Continuing my attempt to craft a short story written on my iPhone each week here is one that was inspired by my attendance at the Mad Cool Festival in Madrid, wondering what it might be like making a comeback as a band after a long, long gap.
Enjoy.
‘The Comeback.’
by
Morgan Cry
‘I’m going to play a major festival this year.’
That José Mudd had not released a single or played a full gig in forty years was, in her eyes, not the best prep for this announcement. She had been the lead singer of the biggest band on the planet in the late seventies, the mightyDiamond Steal. But that cut no ice with her nerves at all.
Eight number ones, including the worldwide anthem, Do You Want To Live Or Do You Want Give. The royalties from that track alone meant José had never been, would never be, short of a bob or six.
When Diamond Steal split in 1979, the band members had gone on to carve out careers that wouldn’t touch those heights again.
Jenny Loud, the drummer, formed Touched by Fire, released seven albums but the band’s current set was mostly Diamond Steal classics.
Rob ‘Granite’ McLair, bass player, took to production. A string of nearlys his legacy. He nearly produced the Rolling Stones, almost worked with Dire Straits, was close to being on the desk for Oasis and had an unsigned contract that could have had him sitting on the other side of the sound booth from Madonna.
Tilly Beeswax, keyboards, was on her sixth incarnation of Death House; a band whose music was so far from Diamond Steal that she would walk out on interviews if they tried to discuss her time in the seventies.
It was José Mudd that the music press had placed their pennies on to be a solo star post the split. After all she had been the band’s lead singer, the main songwriter, and a powerhouse live.
José chose another future. She married her long-term boyfriend, and band manager, Thomas, had four kids and adored being a mother for forty odd years.
She made the occasional, off the wall, public appearance. A guest slot with The DialUps at Glastonbury. Who Do You Think You Are discovered her great, great grandfather was a serial killer, and she ran the London Marathon twenty times, raising money for the Kids With The Big C charity.
She had never entered a studio or picked up a pencil to scribble lyrics from the day the band split to her announcement.
Yet here she was, at seventy-two years of age, telling a DJ on Radio 2 that she was planning a comeback.
On her own.
She was scared shitless.
Why come back?
Her youngest daughter, Zara, was to blame. Of her four kids, Zara had music talent to burn. She’d picked up a guitar at three and could play better then Jose ever could by the time she was fourteen.
Her band We Three Too had, under Zara’s firm hand, carved out a catalogue that had come close to topping her mum’s.
When José’s mum had died late last year, Zara had been sitting by her bedside.
‘I promised gran you’d get back on stage one last time, mum.’
José’s mother had been a folk singer of note in the fifties and sixties, and then in the seventies, eighties, nineties. . . had never quit. Couldn’t understand how her daughter could stay away from the music scene. And never tired of telling her what a waste that was.
‘You promised what to gran, Zara?’
‘You heard, mum. And you can’t break a promise made by your daughter to your mother, can you?’
José knew she’d been screwed over. Knew she’d need to keep her daughter’s promise but would rather run naked down Sauchiehall Street on a Saturday afternoon than get back on stage.
It was ‘Granite’ McLair that suggested they got the band back together. On a phone call from his studio in Antigua after a friend sent him a link to Josés Radio 2 interview.
‘On your own, José?’
‘Didn’t think anyone else would be up for it.’
‘Why the fuck not,’ was the main thrust of the reply.
José had produced no end of why the fuck nots on a Diamond Steal reunion when Jenny Loud had sent a WhatsApp to say she’d chatted with ‘Granite’ and quite liked the idea of reforming.
But it was Tilly Beeswax that sealed the deal. The woman that wouldn’t even talk about the band, turned up at Jose’s house one Saturday morning, fresh off a private jet from Berlin.
Her rationale for joining in on the fun was strangely familiar, ‘Why the fuck not.’ Followed by, ‘Anyway, you’d be shit on your own.’
And so the reunion tour gained its official name The ‘Shit On Your Own’ Tour. The band chose to wear their traditional black tees but added the letters SOYO in silver on the back.
And now, with the temperature still hovering in the early thirties, despite the night sky, the band were backstage at Mad Cool, a four-day mega-festival on Madrid’s south side.
WhatNot had just blown the audience away and Cringe were slotted to play after Diamond Steal, off the back of a sell out stadium tour of the States.
‘Hi, mum.’
José turned to her daughter’s voice, surprised she was there, ‘I thought you wanted to be in the mosh pit?’
‘I had another. . .’ started Zara. ‘We had another idea.’
Behind her stood Granite’s youngest daughter, Tilly’s only son and Jenny’s second oldest boy.
‘What are you all doing here?’
All four of the band’s offspring were wearing black t-shirts with the letters DSJ on the front.
‘Time to go,’ shouted the agent.
‘Excuse us,’ said Zara passing by her mum.
All four children stepped forward, walking onto the stage, leaving their parents stranded.
‘What the . . .?’ said ‘Granite’.
Diamond Steal looked at each other. Their agent held up a hand, ‘You’ll see. Stay put.’
The crowd cheered at first. A noise that died to murmurs of confusion as they realised Diamond Steal had not appeared.
Zara walked to the centre of the stage and grabbed the mic.
‘Hi guys, don’t worry Diamond Steal will be on in a moment but I’m Zara Mudd, Jose’s daughter.’
As she spoke one of the others picked up a bass, one stood behind a keyboard, and one sat the drums.
Zara half-turned to point behind her, ‘On the drums we have Jenny Loud’s son, Mick. On bass ‘Granite’ McLair’s daughter Mitra and, on keyboards, is Tilly Beeswax’s son Rodal. Until six weeks ago no one, bar me, had seriously played an instrument but we’ve been practicing like mad. We are here to play one song to thank our mum and dads for being the best parents on the planet. For one song only we are,’ she pointed at the DSJ on her chest, ‘Diamond Steal Junior.’
Off stage all of Diamond Steel laughed, and to an enormous cheer walked out to join their kids on stage.
The eight blasted out an appalling version of Sister Sledge’s We Are Family.
It was, by far, the best live performance José had been involved in.
And, she suspected, the best she’d ever be involved in.
The grins on everyone else’s face told her she was not alone in that thought and, as icing on the doughnut goes, having two sixty-foot-high images of her mother, from a photo taken on a family holiday in Rothesay a long ago, smiling down on her from the stage screens wasn’t bad. . . wasn’t bad at all.
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