New York 2012 - Part 1: Introduction

Or, "What I Did on my Summer Holidays, by Christopher James Harrison, aged 27 and a bit"

The flickering needle jumps into red. New York crawls out of its bed.


A bit of a departure in terms of subject matter, this blog here. I've had no gigs to speak of recently (and I'm not sure there's much else in my life left to blog about), although I've had a terrific time of late. More of that in a little bit. 


Incidentally, since you asked, I can next be seen onstage with Hi-on Maiden at Riffs Bar in sunny Swindon on May 17 before we head off to Nijmegen, Holland to make a racket at the Rockcafe Backstage. I believe the next Carpathia gig is on 25 May at the Boston Music Room in Tufnell Park. July, August and September are looking pretty busy for Hi-On, and I recently had contact with one Lee Abraham who is writing his next prog-rock masterpiece which should feature some six-string gymnastics from your humble narrator. All in all it's shaping up to be a rather nice year for me musically. 


Apart from various weekend jaunts to Ireland and mainland Europe (musical and otherwise),  I haven't really had a proper holiday since I went to Stockholm for a week in June 2008. In fact, unless you count Christmas periods, I haven't really had any extended break from work since then either. So when my grand friend Sasha "it wasn't a rock - it was a rock lobster" Zivojinovic decided to take his beautiful lady to New York to see the Blue Man Group and invited friends to join them, I had to give it some serious thought. 


I've been meaning to return to the east coast of the USA for many years. I haven't been out there since 2008, and have some fine people whom I count as true friends in residence in the various states on the eastern seaboard. For three years in a row, 2006-2008, I visited on Labor Day weekend for a few days of jamming and hanging out with said fine people, but since then I haven't made it for various reasons. On top of this, I've wanted to see New York City for some time. The sights, the sounds, the smells. 


No-one else had elected to join Goc "better start packing...oops!" Kaboodle & Sasha on their trip, and while I didn't want to be a third wheel I really did want to go. After a bit of rumination (and a lot of brow-beating from Sasha, who needed a guitar-shopping partner!) I booked up, and the departure date rolled around a couple of months later.

Spotting LOST numbers at airports always makes me a little trepidous...

There's something moving in the sidewalk steam...


The day before we were scheduled to depart, I was suffering. There's a line in a Pain Of Salvation song, which I'm probably misquoting, but which sums it up quite well - "It all catches up on you when you slow down". It was no surprise to me that I would get laid low with some Devil Bug after a few days off work. In the words of Super Hans, I was being sick out of both ends. I even managed to yak in the street on the way back from the doctor, which is up there with one of the classiest things I've ever done. True to form, I plonked myself on the sofa and started watching my Stanley Kubrick DVDs, which for some reason always make me feel a bit better when I'm ill. Thankfully, come the evening, the torrent had stopped coming forth and I packed my bags ready for the 5:40am taxi call.


In a wi-fi enabled taxi (who would have thunk it!) and in the quiet of pre-rush-hour London we made it from SE13 to Heathrow in under an hour. Once checked in and through security, we did what every self-respecting holiday-goer does, and went straight to the pub for beer and breakfast. I opted out of the booze initially, still feeling a little bit delicate after the previous day's vile extrusions. However after a cup of coffee and a sausage sarnie I was right as rain. Onward to the flight!


Most of the flights I've taken in my life have been fairly uneventful. My very first was to Guernsey as a child, and I've loved it ever since. The most memorable thing that's happened whilst airborne since would probably be on a family holiday to Florida in 1997. After a 9 1/2 hour delay at Gatwick with two children, my mother was presented with a miniature bottle of Bacardi and an even smaller can of Diet Coke. This sent her, blissfully I would imagine, straight to the land of boozy nod. I still remember that day. I was given a fiver and sent to the bookshop, where I bought myself a copy of Douglas Adams' "The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul". This proved particularly memorable given the amount of time we'd spent delayed in that great cathedral of despair, as the first paragraph reads thusly:

It can hardly be a coincidence that no language on earth has ever produced the expression "As pretty as an airport." Airports are ugly. Some are very ugly. Some attain a degree of ugliness that can only be the result of a special effort. This ugliness arises because airports are full of people who are tired, cross, and have just discovered that their luggage has landed in Murmansk (Murmansk airport is the only exception of this otherwise infallible rule), and architects have on the whole tried to reflect this in their designs.

This flight to New York was colourful, to say the least. I was seated (after swapping seats twice to accommodate couples who were determined to sit together) next to a very slight lady who had more holes punched in her than anyone I've seen outside of a Slayer gig. Security must have been a nightmare for her. She was very nice, and we had some rather engaging discussions about music, art and her kids. Complimentary drinks and the first meal came, and after the second complimentary glass of red wine the poor lass conked out. I settled in to watch a film on the seat-back screen, but before I'd got very far my companion groggily awoke and began to frantically look around for something to be sick in. I scrambled out of my seat to allow her to rush to the ladies for what would probably be a photo-finish. Unfortunately the facilities were occupied, and the couple seated by the bulkhead had the floor in front of them decorated in short order. For the rest of the flight I was on constant "get out of seat" alert, but thankfully she seemed to simply need to sleep it off. Sasha was not so lucky, and found himself seated next to a middle-aged lady who was clearly under the influence upon boarding, and who proceeded to a) nick vodka from the bar whenever no-one was looking and b) spill every single drink on Sasha. How she got on the plane in that state is a mystery to me, but the staff dealt with both the resident alcoholic and the lightweight in seat 63 with cheerful aplomb. My dear friend seemed mostly well for the remainder of our time together, apart from a slight wobble on the runway at JFK (as the second airsick bag came into use, the first fell over onto the carpet narrowly avoiding my shoes). 


Into the queue for the predictably humourless border control fellows, we couldn't wait to get out of the airport and on our way. Once admitted, we took the AirTrain all the way to Jamaica Station and then began to navigate the subway system. While it is an enormously simple system to navigate when in full control of your faculties, when you've been on the go for as long as we had it seemed monolithic in difficulty. We asked a harassed looking transit cop (fresh from what had to have been a frustrating encounter trying to explain to someone the difference between "uptown" and "downtown"), who sent us in the right direction. Eventually we emerged into the New York City sunshine at West 103 & Broadway. Goc and Sasha went to their digs and I trundled down Broadway to my own to try and wash the flight off of me!

"And I'm hovering like a fly, waiting for the windshield on the freeway..."

In Part 2, our intrepid international inhabitants tromp through Central Park, irritate some joggers, spend a ludicrous amount of money on fruit-related gadgetry and discover something in a toy shop that makes them grin like the jet-lagged loons they are.


Until then,


Christopher "here comes a bikini whale!" Harrison 




Soundtrack to this blog:


Budgie - Hammer And Tongs
Spock's Beard - Walking On The Wind
Gentle Giant - In A Glass House
Frank Zappa - Shut Up 'N' Play Yer Guitar Some More
Karmakanic - Turn It Up
Marillion - Chelsea Monday
Iron Maiden - 22 Acacia Avenue (live)

CARPATHIA - The Forum, Hatfield - 22 March 2012

Sully was so happy to have such a wide choice of toilet...

My second gig with extreme prog-metallers Carpathia was set within the extremely pleasant grounds of the University of Hertfordshire.

The night before the gig, we undertook a final rehearsal. Tom "we've got multiple poo-ers!" Sullivan had been writing lyrics and melodies for 'Solitary Red', which had up until recently been known simply as 'Fifth Song' and, at our last gig, had been entirely instrumental. During the rehearsal we fine-tuned vocals and solos, while adding final polishes to the other two tracks to be aired at the gig the following evening. The rehearsal itself went very well, with everything sounding suitably monstrous, so we downed tools and packed up the motor ready for the next day before heading back to Carp HQ.

Tom "toe, ball, down" Atherton, Sully and I settled down to watch some splendidly unsettling Asian cinema with a bottle of vino and a bar of Fruit 'n' Nut. It doesn't get more rock and roll than that, kids. I made myself a makeshift bed out of bits of sofa and kipped down at silly o'clock.

Just a few hours later, I felt the Toe of Sully prodding me in the back. I groggily looked up and he uttered two, beautiful words - "Bacon sarnie?" Conveniently forgetting that I'd given up meat for a month (oops) I wolfed down the sliced pig sandwich and slurped lethargically at the cup of tea that came with it ("It's decaf tea, but it's Cravendale milk so that kind of makes it OK"). If only everyone I plied with wine and choccy woke me up with breakfast...

In case you were wondering, yes - the photo is the right way up.

After Sully left for work I must have nodded off again, because I was then woken up by Athers with a pain au chocolat. Second breakfast! Just like the hobbits! All I had to do in return was help him out with carrying his shopping back, which sounded like a bargain to me. The toilet in the boy's flat has not been working too well recently, which has had some deeply unpleasant results - in fact I'm fairly confident that new life forms will emerge from the murky depths any day now - so Athers and I took advantage of the comparatively pristine environment of Tesco's customer toilets to dispose of our solids and effluvia. Shopping was followed by lunch and the triumphant return of Sully from werk. The boys introduced me to Metalocalypse, an animated series sending up heavy metal, which after some initial puzzlement caused me quite a few lulz. Then it was time to hit the road.

It turned out the gig was even closer to the boy's flat than their own studio. En route, I had received a text message from Paul "I feel like a Disney princess!" Nazarkardeh who had plonked himself in a dressing room. By the time we arrived, he'd been kicked out of the dressing room which, apparently, we weren't allowed to use. After loading the gear in we were sent to the staff room to chum around with other bands and staff until it was time to soundcheck. Peter "a PhD...in boats" Mannion and I were delighted to find all sorts of coffee paraphernalia dotted around the room, although it took us until the kettle had boiled to realise that there was no coffee. Sigh.

Ziltoid wanted to pose with Black Polaris.

Soundcheck was going to be a bit late given that headliners Mordecai had been delayed in arriving, so we kicked around backstage. Venue staff and fellow bands were delighted that they had an opportunity to pose with Ziltoid, who is proving to be something of a hit on this gig circuit.

Eventually it was our turn to make some noise, so we went onstage and plugged everything in. One of the quickest soundchecks of my life followed (rather along the lines of "Give me some guitar"....*guitar noises*...."OK, thanks. Bass?"...etc.) which was especially welcome as we were now running dangerously close to the doors opening. A quick verse of old favourite 'Truth of the Moment' to ensure monitors were good, and we were off again. While piling our gear in the backstage area we were advised by the health & safety patrol to move all our gear into the dressing room. The dressing room we'd already been removed from that we weren't allowed to use. Splendid!

During soundcheck, we had the bright idea of getting the band logo displayed on the screens dotted around the stage and bar areas. The logo resided on Tom's phone and needed to find it's way to the sound man's computer via a USB stick. Thusly, while Sealed In Scarlet and Atopia were gracing the stage, an extremely silly chain of technology needed to be constructed in order to get the logo where it needed to be (Tom's bluetooth wasn't working, so he emailed it to Pete, who bluetooth-ed it to my laptop, where it was then loaded on the USB stick from within my keyboard and delivered to the sound man before being taken back to put back where it belonged...!).

Carpathia in heavy flow...

Then it was time to hurriedly load everything onstage and get going. Predictably, from a student metal crowd, Ziltoid got huge cheers and cries of "I demand your finest coffee, humans!" when I brought him out and tied him to his microphone stand. The intro tape rolled and we were off.

The set list

Solitary Red

Tearful, Part II

Finding It Hard To Contain

I'd normally find a half-hour gig slightly unsatisfying, having been in Hi-On Maiden for so many years and played so many near-2-hour shows. However, this music sounded fawkin' HUGE, and the atmosphere onstage was infectious - I was a huge sweaty mess by the time I came off stage from the copious head-banging I'd been indulging in. The re-vamped and re-vitalised intro to 'Solitary Red', with Sully's best black metal screams really sounded like a mission statement, and from there the set just flowed superbly. My drum pads stayed firmly attached to their stand, the cowbell rang out, I could hear myself through the monitors, and each of us played our socks off. The slightly frustrating thing about playing keyboards is the inability to move around the stage. I'm used to being able to wander over to stage left and rock out with the other guitarist, or go and pull silly faces at the drummer. Instead I had to settle for people coming over to visit, and doing silly dances in the short bars where I have nothing to play in an attempt to get a chuckle out of Athers. I did get a visit from The Onion, which was very pleasant, but Paul fared less well trying to get over to my side of the stage for our harmony lines at the end of 'Finding It Hard...'. I think he tripped over Sully's cables!

Onion and Nazgul give it some.

After the show I headed straight for the bar, full of self-accomplishment and adrenaline. Oh, and a desperate need for Guinness. Just after Black Polaris (my favourite band of the night - heavy as f***) took Hatfield by storm, Athers and I set out with Ziltoid to plug Carpathia's new E.P. (which can be purchased here) around the venue. Fairly soon after I realised that if I didn't leave soon, I wasn't going to make it home. This galvanised the band into re-packing the gear and fleeing the scene. Sorry for killing the night early, lads! If it's any consolation, this is what I saw on my way home (amongst the customary vomit):

Last train out of London Bridge - all aboard the Pisshead Express!

As ever, I'm looking forward to the next one! Unfortunately my Hi-On gig schedule has already scuppered a potential date in Brizzle, however I'm sure there'll be plenty more coming up. Any venues interested or any bands with tours booked looking for a support act, get in touch!

Until next time,

Christopher "what are me words again?" Harrison

PS: Gig photos courtesy of Adam Pirmohamed and the University of Hertfordshire Alternative Music Society.

Blast From The Past - HI-ON MALBOROUGH & SWINDON - 30 April / 1 May 2011

Time for a graveyard smash!

Perusing the gig list just before leaving on that beautiful sunny bank holiday Saturday...

(a sunny bank holiday weekend? In England?)

...it occurred to your humble blogster that there are an awful lot of gigs in the South West in the early part of this year. This means a hell of a lot of driving for Adrian “practical van hire?” Swift, a lot of staring at the motorway for our other two Northerners, and some epic train journeys for yours truly and the young’un. This particular journey was quite easy, though it could have been much worse. Nicko “lengthening his wang” McBrain Jnr had booked himself on a later train than I, and had elected to be picked up by the passing van in Exeter (there’s more to the van story...I’ll get there in a bit!). I was to go to Plymouth, then double back on the tracks to the nearest station to the gig (Ivybridge). However, the night before I was contacted by the effervescent organiser of the Monster Mash, Martin “I’ll do some poetry” Cording. The conversation went something like this:

Martin: “Where you do want picking up?”
Me: “Ivybridge, please!”
Martin: “How are you getting to Ivybridge?”
Me: “Via Plymouth.”
Martin: “You silly c*nt. Get off at Totnes.”

Unfortunately, my train went right through Totnes, so I ended up detraining at picturesque Newton Abbott and being very kindly picked up by Joan and Jim, Martin’s mum and dad. I’d been out the night before celebrating my birthday in classic Hurry style (imbibing an awful lot of ale) and was not exactly full of conversation, so I was delighted to sit back and listen to Jim’s tales of life on the barbershop quartet circuit on the drive to Malborough. Safely deposited at the venue (the first, as ever), I was privy to Quad Damage’s soundcheck and the first pint of a keg of Tribute, kindly donated to the event by the wonderful folk at Cornwall’s St. Austell brewery.

The van arrived. Well, I say “van”. It was more like a box of Tesco value dental floss on wheels. Selectadrive, who have served us very well over recent years of van hire, had unfortunately run a bit low on big vans. Our intrepid leader did the best he could, and the best he could was not quite fit for purpose!

Not so practical...

We loaded out all the gear into the backstage area and started to set up onstage. The boys all looked road-weary and rather fed up, in stark contrast to my unusually chipper demeanour (Tribute make Hurry feel nice). Steve “blowjob joke here” Haggis had set off at some ridiculous hour from Glasg’ae’, and Bruce “the vomit comet” Dugginson seemed to be suffering from the more acute effects of motorway hypnosis. Young Nick had ridden in the back for the hour’s drive from Exeter, and had stepped blinking into the sunlight apparently disbelieving that he’d survived without being beheaded by an errant cymbal or two. Brave soul.

A few pints later and it was nearly show-time. I’d been steeling myself, as Malborough would be the debut of the brand new wig. Constant Readers may remember a problem arising in Plymouth whereupon my headpiece had taken a waspie atop Eddie’s Prong, leaving me with what Swifty termed “a fanny” on my head. That wig’s swansong was in Canning Town, having served two bonces admirably (both myself and Michael Krispe of Hulloween had played beneath it’s fragrant locks). My new syrup is named “Ashley (in Spring Honey)”, and is a marked improvement on it’s predecessors.

The winking what?

After a few hairy moments (pun absolutely intended) during opener Aces High, I settled in to the gig and played really well. ‘Aggy had, as he kept (and continues) to remind us, lost a fair deal of weight recently and was bounding around the stage with aplomb. Poor Duggers wasn’t feeling all that well and had to depart from the stage on a few occasions to shout lunch, and Swift (shattered from the long drive no doubt) was also feeling somewhat the worse for wear. Despite these setbacks, we played a blinder and went down really well amongst a receptive charity gig audience. The night was in memory of local musician Dave Sharp who had succumbed to cancer in June 2009, and in aid of a memorial fund providing music opportunities for local youngsters. It was an absolute honour to play, and to be so warmly received and well looked-after by organisers and punters alike. Cracking night, even if Swifty and Duggers needed St. John’s Ambulance attention afterwards! After packing down, we retired to Martin’s pad where we were treated to a supper of tea, Jammie Dodgers and koftas before turning in for the night.

Dave Sharp

20 April 1971 - 27 June 2009

The next morning we were taken for a splendid breakfast at local cafe The Meeting Room (thanks to the good folk there for laying on the grub and opening a bit early for us after a heavy night!). Then it was time to assess the problem of getting 5 people to Swindon in a 3-seater van. That’ll be me back on the train then, with ‘Aggy in tow! We were dropped at Totnes and said our farewells to Martin and Alice before boarding the next train to Bristol (where I believe we passed, like ships in the night, super-fan Spook!).

After a quick coffee at Brizzle, it was on to Swindon. We ended up in The Queen’s Tap, which was a site of happy drunken memories for your humble narrator. In it’s previous life it had been a rock pub, and I had seen our old friends Ironically Maiden a few times there). A quick call to Swift confirmed that the road-bound members had arrived at the venue, and in no time at all the Practical van was outside the Tap waiting for us.

I didn't take any pictures of Swindon, but here's an idea of how silly it is.

Riffs Bar is always a highlight of the year, with Andy and Tiggy always going out of their way to look after us. This time was no exception, and after loading in and sound-checking we were sat down and fed a beautiful dinner. A number of support bands had been roped in this time to help fill the place up on a bank holiday Sunday, and it bloody well worked. In no time at all it was show-time, and we hit the stage. Another awesome gig at Riffs Bar to a packed crowd and two encores! Swifty’s amp didn’t enjoy the last song though – it’s fuse blew halfway through!

After packing down I said cheerio to the lads and was borne away in the KISSmobile by Eddie “Satellite 15 is the best thing ever” the ‘Ead and Mrs Eddie to their nearby pad, and in the morning I was dropped at the station for the last leg homeward (the very last journey I ever took with my Young Person’s Railcard....sob sob!)

An excellent weekend – two gigs, with two very kind sets of organisers looking after us, topped off with Eddie making me a bacon sandwich! Class!

Until next time,

UP THE IRONS!

Dave “cheer up you miserable c*nts” Hurry

Blast From The Past - CARPATHIA - The Unicorn, Camden - 27 January 2012

Working hard at rehearsal...

Can it be that I've now "blogged" 3 weeks in a row? Great googly moogly.

Around this time last year, I went out for a drink with some fine upstanding young gentlefolk with whom I attended university. Thomas "where's me capo?" Sullivan and Tom "how does this all go together again?" Atherton were a couple of years below me in age, but their work ethic was rather more spectacularly advanced than my own. I had once been told I was a lazy academic and would forever be an "underachiever", so I took that wonderfully positive thought and ran with it, blossoming into the high-potential, low-output twonk that many of you have come to know and tolerate (fret not, I have since shirked that limiting belief and become all hippified and self-aware - still a twonk sometimes, though!). No such words could be used to describe these two; both were dedicated, committed and driven to achieve everything they could in music. I nicked Athers to play the drums for me during my last year, and developed a very comfortable musical rapport. Sadly, at the end of my third year of university I went back down south and continued to do, well, very little on the whole, while they stayed in the sunny Midlands and honed their composition, performance and teaching skills.

When I learned that the chaps had moved to Norf Laandan, I was delighted at the opportunity to catch up. I soon found myself, Guinness in hand, merrily catching up with the lads in a pub just by Tufnell Park tube station. I was soon invited to go and stand outside (so Sully could get some fresh smoke in his lungs), and before I could say "they're bad for you, you know?", I'd been asked to join their band, Carpathia, as keyboard player and additional percussion / guitar / whatever-else-needed-doing. I've never been very good at saying "No" to joining bands, so of course I agreed. A year of sporadic rehearsals followed while Sully wrote, recorded and notated, and eventually there was a gig in the book.

Even Ziltoid needs to rehearse...

And so it came to pass that my first gig of 2012 would not be with Hi-On Maiden, as is usually the case. I found myself wandering up Leighton Road with keyboard and stand in tow on a grey January Monday about to embark on a career as a keyboard player.

Readers of my past gig diaries may have noticed a pattern emerging. Just as I'm about to leave, or as I've just left, I will invariably get a telephone call from Adrian "chortle" Swift who's left something behind and needs me to nip to a shop and pick up a replacement. It came as a reassuring surprise, then, to hear my phone chirping away and find it was Sully asking me to bring along a couple of things which had failed to find their way into his gig bag. Textbook.

Sully eyes up some talent in the front row...

Arriving at The Unicorn, I remembered that, on the very night I'd agreed to join this band, I had left the boys in Tufnell Park to walk to this very venue to catch the last of Silent Front's set. Ah, the circle closes (ya da ya da). Taking this as a good sign, and combining it with the fact that I'd missed the load-in and all the gear was onstage, it was a very cheery Harrison that headed straight for the bar and bought everyone a drink and a pack of Monster Munch. I'd decided to be deliberately careful in terms of the "state of refreshment" I would allow myself to get into, and limited myself to one or two before going onstage. I can find my way around a guitar after copious amount of alcohol without too much trouble (providing I can still stand up). However, I had no idea what impact it would have on my keyboard skills, and in the interests of avoiding Les Dawson-esque cringe-worthy foul-ups, I erred on the side of caution. I managed to resist the temptation to drink myself silly while we all waited patiently for our beloved drummer, who was trying his best to put the "HMS Atherton" together from photos he'd taken of it all set up. Hah!

After setting up and soundchecking, we settled back to let the support band do their thing and prepared ourselves for the first gig. The boys have been gigging together for years, but Carpathia hadn't been dusted off for a year or so. With myself joining the ranks, and a brand new guitarist in the shape of Paul "Punning hell" Nazarkardeh, it might as well have been a new band. I would have normally been bricking it at this point - I usually get very shaky and nervous before playing keyboards in front of an audience, as opposed to the confidence I have developed in playing guitar and singing for people. However I had managed to relax myself enough in the company of some fine friends who had made the journey to see us, and in no time at all it was gig o'clock. "Doctor, Doctor" rolled out of the P.A. (by my request - after nearly ten years of gigging with an Iron Maiden tribute band, I can't get ready for a gig without hearing that song), we took a breath and walked onstage.

Peter "onion" Mannion looking eeeee-vil...

The set list

Solitary Red
Tearful, Part II
Fallen Angel (King Crimson cover)
Wherever The Silence Dwells
Finding It Hard To Contain

The nearly hour-long set flew past in a flurry of downtuned guitars, electric piano and wilfully ostentatious rock-keyboardist gurning. I had an absolute blast. There were some humorous moments - particularly memorable was the moment I hit one of my drum pads so hard it fell of the stand! - and our intrepid leader Sullivan had a few issues with his MIDI gear which seemed to have lost it's MIDI-mind, but all in all it was a well-performed and well-received set which was worthy of the work that had been put into it. I wasn't quite ready to stop; in fact, I believe my first words to the lads after the show were along the lines of "When's the next one?"

There's talk of a gig in Coventry next month, and all sorts of other plans in the works for this band. I'm quite excited to be a part of it all.

So, when's the next one?

Until next time,

Christopher "got a new theremin sound!" Harrison

First time I've been onstage without a wig in a while...!

PS: Gig photos courtesy of "Metal" Tom Webster. You can read his review of the gig on Thrash Hits by clicking here.

HI-ON PLYMOUTH - 17 / 18 February 2012

How do you eat yours?

Uh-oh...it's that time...

2012 began where 2011 had ended - The Junction Underground in Plymouth. During 2011, our beloved Junction as we knew it had been taken back by the brewery and the live venue stylings more or less removed. Some of the remaining staff (notably Rich "spandex trousers with matching amp" Pearce) decided to move the venue underneath the Dog & Duck over the road, and the Junction Underground was born. We played there in November (gig diary coming soon...honest!), treating a modest crowd to complete renditions of two Maiden albums - as has become custom for two-night stands - Powerslave and Seventh Son of a Seventh Son. Both were well-received, the band had a great time with the locals, and while we were onsite we arranged the next dates for February. Which came upon us with horrifying speed, and in a flash it was time to learn all the songs from the albums chosen for the delectation of our south-westerly friends.

I hit the rails at 12-ish, heading for the NW6 locale of our newest member, the eminent Mr Steve "Plymouth is just an illusion" Harristopolis. After last week's rehearsals, there were very few nerves about the upcoming shows from my part, although I could easily put myself in the shoes of our Greek newcomer. My own first gig had been at JB's in Dudley, performing as Manic "not Panic" Gers, which had been something of a baptism of fire. While the Underground was considerably smaller than JB's, a room chock full of punters is still a room chock full of punters, and I'm sure 'Arry-opolis was bricking it nevertheless.

At the end of the line (Bakerloo, that is) I came across Nicko "wrong'un" McBrain Jnr, who had arrived a mere few minutes before your humble narrator. Very soon afterwards, Arry's wagon rolled up and we were "on our way", as the song says. (Tenuous?)

'Arry at the wheel.

Never let Hurry program the sat-nav.

The journey was uneventful, apart from it being a bugger to get out of London (no surprise there then) and the last 20 miles or so of M4 moving about as fast as an arthritic snail. Once on the M5 we were free and clear, although Plymouth never seemed to get any closer! Perhaps that had something to do with my grasp of the sat-nav 'Arry had borrowed from a friend for the occasion. Perhaps Plymouth really was just a strange illusion. At any rate, we turned up at the venue an hour late to find all the gear humped in and set up. Worse things happen at sea!

I grabbed myself a quick pint of the black stuff, said hello to Jess "sick to death of Bristol Airport Parkway" Tilley and bounded onstage to check me gear and get going with a lengthy soundcheck. We had the good graces of three engineers, who did their very best to beat the PA into shape for us while finding the perfect monitor levels for Bruce "a prize pillock" Dugginson, who was on fine form indeed as we belted through a few of the night's tunes which hadn't been touched the week before. Adrian "this morning, my arse is mostly made of chocolate blancmange" Swift ran into a spot of bother with the fuse in the back of his amplifier, which did look quite impressively blown (utterly, utterly blackened inside the glass!). Thankfully, our Mister Swift is ever the professional, and carries a box of spare fuses with him. Such a professional, he's got these things even without realising he's brought them with him! The train of thought went something like this: "Ah, they're in my little purple box." -"Ah, I left my little purple box at home." - "What's that sat over there on the stage?" - "Ah, it's my little purple box."

"I've blown a fuse in me head!"

Soundcheck done, Duggers and I had a quick chat about what time to start the imminent Journeymen segment. As with everything else in Hi-On land, we're a bit fired up about The Journeymen at present, and are looking forward to bringing the rest of the band in on the fun while introducing some new songs. We ran two of these new songs just prior to going onstage, and were excited to open the year in a nice relaxed way with some good friends in the crowd. With another pint of Arthur's finest in hand, I joined Duggers onstage at 9:15pm and we set the good ship in motion with a short acoustic set.

Journeymen set-list

Tears of The Dragon
Wasted Years
Infinite Dreams
Journeyman

Received with rapturous applause, and a venue starting to buzz with excitement for the upcoming show, we headed backstage to get ready for the main event. My beloved wig, "Audrey in Spring Honey" had been lovingly washed that very morning, and smelt somewhat less 'orrible than it had previously. Donning my Piece of Mind album cover t-shirt, leather waistcoat and jeans, I stood back and waited for the intro tape to roll. Doctor, Doctor. Tick, tock. Boom. Caught Somewhere In Time. Bang on.

Friday night set-list

Caught Somewhere In Time
Rainmaker
The Prisoner
Coming Home
Where Eagles Dare
Revelations
Flight Of Icarus
Die With Your Boots On
The Trooper
Still Life
Quest For Fire
Sun And Steel
To Tame A Land
22 Acacia Avenue
Phantom Of The Opera
Iron Maiden
---
Wildest Dreams
Holy Smoke
Running Free

I haven't felt that good on stage in years. The whole gig was absolutely mesmerising; from the dawning realisation of just how good our new bass player was, the roar of the crowd when Duggers introduced me just before my bluesy solo in "Coming Home", and the even more tremendous reception that Piece of Mind got, not to mention realising half-way through performing that album just how much fun it is to play when you get to do the Dave Murray bits!. I laughed my arse off all the way through "Quest For Fire", as it really is Maiden at their cheesy worst and not a song I ever thought I'd be playing in this band. Yet, here we were, learning how dinosaurs and man were around at the same time and having a chuckle while we were at it.

Spotted in the gents...

For my part, I played my socks off all night, only stumbling on the eponymous main set closer. During "Phantom..." I had thought to myself, "I'm playing really well tonight! Wouldn't it be funny if I forgot how to play 'Iron Maiden'". Then, of course, I promptly forgot how to play "Iron Maiden"! We were without Eddie "blood, sweets and beers" the 'Ead this weekend, as he was busy being metal somewhere else. Not to worry though, as we were ably assisted onstage by none other than Plymouth's very own Little Eddie! (I'd include a picture, but I fear if I start putting pictures of young lads on my blog I might find myself on 'List 99' - look for him on the Facebook!). Returning to the stage for the encore, our intrepid frontman and drummer decided amongst themselves to start off "Wildest Dreams" before Swifty had even picked up his guitar, which was highly amusing. I fear "Holy Smoke" baffled the crowd a bit, but it's a 'reet laugh to play, and "Running Free' rounded things off nicely.

We hung around for a bevvy or two with the locals, before realising just how shattered we all were and piled into our transport. "Follow the signs for bed", said 'Arry. He wasn't wrong. Zzz.

------------------------------------

Saturday began with Saturday already nearly half-over, having had something of a lazy morning. We took our time performing ablutions and such like, which was nice given the usual rush to get off home or get to the next gig. It's quite handy playing two nights in the same place!

When it was time for some grub, we piled into the 'Arry-mobile and set off. We had been invited to lunch at Nicko Jnr's Mum's place up the road. Or, to put it more truthfully, up lots of roads, round lots of corners, up a few hills, past a few cows, causing a few vans to reverse out of our way and wondering where the bloody hell we were.

"So they plowed through forests and swamps of danger..."

We safely arrived in what could have easily been a postcard photograph. Cornwall is an immensely beautiful bit of our green and pleasant land, and despite the drizzle ("the Cornish summer", as Chef Seb put it) the clean, fresh air and prospect of a relaxing afternoon was just the ticket. As promised spaghetti and meatballs were served up, much to the delight of yours truly who hadn't really enjoyed his breakfast Pringles all that much. Also as promised, it was then time to take a wander over the road to the (very) nearby Carpenter's Arms for a pint or three of our favourite local ale, the marvellous Tribute!

Duggers models the pub...but can you spot Hurry?

After a few delicious ales it was, altogether too soon, time to head back to the venue and run through a few songs which hadn't quite stuck from last week's rehearsals. Rock In Rio is a nice chunky setlist, with some slightly tricky numbers to get your fingers round. There's nothing overtly technical, per se, although there are a few songs which have lots of very similar sound bits played in a funny order, so concentration was needed from all parties. Unfortunately the monitors had taken a waspie since the gig last night, and it was quite some time (and several interrupted songs) before Duggers had got the levels he needed out of them. We got there in the end though, and after the long soundcheck and lovely afternoon I took a short wander through the streets of Plymouth to get some alone time and gather my thoughts. I amazingly stumbled on a guitar shop, which turned out to be not just a very handy short walk from the venue, but the very shop I purchased a Les Paul from a few years ago over t'internet! Always handy to know where these things are when you're playing a gig - we're always looking to buy something Swift has left at home!

Just before returning to the venue I stopped off at the old Junction for a pint, out of curiousity for what had happened to the place. I had been under the impression that it had stopped live music altogether, but this appeared not to be the case. The stage had been moved back to where it was the first time we played there in early 2010, and a band had set up ready to go. Unfortunately there were just about 5 punters sat around a table, and all the atmosphere had been sucked out of the place. What a shame that was - this time last year the place was heaving with Maiden fans. C'est la vie. Back to the venue then, where I ran into Swifty who had just been to the Co-op to stock up on Stella for a late-night Travelodge party! "Not a bad idea," thought I, and promptly bought meself a bottle of vino collapso to share with Duggers on our return to the sleepy place. This I secreted in the venue cellar, where I discovered local lads Sleaze getting ready to go onstage and support us with a set of glam rock à la carte.

Saturday support from Sleaze...

...who Swift was, apparently, about to audition for!

Sleaze powered their way through Crüe, Leppard and Bon Jovi while we watched from the big screens. In a flash it was time to wig up and take on Rock In Rio. I had been looking forward to this for some time; I got into Maiden in 2000, just around the time that "Brave New World" came out, and the "Metal 2000" show at Earls Court (on the day of my GCSE Physics exam!) was a defining moment in my musical trajectory. I adored that night, and every time I saw them since. The setlist, then, held a special place in my heart as it contained some of the very first "new" Maiden songs I'd ever heard and the entire set of my first Maiden gig (plus a cheeky extra!). Arthur's Farewell blared (no, nothing to do with Guinness!) and we were on.

Saturday night set-list

The Wicker Man
Ghost of the Navigator
Brave New World
Wrathchild
2 Minutes to Midnight
Blood Brothers
Sign of the Cross
The Mercenary
The Trooper
Dream of Mirrors
The Clansman
The Evil That Men Do
Fear of the Dark
Iron Maiden
---

The Number Of The Beast

Hallowed Be Thy Name
Sanctuary
Run To The Hills

My immediate reaction having come offstage was "Wow, that was a LONG show". It felt like I'd done a marathon in fancy dress while giving a fatter man a piggy back. In terms of song length it should only have been about 10 minutes longer than the night before, but there are so many epics in there it felt a good deal longer than that. I've always wanted to play "Ghost of the Navigator", and enjoyed it immensely. "Blood Brothers" brought legitimate tears to my eyes in the mid-section, and "Sign of the Cross' went down a flippin' storm, much to my surprise. The rest of the set was just as good, and the house seemed even more heaving than the previous evening. Plymouth really knows how to kick botty. Joined again by Little Eddie, we rounded off the show with the blistering encore and said our goodbyes. Packing the gear down and heading off rather sharp-ish was the order of the day, as, in Nicko's words, to say we were tired would be an understatement. However, as is often the way in this band, we stayed around chatting for a short while anyway. Everyone who comes to see us in Plymouth (and indeed the south west in general) is a friendly face by now, and the venue staff are all splendid folk. It's a real pleasure to hang about with this lot.

The late-night Travelodge party didn't really kick off, with Duggers turning in early and myself flagging badly by the end of the first mug of red. To bed it was, and in the morning it was up and off. A similarly uneventful journey home, arriving in time for tea. Luvverly.

Thank you so much Plymouth, can't wait to see you again! Thanks also to Amy, Darryl and Plukie for snapping lots of photos and making us look good, and to the kind chap from Bournemouth Uni who is making a film about us (name to be inserted when I remember what it was!). Special thanks to the newly appointed Hi-On Maiden Street Team (you know who you are) for helping us out with promotion and such - let's make 2012 kick the arse of every other year there ever was!

Until next time, UP THE 'KIN IRONS!

Even when he gets the bed, he still wants the "Manic cushion"...

Luv,

Dave "I've got wig in my mouth!" Hurry

HI-ON REHEARSALS - 11 / 12 February 2012

Well well well, here we are again. A strong sense of déjà vu crept upon me as this potentially monumental weekend raced towards us. This time last year we climbed to the giddy heights of, well, Leeds, for a rehearsal at Jam Studios ahead of two album-themed shows in Plymouth.

This year, we climbed the giddy heights of, well, Leeds, for a rehearsal at Jam Studios ahead of two album-themed shows in Plymouth!

While this all sounds very similar, there are two major differences this year. The first of these is that the venue in Plymouth has moved across the road and underground. The second major difference is the bass player! More of that later.

My weekend of travels had actually begun at around 6am on Friday morning. I had found myself in a situation where I had to be in Liverpool for a meeting at 11am, and as such found myself on a train far too early on a Friday morning bearing me North West. Said meeting was a long 'health & safety' type one, and by the end of it I was gagging for a pint and a curry. Thankfully I'd arranged to go and stay with some very dear friends in Wakefield where I was provided with both!

Mr Hurry's idea of health & safety...

After a lovely Friday evening / Saturday morning with pals, I parted ways and again found myself going vaguely north-west to meet with our diminutive frontman. Bruce "the dream is true…yes it is!" Dugginson met me at his local train station and, after getting dinner on the go (curry again - luvverly!) we drove to the rehearsal room while doing a bit of last minute revision on some of the Rock In Rio tracks we'd never played before. It's always a pleasure to have some time to catch up with Duggers, who never fails to reduce me to fits of laughter in a matter of seconds.

As you may or may not be aware, our beloved Speed "if it's not on the dots, I'm lost…" Harris has regretfully departed this band to focus on his degree and his family. He will be missed! Last year's stand-in, Mr Steve "How about Drifter?" Haggis, wasn't in it for the long term, and so we needed to find a new bassist. Various names were bandied around, and friends in the Maiden world gave us some suggestions. We were eventually led towards a London-based musician by the name of Gus, and this rehearsal was doubling as an audition for him. As Duggers and I drove we discussed what was coming - meeting and trying out a new band member is always a slightly nerve-wracking experience. As Forrest Gump so aptly put it once upon a time, "life is like a box of chocolates - you never know what you're going to get". We weren't sure whether we were going to be presented with a box of Quality Street, or a hamper of Crunchy Frog!

"If we took the bones out, it wouldn't be crunchy would it?"

As it turned out, our new low-frequency groove inspector was nothing short of a box of Ferrero Rocher! Gus (or as we have come to know him, Steve Harristopolis!) hails from Greece, has lived and worked in London for the past 7 or 8 years and has loved Maiden ever since he can remember. My first impression of Gus was, "Blimey, he's going to make Duggers look even tinier onstage!". He's quite tall you see. And, er, the rest of us aren't! My second impression of Gus was what a nice, unassuming fellow he seemed to be. My third impression was "f***ing hell, what a bass player!". Getting the right notes in the right places is harder than it sounds, but Gus gelled in with us instantly and we could get down to the nitty gritty of perfecting those tricky parts of new songs we hadn't ever done before. We blasted through everything we wanted to blast through, which included a couple of memorable moments. We got about two lines into "Quest For Fire" (arguably the silliest 80s Maiden song…correct me if I'm wrong!) before Duggers had to stop us as he'd collapsed in a fit of laughter at the lyrics. They're a bit special. Also of note was an impromptu "Brighter Than A Thousand Suns", which was particularly stonking. After a very successful rehearsal, we downed tools and set off for Dugginson Heights for some grub.

My memories of that evening are fairly hazy. I know there was some curry. I know there was a lot of wine, and I know that Duggers's mate Tony and I spoke at length about how much we both love Rush. I know there was some more wine. I know that Adrian "got any paracetamol?" Swift smoked a lot. I know there was even more wine. Then Duggers and I spoke at length about how much we love Queen. And, er, Bon Jovi. Then it was 5:30am and time to go to bed….oh, dear!

"Even too much wine is not enough."

Up with the larks (if the larks rose at 10:30am) and with a breakfast bap down me gullet (as it were) we headed back to the rehearsal studios the next morning (late) to have another bash through all these songs and more. After some rearranging of synth parts and completely missing out my solo in "The Clansman" (damn you lot) we were as ready as we'd ever be for next weekend, and packed down. The Two Yorkshiremen went their own way, while Gus drove myself and Nicko "Houston, we have a problem" McBrain Jnr back to foggy Londonium. Gus and I bonded on a love of 70s prog, but then I fell asleep and missed most of the M1. Result!

We're all very excited about this year, with lots of enticing things coming up; album shows, a trip to Guernsey, the Edventure weekend and no doubt even more special things to be announced, it's looking to be a good and positive 2012 for us.

Welcome to the loony bin, Mr Harristopolis!

To the rest of you, see you on the road!

Up the Irons!

Dave "got no paracetamol chap, how about an Immodium?" Hurry

HI-ON CANNING TOWN - 26 March 2011

At last, a gig on my home turf!

Saturday 26 March had loomed large in my calendar for a good few months. It’s not often that we manage to find gigs in our illustrious capital city. There are many reasons for this, but the primary one is that London venues simply won’t pay what it takes to get us all together in one place. We’ve done a few fanclub / special event type shows in recent years at the Ruskin Arms (Iron Maiden’s spiritual home) and just about managed to get ourselves there and back, but this is the first “regular gig” in a long time to take place within the sound of Bow bells.

My day started with a bit of forward planning. A few days previous I had been taken ill with a Devil Bug, and having recently moved it struck me as a grand idea to go and sign up with the local witch doctor. Upon registering with their fine service it became apparent that my passport had expired. With a trip to Nijmegen beckoning in a few short weeks, I was racked with a bout of loud expletives (much to the horror of the poor receptionist at whom they were directed) and went home to ask the internet how one goes about renewing one’s passport. Saturday morning was spent putting that research into practice at the local post office, while also picking up a more suitable dress shirt to match, as best I could, what Dave Murray is wearing on Iron Maiden’s current tour. It was also incumbent on me to pick up an “emergency wig”; rabid readers may recall an unfortunate incident in Plymouth resulting in what Adrian “d’yer want the good news or the bad news?” Swift affectionately summed up as “looks like a fanny on yer head!”. With a brisk jaunt around town on Saturday morning put behind me, I walked home and set about getting my stuff together for the gig.

Arriving at the venue a refreshing 30 minutes or so after leaving home (thank you, TFL!), I came upon various members of our support act for the evening. Ghoad are a Saxon tribute band, who have been together as a classic rock covers act for the better part of a decade but who recently turned their talents to the tribute world. Their genesis sounds awfully familiar – a pre-existing band notice that their beloved band are poorly represented on the tribute circuit and decide to try their hand at it. We wish them the best of luck for the future! Ghoad’s Manager Andy Findley filled me in (as it were!) on the situation – there was no-one to let us in until a bit later. The Bridgehouse II is the relocated spirit twin of The Bridgehouse, a seminal rock venue in the East End throughout the seventies before being shut down in 1982 and razed to the ground in recent years. Iron Maiden themselves played there in the early days, and the Bridgehouse II is there to take it’s place. A small room on an industrial estate in the wastelands of East London, it seems a slightly surreal place to find a venue.

Half an hour later, the Unbranded and Slightly Damaged Selectadrive Sprinter rolled up with the rest of the band aboard. Bruce “I’ve just done a rather awful trump” Dugginson was complaining of cramp, having had a rather uncomfortable journey, while everyone else looked in decidedly chipper moods. Speed “fugg may owld boots!” Haggis wasted no time offering me up as a sexual favour to the support act in order to get me a lift home (charming!), while Nicko “dum de dee dee dum de dee dee” McBrain Jnr was devasted to learn that there were no eateries nearby. Honestly. I don’t know where he puts it all.

We quickly set about lugging all the gear up the stairs (always fun, I can tell you!) ably aided by the Ghoad boys. By this time it was a mere 90 minutes to doors opening, so I tried to set my gear up as quickly as possible. Sound-check duly ensued, and we ran through the two numbers we had prepared especially for the gig (including the rarely performed Purgatory and the never-before performed Back In The Village – oh, you lucky people!). Both went off without a hitch, more or less, and were received raptly by the pre-gig audience! We cleared off to allow Ghoad to sort their stuff out, and I promptly decamped to the bar. By this time the doors were almost ready to open, and punters started trickling in. I escaped to the outside (where it was colder than expected!) to quietly sup on my pint of Guinness. While I waited outside with the lads, various friends and family appeared. As I said, it’s a rare thing that a gig occurs anywhere near my locale, and when it does my nearest and dearest jump at the chance to see me and my be-wigged colleagues knocking out the choons.

Ghoad brought Saxon to the masses, and in no time at all it was our turn in the “dressing cupboard”. Not wanting to waste any time (punters would be wary of the last Tube departing just after the midnight hour) we bounded onstage to “Satellite 15...” and got on with the show. We played a blinder, with the rarities well-received and the classics being greeted with utter joy. I had one or two marvellous personal moments with mates of mine popping up in front of me on stage right singing right along with me, which was a real treat. I had one slight nightmare at the end of “Hallowed...”, trying to go for the crash-ending but finding my fingers seizing up so what actually came out was a flurry of mishits and Brown Notes. Rather embarrassing! Recovering from that, we rounded out the gig with the encores and said our on-stage farewell while Eddie “Mother of Mercy’s me favourite” the ‘Ead couldn’t resist tearing my dying wig from my bonce and giving me a good slice with the blood-soaked knife. A job well done, although let me tell you it was bloody loud. Even with my slightly-less-than-rock-and-roll earplugs in, my ears were buzzing the next day. I hope the punters have recovered!

I packed down my gear and, having missed the last Underground train, was kindly offered a lift home with the departing Andy and Nibs from Ghoad. This, I’m assured, had nothing to do with ‘Aggy’s inferences earlier in the evening! I’m not usually one to wimp out of loading out the gear (with one notable exception at The Brook, though I still maintain I was busy drinking at the bar and no-one told me the load-out was in progress!!!), but it was such a nice feeling to be at home on the night of a gig without the slog of a long journey home the next day. I arrived home and promptly walked round a mate’s house to continue the party! Splendid stuff.

On a personal note, a huge thanks to all the friends and family who came along (with or without ear protection!). Special thanks to Goc for marshalling the Facebook hordes, to Ross and Sasha for providing me with faces to melt down the front, and to Corey for coming along even though he can't stand Maiden! Kev, Beth, Mike, Mum, Dad, it was properly lovely to see you there. Thanks to Eddie, Mrs Eddie et al, and to the fine chaps of Ghoad.

Until next time, UP THE ‘KIN IRONS

Dave “are you pimping me out?” Hurry