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The Journey Home to Swindon: An Audience with Justin Hayward Wednesday, Sept 28th  The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step. I strongly suggest though, if you’re setting out on
this journey, it would be wise to get a good night’s sleep and be rested.
I fully intended to be, and it was entirely Jeff Wayne’s fault that I was
not. Sigh A quick glance at thewaroftheworlds.com Tuesday
afternoon gave me a rude start; Wayne’s new April production of the WotW
featuring the singer of Forever Autumn had added 3 more dates in an effort
to satisfy an insatiable UK appetite for tickets. The original 7
dates had been increased to 10 (including Wembley) and now stands at 13.
I live to compare and contrast and hope to see at least the first and last
performances (with a sprinkling of gigs in between) and found myself in
the proverbial pickle: a new start and a new finish for the dastardly Martians.
Grrrrrrrrrrrr God forbid this musical becomes any MORE popular!
I gritted my teeth. No one is going to hand you a ticket - if I wanted
one, I’d have to be at my laptop, ready to go at 2:30AM. Arrrrrrrrrrgh
Reeling from lack of sleep and one of the most maddening ticket sales I’ve ever experienced (but clutching my precious front row Bournemouth tickies to my bosom) I faced a most unwelcome task – packing my bag. I have two favorite tricks, having eschewed stuffing everything I own into large bags and being forced to proposition men right and left to lift them. First, pick out a bag you can handle yourself and that no matter how you stuff it, can’t possibly go over the airline weight limit (a pricey and unpleasant issue on international flights) and second, pack mentally. Mental packing is the key to getting through it. Black is *always* good. Snort! My driver entertained me on the way to the Cincinnati airport with a detailed description of his gun collection. I fully support the right to arm bears, however, I listened avidly and sprinkled the conversation amiably with “Remmington”, “over/under”, “reloads”, and an array of tales of various local hunting accidents. It passed the time. I met up with Blueglow at the airport and we had a long but uneventful flight. We met our first glitch at Gatwick after sailing comfortably through passport control, my young clerk amusing himself with a few trick questions. I half expected to be requested to sing The Star Spangled Banner, and God only knows what lyrics would have popped out. I had allowed extra time so that our Millenium Taxi driver wouldn’t have to unnecessarily wait. He turned the tables on us by hiding out at the south terminal, *supposedly* looking frantically for his American fares. I fooled him! I held my charged-up, fully loaded UK mobile to my ear and hunted him down like a dog. Don arrived sheepishly after I tearfully warned him I was about to throw myself in front of the very next taxi that passed by. Don was a nice young Swindon lad, back in the UK after a couple years abroad. Apparently he had traveled to a family wedding in Australia and extended his stay. Swindon wasn’t going to hold him; he was ready to take off again. Blueglow desperately needed some Chicken Vindaloo and asked Don to recommend a few restaurants for us. He named several, including his parent’s pub, ticking off his favorites for Indian, Thai and Continental. Warming to the subject as he deftly threw me from side to side while wickedly careening around the roundabouts, he revealed a recent Swindon scandal. A popular Indian establishment had been closed by health officials after a large number of patrons had taken ill and a few been hospitalized. “Guess what they put in the food!” cackled Don. I went for the worst and suggested rats as Blueglow’s eyes grew large with horror. “No, no” said Don, “nothing non-human”. Uh-oh! Our driver was alit with wicked Swindon humor, and determined to drag out his loathsome culinary tale. Alice trembled and suggested feces, but I had been taken back to my youth and instantly knew what Don was coyly trying to tease out of us (eeek – so to speak!). A childhood friend had an acquaintance who was unhappily employed by the now defunct Burger Chef chain and was known to relieve his misery by “enhancing” the tartar sauce. “Yes” cackled Don, “that’s exactly what happened!” I’m sure Don would have stopped there if he had seen how queasy Alice looked, however, he continued gleefully. “They tested the food, and can you believe it? There were THREE different donors!” Don *can* tell a tale and I’m sure he didn’t mean it as an um “smear” on Swindon, still it was rather an awkward and unpleasant introduction to Justin’s beloved home town. I could vividly visualize the warm camaraderie around the stock pot. One thing did puzzle me about the incident. I delicately pointed out to Don that it’s not unheard of for semen to be ingested: a thought which he seemed to want to ponder at length. “How then did the people become ill?” I innocently inquired. Well, Don didn’t know and frankly, he seemed to be caught up in his own thoughts. Shrug The culprits were caught, if not red-handed, then at least with sticky fingers, and one had been imprisoned. I like to think that they weren’t native sons of Swindon, but merely Johnny-Come-Latelys. I haven’t developed a fondness for roundabouts. They clearly do improve traffic flow – that can’t be argued, and they’re starting to pop up in The States. Swindon has a MAGIC roundabout and Don did several figure eights on it so that we could really feel we had experienced it. It’s awe-inspiring, and I sincerely hope I’ll never be on it again. It’s definitely something to look for and to run away from. Don did Swindon proud, driving us through town to see the sights, pointing out several restaurants that hadn’t yet been closed by the Board of Health and promising me a decent Margarita at his parent’s pub if I would bring my own limes. I asked if he could take us by The Apartment (the site of Saturday’s gig) and was a little perplexed when he said he couldn’t. We finally arrived at our hotel and said our fond goodbyes to Don, tipping him a little more for the restaurant heads-up. Our hotel suited us well, in fact, VERY well with a pleasant staff matched by pleasant accommodations. It wasn’t The Ritz, but I suspect it was the nicest Swindon had to offer. It had everything we wanted and a cozy bar in which to pass the evening. I was feeling the effect of pulling two all-nighters and after a reunion with Angel and a little egg mayo with crisps we were ready to fall into bed. Friday, September 30 I didn’t feel half bad Friday morning and was ready to hit the town. Our plan was to lunch at The Apartment and see what Saturday morning might hold in store. Details held Blueglow and me up a tad and we arrived to find Angel already there and waiting for us at a table.  With company! Lisa introduced us to Peter
Grey from Australia and we had a very enjoyable Moody luncheon with him.
Peter had been at the Melbourne concert in April and had recognized Angel.
He had been a fan for a long time and told us a few stories about The Moodies’
Australian tours, including an incident where he dumped his wife in the
parking lot and managed to get invited backstage. As we talked, another
Moody person (though not a fan) came up behind me and said Hi. It
was Justin! Relaxed, friendly and smiling, Justin warmly greeted
us with a kiss on the cheek, and made us feel very wanted and welcome. He had come in that
afternoon to do the sound check. We had finished our lunch
and knowing that Justin had a lot of work to do (and the fact that The
Apartment was closing for a few hours and booting us out) we said our goodbyes
and made our way out of the club. I understand he graciously greeted
fans waiting outside the club after his sound check was completed.
We had thought to hire a driver for the afternoon, but Peter had a car nearby and was willing to join us in our search for Moody history and landmarks. We weren’t entirely unprepared, 
but none of the four of us had ever been to Swindon before. Luckily,
Peter had a navigation computer system in his rental and ferried us to
Dean Street where Justin was born and lived as a child. Well!
I know *I* appreciate my humble beginnings and I’m sure Justin appreciates
his, and Dean Street *is* humble though not without a modest charm.
It was rather annoying too! Peter is not the least affected by the
widespread American male predjudice that won’t allow anyone with a Y chromosome
to ask for directions. We had made it to Dean Street, but none of us
knew the house number! Peter stopped and asked different young people
which one was Justin Hayward’s house and the little darlings just screwed
up their precious faces and said (horrifyingly) “Who?” Luckily, a
UK fan rang me up while we were cruising Dean Street looking for the brass
plaque that says “On this site on 14 October, 1946, world-reknown musician-songwriter
Justin Hayward was born”. We couldn’t FIND one! How remiss
can the Town of Swindon be? My caller had his Justin Keepsake Issue
helpfully handy and told us that it was #54. Peter quickly found
54 and parked and knocked on the door.
He asked the young mother
who answered (definitely a MILF) if she minded that we took a few photos
of the childhood home of the rock legend and she not only agreed, but invited
us in for a tour! That seemed somehow too American (LOL) but
we did cajole her out for a photo.
Were WE surprised the next day when Justin reminisced about #111. What? Can the Keepsake (or Memorial, as I like to refer to it) issue be WRONG? We contented ourselves that we were ON the damn street, and walked in his precious little footsteps, even sneaking a fag near the Great Western Railworks as I’m sure HE did as a child. After doing Dean Street up as well as we possibly could, even if erroneously, we talked Peter into tackling Lydiard Field. Every devout Moody Fan knows that Justin Hayward wrote Tuesday Afternoon while sitting in Lydiard Field. Smoking a joint, some have said. Well, to be honest, MANY have said. First we talked Peter into a ladies room. I watched the car as Peter escorted our two young ladies into a pub and PRAYED that someone would come up behind us so that the car would have to be moved by me. I felt ready to tackle Brit driving, at least for 10 feet or so. I was so disappointed no one came demanding I move it immediately. Sniff 
We didn’t
know jack about Lydiard Field either. Peter got us in the general
area, quite a ways from Dean Street and we saw two options on the sign
post: Lydiard County Park and Lydiard Field. I had never heard
of Lydiard County Park but the County Park is what it was. Lydiard
Field is an office area with nary a tree in sight. What a bummer!
I’d say next time, but I know there won’t be a next time, not unless Jeff
Wayne adds Swindon to his War of the Worlds April Tour. We were tired
and it was getting late and time for Peter to take back his life and deposit
his American Moody tourists at their hotel. Thanks Peter, and have
a wonderful time on your Libya tour!
 We spent another fine evening in the
hotel bar drinking wine and lattes and nibbling on bar fare and were both
surprised and pleased to see Justin Hayward and Martin Wyatt stroll in
for a drink. I don’t exactly understand who Martin is or what he
does; I can say that he is smiling, friendly and pleasant. Our evening
was spent making Saturday’s plans and they were the subject of spirited
debate and discussion. After an hour of pros and cons and taking
into consideration my personal refusal to risk my life either by violent
event or hypothermia, our small group decided that Blueglow and I would
taxi down to The Apartment at 6am and line sit, with Angel to arrive some
time after. After all, ONE of us needed to look good!
Saturday, October 1 Havelock Square is a pedestrian mall area with a few clubs, coffee shops and a fascinating 99p store. At 5:45am it’s desolate and isolated, with only the odd vagrant to provide you company. Our cab driver kept his lights on and waited so that we could see our way through the deserted alley into the courtyard without getting mugged. It was cold; it was damp, it was stupid. Sigh We QUICKLY walked to The Apartment and I saw a forlorn figure huddled at the entrance like the Poor Little Matchgirl, sweater pulled tightly around her slumped and shivering figure. This was Lou from Texas. She was a woman on a mission and had been at The Apartment since she had arrived in Swindon around lunchtime the day before. Lou stayed at The Apartment until it closed in the wee hours and then remained at their door, absolutely determined to be the first person in line when the doors opened Saturday morning. I admire her spunk, her grit and her determination. Lou is a friendly Texas sort and had a lot to say about the two concerts she has attended and told us about her trademark which involves chucking a sequined sandal up onto the stage. 
Boys, watch out! These days,
I’m not worried so much about anyone tripping over a sequined sandal, I’m
MORE worried a band member might slip it on and decide he likes it.
Age can be a funny thing.
Lou gave us her report on the night’s activities. She and Peter from Australia had stayed in The Apartment and watched but thankfully weren’t required to join in on the break-dancing. And here I thought that was out of style! The Aussie and the Texan had braved a good part of the cold night together in front of The Apartment door. The Apartment staff wasn’t without sympathy and when the owner regretfully said that fans couldn’t spend the night inside, the manager brought out some chairs. Peter had given up the ghost a couple hours before we arrived and went to his car for a nap, but Lou had bravely stayed. Peter returned, rumpled but smiling and slowly others began to arrive. Some spoke, some declined to speak, which was not only fine, but in my opinion, dandy too. Though no one was with Lou at the door, an informal list was being kept and I suppose I should have been a bit higher up since I had made an appearance the day before. I don’t hold with lists myself, in my opinion you should get there and either you or your buddy should physically hold your spot and not nip back into a warm bed. Everyone should suffer equally and horribly. Shrug Fifth in line was ok with me and we parked. ALL I could think about was coffee, a HOT cup of coffee. It was pretty damn bleak. As the sun came out the line lengthened and people looked pretty surprised when they arrived and saw a line. It was great to see a number of UK fans again and a good number of US fans. As we waited and chatted someone came out to take questions for Justin, explaining that they would take all questions and that a few would be selected for the interview segments. Justin,The Apartment’s manager had said the doors would open at 8:15am and it was later than that, but they FINALLY did. I eyed a couple aggressive looking gals who looked like they might try to slide by the more innocent in line, but they didn’t get the chance. There were tales of ticket problems and a mix up in the ticket mailing and I worried it might hold all of us up and keep me from sitting my tush down on a warm seat, but the staff brightly made allowances and if you had a hard ticket you were waved in. I did, thanks to Angel, and I was. Peter and Lou took their well-deserved place of honor, front row center and Angel and I slid past them to their right and got comfortable. The special thing about the front row *isn’t* that you’re THAT close to the artist and can feel his aura vibrate in tune with your own. Oh, no! It’s the leg room. 
For those interested, the inside of
The Apartment can be viewed on their website. It’s a nice place and
quite attractive. The entry door in the corner of Havelock Square
brings you onto a ramp which passes by a reception desk and into the main
room of the day. A long bar is on your left, tables and booths are
on a low riser to your right and the stage is at the far end of the room.
We were a trifle afraid after talking to the staff on Friday that seating
might be very limited, but Sandy Martin (the BBC host) had assured us that
there would be chairs and there were, taking up most of the floor.
I didn’t count, but I’d guess there were at least 20 rows of chairs on
the flat floor and that each row had at least 12 chairs across. The
front row of chairs was a comfortable 4 or 5 feet from the low stage.
The stage itself was perhaps 10 feet by 8 feet deep and was backed by the
back wall of the room. It was simply arranged with a single mike
in the center, a couple of guitar stands and a grand piano. A music
stand stood left of the mike.
The room quickly filled with the lucky people who had found tickets. I nipped outside to check the weather and saw a few people begging to get in, including one fellow who SWORE he knew Justin well as a child and talked until he was blue in the face to the sympathetic but resolute doorman. “We just don’t have room, mate!” When I walked back in I saw that the room was full, every seat taken and a number of people were standing at the bar. 
A breakfast
buffet had been set up near the door. A video cam was set on a tripod
at the back, I assume for the BBC’s use since an announcement was made
clearly forbidding video, though allowing full rein on still photography,
including (to my surprise) flash.
Sandy Martin started the morning’s festivities by welcoming everyone and introducing Tony Worgan. There were a couple gals working too and I’m terribly sorry I didn’t catch their names. Though Sandy had greeted us the afternoon before and made a special point to make Alice’s acquaintance, he again came over to chat. I told him that a LOT of American fans had planned to be up at 3am and at their computers for the broadcast and it seemed that he hadn’t realized the time difference for The States until that very moment. He grimaced and you could tell he was concerned about it. Sandy continued the morning show with a *contest* to see who was Justin Hayward’s biggest fan. Quite a task with an audience full of Moody Blues fans! Not everyone was excited at the prospect of being humiliated live on BBC, but he finally found a good group of four very knowledgeable people which he peppered with questions. 
The one question that fazed the group was “Who owned
the guitar that Justin wrote Nights on?” I have to admit some moppet
(which I understand translates to *idiot*) on the front row called out
the answer, which of course is the famous skiffle artist, Lonnie Donegan,
but it was all right. Sandy thought that innocent Blueglow was the
culprit, when actually, it had been me. HAHA! Lost Chord’s
own English Sunset, Maggie Bleksley won the title and I’m sure she’ll wear
it proudly. Justin brought up an interesting connection to this question
later in the interview when he talked about Mr Donegan sending someone
around to his flat to pick up the same guitar, and though Justin had been
under the impression that Lonnie had GIVEN it to him, he had never gotten
it back. He went on to say that he had been approached by Donegan’s
widow about the 12 string and had recently arranged to purchase it.
The interview segments are available on the BBC website at least as of October 11th and I see no need to repeat them. If you’ve checked out the website, you will know that the performance portions are missing, ostensibly because of copyright, which sounds like a load of hogwash. It’s terribly unfortunate that the entire show wasn’t archived because it was really an outstanding performance. It was videoed, but I haven’t a clue as to whether that video will be available. The setlist was provided by Miss Alice: Lovely to See You Tuesday Afternoon Who Are You Now Never Comes the Day Driftwood Interval (approximately 20 minutes) The Voice Blue Guitar (a brief part of Out & In) Land of Make Believe Tom Rush Song - No Regrets Forever Autumn Nights in White Satin Question Justin walked out to thunderous applause at Sandy’s introduction, wearing a black suit and white long-sleeved, oxford-style shirt, unbuttoned, no tie, polished black shoes. Fluffy hair (no, not *poofy* Angel – you KNOW what that means!) 
He looked great: relaxed
and smiling, without a hint of nervousness. He was very funny in
the interview sections, and very modest, usually poking fun at himself.
The songs were simply delightful, simple being the key word, stripped down
to just Justin and a guitar. We had percussion though! He bounced
and tapped his feet through most of them and I could hear the tap tap tap
on the stage floor, really loudly! The tapping and the bouncing made
it one of the hardest concerts to get decent photos for, but also made
it extra enjoyable to watch. JH was in fine, fine voice in Swindon.
The Tom Rush song was a surprise and though it was very nice and ALWAYS
welcome to hear him perform something new or different (whether of his
own composition or not) I have to say it was a damn depressing song.
My favorite of the morning?
Never Comes the Day! Ooooooh! Yep! Just fantastic! I loved hearing Blue Guitar; it was gorgeous. Sandy and Justin did some sparring about 10cc and I don’t think Sandy really knows what 10cc means. He could have found out at that Swindon Indian restaurant that Don told us about. I liked Justin's take on Out and In. 
It
was very cute, particularly when he said something on the line of not being
able to do the deep *IN* slide on it that Mike Pinder had done. The
impromptu skiffle bit on Blueglow’s question and the “Oh, he’s too GOOD
to sing a song for us” was a very cute extended segment, extended to the
point that the BBC lass paused and said “Justin, are you done with that
bit yet?”
Driftwood worried me. It’s Darling Hubby’s FAVORITE song and fights have occurred in moving vehicles when I try to skip over it, finding it a little too sappy when I’m in the mood to rock. It was beautifully done, gorgeous. DH had glared as I left, thinking at the last minute that he might enjoy a trip to Swindon. (He’s a Loser!) Who are You Now was also very lovely, in fact, I couldn’t place it done as a solo acoustic version. I sure would have liked This Morning! It was a VERY interesting setlist! Five Moodies standards, two Bluejays, nothing that was written after LDV, and regretfully, nothing from any of Justin’s solo albums. It was a good setlist, very well balanced between ballads and up-tempo songs, the lack of any strictly solo material was surprising. 
Twelve songs
made for a nicely substantial concert and with the pre-show, the morning
lasted at least three hours.
Justin *is* a prince. I say that because he sweetly stayed afterward and greeted, chatted, posed and signed for every single person there. The only fans that did not get to greet him were the ones who chose not to and I didn’t see any that passed on such a rare opportunity. I don’t know how long it actually took, perhaps two hours. I didn’t think that crowd would EVER thin out and at one point I laid my head down on one of the tables and gave up completely. Angel thought it would be rude for me not to greet him, I thought he would have been thankful. LOL!!! However, I did get up and over there toward the end, and Justin told me that he thought the program had run short and he still had songs he had prepared to do. !!! I replied to him, well, go get your guitar! I didn’t think to ASK him exactly what other songs he was going to do, so I don’t know. Think of your favorite song, and assume that was among them. Justin spent several minutes examining my 12" War of the Worlds DISCO (yes, I said disco) version of The Eve of War; I don't think he believed his eyes. After signing a concert photo from New Zealand, he told us he'd see us on the Fall Tour and despite my exhaustion, I brightly added "We'll be at Moody Blue Grass!" JH seemed very pleased about that and told me that he had a problem; they had already done his favorite songs and he didn't know what to do for the concert. MaggieMay made a wild suggestion and the eyebrows shot up in surprise. Justin gave a sly smile and said he hadn't thought of THAT one. No, I didn't suggest "Deep". It will be great fun to see what gem he decides to do in Nashville. Justin was STILL kindly gladhanding as we crawled out of The Apartment (I had been up since 4:30am) and made our way back to our hotel. An absolutely wonderful experience in every way, intimate and personal. I can only hope that Justin will choose to do more of these special little events. It was my first gig of this type and I truly hope it won’t be the last one. I can not think of any way in which the program could have been improved. The Apartment was the perfect setting and everyone involved went to great efforts to make sure the experience was enjoyable. Sandy and Tony did an outstanding job of making it a fun morning, adding to the musical experience. Thanks to the BBC, to Justin and to his home town for welcoming us. There had been a certain amount of negative online controversy regarding American fans attending the event in Swindon. While it’s impossible to know how every fan there felt, one certainly got the impression from the Swindon Advertiser (Swindon’s newspaper) that American fans were definitely of interest! Headlines read: “Moody Blues Frontman Draws US Fans” and “American Fans Fly in To Meet Their Hero” At the very least, the TOWN of Swindon was excited to see us, and I’m sure all the international fans that made the effort. POSTSCRIPT I don’t remember much else about Saturday! I think the three of us headed back to the hotel. My one cup of coffee at The Apartment had long ceased to help me and I kept the bar staff busy making lattes that afternoon, mostly because they were served with my favorite UK biscuit: Bronte’s Tewksbury Fruit Biscuits. 
A nap was an absolute necessity. Blueglow sadly left
us the next morning, needing to be back at work but Angel and I made our
way to visit UK friends who fed us lamb and got ME drunk. :
) That fondness for Oyster Bay is going to get me in trouble someday (if
it hasn’t already and I don’t remember it). We traveled up to London
on Monday to my favorite hotel and were immediately treated to the grand,
red-carpet entrance of Russia’s President Putin. Finally! Something
to impress my son with. They actually stopped the revolving door
and rolled out a red carpet for his delegation. I had thought that
was merely an expression! I left very early the next morning, winding
my way through Putin’s security detail to get to Gatwick, but God and Delta
had other plans for me. My stupid flight home was cancelled and I
was forced to nap the day away in Le Meridien and return home on Thursday,
rested and in a good mood.
I’m SURE my husband must have had something
to do with it!I thought several times after I left Swindon how much *Swindon* still seemed to be a part of Justin, something that you don’t leave, you can’t leave behind you. Even though he sang Never Comes the Day, I think he was wrong when he wrote it. I think I *would* like him. He seems such a nice Swindon lad. MaggieMay If only you knew what’s inside of me now, You wouldn’t want to know me, somehow... |
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