The Axe Factor

Sometimes you have to ask yourself the question “Why do we do these things to ourselves”.

The ‘thing’ in question on this particular occasion was to be entered into one of the initial rounds of ‘The Axe Factor’ (yes it does what it says on the tin, a competition for guitarists, singers and bands).

Now I don’t normally ‘do’ competitions as I can’t face the stress that appears to go along with.

In our previous incarnation, Mudheads Monkey, we entered a competition put on my GWR (that’s a local radio station) and made it to the finals.

After our set one of the judges sidled up to us and whispered in our ear that the prize was ours (about 5,000 quid, a portable recording studio and studio time).

Having already rehearsed my acceptance speech in my head, we were suddenly whacked in the face by the announcement that the judges had in fact been ‘split’ and that in order to ‘un-stick’ them they added a new category…..commercial viability.

The other band who they were deliberating over were a bunch of ‘Oasis’ wannabies, and it was at that point that I realised that I had a face that was great for radio….as they were awarded the prize.

I believe the band, who promptly bogged off back to Cardiff split up within the month.

So I don’t do competitions.

However, the Axe Factor was being organised by our promoters and friends Mark Venus and Alfie Kingston, and so when they asked if we would perform it seemed churlish to refuse, so we accepted a place………for last night’s heat.

As CJ now point blank refuses to play acoustic gigs (unless there is an enormous pay cheque involved) citing that we wouldn’t expect to play with only one string (as I constantly remind him being a bass player…I am lucky to be able to cope with anything more than one string), and that is pretty much what we are expecting of him when we play unplugged, Aaron and I went to perform at this particular soirée as the Loaders (that’s our acoustic duo).

When we arrived at the venue we discovered that only six of this evening turns had arrived, which levelled the playing field just a tad, hopefully in our favour.

Then I got the shock that was to colour my whole evening.

There was a panel of four judges, looking very stern and fierce from behind a tartan clothed table, sat ready to dispense words of wisdom and hopefully not to crush any fledging ego beyond the point of resurrection.

Then one of the judges, a man who looked like he was presumably in his 50’s, pointed a finger at me and said……you were in Hartcliffe School Sixth Form.

I was incredulous “How the hell did you know that” I exclaimed. “I never forget a face” he replied.

Now bearing in mind that I was a gangly, spotty long haired youth of 17 when I was summarily asked to leave, and the same could not be said of me now, his feat of recollection was outstanding.

Then it was our turn to perform, three songs…….time to impress the judges.

We had missed the first act as we were in the green room (skittle ally) getting ready, so we had no idea as to how supportive or destructive the judges were going to be.

However, it didn’t matter. We knew that we were not going to be chosen for the next round as we are entertainers and not show winners, and we were there purely to entertain the crowd and get them into a good mood for the whole evening’s music.

However, if a miracle did happen, we wouldn’t complain and the fragile performer’s ego would be firmly ‘tickled’.

Then Mark Venus, who was the compare for the evening, introduced to judges to the contestants and the audience.

Horror of all horror, the man with the photographic memory who had a knack for taking middle aged faces and translating them into memories of younger acquaintances was introduced and I realised that he was in fact my sixth form tutor, the very same man that had told me that I was wasting my time and his and that perhaps it would be better if I was to leave that sainted world of education and seek a new life in the world of employment.

Suddenly, I was 17 years old again and was going to require surgery to have my buttocks unclenched.

We crashed into our three songs with an acceptable level of excitement and madness, whipping the crowd into a state of smiles and foot tapping.

However, this time, instead of performing with my usual level of over confidence, I was sweating like a teenager on a driving test.

I had not seen this man for 31 years. I have been successful in many things. I have made a positive contribution. I am happily married, I have co-raised two delightful children, and yet here I was reverting to that rattled teenager who was desperately trying to avoid a right rollicking from a member of the teaching staff.

Aaron could tell that I was nervous as I reverted to many of my old bad habits that has taken me years to get rid off.

I couldn’t stop talking between songs, even during the songs. I said “Thank you” as each song finished, and I was sweating profusely and my hands were so tense I could barely hold my plectrum.

How daft is that!! I am a seasoned performer with 35 years experience, and yet the sight of my old teacher reduced me to rubble. Isn’t it strange how they can still have that kind of hold over you.

Then came the judge’s comments.

I must have had a face locked into a grimace of fear as Aaron jabbed me in the ribs and growled…..”smile”.

True to form my old teacher liked what we did. We played together well; he thought I had a good voice…….BUT!

There’s always a BUT!

He felt that our middle song descended into cabaret.

Now we have attached the theme song to ‘Only Fools & Horses’ to the end of one our songs as quite frankly, the audience love it….and it’s our job to give the punters what they want.

However, this was probably seen as a bit of an anathema to the ‘serious’ music brigade. It certainly didn’t win us any favour with ‘sir’.

However, he said that on the whole he had enjoyed the set, and the other three judges absolutely loved it.

Isn’t it typical then that the only words that really stick in my mind was the fairly innocuous comment that we had turned into a sparkly suited cabaret act.

Bottom line, we didn’t make it through to the next round. But there again, we hadn’t thought for one minute that we really would.

I would be a liar if I professed that the old ego wasn’t dented just a tad. I mean I had about a 25 year head start on all the other performers, but as I have already said, mine is a face for radio and anyway it would have meant having to do it all over again, and I really, REALLY don’t want to be that 17 year old again.

Aaron did make a good comment. The powers that be may not have deem us serious and worthy contenders for the crown of musical credibility, but unlike most of our young peers at the competition we usual get paid for what we do, AND we are having to turn gigs down as we cannot fit them all in.

Also it was rather gratifying to be approached by a bunch of the younger musicians who had really enjoyed what we had done and asked us if we had any advice for them. (The student was now the master).

We may not have won that round, but we distinguished ourselves with honour and members of the audience approached us throughout the evening to say how much they had enjoyed us.

However, in that I would never want to be a teenager again, it was amazing how I felt with that particular judge.

Simon Cowell eat your heart out.