Revelations

	I Know What I Don’t Like (In My Wardrobe) Written by John Hackett Originally published in the Journal of the Classic Rock Society Reproduced here by kind permission

	Who was it who said, “Travel broadens the mind, but shrinks the wallet ...”? Maybe it was me. In any case, for a young man who wants to see a bit of the world, surely touring America with a rock band has to be the best way (and cheapest – though not necessarily for the artist!) to have an adventure … It was 1980 and Steve Hackett and band were about to land at La Guardia to promote Defector. “You guys from England?” my neighbour asked. There then followed the usual explanation of how a fresh-faced youth (who not many months ago would still rather stay in practising scales than go to a club) was about to sample the delights of New York City. “Well, be careful!” said my companion. He pointed to one of his heels. “I always carry a hundred dollar bill in my shoe – in case I get mugged!” I gulped and felt in my pocket for my p.d.s (per diem or expense payments made when touring – the Latin giving a cunning gentlemanly tone to what was, in effect, beer money - or should I say brandy and American, as this was the crew’s brew). By the time I got to my hotel room where the concierge opened every wardrobe door and checked in the bathroom, presumably for intruders, I was longing for a nice safe stroll up the King’s Road and a “spag bog” in the Chelsea Kitchen. Anyway, I was hungry, in New York and the adventure was about to begin. Nick Magnus and I headed out of the hotel on West 4th Street.
The Lamb Gets Lost On Broadway	To my eyes then, it was like stepping out onto a film set with the skyscrapers, the yellow taxis and the bustle where at any moment the director would shout “Cut!” and we’d all go off for egg, chips and beans in some café in Borehamwood. But no, we really were in New York and the fiery assistants in those little shops off Broadway selling cameras and walkmans were ample proof. As late afternoon drew on, we ended up in a steak bar which, of course, served enormous portions. With energy flagging I decided to go back to the hotel on my own. I was never blessed with a good sense of direction – I am told the others watched me as the bright lights of Broadway and our hotel beckoned in one direction and the dim route to goodness knows where lay in the other. As usual, I made the wrong choice and it was some time before I reached the comparative safety of my room where I thoroughly checked the wardrobe before lying down.
Formation Dancing	The tour had started in Canada, then down to Boston, Newhaven, Syracuse, 2 nights at the Bottom Line Club in New York, ending up on the West Coast for LA and San Francisco before heading up back into Canada. There were many cities in between and as we were staying in Holiday Inns most of the time, even the paintings from one room to the next appeared the same after a while. In Cleveland we were given black bomber jackets with “Agora Ballroom” emblazoned on the back in bright yellow, which we all took to wearing. To the inevitable, “You guys from England?” we would delight in saying, “Yes, we’re a formation dancing team.”
	The set featured many of the tracks from Spectral Mornings and Defector as well as favourites from Acolyte and Please Don’t Touch. Nick Magnus, on keyboards, at this stage was still taking a mellotron out on the road. This amazing temperamental beast (the mellotron, not Nick) was often the cause of heart-stopping moments when the motor caught fire or the oxide came off the internal moving tapes. At times like these Ged Fitzpatrick would leap to the rescue with a fire extinguisher or sometimes he would sit with the back off the machine, rewinding the tapes by hand like some kind of bell-ringer (mellotron campanologist?)
Tales Of The Roxy	Exciting though New York, Chicago etc undoubtedly were, there was nowhere more magical in my mind than California, especially LA, especially Sunset Boulevard and especially the coolest club at the end of my particular universe – the Roxy. My brother Steve had come back in previous years with tales of the Roxy, like when Peter Gabriel, dressed as Father Christmas, hit the helium for comic effect and couldn’t stop hiccupping all the next day; or Peter and Phil doing their Alan Whicker impersonations on stage to the bemusement of the crowd. So when we finally got there, it felt like marching into the sixth-form common-room and bagging the most comfy armchair knowing your time had come.
	Did it live up to expectations? Yes and No. The gigs themselves as I recall were electric in every sense. Great stage sound, fantastic atmosphere and surprisingly the crowd was so close it was more like playing at a party. On many of the gigs on this tour, including the Bottom Line, we played two shows a night. The Roxy was no exception – we did 2 nights going on around 9pm and 11:30pm each time. I loved this because by the time of the second show you might be completely knackered but all nerves had disappeared. I think we gave some of our best performances then. It was amazing for me to be playing licks (as in Ace of wands) that Steve and I had kicked around in our shared room in our little flat in Victoria – now here we were in what seemed this “New Jerusalem” playing a very English kind of music and they seemed to like it.
	We returned to the States the following year with a different line-up. This time Chas Cronk was on bass and Ian Mosley on drums. Nick Magnus had decided by now that he was fed up with the mellotron dying on him and left it back in England in some keyboard sanctuary where it was lovingly cared for until the end of its days. This time around I got my hands, at last, on Steve’s 1957 gold-top Les Paul. It was a joy to use it for that funky riff on Picture Postcard from the Cured album which we were promoting. As for New York, it seemed smaller, less frightening. And the Roxy? Somewhat tainted by a failed romance which had started there the previous year (Hmmm … might be a song here though …) it was still exciting but the mystique for me had gone. Of course the place hadn’t changed, but I had. I received this e-mail a few days ago from a guy in the States who was at one of the five shows we did at the Roxy on this second Steve Hackett American tour. He was about sixteen at the time.
Letter From America	"We drove an hour north of our sequestered suburb in L.A. to the famed Sunset Blvd. Roxy in Hollywood. Somehow we found a parking spot(?) in a narrow alley off the Strip and sat in Lincoln's parents "SUV". We had procured some "illegal" beverages (21 is the drinking age in Calif. ) - expensive imported Pilsner Urquell from the then Czechoslovakia and some ritzy Anchor Steam Ale from Oregon, which we had spotted from some older brother or person over 21. I think we downed both sixers in less than thirty minutes in the car and then wandered into the spectral Hollywood afternoon. In the waiting line were several fantastic older women (in their 20's!) all gussied up, and we were pleased that they too were Hackett fans; I even thought I might have the courage to chat one of them up . A young Mexican man sat in line outside the Roxy with a small cassette player that drooled out Spectral Mornings as the batteries died. Standing in front of him was a hot brunette in sequined black dress who looked like a fashion model. Once in the Roxy, I was amazed that it was like being in my own living room, so small. We got to our table seats and were a bit shocked that we were so close to the stage! I don't remember the first song, but I think it was "Everyday" - and we were instantly launched into a completely different realm. Back then, every note mattered and we were glued to the stage. Everything was SO important! Every chord change, arpeggio, guitar echo, keyboard or flute line, all (excuse the trite expression) pregnant with meaning. I think you did "Ace of Wands" and some other songs off Acolyte. I was pleased that the flute break sounded just as ethereal as on the album - the sound system was great! Then some songs off "Cured", the song about the train and "Hope I don't Wake", etc., and "Air-Conditioned Nightmare", then "Angel of Mons"-- Steve seemed to be posing like a spy or villain and tilted his head slightly in different directions with some chord changes. Man, Linc and I sat there with are mouths opened wide in awe. After all that beer I had to go to the loo about 4 times, and I distinctly remember it seemed that the band was amused by this!!" Cheers, Patrick Landon
	Who knows, maybe one day I’ll be back there playing songs from my new album Checking Out Of London (are “plugs” the same voltage in the States as they are here?)
To read another John Hackett article, please select from the following: * 'Revelations' * 'Looking For Someone' * 'Star Clusters' * 'The Gardener, the Clark, his Wife and the Ligger...' * '2 Pints of Saki and a Packet of Crisps...' To visit John's website, click here To visit The Classic Rock Society's website, click here ... or go back to stevehackett.com here