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I have to say a female singer in a working men's club band I was in in the 80s came from the same South Yorkshire village as Lynne Perry. She would fellate every male bandmember between sets by dressing room sinks.
Darrell was her favourite. Because she did him the most often, he was always cocking up his guitar solo in Hotel California. (I did the other bit of that solo on synth. Lord, it was cack).
For YES! The band's choice of music for Sunday strip-club shows in Doncaster pubs was hugely imaginative.
She once said in a broad South Yorkshire accent:
"Bryan is the only fucker in this band who hasn't even grabbed my tits. AND he drinks wine!".
I was a shy boy back then and remembered blushing and smiling it off. I was also the only bandmember with taste, you understand. And probably the only clap-free player.
There's something grim about women who come on like transvestites. No wonder Mr Lynne Perry couldn't keep a stiffy.
I have to say a female singer in a working men's club band I was in in the 80s came from the same South Yorkshire village as Lynne Perry. She would fellate every male bandmember between sets by dressing room sinks.
Darrell was her favourite. Because she did him the most often, he was always cocking up his guitar solo in Hotel California. (I did the other bit of that solo on synth. Lord, it was cack).
For YES! The band's choice of music for Sunday strip-club shows in Doncaster pubs was hugely imaginative.
She once said in a broad South Yorkshire accent:
"Bryan is the only fucker in this band who hasn't even grabbed my tits. AND he drinks wine!".
I was a shy boy back then and remembered blushing and smiling it off. I was also the only bandmember with taste, you understand. And probably the only clap-free player.
There's something grim about women who come on like transvestites. No wonder Mr Lynne Perry couldn't keep a stiffy.
I would consign just about all the tunes I've had to knock out in covers bands at functions to the bin. I don't inhabit this world full-time any more - I'm trying to write stuff of my own and also with other people instead of black-suited stage versions of the sort of songs I had to sit in on last weekend purely for cash. It's a world I don't care for any more. I do it when phoned.
Last Saturday for about three hours I had to play these tunes on piano/keys for Christmas lucre. Not for love.
Set One
Knock on wood E
Midnight Hour Eb Respect C
Get Ready D
Lets stick together A
Stuck in the middle with you C You to me are everything C
Love is the drug Em
I Wish Eb
Superstition E Heatwave Em
Tainted love C
An't no sunshine Am Angels E Moondance Am Bright side of the road ? Stand by me ?
Set Two
Higher & Higher D Mercy G
Play that funky music E Disco inferno Cm Le Freak Bm Hot Stuff G
Can't turn you loose ?
I feel good D
Twisting the night away ?
Long Train running Gm
Shake ya tail feather ?
Jailhouse rock ?
Mony Mony E
Gimmie some loving. E
Set Three
Walking on Sunshine Bb
Brown eyed girl G Valerie Eb
A Town called Malice D
One step beyond Cm
Baggy trousers B
Mustang ?
Do you love me F I'm a believer G
Saw her standing there ?
Crocodile Rock G
Let me entertain you F
Super dooper love It takes two Son of a preacher E Hot Stuff G Street Life Fm
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