Rod Clements saw considerable chart success with folk-rockers Lindisfarne, penning their hit Meet Me On The Corner. Now a solo artist, he is currently recording a new album. Rod is proud to have worked with the late, great Bert Jansch, and he continues to collaborate with various other musical kindred spirits including Michael Chapman, Rachel Harrington and Rab Noakes. We trust you’ll enjoy the latest of Rod’s regular musings in which you’ll find he’s NICELY OUT OF TUNE The vexed question of whether covers bands are a good thing or a bad thing is one on which I’m loath to take a firm position. Are they a legitimate source of innocent entertainment to an undemanding public in search of no more than a good night out, or an obstacle to original artists’ opportunities to build a successful career? I have some sympathy with both sides of the argument, and I’m in no hurry to relinquish my comfortable seat on this particular fence. I used to be quite firmly entrenched in the ‘anti’ camp until a chance encounter at a gig gave me an unexpected insight into the opposite point of view. A couple of years ago I was booked to play at a big annual summer fair in a country park in South Wales. It was a sunny Sunday and the park was thronged with people of all ages, enjoying not just music of various kinds but also fairground rides, sideshows, local food and craft stalls, falconry displays and so on. You can see the same kind of thing every summer in small towns everywhere, and on such a fine day, it was hard to imagine a better example of ordinary people just having a day out with their families and doing what they enjoy. I’d completed my early afternoon spot on the music stage, had a bite to eat and was ready to pack up and head for home when I saw that there was a band about to go on. Might as well stay for a quick look, I thought. If you wanted to know what 70s glam rock was all about, all you’d need to do is watch this band. Unfortunately I can’t remember their name. I just remember the torrent of Slade, early Bowie, T. Rex and Status Quo that was unleashed at full blast across several hundred deliriously happy people bouncing about in the sunshine. It wasn’t particularly well-played, but it didn’t need to be, when the band had matching funny-shaped guitars, silver platform boots, and hair that grew upwards a full six inches from their furiously nodding heads before falling in long ringlets that swung in time with the music. When I got nearer, I thought there was something suspicious about the hair. Each member’s coiffure was of a different colour, but that was all that distinguished them – on closer scrutiny, each one appeared to be of identical cut and texture. Nor did these abundant tresses quite match up with the grizzled and lined faces beneath, which though wreathed in smiles (when they weren’t pulling Spinal Tap faces), had clearly seen a bit of life. I hung around until, after two encores and the impassioned pleas of the stage manager, their set came to its triumphant conclusion. Backstage, I watched them joshing about and removing their wigs, platform boots and other paraphernalia, until they resembled all the other blokes who were everywhere out front enjoying themselves with their wives and small grandchildren. I went up to one of the band as he was putting his gear into the back of his comfortable-looking 4x4. (They must be doing all right, I thought.) Congratulating him on their set and the rapturous reception they’d rightfully earned, I asked him if the band was a full-time business. “Well, he answered, “a couple of the lads are retired. Gwyn’s a fire-fighter, Jack works for the council. I’ve got my own garage, but my son’ll be taking over from me soon. So…” A conspiratorial gleam came into his eye. “…when we’re all retired, we’re turning professional!”