Was I born to be wild? I don’t know. Are we born to be anything? Or is what we do decided by the experiences we have, the choices we make? I don’t know, but I certainly went towards the wild side in my teenage years.
Maybe that’s why, when I became lead guitarist in a local rock band, we usually opened each gig with – you’ve guessed it – Steppenwolf’s Born to Be Wild. And I think we communicated with our audience, even though the next number was usually Led Zep’s Communication Breakdown.
Loons and things
Looking back at those years, I always offer a smile. We weren’t a famous band – just a group of local lads trying to make it big, but never getting further than school or village hall.
I tended to look the part, my hair over a foot long and backcombed, my clothes the latest velvets and tie-dyed t-shirts, my shoes, huge platforms from which I quite often fell off. Ah, what we do for fashion still.
Tunes and noise
I couldn’t afford my dream guitar, a Gibson Les Paul, so I was satisfied with my copy. And boy, did I torture those strings. With a hundred watt stack behind me, my instrumentals were always improvised and loud.
It seemed to have the required effect with the audience. They made me feel I was almost as good as Page or Hendrix. But many years later, I suppose it was put in perspective, when a member of that audience said, in middle age:
‘You were certainly enthusiastic.’
Nothing about my musical ability then?
Oh well.
Sigh.
© Anthony North, September 2007
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