I was going to call it The Waggonload Of Monkeys after a fictitious pub frequented by Denis Thatcher in Richard Ingrams’ “letters”. I was persuaded out of this by a plumber of all people, and instead filled the venue with false objects that would be fibbed about – hence ‘Fibbers’. And so for the first three months, before all said objects had been stolen, early customers looked on in puzzled fashion at an old hoover mounted on the wall claiming to have appeared in the Queen video I Want To Break Free. Similarly, was that really Tweetie Pie’s cage, Arnold Schwarzenegger’s flak jacket, the flying ducks from Stan and Hilda Ogden’s wall and … er … Dracula’s coffin? Well, it was real coffin alright, although we ripped out the purple lining and dispensed with the bier. Whether it had ever been occupied in truthful style I never knew but it definitely stank and was dragged/relocated around the venue according to complaint levels and eventually propped up at the front door. I really don’t know what image we were trying to give. It eventually passed on (for the second time) when a bus-stop drunk stumbled in to it and, still with intoxicated intruder, the whole lot toppled over trapping him face down on the pavement and breaking his nose. Fortunately, Injuries 4 U or whatever hadn’t been invented then although a claim of assault by coffin would have been a tricky one.
So. Got the keys, got the debt, got the balls, time to get with the bookings. Hard to believe now, but Acker Bilk was scheduled for the opening night. Sense and, for the first time only, budget prevailed and the stranger on the shore remained a stranger to York and The Rocking Goosehorns got us off in great style that Friday night. The place was full. We’re made! No, we’re not - as sadly that opening night attendance wasn’t reflected in the coming weeks’ footfall as we experimented with comedy, hypnotists, an Abba tribute, quizzes and, well, anything. I’ve always loved the weird stuff though and amongst the wilder flights of my imagination and financial optimism included Mongolian throat singer Yat-Kha (anyone who can make Love Will Tear Us Apart sound like a walrus breaking wind through a kazoo gets my vote), The Trachtenburg Family (nerdy New York mum and dad with twelve year old drumming daughter soundtracking jumble sale slideshows), Acrobats Of Sa (stilts in Fibbers – eh?), a dwarf rapping trio (oh dear), naked Japanese drummers (there was a sock involved), a man who set his head on fire and a Manchester band with nine guitarists.
Sunday lunchtimes (just the two hours in those days, 12 noon until 2pm!) were full as regulars chugged Theakstons Old Peculier, Strawberry Mad Dog and fought like cornered beasts over free Yorkshire puddings, roast potatoes and gravy which came out on big platters, soon emptied, half way through a blues band twelve-barring their way across God’s rest day. The Blueflies, the best of the lot still to this day, went on to do around seventy of those sessions, still to my mind some of the most enjoyable and innocent days.
And then two things changed our fortunes. Battle Of The Bands and Zodiac Mindwarp. The former, suggested by a regular, John Marrison, captured the town’s imagination and in a blizzard of voting slips and cries of “FIX!” two competitions were completed before Xmas in double quick time. Shed Seven came third and then fourth. In Rick Witter’s immortal words, they were “ … obviously getting worse”. Drummer Alan Leach and I laugh about it now but the little bugger swung for me backstage afterwards. Fibbers Battle Of The Bands went on to be a fixture for many years until, inevitably, everybody got in on the act and the whole concept lost it’s magic. And it’s bottom line. In the latter years, the caustic wit of comperes Justin Jamieson, now of Wayne’s Bar legend, (“Sorry, but this next band is just shite”) and Alexander King (“If you don’t want to know the result, look away now”) swung along the proceedings to heckling, the occasional missile and in the way that dogs contribute to lamp posts. Controversially, an anonymous commentator, “The Rat”, always had a featured review in the local press the next day. “If the music business had known this band was going to come along they would have been strangled at birth” and “Talent and musicianship will ever elude this pile of steaming ordure” caused many a letter to the editor. His identity is STILL unknown to this day. Still, I was never disappointed in the final result and I’m still asked to bring it back.
And then the first big gig came in. Zodiac Mindwarp, then still a huge draw. It was a bloody awful day. The Tour Manager insisted a large white sheet should bisect the venue before doors opened. Thus, the toilet doors and empty tables at the rear of the venue were NOT allowed to witness the soundcheck. The PA engineer had to be begged to stay. The entire cast of Emmerdale Farm (as it was then) was on the guest list and, frankly, I was happy to see the end of the night. But incredibly excited to do the next one …
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