: And the boys?

Barry: Yeah, apart from Gerry. He didn't think he played as well as he could've.

Mark: Didn't notice, man.

Barry opens the door to the loos.

Me and Mark (virtually in unison): See you in a bit, man.

Me: Didn't Strange Behaviour play that night too? At the Fiddlers.

Mark: Yeah, man. They did, you're right.

Me: I think that was the beginning of me booking you and them to play together. So well matched you too, your bands, I mean.

At stage-side, the other Barry, Barry Charman of Free State Prophets and The Gowletts is bouncing up and down to the Lone Groover's encore of Eton Rifles. I tap him on the shoulder.

Me: Alright, Barry. How was it for you?

Barry C: Yeah, wicked, Tobe. Wicked. Gotta play with the Prophets next time, man. You should hear our new CD. And our new drummer. Fucking wicked, mate. Really on it, you know?

Me: Great stuff.

Barry turns and continues to pogo to Brian's rendition of the Jam classic and I return to my conversation with Mark.

Me: Do you remember there was that guy playing lead guitar with first band, and he'd played in Buddy Miles' band for a while? Amazing player.

Mark: No, man, I don't .

Me: No? I remember cashing up that night, and not really having any money left over to pay you guys.

Mark: I think you gave a tenner or somit, man?

Me: Shit. I made no money from those gigs in those days, man. I do remember wondering whether to carry on with it around then.

Mark: Fucking glad you did, man.

Me: Me too, man.

Have flyers, will flyer

18 years ago you would have often found me, and my very supportive partner at that time, standing outside the Camden Falcon in all weather, handing out A5 photocopied flyers to promote my band's gigs around town.

In the next few weeks, you may well find me again with hand outstretched, bearing a flyer (full colour, these days! - Ed), though not outside The Falcon, 'cos like many venues of the early-90s, it has since been turned into flats (that's another blog - Ed again).

This month I'll be mostly flyering the Punk-Rock-Til-You-Drop gig at the Dublin Castle on Wednesday 16th September.

Now, there's a series of punk gigs at the Underworld in the next couple of weeks, which would be good to flyer. There's one tonight, but the wife's out, so that ain't gonna happen. Never used to have that problem, of course, 18 years ago; the 'wife' then would come too. That 'wife' and I, though, didn't have a 6 year old daughter.

I'd like to get out to see more gigs, flyer more gigs, meet more people, and bands, but there just isn't the time there used to be to do such old fashioned things.

Did get out to see The Gowletts the other night in Willesden, and I'm going to see Magic Ship at the Half Moon in Putney on Saturday night. But more often than not, I am duty-bound to stay in and forced to promote Rock-Til-You-Drop to the outside world, like this. And I fucking hate the pressure to blog, too. That Colin Gilman is a natural. Not me.

I will have already spent bloody hours doing god-knows-what and appearing to achieve very little, before I get round to the matter of the blog. I also feel too guilty to spend too long at the computer. I spend a lot of time with my daughter at home, and I don't wanna give her the impression that being on the computer is most of what I do. Or more importantly, what she should do. I'm sure that's a modern-parenting hang-up; it used to be watching too much TV, now it's spending too much time on the computer that is the concern. It's probably my fault that my daughter is already working on her own website and .com business. Thankfully, though, she also likes drawing, and is already showing an interest in making music.

So I get back on it (the computer, that is) when she's in bed, and by 11:00pm, my hands ache, my back aches, my eyes are burning, my head is spinning. Like now. I have to stop. But there's still so much more to do. Like the links on this blog. Then the wife comes in, in a loquacious mood after a few too many, and wants to chat. And I can't listen, cos I just wanna get this fucking thing finished.

I'll shut up about it now.

Anyway, the next punk gig at the Underworld that is worth flyering is on a night that I am rehearsing with my band - so that's out, too. Another is on a Sunday night. Great! Going out at 10:30 on a Sunday night to flyer a fucking gig.

I hope you enjoyed the blog, anyway.