Baskin's Wish, We Hardly Knew Ye
It's just a fond farewell to a friend |
In 2003 I was 18 years old and going through that notorious transitional period in a young man’s life. No, not puberty - that was another five or six years away – I’m talking about when school was out forever and the time was upon me to start making some serious decisions. I found myself a white boy in suburbia and faced with the same limited choices that backed my forefathers into abject misery. Under duress, I took the only route available to me. I decided to go down the modern day pits and look for some temp work in an office. I endured a good five months sans workstation assessment, scant manual handling training and all the attendant, heinous working conditions associated with the 21st century colliery, before realising that I was 18 and unencumbered by responsibility. Feeling like a regal badass I told the man to ‘take this job and shove it’. For the wrestling aficionados out there (stop hiding, accept it), I’m sure you remember when the Undertaker would pan the ever-loving shite out of somebody, hop on his hog and ride up the ramp? He’d stop at the nadir and raise his fist without turning back around in some sort of gesture toward brotherhood and all round super-duper-badassness. Anyway, I remember leaving the office that day and basically feeling that cool. In reality I was a spotty nitwit who was effectively depriving an apathetic corporation of a chai-wallah – and a feckless one at that. I wasn’t riding a Harley out of there (I had a Suzuki Marauder 125, mind) and I wasn’t stopping to raise a fist to signify some macho triumph. To paraphrase David Byrne, I was on the road to bugger all.
In 2004 I took a job working for Borders Bookstore on the Silverlink. This was more my speed – books and that. The store was brand new so the first six weeks of employment involved a lot of hard work cataloguing stock and arranging it onto the shop floor. Whilst this was going on we were granted the luxury of blasting whatever music we liked over the shop’s monstrous sound system. I’d befriended a long-haired fella by the name of ‘Duff’ who opted for a spot of Faith No More’s ‘King for a Day, Fool for a Lifetime’. A sheepish lad of 6ft 5 stood arranging books in the ‘Humour’ section, singing along to ‘Cuckoo for Caca’ in an incongruously mellow manner. This was the first time I met Andrew Lowther. Working for a bookstore was probably the best job I ever had. Andrew quickly became my buddy and we would spend long stretches of our shifts stood at the tills talking about our favourite movies, literature and music. I used to delight in being asked continuously, for 7 hours a day where the Dan Brown books were. This despite there being giant cardboard displays peppered throughout our sizable store. All this despite the fact that Dan Brown is the biggest piece of shit writer since whoever the fuck has penned that book with ‘Grey’ in the title. Let it never be said that customer service roles breed anything other than affection for customers and the task of servicing them. One day in the staff room we sat and traded off tracks on our respective iPods. Weezer came up A LOT around this time. I remember one day he recommended an Elliot Smith CD to me. Thanks for that buddy. When you’re surrounded by books and CDs at all times and when they’re already all you really care about, it becomes an unbridled obsession. Andrew never ever seemed to tire of nattering on with me about what we were digging on; what really got us off and what we really loved about something. It was obvious that he was a creative soul. That withstanding, it took months for me to uncover his closely guarded secret – he played guitar. Not only that, he was in a band. I can still see him squirm as he tells me that. 18 years old and that modest. ‘Are you any good?’ I asked. ‘Yeah, we’re alright.’ When Borders went into Administration (not at all related to my employment) Andrew and I stayed in touch, catching up for a sharp half at The Telegraph now and then. One night he mentioned that his band was playing a gig at Hyem bar in Heaton, now an Indian Restaurant. Because he’s quite possibly the sweetest guy I’ve met in my entire life I tell him it’d be a pleasure to check his band out, and I mean it. When I get to Hyem, Andrew throws me a knowing nod which I return in acknowledgement, but he’s flanked by the rest of the band and I don’t want to go barging in. He’s told me at this point that they’re no longer known as Jukebox Breakdown but rather, Baskin’s Wish. I liked the possessive but I cannot for the life of me figure out the reference. I remember using a sign-in name of ‘Kaufman’s Toothbrush’ for an online forum, which was a similarly esoteric reference. I used to delight in how clever I was for coming up with that. When I heard the name of Andrew’s band I felt on the wrong end of that wit as well as old and out of touch, like Ronan Keating. When Baskin’s Wish catapulted into their set I distinctly remember a discernible magic. I would later be introduced to Andy, the lead singer and Craig on guitar, both of whom bopped around with such naïve and playful abandon whilst playing their music. The songs were evidently slick and penned by somebody who really knew what they were doing; but live, they still had enough of that raggedness that I find essential to performance. I looked up at my buddy from the bookstore, astonished. I started to follow Baskin’s around a little following this gig. They played the Head of Steam as part of Narcfest in July 2010. I volunteered to cover this for Narc so made my way down. It was here that I first spoke to Andy and Craig properly. It quickly became apparent to me through some cheerful repartee why they should be Andrew’s best friends. I remember this gig for many reasons; the aforementioned ice-breaker with Andy and Craig; Jazzy Lemon literally lying across me to take pictures whilst an embarrassed Andrew shuffled around meekly and turned his back to her and the audience; and the moment when Andy Gilson screamed “Esteban! Esteban!” Not long after this gig Baskin’s parted company with drummer, Barry. I found out because I had a text from Andrew which also asked would I like to step in and help out? Would I? I met Andrew Lowther, Andy Gilson and Craig Pollard at that wretched hive of scum and villainy they call the Offquay building, sometime in September 2010, I think. I walked into room 2a an extremely nervous man. What exacerbated my anxiety was that there was another stranger there as well as Andy and Craig, who I barely knew. This was the first time I met Stuart Walkinshaw. We’d convened to help Baskin’s to get it together for a practice room gig. Andy seemed determined to draw a line under what the band had done up until this point of time, and more specifically with Barry so that they could look to move on without him. We sat around for what must have been an hour doing what became a staple of our weekly practice; eating chews and talking favourites. Andrew had Zappa in his top 3, Gilson ranked Deerhoof way up there. Pollard was decided that American Football would simply have to feature in his top 5. Stu regaled us with tales of a recent Flaming Lips gig – they were definitely up there - before producing a poster out of his bag for the dog-eared walls which featured the words ‘Grandfather Birds’. At the risk of sounding like the narrator off Stand By Me, that Indian Summer sat in the cosy nook of 2a, the room with the Goonies poster and the missing ceiling panels was absolutely, sincerely wonderful. When we all showed up at 7 there was no overt pressure to set up or discuss the ‘next big move’. There was no group huddle nor was there any bickering over whatever item of minutiae was on the agenda or otherwise. There was a lot of Starburst going on and plenty of talk about Weezer though. It felt like I was right smack in the middle of a tree house with The Little Rascals. There was always a lot of laughter and we only really seemed to turn to the business of practise by way of a natural progression from some joke. For instance, I was trying to strong-arm the band into covering Van Halen’s ‘Ain’t Talkin’ ‘Bout Love’. To my surprise, Craig picked up his guitar and belted out that riff, note perfect. From here we all went to our instruments to jam and practise ensued. In general, my experiences of rehearsals are hit and miss. Dependent on the mood the individuals enter with rehearsals can either be a cathartic exercise of unimaginable bliss and release or they can be a dull, bicker-filled waste of everybody’s time. I can honestly say that with Baskin’s Wish – with Andrew, Andy, Craig and Stu it was only ever fun. Even now I still suggest to my band that we spend the first hour in our rehearsal room just chatting, with the hope that I can imbue the night with some of what Baskin’s had. But I think that was just part of their magic. In the end, as much as I fell in love with the songs that ended up on ‘Sanford Braun’ and as much fun as I was having, I knew I was never up to muster. To their credit, all of the guys were straight up with me about parting ways and they never once asked me to contribute to rent during my brief stint. I will always look back on that time with complete fondness and mild delusion; I can claim - I don’t care what anybody says, even the band - to have been a member of Baskin’s Wish. One night we wound up at a rehearsal space on Albion Row which Stu was using. From here he opened his laptop and showed us something he’d been working on with a ‘John’. This, I now realise was the first time I that I’d ever heard Nately’s Whore’s Kid Sister. On this night we played through ‘Can I call Ya In California’ and ‘In and Out’. Truthfully, I was always browbeaten sat behind Andy because he was so good at what he did. His guitar playing is sublime (did you know he was approached to record with Lulu James? That boy’s got talent!). I was slightly relieved when somebody suggested a cover because I’d been struggling with the parts for ‘In and Out’. We tore through Weezer’s ‘Tired of Sex’ with Stu on an old synth – and cripes did we nail it. We looked at each other exasperated and happy. I don’t think there’s any doubting the material that Baskin’s have put out for us all to enjoy. The blog, Musical Mathmatics sums up the simple charm that the band effused, here http://blog.musicalmathematics.co.uk/post/25033656507/spotlight-baskins-wish-our-favourite-band - which I think is a general consensus. In a milieu where heavier music seemed to be de rigueur, Baskin’s played something so utterly out of season but with utter conviction. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a punk rock band play dry guitars and sing about nothing other than lasses. A major part of their charm is their reticence to accept how good they are. Guys, do you realise how good you are? Even at the band’s bittersweet farewell gig last Thursday, Andy quipped ‘Wow, I don’t know why you’re all here, we’re only small-time. Thanks all of you for coming.’ Yet those present proved indicative of Baskin’s reach. Familiar faces from various acts throughout the region showed up for Thursday’s swansong, all of whom play in bands of remarkably disparate styles. A group as diverse as O’ Messy Life, SundayxLeague, Bison Hunting, The Dhamma Brothers, Holy Mammoth, Grandfather Birds as well as members of Generator, Amazing Radio, Blank Studios and sound impresario Ross Lewis were either cramped into that shoebox of a room on the night or have certainly championed Baskin’s Wish throughout their too-short-tenure. No matter the background or the affiliation, Baskin’s Wish never ever failed to charm whoever they came into contact with. I think the reason Baskin’s were and are so charming is because at the heart of it were three best friends. They weren’t terrified of saying no to every gig that came along so they could dress like Serge from Kasabian and act the weekend rockstar. They were lauded by EVERYBODY on Tyneside as something very special and they coyly stayed indoors and made some flawless records from their rehearsal space. When they did venture out to play live they played either for friends or on a bill where they stood out, for all the right reasons. They didn’t need to be loud to be noticed. With the surf-tones dialled up on his blonde Telecaster, Andy Gilson could get up there with his best friends and truly not give a shit and have fun with it. It seems to me that Baskin’s only ever thought they were good enough for the margins but they were so heavily implicated in the very heart of what is happening in the North East music scene. I remember watching a breathtaking performance of Richard Dawson at the Live Theatre just a couple of months ago. The Grandfather Birds/NWKS were on a table right at the front, acknowledged by Dawson during the performance. I turned and the members of Baskin’s were seated behind me. They threw me a smile. That to me sums them up. Good luck in Canada, Andy. I really do hope you smuggle an interface and a mic through customs. We will miss you and the joy you’ve brought to something that is oftentimes far too serious. Come back and remind us how to enjoy ourselves if you don’t go all Due South and become a mountie. You should become a mountie. The North-East’s music scene has lost a lot of light. Now then everybody, go and download everything they ever did, dance like nobody’s watching and have fun. http://baskinswish.bandcamp.com/ |