An Unexpected Guest
April 2006

Hi

One of the best things about my job is that you get to meet new and interesting people every day. I always get a little twinge of excitement when I head off in my car to a new venue that I have never played before, as you never quite know who or what lies ahead. In my experience, the deeper set the venue is in the country’s backwater, the more surreal the experience.

I recently played a show at the R Bar in Hamble – a beautiful bar set on a quay overlooking the river just outside of Southampton. Liz, the owner, was extremely welcoming and helpful and I started to really look forward to playing. As I set up, she came over to me and whispered in my ear: "If Budgie asks to play just try to accommodate him". With this she gave me a wink and walked away.

Now, one of the absolute pet hates of all performers is members of the audience asking if they can get up and play, and this cryptic message left me in a dilemma – I didn’t want to be ungracious to my hosts but at the same time I always hated people getting up and breaking the momentum of my performance. Uninvited ‘guests’ were almost always second-rate players or singers who were better off doing karaoke in a Yates pub. Experienced musicians have too much respect for each other to ask to get up and play.

I played the first set with one eye on the door, wondering when anyone who looked like he may be called ‘Budgie’ walked in – if indeed it was a man (or human) at all – but no one approached me.

At half time I went to the bar to get a drink and suddenly felt a huge hand on my shoulder. I turned round to see an enormous bald-headed man with a huge toothy grin smiling at me. “Hello, Adam, I’m Budgie – have you heard about me?” I hesitantly replied in the affirmative and he gave me a wink. What was it with people in Hamble and winking?

“Do you do any Frank Sinatra?” he asked. I explained that I couldn’t fit my 80-piece orchestra in my Toyota so I wouldn’t be singing any Frank that evening. He looked crestfallen. “Oh”, he said. “Well, I’ve brought my guitar and a microphone and I’d love to get up and do a turn with you”. My heart sank, not only did this fella want to sing, but he brought a guitar! I glanced over at the offending instrument and didn’t see an amp. I saw my chance.

“Budgie, mate”, I asked pretending to sound sympathetic “have you brought an amp as I only have the one?”

“Oh I don’t need an amp”, he replied. “The guitar’s only got 3 strings on it anyway”.

I furrowed my brow. “I don’t understand, Budgie”, how can you play like that?”

“Oh, I don’t want to play at all, I can’t play a note – I just want to get up and do a turn with you”.

At this point I was completely in the dark as to what he thought ‘doing a turn’ meant. A bit fazed by the whole thing I mumbled that I could do a few Beatles numbers and his face lit up. Great, he said, he would come up and do those with me.

I started the second set with a few well-chosen classics, before launching into the first few bars of Can’t Buy Me Love. As soon as I did, I saw Budgie’s shining baldhead bob through the crowd to the stage. He had a microphone in one hand and his battered 3-string guitar in the other. This was gong to be a disaster, I thought.

He came and stood right by me, strapped the guitar on and raised his fists in triumph to the crowd. Every man jack of them roared back with glee. Clearly this was a popular man – I couldn’t wait to see what his ‘turn’ would be.

I launched into the first verse, with one eye on my new partner, ready to be upstaged any second.

And sure enough I was. Budgie was right, he couldn’t play or sing a note – and he didn’t even try… he just stood next to me, miming along on that battered old guitar as if his life depended on it, miming the words with every facial expression exaggerated, looking like he was having the time of his life. The audience lapped it up, loving his rock star moves. As the song drew to a close, he’d clearly had such a good time I didn’t ask him to leave and instead started up another Beatles number… Budgie stayed on and ‘helped’ with this one too. In fact, he stayed on for most of the second set, and I even found myself warming to his insane enthusiasm by giving him a few showcase ‘guitar solos’, during which he showed his incredible miming virtuosity by playing the guitar over his head, between his legs, with his teeth. Jimi Hendrix could have learned a few things from Budgie.

At the end of the show, everyone was beaming. Budgie had stolen the show, but I wasn’t bothered – everyone had clearly had too much of a good time to worry about it.

Budgie himself had made off into the night but I wanted to know more. I went up to Liz and asked what on earth he was all about. She replied just a few days earlier Budgie, a popular local, had been given the all clear having had a very serious cancer for years, and it had been a desire of his that, should he pull through, he was going to get up and play a gig, as he had always wanted to.

For the first time ever, I was delighted – honoured, even – to have had a member of the audience come up and ask to play with me.

Until next month...

Adam