London • Wednesday, December 5, 1979

About

From Club Sandwich, N°17, 1980:

So Wings are touring Britain. Wanna see ’em, so, Tickets? No, no tickets. All sold out, well fast. You know the scene – big long Q, box office opens, boom, boom, boom, not a seat left. Oh.

Thank God for Alexander Graham Bell, the dude who put together some wires that one can verbal along. Ring the McCartneys. Paul answers. Me: “I’m on the blag. I’d very much like to come and see you guys at The Rainbow.” Paul, bless him, says no problem. Tells me how to get in, who to ask for, boogaloo. Dynamite. Me, I’m blabbering away things like, “Do you still do soundchecks?” Paul: “Oh yeah, we do. We were just going out the door to go to Lewisham Odeon to soundcheck when you rang.” Oh. Another bloke might’ve ignored the phone, or done a “Look I can’t talk now” number. McC. didn’t. Yeah….

Outside The Rainbow it’s cold and the dark sky is spitting at us. Heavy fortress vibe at the door. Messages are handed in. Names are mentioned. Patience. Beep. Sarah wants to knock it on the head, to go home. “We’ll never get in,” she says. “Yes we will,” say I. I’m hip to the confusion — I mean, these folk inside do have a show to do, they are about to go on stage in a short while, Beep. A sudden blast of Gotta Get You Into My Life penetrates into the street. Wings are on stage. Blast. I’m almost beginning to feel like the third jackdaw trying to get into Noah’s Ark when a large black car pulls up and the window is pulled down. Anonymous head sticks itself out: “Need any tickets? I can give you a couple if you want them.” Sarah amazed, no maybe about it. Crystal ball, how are you. We’re in. Faberoonie.

[…] Backstage at The Rainbow. I’m headed for the 100 and Linda comes down the corridor, invites me into the dressing-room. It’s kinda homely in there, not like some sorta, whatsit, Big Popstar Sacred Sanctum. Verbals and grinning and “did you like it?” and me saying yes, yes the Rock ‘n’ Roll, this band knows how to play Rock ‘n’ Roll and a voice saying “Yes, we heard you shouting “Rock ‘n’ Roll!” and Rock ‘n’ Roll is and will be and that makes me very happy.

Paul introduces me a German called Horst, the man who ran the Star Club in Hamburg where The Fabs played unending hours; punks in leathers from a dockside town that had bred Britain’s first Rockabilly star Billy Fury (who the Beatles sorta almost nearly backed), an uncelebrated place called Liverpool. Horst’s friend is wearing a dynamite enamelled badge that says ‘Star Club’ in the long-closed venue’s logo. History on a pin. Goodness gracious great badge: desire. “D’you want it?” says Paul, then turning earnestly to the guy and asking ‘ ‘Now are you sure you can get another one?” The bloke nods, Horst laughs, and suddenly I’ve got a treasure. Well Paul does have Bill Black’s stand-up bass, after all, the one on the Elvis, Scotty and Bill tracks…

B.P. Fallon, Wings On Tour approximately or: Thoughts to myself

Last updated on February 9, 2020