Being frontman with 'UFO goes UFA' is big on laughs. You get to wear your own costume, write your own lyrics, record, release and perform, with all the ease of a Playstation game, except it's for real.
My accidental encounter with the Freaksville label made all this possible, and led to a hassle-free project that we improvised on the hoof, recorded at lightspeed and inexplicably got Kramer of Butthole Surfers/Ween/Galaxie 500 fame to produce.
In the same renegade spirit, gigs materialised, which we approach with the same wild-eyed abandon. One of which was Belgium's Dour Festival, in its 20th anniversary and surely the country's best loved and most eclectic outdoor extravaganza. I had a one-day pass in my pocket intended for my wife that i'd been unable to give away, so I was looking for hardship cases by the entrance but sadly found none - well not the entrance we had to use, but there was some poor soul picking up rubbish by waste containers. It's not all glamour backstage.
We were due to play at 13:00 on the Saturday, arguably not the best slot, but what the hell, a big tent and that vast expanse of stage that major label artists consider home, yet to us mere mortals appears obscenely spacious.
Food was well organised for participating acts, but involved a minibus ride to a local school and a sit-down meal, and as we had an hour to play with, including soundcheck, we decided to venture onsite for a quick burger. I'm not one for eating much before a gig, frankly my digestive system goes into fight or flight mode, so i opted for a banana from the Fruit Stall. Imagine my consternation when it emerged it was a "Smoothie fruit drink" experience. I eyed the fruit enviously, pleaded my case as an artist in a tight corner, and like Eddie Murphy in 'Beverly Hills Cop' got a free banana through guile and charm (you don't remember? he stuffs it up somebody's exhaust pipe to incapacitate the car - me, i just ate the bastard, and it hit the spot -they even threw in a free strawberry )
Back at the stage we did a quick soundcheck, and ritually my arse went. Don't mock, it's a terrifying prospect treading the boards, fear keeps you sharp. It also has you running to the nearest backstage portaloo, which unlike onsite is relatively clean and well stocked with loo roll.
But not this one, strange, it had been earlier. Time was ticking and it dawned on me that my only option was the ticket with a street value of 40 euros, though at that moment its value was immeasurably higher.
I'm not proud of it but you need this kind of irony to give you some onstage edge, especially as my exit collided with a girl with armfulls of bog -roll to restock it.
We rolled out to an audience of none -somewhere in the second number somebody remembered to remove the barrier they erect at night to close off that part of the site, and then people began to trickle in. They mostly stayed, and we even got an encore.
I'm pleased, it was a hell of a gig for that time of the day, and afterwards we did some interviews for TV and Radio, where we talked utter bollocks, because we're not a "real band", but in so many ways that liberty makes us 10 times "real-er" than most.
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