Smokey
Few people remember that for a period of time early in the career of Scruples, we were a trio. After our phenomenally successful debut album, Waterbirth, Marvin and I both agreed that we should enlist a drummer and percussionist. We held worldwide auditions but there was only one clear frontrunner: Gareth ‘Smokey’ Stacks.
Despite Smokey being a genius behind the drumkit, there was some underlying tension between him and Marvin, almost from the beginning. They were constantly bickering and making snide remarks, although neither of them would ever admit there was an issue. This built-up tension came to a head at a concert in Stockholm in 2006 when Marvin walked onstage to discover that his right-handed guitar was now left-handed. Always the consummate professional, Marvin played the entire concert left-handed, including several guitar solos. Backstage after the concert, however, it was a different story.
“Who the hell switched my guitar?” shouted an irate Marvin to a startled crew. “I was left hung out to dry out there!”
Smokey, who was sitting quietly in the corner of the room smoking a cigarette, spoke up. “Maybe it was the same guitar but you’re too dumb to tell the difference.” Marvin smashed the guitar on the floor and ran at Smokey with the broken guitar neck.
“If I beat you senseless with this do you think you could tell the difference?” he snarled. Smokey didn’t say a word. He simply stared back at Marvin and blew smoke in his face. Marvin’s wild eyes darted around the room. “If I don’t have my god damn guitar back by the next show there will be hell to pay!” he roared and stormed out.
Two nights later, at our concert in Helsinki, Smokey sat at his drumkit to find that his drumsticks had been replaced with a set of spoons. He glared at Marvin. Marvin smiled back. “Deal with it,” he said. As Marvin and I started playing the opening song, Smokey picked up a chair, placed it in the middle of the stage, and just sat on it, cross-legged with his arms folded.
“Boy, this guy really stinks!” he called out, as Marvin started to sing. We got through the song and Smokey called out again. “Thank god that’s over. I thought it was the Wolves of Turku all over again!”
The crowd started to boo and jeer, and a large fish was thrown onto the stage, landing at Smokey’s feet. Smokey ran over to his drumkit, gathered up the spoons, and threw them into the now riotous crowd.
Marvin, who had maintained his composure throughout Smokey’s incessant heckling, picked up the fish and with a mighty swing, slapped Smokey in the back of the head. Smokey dropped to the floor, to a galvanizing cheer from the crowd, and Marvin stormed off the stage. Not knowing what to do, I stood awkwardly for a moment and then followed him. Following that night, we cancelled the remainder of the tour and Smokey never performed with Scruples again.
Months later, after the dust settled, I asked Marvin why he and Smokey never got on. Marvin looked into his cup of tea, as if searching for the answer. Finally, he said, “In his audition, he called me Martin.” He blew on his tea and took a sip. “Martin,” he repeated, and shook his head.
