Thanks for bearing with me while I got the chance to write this. It’s been a busy week and I’m now resting on my three days off before we start the second leg of the tour. So far it’s been a mixed bag. The Camden date was blinding, one of the best shows we’ve ever played. Milton Keynes and Leicester were both barely alright with attendance and we put on a pretty good show for both. Hartlepool had only about fifteen people there. Things are a bit up in the air right now, my van has spectacularly failed its MOT with a repair bill that’s well over half the vehicle’s current value, so I’m going to be looking for a new ride pretty quicksmart. We’re pretty much at the loss-making end of our career right now…
However, that’s all by the by. I’m here to write about Melt Banana and the evening of Monday 21st November 2005.
I don’t think words can say exactly how much Melt Banana mean to me. I first heard them a few years back when I met up with a bunch of Brighton Barbelith members to go and see another planet-destroying Japanese band called Boredoms at the Concorde II. Between support bands there was a DJ in the throes of divine inspiration who played out Free the Bee from Teeny Shiny. It was one of those moments in which my entire physiology changes, head cocked, eyes to the side, left ear raised, right eye slightly squinted, hips and shoulders kinked upwards twenty degrees on the left, breathing central in my chest. My entire being needed to hear that tune at that moment.
I asked Pin and Rizla if they knew who it was. They told me. I bought the album the next day.
BTW, Riz: it was lovely to see you in Leicester. My kit survived unscathed.
One thing that you guys probably don’t know about me is how long I dreamed of being in an amazing band myself. I had a rehearsal space that I sank loads of money into, played with scores of musicians, none of whom shared even slightly the same vision I had. I wrote manifestos, lyrics, invented sounds and songs in my head, even got to the stage of writing a narrative hypersigil in which I met a version of myself from the future who had long ago achieved his goals in music and had since gone on to other things.
And so I’d given up. There wasn’t the manpower to do it. People just weren’t listening to anything in the same ballpark as the stuff I was into. My drums were all cased up and staying in the shed at my parents place. Only a handful of my friends had ever seen me play them anyway. It felt like part of me was decaying and dying through neglect. I was Hexagram 12. I guess I should just be thankful that I gave up on the hypersigil. No-one needs to read that self-serving egotistical tripe. Ever.
I switched tacks. I made a little of my own music (I’m really proud of it, actually… need to get round to doing something with that) and applied myself to trying to sort my marriage out and learn NLP.
I never dared dream that I'd be in a band like Hunting Lodge. Let alone any of the rest of it... if you'd told me the following story that day when I saw the Boredoms I'd never have believed you.
Fast forward to the aforementioned Saturday 8th November 2003. It’s the day after I split up with my wife, the night of the Melt Banana gig at the Mean Fiddler in London. As soon as I stepped through the doors and into the venue I felt the best I’d ever felt up to that point, on top of the world, euphoric. I hadn’t slept or eaten for most of the week, I’d been crying all day, and all my emotions had come rushing back all of a sudden after a seeming absence of eight years. It’s a good job I thought to document all this stuff at the time, in a public place no less.
On Tuesday 8th November 2005, exactly two years later, I’m onstage supporting Melt Banana at the Firkin in Bristol. That’s something I forgot to mention here: the Bristol promoter decided to give us the support slot a couple of days after all your contributions started coming in. We’re playing to a sold out crowd, some nutter called Justice Yeldham lacerates his own face with a sheet of glass that he’s got wired up via contact mic to his laptop, and my heros from Japan blow the lid off the place.
Rewind back again two years. Its Friday 21st November 2003. I made a little non-specific reference to it all here. It’s the third module of my NLP course, the one in which we learn how to change your state at will and the change personal history techniques. In many ways I owe my life to that weekend, to the techniques I practised.
I’ve never really spoken about the NLP/magic that I practised that day. It’s been too personal, and it still feels like it would be giving away too much of myself to talk about it. Plus it sounds trite when written down. You can’t put this stuff in words. It’s too big and language cheapens it.
So, to skirt around things without addressing them directly, on that Friday I did some massive personal changework that has forever altered me as a person. I remember after I’d done the NLP ritual that I felt plugged into some divine power source, like every fibre of my being had become activated in some way. I was sitting on the steps of the Polish Cultural Association in Hammersmith, grinning from ear to ear, crying, listening to Melt Banana’s Cell Scape on my minidisk player, rocking back and forth in time to the music with my entire torso. I must have looked terrifying to passers by. I was in ecstasy and agony, it felt like all my insides were being unplugged and rewired in a newer, sleeker formation. I know it’s a whole magical cliché, but it really did feel like I’d downloaded a new operating system, found the real me, become myself, or at least initiated the process of becoming myself.
I remember Nina and Kit Kat pretty much holding me upright in the pub later that evening (thank you so much). I was obliterated for nearly the whole module. But that day was the most extreme, the most life-altering, and one of the best experiences of my life.
And exactly two years to the day afterwards I’m promoting a Melt Banana show in my hometown. Monday 21st November 2005. What a night.
Melt Banana were late. Big Joan and Hunting Lodge had already arrived at the Joiners and gone for a bite to eat. I was alone to greet them when they turned up, Agata was the first through the door and we shook hands. We’d actually first met two weeks previously but I had no reason to think they’d remember me (as it turns out they did. After the Bristol show Yako had been doing impressions of me playing drums, and Sudoh had told me that I reminded him of Kerry King from Slayer. It’s a huge beard/bald thing, I guess).
I was really nervous because I thought we’d booked them into a venue that was too small for them, and I knew the sound system didn’t meet the spec they requested in their rider. I was regretting not having booked them to play the Brook. Venue hire would have been more expensive, but we’d already turned many people away from the Joiners because it was sold out. We could have recouped those costs.
However, the Joiners is Southampton’s only famous venue. Tons of bands have played there over the years. These days it rarely seems to host the kind of events that gave it its reputation, promoting a bunch of haircut bands playing cookie-cutter rock. I retrospect it was right to put Melt Banana on there.
I helped the band load in their equipment and set about trying to make everything run as smoothly as possible. My Dad has run events for years with the kind of attention to detail and thoroughness that’s bound to rub off. I’ve seen how quite a lot of people go about organising these sort of events on the night, and it stinks. They have no people-skills, shirk responsibility, seemingly make things as hard for the visiting band as possible. I was determined to make Melt Banana feel as welcome as possible, like anyone who has been brainwashed by years of customer service would. Their food was ready on time (thanks to my friend Mr Ed Hicks, who is unfairly talented and deserves major success in everything he turns his hand to), their accommodation arranged, their 9 volt batteries supplied, every question and request answered. The PA turned out not to be an issue as the Joiners engineer sorted things out with their soundman and tour manager. Melt Banana got their soundcheck, the rest of us made do with quick line checks before we went onstage.
Speaking of sound engineering, special mention has to go to Martin, the Joiners’ engineer. He was amazing. We gave him no end of heartache all night, what with PA requirements, bands being late, a venue that he couldn’t move through for it being overcrowded, a four band line-up with changeovers like high-speed pit-stops… and he made us all sound amazing. It was the first time I’d seen Sodding Wolf’s Head with their four piece line-up: Martin made them sound brutal and muscular and punishing in their Sabbath moments while retaining their deft light touch in the more Slint-like passages. Big Joan were sleeker and leaner, more trashy and rhythmic, and again he nailed their quirks and spikiness. Imagine PJ Harvey crossed with the Pixies and that’s pretty close. After their show Martin asked me if I liked the Big Joan mix, to which I congratulated him on a great sound. He then asked if that kind of mix would be OK for Hunting Lodge, and seemed horrified when I told him that we’d need a lot more bass.
“What, you mean more bass frequency, or bass turned up higher in the mix,” he asked disbelievingly.
“Yes,” I answered.
And the fucker delivered. He was amazing. It was like all those classic Star Trek moments where Scottie is pleading with Kirk, telling him the engines can’t take any more, and then exceeding all his estimates with Warp 9.9. It was like Hikaru Sulu in Star Trek VI, “Then fly her apart!” Apparently we sounded monstrous when we took to the stage. Clive mentioned afterwards that he could actually feel his ribcage shaking during The Plough (no, its not named after the pub that we Barbemeeted at on 8th and 21st November two years earlier… but you’ve got to point out the link, haven’t you?).
We were on for about half an hour. We did our best despite not being able to leave the stage. If you’ve never seen us before, we don’t like stages. We don’t like the separation between ourselves and the crowd, it’s an awkward boundary that makes us feel a bit detached, like we’re merely performing. But the venue was just too rammed. It was about thirty to fifty people over the safe capacity. One of the ticket outlets was a nearby music shop that had gone under with an undisclosed number of our tickets. The Joiners had decided to cancel their allocation while honouring anyone who had purchased tickets from them, saying that they’d cram in the numbers somehow. Those are tickets that we didn’t see any cash for, but the additional people added to the atmosphere and meant that more people could see all four bands. I just hope that there weren’t many people pissed off that the numbers were so high and that it was almost impossible to find a decent place in the band room.
Our set came off without too many hitches. We weren’t on top form. But we’re such a glorious, idiotic mess even when we’re on form that people in the crowd would have been unlikely to tell that it was an off-night. One of the problems with our album coming our soon is that people will know what our songs are supposed to sound like. Never mind, people enjoyed us, we get our chances to play our kind of off-stage rock and roll at other gigs (you should have seen us in Camden last Saturday: we ruled completely and utterly. One of our best ever shows). elseware once perfectly described us as less of an experimental band and more as the result of a failed experiment. There are some nights when we fail more than others.
Melt Banana were transcendent. The best I’ve ever seen them. The fact that their incomparable sound was packed into a far smaller venue than usual, so close and personal, the way the crowd was going mad for them, requesting their songs (well, one guy who repeatedly shouted for We Love Choco-Pa), the way the crowd was far too large for the room, the way it descended into a sweaty mosh with horns raised… it was brilliant. We got Yako to crack a grin and laugh, we managed to get them to do two encores (they only did one to a crowd four times the size in Bristol). I’m in no doubt that this is the best guitar band in the world right now. They’ve been legends for about fifteen years now. I can’t believe that Dan Chandler and I bought legends to my hometown.
Here’s Yako from the night in question:
And Agata:
Finally Rika and Sudoh:
All the above photos are courtesy of Alex Bee and www.joinerslive.co.uk.
So yeah, they were amazing. It’s impossible to describe Melt Banana without descending into hyperbole. They’re louder, faster, more feral, weirder, better players and with better hooks than pretty much anyone else. Words don’t do them justice. If you’re curious check out Cell Scape, then Teeny Shiny, then Charlie, then work your way through the rest of their back catalogue. Try and make sure that the first song of theirs that you hear is Shield For Your Eyes, A Beast In The Well On Your Hand, feel your eyes widen at the opening guitar squall, nod your head to the bass and drum groove and then be astonished when it all goes triple time when the vocal kicks in. I dare you to find a precedent for them. Or any other band that sounds remotely like them. Rizla describes them as rock music from some kind of distant alternate future where everyone thinks and moves faster. Get hold of their music by any means necessary and judge for yourself. Then buy all their albums so they get the money. They deserve it.
It wasn’t just the music that made the night. The venue was packed, and I knew a good quarter of the crowd. The entire night was like some huge act of self expression, even the sets by the other bands. It was like I was showing people a part of myself. There were people there from all stages of my life: friends, family, work, past employers, mates from church, people I knew from the pub, people from other bands I’d played in, people from bands I’d shared the stage with at other gigs, people from Barbelith. I’ll be honest… knowing the anniversaries that were being commemorated I’d already been viewing the evening as an act of magic, a ritual, something which would tie together my life and be not only an amazing night, but also a gift to the people I love in Southampton and finally a gift to myself.
It worked gangbusters.
So the night ended. Instruments were packed up, money counted, bands and venue paid. We ended up giving Melt Banana just shy of a grand, which was more than they expected (their guarantee plus the promised 50% of all profits). I think the Joiners filmed the headline set, and may webcast it in future if they can get permission. The owners and managers of the place seemed ecstatic at what we'd managed to achieve, and a couple of the people I knew in the crowd made comments that we'd proved it was possible to stage successful DIY shows. I'm not sure about that, seeing as how the success was entirely predicated on an extremely well-respected big name band, but the compliment felt nice.
And then I had the privilege of taking the band to the bed and breakfast. It was so cool. I can’t quite convey how much it meant to me without getting even more gushing than I have already. I’m driving to the guest house, all the while looking back to the blue Mercedes Sprinter in my rearview mirror and thinking “Yako is driving that. She’s following me!” I’m discussing secure places to park with Agata and showing Rika how to work the shower. I had no idea that life could get this good.
But nothing could quite prepare me for what came next. Their tour manager asked if I could meet them early the next day, so they could use my bank account to change their cash takings into fifties…
I know. I’m a fan. A complete teenager.
Like I want to wallpaper my flat with posters. Like I want to build a shrine.
I’m not ashamed. 
So I drop them off at the B & B and make my way over to Jack the Bodiless and Miss Spooky’s place. They’re all already trashed and well into the afterparty. But I’m finished. I just about manage a single beer and fall asleep in the corner.
The next day I come and get the band from the B & B. While they pack their stuff up I call ahead to HSBC and let them know that we’ll need several thousand pounds worth of fifty pound notes. I used to work for the bank and I know they’re likely to be suspicious, simply because of the danger of money laundering.
Heh. Two years previously, on the day that was the catalyst for leaving my wife (Halloween 2003), I won an award for HSBC for selling mortgages. Know how I won the award? I cheated. It was call centre work, getting decent leads was all down to chance. So I considered it to be one massive probability field and used sigil magic to increase my chances of getting sales. Before I cast the spell I was bottom of the department. Within two months I was top of the department, which was my exact objective, having broken all department records in a manner than none of my managers could explain to me despite the existing MI.
Before we set off from the B & B I ask if they have any hoodies left for me to buy. They don’t. I’m saddened but Rika and their tour manager soon start their sales pitch, trying to persuade me to try on one of their t-shirts, despite there only being small and extra large left. Small is like a wetsuit, large like a tent. I tell them that I’m fatter than I look and think that’s the end of it.
Until Rika presents me with a wet, smelly black bundle. It’s Agata’s t-shirt. The one he wore the night before during the gig. And they want me to have it. They’re not accepting any money.
Did I wash it? Of course I did. It was Agata’s. Had it belonged to Rika you can bet your ass it would never have seen the inside of a washing machine, and I’d have slept in it every night.
But then her bass guitar is almost longer than she is tall, so it would never have fit. Chances are it would have become like the Golden Slipper, and I would have become destined to fall in love with the first girl it fit… leading to my downfall.
Agata, Yako and I go into the branch together to change the money. You have no idea how surreal this all for me. I didn’t work in the branch but it’s where my account is held, only now I’m standing in the queue with two Japanese legends.
As I predicted, the cashier is suspicious. She tells me I should have called ahead. I tell her I already did. She asks for ID. I hand her my Police photo ID and chequebook, and then tell her that I’m ex-staff. Her mood brightens considerably and she becomes chatty. The contingent from Melt Banana ask me about my jobs with the bank and the bizzies. The cashier goes off to check something…
… and comes back with Val, my old manager from when I worked for the bank. She’d apparently heard my name mentioned when I spoke to the gentleman in Branch Liaison and figured that there can’t be that many blokes called Seth using that branch.
So I’m there in HSBC, 40-42-18. In the queue with Agata and Yako. Catching up with my old boss. And getting nearly ten thousand pounds changed into fifty pound notes.
And thinking: “Anything is possible. If this can happen, anything can happen."
Two years ago I wrote a dreadful attempt at a hypersigil that tied the story of my life together, in which I met a version of myself from the future, in which I was happy and had achieved the things I wanted. And now time seems to be folding over on itself. The 8th and 21st November for 2003 and 2005 are overlapping. Something is happening to time.
It’s the morning of 22nd November 2003 and I’m using a combination of magic and NLP to heal some nasty personal wounds concerning to how I perceive and relate to certain women, the women that Jung would classify as my those onto whom I would project my anima. Had I not done that I’d probably never be able to look Yako and Rika in the eye two years to the day later, let alone sort out their finances in a country in which they have no account.
I’m there in a bank using stuff I’ve learned that has no relation to music whatsoever, stuff that I learned to the best of my ability while I stumbled in the dark and tried to make sense of the confusing tangle of my life, stuff that I’m using now to help my heroes in the most unlikely context.
Anything is possible. This is what life can be like. If this can happen, anything can happen. I can do anything.
I’m not idiotic enough to think that I made all this happen. I feel like I’ve been given some enormous gift. Like it’s a massive present, the result of an infinite series of life choices that I’m now picking back through like layers of wrapping paper. It’s not the first time its happened to me, but it’s the latest example of the Universe aligning in a manner that seems so completely right, like there’s an unbroken congruence between what’s me and the cosmic context that I fit into. Call it magic, call it religious experience, call it what you will: I want to try and convey to everyone reading this that life can make sense, that there are forces at work that are above and beyond any of us, that there is some kind of point no matter how painful and confusing things often are.
Anything is possible. If this can happen, anything can happen.
So I said goodbye to Melt Banana. I got some good shots before they left; Agata and Yako in the queue at HSBC; Sudoh flicking the horns in front of West Quay and the Old Walls; Rika wrapped up warm outside the Masonic Lodge (see below).
Before they left they thanked me for all the work Dan and I had done, said we’d worked really hard for them, that they loved the atmosphere of the show, that Rob Da Bank (apparently a native Southamptoner) has expressed surprise that they were even playing such a small town, that they preferred the smaller shows to venues like the Mean Fiddler because they felt closer to the crowd, that there was more of a connection.
The above photos belonged to everyone who was at the gig. We were all there for those moments.
The following are mine, and mine alone. These are my memories of my favourite band. I hope you enjoy them, and I hope I can get the HTML to work.
Rika wrapped up warm outside the Masonic Lodge:
Sudoh flicking the horns in front of West Quay and the Old Walls:
Agata and Yako in the queue at HSBC:
Barbelith: thank you for helping me do this. My involvement with this site is implicit in every stage of the story I’ve just told, and many of you who I love dearly were present for some of the key moments. None of this could have happened without this site and the people on it.
Love you all.
Seth XX
(PS: We haven’t had our money from Seetickets yet. Returning people’s contributions is continent on them paying us. I’ll let you know as soon as I know, but realistically this could be delayed a little more by us being on tour again at the end of this week.
To all you Londoners: I hope to see you in the Spice of Life this coming Friday. See the tour thread in the Gathering for details. Brightoners, you can assemble too. I’ll see you Sunday!) |
