"...For the first time ever, I was genuinely in fear for my life. The room, illuminated by a single red light bulb, gave me the impression I had just arrived in a dark and dingy corner of Danté’s Hell. Then the turntable kicked in; a mournful, melancholic voice singing in a strange, depressed manner. Every now and then I could pick out a few of the lyrics, “…This beautiful creature must die……is murder……..IS MURDER…”.
I was very scared. I knew he had shut the door when we had gone into his room but now I sensed it was either locked or jammed. He asked me if I’d seen his Wombles album. The depressing and demonic atmosphere made my head begin to spin. As he reached down to take it out of the record case, I braced myself for the glint off the blade of the butcher’s knife he had stored in there……..
I never saw that glint. I never saw the knife. There was no knife. There was, in fact, only a Wombles album. I think it may even have been signed by a member or two of the Seventies Eco-Warriors. “We should start a group, you know, play some music…..I’ve got a load of ideas and about three books worth of lyrics”. I would have agreed to anything that would allow me to get out of that room alive. Once out of his house, I ran. I ran until my legs could carry me no further, until every sinew of solid muscle was stretched and strained. Finally, with sweat beads running down my forehead, I slumped back against a wall and sucked at the sweet air I thought I would never breathe again.
I couldn’t stop myself opening the folder he had given me. In it were sheets of lyrics (or as the Italians say ‘Sheet Lyrics).
I read some. Immediately I felt my whole demeanour change. A calmness was descending upon me, no longer was I scared. No longer was my heart pounding and my body sweating. Instead, I began to shake. An involuntary spasm took over my whole body ‘til I could hold back no more. I laughed. No. I really laughed. In fact, I pissed myself. The lyrics were hilarious – almost like Friedrich Nietsche meets Brian Cant. In these lyrics were gems such as:
‘The badge on my school blazer brands me like a Corporate protégé
While the dying tulip on the window sill bows down his head in defeat’
‘Today is Tomorrow
Tomorrow was Yesterday’
‘Mum, listen to me and heed my warning
Morrissey don’t eat meat so get the Quorn in’
It didn’t stop there. Pages and pages and pages of the stuff were in this folder. Song-wise they were non-starters. Trying to put a tune to these would be like giving a skeleton the kiss of life. It was obvious that this man was no song-writer but he had claimed he wanted to be a drummer – and if I was to start a band, I needed a drummer. I would spend the next ten years needing a drummer."