Why Lycra Is Bad For You
Entry posted by caldrail
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Has anyone been watching the Tour De France bicycle race this year? No, me neither, but I did catch that extraordinary accident on the news later that evening. A camera car swerves and takes out two or three competitors before driving off. You can sort of tell it's France because in Britain there'd be four police cars boxing the escaping driver in and cops hauling the driver onto the tarmac before cuffing him to exciting music and a witty comment on the voiceover. No really, I've seen it on Police Interceptors.
The most amazing thing is that the race organisers handed out tee shirts to those brave competitors that survived such assaults upon their person. Medals? Not in France. Real heroes wear tee-shirts. I get the impression that the Tour De France is a tough race. How would I know? I stopped riding a bike when my National Cycling Proficiency Certificate became uncool, but then, in those days we didn't have body hugging lycra swimsuits in bright colours complete with snazzy plastic helmets. Not that I'm suggesting anything you understand.
Me And My Lycra
Denied the joys of cycling in body hugging lycra? Fear not, for I was not deprived of the experience of stupid clothing. Back in the eighties of course no musician went on stage without looking likea ballet dancer so naturally I had to do that as well. I dumped the black and white clown trousers I considered adequate stage wear and progressed to hardcore silver and black zebra striped lycras. And I thought we kept getting banned for being too loud.
I came off stage at Swindon's Link Centre one time playing for Red Jasper. Gigs in Swindon were rarely a success for us but this one had gone down okay, helped largely by our enthusiastic crowd of roadies among the audience. By the time I'd disentangled myself from the drumkit the rest of the band were in the changing room getting interviewed by a young lady from the local newspaper.
Hi Babe. Let me tell you everything you need to know about Red Jasper. Miss JW was a bit suprised that I was chipping into the conversation. Excuse me? I do happen to be in this band you know.
"Oh" She replied in innocence, "I thought you'd been out running or something.". Clearly silver and black zebra striped lycras were not one of my better investments, and proof, if any were needed, that looking like a ballet dancer was not essential for rock super-stardom.
She tried to interview us, she really did. Unfortunately Robin 'the guitar player' corrected something I said and JW, having scribbled tons of notes rendered absolutely useless, screamed in frustration and called me a cow dung depositer. I never could treat her seriously after that. Every time she had occaision to interview me I always made a point of telling her complete rubbish. Poor woman. How she suffered.
I still have those original clown trousers somewhere. However, since they were measured at a 28" waist, my chances of getting into them again are slim even if I'm not. Maybe when I shrink with old age I'll be able to strut my stuff on stage one more time in genuine Caldrail gear. I'm sure they'll find room for a nurse at the side of the stage. I can fit the kit to my zimmer frame. Make sure JW knows who I am this time. She doesn't know me without lycras on.
Tee In The Park
Maybe I ought to spend more time watching televised festival gigs. These days televised festivals aren't unusual, but there was a time when such things were not considered family viewing in Bitain. The trouble now is most of them are sponsored by radio stations and feature the sort of acts you'd expect on family viewing.
I had to laugh a couple of years ago. Most of the acts performing at the oversize beach party were clearly those who'd never performed on a large stage before. I know this because they all did exactly the same things as each other. Rush to the left... Sing a verse leaning forward... Rush to the right side of the stage... Sing a verse... Return to centre stage and sing a verse... Repeat until crowd are thoroughly warmed.
But last night it was Tee In The Park, a scottish festival with the Foo Fighters headlining. Earlier in the evening I watched a set by Beady Eye, who came across rather like Oasis playing a soup kitchen after losing their contract. I have to be honest, Beady Eye didn't impress me too much. Their set lacked any real fizz. I guess tomato soup for several days running must get you down.
Not to worry. The Foo Fighters were on later. Do I sound like I was expecting something? As it happens they aren't a band I listen to ordinarily, but their set was a darn sight better. Presence, energy, and I have to say, a massed assault of guitars, kilts, and dubious underwear. No clever stuff and definitely no lycras required. Now that's more like it.
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