Spider from Mars Page 24

  After the festival they got quite a few offers to do more gigs. Clem wasn’t available as he was committed to a tour with Blondie so they asked me if I would take over the drum stool. It was an exciting prospect and interesting to me that the work I’d done with Bowie all those years ago kept finding its way back into my life.

  The shows had all sold out and I was blown away by the fact that the audiences knew every single word of the songs and sang along with us. That hadn’t happened on the Ziggy tours; at least I hadn’t noticed it. Maybe they hadn’t had a chance to learn them that early on . . . The other thing that surprised me was that the audience ranged from sixteen to sixty-five; in fact, quite a lot of the younger ones had brought albums to sign. I remember thinking not only were they not born when we were on the road as Ziggy and the Spiders, but their parents may have still been in nursery.

  As much as I enjoyed playing the shows I didn’t want to continue with what was almost a tribute band. However, Tom had reminded me that we’d never performed The Man Who Sold the World live with Bowie, although we had done a couple of songs from it during the Ziggy tours. I thought this was the perfect way to do some more touring but realized it would only work with the original bass player and producer on that album, the one and only Tony Visconti. I emailed Tony putting forward my idea, expecting to have to do a lot of persuading to get him on board. Instead, he replied saying, ‘Whatever you want to do with it, I’ll be there . . . It was one of the biggest regrets of my career that we never went on tour with that album. Bowie and I have spoken about it many times over the years.’

  When he then told Bowie about it, Bowie asked him, ‘Why are you doing it?’

  ‘Because we never did,’ Tony answered.

  ‘Sounds like a good enough reason to me,’ Bowie said.

  Tony immediately suggested we bring onboard Glenn Gregory from Heaven 17.

  ‘He’s got one of the best voices I’ve ever worked with and I know he’ll do a fantastic job,’ said Tony.

  We kicked off in September 2014 with another talk arranged at the ICA by Tom, this time Tony and me talking about the making of The Man Who Sold the World followed by four gigs in London, Sheffield, Glasgow and culminating at the Shepherd’s Bush Empire, London. Tom suggested we call the band ‘Holy Holy’ after the Bowie song. It then became ‘Woody Woodmansey’s Holy Holy’ simply because not everyone knew this early song and therefore wouldn’t know who we were. The band, which had evolved during its short time because of difficulties in scheduling, now also consisted of Steve Norman, Erdal Kizilcay (who had done extensive work with Bowie, including two world tours and three albums), James Stevenson (the Cult, the Alarm and Gene Loves Jezebel), Paul Cuddeford (Bob Geldof, Ian Hunter) Rod Melvin (Kilburn and the Highroads), Malcolm Doherty, and the Ronson girls, Mick’s sister Maggi, his niece Hannah and daughter Lisa.

  At the first rehearsal – with Tony just in from New York, having stopped only to drop his bags off at the hotel – we started with ‘Width of a Circle’. Seven minutes later, as we hit the last chords, everyone in the room had a grin on their face. It sounded so fucking powerful – everyone had obviously done their homework. Tony and I sounded like we’d been playing together for years and we’d managed to put a contemporary edge on it, probably because we’d improved as players over the years. By the time we’d finished rehearsing we were sounding shit hot.

  So we did the first three gigs which were a phenomenal success. At the Garage, the first one in London, we had Marc Almond, Billy Duffy (the Cult) and Glen Matlock (the Sex Pistols) join us as special guests. And on backing vocals Daphne Guinness (model, fashion muse, singer), which definitely added some glamour to the show. The fourth and final gig at the Shepherd’s Bush Empire was recorded. Our special guests again included Marc Almond, plus Gary Kemp and Benny Marshall (the Rats). Tony’s son Morgan and daughter Jessica Lee Morgan sang backing vocals as well as being the support act. Tony mixed the album, The Man Who Sold the World, Live in London, back in New York and he played it for Bowie, who wanted to hear it. Tony told me Bowie was smiling all the way through it.

  ‘I really like this. It’s how we would have sounded if we’d gone out and played the songs after the album,’ Bowie said, adding, ‘I think my career might have taken a different turn if we’d done that.’

  It meant a lot to get such a positive response from him.

  The next tour Tom planned was fourteen dates, starting on 12 June at the Isle of Wight Festival and finishing again at the Shepherd’s Bush Empire on 30 June. Joining us for this tour was Berenice Scott (Heaven 17) on piano and synthesizer and Terry Edwards (too many to mention!) on twelve-string guitar and saxophone.

  Once again the audience response was amazing. Again I was surprised at how many young fans there were and how they even knew some of the darker, more dystopian lyrics from The Man Who Sold the World and sang along as though they were all commercial hits. During the show we made a special point of acknowledging Mick and Trev for their contribution to the music and Bowie as the creator of all those fantastic songs. At the meet and greet afterwards, which often lasted a couple of hours, we’d sign albums and various items fans had brought along. I met some genuinely lovely people who often just wanted to say thank you for all the music which had meant so much to them while they were growing up.

  Before the end of the tour, Tom Wilcox had already arranged four dates in Tokyo at the Billboard Live, the venue being many floors up in a skyscraper, offering a fantastic view from behind my drum stool. After the success of Japan the whole band was eager to get another tour going. We had talked several times about the possibility of playing in the US, having received so many requests via Facebook and other sites from American fans who wanted to see us. After talking it through with Tom, we realized it was unfeasible for him to organize this, given that he already had three day jobs: senior partner at a financial consultancy called Counterculture, his record label Maniac Squat and the ICA role. He had done an amazing job for us, and had had a great knack of bringing people together, but it was time for us to move on.

  James Stevenson, our lead guitarist, had played with the Cult and knew their manager, Tom Vitorino. I asked James to check out if Tom would be interested in helping us set up a tour in the US. James played him the live album from Shepherd’s Bush and a video of us doing ‘Width of a Circle’ at the same gig and he was on board. He suggested we start with a smallish East Coast tour, and if we got good reviews he could use them to get other promoters interested. That seemed like a fair and decent plan . . .

  While Tom went about the business of putting the tour in place, it was my job to get back to confirming who would be available in the band to actually do the tour, given that everyone had other projects and gigs they were often committed to. In the end we had the band down to an eight-piece – Tony, Glenn, James, Paul, Berenice, Jessica and Terry and myself.

  We left for New York on 4 January 2016, for an eleven-date tour. The tour bus was definitely of a different class from the ones we’d had back in the seventies on those Ziggy tours. For starters it had twelve bunk beds, fully equipped. It had a lounge at the back and a kitchen with big American fridges, a sink and food storage areas and a bathroom towards the front, where there was yet another lounge. This could be expanded when the coach parked up; it slid out and almost doubled the width of the bus. It had huge TV screens, wi-fi, a music system and a selection of mood lighting, some of which was a bit too disco and psychedelic for my taste. It made me feel like I should be dancing all the way to the next city . . . All our stage equipment was in a separate trailer on the back of the bus. Our personal luggage was stored in two or three bays underneath the bus. We had our own driver, a seasoned band tour bus driver called John Glas who we would all grow fond of.

  The tour started on 7 January at the Asylum in Portland, Maine, a fitting place to play ‘All the Madmen’, I thought. The audience were really up for it, and their determination to have a good night and our intention to make our first US date
special was a perfect combination.

  Our second gig was back in New York at the Highline Ballroom on 8 January, which was, coincidentally, Bowie’s birthday. There were rumours among some of the staff there that Bowie would be making an appearance but that it was unlikely he would be performing. We figured these had probably started on Facebook, as we had seen a few optimistic posts.

  The Highline was sold out and again the New York audience was definitely in high spirits – and many of them had the Ziggy flash on their faces. After we played the whole of The Man Who Sold the World, Tony did his usual mid-set speech about the recording sessions all those years ago, with a few anecdotes about working with Mick, Bowie and myself, which the audience always enjoyed.

  He then surprised us (and Bowie) when he said, ‘Let’s give Bowie a call’, to which the audience gave an enormous cheer. Bowie answered and Tony said, ‘We’re on stage at the Highline right now.’ He then asked the audience to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ which they did enthusiastically as he held up his phone for Bowie to hear.

  ‘Thank you,’ Bowie said, then added, ‘Ask them what they think of Blackstar.’ Tony relayed this and another enormous cheer went up from the crowd.

  ‘Good luck with the tour,’ Bowie said, and he was gone. It was a really nice moment and I thought it was very cool of him to do it.

  Next was a concert in Ridgefield, Connecticut, followed by a ten-hour journey to Toronto, crossing the border in the wee small hours. We were woken by our tour manager and had to get off the bus into the heavy snow. We were made to sit in a waiting room until the border service officials called us up one by one to check our passports and ask us questions like ‘Where did you play last night?’ which I only just managed to answer, being half asleep and not quite sure where I was.

  We arrived in Toronto late morning and, because the next day was free, we checked into a hotel. It’s hard to describe the sense of relief I felt at being in a space that didn’t have another eleven people in it, with a bed that was wider than a yard and a room that wasn’t moving! Heaven for a few hours at least. Outside it was so cold that even this northern boy couldn’t take it for more than a couple of minutes. I only managed a few puffs on a cigarette before I had to give up and head back indoors. June and I went to bed early, looking forward to our day off.

  The first clue that something had happened was the constant beeping of our mobile phones disturbing our sleep. At about five in the morning we finally put the light on and took a look at the screen, seeing parts of messages that read ‘sorry for your loss’, ‘our condolences’, ‘our thoughts are with you’. We instantly thought it was something family-related and tried to open the phone. Then the phone rang and it was our son Danny.

  ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you,’ he said. ‘Did you know that Bowie just died?’

  He filled us in on what he’d heard on the BBC news earlier that night back home in the UK, that Bowie had died from cancer. After we ended the call, we sat there stunned. It took quite a few minutes to actually grasp the reality of the situation. It was surreal, made worse by the fact that we were still half asleep. I decided I should go and wake Tony and see if he knew and check that he was OK. Terry was outside Tony’s room and said, ‘Yeah, Tony found out a little while ago. He’s upset but I think he’s gone back to bed.’ Terry had a key so he let me into Tony’s room, where I found him in bed with his eyes closed. I gave him a gentle nudge and he opened his eyes and I asked him if he was OK. By now the news was starting to sink in and both of us were devastated. We talked for a while and then parted with a big hug.

  It turned out that Tony had known Bowie was ill and had been having treatment for cancer, but he was under the impression that he was beating it. So the news had really come out of left field.

  We then rounded up the rest of the band, who by this time had all heard the news, and sat in the hotel restaurant trying to figure out what to do. Should we cancel the tour out of respect for Bowie or should we do the gigs in his memory? Tony pointed out that Bowie had worked right up to the end of his life on the new album and the video for the ‘Lazarus’ single, even though he was very ill. He would work until he couldn’t work any more, take some time out to regain some energy, and then work even harder. I remembered that he always had the attitude that the show must go on. In the end we decided it felt right to continue – the more so when we checked our social media and saw thousands of messages telling us that his fans needed us to play the music more than ever now. We were dreading the show, though, as we knew it would be hard to get through.

  Tony and I spoke beforehand and decided to go on stage and talk to the audience before we started.

  ‘Thank you for coming out in the cold,’ Tony said. ‘Listen, yesterday was the worst, well, almost the worst, day in my life and I think it was for most of you here, too. We actually had to talk about whether we were going to perform more on this tour, but there’s no better way to work through grief than through music.

  ‘Music is magic. It’s better than any pill you can take. It’s better than any drug and this music is some of the best music that’s ever been written. I’m so glad to see you are so upbeat. I didn’t want to see a sea of sad faces. So we’re going to celebrate the life of David Bowie.’

  I then stepped up and added, ‘We really appreciate it. It’s good for us, as well as you. I know we all feel the same in this room, so as Tony just said it’s a celebration of David and his music. You’re supposed to have a good time tonight. So that’s a fucking order, all right?’

  This was met by a huge cheer, and it felt so good to have connected with the audience that we repeated that introduction on the rest of the tour dates.

  At some stages the show was so emotional it was tough to carry on – when we began playing ‘Five Years’, for example. All the songs now took on a different meaning for us. But we hoped that the music was helping people, making Bowie’s loss easier to face. Thankfully, at the end of the show, when we did our meet and greets, this was confirmed by the hundreds of fans we talked to. We finished the remaining eight dates, ending in Boston on 21 January, and returned home to England.

  Before Bowie’s passing Tony had agreed to be the musical director for an annual charity event that was to celebrate Bowie’s music and would take place at the Carnegie Hall in New York on 31 March. He had asked us, the band, if we would join him as the house band, to which we had all agreed. The planned promo for this event was due to go public on 10 January. That same day it was also announced that David had died and suddenly this event became something else altogether. Tickets were sold out almost immediately. In fact, the demand was so great that the organizers added another date, at Radio City Music Hall on 1 April. When this too sold out almost instantly they added the Winery, New York, on 30 March where the public could come and watch us rehearse for these two gigs.

  Holy Holy would open the show playing ‘Width of a Circle’ and then would back most of the other artists. Apart from three songs, ‘Space Oddity’ sung by Ann Wilson of Heart, ‘Suffragette City’ sung by Cyndi Lauper and ‘Starman’ featuring Debbie Harry, the rest of the set were songs from later periods in Bowie’s musical career. Esmeralda Spalding’s choice of ‘If You Can See Me’ was a real challenge for me, being an incredibly fast drum and bass track. She is an amazing bass player and has a fabulous voice. I honestly didn’t feel I played it well until the actual performance itself at Radio City, which was just as well as there was an audience of 6,000. That night was filled with memories of the first time I’d played there in 1973. I found myself smiling when I remembered my row with Bowie over Freddie Burretti’s spectacularly striped outfit.

  Ann Wilson was also doing ‘Let’s Dance’, another of those songs where the drums sound easy until you have to play it and suddenly realize it’s not what you thought on first listen. That one took some time to get right.

  But Perry Farrell’s ‘Rebel Rebel’ was a real joy to play. I always thought the single sounded like it was the Spiders pl
aying, even though it was done after we had all left Bowie.

  Both nights went down a storm with very few mishaps considering how many changeovers occurred. What was obvious was the eclectic mix of songs and artists which exemplified both Bowie’s songwriting diversity and how far-reaching his influence was. All the artists seemed genuinely thrilled to be able to contribute to this celebration of Bowie’s music. Though some of it was a little crazy, in a bizarre way it all worked and afterwards it was apparent everyone had risen to the occasion.

  After the shows, it was time to ‘get the fuck out of Dodge’, board our luxury hotel on wheels and hit the road on a twenty-five-date tour across the USA from east to west, and back through Canada. Our first show was the Tower Theater in Philadelphia, scene of some of our best gigs on the Ziggy tour. The crowd at the Tower left us in no doubt that Philly was a Bowie city!

  As we made our way through Boston, Baltimore and Richmond, Virginia, the band got better and better. We were definitely being energized by the audience reactions; it was becoming an organic and almost spiritual interchange. The heartfelt appreciation each night was almost overwhelming. Many, it seemed, had waited over forty years to say ‘thank you for the music’ and to express how much hearing the songs that night had meant to them. Many nights it was like being a rock star drummer and a counsellor when needed. It really did feel like we were helping people through the loss of a family member. That was how much Bowie had meant to them.