A Greenwich Gangster Band

March 19, 2010

Well, they weren’t really a gangster band but I call them that because of how I first saw them dressed like Mr. Nitty. I’ll backtrack a bit here

The year was around 1985 or so. I had taken a three week vacation with Pam, a wife at the time. We flew from our in the woods suburban home in NYC to London, England. We were booked to stay for three weeks. I on the other hand stayed more than three months mostly because of finding and adding more of a mmusic experience.

After our three week British tour to visit the wife’s relatives as well as a few pub crawls, jams and whatever we’re with all’s in Burton on Trent, Dovedale, Derby, The Bass Brewery, Cathedrals and such plus more than that we did, Pam returned to the good ‘ol U. S. of A.

I had kept in touch with a great friend and his family who had moved to another part of London. I phoned them to touch base when they asked mme to stay longer and at their house for a while. A month later I relocated to a pub on the south side of the Blackwall Tunnel.

The Mitre Pub was located technically I guess in Greenwich; the same Greenwich of Mean Time fame. Change your clocks yet? Pass time…

I was asked to do a gig at the Mitre every Thursday night with a group of mmusicians I had known ever since arriving in England almost ten years earlier. Another Mick, the bassist asked if I’d like to join him and a few other locals in a band situation. They called themselves Corporal Henshaw; after one of the characters in an early 60’s TV show, Sergeant Bilko. Ancient people know who that was, eh?

One of the players was a fellow countryman from the U.S. who relocated to London and worked as the booking agent in the Mitre. Keith was his first name; his last I don’t remember. He was also living upstairs from the Mitre Pub. After a few weeks of traveling back and forth from Hackney, Keith asked if I’d like to stay at the Mitre as well; there was plenty of room with another apartment really. I moved in.

I thought it would be cool to live above a Pub and that was it. Luckily for mme the business didn’t stay open until the wee hours in those days. When I wasn’t playing but still rooming there, getting enough of sleep was no issue. Besides that, the times bands performed in that country were nothing compared to the U. S. Gigs over there only lasted for a few hours; usually finishing by 11pm. Piece of cake.

The reason I mentioned staying in the Mitre Pub in Greenwich was because very shortly after I had moved there, I ventured out walking. If anyone had seen the south side of the Blackwall Tunnel, at that time, you know there was absolutely nothing except a huge water tank behind it and an old demolished church about a block away.

When I say the water tank was huge, I mean it was really huge. Like one of those you’d see at an oil refinery. Picture that up close and there you have it; behind the Mitre by about 100 feet or so. Then of course there’s all that traffic coming and going out of the tunnel. Let mme put it this way; the smell wasn’t like a garden of roses but more like a Venus Fly Traps undigested meal; exhaust fumes added to it.

I did venture into the demolished church for a gander one afternoon. That was also a huge structure. Walls and ceiling were still intact. The floor was covered in all kinds of demoed materials that rain, wind, snow and weather of all kinds had blown in there. It was a big mess.

One great weather late afternoon I had taken a walk to the place where the famous tall ship, The Cutty Sark was moored or dry docked. After a tour all around the huge hulk of history, I was getting heavy hunger pangs. Just on the corner, pretty much right there at the Cutty Sark was a little East Indian Restaurant. I entered and filled up.

I’d tell you everything wonderful about that meal but at this point I’d rather get to the point of the title of this little story. It was about 7 or 7:30pm or close to it when I exited the restaurant to walk back home. When walking there I was on the same side of the street as the Greenwich clock was located. Returning home I walked on the opposite side of the street. Now I have an image of a tall iron fence.

As I was walking, looking across the street, I saw about six guys carrying what looked like vegetable crates into a little pub. The door
was opened and mmusic was pouring out all over mme. It sounded like Sinatra type of song material. The more I walked the louder the mmusic was getting. The lead singer had Sinatra down pat; his way.

Then it stopped. I was still across the street and about 100 feet from the entrance. I kept looking over to the opened door when about seven guys charged out laughing. They stood against a wall opposite to the pub. They were all wearing the same kinds of suits and hats. That was the funny part of it. I walked across the street to join them.

Turns out they were the band; of course. Why else would they be dressed like that? Like that were black suits with wide light grey pin stripes and matching Fedora’s. The leader was a Pearly King. After I had the opportunity to play with them and to know them a little bit Mr. Pearly King showed mme a photograph he had recently taken with Princess Di. Remember her Highness Princess of Wales? One in the same. A Pearly King is in Google, it’s late, save mme time, OK?

He, Mr. Pearly King was in full regalia and she, P. Di in her plain but expenseive normal everyday Princess attire. She appeared to be fondling one of Mr. Pearly King’s pearls or whatever those things are all over the clothes he was wearing at the time. In any case besides that he was also a full fledged copy of a Mr. Sinatra clone by knight.

I’mm getting a little ahead of mmyself here. At this point we’re at the introduction stage while all the suits in question were leaning on an outside wall of the pub they had just exited. Boisterous mob they were and all in the moment of the big band era. That’s what their mmusic was like. Almost every song was vintage 1930’s, 40’s and almost 50’s. They did it their way someone might say. Was that someone you?

Apparently when I was passing they were just about to go on their first break; and did. I walked across the street at their gathering and asked who I didn’t know at the time but turned out to be Mr. Pearly King himself, if they were playing a private party or was it an open thing? All at once I got both answers from different sources. Then they all had a nice laugh at the new Mr. American’s expense. Funny boys.

They asked why I wanted to know. I said I’d like to come in and listen. After their little expressions of privacy and not I then said that if they were open to it, then I’d like to jam. They all looked mme up and down and said first of all I wasn’t dressed up enough for the occasion. I walked to the still opened door and looked inside.

Noticing that they were the only one’s dressed like Al Capone I said they were the one’s that looked out of place. I’d fit in very nicely behind the drumms thank you very much. The next fifteen minutes went tit for tat with everyone in the circle. They were really funny guys. All of whose names to this day I don’t have a clue or remember.

The only two guys I DO remember personality wise at this point years later, were Mr. Pearly King himself and the organ player dude. An uncured alcoholic who played only when he had to and always with a drink in one hand if he could get away with it. He usually hid, did.

He had a twitch that he just couldn’t hide. His head would twitch to one side, one eye would blink and one of his shoulders would rise a bit; not much but enough so that anyone could see all three happened at once. I felt sorry for the guy but he was happy as long as there was a drink in one hand; or both. Needless to say he had dire health issues.

The break was over and everyone headed inside to the pub. It was a raucous crowd whether the band was playing or not. When the band did begin to play again, most of those sitting got up to dance. Some sang the familiar tunes as they danced and the rest sang as they sat.

One thing I did notice about being in England at that time, many places I went to where there was entertainment or not; maybe just a jukebox if there were no mmusicians, people would sing along with the mmusic. It didn’t have to be that old stuff which means to say up to the 60’s even but they sang up to the date songs as well.

Just picture a modern version of a Medieval Pub with long tables of friendly people drinking grog while crammed next to each other. That was the scene I witnessed many times in different towns, not necessarily all pubs. Church basements, something like Moose Lodges but not called that were also where many people burst into song.

After watching and listening to Mr. Pearly Sinatra and his pin stripe mob while enjoying another circle of quite boisterous patrons, Mr. Pearly called mmy name over the microphone and basically ordered mme to approach the bandstand and take his drummer’s place.

I do and always recognise the matter of respect for the other guy so I apologised to drummer guy. As he was getting off the bandstand I asked if in fact he wouldn’t mind if I sat in for a few songs. I’d only play if he gave permission. He laughed and said, ‘Sure mate, have yourself a go, I’mm leaving these sad blokes pretty soon anyway.”

So there you go and there I went. He handed over a pair of sticks; I sat down to play; the rest of the night as a matter of fact. Apparently Mr. Pearly King overheard drummer guy say he was going to leave the band pretty soon. Pearly King guy fired him on the spot. Lucky mme. From then on, I had the gig; and what a gig it was. Not only THAT night but the few more months following. A football club was one.

The only night I couldn’t play with them was the every Thursday night gig at The Mitre. Remember that one? Right. Needless to say after falling nicely into that gig, I couldn’t stay that long anyway. Remember the wife had left a few weeks before so I had to get back to the states. Three months later, I did but not before being involved in more stories of the Pearly Sinatra’s. The Football Club remembered.