Song 1.
Music often acts as a soundtrack to my life.
This is partly due to my job; as a professional musician (*stifles a laugh*), I spend much of my time learning songs en masse for a gig or show. As a result, it’s probably unsurprising that music evokes so many memories; just a few bars can instantly send me back to another time and place.
Bearing this in mind, I thought I’d introduce an occasional series to my blog; sharing a few of the songs that make me reminisce (like Desert Island Discs, without breaching any copyright).
Song number one is Blur's The Universal.
I can pinpoint the event this reminds me of to a specific date: Tuesday 2nd of April 2002. Not because I have an amazing memory; I just used to keep a diary.
This was the first day I firmly believed my band would get a recording contract.
Big Day Out had been together in one form or another since 1996, though things didn’t really kick into gear for another four years. We scaled down from a four-piece to a three-piece, dumping all our old material in the process. Suddenly we had a new lease of life; consequently, people started to take an interest.
Back then, my band meant everything. It was the only thing I’d ever really wanted to do. I went to drama school, but purposely chose the one nearest to my hometown, so I could continue without interrupting the group's progress.
At drama school, our gigs became a social event. At each day’s registration, the Principal would ask me if I had anything to promote and I’d announce our latest news. Coach trips were booked to most of our London shows, with the students regularly frequenting our monthly residency at the local bar, Bundeena / Bombora (which eventually renamed itself The Croft; where me and Glyn would host Mostly Comedy in years to come.)
(We also had our first ever gig as a three-piece at The George in Hitchin, where Doggett & Ephgrave later launched the club; the same old venues tend to follow me about.)
Spin forward to early 2002 and the band had started to secure some pretty high-profile slots as a support act. This was the same year that I was due to graduate from drama school; it was a busy time, constantly flitting between acting and music.
We’d supported the popular Glasgow band - and Blur’s label-mates - The Supernaturals a handful of times (whose biggest hit ‘Smile’ is never far away from use in some advert or other). This was a big deal for us, particularly as they had been one of my co-writer and co-frontman Mark Smith’s favourite bands.
Things began to fall into place as they started actively promoting us; on one memorable occasion, before a gig at Bedford Esquires, I mentioned to their keyboardist that I hoped we’d one day be as successful as them.
“Rubbish”, he replied. “You’ll be far bigger than we ever were; you’ll be massive.”
Their lead singer, James, also promised to put a word in with their record company.
Spin forward to the 2nd of April 2002. I was sat in the front room of my flat listening to Blur: The Best Of. As the opening bars of The Universal kicked in, my mobile rang.
I paused the CD and answered the call. It was Andy Ross from Food Records; a subsidiary of EMI. He told me that James from The Supernaturals had insisted that they check us out. He asked me to send a copy of our demo (giving us a special code-word to mark the envelope with, so it wasn’t ignored) – and promised to catch one of our London gigs in the near future.
I was dumbstruck. I hung up and un-paused the CD to hear Damon Albarn croon "It really, really, really could happen".
It really, really, really was.
Sadly things didn’t work out. The record company dismissed the recording quality of the demo but were impressed by our songs. Andy Ross was set to catch our next London gig at Camden’s Dublin Castle on the 31st August, by which time I’d graduated from drama school and been offered and accepted a UK tour.
Thanks to me taking the job, the gig was cancelled. Big Day Out split up soon afterwards.
For years this ate me up. I hated that I'd been the cause for our misfortunes; at least, that was how I saw it.
Eventually, I let it go. I found other things to aspire to; Big Day Out became a happy memory.
We reformed for a one-off gig in 2008, to raise money for mine and Glyn’s first Edinburgh Festival. It was a wonderful night; it was nice to draw a line under the band, now that it no longer mattered to me so much.
I’m still in contact with the other members. Our drummer, Chris Hollis, is one half of Mostly Comedy’s one-time house band, Spandex Ballet – and Mark has various excellent musical projects on the go. Doggett & Ephgrave both appeared in his band Sons of Guns' last video, Bad Blood, which was directed by Chris.
Whenever I
hear The Universal, my mind is taken back to that phone call, and the
excitement of what I thought the future would hold.
...it nearly, nearly, nearly did happen.
This is partly due to my job; as a professional musician (*stifles a laugh*), I spend much of my time learning songs en masse for a gig or show. As a result, it’s probably unsurprising that music evokes so many memories; just a few bars can instantly send me back to another time and place.
Bearing this in mind, I thought I’d introduce an occasional series to my blog; sharing a few of the songs that make me reminisce (like Desert Island Discs, without breaching any copyright).
Song number one is Blur's The Universal.
I can pinpoint the event this reminds me of to a specific date: Tuesday 2nd of April 2002. Not because I have an amazing memory; I just used to keep a diary.
This was the first day I firmly believed my band would get a recording contract.
 |
| Me and BDO's drummer Chris Hollis, biting fists before a gig at Bombora (2000). |
Big Day Out had been together in one form or another since 1996, though things didn’t really kick into gear for another four years. We scaled down from a four-piece to a three-piece, dumping all our old material in the process. Suddenly we had a new lease of life; consequently, people started to take an interest.
Back then, my band meant everything. It was the only thing I’d ever really wanted to do. I went to drama school, but purposely chose the one nearest to my hometown, so I could continue without interrupting the group's progress.
At drama school, our gigs became a social event. At each day’s registration, the Principal would ask me if I had anything to promote and I’d announce our latest news. Coach trips were booked to most of our London shows, with the students regularly frequenting our monthly residency at the local bar, Bundeena / Bombora (which eventually renamed itself The Croft; where me and Glyn would host Mostly Comedy in years to come.)
(We also had our first ever gig as a three-piece at The George in Hitchin, where Doggett & Ephgrave later launched the club; the same old venues tend to follow me about.)
Spin forward to early 2002 and the band had started to secure some pretty high-profile slots as a support act. This was the same year that I was due to graduate from drama school; it was a busy time, constantly flitting between acting and music.
We’d supported the popular Glasgow band - and Blur’s label-mates - The Supernaturals a handful of times (whose biggest hit ‘Smile’ is never far away from use in some advert or other). This was a big deal for us, particularly as they had been one of my co-writer and co-frontman Mark Smith’s favourite bands.
Things began to fall into place as they started actively promoting us; on one memorable occasion, before a gig at Bedford Esquires, I mentioned to their keyboardist that I hoped we’d one day be as successful as them.
“Rubbish”, he replied. “You’ll be far bigger than we ever were; you’ll be massive.”
Their lead singer, James, also promised to put a word in with their record company.
Spin forward to the 2nd of April 2002. I was sat in the front room of my flat listening to Blur: The Best Of. As the opening bars of The Universal kicked in, my mobile rang.
I paused the CD and answered the call. It was Andy Ross from Food Records; a subsidiary of EMI. He told me that James from The Supernaturals had insisted that they check us out. He asked me to send a copy of our demo (giving us a special code-word to mark the envelope with, so it wasn’t ignored) – and promised to catch one of our London gigs in the near future.
I was dumbstruck. I hung up and un-paused the CD to hear Damon Albarn croon "It really, really, really could happen".
It really, really, really was.
Sadly things didn’t work out. The record company dismissed the recording quality of the demo but were impressed by our songs. Andy Ross was set to catch our next London gig at Camden’s Dublin Castle on the 31st August, by which time I’d graduated from drama school and been offered and accepted a UK tour.
Thanks to me taking the job, the gig was cancelled. Big Day Out split up soon afterwards.
 |
| BDO's final gig (28.07.02) |
 |
| After the gig. I'm chatting to Glyn; three years before we became Doggett & Ephgrave. |
For years this ate me up. I hated that I'd been the cause for our misfortunes; at least, that was how I saw it.
Eventually, I let it go. I found other things to aspire to; Big Day Out became a happy memory.
We reformed for a one-off gig in 2008, to raise money for mine and Glyn’s first Edinburgh Festival. It was a wonderful night; it was nice to draw a line under the band, now that it no longer mattered to me so much.
 |
| BDO reunion gig (24.07.08). |
I’m still in contact with the other members. Our drummer, Chris Hollis, is one half of Mostly Comedy’s one-time house band, Spandex Ballet – and Mark has various excellent musical projects on the go. Doggett & Ephgrave both appeared in his band Sons of Guns' last video, Bad Blood, which was directed by Chris.
...it nearly, nearly, nearly did happen.
