Getting High (6 page)

‘Would sir care for a drink?' The waiter looked at Noel.

‘Nah mate,' he replied, ‘I know exactly what's going to happen here. I need to line my stomach first.'

He made his way to the buffet and started spooning cereal and milk down his neck. Shortly afterwards, Liam arrived. He wore shades and an immaculate white three-quarter-length mac. With him was the singer Lisa M. Yet despite even Liam's boisterous presence, the atmosphere remained sedate.

The talk was polite, the level of conversation never higher than the sober and gentle sound of ‘Wonderwall', ‘Cast No Shadow', ‘Don't Look Back In Anger', and other songs from
Morning Glory
that the four-piece quartet played.

The free booze was still only being sipped at and the toilets were, at this stage, being used for their designated purpose.

By one o'clock, the party had started to fill up. The band's manager Marcus Russell arrived with his then girlfriend, Dinny. Alan White, the band's drummer, showed with Kass, his longtime and now ex-girlfriend. Tim and Chris Abbot, former Creation employees and the men behind Better Records (they had signed Smaller, a band fronted by Digsy, who had been immortalised on the song ‘Digsy's Dinner' from the first Oasis album) showed up, as did the
Melody Maker
writer Paul Mathur, an early champion of Oasis. He and Tim Abbot would both publish books on the band.

Also present was Creation boss Alan McGee, who had signed the group just two years previously; the band's press officer, Johnny Hopkins; and with other Creation personnel, including Jane, the company's accountant who is depicted on the sleeve of ‘Cigarettes And Alcohol'.

There were Sony people, and the photographer, Tom Sheehan, to take happy snaps of the occasion. But there was also one surprise guest. Peggy Gallagher, Noel and Liam's mother had been invited.

Meg had secretly arranged for her to be there. It was Peggy's first-ever visit to London. Later on that day, Meg and Lisa M. would take her sightseeing.

The first time Noel saw her, walking through the crowd, he thought to himself, God, that looks like my mum. The next minute he was hugging her, proudly introducing her to all his friends. Throughout the whole party, he and Liam would linger protectively by her side.

Two hours after Peggy's arrival, the party finally got into full swing. The champagne was starting to hit home and the waiters were getting busier. Then people started to gather around the four-piece string quartet. Half-pissed, now they wanted to hear more music.

‘Here, go on,' Liam shouted, ‘Give us, “Champagne Supernova”.'

‘“Eleanor Rigby”,' shouted another guest.

‘“Live Forever”,' said another.

Unable to play any song without the sheet music in front of them, the four-piece started to put a bit more effort into their playing, as if they too had been at the booze. The more the guests encouraged them, the harder they played. There were shouts of encouragement, request after request and good-natured banter all the way.

‘Let's get them right at it,' Liam said to no one in particular.

‘What do you think of them?' Meg asked Noel, above the din. It had been her idea to have them there.

‘Fucking top,' he enthusiastically replied, as Liam started singing ‘Wonderwall'. ‘I've told Marcus we should get them recorded, put out an instrumental version of the album. That'd be ace.'

At three the party finished, and taxis arrived to take everyone to a bar in Camden's Parkway. Sky TV were showing an important football match, Manchester United versus Liverpool, Eric Cantona's comeback game since his infamous Kung-Fu kick on a Crystal Palace supporter.

The bar was packed and the band's presence didn't go unnoticed. A couple of guys tried unsuccessfully to needle Liam. Meg's friend Fran and Lisa M. argued at the bar. Drink after drink arrived. Everyone got seriously smashed. The football match ended in a 2-2 draw. Cantona scored a penalty. Robbie Fowler hit two goals. Peggy kept ordering more drinks. Her first day in London was going extremely well.

Meg, Noel, Alan White, Kass, Liam, Jess, Peggy and Lisa M. then took a short walk to Noel's basement flat on Albert Street.

More drinking, more beer, more Jack Daniels and coke. Then Meg, Lisa and Peggy headed out for a sightseeing tour of London, leaving Liam and Jess to get into a discussion in the small kitchen. Liam had met Jess through Noel. She was a close friend of Meg's and made her living working for Kate Moss. She and Liam weren't arguing, but the alcohol had made their voices loud.

‘You see, you're lucky,' Jess announced.

‘How am I lucky?' Liam automatically shot back. He always resisted any notion other than skill and hard work accounted for his success.

‘Because you knew what you wanted to do from day one.'

‘Yeah, I wanted to be a singer.'

‘And a lot of people don't have that, you see.'

‘Don't have what?'

‘The knowledge of what they want to do from an early age.'

‘Why not? Don't you know what you want to be?'

Before Jess could reply, Noel was standing in the doorway. He looked furious.

‘Will you lot shut up before I kick you out. I can fucking hear you from the sitting-room.'

‘What, you kicking us out?' Liam challenged.

‘Yeah, I fucking am. Get out of my flat.'

‘It's not your flat. Half of it's mine.'

‘No, it fucking ain't. Now get out. The lot of you. I'm fucking serious. Get out.'

For a second, everyone tried to figure out through their drunken minds if Noel was winding them up. But Noel's expression was deadly serious.

‘Right, if that's the way you want it, dickhead,' Liam said.

‘Yeah, it is,' Noel said, turning on his heels and walking off down the thin corridor that led into his sitting-room.

‘Then fuck you,' Liam shouted. ‘Come on, let's split from this moaning twat.'

And he and Jess left, leaving Noel with Alan White and Kass who sat apprehensively on his sofa.

‘Right then.'

Noel looked around to make sure they were gone.

Then, with a triumphant tone, he said, ‘That's them out of the way.' And he removed a small wrap of cocaine from his pocket. Alan and Kass weren't users. Never had been, never would be.

‘Fucking hell,' Noel cried when he realised, ‘even more for me.'

An hour later, Noel and Meg arrived at Jeff Barrett's Sunday Social club which had now moved to Farringdon from its original site, the Albany pub opposite Great Portland Street tube. The club was one of the best in London. Right from the start it had played music right across the board by utilising a wide range of DJs.

One week it might be a Northern Soul set, the next a hip-hop session. By adopting such a policy, the club had caught the spirit of the times. The only regular DJs were The Chemical Brothers who closed each session. By its second week, hundreds of people were clambering to get in.

After more imbibing, the party moved on to the Virgin Megastore at the end of Oxford Street. It was here that Noel, backed only by Alan White, had agreed to perform songs from
Morning Glory
which would go on sale at midnight. Noel would play acoustic guitar, Alan White some light percussion.

There were about 500 people present when they arrived, hundreds more locked outside.

Backstage, Liam insisted that he should introduce Noel and Alan to the crowd. That, they agreed on.

Still wearing his white mac, he stumbled up on-stage as Noel positioned himself on a stool with an acoustic guitar and Alan stood behind him with some congas. But instead of introducing the pair of them, Liam sprang a surprise.

‘Here, come on, I'll sing a few.'

‘No,' Noel said.

‘Why the fuck not?'

‘Because then we can't do any of the new songs.'

‘Why the fuck not?' Liam repeated. Both brothers were swigging on Becks beer bottles. But Liam's eyes were starting to roll.

‘Because you won't remember the words to the new songs.'

‘Yeah, I fucking will.'

‘No, you won't.'

‘Name a song then.'

‘I'll bet you fifty quid that if I name a song you won't be able to sing it in front of this lot.' The crowd cheered, enjoying the banter tremendously.

‘Okay, go on then, go on. Any tune. I'll sing it. Bet ya.' Both brothers dipped into their pockets and pulled out £50 notes. ‘Right, “Rockin' Chair”.'

This was one of two excellent songs that formed the B-side of ‘Roll With It', the other being ‘It's Better People'. When Noel first wrote ‘Rockin' Chair' the whole band performed it. But somehow it didn't sound right. Noel then switched the instrumentation to acoustic guitars and now the song breathed properly.

‘Okay,' Liam agreed. ‘”Rockin' Chair” it is.'

Noel played the opening chords, a knowing grin spreading across his face as he stared at Liam.

Liam turned to the mike and started singing. ‘I'm older than I wish to be / This town holds... nah, nah na...'

His voice trailed away and Noel stopped playing.

‘Thank you very much,' Noel said and reached over and whipped the money out of Liam's hands. The crowd loudly cheered, called out for more.

‘Here are, here are,' Liam said. ‘Here's a song I remember.' He turned to the crowd. ‘You know this one. Sing along.' Then, conducting the crowd with his hands, he sang, ‘Kumbaya my Lord, kumbaya. Kumbaya my Lord, kumbaya.'

The crowd started singing back with great gusto, and Liam turned to his brother as if to say ‘See'.

Noel played ‘Wonderwall', ‘Don't Look Back In Anger', and ‘Cast No Shadow'. It was over. The time now was midnight. They had been drinking for twelve hours.

At ten-thirty the following morning, Noel arrived at the offices of Ignition, his manager's office in London's West End. It was from here that all Oasis's plans were made and executed.

Waiting for him was Marcus Russell and Alan White. Russell had agreed to drive them both to Heathrow. There they would catch a plane to Manchester and meet the tour coach. Then it was on to Blackpool for the first show of the tour.

Noel had something of a hangover. ‘What time's the flight?' he sourly asked.

‘One-thirty,' Marcus absently replied, sitting at his desk and studying some documents.

‘Then why the fuck are we here so early? I could have stayed in bed.'

‘Because you have to be there at least an hour before the flight,' Marcus patiently replied. ‘I know I'm your manager and that I can do many things, but changing the way airlines and airports have operated for years and years isn't one of them.' ‘Why not?' Noel cheekily replied. ‘You get 20%. You should work harder. Make them transport us quicker instead of all this fucking around in airports.'

‘I wish I could,' Marcus replied, standing up and pulling on his coat.

‘Actually,' Noel said to no one in particular, ‘I used to think about time travel when I was six years old.'

‘Where the fuck is Liam?' Marcus asked Chris, one of his assistants.

‘We're going to be late.'

‘State he was in last night there's no way he's going to be here,' Noel pointed out.

‘Well, we'll have to go soon.'

‘There's no answer from the hotel room,' Chris said.

‘Well, what shall we do?' Marcus asked, looking at Noel.

‘Ah, don't worry about it,' Noel replied. ‘We don't need a singer anyway. I'll sing them all. Have done before.'

‘Okay,' Marcus said, glancing at his watch again, ‘if he shows up then put him in a taxi to the airport straightaway. If not, I'll deal with it when I get back.'

‘Marcus, don't worry about it,' Noel put in. ‘He'll be at the gig tonight.' He said it with an absolute certainty in his voice.

Marcus, Alan and Noel drove to Heathrow. Marcus sorted out their tickets, then said goodbye. He was due to join the tour in Stoke the next night.

The plane journey was uneventful. Noel slept for most of it, Alan read the papers. It only took an hour. At the airport, Noel and Alan waited by the baggage carousel for their stuff to come through. Noel had checked in his guitar, but it refused to show. Eventually, he went over to an information desk to find that it had been put on the next flight from London. The company agreed to transport it to Blackpool as soon as it arrived.

Noel and Alan ambled outside where Maggie, the tour manager, Bonehead, and Scott Mcleod, the temporary bassist for Guigsy, were patiently waiting for them.

‘How do,' nodded Bonehead.

‘Lost my guitar,' Noel stated. ‘They'd better find it the cunts. How's it going, Maggie?'

‘Yeah, good,' she said, smiling sweetly.

They walked to the coach, a couple of people recognising them as they did so.

Bonehead was in good spirits.' Ah,' he said to Alan White, as they approached the coach, ‘breathe in that air, that good Northern air. Eh. Fill your lungs up.'

‘Why? Is it good for me?'

“Course it is, son. Go on, Whitey. Get some of that Northern air in your lungs, get rid of all that cockney shit you have to breathe.' Bonehead took a great gulp of air. ‘Do you the world of good.'

Whitey mimicked Bonehead.

‘Mmmm,' he said, ‘I can smell the black pudding.'

The coach was long, with beds in the middle and a back lounge with a video, TV and stereo. Everyone headed straight there. Once settled, Bonehead asked Noel, ‘Are you going to do your acoustic set tonight?'

‘Too right I am. I didn't get a fucking chance yesterday because of dickhead.'

‘Why, what happened?'

Noel related the preceding night's story of the fifty-quid bet, Bonehead smirking all the way through it.

‘God,' said Noel, concluding the story and stretching his body, ‘I'm really looking forward to having a bath. It's one of the best things about touring.'