First Gig, with Added Orange Squash!

And so to Hanley, a town described by Wikipedia as having a name derived from either "haer lea", meaning high meadow, or "heah lea" meaning rock meadow. Given that green spaces are sparse and rocks of "monkey dust" are plentiful, it seems rude to accept the former over the latter.

Before I left for the Potteries, I weighed the gig bag. 19lbs. No wonder my hips and back hurt the day after I lug it about. If anyone mugs me, they'll never be able to run off with Libby. 

Marjorie, my ever-faithful satnav, had expertly guided me through the maze of bypasses and roundabouts despite the traffic to The Electric Tentacle at The Captain's Bar. Trudging from John Street car park (closing time 23:30), I glanced at the time. 6:06pm. A bit early, but for some reason I hadn't felt like eating my tea before I left.

The Captain's Bar is about 200 yards away from Victoria Hall, where back in 1983 I saw Gary Numan play. It was my first ever gig and it was LOUD. In fact, up until I saw Girlschool at The Witchwood in Ashton-under-Lyne in 1992, it was the loudest thing I'd ever heard by some considerable way. He put on a hell of a show. So, maybe it was fitting that my first foray onto the EMOM stage was so close to that sainted venue. In I went, feeling like a child at the dentist. This was it; I wouldn't pass through that door again until I'd played properly for the first time. 

 

Save for the barman stocking up for a night of revelry, there was no one in, and the whole place was very chilly. The bar itself was distinctly, wilfully eclectic. An estate agent might describe it as "ideal for the lover of compact spaces". Carved heads and faces watch over a huge collection of bric-a-brac, and an unregarded tank was home to bored fish. What the hell had I let myself in for?

Surely this small space wasn't where the gig was to be held? The barman led me to an even colder function room down at the back, which was at least three times the size of the main bar area. Suddenly, the thought of the place packed out with warm humans became a very welcome prospect indeed. 

The calm before the storm!

Andy Cartridge and the other organisers quickly arrived, carrying armfuls of equipment and octopus/Cthulhu themed backdrops, plushy toys and so on. Basically, if it has tentacles, it's in. 

All set up and ready to go. Note the friendly octopus on the monitor speaker.

As the guys needed to do a soundcheck, and because I was eager to get started, I volunteered to set up and play first, including a quick blast for the desk. As soon as my lovely big, fat, heavy, twiddly sound started up and the sound engineer did his thing, I knew it'd be OK. It sounded BIG! And loud. This was going to be alright. All it needed now was an audience.

Laser on, smoke machine on, all ready to go - just add audience

By 7pm, strangers started to drift down from the bar and fill the room. The temperature rose accordingly, but I could still see my breath, and my fingers were thrust into my pockets for warmth in a posture that body language experts would politely call "go away".

Waiting to go on must mean as many different things as there are performers to feel them. In all honesty, I felt nothing much. I just stood there, waiting. Not nervous, not anything really, just waiting. At last, Andy said "10 minutes". Lovely. Let's rattle some windows. And then it was time.

A quick introduction and a smattering of applause, and Libby introduced us over a thunderous, shifting growling pad. Into the first number, an instrumental to get things moving and to thaw out my fingers. Though it was nearly impossible to see the audience due to dazzling lights and the smoke machine next to the stage, we were loud enough that I couldn't hear anyone trying to chat over our din. Hopefully, people were watching and listening out there somewhere.

Serious musician face...

The set itself was a blur. I was in my happy place. Save for the obligatory bum note, the whole thing went off without a hitch. Even the orange squash I spilt ran onto my trainers and not onto the equipment.

Near the end now. This is the best fun!

The end of the set is a long tyre skid and a car crash, bringing the mighty "Three Liars" to a close. Libby thanks people for listening, and then what? Applause! Andy loudly thanked me for coming and there was more, longer, louder applause, accompanied by some actual cheering. 

Job's a good 'un! Right, shut down, switch off, pack up and then what? I was suddenly ravenous for the meal I'd left to go cold in Macclesfield.

Hapax was next up. Though hunger was gnawing me to the bone by now, I felt duty bound to stay and watch her maiden set. A studious lady with a TB-303 is always going to be good value, and she didn't disappoint with her excellent, intelligent, acidic vibes, reminiscent to my ears of Underworld. Watch out for her; I suspect this will not be her last EMOM given the rapturous applause at the end of her set.

I desperately wanted to stay, but sobriety and hunger are hard taskmasters. I thanked Andy and shook hands with the people I'd met, made my excuses, and headed back up to the door that had marked my entry proper into the world of EMOM, all the wile trying not to knock people over with 19lbs of kit.

 

Massive respect to Andy Cartridge and crew for putting on a great evening. May your tentacles ever increase.

Despite warnings that Hanley is a terribly rough place, the car was still safely where I'd left it in the multi-storey car park, covered, no doubt, from every angle by security cameras. It hadn't been raped, murdered, kidnapped or mugged, and neither had Libby and I. OK, satnav Marjorie, do your stuff and get me back to the land of Joy Division before I starve to death!

Driving home through the rural blackness, I thought about what I'd learned:

1. Don't be scared. Make playing your set your happy place, and go there all the time.
2. Take everything you need, from mains splitter to jack cables, just in case.
3. Label your jack cables with L and R at each end.
   
4. Place any drinks safely to the side of your rig, away from all kit and electrics. Reach over to take a sip. If there's no space, forget the drink.  
5. You will be dazzled by the lights and smoke, so ignore them.
6. Make sure everything has a place in your kitbag so you know you've collected all your belongings. 
7. Check the table and floor before leaving the stage for anything you might have left behind.

It was a fantastic night and lots of fun. We'll definitely be back to The Captain's Bar, and next time I'll eat first!

And on an even better note, while packing for the gig, I got an email from the Manchester Electronic Collective offering us a slot at BLEEP #13 at the Peer Hat on 11th January.

See you there!