In the Pleasure Groove by John Taylor

In the Pleasure Groove by John Taylor

Author:John Taylor
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group, USA
Published: 2012-10-03T16:00:00+00:00


39 Coffin Sex

What is it about Munich?

On October 5, 1982, our tour bus was rolling down the A9 autobahn from Berlin. This was our second trip to Germany but the first time Munich was on the date sheet. The tour had started in the North, in Hanover, then gone to Bochum and Hamburg before playing the Berlin Sektor on October 4.

We had a bus, which was unusual for us, and were sleeping half on it, half in hotels. Three-star hotels. Duran never really took to the bus life. Not that anyone ever said, “I don’t like sleeping on a bus, let’s not do it anymore”; it was just another example of our collective consciousness. We tried it in Europe in ’82 and never did it again.

In truth, I wasn’t getting much sleep.

I was squeezed into one of the bus’s eye-level bunks, mid-fuselage, with Paul and Mike Berrow’s younger sister, Amanda.

Is there any form of fornication less pleasant, less comfortable, than at mid-afternoon on a rumbling old tour bus?

Coffin sex. Capsule sex. The smells of sweaty socks and diesel. No air. I should have been over this; this was high school stuff. Trying to get her bra unhooked, fingers down the panties—you know the drill. Fumbling and ridiculous.

To be fair, we both knew that this wasn’t love, and neither of us had a great deal of enthusiasm for what was taking place, but in the moment, she was a girl and I was a boy.

When we arrived in Munich, we checked into the Hilton. There was no Duran show that night, so the local promoter suggested we go see Kool and the Gang perform at the Circus Krone.

I must have scored some blow before the concert, because all I can remember of it is a blur with a beat. We stood at the back and left before the end. We went on to a nightclub, the Sugar Shack, and who should be there but Roxy Music.

This was the first time I had met my childhood heroes since waiting to get their autographs under the awning of the Holiday Inn in Birmingham, a long seven years ago, in 1975. Bryan knew we were fans and invited us to join them at their table in the VIP section for champagne.

It should have been a moment to savor—a schmooze with the band we had loved for so long, an opportunity to exchange numbers, maybe put down a tent peg for a future collaboration—but my drug craving was keeping me restless. I could not keep still. From the bar to the restroom, back to the lounge and the VIP table, then off again. A moving target, I couldn’t relax. My constant thirst needed slaking.

Then the night turns black. I am back at the hotel in Roger’s room, and he is sitting on the bed, covered in blood, and someone is telling me that he has been involved in a fight at the club. He’s just back from the hospital.

What happened? How did I miss it?



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