Stolen Luck

Keith was not the songwriter. Darren and Stewart wrote the songs. Keith hit things, some of which were drums. He came in one day with a song and nobody wanted to play it.

The song was the least of their problems. They had signed with a label, so their music was used in adverts and that, it brought in some dosh, they were shameless rock sluts because the fans downloaded the songs for free. Slutdom was not the issue. The issue was that the contract would not let them do independent gigs.
Keith had had an argument with them because the Arctic Monkeys, look at the fucking Arctic Monkeys, why the fuck can’t we do what the fucking Arctic Monkeys, this being the capacity for inarticulate rage which had made him a drummer in the first


And Darren and Stewart, being songwriters, had talked and talked and talked and talked to the point that there were signatures on the contract.


Then the inconceivable had happened which is that Thom Yorke sent an email inviting them to do a gig. Keith said they should just do it, fuck the fucking contract but Darren and stewart


So then Keith was very quiet. Never a good sign. Given Keith’s known propensity to hit things other than drums. So Darren said they would record the song.




Keith tried to explain his concept and Darren and Stewart kept arsing about and then Sean the keyboardist sussed that it was an arsing about session and then Keith put down his sticks.

Darren, Stewart and Sean sussed that the beat was gone. Keith, says Darren. What the fuck. Keith disengaged from the scaffolding of things that could be hit that made noise.


He stood up. he walked across the floor while Darren, Stewart and Sean varied the theme of


What the fuck. He took the mic from Darren. In addition to not being a songwriter Keith was not a singer. he dragged the lyrics of the song over reluctant vocal chords and spat them into the mic. fucking great man said Darren who did not want another guitar percussioned to subatomic particles against wall, floor, chair, his head. yeah fucking great said Stewart who had also lost 3 guitars and Sean hastened to protect his keyboard from berserk drummer syndrome, fucking great, insane, totally fucking crazy man


Keith handed the mic back to Darren. He turned and walked out the door.


is author of The Last Samurai and Lightning Rods, and co-author of Your Name Here with Ilya Gridneff, an Australian journalist.



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