Inside Out (41 page)
We convened a number of production meetings with perhaps our best team to date. Marc Brickman (fresh from the opening shows
for the 1992 Olympics in Barcelona and having fallen out once and for all with Barbara Streisand) was back as lighting designer,
armed with a bagload of new technology. He was joined by Mark Fisher as stage designer and Robbie Williams as production manager.
Storm was appended to the group since he was responsible for all the additional film required – some six different pieces
lasting for around forty minutes. I say appended, due to Storm’s lovable inability to work in any capacity other than as a
dictator.
The initial designs involved a hemisphere sitting on the ground, which then peeled back to reveal the stage. This had to be
ditched as soon as it became clear that such a structure, although extremely elegant, would require the removal of the entire
audience from the area in front of the stage. The final version was conceived via a number of intricate models, but even these
failed to reveal some of the problems of working with the real thing.
When the stage was fully erected we found that, because of all the multiple levels, niches and alcoves we had constructed,
not all the musicians could see each other, requiring visual cueing by video screens or ESP to make contact. It was also something
of a health and safety nightmare, with an extraordinary number of trapdoors. I had thought the previous tour’s stage was hard
to navigate, but this new stage was positively labyrinthine in a
U-boat sort of way, as it was all too easy to head off into some under-stage lighting cul-de-sac in error – or have a severe
accident plunging down into some uncharted hole.
Having wrestled the stage into submission, we had to turn our attention to the instruments, trying to avoid turning our nice,
flat surfaces into something resembling a junkyard. Many happy hours were spent in Drum Workshops, the factory of my drum
technician Clive Brooks, devising the stands for a drum kit that would work with this staging. Gary Wallis and I ended up
with thirty-odd drums, twenty pads, forty-odd cymbals and innumerable other bits of junk bolted to the drum risers, an installation
that should have qualified us for the Turner Prize.
We had hoped to use in-ear monitoring to avoid the unsightly wedges that clutter stage fronts. Unfortunately that didn’t work
out, and we were obliged to return to monitors (this was probably one of the last tours to use big wedge monitors, as earpieces
have now been perfected). However, I was able to use a tiny radio pack and earpieces which meant my foldback had a volume
level no louder than a moderate Walkman, and a mix consisting primarily of bass, percussion and lead guitar, not one recommended
for general release.
Meanwhile, Marc Brickman was dispatched to find the best and latest developments in effects and lighting. For example, the
lasers on this tour were far more powerful than anything we had been able to use before and could process the light into alternative
colours, rather than the usual green. One of Marc’s expeditions was to the Hughes Corporation. As one of America’s largest
arms manufacturers the cessation of eyeball-to-eyeball stand-offs with the USSR had left them anxious to find new uses for
all the military technology they now had sculling about idle. Swords into ploughshares sounds great in principle, but it was
not
quite as easy as it sounds. Unfortunately in spite of the wonderfully cheap deals available we were unable to think of anything
to do with a Sidewinder missile – or not during the show anyway…
Our quest for technical innovation was also thwarted when we found we could not use one particularly and enormously powerful
projector – a possibility we explored as an alternative to video – since once the projector’s motor, like a turbine, was started
it could not be stopped or the whole thing would explode. The prospect of transporting around the globe a projector permanently
running at 400,000 revs per minute daunted even the most hardy professionals on the team. Certainly none of the band was prepared
to travel on the same plane.
As we looked through the back catalogue and decided to return to some older material, we reinstated our acquaintance with
Peter Wynne Willson. After his involvement with us in 1967 and 1968, Peter had been working variously with a hippie theatre
group touring in a bus, organising lighting for other bands, working as a joiner, manufacturing furniture for Pan’s People
choreographer Flick Colby, producing prisms for the disco revolution, and developing a device called the PanCam which used
a controlled mirror moving in front of a spotlight.
Peter met up with Marc Brickman, having in his words ‘a huge amount of fun’ working with some liquid slides and re-creating
the Daleks. Technical advances actually made it more difficult to re-create the feel of the originals. The level of heat generated
by 6KW of light meant that instead of the original pigmented colours, the colours had to be diachronic. And whereas in the
Sixties he could use the heat of the projector to do some of the work, and hairdryers to both heat and cool slides, for the
new versions a whole Aircon system had to be installed to influence the gate. However, the new Daleks, larger than ever, were
much better
in one way: courtesy of safety elements not even considered in the Sixties, they were thankfully less life-endangering than
the versions that had once threatened to decapitate us like demented Samurai warriors.
All was proceeding well on the lighting front. Over in the blue corner, however, where the new film clips were in hand, piles
of storyboards were arriving as Storm tried desperately to get some kind of reactions, let alone decisions, while time slipped
away. One of our problems was committing to which pieces we were going to play in the show. There was little point in making
a half-million dollars’ worth of film if we then decided we didn’t like the song anyway. Eventually we had five different
pieces of film in production – if we hadn’t been finishing the record and rehearsing at the same time we might have had fun
experiencing this miniature Hollywood studio.
Music rehearsals for the tour took place at Black Island studios in West London, slightly held back due to the non-appearance
of the lead guitarist and main vocalist, who was once more detained on the boat working on the final mixes. Tim Renwick again
deputised as Musical Director. Fortunately, since we had all played the pieces on the record we were all familiar with the
new music, which was also nothing like as complicated as the music on the previous record.
We then decamped to Palm Springs, but instead of being able to work on our tennis forehands, we headed off to actual production
rehearsals – at the Norton Air Force Base near San Bernardino. These events were not without drama. At one point a visibly
shaken rigger who had been working twenty feet overhead at the apex of the arch descended and suggested clearing the area.
The whole structure was buckling, and the thought of a hundred tons of steel work collapsing, coupled with cancelling the
shows for at least three months, gave hardbitten tour personnel pause for
thought. Luckily it was a rectifiable design fault detail, but proved again that myriad computer calculations and projections
do not equal the final assembly.
The amount of work being generated and undertaken was enormous. We had the films in production, staging and effects being
built and equipment assembled; new pieces of stage and show require a great deal of work and modification to operate properly.
As is the norm, we had to produce 30 per cent more devices than we ended up with, as we discarded those that didn’t make the
grade or proved too expensive or dangerous.
A classic example on this tour was one particularly troublesome five-ton mechanised crane, with a lighting rig attached, that
travelled on an overhead track above us. When it eventually fell off its track (fortunately not hurting anyone) Mark Fisher,
Robbie Williams who had been responsible for transporting the thing, and even the band who paid for it but were playing underneath
it, were all thrilled to see it disappear forever.
FOR SALE
One five-ton crane. Complete with track and all light fittings. Wd suit construction company or elderly rock band. $100. Collect
from Norton Air Force Base, San Bernardino…
As usual there was the slightly awkward day or two when the band arrived to mess up everything the crew had been doing for
the past two weeks. At this point, the crew also had to go through the most soul-destroying part of all, which was learning
how best to pack the trucks by stripping and re-erecting the stage. This is not as mindless or military an exercise as it
sounds. There is an extremely strict order of pack according to what can be
dismantled first and what needs to be put in first. And since, with restricted space backstage, there is an equally strict
schedule for parking the trucks in the right order, a simple, economic factor comes into play: one truck saved over a nine-month
period might pay for twelve crew parties, a new car, or simply a lawyer’s bill for a couple of days, or hours.
We managed to overcome most of the various teething problems. As Storm’s films had by necessity been prepared against the
recorded songs, we discovered there were cueing problems with the live versions. However, by now we knew some tricks of the
trade – that the film should be abstract enough in the middle to give us some leeway, and Jim Dodge, our projectionist from
previous tours, had become a past master at being able to adjust his projector speed to make sure the beginning and particularly
the endings were in sync.
The set was a mixture of old and new, including ‘Astronomy Domine’, which we had not played for at least twenty years, probably
longer, and which brought back memories of Syd standing there in his big-sleeved outfit. ‘High Hopes’ was a new addition –
complete with a giant division bell, sadly operated by a trigger device rather than a bemuscled gentleman from the Rank Organisation.
The show was shaping up. Our ability finally to learn from experience came through on this tour. Whereas the initial shows
of the 1987 tour had been extremely exciting, but weak in communal performance, despite the individual competence of the musicians,
now we had a good idea of how to present the show. All we had to do now was pay for it.
I still have mixed feelings about tour sponsorship. Touring a big show has become a hugely expensive operation and sponsorship
can be a useful ingredient in that mix. But there is always a sneaking suspicion in the back of my mind (and I think David
feels this more strongly than I do) that there is a danger that sponsorship can dilute the creative strengths. The argument
that without sponsorship ticket prices would be higher is usually countered by the view that the band could take less money
and achieve the same effect. There is no doubt that negotiations about the size and placing of advertisements and logos can
become rather fraught.
That said, I was happy to have a real tour sponsor in the shape of Volkswagen. The first item on the agenda in our new relationship
with the company was the Pink Floyd car. VW had some experience of working with bands: the year before they had sponsored
a Genesis tour. They had learnt from a couple of mistakes. We were told that one version had come out in a colour symbolising
gay pride, which the notoriously macho car sales industry had failed to appreciate.
When discussions had begun, there was an agreement that we did not want an association with some wild ultra-fast hatchback.
Instead it was decided to produce a version of the Golf that could be considered the safest and most ecologically friendly
(one might think an ecologically friendly car is a contradiction in terms, like a vegetarian crocodile, but there are degrees…).
We enlisted the help of a friend, Peter Stevens. Peter is a much-respected car designer and also taught part-time as a professor
at the Royal College of Art. We had met on and off over the years, and Peter had produced the graphics for cars I had raced
at Le Mans with Richard Lloyd Racing. He had also been working with Gordon Murray, one of the great racing car designers (with
a lifelong enthusiasm for the electric guitar) on the McLaren F1 road car. Peter’s experience with car design of all sorts
meant that we could at least keep our suggestions within the realms of possibility rather than suggesting changes that would
take seven years to put into production. The finest moment was when we
visited the huge Volkswagen factory. VW were probably expecting the meeting to be a rubber-stamping exercise, but their high-powered
engineers had a shock as they realised we had turned up in the company of Herr Professor Stevens, their former tutor, to evaluate
their work.
Peter found the experience educational as well. He had noted that Steve O’Rourke had carried a heavy overcoat with him for
the entire journey. It was only just prior to going into the meeting that Steve put it on. Peter found this curious and asked
him why. Steve explained that this was his ‘mean bastard’ overcoat. The extra bulk that it gave him, coupled with the fact
that he would spend the entire meeting standing rather than sitting, had proved a valuable negotiating tool. Although Peter
never bought a coat, he did invest in a pair of ‘mean bastard’ boots, which are still used for the occasional confrontational
meeting. He maintains they are extremely effective.
After years of doing things our own way we were unused to dealing with another organisation that operated under very different
rules, and we had a number of disagreements. But the final product was a more than worthwhile exercise – the car even sold
quite well in Europe – and is certainly dearer to my own heart than even the finest of fizzy drinks.
Some climatic traditions die hard, and after rehearsals in perfectly dry conditions, the rains came down from the first gig
onwards. During one show – the wettest of the wet – the equipment gradually got worse and worse. The PA was sounding distinctly
soggy, monitors were dropping out, and my drums were increasingly waterlogged. We lashed ourselves to the mainsail Hornblower-style
and played as long as we reasonably could, but at some point we had to abandon ship. It was a reminder that, wonderful money-spinners
though they are, stadium shows are much more difficult to control. We had fabulous effects – especially
the giant mirrorball – but it was all wasted effort if the stage was going to flood.