Kenisia: The Band that
Will Never be Famous
Written by Alan Cains
Edited by Scott Caines
Published March 2011
Contents
Prologue 4
Chapter One: Allow Me to Introduce Myself… 5
Chapter Two: Introducing the Band… 10
Chapter Three: Kenisia, the Recording Artists 22
Chapter Four: Bob and Nam 30
Chapter Five: Clock Tower International Enter our Lives 45
Chapter Six: Bristol to Amsterdam to Rotterdam and
Back Again 53
Chapter Seven: New Job, New Friends, New Single,
Old Problems 64
Chapter Eight: Steve, Phil and Mr Zippy Join the Family 74
Chapter Nine: People are Sound at the White House 85
Chapter Ten: More Gigs, More Cities, More Misbehaving,
Less Sleep 97
Chapter Eleven: A New Album and a New Label 114
Chapter Twelve: Household Name Tour 127
Chapter Thirteen: Making the Video and North of the Border 147
Chapter Fourteen: End of an Era 152
Chapter Fifteen: This is the End 163
Acknowledgement 169
The Unfinished Chapter: Deleted Scenes 171
Prologue
After nine years, three record companies, hundreds of gigs, two vans, countless radio airplays, three TV appearances, three albums, two singles, too many compilation albums, a tarantula, two goldfish, four girlfriends and enough cigarettes to choke a donkey, I became sick and tired of Bristol, Kenisia, work, and I doubted my friends and family. Everything I loved felt as if it had fallen apart, and everyday became ritualistic and hard work. I needed time away from everyone and everything. Why? Because I’m an asshole! The band was obviously so stressful it made me lose all my hair!
CHAPTER ONE
Allow me to Introduce Myself…
Science class, in a school itself named after a famous scientist, I sat copying answers from my lab partner, Marcus Trescothick; a pupil whose ambitions would soon be realised as his sporting abilities were becoming recognised. It was at this point I realised that my childhood dreams of being the first astronaut to marry an alien life-form were just an illusion!
Every time professional skateboarder, Tony Hawk, came to Bath, I seemed to spend more time concussed than successfully impressing the skateboarding legend, shattering any dreams of skating professionally. When the careers’ advisor at Sir Bernard Lovell School, told me I needed ten collective years of professional experience to become a stunt man, I stomped out of class, in a piss, probably because he was squeezing my ass at the time. I could be a doctor in seven years; of course I wasn’t going to be. I needed to find a new career plan, now that my dreams were crushed. And a new school advisor with softer hands! I had to find a career that could cope with my short fuse?
* * * * *
May 1989 saw the release of the album ‘Energy’ by Operation Ivy. This American band would soon change the face of punk-music, slowly filtering into the mainstream music scene across the globe. Their brand of ska-punk with underlying hip-hop influences would also change my perception of what music could and couldn’t do. This was the band’s only official album release (although a bootleg singles compilation of previously unreleased material later followed), and Lookout Records printed only 1000 copies on vinyl. I couldn’t find Energy, anywhere at the time. If you said you had a copy in England at the time, you were a fucking liar! Just like the kids at school who claimed to have latest must-have trainers that weren’t available or didn’t even exist – Point is, you never saw them. In 1990, H-Street Skateboards, USA, released a 15 minute video previewing their upcoming full-feature, ‘Next’. It featured groundbreaking skateboarding, which sent shockwaves of terror around the world to the small communities of boarders still left. The video featured exclusive Operation Ivy songs. If Skaters weren’t pissing in their pants with fear from the death defying new tricks they’d witnessed on film, they were arguing about who had a copy of Energy, or how they get one for themselves. I looked in the local Vinyl shop every weekend and even tried to order a copy. I went without, until its re-issue in the UK in 1994. If you don’t have ‘Energy’ in your music collection, even on CD, shame on you! You obviously don’t like music! Operation Ivy, split the same month the album was first released. However, Tim Armstrong went on to form, Rancid, another great band. Meanwhile, between 1989 and 1994, I had been heavily influenced by UK punk-bands, The Stupids and Snuff, along with American bands, Nirvana, Mudhoney and Smashing Pumpkins, whilst discovering the older delights of The Dead Kennedy’s and The Clash.
In 1995, England was over-polluted with Brit-pop bands; bad haircuts and a pathological arrogance that followed the music scene. The rest of the world may have wanted to follow in British music culture’s footsteps, but to me it was dead; old-fashioned, regurgitated-bollocks, that I could live without. The nation was full of ‘Liam’ look-a-likes; mop-hair-cuts with bad attitudes. American musicians had been producing loud, mind-bending music that spoke volumes over its British counterparts for years. Some American artist managed to filter into the British mainstream, plaguing minds across the nation. To find new music you had to go out and buy music recommended in Melody Maker or NME, or listen to John Peel’s selection of music on Radio One. The best way of discovering a new artist is by going to gigs of bands you like, then discovering the support act are far superior. The Internet existed at this time but mainly for emails. Napster, wouldn’t be invented for another four years, MP3 files didn’t exist and you couldn’t listen or buy music anywhere online at this point. iPods were a thing of fiction, cassette tapes still (just about) ruled the world and Vinyl was still as readily available in shops as porn mags. Good! The first band website I saw was at the tail end of the 90s, but you couldn’t download or even listen to music on at that time. It was pictures and text only – No real excitement there!
* * * * *
My second guitar, an Antoria semi-acoustic brought me happiness. For the first time in my life there was a force beyond my control, it spurred me on to create, destruct, and defuse music! Along with my faulty Fender guitar amp they created such a unique and devastating sound. So loud, I never had to turn the dial over 4/10. No subject at school even remotely sparked my interest, but here was something handcrafted, loved, something that made perfect sense. Even when I couldn’t play a note I couldn’t put the guitar down. I wanted to learn for the first time. That guitar was sexier than Sam Fox budgie jumping naked with the budgie chord tied round her neck! Simon Hillier (Kenisia guitarist now), was in my class at school and taught me how to play power chords - this revolutionised my guitar playing abilities. By the time I could play three chords, I started writing music and tried to convince various people at school to start a band with me. But my friends would eventually take a more active interest in girls or VW Beetles. I had the rest of my life to play with girls and I wanted to play in a band! But the person who really pushed me into starting a band was someone I met on work experience in a cult Bristol skateboard shop, Rollermania. The store manager, Scott, was in a local band called Rorschach (and later, Santa Cruz). Without his constant harassment I don’t know if I would have started a band so early on. Along with following Rorschach’s early career I became obsessed with watching local band The Heads, who were in my opinion, the best and most interesting and influential local band! I was at Bath College doing my A-Levels when I started a band.
* * * * *
When my mum went to Australia in 1992 with my Grandfather, she left me a bit of money to buy food, to survive whilst on my own, aw. I bought a loaf of bread every other day, a block of cheese, and a box of cornflakes. I spent the rest of the money on vinyl at Replay Records. I love cheese on toast. People loved watching me eat it with salt, and ketchup. I was a willing freak show. Even now I still get people asking me if I still eat it. I can live without food for a while but I can’t live without new music - it’s a healthy obsession. People who don’t like music make me sick! However, the records I bought with the money, made me happy for years. If I had money in my mid to late teens, I’d hop on the bus to town, venture past the homeless people, trying to piss on my legs in the ‘bear pit’ in town, then I headed to my favourite records to buy some new music.
* * * * *
Everett True, a music journalist who wrote for Melody Maker, gave me inspiration for new and exciting music coming from all over the world. Just for the record NME is shit and always has been, bring back Melody Maker, please! But the single most mind-bending moment of my music- loving-life, happened whilst watching Nirvana play on The Jonathon Ross Show. I liked music before, but now I wanted to mate with music. I wasn’t interested in women; they were everywhere, in large numbers, wearing little clothes, mainly showed an interest in tossers that owned Ford Escorts. I wanted music. I wanted to make my own music, but I didn’t know how!
* * * * *
Remember the children’s TV show ‘Number 73’ on Saturday mornings? It’s funny how such a shit TV show could bring such joy to my life. There was an infamous episode when a caller rang the show and pretended to be a fan of the guest band, Five Star. Instead of asking a fan based question he asked the young pop group, ‘Why you’re so fucking shit?’ Yes children, that caller was me! Just kidding, if you’re a police officer or part of the FCC!
* * * * *
I was eager to get involved in a band and I was beginning to cross paths with other like-minded people. Going to other bands’ gigs and various club nights cemented my growing relationship within the local subculture. It’s a harsh cutthroat industry, where people and relationships aren’t easy to break into. People are cynical, because we’re all fundamentally after the same thing; that imaginary record deal we all believe will come to us. But it’s important to get yourself into the mix, and another way in quite literally landed on my doorstep. Until that point, ‘Kandi Klub’ was the City’s major alternative nightclub, and social standing there had a pecking order, which at the time, I had no place. But my brother, Paul and Leon Massey, a friend of ours, started a new alternative dance night on an unused boat, The Lightship, in the Bristol. Their club night, ‘Wasted’, only lasted about four months but the memories will live on. Occasionally when my brother or Leon needed a toilet break, they might let me DJ for 20 minutes or so. I tried my best to impress (or rather lure) lots of women from college that I fancied to give myself some notability, usually failing miserably. One college girl in particular, Lucy, freaked me out big time whist at this club. She slept with here eyes open. I was talking to her for about 10 minutes before I realised she was asleep. I thought she was dead at first! Excuse me while I recover from this near heart attack! A guy I met at Wasted told me the weirdest thing one night, which will haunt me till I die. ‘Mate, if you really want to get fucked, crush your drugs, and then shove ’em up your ass. What a rush!’
What an asshole! I liked the guy but I wasn’t going to take his advice. Tempting though, right? Due to my minor involvement with handing our flyers, and social networking for my brother’s club night, I met a handful of key players who introduced and spread awoken my own standings in Bristol’s alternative scene, and presented opportunities not previously available. This would prove useful later on as my band took shape. In the mean time, the DJs for Kandi Klub had taken an instant disliking to Wasted. As soon as we were putting up poster, or handing out flyers, they were being taken down, removed from shops without our permission. People thought the night was no longer running, so when the Lightship sailed away for repairs, my brother and Leon’s DJ-ing dream sailed off with them.
CHAPTER TWO
Introducing the Band…
My friends and I moved back to the sanctuary of the Kandi Klub at the Bristol Bierkeller, and things started to pick up. During the years 1988-1994 some of the most respected touring bands in the world, had graced our compact-scenic-venue with live performances. These once guarded underground artists turned the Bierkeller, into a Mecca for alternative music. We were graced with bands like Nirvana, Smashing Pumpkins and The Offspring. Soon, everything my friends and I did, revolved around this weekly event, through this my friendship with Justin Harvey developed. Our mutual love of music, occasionally induced by a chemical romance, we followed our favourite punk bands across the country and planned our own band together.
One summer’s night, Justin invited me to a party in Hanham, Bristol to meet a couple of musician friends of his called Martin Smith, a bass player, whose band had recently defunct and Simon Curfouy. We had an instant rapport, within a few weeks we created a band, Narcolepsy: A noisy, post-punk, angst-driven band with nerves of steal with the talent of Eddie the Eagle Edwards. This band had several drummers, and many line-up changes within its two-year life span, including the early departure of Justin. Martin and I remained, and we had become great friends in this time and done some funny things together but more importantly, we played well together musically.
* * * * *
The early days with Martin included the occasional all-night session of experimenting with hallucinogenic drugs whilst writing songs. I’m not going to lie to you; I took a lot of drugs over the space of two and a half years, and for the most part I had an amazing time, I was the skinniest I’ve ever been and I laughed my arse off pretty much every night I took drugs. At the time, I thought our music was the dog’s bollocks, when in fact it was just bollocks! Thankfully our drug taking happened mostly before the band got too serious.
You know you’ve had one drug too many, when you’re stood looking at your self in the mirror and an angel and a demon, really has popped up on your shoulders and posses a dark and deeply twisted proposition to you. I realised I was loosing control after one particular drug induced night out. I saw a friend almost die in front on my eyes from an adverse affect to lethally-concocted-drug. As I was driving my friends home, one of them started acting very weird and they decided that kicking through my mum’s car window was their best release of anxiety. She was out of control, and my mum and I took him to hospital and I spent two days there until she regained consciousness. I knew I had to stop, if not for my own sanity, but for the sake of my friends and family. My mum never mentioned the experience other than to ask if my friend was okay. My friend recovered in health but is eternally embarrassed by the scenario. This was a sharp-shock to me, but of course drug taking in one form another is widespread, so escaping it is hard and takes time.
It was during this phase, our circle of friends expanded to include, Tom Shorland (who would soon play a major role in the wider universe of the band), and his older brother, John, who rented a flat above a chemist on the main road in Hanham. John arranged for Narcolepsy to play a party there one night and the only thing I remember from the entire evening was smoking a bucket bong before we played. I don’t remember the band playing at all, although I believe we did - I was excruciatingly twisted in my mind! Upon waking up the following morning, I heard John say that some people from the party had broken into the storeroom of the chemists below, helping themselves by stealing some drugs (at least that’s what they claimed). I was still paranoid from my sad bucket-bong-experience and I was sure the police were coming to get me. After packing up the band equipment I drove to the local police station and stood outside for an hour in case they wanted to question me about the break in. No one questioned me. I never smoked a bucket bong again! Any drug, including tobacco is truly stupid - don’t do them- but who is going to listen to me; I wouldn’t back then! Everything seems amazing when you’re on drugs and when you stop; your life crumbles slowly to shit.
Once I stopped taking drugs, a good friend told me he hadn’t heard a sensible word out of me for almost a year! I believed him, too. I was so anti drugs, I kick myself forever starting. I lost a lot of old, and new friends thanks to drugs. The old friends thought I was a nutcase, the new friends were disappointed I didn’t want to get wrecked with them any longer. I can still see the disappointment on grandfather’s face, as I sat down and bared all. He couldn’t look me in the face for a long time. That killed a part of me, there and then, his opinion meant everything to me, and I had let him down in the name of my own selfish fun. I’ll never get that back! The only things I’ve got to show for the years of fun, I had, are really bad teeth!
There are many contradictions in my life, yet I live my life with little conflict, most of the time. I’d rather spend time with someone who smokes weed and giggles occasionally, than someone who drinks themselves into the abyss. I don’t condone the use of any drugs; it’s all down to personal choice. I’ve made mine. The worst a very stoned person will do to you, is make you paranoid. The worst a drunken person will do to you is put you in hospital. Yet, society tends to lend a sympathetic ear to someone who creates havoc after a night on the beer, as apposed to someone who smokes drugs, stays in their home, hurting no one.
* * * * *
Sensing a change in our own musical direction it was time to find new band members, and time for a change in band name too. Martin had crossed paths socially with John England, aka Brandy, on several occasions, so I suggested we ask if he fancied jamming with us. Martin had decided he was gong to try his skills on the drums, which left a hole for a bass player to fill. Brandy was the logical solution for this position; a local budding young musician we both liked who shared our interests. Brandy’s band Joshi had just split up as two members had left for university, including one of my closest friends, Steve England (Brandy’s older brother). With Brandy’s similar influences we connected well and soon found ourselves practising together regularly.
Most bands took the traditional root of hiring a rehearsal room for their band. That was far too conventional and far too much money, time, and effort. Ideally we would have used a garage. Why go through all that hassle when you have the luxury of a front room in your Mum’s house! Yes, it was very loud, much to the annoyance of my neighbours. The relationship frayed very quickly, resulting in my neighbour coming round one night and threatening me, ‘If you don’t stop that shit, I’m going to kill you’! Can’t say I blamed him really. Along with the noise of the bands twice a week during the evening, I had two very well used skateboard ramps the back garden, too. Now, if you’re thinking I’m a rich spoilt brat, you’re wrong! I was spoilt, by having the use if whole the house to myself most evenings. As for the ramps, most of the wood was either donated by friends of the family, or stolen from various building sites. The day I burned my skateboard ramps and moved out, my neighbour probably shit his own pants with excitement. We were annoying and very inconsiderate, and at the time, I’m sorry to say, we didn’t really care!
* * * * *
Along with our joint musical collaborations, Brandy and I studied photography together for a year at Brunel College in Bristol, in 1996. Most of our journeys to college usually consisted of chatting about the band and planning what we should or shouldn’t do. One morning Brandy couldn’t wait to tell me something.
‘According to the British Medical Journal, I’m an alcoholic!’
‘Right, care to elaborate?’ I asked him.
‘Yeah, well according to this article I read last night in a newspaper, if you drink two beers a night, you’re technically an alcoholic’ Brandy said this with the biggest glee of happiness; like he was proud of himself. But all this came from a young man whose aspirations were to be just like ‘Homer Simpson’. Brandy was truly on his way. I don’t know what this has to do with the band, but as a statement it pretty much sums him up as a human being.
Way before my relationship with Brandy, I shared several classes at school with his older brother, Steve. We shared a similar taste in music, along with abusive hairstyles, and tattered clothes, quite entertaining when you considered we all lived in suburbia. My first real impression of Brandy wasn’t his bass playing abilities it was his naff haircut! It was a butchered version of Hue Grant’s hair in the film, Four Weddings and a Funeral. He had himself a big swinging pair of curtains at the front and short all round the back and sides. Avril must really love him, she not only ended up marrying Brandy, ten years on, but on their first date, she let Brandy molest her on a bus stop in Hanham. Avril told me this!
When Steve was at Exeter University, he lived with a girl from Hanham, who lost her virginity on a bus stop. When I get some free time I’m going to hang around in Hanham more often on the bus stops.
Brandy’s hair improved massively, gaining him much attention from the ladies! These days however, when I go and watch Kenisia, his hair looks a lot like Doc Emid Brown, from the Back to the Future, films. I can’t say much as I don’t have any hair these days! It wasn’t long after starting the newly formed Kenisia, that we had enough material to do our first gig.
Brandy and I both for some reason put off going to university whilst we were in a band. It was a nice way of ignoring the world at large.
Brandy wore a seriously long chain attached to his wallet and his trousers. Where Brandy was, the chain followed; just like Jacob Marley. You could hear Brandy coming from 30 metres easily.
* * * * *
A friend from college had seen a local cable TV channel advertise for bands to appear on their flagship show, Telly West – a general-interests show for people of Bristol. They must have been pretty desperate as the tape we sent in at the time was terrible quality, with shit songs, too. Brandy asked a friend Tim, ex member of Joshi to stand in for the purpose of the show to thicken the guitar sounds. We drove into the HTV studios Bristol (an impressive site), past the nice building, past the car park and the portable toilets to our final destination; an old porter cabin, which this cable show was being run in. We unloaded our gear, signed in, set up our equipment in the studio, were given a brief introduction to everyone involved including the female host (very nice), then had been instructed to sit in the adjacent cabin to watch as the show started. Before us, was a man that was juggling and mixing cocktail glasses, equally as shit a performance as our own that day! As we sat in the waiting area, nerves got the better of all of us. Brandy paced, Martin and I ate what nails we had left, and Tim was a prick as usual (I never understood why Tim sounded as if he was London, knowing he lived in Bristol his whole life). Watching the show’s live feed on the TV in the other cabin was probably the most exhilarating part of the day. We all wanted to laugh as the cocktail juggler continually dropped his bottles but it seemed to come out as nervous laughter, instead. No wonder we’d never heard of this show before, it was shit. It was a combination of ‘The Big Breakfast’ (a cult early morning show) and a real life ‘Wayne’s World’ - only without the coolness, skipping straight to the cheese factor without forgiving professionalism!
We had been asked to play a short song first, followed by an interview and then a final song to close the show, which faded into its ending credits music. In the interview everyone went quiet, reluctantly saying anything. The interviewee probed each of us in turn about the band; its name, what we were doing, and any future gigs. At no point were we offered a gang-bang, this was not my kind of TV! Tim’s contribution was ‘I’m just a session musician!’ (Prick). The show was over in 30 minutes, phew! Did seeing our performance on TV contribute to Martin’s imminent departure of Kenisia? Sat at home reflecting and analysing the shocking recording with friends and family, directly contributed to me writing new material. This was less of an achievement, and more like a personal embarrassment for me. Luckily very few people saw the show! If you’re one of those people who has a copy, burn it! I’ll never pay the ransom money! My long hair had to go.
* * * * *
Coming home from Bath College one night I noticed Simon Hiller was on the same bus. I hadn’t seen him since leaving school as he buggered off to University in Salford, three years earlier and he was back in the local area looking for work. He had just had an interview for a job in the audiovisual department at Bath University. I knew we’d been thinking about expanding our sounds as a band, with a second guitarist, so I gave Simon a copy of a tape I had on me and took his number. I could see the prospect of joining a band gave Simon’s eye a little sparkle. Simon was in! But would he remember the songs?
Simon would be pleased to know that I once had a dream about him and in the dream things where pretty clear; Simon was a serial killer! I figured it out at long last; this may in fact be my only way of describing years of our friendship, the pieces of jigsaw just fit into place. If you know him it makes perfect sense! He never loses his temper or reveals his anger - does anything piss this man off? All the traits of a psychopath!
Simon and I had been in the same class at school together from the age of 11. This guy was nuts! He was always up for anything! If there was a kid at school that took on a dare, it was Simon! On a school trip, he found a rope swing hanging from a tree and went for it. Our gym teacher Miss Knapp, decided if Simon could do it, so could she! However, she flew off the swing, falling straight down ten feet on to her back. I still remember the cries of pain! I blame Simon for that! Although we didn’t grow up as best-of-friends, we had many friends in common, a love of music in common, years of skateboarding in common, and lots of memories of making twats of ourselves together at local discos in our teens, before progressing to Kandi Klub, and doing the same thing there.
I only saw Simon a handful of times whilst he was at University and only ever by chance. Before then I’d stopped hanging out with his social group, at the age of about 16, as I took a greater interested in skateboarding and drinking, so our social groups changed massively.
Having not seen Simon for some time, I was surprised to see him come back with big-ass dreadlocks! If you’re a fan of the TV show, The Simpson’s, Simon kind of looked a little like Krusty the Clown’s sidekick, Side Show Bob; hence Simon’s gay nickname, Sideshow Si. Not an easy tongue roller.
On holiday once, many years ago, Simon was dancing at a nightclub. After one particular song had finished, the DJ announced that Simon had won the ‘craziest dancer’ competition! He even received a prize for this! However, Simon didn’t actually know there was a competition he was just being himself! I’ve only been to Simon’s family house a dozen or so times in my life! Everyone in Simon’s household is excessively happy and optimistic all the time. I always had a sneaking suspicion that Simon’s family might actually be the Osmond family!
* * * * *
Scott Caines has the most-witty morbidly dry sense of humour; always prepared to give an honest and accurate account of the facts. He played a huge role in Kenisia, although he’s never officially been a band member. We owe him, big time! Scott isn’t related.
It was my first day at secondary school. An already daunting day as I, along with many other pupils from my primary school had been led to believe urban myths that dictated we’d get our arses kicked in the first year. Upon walking into our new tutor room, we found that our names had been written on a folded piece of paper on the desk. This was who we’d be sitting by for the rest of that first year. I looked at my name, then doubled-took at the name next to mine Scott Caines, then Alan Cains. In our teacher’s head, the two of us were related. We joked about our surnames for most of our lives. Simon Hillier, who was later to become Kenisia’s guitarist, was also in the same tutor-group.
Scott learned to play the drums in the later stages of school, whereas, I learned to play the guitar, neither of us knew about the other’s musical skills until much later in our friendship. Our relationship grew as we hit the sixth form (known as years six and seven now). Music had become a huge part of our lives and our friendship. Music determined where you were in school in social standings, to a certain degree. Watching bands together, talking about music and finally wanting to form our own bands played an enormous part of who we would become over the next ten years of our lives.
Scott’s involvement in the band went further than supporting. If Scott hadn’t lent us his drums and copious amounts of drumsticks on several occasions for recording purposes, we’d have been screwed. He occasionally stood in as the band’s drummer during sound checks and would usually be on stand-by if Kenisia’s soon-to-be drummer, Tom got too drunk at a gig.
Scott would later introduce Kenisia to Jaz, who would firstly become trumpet player on the second album and later, singer. Without Scott joining Mighty Joe Young, we’d never have met Phil, who later became our trombone player. The same goes for Jackie, MJY’s saxophone player who performed on the band’s debut album. He also connected Kenisia with other local bands in the early days, including his older brother, Brett’s band, Regicide, who had a big following in their hometown of Bath. Their music and lively performances made them very popular in the underground scene and sharing gigs with them opened doors for the band to Bath’s close-knit punk society. Furthermore, Scott’s own mum and dad saw Kenisia play more than all our own families combined! Scott was the ‘extended’ Kenisia member!
Scott had made friends with Mathew O’Sullivan, also from the same school, only a couple of years above us. Matt remains to this day, one of the bounciest and funny guys I’ve had the pleasure of meeting. He was the first person I’d met, ever crazy enough to ride a Snake-board in public. The two of them had been to see a fair few gigs together and united in their love of music decided they would start up their predominately Bath-based promotions company, named Juggluna Empire Promotions. Aptly named after attending and ultimately running a circus group together. Scott and ‘Sully’ both worked for Future Publishing in Bath, and had a great eye for advertising, which made their promotional material for their shows pretty interesting. I suspected the two didn’t think very much of our band but they thought they’d help out their mates. JLP presented several of Kenisia’s earliest shows and also hooked us up with support slots for other bands elsewhere. Our debut show took place at one of their regular venues, The White Hart in Bath, a small alternative/rockers’ pub on the edge of the city. A handful of friends and girlfriends came over that night to see out first show, now I’d like to tell you it was a gig that would go down in infamy, but I would been lying. The audience looked onwards at us with pity in their hearts, giving us what I can only describe as a ‘you tried’, and clapped after each songs. There were a few looks of horror as if we were a form of freak-show, but I still get that today. After playing I was pushed over to speak to a rather eccentric tall man called Steve Henwood (aka HieronimouS), who was reviewing the show for Venue magazine, Bristol local who’s cool and who’s not. The following week I read the review. The only positive statement referred to the nerve and the craziness in which I handled my guitar. That was our review and we loved it because we were mentioned in a magazine. In the early days, spectators would look onwards at Kenisia on stage, with a tint of fear in their eyes, like we were lepers, or worse, that crazy uncle that people suspect is a paedophile. It takes a sick man (like myself), to enjoy that look of fear from the crowd.
* * * * *
Martin only ever did a handful of gigs with the band name Kenisia before quitting. He never actually told us why he quit, though. Tom Shorland, a friend of Martin’s, who I know fairly well, showed up at my house (as he often did), and just mentioned it in passing, as you do. Still to this day I have no clue why Martin left the band. But this wasn’t the end of our friendship.
Tom had landed! Most sensible people would have been studying or working at the age of 17. Tom wanted to be a drummer in a band. Tom had sat behind the drums on a number of occasions at band practises and had a natural flare, enthusiasm and passion for drumming, as well as a keen willingness to show up when no one asked him too. Tom-ass, by default, had become Kenisia’s drummer! Tom stayed in close contact with Martin; he only lived five minutes away from him and he had given Tom his permission to borrow his drums until he could afford to buy his own set.
Tom was unique; a longhaired teenager that had less cares in the world then me. He lived with his dad in Hanham on Gays Road, with Dave the female cat - how beautiful is that! Before Tom came into my life, I used be the one who came out with all the funny stories and bollocks. Tom took over with a vengeance. Killing people with his stories and nonsense ways kind of stole my thunder! But I liked Tom a lot. He lived moment to moment doing things his own way, which I didn’t always understand but I found amusing. Tom either had a beer in his hands or a spliff, or he was on his way to getting one or the other.
We had two weeks between Martin’s unique departure and our next gig at Moles Club in Bath. Panic hit us, even though Tom spent every hour practising on the drums. Despite having natural ability in our living room practice area, Tom would still only have two weeks to learn to play the drums, and our entire set list for the gig. The sensible thing would have been to postpone the gig. But that’s not my style, and by the madly fused expression on Tom’s face when he showed up to practice, it wasn’t his either. This was a lot to ask Tom, so I asked if a friend from college would share the burden. Dave practised with the band and Tom for two sessions before deciding Tom could hold up on his own with a little more time. Dave was a highly proficient drummer, but never blended with our brand of warped music. Then again who did? Perhaps at the time Dave was just too professional for us to cope with. He couldn’t speak highly enough of Tom’s natural flowing abilities. Dave’s critiquing from watching and listening to Tom play the drums, gave Tom bounds of confidence. Dave insisted Tom could do the show. For some reason when Dave drummed, he closed his eyes and made weird faces. When he did this I couldn’t stop laughing. I swear Dave was gurning and drumming at the same time! Talk about multi-tasking!
Also playing with Kenisia on Tom’s first gig for a few songs was Craig Rackham, another long-term friend of the band and awesome guitarist. Simon was still new to many of the songs but for some freakish reason, Craig knew most of the songs. Craig played the songs Simon wasn’t too familiar with at the time.
Most people need a stiff drink before their first show - stands to reason, a way to calm the nerves a little. However, Tom had downed a few beers before I’d even picked him up and then he carried on drinking until he played. In an odd way, this made Tom perform a little better. When Tom drank beer, he was fearless. Perhaps even possessed! Tom’s influence of metal, rap and Indie music would change the band dynamics completely and propel our sound profoundly. Taking us from playing in local shit holes, to gigs out of out normal comfort zone. Amazing for a boy that had been a reluctant hero! We couldn’t get rid of Tom, no matter how hard we tried!
For a first gig it was an exceptional performance. I think Brandy and I concentrated on Tom’s performance more than our own. As the audience was mainly filled with our friends, we naturally went down well. Tom’s brother, John, was in awe of his little brother. And Tom’s female friends beamed smiles at Tom across the darkened room.
Tom’s second gig wasn’t short of events either. At The White Hart, Tom managed to make an awesome impression by placing the drums near the only place on stage with a whacking great hole in it. Tom’s stool found the hole, on several occasions. I thought Tom was being a little mental that night until someone explained it to me later on. I still ponder to myself if Tom was doing it for effect? But with Simon progressing too, the sound of the band and dynamics of the songs had filled out, making us tighter as a unit and thicker in sound. The new songs we’d written had take on a different direction thanks to everyone’s influence. Within three months, Tom was already better than most of the drummers we gigged with.
At Tom’s third gig the drummer from the band, Chimera, couldn’t believe Tom had only been playing for three months. Tom’s loud and thick sound would not only suit our live sound but would add wonders to the recording sound. However, when we started buying Tom’s drumsticks, we should have realised then, this was a sign of things to come… Bless him. My biggest issue now was getting Tom out of my house. He practically lived there for some time. Like Martin, Tom could play most instruments very well and I’d be sat at home listening to Tom playing my guitar if he couldn’t play the drums during the daytime due to the noise. We were lucky that the new flat we practised in never had one complaint about the noise levels. Tom may have been an exceptional drummer, but he dances like an athlete in the Special Olympics. Or you could compare Tom’s dancing to that of a Thunderbird puppet! Would I ever be able to get rid of him though?
CHAPTER THREE
Kenisia, the Recording Artists
In the company of manikins, you receive no complaints. No threats of violence. In 1998, I was living in a flat above my mum’s fancy dress shop in Warmley, Bristol. She had recently moved out of the flat and Simon moved in with me. This made song writing and rehearsing much easier and we did so without annoying anyone too much. Simon was the best flatmate I ever had. He met his lifelong girlfriend Jane, shortly after moving in and subsequently spent all his time with Jane at her flat. I was glad he moved out though as I couldn’t stop stealing his Nutella chocolate spread. I was becoming quite the addict! I’d replace it but I would eat that too. But as Simon never spent much time there outside of band activities, so never notice… or did he? I blame Simon for my obesity problem these days, because I never used to eat chocolate until he moved in.
Just as two years earlier in my previous home, the living room in my flat played host to our rehearsals. The difference this time was the only next-door neighbours were manikins in full fancy dress, although I suspect the people half way down the street could probably hear us. Something else that had changed was my writing style. It’s important to understand that in the early days of my music, I was heavily influenced when smoking a lot of Cannabis. I thought the songs I wrote whilst in an altered state of mind were cool. In reality though, they sucked. When I wasn’t high it became clear, the songs were nonsensical. Kids, drugs are bad! I guess the songs I wrote in the early days were based around things that I thought were cool or I was trying to be clever. I loved the stories of Kurt Cobain and David Bowie conceptualising whilst writing poetry with meaning and Bollocks! There’s enough bullshit music in the world and I had moved on without looking back. When I first started writing, I was trying to convey my darker, untapped side with songs like: ‘My Bloody Valentine’, ‘You do it For Me’, and ‘A Kiss the World, Goodbye’, dealing with rejection and inner conflict, mixed with humour. I wasn’t writing for the masses, I was writing for myself. With a shift in consciousness, lack of drugs and a sense of time to move on in life, the music I started writing became a little more upbeat and commercial sounding with ‘She knows’, ‘Disco Bitch’ and ‘Friends’, and at the frantically bizarre ‘Lunar Buggy Riot’. It was round about this point Kenisia developed its first little fan base.
* * * * *
Besides being our convenient practice area, my flat had become a general meeting point for friends of the band. Tom’s friend Tom Gander was a frequent visitor. This guy could certainly liven up an evening. At band practice once, Tom recanted a Tom G nightmare story that haunts me with laughter still. As both Toms entered a Pizza Hutt establishment, Tom G threw a big spanner in the works as he grabbed a hold of Tom’s hand and without warning starting to act as if he had severe learning difficulties. Tom G started drooling down his top, acting over the top, loud and very childlike. Tom was so taken aback by this he didn’t know what to do? Feeling awkward he figured he’d sit down to order food, presuming Tom G would soon stop this charade. Tom G’s embarrassing behaviour didn’t stop and when the poor waiter came over to take their order, Tom G shouted, ‘Pizza, pizza, beer’.
Tom G got louder and more exaggerated in his actions and wasn’t about to stop his masquerade any time soon. The waiter asked, ‘Should he really be drinking alcohol’, but Tom just said, ‘why not’? The waiter came back with their drinks shortly afterwards, smiling, ‘Here’s your drinks sirs’. Tom G picks up the beer and downs most of it, as the rest flies over his t-shirt, as he’s making grunting noises. The waiter just watches embarrassed, dazed and confused. When the pizza finally arrives Tom G suddenly changes back from his drooling character and says, ‘cheers mate’ and runs out of the pizza restaurant leaving Tom to pay for the bill, and to deal with the humiliation of the stunt he was never in on. If you ever see Tom G in public, RUN!
On another occasion I was over Tom’s brothers flat on Whiteladies Road, Bristol, when a police officer showed up at the door. There had been a report from a member of the public, complaining that someone from one of these flats had urinated off of the balcony on to him whilst waiting for a bus. Everyone present refuted the allegations but we all knew that it was Tom G’s type antics.
Tom and his profound sense of humour would set the way for some of the most random catch phrases that would ever become stuck in my head. An example or two if I may; ‘Then?’, ‘ Nice bike’, ‘Shall we mate?’, ‘Proper job’, ‘It’s not sign posted, so how am I supposed to know’, ‘I’d a go round there, I’d a take the money of her, and I’d a shit on her lawn’ (funnier when you know that mental patient). Whenever Tom and Tom G were together they were far too encouraging; the nightmare dynamic duo.
* * * * *
In the summer of 1996 Kenisia recorded a 12 track Demo, which no one will ever hear. Driving to the studio I spotted a bird trying to land on a telephone wire. Things hadn’t worked out for the bird as expected as the bird ended upside down on the telephone wire motionless. I never learnt the fate of the bird, but I nearly crashed the car laughing as I drove to the studio. Kenisia paid the sum of £100 to record in a shed somewhere in the wilderness outside of Bath. The 8-track recording studio, Presuming Ed’s, was named after a character in the cult classic British film, Withnail and I. This unique recording experience was a first for Kenisia’s new line-up. In hindsight, the songs weren’t remarkable, though our musical skills had improved immensely. The raw recordings served as a sufficient source for reviewing and critiquing our material, as well as a valuable lesson in time management and constructing our songs before recording. It’s always a gamble choosing a recording studio on a budget. You’re putting your faith in some maniac’s hands. They might have 30 years experience in recording sound effects for Dr Who, but have only just started recording bands as a hobby? Simon’s facial expressions watching Martin from Presuming Ed’s at ‘work’, said it all. What the Hell? Martin was a lovely, well-meaning gentleman, just starting out, finding his way. Tom’s drumming at the time had come on leaps and bounds and he showed great aptitude to a subject he clearly loved, putting maximum effect into his drumming. Watching Tom swear like a trooper, setting up his drum kit in his new 4ft by 4ft cell, was quality entertainment. This was Tom’s first recording experience.
A useful tip for when you’ve finished recording/mixing in a studio with thousands of pounds worth of equipment, take your own portable stereo with you, copy the recording onto a CD, then play it on your stereo. If the recording sounds good on your shit stereo, you’re on to a winner. It’s the most disappointing thing in the world to get home all excited and wonder why the recording sounds shit! The studio could be shit? Most likely the band is shit!
Martin listened to Kenisia’s opinion, too much (a bad sign). He should have taken a more active-directive. The beautiful sun filled day, accompanied with joints, and beer, put rose coloured spectacles on Kenisia. Towards the end of recording, Martin took greater interest in Tom’s friend, Ruth, trying to recruit her for one of his own demos as a singer. Going on his ‘penis radar’, and not gut instinct, Martin thought Ruth, would make a good singer! He only heard her talk. Martin’s unusual vocal-recording-technique-recommendation was bizarre, even for my standards. Martin had apparently read an article, which suggested putting the microphone on top of your head, will pick up the bass in the vocals more affectively. This flummoxed all of us. Dime Bar! Once again, Simon’s face said ‘What-the?’ I thought Martin was taking the piss, refusing to play along at first but after a lot of persuasion I finally yielded, and like a prized lemon-head, I held the rather large radio mix on my forehead, for everyone’s entertainment for one song. We weren’t expecting miracles - we didn’t receive any either!
Our new demo represented us slightly more, we could use it to get us more gigs, and if nothing else it was a decent enough recording of the songs, which we could listen to and reflect upon. The recordings weren’t good enough to sell, and I wasn’t happy enough that I’d send them to record companies.
A few years later I made sure that any copies of these recordings lying round the house had been destroyed, I bet Brandy and Tom still have theirs. If these recoding show up somehow, I promise I will eat a wild-Tiger: while you watch, endangered or not!
* * * * *
Thanks to Trevor, the eloquent and much respected sound engineer at Bath Moles Club, for a matter of days my phone was inundated with assholes calling from record companies. I vividly remember coming home from college one night, as my mum finished up in her fancy dress shop downstairs from me, and she told me she had taken a call from someone at EMI records. However, they hadn’t left a number! I thought my mum had been taking the piss out of me to be honest, but they were apparently going to call back later. So I waited in, like a twat on the off chance but they never called that night. The following night I waited in again. Surely mum was winding me up now. But after an hour or so the phone rang and an unfamiliar voice, claiming to represent EMI, spoke to me about the band. I was still wondering if this was a joke, but I couldn’t help but feel a little excited, but also very confused as I didn’t remember sending any demos off, and I wasn’t aware of any A&R people at the show (not that we’d necessarily know). It never occurred too me to ask him how he’d heard of our band! The conversation consisted of this A&R guy saying he’d heard good things about Kenisia, but never actually listened to us and would love it if I would send him a demo tape. I agreed and sent him a copy of our only demo; a three-track tape we’d recorded.
The next day when I picked up Brandy to drive to college, I told him what had happened. He seemed as puzzled as I was. We now both thought it was a bit of a wind up. Perhaps one of our friends had put a friend up to it? It was however, very convincing! Throughout the course of the day I thought nothing of it, until later on that evening. I had just got home and sat down with a nice cup of tea, and I hear the ring of the phone. Once again I didn’t recognise the voice I was talking to but it was pretty much the same conversation I’d had the previous evening with the EMI man! This guy was a bit friendlier and was from Sony Records. I was getting a bit freaked out by now and then maybe two minutes after I’d put the phone down, it rang again! Another new voice and now I was talking to Virgin Records. I began to laugh to myself because I still didn’t have a clue where these people were getting hold of their information? Three separate phone calls which were all very believable. None of which had local accents. This was way too much of an elaborate joke for anyone I knew. Plus the bastards had all withheld their numbers, so I couldn’t harass them! After sending off a bunch of demos we never got any feedback from any of these record companies, so I never sent off another demo to any major labels again. They could buy the demos or come to see us for themselves. Fair enough the demo lacked the subtlety of an Austrian named Hans Fritzl! Basically, Trevor had told the promoter from Moles Club to big-us-up to some labels. Never trust a man who still dyes his hair jet black, especially if he’s northern!
* * * * *
Generally it was left to us to promote ourselves – and that was how we liked it. I loved handing out flyers for our gigs on a night out. It was an excellent was to meet women, even if they were surrounded in big groups of men. It wasn’t only an icebreaker; it was a way in.
Instead of chucking a flyer in someone’s hand and running off, there was good scope for banter. If a girl seemed interested in you, you could tell as she’d probably asked you questions…
‘Where is it?’
‘Who are they?’
‘What kind of a band is it?’
‘Do you have any more fliers?’ Always a welcome response!
All positive and inquisitive behaviours towards this tiny piece of paper you had. In fact, it was a bugger if you went out without flyers, as it was such a useful pick up line without doing any real hard work. Girls are either into seeing something new or they’re not! - An obligatory statement perhaps, but a truism nonetheless. I met Tessa (an ex girlfriend of mine) whilst handing out flyers at Kandi Klub. Tessa’s reaction to being given the flyer was great!
‘Sorry I’ve never heard of this band?’ And that’s a great introduction, right there and an opportunity to entice Tessa to a show. As we talked, I knew something was up as she kept on asking me for a ‘shag’, I knew there was obviously a Dutch-English misinterpretation/translation thing going on as Tessa was adamant she wanted a shag to go with her drink. As it turned out ‘shag’, is the Dutch terminology for rolling tobacco. Who’d have known? (Everyone bar me apparently).
The amount of time we got a bollocking for flying pubs and other venues never ceased to amaze me. I’ve been asked to leave a few pubs in the past, all in the name of their establishment. You have to ask for the pub’s permission apparently. That’s one to remember. It’s also good to remember sticking up posters for a band is illegal too. You can get a hefty fine, per poster by the council. The local council call the venue, which I believe are legally obligated to give out the bands contact details and you are given 48 hours to remove all posters before they fine you for each item they find with the band’s name on. I’ve met several bands that have confirmed this is no myth.