The Confessions of a Failed Rock Star: (A Drop of Sherry)

By Maximilian Kidd

My name is Maximilian Kidd, and I have been called an alcoholic womanizer more times than I can remember. And that was by the people who liked me. I may well have been both those things, worse and more, but what I really wanted to be was a Rock Star.

Join me at the bottom end of rock n roll. A story of drunken debauchery outlining what and who influenced me in my songwriting. But also a tale of five misfit losers, the lifelong friendships that were formed, and how we went from rehearsing in my bedsit, to a record deal, and the verge of potential stardom

and an explanation of why, ultimately, we failed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jan 25, 2016
• ISBN: 9781504996631

Maximilian Kidd

Maximilian Kidd, born and bred in Scotland, now living in Australia, is a self-confessed failure and loser. Maximilian dreamt of being a Rock Star and claims to have almost made it. With little accomplished in life, except for perhaps sleeping with more women than he can remember or the sheer volume of alcohol that he can consume. Maximilian is now a new author, an expert in conjecture with a strong turn-of-phrase and observational humour, allowing him to tell his hilarious stories with wonderful wryness and understatement.

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(A Drop of Sherry)

The Confessions of a Failed Rock Star

by Maximilian Kidd

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AuthorHouse™ UK

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www.authorhouse.co.uk

Phone: [phone]

© 2016 Maximilian Kidd. All rights reserved.

Cover design by Lucas Follbring

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 01/21/2016

ISBN: 978-1-5049-9662-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5049-9663-1 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

THE STRUCTURE

A FOREWORD (by largo)

0     INTRODUCING THE BAND

1     MOTHER’S MILK

2     LAST CHRISTMAS

3     PARTY LIKE IT’S 1999

3.1 — A NIGHT AT THE OPERA

3.2 — THE GHOST OF ELVIS

3.3 — WHERE IN THE WORLD’S THE FORGOTTEN?

3.4 — DON’T FEAR THE REAPER

4     THE BELL END BOP

5     YOU GOT WOMEN YOU GOT WOMEN ON YOUR MIND

5.1 — MOTORCYCLE EMPTINESS PART I

5.2 — MOTORCYCLE EMPTINESS—PART II

5.3 — WITH TEETH

5.4 — CAUGHT IN A TRAP

5.5 — THE STRANGEST PARTY

5.6 — I’M TRULY SORRY SUZANNE

6     MILE END

7     THE GHOST OF LIBERACE PART I

8     THE GHOST OF LIBERACE PART II

9     ROCK N’ ROLL SWINDLE

10     WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM MY FRIENDS

10.1 — THE FALL GUY PART I

10.2 — THE FALL GUY PART II

10.3 — ON THIS NIGHT OF A THOUSAND STARS

10.4 — JESUS CHRIST SUPERSTAR!

10.5 — TOM TRAUBERT’S BLUES

10.6 — HIGHWAY TO THE DANGER ZONE

10.7 — THE GIRL OF MY BEST FRIEND

10.8 — 50 WAYS TO LEAVE YOU LOVER

11     WAS BLIND BUT NOW I SEE

12     ALL AROUND THE WORLD

12.1 - MAMA TOLD ME NOT TO COME - PART I

12.2 - MAMA TOLD ME NOT TO COME - PART II

12.3 — ONE NIGHT IN BANGKOK

13     IT’S NOT QUITE A JAGUAR

14     THE HOUSE OF THE RISING SUN

15     IT’S A MIXED UP MUDDLED UP SHOOK UP WORLD

16     THE SPICKS & THE SPECKS

17     A DROP OF SHERRY

101     DISCOGRAPHY

A FOREWORD

By

Largo

If it weren’t for a woman I barely knew, I would never have been in Halfcut.

That is how I planned to open my autobiography. However, two things have stood in the way of that:

1. I am an exceedingly fat lazy bastard and

2. I never became a huge international rock star like I was supposed to. If it wasn’t for that damn Drax.

Of course with reason number 2 the irony being that was the precise reason Max decided to write his, and why I ended up writing this foreword in the first place.

Doing a foreword is great, though. It means I can display my brilliant writing stylings and hilarious wit to an audience with far less work, suits me down to the ground.

I was hoping to recall a single story or anecdote that would sum up the man who became known to us as simply The Big Crow but, unfortunately, I could not pinpoint any one thing. So I will have to try the best I can with a handful of stories.

What I can say with confidence is that the times I spend in the band were some of the fondest memories that I have had in my entire life. It was five friends having a laugh and enjoying what was left of their youth together. So in Max’s case about 5 minutes (one of our jokes being Max’s age as he was the oldest).

I still think back to our regular Thursday night jam sessions that inevitably descended into a piss up. Because of Max and MrOsato’s bad influence, I would leave most night’s three sheets to the wind. Resulting in some horrible behaviour, such as accusing random commuters of being Francis Rossi (another long running and tedious band joke).

Good times indeed. Even better was the blaring out of great classics such as Sir Cliff and Elvis, leading to Max’s housemate making the following request! Max will contest this, but these were his exact words as I recall them,

If you must sing Cliff Richard, would you mind singing in key?

MrOsato heard it as,

If you must sing Cliff Richard, would you mind keeping it down?

And Max as,

If you must sing Cliff Richard, would you mind not doing it miked up?

Their versions do sound may more probable, but I’m not one to back down as the lads would tell you.

Maximilian Kidd is a man of many talents. He is a very complex individual. One minute he’ll be running back and forward between two women at a gig, or abandoning you outside a nightclub at 3 in the morning so he can hit on some girl. Then making you sleep on an alcohol-soaked floor with only an old dirty curtain for a blanket. How come none of the rest of the band had to put up with that you prick?

But just as you’re about to write him off as a selfish womanising alcoholic, he’ll show some amazing generosity. He was the man who paid for my band rehearsals, along with endless amounts of food, smokes and booze for many years, since I was on the dole and couldn’t afford it.

Even putting a roof over my head by putting me up or making sure I had money to get into the hostel when I was homeless (yes I did indeed spent several months in a homeless hostel).

He was also the guy who spent years trying to talk me into leaving my psychotic ex-girlfriend (which I eventually did) because he could see how miserable she made me. The same guy, who after working a full-time job would spend, I don’t know for how many weeks, the evenings helping me with University coursework so that I could get my degree.

The man is an enigma. Freud probably would have had a field day with him. But there’s is one thing that was true. Life was never dull whenever he was around.

So if I haven’t said it before, I’ll say it now. From the bottom of my heart, thanks for everything Big Crow. Rock on!

So I asked her permission, and she said come right through.

The Back Door.

There are no more books to be written, thank God.

Henry Miller.

0

INTRODUCING THE BAND

I thought I would start with a quote by Henry Miller, arguably one of the greatest authors to have ever lived.

In keeping with Henry, I will also say that this is not a book. In fact, I will go further and say that this is not a book in any way shape or form. I may well change my mind if there were to be some rare alignment of the planets and anybody was ever to pick up the book and buy it—see what I’ve just done?

They say everybody has one novel in them, and I have attempted to write mine many times, but as yet with no significant headway. Anyway, do we really need another dull fucking paperback about some prick running off with a suitcase of money? Probably not, even with or without throwing a few vampires at it.

No. This is a collection of a few stories. Stories that I want to write down, as I fear I may forget them. In fact, I’m sure there are many I may have forgotten already.

The next thing I would like to clear up is that I am in no way the star of the show. That honour I have reserved for my best friend—LeChiffre. LeChiffre is a colossal pervert and a sexual predator. There’s just no other way I can describe him. As you can imagine, he’s the type of guy, who through his own actions, has gotten a hell of a lot of criticism. I have struggled many times to stick up for him, but struggle I do, as I will always fight the man’s corner.

To me, he is nothing short of pure entertainment, a must for any night out. I do admit that I looked upon him as a brother. I do wish to point out that I only say ‘like’ a brother, for the following reasons –

1) I am of course more than happy with the brother I have.

2) I would not want to be related to LeChiffre. Being his best friend is one thing, but if he were my real brother, that would be a rather different kettle of fish as LeChiffre’s actual brother loves to remind me. I probably wouldn’t even want to be an in-law of LeChiffre, which is one of the many reasons, when it comes to him, that I’m glad I don’t have any sisters.

I cannot entirely be absolved of any blame, as I was present for most of what I am about to tell you.

I’ve had few passions in life, and the main ones have probably been drinking and shagging. The other big one would have to be music, which is probably why the biggest ambition I’ve ever had was to have my band play our own songs on stage.

I have slept with many, many women, a lot more than what I can even probably remember. And I’ll admit I’ve always preferred having sex while drunk, with women that I don’t really know. Certainly as a preference to having any type of relationship.

I remember a gig we were doing where we were one of the support acts to some political mob raising money for some bullshit cause or other. After we’d played, I was sitting at the bar getting whammed, like what I always did after a gig, and the conversation came up about the political stance of the main act.

The sexy (but not too smart) chick that I’d been trying to make moves on asked me how all of that related to my band.

SexyChick: So do you write songs about political things?

Me: Oh God no, I don’t write about any of that crap.

SexyChick: So what do you write songs about then?

Me: I write songs about drinking and shagging.

SexyChick: Why do you write songs about that?

Me: Well you have to write about what you know.

I then took her home and fucked her.

As much as music has been a passion, there’s probably more music that I dislike than actually like, there’s also the whole load that I utterly detest.

Throughout my life, I seem to have kept a music death-wish list. Artists whom I utterly despise beyond any reasonable comprehension, who in my opinion should not have disgraced the face of the earth never mind the stage or the recording studio.

The list has probably changed over time, as I have changed. It might surprise you, but it’s not just full of the plastic pop/boy bands or the latest wankers to come out of the X Factor. In fact, Robbie Williams this time gets a reprieve.

I remember when Take That were splitting up, and everybody thought that Gary Barlow would be the one to be the big success as the solo artist. How more wrong could you be? Now Gary Barlow was, I’m sure, a very talented songwriter, but unfortunately nowhere near as good as Guy Chambers.

What pisses me off about Robbie Williams is when he starts all his tortured soul crap. Well, it hardly shines (or should I say darkens?) through in the lyrics he apparently writes. Let’s face it, a few weak puns doesn’t quite put you in the same league as Morrissey, now does it?

All that he needs to do is just sit down and have a wee think to himself, and realise that all that he is is a boy from Stoke-on-Trent, who’s actually had quite a nice life.

So I guess here is my top ten, as it currently stands -

10. Jona Lewie

You know that song that you just can’t stand? Well, I have many, but this guy sneaks into my number ten spot as every year for an ever increasing number of weeks before Christmas I have to listen to him everywhere I go. I’m of course referring to ‘Stop The Cavalry’. The worse thing is it was never intended as a Christmas song and that it was a protest song. But with the line ‘Wish I was at home for Christmas’ and the brass band arrangements made it a Christmas song for all eternity.

9. Sting

I really don’t like the guy or any of his music, in fact even though I’ve never met him I get the impression he’s a prize wanker.

I remember quite liking the Police at the time (I was very young) even though they did write one of the most famous stalker songs. But I’m presuming that was OK as it was back in the 80’s before stalking was bad.

Some music is timeless and never ages or sounds old but for me the Police were a band of their time and should very much remain there never to be spoken of or listened to again.

He did also star in Quadrophenia, which has to be the most overrated movie of all time. With the big twist being that String was the bell boy.

When I was at school, the movie was spoken of like folklore. And when I finally watched it, for me it just didn’t live up to expectation, I enjoyed it, don’t get me wrong. But it was all rather underwhelming.

I’m not even going to start on what we’ve had to endure from his solo career.

8. Rick Wakeman

Number eight was a hard-fought spot, and I do sometimes think that possibly Enya or Jean Michel Jarre are more deserving of the place, but I have to say, I’m just not a prog-rock fan. I well imagine there are probably some Yes songs still going on now. But what cemented his position was his solo album ‘Journey to the Centre of the Earth’, an LP that consisting of one solitary track per side. Although I’m sure, he’s not the only person to have done it.

7. Peter Gabriel

Honestly, what the fuck were the fox mask and the red dress all about? I never liked Genesis before or after Gabriel, but again it was the man’s solo career that nailed him his number seven slot. That whole era mid to late 80’s, with him and his fucking Sledgehammer and all the other similar bollocks that were being pumped out at the time. It was indeed that direction that a lot of people thought popular music was heading—thank fuck The Stone Roses turned up.

6. Andre Rieu

Should not require any explanation.

5. Pete Doherty

Now don’t get me wrong, The Libertines were incredible. Spearheading the garage rock revival of the late 90’s early 2000’s, inspired by the likes of The Clash, The Smiths, The Stone Roses and Belle and Sebastian to name but a few. Then like so many other before him, too numerous to mention, piss it all away, long before he’d earned right to do so. These days he appears to be strutting around living off past glories. Perhaps he really should just have killed himself already, and then this spot could have been more rightly given to Chris Martin and his Coldplay. Although kudos to Pete for shagging Kate Moss.

4. Axl Rose

I’ve heard that a lot of people don’t like this fellow. For me, it’s not much to do with him apparently not being a very nice person with no sense of humour whatsoever, or even the very, very, very bad dress sense. It was more just the fact that I thought Guns N Roses were deplorable, I despised them at the time and certainly have no further inclination towards them in retrospect. To me, they were the epitome of everything awry with certain music of the late 80’s early 90’s. Again—thank fuck The Stone Roses turned up.

3. Bon Jon Jovi

Similar reasons as number four, except Bon Jovi, is supposed to be quite a nice chap, but he sneaks into the top three purely as I find him and his music the more fraudulent. I did hear quite an amusing story about Bon Jon. I have no idea if this is true or not, but classic if it is. Back in the late 70’s maybe early 80’s before his group were known much in the UK. They were playing a gig as a support act to a more established band at the time. Jon was getting really into it and decided to stage dive into the ample crowd. It was like I may say, the parting of the Red Sea—now that, I would have paid money to see.

2. Rod Stewart

I find this man a musical atrocity, how can he still be going, with his scratchy pseudo-crooning, as he charades as some sort of rock God? Yes, I can sort of see what he had with The Faces (although nothing as a band compared to preceding Small Faces) but his solo career has been nothing but horrific. It destroyed me to find out that Sailing was No. 1 in the charts the day I was born. I also consider him to be a complete and utter arse hole. I remember listening to him being interviewed on the radio when the football team that he apparently supports had reached a European final. The man had the sheer arrogance, and audacity to ask on air if there was anyone that would give up their ticket for him. Obviously on the premise that he was Rod fucking Stewart and that the person would have the claim to fame that they gave up their ticket for him. I really hope that no one did. The thought of Rod Stewart can actually make me feel embarrassed to be Scottish. Although his one redeeming feature, has to be that he has continued to shag an array of incredibly beautiful women—good on you for that Rod, we’d all do it if we had the chance. But only number two for Rod, as there’s always one man who’ll pip him at the post…

1. Mick Hucknall

It’s actually quite difficult to describe why I detest this man so much, some people have suggested that it’s partly to do with him being ginger, but I really don’t think so. It’s just that for some reason, I cannot, under any circumstances, listen to Simply Red. I feel like I’m going to start convulsing and bleeding out of my eyes. Though, another man, to his credit, that took full advantage of his privileged position when it came to wooing the women. And then made a point of coming out and publically apologising to them—now that was funny!

Sometimes I think I have my definitive list, then I think, oh shit I’ve missed out Bono…

If any of those guys are your hero’s don’t let that put you off reading on, music is all about your own personal taste and opinions and our opinions are all conjecture. It would be a pretty boring fucking world if we all liked the same shit. Some of us somewhere have to disagree that Sgt. Pepper was the greatest album ever made (some may even go as far as to say not even the greatest album by The Beatles).

This is more about other heroes, heroes from my journey, friends who have enriched my life in an utterly reprehensible but phenomenally entertaining manner. And who have given me spectacular material to write songs.

I also talk about my band, the amazing times we had along the way, some of the best in my life, I have to say. And attempt to explain why ultimately we failed.

All names have been changed to protect the guilty. I’ve changed a few other details here and there, some things condensed, timelines construed, but all stories are told as I remember them. I will at times bare my soul, but not entirely. I would never tell you everything. I have done many, many bad things in my life, and some things must go with me to the grave. Which I’m sure will probably have me sent to the fiery place when my number is finally up.

I guess this will be the closest thing I’ll ever get to the actual confessional.

So all that’s left is for me to introduce my main players -

MrOsato – The man I considered to be my Lieutenant. Lead guitarist/co-songwriter and the other founding member of Halfcut. Also sometimes played bass.

Largo – Bassist/rhythm guitarist/co-songwriter, and was the next to join Halfcut. The court jester of the band.

Kristatos – Keyboard player/sound engineer. The youngest member of Halfcut.

Renard – Percussionist. A very quiet man when he wasn’t behind the drums.

Zorin – Second publisher for Halfcut, good friend and drinking partner.

Drax – Pseudo-manager of Halfcut, and downright scumbag.

LeChiffre – Best friend, the main protagonist and first but unsuccessful bassist.

Graves – Brother of LeChiffre and ex-flatmate.

ColonelMoon – Friend and ex-flatmate.

Oddjob – University friend.

MrBig – University friend.

Goldfinger – Friend.

Blofeld – Friend.

Scaramanga – Friend.

Whitaker – Friend.

Stromberg – Friend.

Jaws – Friend.

Khan – Friend of Largo’s.

Sanchez – Ex-flatmate.

Myself – Maximilian Kidd, front-man of Halfcut.

1

MOTHER’S MILK

Where to begin? I thought I’d start with one of my favourites. Why not? It was the usual Friday night out in London for LeChiffre and me. I was working in Glasgow at the time. But I could leave work at 4pm, a taxi to the airport, early evening flight to Heathrow, the tube train into London and I could be joining LeChiffre at the pub before 8pm.

I’ve always worked in IT, as a programmer, to be more precise. Not the most exciting job in the world, I know. And there are of course many other things I’d rather have done instead, as you’ll discover later, but if you’re not too bad at your job, and you contract, it should way more than pay the bills. Plus if you’re smart (or lucky) enough you can land yourself an easy number and get in and plant yourself. Normally the larger the company, the better.

So this particular Friday I was shut down and out the door for 4pm. As long as I pretended I was clocking my 40 hrs a week, it wasn’t considered unusual to be leaving early. I waved down a black cab in the city centre and the taxi ride to the airport wasn’t too long, even for that time on a Friday afternoon. The driver wasn’t one of those chatty pricks that thought he could talk his way into a good tip. He pretty much kept his trap shut the entire trip. I got to the airport and tipped the driver anyway. I must have been in a good mood.

I will actually more often than not tip a taxi driver. I’ve heard people say you never should, due to the high rates that you’re charged. I say ‘bullshit’. To me, being a taxi driver is part of the service industry. How many people do you know who work in the service industry earn a fortune? Driving a cab may pay better than others, but a taxi driver has to put up with a lot of crap. They have from me over the years, so I suppose it’s my way of paying them back.

It was just before four thirty, so I decided to have another cigarette before I went in, even though I’d just had one while I was looking for the taxi.

I admit that I still smoke to this day. It’s a dirty habit. Advice to anyone reading this who’s young and still a non-smoker, please just never start, because if you do it will be one of the worst decisions you ever make. To everybody else who’s still on the tabs, just stop, it really can’t be that difficult. If only I could take my own advice.

Saying all that, I do still believe that smoking is cool and makes you instantly more attractive to the opposite sex. And if it weren’t so bad for you, it probably wouldn’t be so enjoyable.

I’ve never been a heavy smoker on a normal day, in fact, a lot of days I don’t have any. But I like a smoke when I’m drinking, and I’m sure on some nights out it must have looked like I was on fire. I’ve always had quite a few precursors for smoking, and I was feeling more like it that afternoon as I was getting excited about the night out.

Check-in and security were pretty quick and quickest for me as I had no luggage. It was dress-down Friday at work so I was able to go to work already dressed for our night out. I always kept an overnight bag at LeChiffre’s apartment, we were masters in our organisation of a night out, and so there was no need for me to have anything in the way of luggage at all.

London is a big city. To be dropping off bags at an apartment before a night out is a severe waste of drinking time. Or to try and take a bag along with you to a pub or worse a nightclub is just stupidity. Certainly all that I would have done is get drunk and left it behind. If you can’t carry it in your pocket, leave it, you probably don’t need it anyway, or at least not for your night out.

I arrived at the departure lounge just on 5pm, and right on queue I receive a text message from LeChiffre to say he’s just about to leave the office and he’s been drinking already, and that he’ll text me later where he’s going to be.

I duly ordered a pint of Stella and a double vodka and Coke. Which is a favourite of mine and LeChiffre’s, Stella Artois is a beer that certainly has some power behind it, well, they don’t call it ‘wife beater’ for nothing, and with vodka chasers it’s even better. I kick the pint down pretty quickly, certainly less than ten minutes, I’ve got a plane to catch after all. I then take it a bit easier with the vodka, and by the time I am finished it, it’s time to board.

We got in the air without delay, and the stewardess was soon serving drinks. I ordered one of their small cans of warm beer, purely because that is the only beer they seem to serve on flights, plus two vodka and Coke’s. The stewardess, who was quite hot, told me that she was not meant to serve me that number of drinks to one person at the one time. I told her it will save her having to come back and serve me again. She smiled and gave me the drinks. I was thinking it was going to be a very good night.

The stewardess opened and poured all my drinks. So I concentrated more on my vodka and Coke’s with only the odd sip of my warm beer. Glasgow to London’s