Would you accept the chance to meet a musical hero of yours? To meet an icon playing a leading role in the soundtrack of your life. Well, would you?
An often-quoted phrase rang in my ears.
‘Never meet your heroes, you’ll be disappointed’.
The phrase’s origins lay in a quote from Gustave Flaubert’s Madame Bovary. I’d heard of many underwhelming examples of such liaisons with a variety of stars; of rudeness, offensive behaviour, heavily weighted ego, the utter disappointment. Shattering legacies, and illusions. Moby had gone as far as to avoid meeting his musical heroes when given the chance through his own fame. But, this was not a time to pay attention to French literature or electronica artists named after large sea mammals. My gut feel was tuned. It felt right. Given the chance. I would accept the opportunity.
A phone call, and a tip off to schedule a meeting for a certain date. Nerves. Excitement. A little anxiety struck.
How should I prepare? What would I say? How would it go? What would be the overriding memory I might be left with? I had been invited to a familiar place. I would go with the flow.
I was now ‘in the music business’; in a role closest to the source; artists, and their music. An A&R Manager at EMI Records signing bands and managing recording projects. Bands I signed often used residential studios in the countryside, to get away from distractions and focus; Monnow Valley, Rockfield, Sawmills, Ridge Farm. Bands bonded, some bickered, but the necessary work was eventually done in peaceful green surroundings. This was a period when major label recording budgets were generous.
I had met many famous people before, confident, no nerves, it was all part of the job. This time I was a big fan. It meant more. I drove from London to a location just off the main route to Brighton. Known for its residential rehearsal facilities, I’d booked Stanbridge Farm a couple of times for Hell Is For Heroes to use for extended writing and pre-production sessions for their debut album The Neon Handshake - later recorded at Sound City, Los Angeles, the studio famous for records by the likes of Nirvana and Fleetwood Mac.
Stanbridge Farm nestled in the Sussex countryside with its large brick farmhouse dating from 1385; white walls, black beams, with numerous rooms for accommodation, and a large kitchen where hearty evening meals were served on a large wooden farmhouse table. There were two converted barns across from the garden, a large rehearsal space and a second space for recording demos as songs and structures developed. Bob, the owner, had invited me down for a meeting. A meeting that just so happened to coincide with a period my favourite band had booked. Rehearsals were underway for a series of festival shows just a few weeks away, starting in Greece and including a show booked at Hyde Park in London on the 27th July 2002 billed ‘A Night Like This’.
It was a warm summer’s day and having taken the car off the A23, I drove down the familiar single-track driveway, past the pond, finally parking the car up alongside a small collection of vehicles. No one was visible, but I instantly recognised a song coming from the large barn. Getting out the car I heard a live version of Disintegration pumping through the large barn walls. A shiver of nerves and joy.
I had contemplated bringing a few prized records for signing. “No, you’re here as a label A&R, not as a Cure fan” I told myself. In hindsight, I was both. A huge music fan and an industry professional. One had led to the other.
I had met him once before, but on different terms. A fan who’d gate-crashed the after- party for the Wild Mood Swings album launch show at Adrenalin Village in Chelsea. There I met Chris Parry who had signed The Cure, the band members themselves, but not Robert Smith. Not yet anyway. Later that evening, a silhouette of the hair, that hair, appeared in the far corner as a light shone in a hallway, Robert Smith appeared. He had arrived at the party after all.
At the time I was writing about music, I ran a music ‘zine, I was in a band going nowhere fast, with aspirations to move on, to move to London.
As Robert Smith moved around the room collecting a swarm of admirers, I waited. Waiting, fuelled by lager and hope. Later that night, I seized my moment. In a small room with a bar, Robert was very keen to talk music, offering me insightful advice in the early hours on the pro’s and cons of certain record labels. Indies and majors.
“Should the opportunity arise, most of all, sign for the people working there, not the label itself” he said, “I feel like your father giving you all this advice”. Words of course, I’ve never forgotten.
Years later. How would this go in the light of day?
Deeper into the world of The Cure, on their home soil in Sussex. In different circumstances. A record label employee. The Cure held a long association with a rival label. Being in the ‘industry’ opened opportunities. Bob greeted me at the door of the farmhouse. He said I could go into the main rehearsal room once we got the nod the band were on a tea break. We spoke for a while. Sat finishing my cup of tea at the kitchen table I got the nod. My host led me from the house across the lawn, opening the door to the rehearsal space, leaving me to it. Through a passageway, past back-line equipment. I walked on. Past exiting roadies and technicians. Slightly nervous. Through a doorway into the large open space. There before me was The Cure set up as if on stage, now on their break. Perry and Simon sat on the floor. Jason, on his drum stool, talked to Roger. Robert stood before me. Just me and The Cure.
“Hello, I’m Duncan.” I smiled. “So, you’re rehearsing for the festivals and the Hyde Park show?”
“At least someone knows about the show then,” quipped guitarist Perry Bamonte with a big grin. He made a joke about the promoter.
I immediately felt warmly accepted.
“Thanks for taking time to see me. There are a couple of new records I’ve worked on that I wanted to share with you.”
Robert looked me straight in the eyes and focused on my words. Here he was before me. There was a purpose to today. I talked about the bands, the records. He held sincere interest, as any music fan would. I gave Robert an unmastered version of Hell Is For Heroes debut album mixes and the debut by Tetra Spendour, a band I’d signed from Cardiff. We chatted. Robert asking questions about the bands, their records, where we recorded, the sounds, references, and influences. Music, our connection. He reached for his backpack and slid the CD’s inside.
I did not want to outstay my welcome and their focus on rehearsals. After chatting for a while, I left them to it. Much later, I regretted not leaving any contact details with the CD’s, what if they liked them? I also regretted not bringing more copies – but then again one of the albums was unfinished. I drove back to London. A strange, but wonderful day.
Robert later mentioned in a press interview with Word magazine, just how much he enjoyed the debut album by Hell Is For Heroes.
“Banging stuff with incredible energy. With most heavy guitar music, you can predict what’s going to happen next, but I was really surprised by this. It sounds like it’s played rather than ‘constructed’. A lot of music sounds the way it is made, put up on a screen with all its samples in their little boxes”.
Hell Is For Heroes were explosive live. There was a journey we took to find the right team to fulfil this spirit in the studio. We had captured the energy. Robert Smith had liked it. Recognition for all concerned. For The Cure fan boy, it completed a full cycle. One of my icons had liked something I was involved in creating. This was pure delight.
The trip had been worth it in multiple ways. Robert Smith was a genuinely lovely guy who loved music. The band were welcoming.
As their previous deal with Universal was due to expire, I later tried to sign The Cure with the support of EMI, it did not go as planned, but that’s another story.
I have never met Robert Smith again since that sunny late afternoon in Sussex. Maybe someday.
An interview with Robert Smith will be posted soon, originally featured in my music ‘zine Planet of Sound, arranged by Outside Organisation PR, with Robert Smith’s personal insights into the stories behind some of The Cure’s best-known songs.
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Have you met a music idol? If so, what was your experience and key take away memory?