Telstar: The Joe Meek Story Page #2

- I'm going to have a crap.

- I'll bring a towel back down with me.

- No, you won't. I have a girl singing backing up there.

- It's vital for her singing that she's able to breathe in.

- Who's got the arse now?

FARTING:

Nearly shat meself!

You do that again, I'll find something to plug the hole with!

This is the band.

What they lack in looks, they make up for in charm.

I've warned you about those ridiculous costumes!

Now...! Oh, good God, what is that! It's like a rotting trout! Come here, take those off right now!

SINGER WARMING UP

Good Lord!

- And you are?

- Singing.

- Of course.

- Sorry about that.

- Last time I got pissed on in this getup, my nipples and armpits went all black.

- You are a soapy bastard.

- Joe, I thought we discussed this?

- Oh, shush!

Took a week to get the stains off. Carbolic, I had to use.

Why don't you use an umbrella?

- Cos cowboys didn't have umbrellas.

- No, and I bet they didn't have black armpits, either.

- Take off those ridiculous cowboy suits!

- They look wonderful.

- I will not pay another fine for their antics!

- Marvellous publicity.

- Getting your collar felt isn't marvellous.

- No-one felt your collar.

No, they get all black fingers.

I don't see how a brush with the law can be bad press for a band called The Outlaws. Can it, Geoff?

I don't know what anyone's talking about, or who anyone is.

Oh, really, Joe! Geoffrey, Billy Kuy, Mr Clem Cattini.

- And the smelly bastard's Chas Hodges.

- The Outlaws!

- This is Geoff, he wrote the song.

- Hope you like it.

- Oh, it's your song? Lovely!

- Thank you.

So you're not really cowboys?

- No.

- You want to watch him, he'll have you on top of a 19 bus with your pants round your ankles

if he thinks it'll shift a few records.

- Would he?

- Is that entirely necessary?

Last month, when we released Swing Low as a single?

Joe had us in all the clobber, on a f***ing stagecoach,

driving around Piccadilly, blasting out the tune.

Then he turns around, and says, "I know, why don't we stick up the HMV and nick our own record!"

We burst in, these two cowards f*** off!

I'm left there, with a cap gun up the counter girl's hooter like The Lone Wanker.

Marvellous press!

- Yet, but guess what?

- Never even heard of us.

I had to play the racket to the desk sergeant to keep you out of prison!

Now, all of you change out of these outfits immediately!

Coo-ey! Joe?

Joe, look! Oh, hello, boys!

Afternoon, Mrs Jensen, all right?

- Lovely shirts. Don't you look smart?

- Thanks.

- You're all wet. Should have used a brolly.

ALL:
Cowboys didn't have brollies.

Now, look. I know you're busy, but I've got a bone to pick with you, and you.

What have you done to my windows?

My stock room ceiling's all black and treacly, and Mr Brolin's downstairs in his pyjamas.

- He says you swore at him.

- He started it!

- Pardon?

- He yelled at me, and I yelled back.

I can't repeat in front of these young boys the type of filthy language he was using.

That's what a recording studio is for, is it?

Give you two the chance to play silly buggers and scare my neighbours?

He's ever so upset, he works shifts!

Yeah, don't we all! Shut up!

- If he can't take it, he shouldn't dish it out.

- Yeah, well, what about my ceiling?

That's why your ceiling is all black and treacly,

cos I poured a tin of liquid rubber through the floorboards. For soundproofing.

Soundproofing, you see! It's for the greater good.

Gave me ever such a stir. It's all gone runny, and there's flies sticking to it.

Don't fret, Violet, dear. We'll have someone pop round and rub that rubber off.

But it will have to be later on.

I do have a major television star, John Leyton, coming round any second now.

As you can see, I'm rushed off my feet.

Him off Biggles? Now I understand. Yes, sorry. I thought you were a bit soft.

Oh, I'd love to meet him!

You'll have all the big stars passing through here, Violet.

Why don't you pop downstairs, make a nice pot of tea and the Major can introduce you when he gets here?

- I'll tell him you're sorry.

- Who?

- Mr Brolin, your neighbour.

- Tell him to shove his bin lids...

- Yes, splendid. A pot of tea. After you, Violet.

All right, Fred. Pick us up at about three.

Are you sure, sir? No offence, sir.

- It seems like a right shithole.

- Yeah, let's make it 1:30.

- How are we doing, boys?

- Nearly there.

Right, I want to set up the mics downstairs, I want to be ready to go when I get back.

He's f***ing barmy!

- You playing that old Joanna?

- Yes. Is it in tune?

Doubt it.

What's in here?

Don't go in there. He'll go doolally.

- Why?

- Because he's bonkers.

Because it's full of our Joe's secret, magic echo doodahs.

He's a loon.

No, no, he's not mad. He's one of your eccentrics, with his gadgets and witchcraft. He's harmless enough.

- Load of bollocks.

- Yes, but he did predict the date. February 3rd.

The day of Buddy Holly's tragic accident. And warned him.

Yeah, he's a proper Nostra-f***ing-damus.

- Right date, wrong year.

- F***ing loon. Load of bollocks.

Well, it is easy to mock.

There are many things we do not understand. Not on this plane.

My involvement in spiritualism is quite serious.

I've been attending a weekly psychic circle for some months, now, in the hope of becoming a medium.

In fact, the song we are recording today,

came to me from the other side.

From beyond.

F***ing hell.

Here. You're studying to be a medium, Clem's studying to be a large.

Right, are we in tune and ready? John is downstairs, being talked at by Mrs Shenton.

- People forget that you're an actor, a trained actor, you know.

- Yes.

I was in drama school for three years. I can play all sorts of, you know...

- I was playing a Cockney...

- Really?

- Yeah, I can...

Right. I want to do a sound check. A bit of noise from everyone for level.

INSTRUMENTS ALL PLAY AT ONCE

Good. Just hit a bit harder. That's good.

- SHOUTING:

- All right, all right, all right!

Right, I want that moved over there, and no-one touch the mics.

Right, you heard the man, Biggles is arriving 0500 hours!

ALL SHOUT IN POSH VOICES

Get that out your systems for a start, cos I'm having none of it.

- Roger, Roger Wing Commander!

- I f***ing mean it!

Tone deaf actors,

midgets, bodybuilders.

It's a f***ing pantomime. What next? Singing f***ing postman?

Will you shut your moaning, you wet bastard.

- You're being paid, ain't you?

- Hi, guys. John Leyton.

- You must be the band.

- Sharp as a pin.

Hello, John. Lovely jacket.

Thanks, Joe, glad you like it.

I've been wearing this thing so much lately,

I just don't feel dressed without it.

- Yeah, where did you leave your goggles?

- Right. Very funny.

- This is Geoff. He wrote the song.

- Rocking tune, Geoff.

Where did you park your plane?

Same place you parked your horsey, partner.

Ha-ha!

Thanks.

Me and the boys have been rehearsing all afternoon.

- Oh, the backing singer. You all right?

- Fine, thank you.

So, what I'd like to do is I'd like to go straight for the levels.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes