I first figured out that what we are going to do was totally wrong when Mr Richards started talking to us.
Mr Richards, deputy head of the school, devout creationist Christian, and also the most fearsome man to ever grace the site, had probably come into the school that night expecting to hear the usual efforts from the choir, the hand chime group, the wind band, et cetera. So, when he saw these three scruffy year tens in awful football shirts hanging around in the canteen next to the hall with some guitars, he probably thought it best to investigate. “So lads, what are you going to be playing tonight then? A bit of the Bee Gees perhaps?” he asked me. “Erm…not exactly, no…” I spluttered out. I could feel the pressure rising in the room. You really could have cut the atmosphere with a cricket stump. “We’re going to be doing a couple of songs by the Rolling Stones, actually…” I stopped. He stopped. Everything stopped. I watched as his face dropped the furthest length I have ever seen a face drop. And, eventually, after what seemed like about four hours, he finally replied. “The Rolling Stones, eh? Spawn of the devil.” And with that, he turned on his heel and left. To this day, I am unsure if that remark was directed at the Stones, or at us. I’d like to think us.
The first ever proper Sweeter Than Brazil gig was all over in about seven and a half minutes. I say first proper gig, because that afternoon we had played in a sixth form assembly at the behest of our geography teacher at the time, Eddie “The Simulator” Sims. We ended up opening for a band called the Moomins, the leader of which would go on to have a massive impact on our band in the months that followed. But more about that later. We opened by firing out “Sympathy For The Devil”, which was the first song we ever learnt after my father had kick started my musical education by shoving a copy of “Forty Licks” into my hands one day and saying “Listen and learn, son. This is what real music is.”. We followed that, as all good bands do, by introducing ourselves to the audience, and finished with a ropey take on “Honky Tonk Women”. So, Mr Richards was right to be concerned, as we had just opened a Christmas concert by performing one song about Satan, and then another about prostitution. But I didn’t care, because we were Sweeter Than Brazil, and we were the dog’s bollocks.
We were by far the best act on that night (in my deluded little fantasy world mind anyway), and I told anyone that would listen, including the lady behind the counter at Turners Fast Foods, which was where I went immediately afterwards for a celebratory small portion of chips. I had played my brand new Gibson SG copy, which I had got for my birthday just days before, and I thought was the best thing in the world.
No matter how brilliant we thought we were, though (in our deluded little fantasy world minds), we all knew in our hearts that two guitars and one bass wasn’t enough. If we were going to go on and become world beaters. we needed to expand. However, instead of gaining numbers like we needed to do, we went down to just two, when Max decided to go back to another band in our year group at the time, Small Gods, that had been formed and he was playing with before Sweeter Than Brazil came to be. Unfortunately, my memory of the days that followed and our attempts to recruit new band members are relatively hazy. Well, give me a break, I’ve been doing well up to this point. Suffice it to say, I am unsure if it was me or Phil that asked Sam McCready, lead guitarist and singer from The Moomins, who we had played with in that sixth form assembly, to join the band, although I would like to take credit for this. We were delighted when he accepted, and he was also able to bring his mate Joe Cannings along to play bass in Max’s absence.
This I can remember clearly though – walking back from meeting Sam and Joe that afternoon, Phil and I once again turned to pondering where we were going to get a drummer from. Just as we were thinking out loud about the matter, I heard a quiet voice behind me clear his throat and begin to speak. “Erm…I play the drums.” I turned around, and down slightly, to find myself looking at a year seven student with bad highlights in his hair. I knew him from going to Corsham Town’s home matches with my dad. His name was Tom Page, and he’d happened to be playing football in the playground just as we were walking through. “OK, you’re in.” I said without too much hesitation. I figured he might be one of the only drummers in the school, let alone an available one. Happily, it turned out that he was quite good at it, so we kept him. Soon, the five of us were meeting up regularly in the clubhouse at Corsham Town to rehearse and add to our setlist. “Smoke On The Water” by Deep Purple and “Not Fade Away”, again by the Stones, were two early additions, amongst others. We played in assemblys for other year groups, memorably including one occasion where Sam liberated a box of percussion instruments from the music room and led around fifteen other students in providing the “rhythm accompaniment” for us. We were also lucky enough to play in an assembly for our own year, which the aforementioned Mr Richards was also due to speak in when we had concluded our performance. Needless to say, we kept “Sympathy For The Devil” going for a full eight minutes before they had to practically cut the power to get us off.
After a few of these performances, we graduated to playing short sets following Corsham Town home games, which we did about two or three times. We also went back to school to perform at the 2004 summer concert, which has the distinction of being the first ever show we did that was recorded. I now only have a copy of one of the songs we performed that night, naturally “Sympathy” once again.
With Joe deciding to move on not long after this show, we recruited our friend and fellow year eleven Rob Price to play bass, and, much to our surprise, started to begin to get hired for higher profile shows. We played at a cousin of mine’s wedding, for which we charged the princely sum of £80. We played at the Whitley Golf Club captain’s ball, for which we subtly changed the lyrics to Electric Six’s “Gay Bar” to fit in with the occasion (You/I want to take you to a golf club…) . We even managed to win the 2005 Corsham School Battle Of The Bands, despite my guitar giving up and dying like the dog it was halfway through the second of our three songs. We won by a handful of votes, and, as Sam cranked out what my father still refers to as the best live guitar solo he has ever heard during a song called “Blue On Black”, I realised we were really getting somewhere. This was something that I wanted to be doing for a long time to come.
With our narrow victory fresh in the mind, and by this time having started sixth form myself, I organised a show at Corsham Town FC for late September 2005, tentatively called “Southbank Feel The Noize”. Just over ninety people showed up (we charged £2 on the door, oh yes, no opportunities missed around here, brother) and we lifted the roof off the place. My friend Josh Coombs recorded the whole show, which I still listen to on occasion today, and I’ve got to say, I was absolute rubbish. But again, I didn’t care. Because I was Stu Joslin. I was in Sweeter Than Brazil. And Sweeter Than Brazil were the dog’s bollocks. In my deluded little fantasy world mind.
Sadly though, this was to be Sam’s last show with the band before he departed for university, and, after one more show at school opening up for Ballroom Disaster in January 2006, with interest dwindling, Sweeter Than Brazil was no more. However, all was not lost as I was still in a band, sort of, that wasn’t doing much at the moment. Nearly a year earlier, in May 2005, our head of year, Mr Evans, had asked us if we could make up a band and play a couple of songs at our year eleven leavers assembly later on that month. I often wonder what course the next four years of my life might have taken if he had never asked us that question…
