Brown was also a figure of note on the British underground poetry scene and I’d managed to track down a copy of a slim volume titled Let ‘em Roll Kafka and had located the odd other work in various anthologies including Children of Albion: Poetry of the Underground in Britain. Given the slightest provocation I could, and did, run through the monologue that started with:
Aaah, I’d like to tell you a tale of a wee piece of tail..”
The theory was that this would be a fairly straightforward vehicle for our first public Chunder. The monologue, a bit of freeform kazoo blowing, followed by the Cream rather than the Battered Ornaments version of Politician.
After a few runs through the riff we were satisfied with the way things were going and that was that. A few hours later we completed the negotiations with Barabbas and, much to the bemusement of the masses there we were, in full flight.
In full flight, that is, as far as the monologue was concerned. One of the good things about a monologue is the fact that you don’t have to rely on interactions with anyone else.
The kazoo solo, a little bunch of roses for the politician also went fairly smoothly though what the audience made of what could best be described as a freeform constipated duck call channelled through Barabbas’ wall of sound gear could be a matter for considerable speculation.
When the trio behind me lurched into the riff (Dad-dah, dah-duh, dah-duh-dah-do-dah-dah-dah-duh, dah-duh) everything was more or less fine.
I launched into Hey now baby get into my big black car and some time over the next ninety seconds the wheels fell off.
Guitarist Jim decided he’d rather be elsewhere and, without any warning, stopped playing, unplugged and decamped.