There were times, not often, that I awoke in the middle of the night on a tour bus or in a hotel room and wondered what the hell I was doing. Why on earth was I spending my time with these random dudes in bands when people my age were normally having house parties and drinking cheap vodka? Then I'd realise that was exactly why I was doing it. There was no part of me that craved average teen years. I wanted excitement, adventure and the idea that I had somewhere to run away to whenever life became insane. Of course, I ended up doing it too long, to the point where it was no longer my escape, it was my life.
After a few brief explorations into into various aspects of the music industry, I ran far away from the idea of working within it, mostly because I liked the idea of keeping my soul, but also because that wasn't how I wanted my life to be. I didn't want my love of music to become a paycheck, I heard more than enough disheartening stories about artists, managers and record companies without ever officially working in the industry, I didn't want to hear more, didn't want the grimy, sallow part to overtake the simplicity of hearing a song for the first time that you know will have kids singing along with it. I wanted to still hear that without working out a marketing plan in my head.
So I slipped into an anonymous role, involved enough to help out baby bands, hands off enough to never risk losing my love of music. It got to the point where all my male friends were in the industry and, by default, so were all my (ex) boyfriends. I've unwittingly become immortalised in songs, but never spoken about by those who wrote them, which is how I wanted it and proved to me that I'd chosen wisely. Despite my dalliances, fame was never my objective. I could think of nothing more depressing than people believing you're worth attention based on who you've had relationships with.
It's been a very long time since I've taken part in a tour for any reason. It's not what I need in my life any more, there are times when I get the urge to run across the country and see bands and I usually go with the urge, but a few shows are usually enough to remind me why I stopped touring in the first place. My wanderlust these days has less to do with seeing bands and more to do with discovering new places and seeing old friends.
After the 10 plus years I spent running away and running around, I'm left with a handful of fellow retired road warriors as great friends, a whole bunch of musicians, some of whom are still close friends, and a life time of stories that I'm currently trying to mould into at least one novel. So what was I doing with myself all those years ago? Starting to build a life for myself in the most interesting way I knew how.
xo
Thursday, 30 June 2011
Monday, 6 June 2011
007.
When you're a teenager all you're really searching for is somewhere that allows you to grow, to explore who you are and who you'll become. As a teenager, I found that place at a club called Stay Beautiful.
When I was 11, I found this band called Manic Street Preachers. I was sort of a brat. They introduced me to various aspects of popular culture that I doubt I would've found at such an early age by myself. As I turned into a teenager, I found other bands who were similar to them, either had emerged around the same time or were influenced by their music in later years. If I hadn't been a King Adora fan, I'm unsure if I would've ever gone to Stay Beautiful, but after one of their shows when I was about 15 years old, I was handed a flyer. I still have that flyer, actually, stuck to my school diary at the time.
My best friend, Fabian, and I decided that, yeah, we could talk our way past any doormen and get in. And we did. Being underage, we were happy to be in a decent club anywhere that would let us in so we could drink, but this place was different. People were friendly, and not in a creepy way, we were just made to feel welcome. We went back, and after Fabian died, I kept going, bringing other people, making new friends along the way. It moved venues a few times and I was never legally old enough to attend until it moved to Wicked in London Bridge, which is also when I first started working for them. Flyering at first and then when it moved to it's final home at The Purple Turtle, I was asked to do the door.
For me, Stay Beautiful was a place that allowed me to grow in the best way. I made mistakes, drank far too much, danced until my feet ached, woke up with bruises I couldn't explain and explored different sides of myself while figuring out who I was going to become. In many ways, I still am figuring it out, but the years I spent attending Stay Beautiful helped that process beyond measure.
No matter what was happening in my life, I knew that once a month I could go to a place where I could dress however I wanted, in as little as I wanted, a place that played music I literally lived for at the time, a place full of people just like me. The importance of that to a teenager cannot be overestimated. The club didn't save my life, but it gave me somewhere to go that became an extremely important part of my life. Working there, I learnt a lot and I had a hell of a lot of fun while doing it, with some quite wonderful people. Now that it's all come to an end in London, officially, after 10 years, I'm not sure what words can adequately sum up what it meant to me. The last 10 years of my life would've been radically different without it. I would be radically different without it.
It gave a lot of us a place to go where we could feel at home. We could be as outlandish, weird and strange as we wanted to be and it was all accepted. It created a scene within itself that brought so many people together. It might've started life as a club night, but it became more than that to almost everyone that attended. It was part of our lives and, as we carry on through life now that it's ended, I'm sure that when we hear certain songs, they'll spark a memory that makes us smile, or cringe, and we'll remember what that club gave us.
For now...
"Don't wanna see your face, don't wanna hear your words, why don't you just..."
xo
When I was 11, I found this band called Manic Street Preachers. I was sort of a brat. They introduced me to various aspects of popular culture that I doubt I would've found at such an early age by myself. As I turned into a teenager, I found other bands who were similar to them, either had emerged around the same time or were influenced by their music in later years. If I hadn't been a King Adora fan, I'm unsure if I would've ever gone to Stay Beautiful, but after one of their shows when I was about 15 years old, I was handed a flyer. I still have that flyer, actually, stuck to my school diary at the time.
My best friend, Fabian, and I decided that, yeah, we could talk our way past any doormen and get in. And we did. Being underage, we were happy to be in a decent club anywhere that would let us in so we could drink, but this place was different. People were friendly, and not in a creepy way, we were just made to feel welcome. We went back, and after Fabian died, I kept going, bringing other people, making new friends along the way. It moved venues a few times and I was never legally old enough to attend until it moved to Wicked in London Bridge, which is also when I first started working for them. Flyering at first and then when it moved to it's final home at The Purple Turtle, I was asked to do the door.
For me, Stay Beautiful was a place that allowed me to grow in the best way. I made mistakes, drank far too much, danced until my feet ached, woke up with bruises I couldn't explain and explored different sides of myself while figuring out who I was going to become. In many ways, I still am figuring it out, but the years I spent attending Stay Beautiful helped that process beyond measure.
No matter what was happening in my life, I knew that once a month I could go to a place where I could dress however I wanted, in as little as I wanted, a place that played music I literally lived for at the time, a place full of people just like me. The importance of that to a teenager cannot be overestimated. The club didn't save my life, but it gave me somewhere to go that became an extremely important part of my life. Working there, I learnt a lot and I had a hell of a lot of fun while doing it, with some quite wonderful people. Now that it's all come to an end in London, officially, after 10 years, I'm not sure what words can adequately sum up what it meant to me. The last 10 years of my life would've been radically different without it. I would be radically different without it.
It gave a lot of us a place to go where we could feel at home. We could be as outlandish, weird and strange as we wanted to be and it was all accepted. It created a scene within itself that brought so many people together. It might've started life as a club night, but it became more than that to almost everyone that attended. It was part of our lives and, as we carry on through life now that it's ended, I'm sure that when we hear certain songs, they'll spark a memory that makes us smile, or cringe, and we'll remember what that club gave us.
For now...
"Don't wanna see your face, don't wanna hear your words, why don't you just..."
xo
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