Tales From The Conference League : New York

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A year or so ago a drunk man came up to me after a gig and said "Why don't you write a book? " Usually this is followed by "... instead of making that horrible noise?" but this time was different, as it turned out he worked for a Proper Publishing Company, and had the power to actually make it happen.

A week later we met up to discuss me writing a Rock Autobiography. I was about to go on holiday to New York, and this had given him an idea. "When you're there", he said, "do a gig and write about if for the first chapter - it'll be like a normal Rock Biography except that instead of standing onstage at The Hollywood Bowl and reminiscing about how you got to this mighty height, you'll be at a rubbish gig, wondering how on earth it ended up like that!"

I was a little affronted at the suggestion that any gig I did in New York would, by definition, be a bit rubbish, but saw his point, so set about sorting something out. I thought New York was supposed to be The Greatest City On Earth, a 24 hours a day ongoing festival of fun, but it turned out to be almost impossible to find anywhere that was even open when I'd be there, let alone putting gigs on.

It was only when I arrived that this was because it was the night before Thanksgiving's Day. As anyone who's watched American sitcoms will know, this is a massively Big Deal, with even the Edgiest Funketeers in The Big Apple heading home to see their Nans and Yams for the weekend. Still, one cafe in Greenwich Village was staying open and running its usual Open Mic night, so that's where I headed.

I arrived to find that Open Mic Nights are the same all over the world. Nobody ever goes who isn't performing and it's usually exactly the same crowd every week who all go over way their time limits, do too many poems with comedy swearing, applaud everyone else madly, and refuse to talk to new people.

The evening began with a man who looked like Santa Claus and spent his entire slot saying he was going to talk about what he damn well liked, without ever actually doing so. The next chap spent his time complaining about his sister-in-law telling him to shut up all the time - by the end of his set, I was getting to rather like her. He was followed by a series of poets clutching notebooks, which always strikes me as lazy. If you can't be bothered to learn to play an instrument, surely the least you can do is learn the words?

When it finally got to my turn I noticed a fatal flaw in my plans - no guitar. I'd hoped to borrow one, but nobody else had bought one. I'd often visualised my triumphant debut in New York City, but never quite imagined it as me standing in a basement shouting at fifteen people about cub scouts, but that's how it happened. The regulars dutifully applauded and even smiled at my explanation, but suddenly went stonily silent when I suggested that in the UK, we don't called it Thanksgivings, we call it Good Riddance Day. Hey, you can be as edgy and dangerous as you like, but don't slag off the Founding Fathers!

I finished my beer and was just about to leave when two lady Performance Artists took to the stage. I don't know about you, but I'm a firm believer in watching Performance Art, if only because there's a good chance of seeing some nudity, and I was not disappointed - their act was to rub themselves whilst gyrating to "My Boy Lollipop", at they end of which they lifted their skirts up to show us that they weren't wearing any pants. It wasn't the first time I'd supported an act that made you think of Lady's Parts, but it was the first time it'd happened so literally.

I left a little disappointed that the gig hadn't been more of a smash hit success, until a trip in a real life genuine New York Taxi soon reminded me of where I was, and how lucky I was to be able to come to such a brilliant place. A month or so later I was back home with my chapter written and full of excitement for my new career as an author, only to discover that my publisher had been sacked.

Apparently he'd had an idiotic idea to get some bloke no-one had ever heard of to write about all the stupid gigs he'd played - and who'd want to read about that?

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