The top 10 fan versus band scuffles

Keith Richards had that “cat was on my turf so I cut the mother down” reaction to an enthusiastic fan climbing on stage, resulting in the poor chap receiving a guitar around the head. I always thought that was pretty cool when I was a kid.

I also remember reading about Jim Reid from the Jesus and Mary Chain whacking a couple of people in Canada because they spat on him, and being suitably impressed. Now I’m a grown-up and I still think the artist has the right to bash the skulls of those who overstep the mark. Put simply, the performer is there to perform and the audience is there to, er, be an audience.

I’m a huge fan of the lady who has a small Malaysian takeaway in my neighbourhood, but I would never leap over the counter and try to hug her, even when drunk. I respect the barrier between artist and consumer, and I think pop music fans should too.

Stage diving is different. If some alienated kid from Orpington with badly clashing clothes wants to hop on to our stage and then take another kid’s eye out with his dyspraxic foot that’s fine by me. Not that they ever do. Which is a shame. If someone were to intrude on our stage under any other circumstance I think we’d all be pretty confident about the persuasive powers of a reasonably priced guitar against a human head. Except our drummer, who’d get all pokey with one of his sticks.

Who in their right mind would want to touch Amy Winehouse’s hair though? I can only assume that the “fan” was trying to find some drugs, possibly because they’d given theirs away to reach the coveted “squashed against the barriers” slot in front of the Pyramid Stage. Imagine how horrified they were to discover that there weren’t any drugs in Amy’s hair because she’d washed them all out for her big show. Of all the pop stars to have a tug on, surely she’d be one of the more volatile (you don’t see anyone trying to pull Jay-Z’s hair, do you?).

Luckily I’m in the kind of band where fan worship tends only to take the form of creepy e-mails and odd little men approaching us after shows saying things such as “I prefer it when you play the older songs”, or “will you sign this picture for my girlfriend?” Her name? “Ah, yes, it’s Barry”. But we’ve still had the occasional run-in. There was the young man who tried to tie my shoelaces together while I was singing with my eyes shut. I went to kick his hands but accidentally got his face. Then there were the two ladies in Winchester . . . but that’s a story for another day.

Maybe if we become more well known we’ll attract people who want to touch us at inappropriate times, and if that happens I will gladly pull out the elbow manoeuvre I was once taught but have yet to use.

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