The hashtag #indieamnesty is encouraging people to share their indie memories on Twitter, and I’m having to stop myself from sharing too much. I’m always thinking about those years and how amazing they were: the music, the fashion, the parties… Music hasn’t been as exciting ever since. I have (almost) no regrets about the things that I’ve done throughout my indie years, so technically the hashtag would exactly apply, but at this point most of people, including me, are sharing with no regrets.
I have so many stories that I could write under this hashtag in a very non-apologetic way, but 140 letters are not enough, which is why I have decided to write some of them here.
The Pete Doherty Incident
Pete Doherty had announced a last minute gig in a pub where you couldn’t buy tickets. It was the old “first come, first served” rule, so I dragged a friend with me a few hours earlier to make sure we’d get in. Me being me, stood out of the way while the queue formed on the other side of the pub. By the time that I realised what was going on, there were enough people to fill up two pubs, but I wasn’t ready to give up hope just yet, so I told my friend to follow me to the end of the queue. This is when this amazing lady that I’ll never forget shouted “where are you going?”. I explained the situation, and being the first one in the right queue, she told me that she saw me hoovering the pub when she arrived, so me and my friend should be in front of her. After the people behind her agreed, we got to skip the original queue and stand right in front. I still can’t believe that people were this nice. That has never happened before, especially in this sort of gig. Anyway, the day was going great so far, the gig started and it was everything I was hoping for; Pete was playing all my favourite songs and I was right in front being crushed by a bunch of guys, so the security pulled me over and sat me on the stage. It was when the set was done and I stood up to leave that he started to throw his plectrum, his hat, a few other small things and…. The mic stand, which hit my leg, causing me to fall on my feet and dislocate it. I was crying in pain, the security was pulling me up, other people pulling me to the other side, Pete looking very confused, it was a mess. My friend grabbed me and carried me to the nearest chemist, which thankfully was two doors down. After that it gets boring, but I had such a great time that I didn’t care about not being able to walk properly for the next two months.
Riding a Hospital Van to a Music Festival
So this music festival was coming up, me and my friends had bought our tickets but had no idea how to get there. None of us could drive and our parents were not going to give us a lift. My mother manages an institution where the patients get to travel short distances to enjoy a day out and these sort of things, so I asked her if we could contact the company that provided the transport. To my surprise she actually gave me their number and I managed to find a driver who was willing to take a bunch of teenagers to a music festival in his hospital van, WAIT IN THE PARKING AREA, and drop everyone back home. Each. One. Of us on our doorstep. The driver was brilliant, a really sweet guy. He told us that, although he usually worked driving hospital patients, his late nephew was a musician, so the whole scene appealed to him for the sake of old memories.
On note: we were all underage and drinking cheap beer on the back of independent hospital van, but because one of the guys was particularly tall, he assumed him to be the responsible adult. Ops.
We had this music venue in my town where all the independent rock bands would play at (plus cover bands). It was the only interesting place to hang out at the time, but we were underage and extremely scared of the bouncer, so coming out with at least three plans to get in was essential. My plan had never failed: I’d borrow a random part of my friend’s drum kit and pretend that I was either playing or doing my job as a roadie. After a while I thought that he knew exactly what I was doing but just didn’t care, it wasn’t until I celebrated my 18th birthday at said venue that he realised that I had been lying for the last three years.
If you have any stories you’d like to share, feel free to comment them below as I’m having a great time seeing other people’s memories on Twitter!