Adam Broadway’s supremely entertaining book, Down the Front, is a collection of writing which explores the minutiae of gig-going, with the band’s themselves regularly being the least memorable aspect of the whole experience. Though the stories he tells are personal to him, there are countless tales which will ring a chord with live music aficionados, the journeys to and from the venues routinely requiring military precision in terms of planning, all of which goes out of the window as soon as you leave the safety of your home. With Adam’s permission, please enjoy the following and make sure you check out his website too.
http://www.downthefront.co.uk/
After the gig we all headed off to collect my car. Being typical teenagers, the only problem was that no one had sorted out the transport home. There were now some ten or so people wanting a lift back to Hugo’s village. The bus had left a week ago. I was the only person with a car. It was a small green Volvo. A family car designed for five passengers. I called it ERD. Not wishing to let anyone down or leave them in downtown Guildford late at night, I let everyone pile in. Four in the front, five in the back and two in the boot. Unbelievable.
We slowly headed off out of town. Besides a few stragglers wandering home the place was empty. I carefully heaved my massively overladen car along towards the main road but slowed down for a red light. One of our many passengers was Hugo’s sister Caz. I’ll be honest: I was a shy teenage boy. I was just starting to feel the emotions of liking another human being. I had met Caz on a couple of occasions at school and started to fancy her. I was looking forward to spending a few days with her at their pad in rural Surrey. As we neared the traffic lights, Caz decided to show off. She was innocent like the rest of us, but tried to show a hard side too. The only other people about were four skinheads on the opposite side of the street. Caz wound down the window and screamed at the top of her voice: ‘I hate skinheads’…
The four young men, having had their fair share of action at the gig, heard the scream – to them it was nothing but a war cry. They took one look at each other and then at us. As quick as a light bulb they noticed we were slowing up. They started to run towards us –and fast. My heartbeat rose dramatically. Faster and faster, nearer and nearer… I’ve never been brave. To make things worse, I was in an overcrowded car. We were now being hotly pursued by four skinheads who were definitely in the mood to finish off their night and punch in a load of students. The red light stayed firmly red. I think I must have prayed…
As the skins, now flat out, got within twenty feet of the car, the lights suddenly turned from red to orange. I hit the accelerator– hard. ERD was no sports car, in fact it had never been driven at speed in its whole life. It was a Volvo, for God’s sake. A family car not a racing machine. Now, at this point of imminent danger I was asking it to perform some Evel Knievel-type stunt. ERD leapt forward – ERD had never leapt forward before, especially with so much youthful weight inside. Weirdly I think ERD sensed the urgency and pulled away. We escaped just as one skinhead, out of pure hatred, punched the back window. Luckily it didn’t break. We could hear the skins roar as we sped away…
Caz, not one to be beaten, then leaned back out of the window and shouted ‘Cowards!’ We spent the rest of the journey in silence. Everyone must have been thinking the same thing. How on earth did we get out of that? Amazingly we had survived – just. I never knew why Caz had put us in so much danger. Was it bravado, being drunk or downright stupidity? It certainly wasn’t the way to impress me. While music styles and fashions have since moved on considerably, I haven’t seen a gig in Guildford since, out of fear I might get spotted. There are definitely times when being a coward is a good call.
