Simon Parkes - Live at the Brixton Academy: A Riotous Life in the Music Business

Simon Parkes is the founder of the Brixton Academy, which he owned and operated for fifteen years.

JS Rafaeli is a writer and musician based in London.

A complete catalogue record for this book can be obtained from the British Library on request

The right of Simon Parkes and JS Rafaeli to be identified as the authors of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

Copyright 2014 Simon Parkes and JS Rafaeli

Photos copyright justinthomasphotography.co.uk

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

First published in 2014 by Serpents Tail,

an imprint of Profile Books Ltd

3A Exmouth House

Pine Street

London EC1R oJH

www.serpentstail.com

eISBN 978 1 84765 993 4

Dedicated to all the musicians,

fans, and everyone who has ever

partied at the Brixton Academy

INTRO: THE GUY BEHIND THE GUY

The guy was cracking up.

It was all there: the fretful pacing, the darting eyes and flighty hands, the split-second switches between obsequious pleading and frustrated rage. All the telltale signs of a cocaine addict in need of a score.

Inspiral Carpets had just finished their soundcheck. The band were laughing and fooling around as the roadies cleared the stage for the support act. I was backstage with some of my own crew, ensuring everything was in its right place, and that the soundcheck changeovers were running smoothly.

Thats when the guy decided to make his move.

Umm hello mate uhhh youre Simon, right? The venue owner?

Yeah, thats me. What can I do for you? I asked, as if I didnt know.

He leaned in close, his voice dropping to that guttural, agitated hush that drug addicts mistake for discretion. Well its just I was wondering could you, yknow sort us out?

Sort you out with what? I asked, deliberately making my voice boom in faux naivety. At the very least, I could have some fun with this.

The guy cringed in druggie paranoia, his eyes shooting around the room, as if at any moment black-clad spooks were going to burst in and punish him for trying to score a bit of gear.

I was just after yknow maybe, a couple grams of coke I just thought, yknow perhaps you could help me out? he whispered in desperation.

I looked the guy up and down. To me, he had just marked himself out as a chump. I liked to party as much as anyone; I ran a rock n roll venue, after all. But the rule was never to mix business and pleasure. I didnt even drink on the job; and I certainly never got high with other industry players while working a gig. It was unprofessional but, much more important, it left you vulnerable.

Still, you dont get very far in the music business without the ability to spot an opportunity. The guy may have made a tacky move, but played correctly, I could turn this to my advantage. He would get his coke. But hed have to wait until I had him exactly where I wanted him.

I gave him a wink. Yeah, I think I can help you. Ill call someone I know. It may take a little while, but Ill sort you out.

Those were the magic words. All those tiny muscles behind the guys eyes, which had been so rigidly tensed in grinding junkie anxiety, seemed to relax simultaneously. He broke into a broad smile, clasped my hand, and thanked me effusively.

I may have kept work and fun separate, but I wasnt an idiot.

I knew exactly what went on. I knew how it functioned, and who made it happen. If youve got a problem with people getting their kicks however they do it, then rock n roll probably isnt the job for you. I always made sure none of my own team got involved with dealing, but I knew who to talk to.

He liked to refer to himself as The Doctor. We just called him Doc. He was tall and wiry, with glasses, long straggly hair, and a nervous disposition. Doc was a constant fixture at the Academy, always wandering around in the same torn jeans and grubby military surplus jacket. He must have had an arrangement with someone to get backstage passes, on the understanding that he would find the bands, and their crews, whatever they needed to stay happy.

Listen Doc, I whispered, pulling him aside, you see that guy? I pointed out our mark. Doc glanced over quickly; then turned back to me, nodding.

In a little while, youre going to give that guy two grams of Charlie. Its on me. But heres the thing: youre not to do anything at all, until I give you the signal. You got it?

Doc nodded again. He understood I was up to something, even if he couldnt figure out exactly what. He would do what I told him; he had to. His entire livelihood was based on my tolerating his presence in the venue. One word from me, and very quickly there would be some other geek supplying dope to bands at the Brixton Academy.

I glanced back over at the guy, still pacing anxiously in the corner. I hadnt met him before, but I was aware of who he was. He was involved, at a fairly high level, with quite a few of the Manchester bands that had carved themselves a niche in the British charts of the past few years.

There was business to be done here. It was just a matter of timing.

I watched as the guy became progressively more and more impatient. Every few minutes his eyes would flick over to me and I would give him a nod, or a little wave, as if to say, No worries, mate, the gears on its way.

All the while Doc stood at the opposite corner of the room, the product stashed safely in his pocket.

After about an hour the poor guy couldnt stand it any more and shuffled up to me. Sorry mate I just uhhh dont suppose theres any sign of your fella, is there?

Oh yeah, I replied cheerily, pretending not to register the desperation in his voice. He says hes on his way. Shouldnt be too long.

Yeah uhhh great. Cheers. He slouched away again in disappointment.

It was crucial I didnt let him get his stuff too soon. I had to let him get just frantic enough.

I let him stew for another hour. Doc did his part, never moving from his spot. We watched the dudes addict pangs get progressively worse. He was feeling it bad now: slumped in a chair, sweating and fidgeting so bad it looked like he was about to climb the walls.

Perfect.

He shot up in his seat as I walked over, his eyes tracking my every move.

All right mate, the blokes almost here, I breezed.

His eyes lit up with joy.

Theres just one thing I wanted to talk to you about, I continued.

The guys face froze in terror. Was I about to say something to jeopardize his score?

Ive been thinking about getting Black Grape down for some gigs here. What do you say we do three nights at the Academy over the next few months?

I had timed it perfectly. By this point, the guy would have agreed to anything. He nodded furiously and jabbered his assent.

We shook on the deal, and I turned and gave Doc the nod. The guys eyes showed a momentary flicker of incomprehension, as some part of his brain registered that Doc had been standing in the same room as him the whole time. But he was so happy get his couple of grams that he either chose to ignore the thought or just didnt care. I, in turn, whipped 100 out of one of our bar tills, stuck an IOU in its place, and handed the cash to Doc. Not a bad evenings work.