Tom Dunne: 'It was as far from an Irish college bar as you'd imagine'

Playing for an impossibly beautiful audience in Davis, California, left me scarred on all sorts of levels 
Tom Dunne: 'It was as far from an Irish college bar as you'd imagine'

Something Happens: 'Bands are supposed to be like a youthful Mick Jagger, godlike, lithe and untouchable.'

Davis, California, one of the most beautiful places on earth. The college there is a ‘public Ivy', a prestigious public college that provides an experience not unlike an Ivy League school. It has nearly 40,000 students, all of them, I suspect, beautiful, wealthy and sun-kissed.

They are Democrats, like their parents before them and their parents before that. Go back far enough and you’ll find the actual people behind the massacre of the Patwin Indians and the land Commission of 1852 that was once described as “fraudulent in all its parts” and “impossible to contemplate without disgust.” 

These days, to make the campus even more magical, red, double-decked buses have been imported from London. Their bright livery creates the impression of something closer to a theme park than a college. No expense has been spared.

In October, 1990, I was left behind here by my own band. Left behind and forgotten, my absence from the tour bus unnoticed over a two-hour drive. Equally unnoticed, this time overnight, my absence from the room I shared with the guitarist.

I called him twice during the night to tell him that I was still in Davis while he was in San Jose, 106 miles away. I pointed out that I did not have my wallet but that I did have Paul, our guitar tech. Yes, they’d abandoned two of us. He told me to “Stop messing” and hung up. Twice!

It hadn’t been an easy gig. The audience were to a man and woman, healthy, athletic, toned, tanned and beautiful. It was as far from an Irish college bar as you could imagine. Alcohol was barely touched, health drinks abounded. None of these people had ever seen a crisp.

Onstage it was a different scene. We were smaller than them on average, had seen many crisps and were never more than a few feet away from a beer. There were dental issues too. I don’t think we had ‘bad teeth’, we just didn’t have theirs. Plus we had, quite obviously, never seen the sun.

It was a complete reversal of the normal band/audience dynamic. Bands are supposed to be like a youthful Mick Jagger, godlike, lithe and untouchable. The audience should be, emphatically, mere mortals. Gods on stage, mortals in the audience. That was the rule, but not here.

One of them pointed at us and said, “Oh my God! You can actually see the potato famine in them, in their stunted growth, their bad skin, their weird hair and their awful, awful dentistry.” I may, of course, have imagined that, but honestly, it was no great leap.

Afterwards, two of them joined us on the tour bus. We were about to drive to San Jose. I could not resist the obvious joke. “Say,” I asked, “do you know the way to San Jose?”

 “OMG!” they both re-joined immediately, “that’s so easy, just stay on the I80 all the way.” Not that obvious a joke then.

Five minutes away from the campus we stopped for refreshment. I decided to get some pizza and brought Paul with me. He ordered a technically difficult slice. It took ages. When we came out the tour bus had left without us.

The cash for the pizza was all the money we’d had with us. Our wallets were on the bus. Mobiles were not yet invented. We walked to the nearest bar with absolutely no plan.

Luckily some of the people there had been at the gig. One girl took pity on us. First, convinced it was a prank, she drove us to places where you might hide a 46-foot tour bus. We drew a blank. Then she drove us to a motel and used her credit card to secure the room. The receptionist eyed us suspiciously.

“So,” he said, winking knowingly, “you guys will be wanting the king-sized water bed?” You could cut the air with a knife. 

“No,” Paul finally piped up, “This lady isn’t staying, and it’ll be a cold day in hell before I share a water bed or a room with him.” He pointed at me for effect.

The next day, refreshed but starving, we couldn’t even afford coffee. We waited for the band to firstly accept they’d really forgotten us and secondly hire a car to come and get us. 

Paul was quiet on the drive back. Probably contemplating the king-sized waterbed, I imagined, and the missed opportunity of a lifetime. Meh.

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