The White Page
  A Road Diary


 

Subject: April Fools Everyone.

Date: Sun, 8 April, 2001

From: Alan


A shorter than usual entry for this month, due to an overload of artistic shenanigans here in the AWB camp; between writing, rehearsals, video production, and the vetting of arrangements for the upcoming tour, there isn't a lot of time to sit down and put my thoughts together for your edification.
Needless to say, we are all looking forward to being out on the road again beginning with a double show at BB King's in New York City, on the 18th, and then packing in another sixteen gigs inside twenty days, taking us up to the first week in May. Some new territories, too, with Louisville and Lexington in Kentucky, then Sault Ste Marie way up in the North of Michigan
where Lake Superior tumbles into some other great big puddle (Lake Inferior maybe?).

The last time I was in Louisville was in the seventies, and unfortunately a death occurred at the concert, which seemed to 'unhinge' a certain member of our party to the extent that he threw all, or most, of his hotel room furniture into the swimming pool late that night. What he didn't know was
that in the dining room there were two large windows in the wall which gave an underwater view of the pool. Imagine, if you will, all these people - families with small kids, etc. - wandering in for breakfast, to see lampshades, chairs, cushions and the like bobbing past the windows.
It got worse, too.

Molly, our legendary tenor player came in, sat down and placed his saxophone case beside his chair, and joined the rest of us who by now were weak with laughter at the aforementioned scene. Almost at once, a waitress with a large tray of breakfasts for a family behind us, tripped over his sax case and
launched an array of eggs, bacon, mixed fruits, teas, coffees and sundry toasts into eternity. I'm sure you all know the feeling when you're trying your hardest NOT to laugh, but it's just no good; the fuse is lit, and the powder is ready to go..............
We were escorted out of town by the police, and invited never to return -
well at least not any time soon! I think you could say we've kept our part of the bargain, but it's time to see the old place again, so we're looking forward to that very much. See you at Jim Porter's then.

Sculler's jazz club in Boston should be fun, too, and we plan a little 'looser' kind of gig there, where we can stretch the playing aspect a little more than in the usual concert scene. It'll be more like playing at Ronnie Scott's in England - much more intimate. No, don't worry, we'll all use deodorant.

Hope you've found copies of the new "Goldmine" magazine, featuring your trulys on the cover and a lengthy article within about the band in its various incarnations, and a potted history of our long and chequered career. I've yet to read it myself - it looks pretty daunting, I must say - but if nothing
else it'll probably assure you of a good night's sleep after a few hundred paragraphs. Basically, all you really need to know is that we all got together once upon a Saturday in July 1972, wrote some stuff, liked it a lot, decided this might be a good way to avoid work for the rest of our lives, came up with a daft name, eventually made an album that did the business, toured like Billy-Oh for about ten years, got fed up of each other, broke up for a while, and then started the whole stupid game all over again with a couple of better-looking young guys to stir it up a bit, and here we are now - older, no wiser, but still able to dress ourselves and stand up to pee.

And Fred has yet to sabotage anyone's breakfast with HIS sax case.

So go and air out your dancin' shoes, and press your best zoot suit, we's a- comin' to town any day now, and Heaven knows we need to see YOU. No absences will be tolerated unless accompanied by a valid note of excuse written on hundred-dollar bills only, and hand delivered by beautiful young ladies in each case. We'll be bringing some new stuff for you as well -
caps, ball gowns, new pictures of our ugly mugs, etc. - so will get your opinions and critique at the table after the show, no doubt.Until then, keep an eye out for us....we'll be the ones in the big bus with the highlander in the front. Bet you didn't know that A.W.B. stands for "A Wet Bagpipe", now, did you?

Till then, Och aye the noo' an' dinna lose yer sporran wi' the porridge in it!
(a cheap and tacky bogus Scottish saying with no meaning whatsoever)