When we boarded the plane that was to take us to the New Music Seminar in New York in July 1991 neither Neil nor I had ever flown before. We sat next to each other and laughed hysterically as we began to taxi down the runway then roared off into the unknown. The plane was close to half-filled with musicians and music business folk all making the most of the free bar then available courtesy of Richard Branson. In short, the flight was a total riot.
Nothing can prepare you for the beauty of Manhattan at night, seen from the Brooklyn Bridge approach. On hearing that it was our first time in The Big Apple our taxi driver followed a special, detour-filled route from JFK to Washington Square to ensure that we gasped as each amazing vista opened out in front of us. It cost a fortune but I’ll never forget the view across the East River to the twinkling lights of downtown Manhattan.
It was late when we arrived at the Iroquois Hotel just off 6th Avenue and close to the heart of Greenwich Village, but we weren’t anywhere near sleepy. The noises, smells and hurtling physicality of this part of New York at night hit us full-force. Sitting in a diner watching the iconic yellow taxis speed by, bumping over steaming manhole covers and making us feel like extras in a hundred movies, it began to dawn on us that life really was becoming rather weird. This hadn’t been part of anyone’s plan, but here we were, mouths hanging open, about to play a gig at Maxwell’s Hoboken and another at The Bank on the Lower East Side as part of a music industry showcase of new talent.
I can’t remember exactly how long we were there – perhaps ten days in total – but I know that I hardly slept as it seemed such a waste of time. Getting up early to go eat breakfast whilst the daily migration of office-workers rushed downtown in their business suits and trainers and staying up late to see as many bands as we could became the only way to go. I was stunned by the rock royalty I bumped into each day. We played Maxwell’s supporting Urge Overkill. We dashed to the Roseland Ballroom to catch the end of Mudhoney’s set. We fell asleep at the back as The House of Love played a small club because we were just so tired. I managed to get to CBGBs to drink into the early hours and to a tiny club in the Meatpacking District to see Rage Against the Machine’s first show outside LA. It was incredibly exciting and utterly exhausting.
During this time it became apparent to us that our manager was not really doing what he should have been doing for us. This made an otherwise amazing experience a perplexing and difficult one. Through the heat haze and beer fog we realised that things were not what they should have been. This was, perhaps, our last truly carefree moment. But what a moment.
Up to that point I’d always been in the background, supporting and enabling friends to fulfil their dreams. Promoting gigs, producing plays; this had been my life from my mid-teens. Now, suddenly, we were being fussed over by a gang of pale, dishevelled and achingly cool New York kids who actually believed we were good. They arranged radio interviews, lent me vintage Fender Jaguar guitars and took us to the best bars.
It still didn’t really sink in that this was happening to us. For me, being the focus of attention and having this cornucopia of experience spilled out at our feet was slightly overwhelming. I wanted to step back and return to beetling away quietly while someone else took centre stage, but that was no longer an option. I’ve learnt now that I can venture out of the shadows gradually and unobtrusively if I know that I have someone I trust there to hold my hand and that, by carefully maintaining that contact, I can reciprocate support for their ambitions whilst quietly fulfilling my own. For me, one does not work without the other…the excitement and energy needs to loop around because I have no way to dissipate it and will burn out if I can’t give it back somehow.
When people tell me how lucky we were to experience the things we did, I pull a wry face. It wasn’t luck that got us there, it was a Rubik’s Cube combination of factors that put us on that plane and dropped us amongst buildings so tall their roofs were obscured by cloud. I can’t eat a bagel without thinking of that trip and I still can’t get on a plane without remembering the anticipation and total unreality of the day we took that flight into a new world.
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