Necrophenia Read Online Free PDF

Remember, they’re on before us. They are our support band.’
    Toby thought about this. And so did Neil and so did I. I don’t know exactly what conclusions the others drew, but I was happy enough to have The Rolling Stones as my support act.
    And so we stood and we waited. In the shadows beside the brightly lit stage. And we watched The Rolling Stones.
    They were an R & B band then. In the days when R & B meant R & B. As opposed to whatever it is that R & B means nowadays. Which is not the same thing at all. So to speak. So The Rolling Stones did quite a lot of the blues.
    They did ‘Love in Vain’, the Robert Johnson classic. And they did some Chuck Berry. They did ‘Johnny B. Goode’. And that is a classic.
    They didn’t do any George Formby at all. Which I personally felt was a shame. I thought they missed a golden opportunity there, what with such an abundance of ukes and everything. But I didn’t really care. We had plenty of George Formby numbers in our repertoire. In fact, we were almost exclusively a Formby-orientated rock ’n’ roll band.
    ‘I notice,’ noticed Neil, ‘and I notice that I did not notice this before, that Michael has quite long hair. It covers his ears and also his school-shirt collar.’
    We nodded.
    ‘Your point is?’ Toby asked.
    ‘Long hair is for girlies, surely,’ said Rob. ‘Long hair, well shampooed, “because you’re worth it”, so to speak.’
    ‘I think I’ll try and grow mine,’ said Neil. ‘Just to see how it looks.’
    ‘You will look like Guy Fawkes,’ said Toby. ‘You are already the only schoolboy I know who sports a goatee beard. Do not add to your notoriety by styling your hair like that of an effeminate anti-parliamentarian. ’
    ‘I don’t wish to look like some Muff Mary Ellen. I’ll shave my head tomorrow,’ said Neil. ‘Just to be on the safe side.’
    And he did.
    And in so doing unconsciously invented a look that would later find favour with The Village People.
    ‘I do hate to say this,’ said Rob, ‘but The Rolling Stones are rather cool. Although it is a rubbish name for a band. They’re playing a lot of Robert Johnson – they should have some sort of Demonic name, but with a bit of a regal quality to it, like ours.’
    ‘Their Satanic Majesties,’ Toby suggested.
    ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Rob.
    And then suddenly The Rolling Stones had finished. We didn’t clap them, of course. How uncool would that have been? Neither did we cheer. Not that we could have cheered had we wanted to.
    You see, we’d had to talk quite loudly while The Rolling Stones had been playing. Shout, really, in order to make ourselves heard. So we had rather sore throats. Which would not help my performance.
    The Rolling Stones came off stage to considerable applause, and we Sumerian Kynges suddenly found ourselves in the midst of a bit of a crush. Most of the teenage schoolgirls of Southcross Road School ’s fourth and fifth years seemed rather anxious to make the personal acquaintance of Michael and his band. We found ourselves getting all pushed about. But we did get our ukes thrust back into our hands, so we elbowed our way onstage.
    And Mr Jenner wasn’t there. He’d gone. Left the stage by some other steps. Steps we knew not of. And that was the last time I saw Mr Jenner. He vanished mysteriously quite soon after that.
    I always wondered what became of him. Nothing good, I hope. Some years after that, when The Rolling Stones became famous (and yes, of course I know what happened to them), I saw a photo of them standing with their manager Andrew Oldham. And I recall thinking that if Andrew took off the sunglasses that he always wore, he’d look the dead spit of Mr Jenner.
    Whatever. Because we were now on the stage.
    And I ‘one-twoed’ with vigour into that mic.
    And I introduced the band as the Rock Gods that we were. Or soon would be. And I counted in our first number. And we played. How we played.
    And I’ll bet, just bet, that if there had