‘But why? You’re doing so well.’
‘We’ve been on autopilot for ages, Dad. Just coasting. Pulling in different directions. And it’s getting harder to make a living unless you’re Ed Sheeran or Beyoncé. The music business has changed so much. It’s all streaming now, and the musicians only get a pitiful amount. Even you don’t buy records any more.’
‘Fair enough. But I would if there were any record shops left.’
‘That’s what I mean. We’re all sick to death of endless touring, just to make ends meet or promote a new single. There seems to be no time left to write songs or have fun any more. It’s just constant hard slog, and that’s not what any of us want. I mean, I’m not saying we’re lazy or anything like that, but I am pushing forty.’
‘Mick Jagger and Paul McCartney are over seventy. Even Keith—’
‘But that’s the point, Dad. I don’t want to end up like them. And we don’t want to end up breaking apart and hating each other, each blaming the other for the mess we’re in. We don’t want to end up like the Beatles or Pink Floyd.’
‘Or even worse,’ Banks said, ‘the Gallaghers. So you’re going solo?’
‘No. I won’t say I’ll never make a solo album, because I might — I’ve got enough songs in the works — but no. I’m going into the production side.’
‘That’s quite a leap.’
‘Not really. I haven’t been wasting my time with drugs and groupies all these years, you know. I was interested in the studio stuff right from the start, how it all worked, and I’ve spent time with people who really know what they’re doing. I’ve learned a lot. You might not have noticed, but I produced our last album.’
Banks hadn’t noticed. ‘Sorry,’ he said.
‘That’s OK. Most people don’t notice things like that. Anyway, I’m no George Martin, but I know my way around a studio. I understand the equipment, and I have a good idea of the sort of sound I want from a band. It’s hard producing your own music. But with other bands and artists I can see a clearer path. Hear it, more like. It’s a real job at last. I thought you’d be pleased.’
Banks laughed. ‘I am, I am. But I’m a fan of the band. And you know damn well I’ve always been proud of you and what you’ve achieved.’
‘I know, Dad. I was teasing. Anyway, I wanted to tell you before you heard it on the news. And don’t believe everything you read in the papers.’
‘Don’t try to teach your grandmother how to suck eggs. I don’t believe anything I read in the papers. Have you told your mother yet?’
‘Next. I thought I’d let you know first.’
Banks felt inordinately proud to hear that he was the first family member Brian had told. ‘And Tracy?’
‘You or Mum can tell her if either of you is likely to be talking to her soon. Or I can ring her, too, it’s—’
‘I’ll let her know. Don’t worry. Not that she doesn’t have enough on her mind at the moment, what with the wedding and all that. We went to see Richard Thompson tonight.’
‘Fantastic.’
‘Tracy didn’t think so.’
‘She’s got no taste. Remember when we were growing up, she used to like the Spice Girls? I’ll bet she doesn’t even listen to our albums.’
‘I’m sure she does. When are you making the announcement?’
‘Tomorrow. That’s Thursday here. We’ve got a press conference.’
‘In Adelaide?’
‘Why not? We’ve always been big in Australia.’
‘No farewell tour?’
‘Tonight’s our last gig here. We’re playing the Thebarton Theatre. The “Thebby”, they call it here. It’s a great venue. We’ve got a few dates back home and we’ll honour those. I suppose you could call that a farewell tour, though it wasn’t planned that way. Maybe you can come and see us in Leeds or Gateshead. But after that...’
‘Of course I’ll come and see you. Then what are your plans? Do you already have a production job to go to?’
‘Not yet. But don’t worry about me. I’ve got enough to get by for a while. I’m going to drift around the studios for a month or so. Talk to a few people. See what’s available and what’ll work best for me.’
‘Any idea where?’
‘Not yet. Maybe LA. Maybe London. It just depends.’
‘Any plans to come home for a while, other than for your final shows?’
‘I’ll be over for Tracy’s wedding next month.’
‘Excellent. Come down and stay for a few days. We’ll go walking up on Tetchley Fell. Pub lunches in Helmthorpe and Lyndgarth. And maybe in exchange, you can teach me a few guitar licks.’
‘You’ve got a guitar?’
‘Not yet. But I’ve decided I’m buying myself one for my birthday.’
‘Good for you, Dad. And happy birthday.’
‘Thanks. But I’ve still got a while left before I get my bus pass.’
Brian laughed. ‘OK. Well, I’d be happy to teach you a few chord progressions. And maybe even that odd folk tuning I learned from Martin Carthy.’
‘Martin Carthy? When was that?’
‘A while back. At your folk singer friend’s house. Penny Cartwright.’
‘I remember,’ said Banks. ‘But I didn’t know you’d been discussing guitar tunings.’
‘Us professionals. What can I say?’
Banks laughed. ‘It’s a deal,’ he said, then paused. ‘Are you sure everything’s OK?’
‘I told you. Never better. We’ve got the day off tomorrow, after the press conference, and I’m off up to the Barossa Valley with Dennis, our bass player, to do a bit of wine tasting. He’s quite the expert. And before you start worrying, it’s all right. We’ve got a driver. I’ll bring you a bottle of Peter Lehmann’s. I know you like that.’
‘Much appreciated. Well, as long as you’re sure.’
‘It was time for a change, Dad. I’m happy the decision is made.’
‘Well, good. Thanks for telling me. And the best of luck. See you soon.’
‘Bye. See you soon.’
Banks hung up and felt the emptiness he always experienced after a long-distance phone call. They seemed to magnify the distance rather than shorten it. But he was glad Brian had phoned him with the news. That was a turn-up for the book. There’d be a lot of disappointed fans out there. But Brian seemed genuinely happy with the decision. Relieved. Which made Banks wonder about what big changes might be coming his own way in the near future.
The original guitar works ended, and next came Takemitsu’s arrangements of popular western songs, starting with ‘Londonderry Air’, which was odd to hear after the Japanese style of the other pieces, but no less enjoyable.
‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’ came next, and Banks started to feel buoyed by the whisky, Brian’s phone call and the music, happy to leave his cares behind for a while. Then ‘Summertime’ came on, and he knew it would be a while before he dragged himself upstairs to bed. He would have to dig out Billie Holiday’s version first.
Chapter 5
‘Good morning, Superintendent.’
‘Good morning, Dr Galway. You seem quite chipper this morning.’
‘You know what they say. A healthy mind and a healthy body.’
Banks grunted. He still felt tired. It had been a late night. The Takemitsu guitar arrangement of ‘Summertime’ had indeed led inevitably to Billie Holiday, which led to a drop more Macallan, and so on. He went to bed well after one o’clock, and despite Bruckner’s Eighth Symphony, which usually transported him most pleasurably to the Land of Nod — no insult to the composer intended — he hadn’t been able to get to sleep for ages thinking about Brian and the Blue Lamps, and the old days he himself had spent as a wannabe rock star with the short-lived Jimson Weed.
‘Been for your morning run already, have you?’ he asked.