Mustard Duo (aka Dave’n’Ed),
Dave Barker (vocals/bass) and Ed Furst (vocals/gtr).
Dave had always tried to play rhythm guitar, and even began to move on from Open E tuning, but I had always felt he would do better on bass. One night a customer said: ‘I see you’ve brought a bass guitar along. Does that mean you’re gonna do some Rock’n’Roll?’ I reached for the bass, but the customer said: ‘Aren’t you going to do the catahhring, then?’ With one bound, I handed the bass to Dave, told him which three notes would get him through the next song, and started playing a load of Chuck Berry stuff. About eight songs later I lapsed briefly into reality, and realised that Dave was still playing the bass.
Washington Irving, aka Irving Washington (no, honest),
Ed Furst (vocals/gtr/hmc), Pete Hollis (vocals/bass), and Maurice Hayes (drs),
a semi-pro pub band which kept forgetting that it had been booked to play Country and Western.
Captain Ed, aka Mr Hook,
Ed Furst (vocals/8-string bass/hmc), Dave Hook (gtr/vocals), and Keith Allen – no, not the actor – (vocals/drs).
Another semi-pro pro band, but Dave Hook was seriously focussed on earning more than subsistence money. Enjoying the music was an unexpected bonus, and we got such a high percentage of rebookings that we decided to carry on ‘after Christmas’, and eventually revamped ourselves as…
Sinbad, aka Langdale,
Ed Furst (vocals/pno/gtr/hmc), Dave Hook (gtr/vocals), Rick Barducci as Rick Bard (bass/vocals), and Keith Allen (vocals/drs).
We recorded original songs at home and played anything but on gigs. Rick was the recording engineer because he had a talent for it, and he also bought the van because he (rightly) did not trust the rest of us to buy something reliable. We toured the entire UK mainland with Marty Wilde (or sometimes Heinz) on the cabaret circuit. I was very relieved that this particular boyhood hero lived up to my memories of him as he had been, before some pretender stole his crown. Rare, that.
We then changed our recording name to Langdale, in the belief that it would conjure up inspiring images of the Lake District. Apparently not. A few of the 54 independent record producers we sent our LP to thought we must be estate agents, and others thought we belonged to the million individualists who all buy their fell-walking uniforms from Milletts in Keswick, ready to hide in the Lake District when the WMDs fall.
Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes. How many record producers does it take to change a light bulb? Mmmm, I don’t know, give me a ring in the morning. But you’re flying to Eurovision tomorrow. Mm, yes… Ciao…
– End of Part Three –