My 1996 New Year's Eve gig was to take place in Leicester. The gig was a hand me down from a midlands based drummer who shall remain nameless! I booked a quartet : Jez Franks, Tori Freestone and my then girlfreind Liz Tillotson on guitar, flute and electric bass respectively. So, this drummer gave me all the details and so on and told me to play about 90 minutes of background jazz during the meal and play the last hour after the meal doing a few low key pop tunes but assured me that the guests would be more than happy to listen to jazz as it was supposedly a more 'sophisticated audience'. ?GREAT? I thought, this should be a doddle - ?150 each, NICE?

Everything went well with the jazz bit - it was the usual thing where you play but are not necessarily being listened to which is as much as you can expect on a function sometimes? right? So there I was feeling... I suppose quite self -assured in the knowledge that I had successfully organised a band and made it on time for an important NYE celebration - I felt like a real pro!

At about 10.45 the organiser came over sporting a polite grin and a fat envelope. I smiled my best 'I do this all the time, look no further if you want quality jazz at affordable prices' grin and took the cash off him. He then starts to explain that he wants to take the tempo up a bit-and suggests a few more 'UP -BEAT numbers? as he called them. Fortunately, Tori had took a few Joni Mitchell tunes down-like Big yellow taxi and other things that were in the charts during the 90s - but all together we really only had about 4 tunes that we knew we could play that were not Jazz oriented.

Next, the lights went down and all eyes turned from Christmas pudding to us. There was no fancy lighting on us either, so when the lights went down we were barely visible in the corner and I could see some of the guests straining to make us out. Of course, the f***ing dance floor was lit up like Blackpool illuminations, so everyone starts to hurry somewhat expectantly towards the floor. Panic set in. It was about five to eleven, we were the only possible source of music (and I use the word very lightly) available in the room and we had to entertain these dance hungry party animals for the next hour with our unique brand of dance music.

'Does anyone know La Bamba' I asked the guys hopelessly. The reply was yes so we played it for 15 minutes round and round and round and round till I began to f***ing hate it and everything it stood for. They danced to it for about 8 mins before it became clear to them that we were just killing time. We carried on with Groove is in the heart which Tori sang and then had the cheek to go back to La Bamba again for another 4 or 5 mins. By now people were coming over to ask for tunes that we didn't know and even those we did we would have had to sit down to work out.

By this time, guests were looking bewildered and some were shaking their heads in disappointment. Others seemed to not care and it was these people who I shall definitely include in my will. It was then that i took it upon myself to do the unthinkable-SING A SONG. Beads of sweat were appearing on my forehead now and my obvious discomfort was a source of great amusement to the others in the band. But this was my band and it's success or failure seemed largely dependent on me at this point, so I decided in a fit of panic to sing ROCK AROUND THE CLOCK (thanks to BILL HALEY and his comets for that one). But we were not them and never would be - we were Matt Home and his MUPPETS if you will?

?1,2,3 o clock, 4 o clock rock, 5,6,7 o clock, 8 o clock rock, 9,10,11 o clock 12 o clock rock, we're gonna rock around, the clock tonight? - then, I forgot (or perhaps never knew) the words so I just sang the rest of that part of the tune like in a scat -style gone wrong. Bear in mind i am not a singer and never will be and I think everyone in that room knew it. I was so humiliated I could have puked and to make matters worse people were now leaving and collecting their coats at only 11.30 on NYE.

One woman in a gold Laame dress and an orange tan told me; 'that's the worst NYE I have ever had' as she turned to leave. 'Thanks', I said .'would you like my card'.....she seemed to be saying she didn't.

Finally, the organiser came over to us and sheepishly signalled that we should stop there. 'Was it ok ?' I asked. He didn?t reply. 'Can you play AULD LANGSYNE for 'em pal?' he asked. Of course, being the top function outfit we were we had prepared this earlier, so we bleated it to an audience of about 8 people before packing up to go home. On the way home, snow and sleet belting down on my car as I trundled up the M1, my f***ing car broke down and I sat for nearly two hours waiting for the AA.
When I got home I poured myself a jug of brandy and read a book about handguns. I knew the ?150 fee would probably pay for it. By the way, never ever say the word Leicester to me again.

X Matt Home,2003