I Was There – Jack Jones on Pete Doherty & The Puta Madres at the newly reopened Bataclan, Paris 16-17/12/2016

An exclusive extract from Jones’ forthcoming Tour Diaries Vol1 book

Ahead of the release of his eponymous debut album, which blends electronic beats with his own unique style of intimate, confessional spoken word and poetry, Jack Jones remembers playing Paris venue Le Bataclan in 2016 with The Libertines’ Pete Doherty, newly reopened after a terrorist attack killed 90 people the previous November.

Le Bataclan, Paris

1st Night… Paris… 16th November

Last week I was just another boy in another band. Trying to entertain, have fun, and say something real about my life & my friend’s lives. Playing to small but dedicated crowds far and wide across the UK and just scrapping by. I’m still scrapping by & proud of the people we have reached with our music & Rhymin Simons act. Wondering how much further this is all going to & where the journey ends.

Seven days later and I’ve become Pete Doherty’s new lead guitarist in his new band the Puta Madres. Somehow there seems as though there has been a mini ripple through my shadowy end of showbiz & suddenly, I’m getting offered free shit all over the place – First Kooples offer me clothes (look out for Kooples clothing on Ebay), Levis offer me some jeans (look out for Levis Jeans on Ebay), a free hat from a fashion dude (which I later throw into the crowd) & important stuff like pedals & guitar strings…long may it continue I say. 

Then – boosh Argentina. To meet Pete, and begin to learn songs I’ve never heard. Burnt by the sun and eaten by mosquitoes, but probably the happiest and most liberated I’ve ever felt. Trying to get my head around Peter songs – so many little intricate gems, new & old. 

We fly back from South America. The plane is being hounded by Lightening as it wobbles through the sky. 

(After Sting) We’re re-opening The Bataclan in Paris for two nights. I defy  mother nature or the devils of engine failure to stop us.

We arrive in London – quick wash, change of pants & socks. Then it’s a jump from Muswell Hill to The Eurostar to Paris. At the station I meet the rest of the band :Drew, Miki & Rhys (Micki’s boyfriend & I’m guessing new Roadie). We’re all feeling jet lagged. I’ve left my headphones in the house. I can’t listen to songs on the train. Disaster. I’ve only had a week with the songs & I need more more more listening time.. Amazingly, Miki potters off to buy a drink & saunters back with some headphones – you saved me and I’m full of love.!

We check into the Eurostar & blast off. We are in France before we know it. Pylons line the fields in the distance. Trees brush & blow in the wind. Hilariously  the tunnels screws up everyone’s wi-fi. The smug looking business guys checking their money on the FTSE and other useless areas will have to wait an hour longer to find how much money they have lost or won by clicking round on their computers. . How sad. Boo Hoo. 

We get to our hotel & check in. It’s opposite the Gare Du Nord. The walls are a calming pale blue. They make it easy to relax. I sit down in my chair. This feels different from sleeping in the back of my Ex police Scotland Ford Focus estate with Wayne the bass player in my band. Suddenly I feel thankful for all the hours I spent marooned  in my tiny bedroom as a child teaching myself obscure guitar licks and writing below average lyrics…Luck has sought me out and found me. I’m going to do my best to make it welcome and hope it hangs around.

We are waiting for the call to go to Peter’s house for rehearsals.  The hours are ticking by & it’s beginning to look less likely that there will be any rehearsals at all before one this momentous night Peter is unwell – sounds about right.

I get a call from Peter’s Manager saying our driver’s outside the hotel, and he’s been waiting there for two hours. What kind of crazy cab driver doesn’t ring you when he arrives & then waits for two hours outside on a cold night in Paris? Not a very bright one, obviously, and this guy did not appear at all bright.

He’s a shortish man with thick glasses & equally thick hair growing out of his ears. He drove at 15 mph all the way & missed every turning on the Tom Tom.  Drew (using one of his many talents) had to teach him how to read the sat Nav.

By the time we got to Peter’s house it was so late we were almost asleep. We say our huge huggy hellos. Peter puts some logs on the fire & we begin to practise. The neighbours have complained about the noise so Rafa (the incredible Spanish gypsy drummer) is playing with spoons.

Unsurprisingly, we leave Peter’s to find the same taxi guy still outside. We smile & jump in & he takes us back to our Hotel. Drew Politely asks him to speed up. I don’t think the man hears him. There seems  be too much hair around his ears.

It’s the morning of the show. I wake myself up, that is 10:25am. This is 5 minutes before free breakfast buffet closes.  Despite the fact I’m never hungry, it feels like a crime to not go down to the buffet & completely stuff your face with as much food as you can when its free. So I did. 6 croissants, two plates of scrambled eggs, two boiled eggs, three slices of toast, saute potatoes, fruit, yogurt, coffee, (even though I don’t drink coffee) juice, until I feel so sick I have to go back to bed. Not well thought through preparation for the biggest night in my life so far.

 We are in the taxi on the way to The Bataclan & I can’t stop thinking about the evil monstrosity that happened here last year. It’s enough to make you’re  blood run cold & give up on the human race. The significance of where we are about to go eats away at my stomach and my brain. I look up at Drew who puts a loving hand on my shoulder. I know tonight’s gonna be alright. 

We arrive at the venue & we meet the fans who are already queuing outside. Lovely Helen & Beth & so many people I’ve got to know this year. I hear them say that this is the true reopening of the Bataclan. I can’t help but feel there was something very cynical about Sting’s last minute re opening the Bataclan gig – the day after his new album came out.

The heavy feeling is hard to ignore. We soundcheck and the nerves settle. Rafa is playing drums like a demon tonight. It’s gonna be brilliant. I know it. 

First up I do my support slot. I’m a Welsh boy speaking English to a French crowd. Reciting poems ‘Pound Land,’ ‘To Be a Libertine’ & ‘Health & Wellbeing.’ I play Leonard Cohen’s ‘Tonight Will be fine’. Everyone in the crowd is quiet & attentive. It’s unbelievable. You could hear a pin drop & although many of the people might not speak the same language as me it doesn’t seem to matter. I say merci. 

Backstage, before we go on, Peter & I are talking. I never knew Nick Alexander, but we  had some mutual friends. Tonight Peter has decided not to have a merchandise stand in his honour. Peter writes Nick’s name in huge letters across my chest & says if you don’t take your shirt off – I’ll rip it off. And so he does. 

Miki The brilliant violinist supreme walks on alone to play La Marseillaise…I see people faces moved to tears in the crowd – everyone is singing. It’s the biggest two cold fingers up to those useless monster c****  (twats) who caused so much pain to so many families.

I play a couple of notes, Peter starts singing & the set takes off.  Peter is throwing everything into the crowd – guitars, mic stands, harmonicas, flags, you name it and it’s gone. Micki-violin note perfect. Drew keeping everything together. Katia perfect on the Velvet’s cover ‘Ride Into The Sun’. Then  just when you thought things couldn’t get any better, Carl Barat shows up & does the guitar solo on ‘You’re My Waterloo’ and later in the set ‘Time For Heroes’. Songs from the new album take on a new significance tonight especially the haunting ‘Flags of the Old Regime’, and the Paris attacks inspired ‘Hell To Pay at the Gates of Heaven.’ I see girls with their hearts in their mouths & grown men welling up. Not many people can do this – only a select few in the whole world, and Mr Peter Doherty certainly is one.

I come off stage to see a gleaming Matt Bates (Peter’s proud agent from the start) & a whole host of friends whose faces say they have witnessed sometime special. 

Every teardrop & bead of sweat is dripping with triumph. I walk over to Rafa. He has broken down & is crying in the corner. I put my arm around him & ask if he is ok…he says…

 “30 Year, 30 Years I busked on the streets – Peter saved my life. Tonight I have finally made it” 

And just like that he hugs me & the sad water streams. You have made it, my boy. You bloody well have. 

Love you as ever

Jack (guitar supreme) Jones

Bed-time-tour-diary

2nd Night…17th November
I am asleep in a hotel in Paris. Ring, ring, ring. Dreams disturbed. Ring, ring, ring. Hotel reception are ringing. Get up, get out. Check out is at 12:30 – now it’s 2:30…OK, but I suppose re-opening The Bataclan is a good excuse to stay up late, till about- 7am in fact. Some might say that’s early, depending on how you look at things.

Now I’m about to do it all again for the second night. Anyway, I get my minimalistic shit together as quick as I can with my eyes wide shut. Shove what little I possess into a rucksack & then it’s downstairs where a taxi is waiting to take Drew and I to Le Bataclan. We pass memorials outside ‘Petit Cambodge’ restaurant, ‘Le Carillon’ bar in Rue Bichat and ‘Casa Nostra’ pizzeria in Rue de la Fontaine au Roi. These commemorate the atrocities of last November. There’s a sombre fog that’s surrounding everything.

But the French seem to be resilient people. The taxi driver bows his head in respect & goes about his job. The traffic is bad, but he keeps his cool. We reach The Bataclan. We bump into some hyped up fans outside. They are already queuing ready for another night of what promises to be blistering emotion. The white Bataclan sign shines in bright light. Proud & historic. A fan says “When will Peter get here?” & I say….”Soon..quite soon, you won’t have to wait much longer”

We walk into the venue. The crew, Paul Edward Bruce, Andy Newlove, & Iain Slater (the gap toothed sound man who is wearing a flamboyant, sparkly scarf) are jamming away on stage to ‘She sells Sanctuary’ by The Cult, I think.

It sounds massive.

Tonight will not be the same as last night. No Peter show can ever be the same. This is why we all love him, unpredictable though he is. 1st the French national anthem. Followed by new albums gems, followed by Babyshambles hits & Libertines hits. The crowd are brought to their knees & The Bataclan has finally been re-opened with style. That’s the power of music and performance, and a shared mass experience. It’s all positive energy.

We’ve got that we’ve got hope.

As I come off stage I meet a cool new photographer. Then Alex & Sylv from a classic UK Music Monthly magazine…Then Jai, Peter’s manager. He engulfs me in a bear hug.

The roof has nearly been taken off the Bataclan. There’s an immortal feeling here.

I’m sure the spirit of tonight will live forever floating in the Parisian sky. The night finishes outside with the fans. Photos & chats. They are the ones who were brave and stuck two cold fingers up to the twats with guns and heads full of artificial hatred. They’re the ones who showed us togetherness and compassion will always win against hatred and barbarity. It’s for them and they did it for us. Tonight I’m proud of everyone.

I look back at Le Bataclan and decide to take one final stroll around the venue when the lights are up & it’s empty. I don’t know what to think. It’s too complicated.

Sometimes words aren’t enough or strong enough to say how I feel. I’m here, in the moment, alive, grateful. I am spinning with the world. This world is wonderful. Maybe one day I’ll understand it all. Right now it feels like a whole bunch of feelings whirling round inside me. I hope that truth & beauty make it through in the end.

OK – Enough of all that bollocks, I realise there’s a whole tour to do. Starting with a 10 hour drive to Toulouse. Places I have never been or even heard of. Then it’s home to London & Manchester. But that’s another story – I’ll hopefully see you soon.

Out for now…

love you as ever

Jack (back in his bus bunk) Jones

Bed-time-tour-diary
xXx

Toulouse
18th November

Bed-time-bunk-diary
Bump, bump, bump, bump – the wheels on the bus go round and round as it bumps through the night. From Paris to Toulouse with nothing to lose.

I wake up at 1pm. Not too bad considering I crawled into my bunk at 7am – I’m still shaking and shivering from the adrenaline of Le Bataclan shows. I think it may last a life-time.

The bus is stationary now, no rumbling or bumbling, meaning we must have arrived in Toulouse. My bunk/coffin/bed is very comfortable. I’m happy in this little thing. Luckily I have no problems with claustrophobia, or I would be hyperventilating.

I walk off the bus & into what looks like one of the greatest venues in the world – Le Bikini. After two nights at Le Bataclan & a ten hour drive everyone is pretty exhausted. But that is quickly forgotten by the fantastic hospitality, the welcoming faces of the staff & the exquisite French catering. Not to mention the backstage swimming pool.

The venue is covered in photos of previous performances, I noticed Graham Coxon straight away & a picture of a younger Mr Doherty. I think he’s ageing well. The odd bit of grey hair suits him. There’s a lot of wisdom inside that battered, abused & differently wired mind of his.

This place is famous for its food & I’m blown away.

I’m sure someone said the chef ran a Michelin Star restaurant. Maybe it’s true, maybe it’s not. Doesn’t matter really. After all, you can’t eat a Michelin star.

As usual, I eat my own weight in potatoes & have to go for a lay down. Rock Star Guitarist life style – or something. It all goes slightly surreal though as seeing that Miki is Japanese they give her chopsticks instead of a knife & fork. Think of that what you will.

We have our own showers today & I take full advantage. The water is washing over as I try to move my mind on from the Bataclan shows.

I think of tonight & how we will make it great as the water circles around the plughole & drops down into the drain. But after the shower my body still feels shaky & anxious.

My mind may have moved on but I never stopped to think about how my body would react to such emotionally huge shows. Well, it’s slowly recovering and it’s time for a soundcheck. As always, just holding the guitar settles me. I’m blessed to have found something I love so much. Before long I’m doing my turn supporting. I play ‘Friday I’m in Love’ coz it’s Friday. It gets a good reception…although I did wander off into a kind of impromptu stand up routine, which probably confuses everyone as we don’t speak the same language. Still, people laughed & clapped.

It’s a quick turn around tonight & I’m back on with Peter. He takes off his shirt & asks me to write ‘BUM’ on his chest, so I do. Then I remove my shirt & he writes ‘CHUMMY’ on my chest…I already know this going to be a funny night. I was going to wear a Bob Dylan T-shirt. Peter sees it & says “Is Bob
dead as well?!” I say “Not yet, thank God”.

Peter asks if we can turn off the lights & walk on the stage in the dark…which I think is cool…but I forgot that I walk on stage alone at first & play a few notes on the guitar. The problem with the stage being pitch black is that I cannot see my hand or my guitar at all.

So I was stabbing around hoping that I was playing the right chord. I didn’t. I played completely the wrong chord, but it didn’t matter as the lights came on and the band came together & helped me out.
Events got stranger & stranger as the gig wore on. In a Tom Jones moment, a girl threw her knickers at Peter. So he picked them up & put them on my head. I looked like Little Bo-Peep with a flat chest – a
chest that has “CHUMMY” written on it.

Peter has been suffering from a dodgy stomach and feeling emotional & sad since Le Bataclan. This wasn’t helped by someone shouting at him from the crowd, being quite obnoxious. You know when you see Peter, you are seeing an event, something that won’t be repeated – a one-off – how he feels is how he feels – & shouting at him ain’t gonna get you what you want.

Next thing a packet of cigarettes are thrown on stage. Peter caught them mid flight. I thought he was going to light one up. It would have been the coolest thing ever. But Peter being Peter isn’t lighting one, he is eating it.

A few songs later Peter is sick all over the stage and can’t stop and has to leave the stage. We all troop off after him. After five minutes we come back on but Peter is just too sick to continue. Miki & I are left alone doing ‘Don’t Look Back Into The Sun’ on guitar & violin & everyone sings along. After the show, the venue turns into a night club. Ruby (trusted tour assistant) demonstrates her raving skills. No drugs. She says she loves the music so much she could rave for nine hours solid. I listen for five seconds & come to the conclusion that she must be on drugs, or that I would have to be on drugs. Or something to with drugs, but I don’t know what.

By the time we leave, Peter is feeling much better. He’s singing ‘The Importance of Being Idle’ on acoustic guitar – what a great song and a great start to another long drive to Istres – wherever or whatever that is…. I’m about to find out.

Another show tomorrow…

love as ever,

Jack (knickers on his head) Jones xXx

Jack Jones’ eponymous debut album is out on September 20 – click here buy your vinyl copy

Jack Jones’ Tour Diaries Vol1 is on sale from September 20

To coincide with the album release Jack will be performing and signing at the following in-stores:

SEPTEMBER

20 Friday Bristol Rough Trade 6:30pm Doors, 7:30pm Onstage, 8:30pm Signing

21 Saturday Llanelli The Second 45 11pm SIGNING ONLY

21 Saturday  Swansea Derricks 4pm SIGNING ONLY

22 Sunday  Nottingham Rough Trade 6pm Doors, 7pm Onstage, 8pm Signing

23 Monday  Liverpool Rough Trade 12pm SIGNING ONLY

23 Monday Bury Wax & Beans 7pm Doors, 7:30pm on stage, 8:15pm Signing

24 Tuesday Leeds Crash Records 5pm Doors

25 Wednesday Southampton Vinilo 7pm Doors

26 Thursday Kingston Banquet Records 6pm on stage, 6:45pm signing

Jack Jones be playing the following headline shows in November:

NOVEMBER

2nd SAT Glasgow – The Poetry Club SWG3

3rd SUN Liverpool – Jacaranda

6th WED North Shields – Three Tanners Bank

7th THU Manchester – YES Basement

8th FRI Cambridge – The Six Six Bar

9th SAT Shrewsbury – Albert & Co Frankville

13th WED Bristol – The Exchange

14th  THU London – Old Blue Last

15th FRI Swansea – Bunkhouse

16th SAT Cardiff – The Moon