A Rock n Roll Diary

The critically acclaimed warts and all account of British band, A Shortage of Heads’ American tour in 1974. For 5 months lead guitarist and singer Curtis Trimble kept a diary in which he recorded all the highs and lows of being in a Rock and Roll band on the road.

This is the story of The Heads on tour!

 Thursday December 12th  1974

Oh Christ, I hate this godamned tour. Note to self: be more assertive next time (if there is a next time) over transport, tour dates and venues and, like, maybe insist on a fuckin’ tour bus with a heater that WORKS. I mean we don’t see the Rolling Stones or Led Zep scraping the ice off their windows after a gig, do we?

And what about the bloody itinerary? What a bunch of shit holes!  how were they chosen? Darts and a map I reckon.  Probably at the hand of our manager, Tony de’Ath, who is primarily a business man and  therefore knows fuck all about music. He is also our Tour Manager. At the moment we are randomly hop-scotching  our way across the States in a shagged out tour bus and  getting mightily pissed off about it. The result: gigs too far away from each other to travel comfortably in one day.

Note to self:  Ask Tony if he is drawing two salaries, since the departure of our original tour manager, with the first month’s tour takings.

Our US fanbase is centred around the industrial heartlands of Minneapolis, Indiana and Detroit for Chrissakes , We don’t wanna play to half-full  arenas  in Vermillion South Dakota,  Enid Oklahoma or butt-fuck  Idaho.

And You know what? I fuckin’ swear I’m gonna kill Alan. Note to self: If he makes another crack at telling me that he wants more of his songs on the next album. I’ll say: fine . WRITE SOME FUCKING DECENT SONGS THEN!

And Cally! Merciful Jesus, everything they say about drummers is true Man. Have I known a few slobs in my time. Cally beats them all hands down. Do you know one of  the things he does? When he is desperate for a fag in the morning, he goes round all the ash trays on the bus, retreiving the tobacco left in all the dog ends. He then splits the foil from its backing paper, and makes a roll up! Gross!

As for Scrubber, his party trick is really beyond the pale. He ‘caps’ farts. In  otherwords … no, I can’t. Suffice to say that the recipient gets an unpleasant surprise and a gift that keeps on  giving.

But there is good news! I am still off the drugs this time. I’m much more Tooting Bec than tooting Coke these days  (Note to self:  There’s a song in there somewhere) Yes, since my septum fell out in the shower and went down the plughole back in Albuquerque, I’ve been a bit more circumspect in my dealings with the old chemicals. Out goes Coke, Crack, Amphetamines, Whacky Baccy. I’m working on the booze and the Mandies. I only really use them to get me to sleep. God knows you need something  on this loony ride.

Oh pissflaps! That’s all we need. It’s starting to snow. What are the chances of making it though to the end of the tour and having Christmas back in the UK with Kate and the cats? 

It’s not looking good.

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