Roadies

Demon Sperm

by Enormous on October 21, 2009

It appears that old demons, once considered entirely banished from these parts, are in fact able to make a stunning return.

I’m going to have a fight on my hands again, I can feel it. Still, being English, one doesn’t like to complain. Mustn’t grumble, and all that.

The subject of demons reminds me of a bumpy journey in the back of a Ford Transit to a gig at the Marquee in London many years ago. Tom, Slaughterhouse 5′s chief roadie, was reading the Dean Koontz novel Demon Seed. Occasionally prone to the odd vocal ejaculation, he looked up at me and asked, ‘Do you think sperms ever have a wank?’

We all laughed so much we almost crashed into a coach full of mooning schoolchildren. Boff the drummer nearly soiled his britches.

It was Dave Graham, ace bass player and comedy genius who eventually replied to Tom’s earnest enquiry. With astonishing wit and perfect timing, he pointed at the band’s rhythm guitarist who was driving the van, and said, ‘I bet Steve’s do.’

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Idiot Check

by Enormous on February 4, 2008

When we are on the road with the band, to outsiders, it can seem that we are occasionally really cruel to the road crew. It isn’t something that I am particularly proud of, but, generally, chief roadie Tom – the thinnest and crustiest of all the roadies in the universe – and his lieutenants always suffer our jokes with good humour.

Our affectionate playfulness is never meant as anything other than hearty camaraderie and crew members who are offended by our joshing usually do not remain in the fold for very long.

I can be the worst tormentor, especially when I am excited, but I never intentionally mean to offend. My jokes, although sometimes very close to the knuckle, are never made with anything other than the best intentions.

When Enormous were on tour a few years ago, after every show, when the van was loaded and we were ready to leave, before making his final inspection of the stage to ensure that none of our equipment had been left behind, Tom would always approach me and, full of genuine enthusiasm, ask: ‘Napoleon, shall I do an idiot check?’

My answer was always, ‘Yes,’ to which I would inevitably add, ‘Tom, you’re an idiot.’

Without fail, with exquisite comic timing and without loosing a beat, the reply that came back from Tom would always be: ‘Check!’

Happy days.

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