Opium Smoker Dutch East Indies

Opium Smoker Dutch East Indies

Scottish Stepwork Tapes: Nellcôte

#1: Nellcôte 

 

Motherfuckers who live like junkies can never put their proper, fucking whole all into making music, know what I mean?  

 

We discussed that about Keith. He went to shit after he really got into the drugs. Did we not agree? After Exile I'm like: naah. 

 

That's it aye: what did they do after Exile? 'Cause they done Sticky Fingers before Exile but it came out after it. Let It Bleed he's just doing a wee bit, they ham it up, he's fucking weekend shit, he's working. They're constantly doing shit at that time. No time to be a fucking hardcore junkie, do you know what I mean? 

 

When Ian Stewart dies I think that's when he goes right off the fucking radar, which would have been '71 or '72. I think Ian Stewart was a big father figure for Keith, and once he goes, that's it: there's no...discipline. 

 

Plus people were driving to Nellcôte deliberately to give Keith drugs like, I'll hang out with them and bring Keith smack. These mad characters on the hippie trail - 

 

Aye aye; seen the film? There's a film about Exile; it's good man, 'cause you get Gram Parsons turning up, know what I mean? 

 

Awesome! Well, I hear he was there but I only seen the photos; there's some really nice pictures. 

 

Brilliant photos. That's that French guy, he's in the documentary. Talking a lot of shite – a lot of them talk a lot of shite – but it's just great seeing the beautiful photos of fucking thingy. It's like...I went there, did I tell you that? 

 

Naw!? 

 

Fucking Hell, man. So we were in France, the whole record deal shit was happening, right? I pull a knife on the fucking label guy -  

 

Wait, where was this? 

 

At the train station in Nîmes. 

 

No but where was this record deal shit...? You were offered a deal in France? 

 

South of France. We were there for three months, aye. 

 

Yeah? 

 

Yeah. And it's a guy who almost signed John Cale. He'd put out the first Kid Creole and the Coconuts album. All this Lizzy Mercier and all, you heard of them? That fucking kind of No Wave shit. But the people he had almost signed were like greater than the ones he had signed and I'm like that: right hmm... 

 

I had like fucking hundreds of fines and he heard a demo, my bird was fucking on his label – she's American, right? She was sitting in her room listening to this demo tape that I'd sent her, just the stuff I was doing in Parkhead. I'm on 90 mil of meth, about an ounce of skunk a week and about fucking 400 blues a week. 

 

In Parkhead? 

 

Mh-hmm. Clean! Know what I mean? They're propping me up as some kinda example of recovery in this Phoenix place 'cause I'm not taking smack. It's like...what? 

 

Anyway, that's another story. So I'm back doing music, I'm not shoplifting, I'd stayed outta the jail for a year, they gave me all this money and I bought equipment so - 

 

This is residential rehab? 

 

Naw naw naw, day program. So this is about the time that fucking Fast Frederico* write a song about us, right, and there's a whole email exchange - I don't have email and they're fucking somehow - I'm on the front page of the Sunday Mail, called “Friends Frederico,” know what I mean? 

 

So I'm in Parkhead, right, fucking off my head man, in a Simon Community place, it's like a homeless charity. So I got a self-contained flat above the office; there's three flats up – six flats in the fucking whole thing, right, so it's supported living, like a half-way house, innit? But I've got a drum-kit, a fucking guitar-amp, a fucking organ, a fucking couple of guitars and some pedals and a fucking big reel-to-reel 8-track...it's the Tascam 388 which is like eight tracks and the cassette sits in it. 

 

So I'm just fucking recording all the time and made all these mad demos. For the time and where I was at, it's fucking quite a miracle I managed to do anything. I had a broken arm and I'm drumming with a broken arm and I've done the best drumming of my life, with a broken arm. But because I was fucking bang at it I never went to the hospital to get the cast taken off. 

 

So when I eventually went up to the hospital just to see about it – this is about two or three months later, it's meant to be only on for fucking six weeks – and I'm drumming, which you're not meant to drum with a broken arm, right. So I'm on my way to Royston to score, right, so I nick into the Royal on the way and they're like: oh no, you're gonna have to go and fucking have that X-rayed and fucking stay in here. I'm like that: I'm not fucking staying in here, I'm fucking leaving! And then they're like that: well, if you leave your arm might fall off. I'm like that: what? And they've got me: you're not leaving. They get two doctors down and they're trying to not let me leave. I'm wanting to fucking go and score -  

 

Was it painful? 

 

Naw. But see when they took the cast off? It didn't go straight; the arm just bent down like this -  

 

I can see a big mad scar down there. Is that what that was? 

 

Aye, so they had to fucking re-break the arm and put a plate in it and bend the fucking bone – the bone had bent because I was drumming. Know what I mean? So, it's still a bit fucking funny; I mean, they did a good job for the NHS. It's like, it works. I mean this one...that was broke when I was clean. There's a big plate in there and all. 

 

So what was the point again? 

 

 Pulling your knife on the guy in southern France... 

 

There's a long way before we even get to there. You know Robert Crumb and all that? Robert Crumb wanted to draw a caricature of me. We end up in this village – this is later, I'll go chronologically. So I'm in this thing, right. Frederico are trying to fly me to New York; I think I've told you the story where I can't get in because of the fraud and all that, right? America won't let me in! All that shit. So this guy's wanting to meet me to talk about doing an album. But he's emailing and I won't talk through email, 'cause I'm like this: it could be anybody, know what I mean? This is like 2005. 

 

Big XXXX XXXX who's now like 35 years clean or something – he's in NA, right? Fucking mental, he can't work it either but we're emailing back and forth to this guy and he's wanting to sort out us going over and fucking basically fixing her album – all her band's left her because she's a nutter - my bird. So she's three-quarters done an album in this villa in fucking the south of France in Sauve, which is near Nîmes. 

 

Did you meet her there? 

 

No no, I met her at a Fast Frederico fucking gig, where I swapped trousers with her, know what I mean? She's wearing these kind of white fucking denims, like Brian Jones kind of fucking thing. I'm like, want to give us them? Right? So she did. So I gave her my trousers. So I'm like: ok right, cheers. 

 

She started going out with me when I was in a half-way house, fucked, right, so you know how that's gonna end. But I mean fair play; if it wasn't for her I probably wouldn't have got back into music at that time. So a lot of flaws, she's a bit fucked up but she had that fucking Brown University - she went to like Ivy League - with the drive, that kinda American drive – let's do things man, let's do things! And I'm a junkie, I don't wanna fucking do anything, you know what I mean? Other than get out my box. So I've kinda gone along in her fucking wake of doing things, right, and she's trying to...so she's in France at this time. 

 

I'd been staying in Castlemilk in a half-way house which was before that when I met her, and we were on the phone for like three hours at a time, just sitting talking on the phone. I never do that shit but it was alright; she was right into music. Like fucking Cramps and all this crap. So this guy's wanting to fucking like talk to me about fucking doing an album and help in getting my band - 

 

How did he hear your shit? 

 

She was over there finishing her album and she was sitting in the studio listening to a tape that I'd sent her, which is about 10, 11 songs. Which have got in them that thing I've got, that fucking mad weirdo Barrett fucking fucked-up fucking shit, right? Despite all what I was on, there was still shit shining through, good songs and fucking a bit fucking off the wall. 

 

So he's like fucking this, that and the next thing and I'm like that: I've got about 500 quid's worth of fines that I've gotta pay at district court and I can't leave the country until I pay my fines. I didn't even want to go anywhere; I'm saying that as if we can delay this shit. And he's like that: I'll pay your fines.


Alright then; so he pays the fines and Big Jake's* about at this time – Big Jake's the guy that's now living in Brazil, played the guitar with us. Cracking guitarist nut-ball alchy, big kinda Mick Ronson-as-a-rhino...he's now a rhino because he lives in Brazil and doesn't walk anywhere. Big mad cunt, right? He's the cunt I knocked out in here. When clean, hahaha! 'Cause he was living here drunk and he came in with a kebab and he was eating -


Oh yeah...with a hammer, no?


Naw, I just hit him and his head bounced off the wall, then off the piano, then lying down fucking like that: out for the count, one punch. My pal Stevie was here; he's went through, looked round the door and went: mh-hmm and came back through and he's kept playing - hahaha! I felt bad 'cause I'm clean and just knocked somebody out in my house -


He was asking for it; disrespected your house...


Aye, but it feels bad when you knock people out. Then they get all the moral high ground as well, do you know what I mean? Because you've knocked them out...


Did he even remember it though? Anyway, let's at least stay vaguely on track...


So he flies me and Jake to Paris to talk to him, right? This is like June...late May, early June? So I've got a three-piece suit on, a fucking white shirt man and a fucking massive fedora; a big fuck-off thing man, big shades, know what I mean? Bowied out my chump, know what I mean?


Haha...HAHAHAHA!


Me and this big giant guy Jake, he's got the white shirt with the fucking chain and all Serge Gainsebourged-up, man. It's fucking roasting, I'm fucking melting and I've got a fucking tub of Valium secreted round various fucking things, know what I mean?


We go out and he's got this label with all these young cunts and they're probably all doing it for nothing 'cause he's a bam, right? We go to this townhouse in the middle of Paris and they're all kinda falling over us... I don't understand what any of them are saying. We're out our scones and we're just like that: we're fucking starving man.


So we go to this fucking dinner at this fucking Italian restaurant, right? So there's a big table and I'm sitting across from the fucking label guy that speaks English a wee bit, right? So I get spaghetti bolognese, right? Bear in mind I'm full of Valium. So you can imagine. My voice, all the words grind up at the best of times; imagine on Valium it goes: auwwaeeagh like Boomhauer man, off of fucking King Of The Hill.


So I'm eating the spaghetti man, it's going all down like oh fuck. And I'm like that to the guy, leaning over the table: my maw says if you cannae put it in a piece don't eat it. He's like that: what? So I don't slow down or anything like that; I just say it again louder at the same speed: MY MAW SAYS IF YOU CANNAE PUT IT IN A PIECE DON'T EAT IT! He's not getting it and I'm getting pissed off; is this cunt bamming me up? If-you-cannae-put-it-in-a-piece-don't-fucking-eat-it. And meantime Big Jake's fucking on the deck like: haha fuck man, you know what I mean? Spaghetti flying about oh shit like – and all the cool fucking cunts are like: what the fuck...?


That's rock-and-roll man!


'Cause they've all heard the tapes and they're all right into it. They see us two bowl in like... Which, we were pretty well behaved considering what we could've been up to, do you know what I mean? Didn't try to pump any of them, didn't rob any of them. So you're like that: this is good behaviour.


So we go back and he's like that: get another couple of bodies, right? So I've got other cunts that were playing with us around about before that. Bill* who played with us last night, he lives in Amsterdam now. He played the keyboards last night but he was our drummer. The third drummer or something. He's a fucking nut-ball; he's hiding from people for like five grand's coke debt, right? Me and Markie are punting him this pink coke and running up more debt, but he's giving us the money and hiding from the other guy, haha! You're just like that: fucking hell man.


We end up in Belle and Sebastien's studio rehearsing, 'cause they're away on tour they give us it. So they all think that we're like fucking thieving bastards, right? Which we were! Big Jake had like a rep for stealing guitars and all that. He stole XXXX XXXX outta Orange Juice's guitar years ago and hid it under a motor and all that. A Gretch, know what I mean?


So we had this bad rep everywhere we go - for good reason, 'cause we were bams, know what I mean? Most cunts know that a year or two before that when I was with Frederico, I stole a big artic lorry full of lights and fucking guitars and -


You stole the whole lorry?


I stole the lorry, aye. Me and this wee Richie* guy. Well, I bullied him into stealing it. He owed me money for rock and I was like: here's what we're doing, that's how you can square us up. Drive this van, c'mon. Jumped in it man, fucking drove out the SECC and drove to Newcastle and punted it to gypsies.


No way.


Mhm, sat for like five days in Newcastle spending about nine grand on rock, know what I mean? Came back up the road on the train.


What happened? Any come back on that?


Naw.


You stole an artic lorry full of equipment -


Yeah. And they knew it was me, know what I mean? Well, they couldn't prove it, but...I don't know what happened. It was 'cause the lighting rig and the P.A. had been hired from that eh...Glasgow Sound & Vision*, or something like that. You'd think that they'd get the police and be on that. I thought I'd be done, do you know what I mean? Some cunt that liked us has probably pulled a stroke and got rid of shit...I don't know. Frederico was always alright to us, they knew I was fucked up.


But I don't know how nothing ever came of that. Everybody fucking knew what'd happened, know what I mean?


Yeah... Maybe they just claimed insurance, said they don't know who took it and they got their money so...


Aye aye...but it's peoples' guitars, know what I mean? I don't know whose guitars it was...


How many roughly, like?


About six guitars? Fenders, know what I mean? Teles, fucking Jaguars, fucking thingy...


And uh, equipment...electrics?


Oh aye aye, the P.A. aye...and the lorry; we fucking punted the lorry to them! They'd strip the lorry down, wouldn't they?


They gave you nine grand wedge and you blew it on rock?


They gave us nine grand wedge and a big lump of fucking grass. So I just put that in my tail 'cause I'm not fucking combining that with the rock. Fuck that shit, I brought it back up the road and punted a bit of it, fucking swapped it for gear. We were still bumped because imagine the amount of what that's worth, know what I mean? I'm just taking what I can get 'cause this is too hot man. Like get rid of this now, know what I mean?


Alright, so back to France: the spaghetti incident, you got pissed off with him...


Where am I?


After the spaghetti incident.


Right aye...so we're in Belle and Sebastien's studio rehearsing. So I've got that rep following me, Jake's got the guitar thing and they don't really know Bill... So these are like Christians, fucking Belle and Sebastien, you know what I mean? So ends up we rehearse in there for a bit and I teached them the songs that I've got on the demo. We've got a pretty good live set, play a gig in that 78. Which I got thrown out of our own gig for fighting in the toilet. Attacked one of the waiters or barmen guys...burst his face open outside 'cause he wouldn't let me go back in to get my guitar and that. So this is how we were rolling...

 

So I try to negotiate with this guy about how we were gonna get there 'cause the bassist guy I've got lives in Gallashiels; he's got a mortgage and that so he needs his mortgage covered, right? There's a big guy Shakey* who's fucking in Elena - the only one left in Elena's band. He came with us as well.

 

Who's Elena? Your girlfriend...?

 

The American bird, yeah. At the same time I've got this business plan fucking thing going with her for a fucking studio, to do fucking thingy...it all started with this year of being off smack that I had...


Mh-hmm. Did you bring methadone with you to France and shit?


Four litre. So The Phoenix day program helped me with all that. So I got a towel, right? 'Cause I'd heard the fucking Shaun Ryder story, right? I'm like that: no fucking danger is that happening to me. I'm like: can I get it in plastic bottles? And they're like that: no, it needs to be glass. I'm like that: right, fuck you man. So I got all sorts of face towels with face cloths. Packed them in face cloths, bubble wrap then a beach towel and gaffer tape right round the beach towel. So I've got this thing like this, with a letter from the Home Office Sellotaped to the top of it!


It's gotta be in the original bottles because the labels...


Yeah yeah. So will I fuck fucking let go of this thing, right? So this is me dressed to the nines, still with the Bowie fucking thing haha, know what I mean? So I've got fucking lock-backs, all sorts of shit I've tried to take with me through customs. I'm just crazy. So they take all that off us -


What were you gonna do with a lock-back in France?


I got more when I got there. At this time - listen, the first four months in meetings I fucking had a lock-back, know what I mean? That's just how I'm rolling -


I know, I know; that's Glasgow but this is bloody Paris, man!


Wherever I go I'm having to – I mean, I lived in Paris before and cut about with the cunts on the Underground. Gypsy fucking pickpocket gang, know what I mean? I know I need a blade, wherever I go...I mean, I didn't but I did. That was my first time I lived in Paris.


I was in a squat in London with fucking the guy who ended up in Babyshambles, that Pat guy. So I stay in a squat with them for about eight months...they were hopeless, useless non-tryers man.


That's where I seen eh...watched 9/11. Anyway, that's another story.


I was in Dumbarton scoring.


Mhm. I'd scored, had a big lump of rock and I'd sneaked into my wee office. I'd taken over this Water Board building 'cause they'd got kicked out their squat. I got out the jail and had nowhere to go so I phoned a cunt up here who phoned a cunt down there and told me to go to their squat which they let me in. And they were alright but they got kicked out 'cause one of the idiots left the fridge away from the door and fucking cunts got in – halfwits.


So we've got no-where to go; I break into a Water Board building on the canal at London Fields, right? Wire up the 'lecky, all that shit man. Got in the office there in the big hall...so I've got to sneak past them in the big hall to get to my office and I've been out that morning at nine, know what I mean? So I've got about an eighth of kit and a quarter of rock and I'm like that: no way am I waking these cunts up; I'm going in there to get a fucking charge, right?


Dog comes in with us man, he's like this big Husky. Sit down and get the telly on. Sitting back got a hit made up, getting my first pipe and weeeoowOOSH – haw wow look at this shit man, this is fucking brilliant man! I was just piping away man, all morning man, watching planes fly into – fucking yes, get into them!


Then this Asian guy come up. He was like a pal of one of the dealers, had some kind of job and he would come up with like 500 quid. 'Cause the Asians wouldn't sell to him, know what I mean? So I've got to get the gear for him but he's giving me like a third of every bit he gets. So I'm like: this is a fucking great day! Haha.


And by then he's fucking defending America man – are you for real, mate? Know what I mean? I start arguing, going on about fucking imperialism and all this crap, piping away.


So anyway, I digress again. See, I told you not to fucking get me started on these stories!


Nah I love these stories.


So me and Jake go back to Paris, right, and we're staying overnight in Paris and then getting the TGV. Hah, holy fuck man. So we go again, stay in this fucking mad cow and...fucking hipster cunts, right? So the hipster bird's trying to fire into me man. I'm just not into it. I'm like fucking...anyway. As you say, woman scorned and all that. I was just like that: get away from me, do you know what I mean? Paris man; I'm going for a walk. So I'm out and about walking all night and this mad bird's phoning up all sorts of fucking cunts saying like I'm fucking like being let loose. Just walking down the Seine, know what I mean? Out my fucking scone. As you do.


We got on the TGV next day. This time I've taken like 800 blues or something like that with us. Got a tub of a thousand and we'd gubbed a couple hundred before we left. So I've got them secreted in the lining of all fucking sorts of clothes. Got the meth and all that. So we go on this train. Big Jake disappears, I'm out my scone, I keep drifting in and out of consciousness. I wake up and Jake's not there. Jake was good for fucking going to the bar, having hundreds of fucking whisky and fighting with a cunt and getting chucked off the train, do you know what I mean? So I'm like that: aw naw man, where is he? It was alright, he was just talking shite to some old guy in the fucking buffet fucking car.


So we get there and we end up in this guy's villa and fucking...


Where? Nellcôte?


Naw, near Nîmes. It's like norther than that but it's not on the coast. But we end up there later. So we're along in this village, stoating about in suits and all the local birds and all that and the fucking kind of gypsies are like: ooh it's like The Beatles and this shit. Just going to the bar and fucking playing pool and all this shit...not really doing any music. Waiting on some tape machine to be delivered, do you know what I mean?


I fall out with Elena and start shagging a woman across the fucking street, know what I mean? Like a 40 year-old French woman who can get me hash and smack. So I'm not giving a fuck, right? I could probably have sorted out the argument quite easily with her but I'm like: fuck that man. I'm an addict, this is where I'm are. Some mad fucking old – she was beautiful, do you know what I mean? She was making me all my food, she was cutting about naked and she's getting me drugs. And she's trying to ride us all the time – too much for me to be bothered with. I'm like that: fucking give us peace man. Away and fucking hold yourself down.


So we end up at this campsite fucking thing with these gypsies playing fucking music and they're trying to get us to fucking play. So I'm like that to Jake: right, we'll play a couple of tunes. But he's drunk, he can't play, he's refusing to play. So I pull a fucking burning log out the fire and fucking just crack him over the head with this burning fucking log. He's out, know what I mean? And he gets up, and they're all putting bets on Big Jake battering me. And Big Jake's like that: just give him the money! There's no way I'm fighting that cunt, he's fucking mental and all that. I'm like that: I'll fight all of you! Haha, shit like that.


So a tambourine went missing at this fucking campsite, right? So I get the wee French bird to get this mad motor. So I go round all the gyppo fucking camps, looking for this tambourine and I'm driving full speed into the middle of their camps with a fucking blade saying: come out! Bring me my fucking tambourine you fucking cunts! Know what I mean?


These cunts could just have shot us; I don't know what – I was crazy, know what I mean? I mean like right, fuck it...


Did you get it?


Aye aye; it got sat outside the studio door one morning. After we'd done all this thing none of them were wanting to pull it out, wherever it was. They'd been in one of these places. Somebody came and just sat it outside the door of the studio. A shitty tamb – I hate tambourines, know what I mean? Fucking horrible fucking things. Anyway. But like fucking...


Principle.


So Robert Crumb's wife apparently had seen fucking...don't know what she seen 'cause like we're just carting about man; there's carnage following everywhere we go. Bill's pumping birds, fucking Big Jake's trying to pump fucking birds but I'm hitting him with all these fucking clangers of French. Eh...tu es bonne? Which is thingy: are you a good fuck? Haha...it's like slang, it means: are you good? Are you good to fuck?


So he gets a rep for like cutting about saying that to every bird...


Oh dear, oh dear.


'Cause he thinks it's: are you alright? Hahaha. I've got all sorts of bangers in French I'm hitting him with man, and he's just got this rep for being fucking...haha.


So fucking thingy. We did a bit of music, finished her album and this guy's sitting and he wants to sign me, Jake and Elena...


As a band?


Aye – well, as two bands and employ the rest of them as session musicians. I'm point blank refusing. I'm like: it's the whole band or nothing. It's like the Velvets; it's everybody together or we don't do anything.


Guy's like that: nnnaw and I'm like that: well fuck you then, it's stalemate. We're in this guy's house and and fucking...he's sent Bill and fucking Shakey away. There was a World Cup on, do you know what I mean? Just starting. What World Cup was that...2006? Must've been.


I'm not budging, I'm not playing a note of music unless he's signing the whole band, know what I mean? So there was this kind of fucking stand-off for a while and my pal Dale – I don't know if you've met Dale. He comes about here, wee guy, looks like Woody Allen crossed with David Lynch.


He'd cycled across France, he'd come up and just turned up. And the guy wouldn't let him stay at the house, Dale had to camp...I went fucking crazy. Guy had just cycled across France, there's spare rooms everywhere. I'm like: ah ya fuck man, I'm going to actually kill you and this is what's going to happen.


So we end up on the way, we're leaving -


Was Dale a musician?


Naw naw it's just Dale, he's an entity to himself...


So you thought he should've put Dale up because he's your mate?


Aye...if there's room and he's a nice wee guy. By this point the relationship's fucked. Bill had asked for an up-and-downy of my meth, right? So I'm scoring right, so I'm not taking all the meth. There's still fucking a couple litre of meth in the fridge, right. This is like after a couple of months we've been there. My maw's sending me my Giro into my bank which the bank's taking like a third of my Giro off thingy. The tobacco shop's never open, know what I mean? I'm running out of snout all the time, I'm going and I'm beating on fucking doors, fucking like that: you fucking lazy French fucks, the shops never fucking open! I've nearly attacked the butcher for bumping me 'cause I was thinking I was buying bacon and it was Parma ham, like 30 Euros, know what I mean?


Was this Nîmes?


No, this was in Sauve. A wee tiny village near Nîmes.


Hahaha!


So Robert Crumb's wife had fucking seen all this shit, and -


Did he live there or what?


Aye he lived there; he still lives there, if he's still alive. I don't know if he is. His wife's went to fucking Shakey and says that her husband wants to do a caricature of me. I'd have to sit for him and all that. And he's like sent some note and Shakey's brought it to us and I was like that: give us a pen. And just wrote on it: fuck right off. And gave him it back, hahaha!


So why didn't you want to do that? That would've been awesome.


'Cause I just didn't; I don't want cartoons. I didn't like the whole way as if he was – like who the fuck do you think you are?


Yeah...yeah, I see what you mean. Thinking you were a caricature...I can see where he was coming from, maybe? 'Cause if you've got a really expressive face and shit...


Well, he's hearing all these stories of fucking carnage in this wee quiet village...


He's lucky he never got stabbed!


He is lucky, aye.


You could've been round there like: come out!


Have you got any drugs, mate? There was no offer of any kind of anything other than...it was if it was my honour to be sitting for this guy. Who the fuck are you?


Alright...fair, fair.


Fuck you mate, I'm the man here! Know what I mean? That's where I was at at the time. I was like that: I'm the fucking man out this whole country, know what I mean? I'm fucking taking over, don't fuck me about. I was just raging man, mental. Full of drugs.


So it ends up, we're in the motor driving to Nîmes train station. Elena's album's not finished because I refused to play any more on anything, because of the pish about fucking inequality.


The contract?


Aye. Like fucking Mick and Keith crap, innit? Like: piss off, know what I mean? That's how you create disharmony in a band. Everybody's equal in my bands; they always have been and they always will be. If we get paid twenty quid and there's fucking five of us we get four quid each.


So we're in this motor, this is us leaving – you're almost at Nellcôte at the pinnacle of the story. So I'm like that: I'm gonna get a fucking train from fucking Nîmes to Marseille, right? Spending the day in Marseille, then I'll get a train from Marseille to Nice, right? So I'm going to Nice, then I'm going to Villefranche, I'm going to Nellcôte. This is my thing – and we're gonna watch all the games of football on the way. Because it's the World Cup and England are playing. So every pub me and Big Jake go in, I'm going fucking crazy at the football. The whole pub's buying us drinks because I'm fucking like throwing things at England, know what I mean? And they love us, like: what the fuck's this?


I fall out with Elena in Nice, push her down a hill. Hahaha! Know what I mean? She made a meal of it; it was like fucking Vivien Leigh. So I storm off, I've got a bottle of Johnny Walker Red Label and a big box of cakes. So they're going mental trying to find us 'cause they think I've drank the bottle of whisky and getting into fights with all sorts of cunts. Which is the reality. But the other reality is, I'm stoned out my fucking chomp, I've got all this fucking grass that this French bird's gave us. I walked round the beach, went back to the hotel room, ate all the cakes and crashed out, haha. Didn't even open the whisky, know what I mean? Fucking whisky, that's pish. Cakes and fucking grass: much better.


But just before we get to Nîmes train station, I'm in the motor, I get a text from my maw that some lawyer had just phoned her...ah no, sent a letter. And she phoned because it wasn't meant to go to their address and they're freaked out anything of mine went to that address, 'cause they knew I was up to all sorts of shit, right?


There's a cheque for five grand there. For like Crisis Changing Lives award, who'd gave me 500 quid...and then a thousand quid. I won the big award, know what I mean? Cause I'd told them about the demo and told them I was in France. So they'd gave us five grand to start a studio, do you know what I mean?


Elena's freaking out wanting to tell this French fucker, so as to use some of the money to finish her album. I've got her by the throat, I'm like: you fucking say a word I'll fucking stab you, you cow. She's greeting, know what I mean?


Hahaha!


This guy's still not paying me any money, right? So I've got a fucking lock-back – his lock-back, no less. A big fruit-knife fucking thing down my Chelsea boot, Keithed out my nut, right?


Haha...hahaha!


Nîmes train station looks like a big bull-ring, right? It was beside the bull-ring, a kinda bull-ring backdrop. So we get there, she's greeting and screaming: please, please XXXX. Please, please!


I'm like: FUCKING SHUT UP, YOU FUCKING STINKING WHORE! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!


This fucking label guy standing with the engineer who's a big gay guy, XXXX XXXX – he's actually really nice, but he's standing like...because I've fucking lost it. Big Jake's kind of milling about, not wanting to get involved. XXXX goes over to Big Jake and fucking gave him an envelope, right? Obviously gave him some money. So I go up, the main guy comes and gives me an envelope and I took my fucking blade out of my fucking boot. Opened it and then shut it. I was like that: well, I'll not be fucking needing that then, will I? Looking right in his fucking eye. I just fucking picked up my wee suitcase, turned and walked...


This was him paying you for this music...?


For being there, aye. They're supposed to be paying a session wage the shitey wage that he was supposed to pay the rest of my band. Me and Jake were due that for fucking doing all the work we done on her album, even though I never finished it and I was never gonna, know what I mean? 'Cause I was gonna stab him if he didn't pay us.


Even though you were leaving anyway?


Yeah yeah, I was gonna stab him in the train station.


Oh right. That was the plan? Hahaha!


I was gonna go and get the tickets and stab him in the ticket bit thing -


HAHAHAHA! Haha...OK.


Which...yeah we don't live in an Albert Camus novel! HAHAHA! Oh wait...aye we do.


That's darker than Camus, man.


So I've got this trilby, right? This fedora fucking trilby thing which is Bill's grandpa's, it's a cracker and I left it on the train from Marseilles to Nice, which is the opening line to fucking eh the title song off our second-last album. I left a hat aboard a train from Marseilles to Nice; all I had was the clothes on my back and the shoes on my feet.


So...how was Nellcôte?


So. The day after I pushed her down the hill, right, me and Big Jake go to Nellcôte. Get up in the morning, we get a bit of breakfast, few blues in us, fucking get a smoke. There's no bus or anything like that so you got to walk. Walking along this kind of coast road, right? Sweating man; I was wearing too many clothes 'cause I was refusing to show flesh 'cause I was too cool.


Yeah yeah, totally get that.


Gets to Nellcôte, right? Goes up to the gate...so you've got this fucking wee foreign weirdo and this big giant cunt like Shrek. See like a kind of maid or something came out the front door -


Is it a private residence man? They must be used to this nonsense...



Yeah yeah yeah. So I rattle the gates and I'm just going HOH! HOHH! Haha. And Big Jake starts going hoh! Hoh!


Was Elena with you?


Nawww...naw, I've fucked her off man. She's away greeting into her fucking beard. Know what I mean? Greeting about me pushing her down a hill and all that. Which I've since tried to make amends but it's never fucking happened, because she's now in America with a kid, do you know what I mean? I try to make amends and she's like: I'm eight months pregnant, can we leave it for now? Hahaha!


Aye...aye. All sorts of other shit happened with her as well...


No doubt. So anyway...so this maid comes out...Shrek is at the gate. Is he the security?


No, Shrek's Jake, Big Jake! He's just going: hoh! I'm like the donkey, Shrek and the donkey, the donkey in the fedora. That doesn't have it anymore, he'd lost it. So they just fucking kind of looked...then went away back in. Hoh!


So like, there you go. You've seen the pictures of Nellcôte, of Keith lying on some kind of jetty, lying back kinda just smoking. You can go right round and down onto the coast thing, like down this fucking steps and go up onto this -


I know he had a speedboat, that's what his thing was...


Yeah that's where I went and I recreated the pose of fucking just lying like, smoking a joint. Never got in but did that. So...Nellcôte.


Cool, cool.

 

 

* Name changed

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