2stoned by Andrew Loog Oldham

Author:Andrew Loog Oldham [Oldham, Andrew Loog]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Autobiography, Biography, Entertainment & Performing Arts, Genres & Styles, Individual Composer & Musician, Music, Pop Vocal, Rock
ISBN: 9781446448335
Google: Y1ZDvHJo7bIC
Amazon: 0099443651
Publisher: VINTAGE
Published: 2003-10-14T23:00:00+00:00

We chartered a plane and we were playing cards when the window broke and the plane started dropping. Brian was sitting next to the window and I looked at Keith and Keith said, ‘Don’t move; let’s see what happens to Brian’… in other words, if he got sucked out of the plane.

Another night the plane is veering all the way down to the left and all the way down to the right and I said, ‘This isn’t turbulence, this is fucked up.’ So I ran into the cockpit and there was Brian, laughing his arse off, breaking amyl nitrate under the pilot’s nose. I said, ‘Lord, I’ll be good, just make this guy fly us okay.’ Brian was a good guy; I liked him a lot. He was an ethereal guy, an okay guy in my book.

The stage collapsed in Montreal; I can never forget that. It was Andrew’s fault, although he did not actually make the stage collapse. What happened was he could sense a riot coming and he loved that. You could feel the tension in the air, like a tornado; the air would just change and you’d feel it. The chief of police came backstage and begged Andrew to turn the lights on, so that there wouldn’t be a riot. Andrew refused. He didn’t refuse because he wanted a riot; he refused for the aesthetic reason. I looked at Andrew and said, ‘The riot’s going down; it’s going to happen.’ He said, ‘Fuck it, let it happen.’ Then the stage started to collapse. I was on stage. I just looked at Mick and we both jumped into the audience; there was no other way out of there. It was a different kind of audience than now, a lot more innocent but a lot more dangerous. They could not contain themselves emotionally. I kept seeing the headline, ‘William Morris Agent Found Dead Under The Stage’.

ALO: The stage in Montreal was a sandpit and we were the Christians; it was a snake pit and the venom of chaos and death was in the very air. You had the audience in front, at the sides and behind. You just could not contain it. It was not the stage that collapsed, it was the tiers of seats that wrapped around the side and back of the stage that fell on to it and on top of us. One moment we were standing on the side of the stage, the next moment we were lying on the ground with an ever-rising amount of bodies landing and lying on top of us as the whole back and side audience followed the collapse of the seating structure and plummeted down on to the stage. It felt like being underwater, except the water was bodies, and we were fighting to be able to swim to the surface and find air and room to breathe, pinned down by an octopusation of dead weight, panic weight in slow motion of flaying arms, bodies and legs. You’d find

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