The following day.
Tonight, a band called Milk will be performing in a basement club in Soho. The band are old chums of Mark, they even did a slightly hippy remix of Marks single Vortex and strangely, Mark has agreed to do some backing vocals on a song with them. Mark is also sounding them out to do some music for the Simply Divine stage adaptation and according to Mark, 'this is a great way to kick start my Yankee tour.' Despite all this, this has increasingly been causing him some concern. For one thing, he has been slightly unhappy at the way his performance has been billed: his name is nearly as big on the posters as the band and in this week's edition of a London listings magazine, for instance, they blithely refer to Marks solo show. He has put out a release explaining that he is only expecting to guest appear in the background on one song, in case people might be misled. Even more worryingly, he doesn't really know what he is doing. A vague plan has filtered through that he will sing a song from Milks debut EP, When Love Can't Come Quickly Enough, but he knows nothing more, what the arrangement will be, what key the songs will be in, if and how they will be joined, and how he and the bands vocalist Joe may share, duet or otherwise perform on the song. He has been trying to get in touch with Joe by phone for the past few days, unsuccessfully.
'I have this frequent nightmare, an anxiety dream that I am onstage and all the audience is there and I don't know what I'm doing,' he says, 'and that's what we’re going to be doing tonight.'
Inside the backstage door, he asks where the stage is. A security guard points about two metres to his right.
'Oh,' says Mark, 'that's why those keyboards are there.' They were scheduled to rehearse at three o'clock, right now, but no one is not here yet. Mark waits in the dressing room which, even for an old venue like this, is reached by a remarkable warren of staircases which go down then up and unexpectedly twist back on themselves before you find your destination. Sitting there, he explains that he has also got a bad shoulder from over exercising at the gym. I replied that I hadn’t see Mark at the gym once to which I just get a look. Marino, who will be sorting out everyone’s wardrobe, hair and makeup tonight arrives and shows Mark the proposed record sleeve of the bands next record. The band is dressed in 1980s retro new romantic clothing.
'God, they look awful,' says Mark, failing to appreciate fully the ground-breaking fashion aspects Marino points out.
He starts reciting the lyric to When Love Can't Come Quickly Enough. 'Walking through the tunnels early morning alone, there's a very special feeling, that feeling that all is well...'
He sighs. 'I'm never going to remember this. That's why I'm nervous about it.'
A man, we assume the owner from the club, comes in.
'I’ve lined up an interview if you want it,' he says, in a real deep cockney accent.
'I probably won't do that,' Mark says politely.
The club owner walks out muttering under his breath.
When Shane from the bands management company arrives, Mark asks him to let everyone know he won't be doing interviews tonight, and to make sure that any press already here, and there are some, aren't allowed to watch the rehearsal and sound check. Shane looks at me, raises an eyebrow and smiles. Still waiting, it's gone half past three and still no band in sight, Mark spies a pop poster promoting a British pop group.
'I bought their album and dutifully listened to it, because we all have to like it,' he confesses, 'and I can't remember anything about it. I had hoped, for the entire advance hullabaloo that it might be one of those life and opinion-changing records that make you think about music differently, but it wasn't.'
Band member Dave arrives. Lots of hugs and kisses.
'I'm nervous about it,' Mark says. 'This song, I can't sing it, Joe knows I’m not a singer.' Joe sweeps in, apologizing for the reasons he hasn't been in touch.
These reasons involve an absurd travel schedule to the other side of the globe over the last week, changed mobile phones, and over-ignored partner's ultimatums. They run though the plan for tonight. Mark explains that he feels he can’t sing the song.
'It doesn't fit my voice,' argues Mark. 'I don't bring me to the party.'
'You’re only dong the backing,' persuades Joe.
'It's not really my persona,' Mark insists although he agrees to give it a go. They move onto the songs. Joe plays Mark a sparsely instrumental version of a song he has been working on which everyone agrees is rather beautiful. Joe grins and hugs Mark.
'Tonight will be fun,' beams Joe enthusiastically.
They talk of other things.
'When did we last see each other?' Mark asks.
'In Paris,' says Jake.
'Paris!' exclaims Mark. 'My birthday!'
They walk down towards the stage. The club owner spies Mark again and shouts to Joe, 'That’s the one I told you about,' and walks off. Joe grins.
'I think he likes you.'
On stage, Mark stands back while Joe confers with band and they try out one of their sings. On their first attempt, Joe doesn't come in where he's supposed to, and seems pretty unsure of what is happening, but each time it gets a little bit better. Mark is instructed where to sing and after a few tries, he works out a way of harmonizing the chorus, with Joe trying a couple of different, high melodies.
'That's good,' says Mark eventually.
'If we do that whole thing one more time?' Joe suggests.
'Absolutely,' says Mark, who perhaps would rather do it many more times.
'From the top again,' Joe instructs. This time, there are no mistakes.
'What did you think of that?' Joe asks.
'I thought it sounded good,' says Mark. There is only five minutes left for sound check. They discuss what they are going to do onstage, and decide that Mark should come on, down the stairs at the side of the stage. Instead of rehearsing more now, they decide to meet in a dressing room at nine o'clock to practice further.
Mark pops out for a few hours and returns a little after nine. On his way back he is accompanied by Ram, Rob and a few other friends. This time it is Joe who has been popping in every few minutes, wondering where Mark is. Mark present gifts for all the band members, small miniature milk bottles with their names engraved and the date of this performance.
'I’m touched,' Joe coos.
In the dressing room a keyboard has not only been set up, it is balanced on top of two rubbish bins with a space between them, but has been left on, emitting a fairly loud but quite pleasant pulsating ambient drone.
'I like it,' Mark declares when he walks in. 'You could just put this stuff out.'
Joe comes in. He says that this is the bands final show for a while, and that tomorrow he will be retreating to his home in Italy to start recording some new music. The keyboard player, wearing a t-shirt that says I
HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU ARE TALKING ABOUT,
comes in to play the chords while Joe sings. He loosens up his voice in an unexpectedly operatic way.
'You could sing baroque opera, you know,' Mark tells him.
'I couldn't,' says Joe.
'Yeah, you could,' Mark insists.
'What is baroque?' asks Ram to which Marks tuts but does not give him a reply. The keyboard player asks whether the keyboard sound is okay.
'It's pretty horrible,' says Mark.
'I'm super-happy with it,' declares Joe.
Mark points to plates of unpalatable cheese and cold meats, still covered in cellophane and stacked on top of the fridge, and says to Joe, 'It's in my normal rider to ask for no food. Why do you want a plate of cheese with clingfilm over it? But that's rock'n'roll..'
He tells Ram about certain American cities on his book tour.
'You never asked me to come,' grumbles Ram.
'No, I didn’t,' replies Mark dryly while Rob laughs.
The band are now ready for the stage, with all members wearing remarkable, garish multicoloured suits. Mark's appearance is scheduled for the beginning of the encores. He watches the first half of the set from the side of the stage, and then goes back upstairs to get dressed. There are no coat-rails here, so whoever is on hand has to hold up the hangers with his clothes on.
'I should have a valet really,' he says. Next, he spills water on his shirt.
'It's only water,' he says.
He's also slightly frustrated to discover that he can't fix on the battery pack which powers his in-ear monitors up here, as he would normally do as part of his routine before going onstage. After the last song of the set, a hi-energy tune called Filthy Fabulous, the band burst wearily into the room at the side of the stage.
'I'm going to totally forget my lyrics,' Mark tells Joe.
'No, you're not,' says Joe, in a tone is both supportive and instructive. 'You can mouth it to me,' says Mark.
It all goes well. There is much whooping when Mark appears edged on by Ram and friends. Mark forgets no lyrics. At the end, Mark and Joe hug, and Mark leaves the stage while the band remain to finish the show with I Don't Know You Anymore.
'You know,' Mark says on his way up the stairs, 'I’m quite a natural on the music stage.' In the dressing room, the champagne is opened. Ram and friends burst in and the band soon joins them. Ram talks enthusiastically to the drummer and guitarist while Mark talks more with Joe about writing block. The going-into-town plan has been abandoned, and so the after-show party turns out to be in the dressing room. I spy Mark deciding to eventually eat the cheese which has been covered with cling film. The conversation wanders down a number of unpredictable by-ways, so that someone wandering in for a moment might hear Ram tell of how he used to put make-up on his teddy bear as a child ('I wasn't very pleased with the results,') or Mark saying (rather untruthfully) 'about three times a year I have a half of Guinness.'
Eventually Mark gets up to go. 'I have a tour to do!' he shouts. 'Let's do it!'