September 1999 - The almost unbelievable story of us being on the fucking telly

I arrived home from playing football one night to find a note pinned to the door of my bedroom. 'Phone Skinz, youse are gonna be on the telly or something.' Aye, very funny, so we are. It had to be a wind-up, a mistake or, at very best, it would fall through. Who the fuck would want to put us on the telly? I phoned Skinz straight away and got the full story. Norri had got a phone call from some TV person who wanted to do a feature on the band (really?), a couple of songs and an interview (you're joking ....) and a quick tour of Glenrothes (fuck off). Norri had done what I would have done and panicked, mumbled some excuse about 'you have to speak to Skinz' and, thank fuck, got their phone number. This was all Skinz knew until he could phone the number in the morning. Aw naw, now see. You've got me all excited.

It turned out that Norri had got pretty much the whole story and got it right. We were going to be on a programme called 'S2 Live' which was shown at tea-time on a station called S2, funnily enough. S2 is Scottish Television's cable and digital channel which meant that the vast majority of people wouldn't be able to see it. I would though and that's enough. We hoped that we might get some cash for it. The Amphetameanies had been on the BBC's cable channel earlier in the year and had got paid quite well for it. The Beeb pays performers by the head and by the hour, so, ten people in The Amphetameanies, a couple of hours work, they walked away with almost a grand. According to Gordy, Amphetameanies head honcho, 'these TV guys are rolling in dosh'.

More phone calls followed, more details emerged slowly. Unlike The Amphetamines we weren't getting to go into a TV studio, total air-time would be between three and five minutes, two people from the band would show a reporter three or four interesting places in Glenrothes (that could be a bit tricky) and we weren't getting paid. We said 'that's okay' as they knew we would. Oh, and we were miming to one of our songs. Before anyone even thinks it, what were we supposed to do? - 'sorry, miming is against our principles, we don't want to be on your programme. We'll just go on all those other TV programmes that are chasing after us'. Gordy's tipped us off - 'practice miming, it's a bitch'. We were filming the following Monday.

Nobody told the TV guys that we had all moved out of Glenrothes in case it was the toon they really wanted, not us and they decided to get some other New Town band. A bit over-cautious I admit, especially as they had phoned us on an Edinburgh phone number to start with. Our side of the bargain was to get arrange a place to set up our gear for the filming of the miming and to think of where we wanted to go in Glenrothes.

The period in-between the confirmation and the filming was, of course, filled with everyone's spangled ideas of what would be great to do on the telly. We decided that we had to film the concrete hippos in Glenrothes Toon Park because they were so stupid. A few people wanted to film in my crappy flat, some wanted to film in the Bottle Shop, the pub, the Toon Centre. Norri wanted to get all our pals to sit in the background in the pub. He's so benevolent. Skinz kept reminding us that we only had about three minutes. It was like finding a genie in a lamp and deciding what you wanted your three wishes to go on. Apart from another three wishes.

We had a bigger problem though. We couldn't get anywhere to set up and mime on a Monday morning. Our regular practise place at Cabbagehall was being refurbished and Q10, the overpriced place on an industrial estate was block-booked by Glenrothes College.

'Aw come on, we're going to be on the telly, ken? Gies a break.'

'Sorry man, more than my job's worth.'

Pish.

This never happens to proper pop stars. We are officially nobodies, even TV can't get us any leverage. We consider the possibilities of setting up our gear somewhere outside in Glenrothes, then consider the probability of the polis or some minor figure of authority (parkie, security guard, council foreman, traffic warden, young mum with a pushchair, the Top End casuals) coming along and telling us (delete as applicable) 'you need a permit'/'you can't do that there'/'you have to clear that with the powers that be'/'youse made ma bairn greet'/'look you're just not doing it, shut your pus before I nick the lot of yous'/'is that chips? geez some chips, pal'. In desperation we decide we have to go to Leven, the anti-Glenrothes, and film in Ned Caffrey's practice room on the Hawkslaw industrial estate. It's too small but it'll have to do. Let's face it, wherever we were, you were never going to see the drums anyway. There are posters all over the room, but not a single one of them says 'The Newtown Grunts' anywhere. Someone has painstakingly scratched every mention of Jap's Eye off every poster though, which is something.

As usual, when we've got something a bit special - the 'showcase' gig at the 13th Note, a photo session, The Family Final with Sven Hassel, we spend an hour arguing about what we're going to wear. For the TV we decide that we're not going to wear the usual shabby shirts and ties. We decide to go for, ahem, 'smart but casual', like braces, bowling shirts, dress breeks, nae jeans, nae shabby shirts and nae crumpled ties. I decide the best way to look smart is to borrow some of Dave Peggie's clothes. He even lets me wear his brothel creepers.

Monday morning, Leven. The TV people show up. They have a car with the Scottish Television logo on the side. 'Smart,' we think. True to form Rod has turned up in his shabbiest shabby shirt with a crumpled tie that seems to have spent the night under a concrete hippo. Lynne is wearing blue jeans she must have had at the high school. If only I was surprised.

The TV people; One guy doing the camera work whose name we all miss. Maybe it's Keith. He seems okay but must spend seven hours a day five days a week meeting shit bands up and down the country. He probably wishes we were anyone he'd heard of.

One girl from, I think New Zealand or Australia, called, take yer pick; Lee, Leaf, Leif, Leith or any other similar sounding name. I think we decided it was Leaf until we found out, much much later on, that it wasn't. She was friendly but then her job is being friendly and chatty so that's no big surprise.

Rod and Norri bombard her with an endless stream of witty anecdotes. They're showing off to the TV lassie.

We tried miming at a band practice the week before (in one of the places that we couldn't get into this morning) and it was a fucking nightmare. As soon as I hit any of the drums everyone lost their place and scowled at me, like 'Adam!!' Aye right, so it's my fault that drums are loud - fuck off. What a surprise then that this morning exactly the same thing happens. We had hoped that the TV people would know a good way of doing this. They both just shrugged. So we got Rod's CD player (at least we brought one of those) pointed a microphone in front of it and hooked it up to the crappy Leven PA. It didn't make things any easier. I had realised that the best thing to do was to muffle the snare drum. I found an old fucked drum lying in the corner of the practice room. The bottom skin had been put in but it still made a disturbingly loud noise. I stuffed my jacket into it. It was still too loud.

The only way I could find to get the fucking thing quiet enough was to put my newspaper on top of it. Pretty soon the front page was in shreds but at least we could half hear our song. I had everyone squinting from the front of the kit to see if they could see it. They decided they couldn't. After the first couple of practises Lee/Leaf/Leif/Leith came over and turned my paper over so you couldn't see 'The Scotsman' banner along the top (I know, I read the brainy papers).

'SMG own The Herald,' she explained. Scottish Television are also part of Scottish Media Group. So it's okay to see the drummer hitting a newspaper on his snare drum as long as it's the correct paper. Of course.

They put those big film lights on and everyone cringed. They put some different coloured filters over them and we relaxed a bit. At least you might not see every detail of our terrible skin. They had the camera set up and everyone lined up in front of the drum kit.

'A bit closer together, a bit closer.' Everyone shuffled in. 'A bit more, a bit more, a bit more.' Everyone's shoulders are touching. It's just the pressure that's keeping them vertical. If someone popped out the middle of the line they'd all fall over. It's not the TV people's fault. The room is too small to get the camera any further back, although now, with hindsight, why did they need us all in one shot at one time anyway? Obviously you can't see me. You can sort of see the top of one my cymbals but that's just because it's behind Gav and it pops over the top of his head. I make sure I hit this one a lot so you know I'm there.

The jumping up and down, running about and carrying on that actually makes us interesting to watch live has necessarily gone. It's too cramped so Lynne and Rod try some running on the spot and swaying. Norri keeps his hands in his pockets. Dave Peggie kind of leans backwards and forwards, the best rock pose he can strike in the circumstances. After a few takes the camera guy comes in for close-ups. I don't know if he knows it but when he's filming me, side on, I'm totally out of time. I glance at the camera and give a 'I know I'm fucking it up I know' look. The guy goes back to filming the singers. I wait for him to come back and film some more, possibly even in time, but it looks like that's my lot.

The song we did was one Rod had written. It had a bouncy ska bit in the middle and a catchy chorus. The verse and intro were probably too fast to get any real attention but the real reason this one was picked was because it didn't have swearing at crucial points and because we had a copy on CD. Although we had just released our split single with The Amphetameanies and it would have made sense to stick do 'Everywhere She Goes' we only had a copy of that on vinyl or DAT. We didn't have time to get it onto CD and that's how the TV people needed it.

The main problem with Rod's song was that it didn't have a name and had so far defied all attempts to give it one. We had simply been calling it 'The Bailiff Song' for the past year and a bit because it says the word 'Bailiff' in the first line and that's all the words that anyone in the band , including the singers, usually learn. Obviously we couldn't call it 'The Bailiff Song' so we lifted a phrase from the chorus and called it 'Nothing To Me'. Skinz only agreed to this (as opposed to all the names he'd thought up, oops, wait a minute) when the camera guy put us on the spot - 'What's the song called?' I blurted it out and Skinz sort of agreed.

'spose.'

Once we've been through the song three times they decide they've got enough. They're going to do an interview in the practice room and then head back to Glenrothes to film the rest. They want to interview two of us while the rest sit about and smile. Rod and Norri have been in full show-off mode for a while. Obviously they get pushed forward. Us scaredy cats hide at the back. I sit closest to Norri and look interested, putting on my best 'hello mum' face and hoping that I might be on camera without the pressure of actually having to say anything. I try not to smile too broadly because I'm paranoid about my crooked teeth.

Lee/Leif/Leaf/Leith is laughing at Rod and Norri. The camera guy is doing her noddy shots and they just have to talk at her although none of it is being recorded. Norri is telling some bizarre/hilarious story about his family which Lee/Leif/Leaf/Leith gets all excited about. They turn the camera around and she tries to prod Norri into telling the story again but it's gone. Once is spontaneous, trying to re-tell it is just strained.

The best gags were told off camera although the interview itself is going okay until Lee/Leif/Leaf/Leith is exposed as, in Norri's words afterwards, 'a total clue-doo' by asking us what it's like being a grunge band in 1999. After some blank stares Rod politely says 'we're not really a grunge band, actually'. Clue-doo looks taken aback. 'Oh - what kind of band are you?' (except she's kind of New Zealandy so it's more like 'ih - wht knd f bnd ir yi?')

Everyone looks embarrassed and then, like we're admitting to liking Spandau Ballet, Norri admits 'we're kind of a punk band you know'. Grunge band - Jesus Christ. I know we're stuck in the past but come on.

We’re all done here so it's back to Glenrothes to film our beautiful town. Everyone wants to go around town with the TV people but we are convinced by Skinz that we'll just slow things down if we're all hanging around giggling and getting in the road. Oh well, we'll have to just go to the pub and wait then. I've got one more job. We've to go to Dave Peggie's flat (the only one of us left in Glenrothes) and I've to drive Lynne's car very slowly past the camera while Rod leans out of the window pulling funny faces and pointing at our new single. It seems very crass (not Crass) to me but we've hardly got artistic control here.

We get to Peggie's flat (actually I own it but it's nothing to be proud of) and the TV people decide that they can't get a good shot of it. They decide to use the next grimy block down which has a driveway in front of it. Rod and Lynne (our nominated spokespeople) tell stories about the times we had in this block of flats. Never ever ever ever trust what you see on TV.

I go to the pub and meet the rest of them. This is how it happens. If we were ever going to be a famous on the telly band (I know it's never going to happen but bear with me, I'm just saying if it did) then Rod, Lynne and Norri would become the public face of The Newtown Grunts. Seven people are an unwieldy 'product' to try and sell. We would need trimmed to a media-friendly soundbite-size package. Can you name the drummer in Pulp or Oasis? They probably see themselves as equal members of the band to their celebrity singers (apart from the boy that got kicked out of Oasis, okay, bad example). I'm not having a grumble about this, it's just an observation. I would (in the case of it ever happening) be quite happy to sit unnoticed at the back. I detest being on camera. It's like getting your photograph taken continuously.

Rod, Lynne and Skinz the driver turn up in the pub along with Lee/Leif/Leaf/Leith and the camera guy, maybe Keith. They've decided to finish their filming with a bit of doon-the-boozer. Rod asks Gladys, the bar manager that we've known for years if she minds if we film inside. She looks confused but it's okay. We all cram round a wee table and have to pretend to have a conversation while they film. I'm conscious that I'm smoking a fag and that's going to be the first thing my mum will notice. Did I really have to be smoking on the telly?

They finish shooting and, having asked for directions to Dunfermline (today must be Fife Day), they leave. All being well we will be on S2 Live at seven o'clock on Thursday night.

Thursday Night - seven o'clock.

My brother is a TV fan. Our flat has the world's biggest TV . We are the only people that I know with ON Digital. A surprising amount of Edinburgh doesn't have cable so everyone is coming up to ours for the programme. Skinz has been emailing every person he knows with the latest on The Grunts TV Spectacular. We have spent the last couple of days figuring out how to record from the digital box. Meticulous planning has gone in to every stage of the operation. Skinz has brought beer.

Seven o'clock on the dot. There's still adverts on S2. An announcer's voice.

'Next on S2 we catch up with the comings and goings down in Summer Bay in Home and Away.'

Whit!? More adverts. The phone rings. It's Gav's sister. She wants to know why 'Home and Away' is on and not 'S2 Live'. Gav explains that it's news to him as well. More adverts, they get their money's worth of adverts here. We're rustling through the digital guide, the TV guide in the paper, 'Heat' magazine. S2 isn't even listed in the paper, the others say '7.00 S2 Live'. It's seems that S2 Live is on two or three times a day. Gav and I made a point of watching it last week and it's a horribly tacky entertainment magazine programme. I can't imagine how we're going to fit into it. Last week we watched an article on Elton John, an article on some new Hollywood blockbuster and then we had to switch it off before our heads exploded.

The adverts finish. A flash of cheap, gaudy computer graphics across the screen. 'Welcome to S2 Live - on tonight's show...'

I'm glad I wasn't waiting on 'Home and Away'. They're right pros on this station, obviously. They run through the articles they'll be showing. Some faceless American girl band singing wannabe-Whitney songs, some arsehole who sculpts things out of dung (not even Chris Ofili, some other arse) and an extended section of reviews. We're a bit disappointed, we thought we might have made the headlines at the start of the show.

We weren't first on. We weren't second on. The adverts approached and a slight air of apprehension was spreading round the room. Norri was getting jumpy. We broke for a fag as S2 ran through their awesome collection of adverts. What if we're not on? Fags stubbed out, back for Part Two. Nerves turn to anger as the programme progresses. The guy that sculpts with shit takes a proper slagging. Some daft woman comes on and takes an unearthly amount of time salivating over the latest Adam Sandler vehicle. 'Apparently, he gets 15 million dollars a movie.' So fuck?

The titles roll at the end of the longest half hour I've spent since Dundee United took a cup final lead against Rangers in 1994. Unlike then, there is no relief at the end, only disappointment. Well, for me it was disappointing. Norri is furious. He's furious that he took a day off work to do the filming. He's furious that we had to sit through their shite programme. He's furious that he's told all his friends and co-workers that he's going to be on the telly that night. He's furious that I'm not furious. He's furious that some guy modelling things from shit was on and we weren't.

I try to rationalise it away by telling myself that I haven't been on TV every other day of my life but it sticks in my craw a bit. The logical part of me says that we weren't on the programme for one of two reasons; either they hadn't finished editing the footage or they had a surplus of articles and had to hold something back. Skinz has S2's phone number but we'll have to wait till tomorrow to find out what the story is. Gav's sister phones to say that we weren't on telly. We go the pub to console ourselves. Norri continues to rage.

Next day I email Skinz at one minute past nine.

'Assume you're waiting till dinner time to phone TV cunts. Thought I'd ask anyway. Assume we're going to tell Norri some shit about the article getting pulled because he says 'cunt' on camera.'

Skinz replies 'Very astute. Correct on both counts'.

Everyone wants to know what the programme was like (few people actually have S2 so they don't know we weren't on). At dinner time

(Dinner time/lunch time/tea time Dinner time is between twelve and two. Tea time is in the evening. Lunch time is an invention of posh people. I got told off at work - 'Don't say "they're having their dinner - they're having their lunch")

comes confirmation that editing wasn't finished in time. Article will definitely definitely definitely be shown on Monday night. This time I don't tell anyone. Nobody asks.

By Monday Norri has calmed a little. Skinz comes round again. Everyone is a bit more reserved than they were on Thursday. Skinz has had a phone call from S2 and we're definitely definitely definitely definitely on tonight. The adverts roll, it's 'S2 Live', Sarah Heaney, ex-topless model turned S2 presenter struggles through her idiot-card. 'blah blah blah... Tom Cruise... blah blah blah... Nicole Kidman... blah blah blah... some other pish... blah blah blah... Glenrothes' OH YA HOOR! 'blah blah blah... The Newtown Grunts' THEY SAID IT! THEY SAID IT! '... but first ...'

Everyone's all smiles. Nervous excitement is building, we know we're on but I can't relax enough to enjoy it. I want to sit back and drink it in, really savour it but my nerves won't allow that. Anticipation is always better than the real thing and now I know we're going to be on I would rather this second before could be drawn out until I was ready for it to end. As each new article comes on the excitement builds then subsides as it turns out to be just some more Hollywood pish. They do the Tom Cruise bit and an unfunny Bash Street Kids gag. Then, Jesus Christ, it's us on the telly. A blur of our terrible miming and suddenly Rod and Lynne are slavering pish about drinks called Blast-aways and concrete hippos. Rod is a natural as we knew he would be. Are their accents really that thick? What a couple of yokels.

Rod and Norri are next on screen. My attempts to squeeze into the shot have failed. These interviews are cut with shots of our miming. Some of it looks okay, kind of like a Stranglers video from 1977. We get surprisingly long. We're on for a good three or four minutes then it cuts back to Sarah, the presenter that even makes us look professional.

'If that was your cup of tea then stay tuned because we'll be playing out with that little number later on,' she gushes, whipping her arm at the camera like a Top of the Pops DJ.

We smile.

'... em ...even if it wasn't your cup of tea, stay tuned anyway,' she stammers. We know what she's saying, even if she is making a cunt of it. Cheers for the vote of confidence, hen.

We're all happy now, realising that we've got even longer out of this than we could have imagined. The end of the show comes.

'We're playing out with The Grunts and their new single "Nothing To Me".' Poor Sarah can hardly keep up with the auto-cue. We fucking told them specifically that this song wasn't our single but somehow we knew they'd do this. Oh well, it doesn't really matter, but it was predictable.

Our song goes out, the miming really is terrible. They've obviously got nothing at all they can show of me playing, so in best Pan’s People/1973 Top of the Pops style they use one clip over and over again. It's blurred and jumpy with effects and bears no relation to the music. It's hilarious. You would only know it was me if someone had told you beforehand. At the end of the song Rod stops miming his note too early and turns to give Lynne a cheeky grin. In real-life she started giggling uncontrollably as she does but in TV-land it fades quickly to another million adverts.

We've got it on tape and so we rewind and watch it all again. It might have been a shite programme on a shite station and it might have been days after everyone we knew was watching expecting to see it, but we were on the telly. Time was when we couldn't get a gig outside Fife.

Proving our Midas Touch once again - those that deal with us invariably get ahead, even if we don't - Sarah Heaney is now the first ex-titty model to present the 'Scotland Today' news programme on proper TV. I bet she's been practising her big words and ad-libs. She does have very nice teeth.