by TheEqualizer on 01 May 2015 15:17
This is the entire preface for anyone who is interested:
On 10 March, 2003, Elvis Costello and the Attractions were inducted into the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame, in a ceremony held at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel in New York. In the opulence of the Grand Ballroom, around 500 guests were seated.
Apparently tickets had been changing hands for up to $5,000. Our fellow inductees that night included the Clash and the Police.
Although I’d remained friendly with Pete (the Drummer) and Steve (the Keyboard Player) - and had spoken to them a couple of times over the years - I hadn’t seen or spoken to Elvis for over six years. But in the spirit of that famous Christmas Day in the First World War (when the English and the German troops stopped shooting at each other to share a pudding and to play football) Elvis and I had now come to a similar arrangement for the duration of this evening. This truce had been brought about, initially, by a letter from me to his personal assistant. But even now, a few minutes before we were about to go on stage to collect our gongs from Elton, we still hadn’t seen each other, or spoken.
The stories of an on-going feud between the Singer’ and myself were well known. But before the days of separate rooms - and then separate suites. And before the days of turning left when we got on a plane. And before that awful day when you caught yourself standing, frothing at some check-in clerk saying, ‘But don’t you realize who I am?’ And before our stage shows went on and on into extra time and interminable penalty shoot-outs. Before all of the anger and the sadness... Before all of those days came, ‘the Singer’ and I had actually been roommates. During our first two years on the road, we spent far more nights in a same room than we ever did with our respective spouses ! And then we went out and had lunch together, because there was no reason for us to avoid each other. We actually preferred each other’s company.
But all bands had members that ended up fighting, didn’t they? Lennon and McCartney. Jagger and Jones. Townshend and Moon. Waters and Gilmour. Davies and Davies. Gallagher and Gallagher. Tufnel and St. Hubbins. Even two-piece groups, like Simon and Garfunkel, fought and split up. Or like Sam and Dave, who fought, split up - and then probably continued arguing about which one of them had the rights to the name Salmon Dave’.
And while the Police had patched up their own differences long enough to play three songs at the induction, there were pointed comments at the afternoon’s rehearsal. My daughter can play drums better than that !’
Although I hadn’t actually been checked into Room 101, ever since I’d arrived there the previous day, I’d been ' stage managed' , and kept very much at arm’s length. It was obvious that there would be no last minute reconciliation that would see Elvis and the Attractions reunite to perform one last time. And now as I stood at the side of the stage, the other three, along with my replacement, were playing one of my old riffs. ‘The Imposters’, they now called themselves - but with maybe not as much irony as had been intended. To my ears they now sounded like their own tribute band - the Subtractions !
But, you see, it was remarks exactly like this that had got me into this position in the first place! These were the same kind of comments that peppered the pages of The Big Wheel. And the same kind of acid drops that can sometimes taste like sour grapes.
On its original publication (in 1990) The Big Wheel was well received. But in my case, it led to me getting fired from the Attractions - which then led to the split up of the entire band for a while. One by one, over the years, we returned to the fold, and I was eventually reinstated (from 1993 to 1996) for a couple of albums and tours.
But, eventually, I was sacked again - with The Big Wheel again being cited as one of the causes. This put me in the unique position of being fired from the same job for the same reason - twice!
So why exactly was I here, tonight, in New York - apart from the fact that I was entitled to be? The question had to be left hanging in the air, because now, as Elvis approached, I simply held out my hand to shake the one that had been offered to me.
‘Congratulations,’ I said.
‘You’re looking well.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to do anything contentious,’ I added.
‘I’ll introduce you. I’ll make a joke of it.’
In his preamble, and perhaps understandably, Elton elected not to speak about the Attractions, and limited his remarks to ‘the Songwriter’.
In Elvis’ own speech, he thanked all of the bands that he’d played with, over the years.
But that didn’t matter. Although awards of any kind have to be taken with several very large pinches of salt, there were only four names going to be etched on the panel, next to those of Chuck Berry, John Lee Hooker, and B. B. King. Elvis and the Attractions had once been the kind of band worthy of a place alongside them. And there were maybe a few people here this evening that might remember how good, how great, it had sometimes been.
As he continued to speak, an image from the past came to me. I was sitting there in my flat in Shepherd’s Bush in 1977 - with Elvis lying asleep on my floor, after a bust up with the missus. We’d only known each other a few weeks. So how could we ever have imagined, then, that one day we would see members of the Clash wearing expensive suits, addressing a black tie dinner in one of the world’s grandest venues, and speaking of honour and privilege? And how could we have possibly known that, one day, we would have become unbearable to each other?
When it came to it, my own speech was the shortest of the evening. ‘Thanks for the memories,’ I said. ‘And that’s it.’
And so it was. Yet even then, when I later examined the statuette that had been given to me, I discovered that I’d been given the one with Elvis’ name on it. And he’d mistakenly taken mine. The situation was speedily resolved, through a third party, naturally - and without us having to meet again. Though, in the process, my award had somehow got broken.
Would it ever be mended?
There is no bigger gong.