Deke Leonard plays for the US Army - UPDATED

[Mickeyboro]

Playing to a segregated audience of GIs at a US base in Europe with the Blackjacks, mid Sixties (from Maybe I Should’ve Stayed In Bed)

...THEN SCROLL DOWN FOR ANOTHER STORY

The camp buzzed with excitement. Everybody was coming to the gig. Even the gate MPs had their duty-roster staggered so that they could catch at least one set. Our arrival onstage was greeted with sustained cheering. Each song was greeted with rapture. Black GIs cheered the white songs, white GIs cheered the black songs, and the master-sergeants danced around the foyer. 

The evening flew by, kept aloft by hot thermals of affection, and everything went well until five to twelve. The strict midnight curfew imposed by the High Command was inviolable – the word ‘approximately’ does not appear in US Army codes of conduct. Before we did the last number I thanked everybody for being a wonderful audience, praised them for being exemplary hosts, and expressed the hope that our paths would cross again in the near future. Then, overcome with genuine emotion, I made a ghastly mistake.

‘We’ve got one number left,’ I said. ‘Any requests?’

The white GIs leapt to their feet, shouting for ‘Wipe Out’, and the black GIs jumped up, shouting for ‘Can I Get A Witness?’ They started banging the tables and it quickly became a contest as they tried to out-shout each other. The master-sergeants suddenly appeared and began to patrol the central aisle, I had brought an evening of blissful catharsis to the brink of a race riot. I stood in the midst of the turmoil and stinky poo myself. A decision had to be made. I turned to the band. They all stared at me with baleful eyes and raised eyebrows, that said, ‘Don’t look at us, you prat. You flipped it up – you sort it out.’

‘Can I Get A Witness?’ I shouted, for no other reason that I preferred it to ‘Wipe Out’, which is such a tedious song to play. 

We launched into ‘Can I Get A Witness’. The black GIs bellowed with delight, congratulating each other with soul handshakes. As one, the white GIs sat down and glowered. Half the place was dancing and the other half was thinking about burning crosses. The black GIs began to taunt the white GIs, who started flexing their shoulders. The master-sergeants faced the black GIs and drew their batons. I looked at the clock above the foyer door. It was two minutes to twelve. I turned to Pete and Don.

‘Wipe Out’, I yelled. ‘Change to “Wipe Out”.’

Pete started the galloping tom-tom beat and Don and I joined in on the riff. Suddenly all the white GIs jumped up and started dancing and, just as suddenly, all the black GIs sat down and glowered. The white GIs began to taunt the black GIs and the master-sergeants turned to face them, tapping their batons gently on the palms of their hands. I looked up at the clock. Thirty seconds to midnight. Close enough. I made a cut-throat sign to Pete and Don, and we finished with a relieved flourish. The end of the song seemed to catch everybody by surprise and although there was some sporadic clapping they were more interested in glaring at each other than applauding the band. There were a few minor scuffles but the master sergeants, with genial malevolence, nipped them in the bud. Order was restored and the audience began to leave. As we packed the gear, one of the master-sergeants walked past the stage.

‘That was close,’ I said.

‘Just another Saturday night,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders. ‘Just another Saturday night in Bar-le-flipping-Duc.’

 

Edited May 26, 2020 by Mickeyboro

[Steve Browning]

I bought the book on the strength of the excerpts and couldn't put it down. An excellent story teller. Well worth the price. 

Just a shame the Kindle version doesn't have the pictures. 

[Mickeyboro]

Man’s fated-from-the-start comeback in 1983 

We played two sold-out nights at the Marquee on Friday 13^th and Saturday 14^th May 1983. Both nights were recorded but only the first was filmed. I have no idea who put this deal together but Robin Greatrex must have been involved because his label, Picasso Records, put out the live album. I’m sorry if I’m a little vague on such matters but I’m allergic to administration, which I – in pursuit of artistic purity unsullied by commercial considerations – find somewhat beneath me. Which is why, today, I’m a demi-semi-pauper. So, the best you can expect from me is generalisation, assumption and educated guesswork, recalled in marijuana-induced stupor. 

 

We decided to call the album ‘Friday 13^th’, because that was the date of the recording. Friday 13^th, if you believe in such things, is supposed to be an unlucky day, but we, as a band, were rational men, empiricist in method and sceptical in outlook, so, far from succumbing to superstition, we set out to challenge it. 

 

We decided to make this the unluckiest album ever released so that when it sold millions we could establish a bulwark of rationalism in an irrational world and laugh in the face of mumbo jumbo. The original idea for the album cover was an upside-down horseshoe, leaking bad luck all over a caricature of the band, standing below. But we faltered because we had to face a blatantly obvious fact – we needed all the luck we could get, so why risk it? But we kept the album title.

 

The resulting video had several TV showings – don’t ask me to name the channels – and was eventually released, imaginatively entitled by an unseen hand, as Bananas. The video itself was flawed by circumstances beyond our control. The stage at the Marquee was about four-feet high, so the first row of the standing crowd, could comfortably lean on it. Among them, at centre-stage, was a young lad, stripped to the waist. He was obviously into bodybuilding because he had a well-defined, muscular torso and iron-pumped biceps. He was totally lost in the music and determined to dance, but, hemmed in by an elbow-to-elbow crowd, he, somewhat restricted, was forced to do it on the spot, exposing those in his immediate vicinity to the clear and present danger of suffering collateral damage. So far, so good. 

 

But about halfway through the show he climbed up on some poor bastard’s shoulders and continued his manic dance. Onstage, we couldn’t help but notice him but he was no trouble, just another fan going ape-stinky poo. Only when we saw the video did we realise he was directly in the line of the main camera, dominating any long shot of the whole stage. So, from head on, we looked as if we were providing musical backing for a male stripper.

 

Still, all you could accuse him of was enthusiasm. Swept away by our music, he was in the zone, and, given that’s exactly where we wanted him and the rest of the audience to be, we could hardly complain, could we? It isn’t as if he set out to flip up the video, he was just an innocent gyrator who happened to stand in the wrong place. The bastard! 

 

The British tour that followed the Marquee gigs was a cracker. As in Germany, we sold-out substantial gigs. The ‘Friday 13^th’ album was released but only the usual suspects – bless their little hearts – bought it. Still, on balance, the reformation was a success. There was still a demand which we were ready and able to supply and we were making a few bob. We decided to persevere. Well, you might as well as not.