So I’m playing some gig in a dingy basement at 3am, and who should be in the audience but one of my greatest influences as a lyricist and performer, Andrew Eldritch from the Sisters of Mercy. So we go for a drink afterwards and he says he’s impressed by what I’ve done and he wants me to play a “live-in-the-studio” demo gig for some bigwigs in the music industry he knows, at his private studio. But on the day my equipment doesn’t work properly, my voice is shot and everyone walks out halfway through, and Eldritch tells me how disappointed he is in me.
Sounds like those King Crimson anxiety dreams that Robert Fripp keeps having. It could be worse, it could be Kate Bush whom I let down.