Funny how things are never quite what they seem. A couple of nights ago I was watching a documentary about that big Live Aid gig of all things. You know the one? Bob Geldof leading the worlds response to the plight of starving Ethopians in 1985 by staging huge charity gigs in stadiums both in Britain and the US?

The most interesting thing I learned was how ramshackle the organisation was. The whole event nearly collapsed under its own weight, never mind the attitude of some eclectic individuals involved. Considering how chaotic life often became for Red Jasper I have to say our gigs usually passed off with much less drama. Perhaps that's one reason why we failed. There simply wasn't enough theatre about our performances.

Having played large open air festivals in my time I remember how it felt going on stage in front of such a large anonymous crowd. Playing to a large number of people invites a strange sense of importance to the whole thing, even if the event isn't in the glare of media attention. Part of you is invigorated with enthusiasm, adrenaline, and the knowledge that you have an opportunity to impress. The other part of you is concious of the enormity of what you're about to attempt, never mind the potential for embarrasing failure. I guess though that if it worries you too much, you really shouldn't be up there. I went on stage wanting to perform. That was all my mind was focused on.

Sometimes though things happen when you least expect. We played a bikers rally on the Isle of Wight one year, and as part of the deal, as was usual with Red Jasper, we also provided the PA for the event with the mixing desk perched in the back of our van and the singers partner handling the faders. The whole event was running well behind schedule. We had our ferry ticket booked and needed to be away for a gig in London the following night. I don't know where the other band members went. I ended up sat in the van beside Jean watching the headline act and getting increasingly impatient as the clock ticked by.

The 'Blues Brothers' tribute band played their last number and despite lingering cheers from the crowd, they wandered away to the sides of the stage looking for all the world as if they'd lost interest. Is anything happening? No? A number of roadies began lazily collecting bits and pieces on the stage. At that point I thought it was all over. Pull the cables, Jean! We're outta here. With some haste I began dismantling the equipment.

To my horror, the event compere went on stage and tried to announce an encore with a dead microphone. Disaster! We've unplugged half the desk and it's pitch black in this darn vehicle. We'll be here all night. He dropped off the stage and headed for us. I was out the van and awaited his approach. Meanwhile the crowd realised we weren't playing ball. Shouts of "Turn the van over!" could be heard as the mood got ugly.

With the crowd closing in and looking on in sullen silence the compere demanded five songs as an encore. No. You can have one. "No way, five!" He insisted. Okay, we'll compromise. You can have two. But after that we pack up and go home.

The compere agreed and to my relief, never mind that of our thoroughly frightened sound engineer sat behind me, a subdued cheer emerged from the crowd as they forgot the confrontation and waited for their favourite band to play. Never had we connected a sound desk so quickly.

No drama? No theatre? Perhaps there was, occaisionally, for all the wrong reasons.That said, my experience is nonetheless lacking in one major respect. One film clip of Wembley Arena that day looked out into the audience with the late Freddy Mercury of Queen launching into Radio Ga Ga. A whole stadium full of people clapping in unison, utterly bewitched by his presence. Even on the television screen, without the feel of actually being there, it was an extraordinary sight to witness. Nothing I did on stage ever came anywhere close to that.

On The Other Hand...

I see the A-Team movie is soon to hit our screens with guns and wisecracks blazing. Having watched the trailer I can only marvel at the skill of film makers. How could anyone take the worst television action series ever and make it even more dreadful? And still make money from it? Come on guys, make a film about me...