DEAFENING

EXCERPTED FROM MY BOOK 'SOUR MOUTH, SWEET BOTTOM', PUBLISHED BY UNBOUND.

Nineteen seventy-four was a good year. Mainly I was in Madrid, sometimes in Paris, often in London, quite a few times in South America. Junior, the Spanish singer I was managing, was back at the top in Spain, temporarily at least on terms with Julio Iglesias and Juan Gabriel. And it wasn’t just him, I was also co-producing an album for his wife, Rocío Dúrcal, who was as big a star as he was. Strangely, the pleasure of having success in a foreign language and foreign culture seemed even better than having success in the UK.

In October, having completed his new album in London, Junior and I flew back to Madrid where we learned that Ray Charles was in town, about to play a charity dinner in the ballroom of the Madrid Hilton. A great opportunity to see and hear him up close up because on all his other European dates he’d been playing 2,000-seaters.

We coughed up the appropriate amount of money, received our tickets and dressed ourselves to the nines, as Madrileños had to for a night out. And we had an excellent table. It was set midway back in the room, among the tables of Spain’s other top stars, far enough away to capture the full spectrum of sound yet near enough to see Ray’s every expression.

Dinner was good but the period afterwards before the show began was too long. It meant most people drank too much brandy, but knowing my penchant for overdoing it I was careful to stick to mineral water. Which turned out to be my downfall.

When Ray came on, his first two numbers went down a storm – ‘Let the Good Times Roll’ and ‘Busted’. Everyone loved them. What a show. What an evening! And then came Georgia.

Halfway through it I got a tingle. I needed a pee. Not just a little tingle but rather a big one. It was that damned mineral water. Still, I should be OK because the show was going to be a short one – just fifty minutes. But halfway through ‘Feel So Bad’ I realised I wasn’t going to make it. Something had to be done, and quickly. Short of peeing under the table surrounded by Madrid’s finest, that meant getting out of my seat and heading for the loo. But where was it?

I swivelled my head round and saw double doors to my left with a Ladies and Gents sign above them. But between me and those doors were a dozen tables set close together and packed with diners.

Through ‘Alexander’s Ragtime Band’ I pondered on it. I couldn’t listen to the music, I don’t think I even heard it, my full attention was taken up with trying not to pee. And when the song finished and the audience started applauding I stood up and headed for the exit.

It was a tight squeeze. They’d packed in a lot of extra tables for the show and there wasn’t much room between them. I pushed and shoved and nodded polite apologies but by the time the next song started I’d only got past three tables and there were still eight to go. It was ‘I Can’t Stop Loving You’, a softer song, not so much noise to cover my movements.

‘Sit down,’ a man in front of me hissed, looking past me at the stage. And he indicated an empty chair at his table. But that would solve nothing so I pushed on.

As I passed the next table there was a woman glaring at me. She was thinking, ‘Why is that idiot pushing past us and spoiling the show?’ And in my mind I answered her: ‘Because, madam, I have five gallons of piss in my bladder that’s about to flood your bloody table if you don’t let me past.’

As I passed the next table I brushed against the table cloth and half a dozen glasses fell over. It was a disaster. There was nothing for it but to make a dash, which I did.

I got to the double doors just as Ray finished the song, and as the audience stood up to applaud I dashed into the loo. And boy, did I let it gush! In twenty seconds I became two kilos lighter. It was as if I’d had a shot of adrenaline.

As I zipped up, the band started ‘Rock Steady’. I pushed open the double doors planning to wait there till the end of the show rather than push my way back to the table. But there in front of me was a wide aisle that ran from exactly where I was standing straight to our table, the aisle the waiters had been using to deliver people’s drinks. When I’d stood up to leave for the toilet, I’d simply turned my head in the wrong direction. If I’d looked the other way I’d have seen that the exit was just ten easy steps away, which I now took as I went back to our table. And by the time the set ended with ‘What’d I Say’ I was relaxed again, sipping wine and playing finger drums on the table.

When it finished, Junior said, ‘The promoter’s a friend of ours. He wants us to go backstage and meet Ray. Let’s do it.’ So we headed for the double doors at the front of the room.

Ray was smiling as always, patient with everyone, finding a word for each of them, never upset or annoyed by the attention. He knew who Junior and Rocio were (the promoter had probably primed him in advance), then Junior introduced me, too. ‘This is Simon, my manager.’

I shook Ray’s hand. ‘Great to meet you. Brilliant show.’ And he immediately said, ‘Oh – the man who went for a piss.’

It shocked me. In fact, I was amazed. What incredible hearing. He’d been singing at the time yet he’d recognised my voice from when I’d said ‘sorry’ as the wine glasses fell over.

I couldn’t help thinking - sometimes blind people must find life deafening.

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