Easy Cure
1977-12-31 Orpington - General Hospital (England)

 

Robert Smith
Laurence Tolhurst
Michael Dempsey
Porl Thompson

Songs played: 3  (2 | 1)

Day of the week: Saturday
Tour: -

Attendance:
Capacity:

event:	Concert
hosted by:
recording:
broadcast:
performance:

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On 31 December, Easy Cure played at Orpington General Hospital.
Robert: "It was hilarious - something Michael's brother-in-law set up. He decided he was going to be our manager, had all these cards printed up saying 'Easy Cure For All Occasions' and got us this gig paying £20. Well, we thought, 'we'll play anywhere for £20' but when we arrived, we realised it was full of 40 and 50 year olds and trainee managers who, by 11 o'clock, were getting pretty belligerent because we were playing songs like 'Killing An Arab'."
Michael: "They wanted a dance band and we really had no grasp on anyone's tunes but our own. We were also expected to play two sets but we knew right from the outset it was dangerous because we played our first set to a lot of booing and hissing. Luckily they weren't sufficiently drunk at that stage to be anything more than vocal."
Robert: "Porl had a history of playing in cabaret bands and so, during the break, we were wondering what we could do and Porl said he sort of knew how to play 'Tie A Yellow Ribbon'. So we went back and started playing it and this roar of approval went up but, after bashing away at the chorus for six or seven minutes, this bloke threw a bottle and we ended up in the car park getting beaten up by several punters who wanted their money back!', 'Michael's brother-in-law immediately destroyed all 500 of his Easy Cure calling cards and we realised then that we couldn't just go and play any old place. We didn't want to learn loads of other people's songs just so we could because, that way, we would have become yet another pub band."
Michael: 'I think we got paid. I'd remember if we hadn't!"Michael's brother-in-law Richard, newly married to his older sister and no doubt wishing to ingratiate himself into the Dempsey clan, had hurriedly hatched an idea to get us gigs further afield. One day he came round to rehearsal with Michael and cornered us. "Every band has a manager, right?" "Er, yes, I suppose so," we said. "Look at these, then!" And out of his pocket he triumphantly pulled a wad of business cards. On inspection, it had his name and, in large letters, "Manager of Easy Cure." Then, much to our chagrin, in even larger letters, "Available for weddings, parties and all your entertainment needs." He looked expectantly at our faces. "Well, what do you think, lads?" "They're business cards," said Robert diplomatically. I knew what he meant; we were not really in the business of anything yet. "Oh, and I've got us our first engagement," he said, positively beaming at this point. "Orpington General Hospital!" You could have knocked us down with a feather at that moment. I couldn't have imagined a less rock-and-roll venue than a general hospital. "Yes, the annual hospital staff dance on New Year's Eve!" That sounded ominous. "Playing to a lot of pissed-up hospital porters!" "It's okay," he protested. "I told them you play some of your own stuff and do covers of popular songs." That last bit fell with a loud thud into the room. It's true we could play a few covers - we did so at our gigs at the Rocket—but I doubted we had enough for a dinner dance at the hospital or if any of them were even suitable. Then he dropped the decider. "They'll pay us £100! And all the beer we want!" The money was a much more abstract concept to us, but free beer was extremely enticing. "Okay, how long do we have to play for?" "We only have to do two sets of an hour each." Hmm. We were lucky if we could play for forty-five minutes at the most, so to do that twice? Would we be able to just swap things around a little and play a sort of combination of songs so the audience wouldn't notice that we were playing the same tunes again?

The day of the gig duly arrived and we drove with Michael's Woolworths van to Orpington General Hospital in the southeast corner of Greater London. (...)
"Okay, lads. You should definitely play a few songs they know just to keep them happy." And suddenly it dawned on us that this might not turn out quite as we had intended. We took the gear out of the van and trooped into the empty dining hall, where we were to perform in a couple of hours. Tables were set up for dinner, which we were assured would be removed "for dancing" later on. Dancing? We weren't sure we had anything that would accommodate dancing. A rough pogo up and down or a lurch to the left or right maybe, but actual dancing? No, not really. I had set up the Maxwin kit (finished in a lovely Naugahyde sparkle) and started to tune the drums when I noticed Richard running across the dining-room floor, the medallion flying behind him. "'Ere, Lol! You'll have to keep the noise down. It's disturbing some of the punters ... er ... patients!" Good lord. How did they expect us to play later on? He read my thoughts. "In a couple of hours they'll all have had their meds and will be out for the night so it won't be a problem then, but right now some of them might get a little agitated, if you know what I mean!" One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest came to mind, and I had visions of the Chief running through the dining room and throwing a water fountain through my precious Maxwin kit. We finished setting up in silence and adjourned to the little side room they had set aside for us to use as a dressing room. "I've drawn up a rough set list," Robert said.
Robert has always handwritten The Cure's set lists ever since I can remember. He tends to find a method he likes for most things and sticks with that. He has that selfsufficient punk ethos. Even now. (...) I looked it over-a few cover songs, but mostly our own fledgling material. "Killing an Arab" and "10:15 Saturday Night." Nothing really suitable for a dinner and dance. I wondered how the audience would take to us. There were nurses, porters, some clerical staff, and assorted balding, middle-aged men. They definitely did not seem like the sort of punky young people that would appreciate our particular noise. How right I was.
We were required, it turned out, not only to play two sets, but to start off with some "light instrumental music" to accompany dinner. So I pulled out my felt beaters, and Robert, Porl, and Michael gently riffed and noodled away in what we thought was an approximation of "light instrumental dinner music." When I looked out into the audience I saw the sort of expressions I imagine greeted John Cage at the premier of 4'33", his avant-garde silent "piano" piece, which he debuted in Woodstock in 1952. That should have been our first clue. A sneering disbelief that would eventually manifest as anger.
Dinner over, we turned our attention to performing "properly" and playing "songs for dancing." About fifteen minutes into our set, I realized something was not quite right and the night might not be the easy money we had at first envisioned. Michael's brother-in-law was standing at the side of the stage, twitching. At first I thought it was a sort of understated pogo, the type a hip young manager might be expected to perform at the side of the stage, perhaps in Madison Square Garden or CBGBs. But no. It was his way of trying to get our attention without being too obvious, which of course made him seem just plain mental. Porl sidled over to the edge of the stage to get whatever news it was Richard wanted to impart to us, nodding as he spoke to him. It didn't look good. There wasn't much dancing happening on the dance floor they had made by clearing the dinner tables away. Many couples were sitting around the edges of the room in their party dresses and such, trying to ignore the din coming from the stage. Mercifully, our set break came. "So, yes, ladies and gents," Richard broke in. "Easy Cure has to take a break now." I turned around to see Richard clutching a microphone in one hand and gesticulating wildly to us with his free hand to get off the stage. "They will be back in a while with more super hits for you to dance to all night," he said, an air of desperate hopefulness in his voice.
We convened in the little side room, and as he closed the door behind us, we sat on the small couch. He perched on a wobbly metal folding chair. "Well, I thought they might be a little more receptive to you, lads, but the general consensus is that they want something more along the lines of Tony Orlando and Dawn -you know, 'Tie a Yellow Ribbon'?" We all looked at each other, bewildered. We vaguely knew of the song, but I didn't think any of us knew how it went or how to play it. Big problem. Then Porl spoke up. "Hmm, yes, well, I used to play that in my cabaret days." I did not know Porl had had any cabaret days! "Anyway, you have fifteen minutes before the next set so work something out to keep the natives happy, all right?" Richard pleaded. All eyes turned to Porl. Robert spoke first. "So teach us 'Tie a Yellow Ribbon,' then." There followed the fastest learning of any song in the history of music, the only problem being that Porl couldn't remember a part of the song, probably one of the most important parts: the second verse!
Undaunted, we went back onto the stage, with slightly glowering faces surrounding us. "'Kay, well, now we are going to play a song you all know and love." We started into the song, led by Porl's gestures to change chords here and there. Then it happened. Just as people were starting to like us a little. I could see them mouthing the words silently as they danced, but the chorus just carried on and on with no second verse. Like one gigantic moment of coitus interruptus. I could see the audience's nervous faces unsure of quite what was wrong or what they were hearing. It must have felt like a record stuck in a groove permanently going round and round on the chorus. Eventually we had to admit defeat and stop. We all looked at each other questioningly and then just bashed on with the rest of our set. Nobody danced anymore. I could hear the grumbling over the sound of our guitars. "Call that bloody music?" "Just sounds like noise to me!" It was going to be a long night. Eventually we got to the end of our second and last set. I think someone chucked a bottle at us.
We packed away our gear. Robert had driven up behind the van with Mary, in the hedge Mini, and went out to the car park with her just after the gig, followed by several disgruntled patrons. They pursued them to their car and provoked a fight with Robert. Nothing new there then. I don't think we even stopped to collect the money. Just hightailed it out of there fast. Not a very auspicious start to Richard's hopes for us as the new cabaret sensation of the south coast

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1. 1977-12-31 General Hospital (@ Easy Cure)