Robert Rankin - Necrophenia

Our first gig was to be played at the opening of a nightclub in Ealing Broadway, just down the alleyway steps opposite the Underground Station. It was called The Green Carnation Club and we were top of the bill.

I still have one of the posters. Somewhat crumbling about the edges now, but still bright with pre-psychedelic mimeograph red, upon a background of brown.

Below us, second from top of the bill, was Venus Envy.

A male pre-op-transexual band. Who were already pretty famous. I had read all about them in a copy of Teenage She-Male Today magazine that had been popped through our letter box by Billy the postman, who had a sense of fun that I never fully understood.

Venus Envy featured ‘Jimbos’, which were, apparently, the male equivalent of Bimbos. I learned a lot from that magazine and it was a real pleasure to boast about what I knew to the other guys in the band.

Especially Neil, who always seemed to know so much about everything. He confessed, in fact he fairly gushed, that he knew absolutely nothing about Jimbos, and eyed me rather strangely.

But I had heard that Venus Envy were pretty good, and they were especially interesting to me because of the Aleister Crowley connection. I had read much about Aleister Crowley, England ’s last great magician. The self-styled Beast of the Apocalypse, whose number is 666, Crowley probably wrote more on the subject of occult magic than any other person. Oh, and my dad met him once. Honest.

But I digress. Apparently Venus Envy’s lead singer, Vain Glory, was a member of the Ordo Templi Orientii and all the band’s song titles had been derived from the titles Crowley had given the various murals he painted on the interior walls of his Abbey of Thelema in Cefalu, Sicily. I treasure the memory of those names:

Egyptian Aztecs Arriving from Norway

The Long-Legged Lesbians

Morbid Hermaphrodite from Basutoland

Japanese Devil-Boy Insulting Visitors

Pregnant Swiss Artists Holding Crocodile

They were really meaningful titles for songs and there would have been no point in writing such songs unless those songs had meaningful lyrics to go with their meaningful titles.

Ours were really really meaningful. And I will give you a sample, shortly.

So, on this crisp December night, with the snow laying all around and about and little flakes of it drifting down towards the allotments, which looked particularly beautiful in what moonlight there was to be had, I stood in the doorway of The Divine Trinity, a hand-rolled cigarette travelling up to my mouth and then down again, and watched the arrival of Toby in our van.

Yes, that’s just what I said. A van! Toby had got us a van. And although strictly he wasn’t old enough to be driving it, he explained to anyone who demanded explanation that he was driving through necessity rather than choice and so they should leave it at that.

He had acquired the van from Leo Felix, the local used-car salesman (who, even then, referred to his cars as ‘previously-owned vehicles’) with a sum of money composed of our shared savings.

It was an old-time Bedford van with sliding doors, so you could ride along with the doors open and your leg hanging out, looking cool. And but for the fact that it drank petrol and oil in equal quantities due to some essential piece of engine being unincluded in the price, and the fact that the exhaust pipe was somewhat peppered with holes and dispensed a thick, black, foggy sort of a smoke cloud into the rear of the van to the great distress of anyone unlucky enough to be sitting therein, it was a cracking van!

The suspension was a little ‘stiff’ and the tyres, which lacked for any discernible tread, also lacked for inner tubes and had been filled with sand by Leo, who assured Toby that all tyres would be similarly filled in the years to come as pneumatic tyres were nothing but a passing fad.

So, it made for an interesting ride.

We didn’t have to load up the full monty of equipment. We couldn’t have anyway – it would not all have fitted into the Bedford. The Green Carnation owned to a house PA and Venus Envy were prepared to let us use their amps and speakers, which was jolly decent of them. They even sent one of their roadies to help us load up at the allotment. Jolly decent, I thought.

And they had let us be top of the bill, even though they were already quite famous. More than just jolly decent, I decided. Really, really decent pre-op trannies.

I was so looking forward to the gig.

I was nervous, of course, with the old butterflies in the stomach. But I wasn’t going to let on to the other guys. I would put a brave face on it and set an example. After all, I was the lead singer.

The snow was falling most heavily by the time we had loaded up. And frankly I wasn’t that impressed by Venus Envy’s roadie, who spent most of his time attending to his nails and brushing away imaginary smuts from his white satin trousers. He was very flattering about our stage clothes, though, so I suppose I shouldn’t be too harsh on him.

But, as I say, the snow was falling heavily and the moon was gone, so it was damnedly cold when we set out for that gig. But we were young, and eager and carefree and life was ours for the taking. So the fact that we had to push the van to get it started and Neil fell down and took the left knee out of his jumpsuit and Toby laughed at this and Neil hit him and there was some talk about abandoning the gig and indeed music as a career choice before we had even left the allotments did not bode particularly well for the coming gig.

But that was nothing, and I repeat nothing, in comparison to what was yet to come.

I am not going to waste the reader’s time, or patience, with any more of that ‘if I’d known then what I know now’ kind of toot – you’ve had quite enough of such stuff.

But if I had known, then I would at least have known who to kill and why.

But let me waste no more words at all here.

This is how it happened.

Mr Ishmael was awaiting us at the club.

He was in his limo, and as we arrived he signalled the chauffeur to wind down his window so that he could speak to us.

‘What are you doing here?’ were the words that he chose to employ.

‘We’re top of the bill,’ I said, with joy in my voice. ‘But you arranged this, surely.’

Mr Ishmael shook his head and I noticed for the first time that his aftershave smelled like violets. ‘I never booked you,’ he said, rather fiercely. ‘I’m only here because I received a special invite to the club’s opening.’

‘Oh,’ I said, as it seemed appropriate.

‘Well, as you are here, I trust that you will be putting on a memorable performance.’

‘You’re damn tootin’,’ I said, as I had recently heard this phrase and now seemed the golden opportunity to use it. ‘We’re top of the bill – surely you’ve noticed the posters.’

Mr Ishmael shook his head once more, wafting further violet fragrance at my person. ‘I haven’t seen any such posters,’ he said. ‘But go on in now – you’re beginning to look like a snowman.’

And I was, as now the snow was falling fast.

We struggled to hump our gear from the van to the club. And Venus Envy’s roadie didn’t help with this humping at all. He just took off for the bar and we never saw him again.

Now, there is something about humping gear out of a van. Something exciting, something almost mystical. You’re right there, if you know what I mean. And I knew what I meant. And I knew that the other guys in the band would know this, too. It was a camaraderie thing. We were all in this magical thing together.

‘You don’t mind doing this all by yourself, do you?’ said Toby to me. ‘Neil and I want to have a few words with Mr Ishmael.’