From Aces to Angels

End of the Line

Click images to view details

  On Sunday 10th November we played what turned out to be our last gig in the Embassy. We had noticed that recently the Tuesday night beat sessions seemed to have been discontinued and more commercial bands were being booked. We also noticed that since January, Bobby Ferris had just given us one gig every three months instead of our usual one a month. We suspected, but couldn't be sure, that this dearth of bookings was connected to our altercation with him concerning my little sartorial indiscretion. Again it may have only been coincidence and not for that reason at all. Either way it put us on a bit of a downer.
  Following their modest chart successes with 'Black Magic Woman' back in April and 'Need your Love so Bad' in July, Fleetwood Mac now followed it up with another hit in December. This was another Peter Green penned instrumental, the classic 'Albatross' which reached the No.1 slot and stayed in the charts for twenty weeks.
  Strictly speaking, I didn't consider Albatross to be  blues but it was quite a nice tune and established Green not only as a songwriter but a composer also. As a rule we didn't play numbers that got into the charts because we felt that by doing so we were being sucked into the commercial end of the music business. We made one exception and that was 'Need Your Love so Bad' because it was a Willie Dixon number that we were playing long before Fleetwood Mac actually took it into the charts.
  Fleetwood Mac's chart success threw us into a bit of a quandary, for while on the one hand we were glad to see the blues getting a bit of publicity, on the other hand, we began to suspect that perhaps Peter Green was now beginning to think commercially. Then again maybe the band didn't have much control over the machinations of the record companies. On balance we decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and wondered what we would do if we'd a chance of getting a song into the top twenty.
  In December also, Colm took himself off to Liverpool to marry a nice English girl that he'd met on his adventures in Ibiza.
  Suddenly it was 1969 and after a few days break over Christmas and the New Year, we once more took up our position on the elevated podium of the Go-Go club. As the new year rolled on, since Ken came back from the Mediterranean, he decided to vary the nightly programme a bit by booking different bands at the weekends, including Steel Bands that he'd met while away. 
  This was fine by everybody except us of course, for unless we had some gigs at the weekends it meant that we were sitting at home on our arses. The Embassy now appeared to be booking more middle of the road bands on Sundays as well and I hadn't heard from Mr. Ferris about any more engagements. But the Embassy wasn't the only one. According to the ads. in the papers, some of the Belfast clubs were also going commercial. Strangely enough by this stage another couple of blues bands had appeared on the Derry scene including a band called 'Blues By Five.'
  Around the end of February we were approached by the manager of a well known Derry showband with a view to playing support to them for a few gigs. I have to exercise a bit of discretion here, so in order to avoid any embarrassment and for the sake of convenience, let's just call the man 'Davey' and the band 'The Fashion Showband.'
  We discussed the matter and at first didn't consider it a good idea for two reasons. First, we didn't think we would go down very well on the showband circuit and second, we weren't really keen on playing support. I suppose we were spoilt a bit because for a long time groups had been playing support to us. Then we had second thoughts and decided to accept Davey's offer because we thought it might open other doors for us. You never know who's listening.
  The first gig (in a well known ballroom not a million miles from Derry), was at the beginning of March and the Derry Journal was kind enough to give us a good write up once more. On the way to the gig we were a bit apprehensive for we weren't sure how we were going to go down. We still had memories of Dunloy and Killygordon. But as it turned out we needn't have worried.
  At the end of our set which lasted about an hour and fifteen minutes, the crowd stood and applauded for a long time. They cheered and shouted and wouldn't let us off the stage until we played another number. It was almost a standing ovation. Well it goes without saying that we were chuffed out of our heads and weren't sure what to do. I looked over at the lads in Fashion who at this stage were waiting in the wings to come on. They just shrugged so I decided to play another couple of numbers.
  After a further ten minutes the crowd once more applauded loudly but we decided to take our leave as the boys in the wings were obviously anxious to get on the stage and do their thing. Following that night, one of the best we'd ever had, not to put too fine a point on it, we were dropped like the proverbial hot potato. We just couldn't understand what had happened. Everybody could see that we went down well yet Davey didn't contact us again.
  A few weeks later we were informed by a source that we considered very reliable, that the reason we weren't asked to play support again was because of the fact that we went down too well. According to our source, one or more of the boys in Fashion objected because they considered that us going down well with the crowd reflected badly on them, so they put pressure on Davey to terminate his dealings with us.
  Well if this is true then it is very petty and immature in the extreme. It's also very unprofessional and does reflect on the band but not in the way they thought it did. For a start there was no guarantee that we would go down as well in every place we played, and as a matter of fact we ourselves suspected that it was possibly a one off. They didn't have anything to fear from us for we were a completely different proposition from a showband, and on the night in question they themselves went down extremely well with the audience.
  Finally, Davey and The Fashion Showband if you're listening, I'll just reiterate that what I've said was information given to us from someone we considered reliable at the time. If the information was false or inaccurate then accept our apologies.
  By late spring, almost as quickly as it had begun, everything seemed to be grinding to a halt. It was getting harder and harder to get gigs and it was beginning to dawn on us that once again 'the times they were a changin''. There were rumours that the Sea Eagle and Ballykelly Air Force bases would be closing in the near future and that would be another couple of good venues down the chute. 
  To add to our disappointment, in April Peter Green released another single, 'Man of the World' which again had a suspiciously pop feel to it. Co-incidentally, at the moment (Dec. 2000) this song is having a rebirth in the form of the background music for a T.V. drink/drive ad., albeit not the original version.
  The sporadic but less serious rioting continued until this time when it suddenly escalated after the R.U.C entered the home of Sammy Devenny and gave him a serious beating (one which he was to die from later). Now there was palpable fear and tension in the air as the spectre of the Apprentice Boys of Derry's march in August loomed menacingly on the horizon. But Ken and his retinue of musicians, waiters and waitresses didn't have to worry about that, for near the end of April they returned once more to the sunny climes of Ibiza for another season.
  By the summer, our gigs outside the club were very scarce and it became clear to us that the heyday of the blues was rapidly approaching a conclusion. As a consequence of this, playing in the club itself was now becoming a bit of a drag for there didn't seem to be much to look forward to. The simple fact was that nobody, with literally one or two exceptions, seemed to be booking blues bands anymore.
  One of the exceptions I mentioned was the Foyle Hotel in Moville, and our last gig there was a memorable event. As we made our way down the bumpy road to that quaint little seaside town, I think it was in mid June, the rain wasn't taking time to come down. It was a virtual deluge and the last time there was so much water around, Noah built an Ark. 
  We were driving along merrily and not too far from our destination when suddenly there was a loud bang and a hissing sound. We didn't need to be genuises to work out that we'd gotten a blowout. Well we just sat there for a while mouthing a few colourful expletives and hoping the rain would ease so we could change the wheel. By this time it was after ten and we were supposed to start playing about eleven. Ironically it was the first time  we'd had a puncture (about the only good thing we could say about the old wagon) and it had to be on a night when God decided to send another flood.
  After fifteen or twenty minutes it became clear that the rain had no intention of easing so we had no choice but to get out and change the wheel. We were on a hill and the water was running down the road in torrents. To make matters worse it was a very narrow part of the road and the flat tyre was on the side nearest the hedge. Then to add to our woes we noticed that there was a little drain running down the side of the road which was going to make it very difficult to change the wheel.
  Would you believe me if I told you that it was almost dark and we didn't have a torch? Anyhow I managed to squeeze in between the hedge and the wagon and began the operation. I was actually standing in the drain almost up to my knees in water but somehow I managed to loosen the nuts. As if the gloom wasn't enough, in addition, my long hair was plastered all around my face and I could hardly see what I was doing.
  I positioned the jack and began to pump the lever up and down when suddenly there was a crack. I felt like diving into the drain and drowning myself when I discovered that the jack was now in two bits and completely useless. Well that was that, now we were completely banjaxed. The only thing to do now was to find a phone somewhere, contact the Foyle Hotel and inform them of our sorry plight.
  Then Jackie and Danny noticed a house not too far from where we were. I walked up the lane, knocked on the door and after explaining our predicament, asked could I use the phone. The person who answered the door asked me to hold on for a moment. A couple of minutes later half a dozen burly men appeared round the side of the house and requested to be taken to the van.
  They had a torch with them and to cut a long story short, with the help of Danny and Jackie they physically lifted the van off the road while I changed the wheel. It was one helluva job but whenever it was done we thanked them profusely and continued on our way. It was now almost eleven and we should have been on the stage. We would just have to go on as we were, like drowned rats,  but by this stage we were past caring.
  After a miserable hurried half hour we finally managed to get the gear set up. The first thing I did was to explain and apologise to the crowd who were all milling about at the front of the stage. They gave us some good humoured ribbing, which, in spite of ourselves, helped us  manage a few smiles. 
  Around quarter to twelve, still soaking wet and under the steely glare of the promoter, we finally started playing and it was the most uncomfortable night's playing we'd ever done. In spite of everything, we did well with the audience and in days to come we had a good laugh about it. We agreed that our diluvian adventures were something to tell our grandchildren about.
  On the night 14th July we had a meeting in my flat to discuss the overall situation. I remember the date well, for that same day there was the sighting of a U.F.O. over Derry. This apparently, turned out to be a Sonde weather balloon and not the prelude to an alien invasion as some folks had feared.   
  We were one in our agreement that the blues boom in Ireland now seemed to be all over bar the shouting, and discussed where to go from here. We also agreed that we would not go commercial but would prefer the group to break up rather than play pop music. We concluded by deciding that we would try and contact some people who might consider managing us, a task which I did over the next week or so. But the answers were negative. We did find one or two showband managers willing to take us on but on the condition that we augment the band and go commercial.
  On our next meeting there was a general air of depression but the three of us were unaminous in our opposition to going pop. Danny and Jackie, who had obviously been discussing it, came up with the idea of going to England to seek our fortune. I pointed out to them that the blues boom in England also appeared to be coming to a close, and they suggested we get daytime jobs and play the odd gig at night. I said that if I had've been single like themselves with no wife or family depending on me, I probably would have jumped at the idea, but given my circumstances, that was something I'd have to think about. What I didn't say was that working during the day (other than in the music business) was total anathema to me. We concluded the meeting agreeing to continue playing at the club until I made up my mind. 
  In the latter part of July while I was still mulling over Danny and Jackie's proposal, Tommy Mc Menamin approached me to join the Green Angels, whose guitarist had just quit. This put me in a bit of a quandary. Besides work for Blues Etcetera outside the club being virtually non existent, there was also talk that the club itself could be coming under the hammer in the not too distant future. This would mean that both my wife and myself would be out of a job which wouldn't help our already strained relationship.
  I explained the situation to Danny and Jackie and they more or less said that they would respect my decision. I talked again to Tommy and told him that I was uncertain as to what I wanted to do, and I would need to think it over for a couple of days. Then he informed me that they were going on a ten day trip to Scotland the following week and suggested that I come along and decide when we returned. 
  I knew I couldn't vacillate forever, so on the spur of the moment I agreed and informed Danny and Jackie of my plans. As we were only playing a couple of nights a week at the club by this stage, and to be honest I got the feeling that they were both glad of the excuse not to play, they weren't too bothered. I think at that point we all suspected that that was more or less the end of Blues Etcetera.
  When I eventually met the Green Angels at a rehearsal in the bandleader's garage, Tommy introduced me to everybody. The man who ran the band and did most of the singing was Gerry Mc Clean (now deceased) from Ballymena in County Antrim. Sharing the vocals with him was John Mc Gonigle, brother of the famous 'Gackims.' The rest of the band consisted of Roy Addinell on trumpet (another ex-Johnny Quigley member), Mickey Conway from Magherfelt on tenor sax and Colm Connolly (an ex-member of the well known group, 'Sk'boo' from Belfast) on bass.

  My first few nights playing with the Green Angels felt odd. It was quite a shock going from playing the blues to songs like 'Simple Simon Says' and 'Little Green Apples.' I was like a fish out of water, for I didn't have much time to learn the current pops. On a more personal level, it was so different from playing with Blues Etcetera and I felt strangely down in the dumps. I reckoned it was a feeling akin to the one you get when you go out with a new girlfriend while still in love with the girl you've just broken up with. I'd never had that experience when I joined a new band before. But, I'd made my bed so I would just have to lie in it.
  On the twelfth August everybody's worst fears were realised, for all hell had broken loose back home. I remember sitting on a little hillock behind our hotel in the north of Scotland somewhere, listening to the wee 'trannie' and the newscaster describing how serious rioting and shooting had broken out in the Bogside area of Derry and then spread to other parts of Northern Ireland. Later that day we watched the unbelievable images on T.V.
  At one stage it was so serious that John, Tommy and myself were seriously concerned for the safety of our families and even considered abandoning the tour and catching an early boat home. Anyway we were going home a couple of days later, so we just stuck it out.
  The Derry we arrived back in was slightly different from the one we left ten days previous. It was complete chaos with burning buildings, barricades and soldiers and police everywhere. Well I thought the rioting from October '68 had been serious at times, but it was a picnic compared to what was happening now.
  As well as smoke and gas, a thick blanket of fear and apprehension hung over the whole town. What had just taken place was what in later years would become known to the whole world as 'The Battle of the Bogside.' With more than a little regret I thought to myself that although I lived smack dab in the middle of it, I had missed it. 
  For the next couple of nights along with everybody else, I was out on the barricades with our little piles of stones and bottles at the ready. It was a strange feeling, a mixture of fear and excitement as we waited for the impending invasion.
  Although it was impossible not to be pre-occupied now with the political situation and the fighting on the streets, I had to come to a decision whether to join Gerry Mc Clean's band or not. I knew by this stage that I had no intention of going to England so the decision wasn't too difficult. I didn't relish the idea of playing commercial music again, but after taking stock of my financial position, I felt I'd no choice. After giving it some more consideration I decided to throw in my lot with the Green Angels.
  I let Danny and Jackie know of my decision and they wished me the best of luck. I suggested that maybe they also could get jobs in other bands, or even a daytime job so that we could still stay together to do the odd gig. They thought the chances of that were slim and their best bet was to go to England. I suspected that Danny was beginning to feel the first twinges of youthful wanderlust (Jackie had already been to England for a short time in the early sixties) and wanted to check out the faraway fields.
  So it looked now, despite all my vows to the contrary, that I was back on the showband trail once again. Maybe, for a moment I thought guiltily, I should reconsider the idea of moving to England and to hell with the consequences. But I knew in my heart that I couldn't make a living playing blues music in either Ireland or England and I preferred to work in a showband rather than on a building site. Perhaps after all, I wasn't the dedicated blues musician I considered myself to be.
  Later that month another great sixties musical extravaganza called the Bogside Fleadh Cheol took place. This helped to temporarily alleviate the mood of foreboding that gripped the whole area. I distinctly remember coming back from a gig about two in the morning and joining the huge crowd that thronged the streets. On another occasion I recall standing listening to The Dubliners. The masses roared their approval as Ronnie Drew with a voice like a hoarse bullfrog, growled his way in guttural tones through that masterpiece of double entendre and sexual innuendo, 'Seven Drunken Nights'(a song that Colm Mc Menamin and I often performed in the Casbah).  
  I never in my life saw as many strummers, fiddlers and whistlers gathered in the one place at the same time. If my memory serves me well, officially it was supposed to go on for a couple of days, unofficially, it lasted about a week. There was very little sleep over that period and very few left standing upright at the end of it all. It, and subsequent festivals made such an impression on me that I later wrote a song about it.
  Even for a short while after Blues Etcetera split, providing it didn't clash with a Green Angels date, we still did the odd gig together trying to prolong the moment. But sadly we soon realised that we were flogging a dead horse. As far as I can recall, the last gig we actually played was the Jet Club in Strabane in late September. On this occasion the van once more let us down and Johnny Mc Collum, guitarist with local band, The Marksmen, transported us to the gig.  
  Not long after this gig, I suppose you could call it our Swansong, it suddenly hit me that Blues Etcetera were now history and it left me feeling really down. I suppose you could say that I was suffering from a dose of the blues. In the back of my mind I had the uncomfortable suspicion that I'd given up too easily and painfully aware that there wasn't much I could do about it now.
  In due course I relucantly sold our old P.A. system.  The last vestige of Blues Etcetera disappeared when shortly after that, the old wagon, which by now was looking rather tired and worn, finally gave up the ghost and I sold it for scrap. The next time I saw it, it was a burned out shell adorning a barricade in Westland Street.

<<Back ---- Next>>