Written by Jean Le Fete

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image for Electric Pineapple Launches 50th Anniversary Tour Part 1 Artois Armonde,Levy Nimoy, and Francisco Starland

March marks the beginning of Electric Pineapple's 50th Anniversary Tour. While

Day 1

I was waiting for the lads on the tarmac at Heathrow South. The 50th anniversary tour was on. We had waited...50 years for this moment and here I stood with our equipment, waiting for it to be loaded onto the charter for our flight to America. Much like the Beatles must have felt, I thought to myself. I had put up my life savings of 7500 pounds for this charter trip. We were in a corner of the Heathrow complex normal people never see. The plane wasn't much to look at, an B27 bomber, but it would have to do, since the cost of our bags and equipment on a commercial airliner would have been nearly 12,000 pounds.

No roadies, just us four old men to load it. Amazing that the Rolling Stones and The Beach Boys are out for their 50th Anniversary Tours at the same time. Shame they don'ts have a clue as to who we are. I was a Rolling Stone before any of them! I came up with the name when we first started gigs in the Cavern Club, but nobody remembers that! The only one of thems that knows us is Jagger. He came back stage one night with Richards in tow. The little bastard just wanted some dope to smoke, didn't have a kind word to say, the smart allec.

Levy was the first to show, my bassist with his dyed red hair looked like a volcano, with fag in mouth sendin up the smoke. He was a lifer, looked dead actually, but you plugged him into an amp all the sudden he was 18 again. Francisco came next with his collection of lead guitars draped over his shoulder in their tattered bags.

"Arty what the fuck am I to do about a synthesizer for 'Envelope of Urine?' This fuzz master is burnt to a crisp no joke either," complained Fran setting down his load, "Oh and Davey called and wished his best to us."

"Davey who? Davey Jones mate? You getting appiritions again mate?" I asked.

"Clarky you asshole, just old Clarky" said Fran, meaning David Clarke of the Doormats, a band they had both played for. The Doormats had actually played at a House of Blues

"Where's our god damned drummer? I asked, we've got to get this heap in the air afore the pilot gets soused again. Just then Manfred Smith arrived in a golf cart with his drum kit in tow on a small trailer he'd commandeered.

"Alright", I said, "We've a small change from our tour manager in Texas, were headed to Armadillo!.....(To be continued)

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