the car became full of musical genius.

As we drove through the quiet streets, I noticed that I was making every green traffic light. This is something I had not taken the time to notice before. There are days when you are in a hurry and hit every red. But those days are balanced out by days like this. Not in a hurry and you hit the greens interspersed with the occasional red. This was my life right now. I was driving down life’s highway hitting the green lights but every now and then life’s highway stops you dead in your tracks with a red. You sit in the proverbial queue waiting for the lights to change. You take time out to pick your nose whilst you look at the driver beside you who is tapping out his music on his steering wheel. You hear the blast of a horn that tells you to move on. Back on along life’s highway.

            “Well, are you gonna move or what?” said Skinny Boy who was looking over his shoulder at the traffic that was building up behind me. He showed the driver behind us the ‘V’ sign accompanied by a contorted face.

            “Sorry mate I was miles away there” I said as I snapped back into reality.

            “We would have been miles away if you kept your bloody head together”. I gave a nervous laugh and decided to tap along to the radio on the steering wheel.

            “Why don’t you put the CD on?” said Skinny Boy who was rummaging through his holdall.

            “What CD?” I asked.

            “Really? What CD? Where the hell are you mate? The CD that the club found on the bus. I have a copy of it here.” Bloody hell! I can get to hear some exclusive tracks from mONKEYs fOREHEAd. I did wonder why after all this time I had been with them it was only now that I was getting to hear this CD. So I asked Skinny Boy.

            “Why after all this time I have been with you is it only now that I am getting to hear this CD?”

            “Dunno” came Skinny Boy’s reply. “So do you wanna hear it or not?” I pushed eject on the in car CD player as Absolutely by ABC was slowly spewed out. I lovingly returned it to its case from the glove box all the while I am steering the car with my knees.

            The CD player sucked the CD in and made a few high-pitched whistles as it read the data on the disk. Track 1 popped up on the display. The car became full of musical genius.

tears of fury

            ‘Skinny Boy! What the fu…’ Skinny Boy walked towards me smiling and holding out his hand to shake mine. I was ready to throw him out of the window and the look on my face must have displayed this. He backed off slightly and asked what was wrong. I then realised that there was a stick involved and I had hold of the wrong end of it.

            Skinny Boy explained that a CD of mONKEYs fOREHEAd that he had accidently left on the bus was being played in a local club. The DJ had tracked him down and wanted to know if mONKEYs fOREHEAd would play in the club. They had there first ever gig. Skinny Boy wanted to know of I fancied joining them and cover this historical moment. I looked over at my wife who sat there clutching a cup of tea. She smiled back at me and slowly nodded her head.

            It was at that point I just stood and looked at her. I know that it was not for as long as it felt. If it had been, she would have had more of a worried look on her face as I was now moving from the looking at her lovingly to giving her a stalkers stare. In the moment, I flashed through the day our daughter was born, back to our wedding day, back to the dates we had, back to the time we had our first date to the time we first met. This was another chapter in our relationship. It was a chapter I was very happy to share with her.

            ‘Come with me’. I said to her. I explained how she had been supportive through my work so far and thought why would she not join me? We could ask her mother to look after our daughter for a few days and enjoy a long weekend together. The smile she gave me let me know that this was my dream I was following. She was supportive but in her own way. I cuddled her for what felt like ages. Skinny Boy went outside for a smoke whilst we talked.

            I felt quite choked as I swapped some old clothes for some clean ones. My daughter came out of her bedroom to meet me. I fought back the tears. I wanted to cry for the time I had been away. I wanted to cry for the time I would be leaving again. However, this time I knew it would not be for as long. I had a lot of catching up to do. I needed to be a father again. As I always did at moments like this I tried to convince myself that this was all for the good of the family.

            Skinny Boy joined us from the garden and almost immediately left again to use the toilet. He said that it was a long drive and he did not know when he would get to go again so made the most of a golden opportunity. I threw my bag over my shoulder and kissed my family again.

As we walked down the driveway, I asked whose car we should take as I looked over his BMW. He said that we would have to take mine as he had taken the train. It never sunk in. Whose car was it then?

I started the car engine and clicked my seatbelt. As we pulled away, I looked at my house one more time. I had only been back a matter of hours. I had such an understanding wife. At least so I thought. As I waited to pull out of the junction at the top of the street, I looked up at the bedroom window and saw a semi-naked man peering through the curtains. Curtains that were closed during the day. That should have been a sign. The BMW driver was still in my house. I clenched the steering wheel as tears slowly began to well in my eyes. This time they were tears of fury. I looked over to Skinny Boy.

            ‘So mate, tell me, what have I missed then?’ I put the car into first gear and pulled away.

living in dirty clothes and dirtier motels

I don’t know to this day the reason for me driving so slowly up the double width drive way. I was either delaying the inevitable knowing that once I walk in that house nothing will be the same again or I was hoping whoever it was, was going to walk out at any moment and that I would confront them. I reached my garage door by driving past the nicely polished dark gray BMW. I was tempted to get out of my car and scratch my car key right down the side of the door. All the hate that was building up in me began to leak out. I wanted revenge.

I resisted the temptation to bang his door as I got out my car. I left my suitcase in the boot, as there was a good chance I would be walking straight back out the house again. I would be living in dirty clothes and dirtier motels whilst my life fell apart around me.

I relived the memories of our wedding day, our first date, the birth of our children and knew it was all about to end today. End in a matter of minutes. I paused. I contemplated just what I was going to do when I walked in the house. Would I do it quietly to catch them at it? Would I make some noise to give them the chance to stop what they were doing and make a feeble excuse that I would believe? Anything for a quiet life I thought. I then thought about all my stuff in the loft and if I left, I would have to sort all that out. There is a good few day’s work in itself. Was it really worth it? I decided on the quiet approach.

I slowly took out my door keys from tighter jeans pocket and pushed the key suggestively into the keyhole. I was tempted to pull it out and push it back a few times but that would be childish. That is what is going on upstairs right now in my own bed! The door slowly opened revealing the open hallway. As I looked to my left, I was caught completely off guard. They were on the sofa. They were in the front room. Did they have no shame? My wife stood up looking quite surprised, which is to be expected, as I was not due home for another few days. Then he stood up. I must have looked just as surprised as my wife must have when he turned round and I saw whom it was.

the motorway is a lonely place

I left a relatively sleepy town and headed for a busier city. I enjoyed the stomach turns I experienced as I thought back to my time with the lads. I have never enjoyed spending so much time doing so little. And if I am honest, I started to miss them already.

As I looked over my shoulder to check for traffic approaching on the slip road I noticed a cigarette butt crushed into the door handle. Something that would have usually sent me over the edge actually gave me moment of happiness. I could picture Bertie wilfully not even discreetly, damaging my property. Instead of fury, I smiled. Each stain or rip of the interior of my car now held history. I was driving a future collector’s item. Like John Lennon’s Rolls Royce, this car could soon be worth more money than David Beckham’s hair products.

The motorway is a lonely place interrupted by occasional bad drivers and that moment of panic when you think you will not make it into the correct lane to pull off at the junction you need. I would always have my memories of the time spent with mONKEYs fOREHEAd. The drinking, the smoking, the laughing, the smoking, the drinking and the smoking. Not for getting the drinking. I knew that I would have to move on. Write this up and move on to the next project.

As time does, it flew by for the journey home. Before I knew it, I was back in my hometown, well, city. It was as busy as usual, so as I sat in the accustomed traffic jam I pictured my family home. For some reason I usually expect things to look different when I come home. It might be because I have changed that I expect everything around me to have changed. Things do not change, people do. Although in saying that, the extra car on the drive was certainly a change. Not a change for the better it turned out.

belly full and broad grin

I got up marginally earlier and put on my clothes following a steaming shower. In preparation of my early start I had packed everything I could last night. Adding my toiletries to the top of my case I took one last glance around the hotel room double-checked the bedside cabinet and wardrobe and then pushed my key into the now stretched back pocket of my jeans.

I joined the throw of fellow marginally early risers in the hotel dining area for a full English breakfast, one of the reasons for my now ample filled jeans. I helped myself to the complimentary glass of fresh fruit juice by filling a glass, swigging it back and then toping it prior to finding a seat. The room brimmed with the smell of warm bread and cooking meat. A hum of businesspersons could be heard over the large screen television that was attached to the far wall. Smartly dressed folk updated the interested few on the news topics of the day. It would appear that they had few more lines on the exact same stories as yesterday.

The waiter brought a choice of coffee and tea. His broken Polish accent was pleasant unlike the stewed coffee I selected. He motioned that I could start to gather my foodstuffs and fill my face. Nothing was going to faze me today. I was on my way home.

Whilst tucking into hot lamp warmed eggs and oil soaked meat I mused over the last few weeks. The time I had spent with mONKEYs fOREHEAd would never soon be forgotten. Neither would the amount of taped interviews and notes I had to now assemble into a regular feature within the magazine. I drew slight attention to myself when I sniggered at the idea that I had considered leaving my family to join the band. Now my greatest priority was how long I was going to kiss my wife and hug my daughter.

I smiled at the waiter as I left the table to make my way to the reception desk. I handed in my key and received a bill. With a quick payment and a securely sought receipt, I made my way to the car park. With belly full and broad grin I got into my car and drove home. This was to be the last time I was this happy and it would be a long time before I was this happy again.

I swallowed hard

Bertie walked into the room scratching his nether regions drinking from a freshly opened can of larger. He had just got up. It was 4pm.  

‘You still here?’ he said looking at me curled up on the deep brown chair. It was then I had another realisation. If I were to follow mONKEYs fOREHEAd on the road would I stifle their creativity. As they say, twos a company threes a crowd and I would be that one individual that made a company a crowd. This is not a decision I can make without discussion. I did not get a vibe that said now was a good time so instead I called a taxi to take me back to my hotel.

I sat in the taxi and contemplated my future. I was not attempting to infiltrate the band but become a member of the band. The taxi pulled up in the car park of the hotel. Maybe I could be a part time member. I paid my fare and collected the mandatory receipt for expenses. I don’t know the first thing about playing music and music composition. I pushed on the revolving doors, walked past the tired looking receptionist and made my way up to my room. I could be an on-the-road journalist that could work. I swiped my card and opened the door to my room. Nevertheless, an on-the-road journalist is not a member of the band.

I flopped back onto the bed and pulled my shoes off by dragging them on the side of the bed. My head rolled to its side allowing me to catch a glimpse of the photograph I took everywhere with me. The beech wood frame held a picture of my wife holding our two-year-old son. I swallowed hard but was unable to stop the small tear that rolled down my face. I instantly made my decision and at that very moment leapt up from the bed and decided to go back home a day early. I could not believe I had even considered leaving something so precious to me.

hang on, it is the weather

I had spent most of the day engrossed in puerile television with channels determined by whoever could be bothered to pick up the remote control. One film would seamlessly blend into the news, which would seamlessly blend into the next film. This I only later realised following confusion as to why James Bond had defeated another world dominator and saw it fit to break into my local school and then turn green and live in a swamp.

Occasionally somebody would arise and make their way to the toilet to expel a mixture of partly digested booze and bile. Occasionally somebody would arise to feast on left over buffet food and then make their way to the toilet to expel a mixture of partly digested booze and bile.

I soon realised that I could not continue this party lifestyle for much longer. I had my own commitments and deadlines to meet. I had a loving family at home. I had the loving and supporting wife who would understand when I needed to stay over at parties. Today was New Years Day. Time I should spend with my family. However, as I sat here and looked around the room I started to feel that this was my family. I had bonded with a new accepting family that took me to their bosom. They accepted me without any humiliating initiation ceremony. I am becoming as one with mONKEYs fOREHEAd. I began to question if I could be the elusive third member and follow them around the world. I sat melting into the sofa whilst thumbing my ring. My wedding ring that is. I have hit my crossroads. Do I leave Bertie’s house, go home and write up my story? Do I go back to my wife and consider a new journalistic path or do I hit the road? Maybe it is time to think of a New Year’s resolution. Now why is that lady suggestively rubbing Shrek’s body? Hang on, it is the weather.

the morning after the night before

My hangover was unbearable. It hurt to breathe in and it hurt to breathe out. Any noise might as well have been an explosion. Any thought I had caused that much discomfort I felt like I was going to vomit. My mouth was dryer than the ashtray I had just put my hand in when blindly reaching for anything to drink. It felt as though I would have had more joy trying to turn the Sahara desert into a marsh by spitting on it.

Although I am reflecting back on New Years Day I still remember that I could not have paid for the quality time I had with mONKEYs fOREHEAd over this holiday period. Exclusives like this come before any time off. Here I was living the morning after the night before with one of the greatest bands to come out. I was going to say out of the UK but feel to judge me if I say, the world.

I ambled across the sleeping bodies and made my way into the kitchen. The cool blast that spewed out of the refrigerator was a Godsend. I could have fallen back to sleep in there as the refreshing chilled air massaged my throbbing temples. I pulled a can of something from its ice-cold nest, opened up its face and drank the contents. As the gas hit my stomach it realised it would rather be outside my body rather than inside it and so made its way back out with a loud belch. Ordinarily a house waking belch but not today. Not only would waking a statue have been easier, today was going to be about not leaving the house. Today is about sitting watching whatever mind numbing new years TV is on offer whilst slowly drip-feeding left over food stuffs. Today is about using as few words as possible with no intention of showering. Today is New Year’s Day. All is quiet on New Year’s Day.

eyes pulsing with hangover madness

So tell me, how did monism2000 come about I asked as Bertie reached for his cigarettes. Bertie explained that we are not here to discuss this solo project and left it at that. Then it all went uncomfortably cold, for me anyway. Bertie brushed it off, as he turned round to listen to the latest work related escapade from his mate in the corner. The rest of the evening gets sketchy.

I recall leaving the pub and making our way round to Bertie’s house. There was a bit of ‘nosebag’ laid on, that is to say a buffet had been prepared. I helped myself to cheese, sausage and pineapple on a cocktail stick combo’s, the various crisps left out in bowls of which you had to try them to find the flavour and a large amount of half bun sandwiches. But, the killer was the booze. There was a large amount of booze. Mostly larger based booze but still lots of booze. And a copious amount was drunk.

I have a vague recollection of a quiz, which seemed a bit odd for a house party but was fun nonetheless. I got the feeling that all of those in attendance knew each other really well. A group that would meet regularly and have the same stories to share. I remember collating a large amount of childhood stories about Bertie from people who had known him since he was a child but then sadly I lost the notebook. At least I think I lost it. I have certainly not ruled out the potential for sabotage but then again I could have been messing with the future of one of Britain’s musical greats. I would not have been able to live with myself had I inadvertently brought mONKEYs fOREHEAd to its knees.

My next memory was waking up on the settee to see one of mONKEYs fOREHEAd’s friends’ stirring near the fire, which had been left on all night. He appeared to wake like an animal, cold from hibernation, slowly and subconsciously made his way to the warm place and fell back to sleep. It was at that moment, through eyes pulsing with hangover madness that I surveyed my surroundings. Soon mONKEYs fOREHEAd will be too big to live in a suburban street. Screaming fans will be at their every door. Their anonymity will be ripped open at every place they seek solace. I looked over at Skinny Boy as he rested his party burned head. Sleep a good sleep for soon you will…and at that very point, he let out the loudest fart I have heard in a long time. They are humans after all.

breaking through the underground

I returned from the bar on my third occasion in a row having bought a round. I was of course chastised for not being able to carry more than three pints in my ‘kiddie hands’ as Bertie called them. I was able to manoeuvre myself to get a seat that allowed me to face mONKEYs fOREHEAd. From this position I turned on the tape recorder and just hoped it would pick up the pure, unadulterated brilliance in vocal form that I was about to transfer to cassette tape.

“So what does the future hold for mONKEYs fOREHEAd?” I sat and waited for Bertie to complete the lengthy draw on his cigarette.

“Dunno” he answered.

“What did you say?” asked Skinny Boy who was attempting to breathe out smoke without it going in his eyes by slightly tilting his head. Bertie stubbed out his cigarette and glugged about a third of his pint. He let out a loud and somewhat impressive belch and then leaned forward.

“If mONKEYs fOREHEAd had the same level of motivation we have as both talent and drive we would be pushing for the stars. However, as with any creative’s you sometimes find your self stuck looking at the stars when you should be walking among them…as stars. You know what I mean?” I sat in disbelief. This guy could inspire the most inspirational.

“What did he say?” added Skinny Boy.

“Do you ever see yourselves as stars in the public eye? Breaking through the underground,” I asked. Bertie lit another cigarette and paused in thought.

“Our creations aren’t born, they are created. We can sit staring at a screen for hours and then Skinny will just play a couple of notes at the high end of the keyboard, coz that’s the end he usually sits at. Then I will do like a bass line at the low end of the keyboard. Coz that’s the end I sit at. It will then just melt together and perfection will form. A creation will be born”. Again, Bertie drifted off and I sat feeling as though I had missed another crucial moment to explore this mind. He could pull quotes from the air like God created stars.

Unperturbed I pushed for more information regarding a solo project of his called monism2000 and the six-track ep he created. So, I asked, where did monism2000 begin?

genius with this ability is rare

I have found that a Bertie is not to be taken literally or with frequent seriousness. A Bertie is touched by true greatness, which as such, can manifest in rapid topic changes, arguments over minor infractions and a vocal speed to rival a horseracing commentator on speed. This Bertie, who opens up with booze like an increasingly hungry clam, once told me that he thinks a lot faster than he can speak or indeed write. With alcohol-loosened lips, this is accentuated and affects his topics of conversation. I have found it easier to tape record him and attempt to decode his prose later in my office.

Skinny Boy on the other hand is exactly the same. Although he does appear quieter around strangers, he too can be easier to pry open than a well-thumbed porno mag when he is soaked with lager. This, in my opinion, is what makes mONKEYs fOREHEAd gel together. When their surroundings are challenged as was the case this New Years Eve they make no attempt to rationalise the situation. At no point did I hear either of them console the other with the fact that this is a once a year occurrence. When listening to them you would have thought someone had opened their grandmother’s grave and laid a man egg in the coffin. Their ability to feed each other is the foundation of their greatness. Without this, they would have never created mONKEYs fOREHEAd.

As the friends of mONKEYs fOREHEAd began to join them, I found it increasingly difficult to monitor what the main thread of the conversation was. It was only later in my office when I deciphered the tape did I realise that amongst the average of seven individuals, fourteen separate conversations were being maintained at any one time. I found this utterly remarkable and was at last beginning to piece together what makes mONKEYs fOREHEAd work. If they attempted to take on just one more solitary task, they would have forgotten to breathe. Genius with this ability is rare. My new mission was going to be tough. I am going to have to get mONKEYs fOREHEAd to stay on one point for more than 3 minutes. Mission accepted.

new years heave

The one thing that I found really annoyed Bertie was…well, I say one thing, there are a number of things that annoy him but the one thing that springs to mind right now is his utter detestation for paying for something that should usually be free. The classic example of this is the local pub that has the audacity to charge an entry fee to a place that is ordinarily free 364 days and 19 hours of the year. However, not when it is New Years Eve. It was due to this that Bertie was the advocator of the local till they charge then all round mine. So this we did.

I was suitably impressed with Bertie’s self-control for the early hours in that he impressively paced himself. The night was pretty much like any other only with a feasibly large amount of people standing around but I am jumping ahead.

It was of course a no-brainer that we would need get to the pub early to get the corner seat. I found it difficult to interview MF on the short walk to the pub as Bertie was clearly demonstrating the hastily paced walk of a man on a mission. A mission to get a chair at the same table that housed MF for the last number of uncountable years. But this time there was a challenger. A challenger in the increased numbers of New Years Eve revellers. This was the annual fight Bertie was prepared for. And with the timing of a fine Swiss timepiece, the mission was accomplished.

So the usual routine ensued. One to the bar, the others to the table to carry out any necessary adjustments to the layout that the non-locals just wouldn’t understand. Following this, the seating was sat on, the beer mats had beer glasses put on and the cigarettes and mobile phones were placed lovingly on the table. They had landed, again.

Once the pints were supped with perfect synchrony, the smoke tinged air sucked across teeth in appreciation and the pint glass parked perfectly central on the beer mat (something that I noticed was often adjusted with micro-precision) MF sat back in their seats and looked around the room. This is the precise moment the beer clear heads will speak rational thoughts and give clear opinions on those around them. Alternatively, as Bertie opened up “half these fuckers wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t New Years Eve”. At this point, I pulled out my notepad, clicked the nib out of its Parker shelter and prepared to start taking notes.

a dark age

And, sure enough, in true mONKEYs fOREHEAd fashion, they disappeared off the face of the earth for over seven months. Nevertheless, to be honest, being around their greatness did become somewhat overwhelming and my editor retracted me from the job until I recovered fully. I did not officially document what happened to me over the last seven months or anyone around me that I am aware. This became the dark ages of mONKEYs fOREHEAd. A dark age that only now am I ready to shed some light on.

The last I remember was sitting in the local pub of mONKEYs fOREHEAd around the Christmas period. It was the happiest of times, it was the…well you get the idea. Bertie was renowned for not being a man who would be sat in the bar with free hands. They would either be holding the glass for drinking or holding the cigarette for smoking. With no ties to bind, he would drink and drink and drink. It was not uncommon for him to finish the pints of those around him who would be ‘taking on water’ as he put it and thus unable to finish their own drinks before last orders.

Bertie confided in me quite loudly across the faces of the speaking others that he would hit a state of panic if he had finished his drink and was unable to purchase another at the bar. Therefore, two resolves that are more manageable were concocted. Firstly, a number of years ago a good friend of his would keep what he called ‘Bertie’s emergency fiver’ in his wallet. This was simply a five-pound note held in reserve for the inevitable moment when Bertie ran out of money just before last orders and then invariably ran out of drink. Bertie would borrow and immediately spend the said emergency fiver but always pay it back at the end of the night. In addition, of course, the paid back fiver went back into the friend’s wallet for next time.

With Skinny Boy, a new approach was adopted. Whilst Bertie was known as the drinker, Skinny Boy was known as the dodger. Closer towards the end of an evening Skinny Boy would stop buying himself a drink during his round and play catch up. However, the drinking buddies would continue to buy him drinks thus resulting in a ‘boozer buffer’. This was a buffer Bertie was very happy to assist in the clearing of.

As I sit and write this, what is coming back to me in drips and drabs is the new years eve of last year. How I wish I had still forgotten it.