Free Frank: The True Story that Inspired the Movie by Jon Ronson Page B

Chris. Then he hung up.
    I looked at the receiver.
    I arrived at the bar at exactly 5pm. The place was dingy even in daytime – we were deep in a basement – and empty except for a few men fiddling with equipment some
distance away across the sticky carpet near the stage.
    ‘Hello?’ I called.
    The men turned. I scrutinized their faces. In the three hours since the phone call I’d learnt a little about Frank. Frank Sidebottom – how he wore a big fake head on stage and there
was much speculation about his real identity. Some thought he might be the alter ego of a celebrity, possibly Midge Ure, the lead singer of the band Ultravox, who had just had a huge hit with the
New Romantic song ‘Vienna’, and was known to be a big Frank Sidebottom fan. Which of these men looking at me might be Frank? And how would I know? If I looked closely would there be
some kind of facial indication?
    I took a step closer. And then I became aware of another figure kneeling in the shadows, his back to me. He began to turn. I let out a gasp. Two huge eyes were staring intently at me, painted
onto a great, imposing fake head, lips slightly parted as if mildly surprised. Why was he wearing the fake head when there was nobody there to see it except for his own band? Did he wear it all the
time? Did he
never take it off
?
    ‘Hello, Chris,’ I said. ‘I’m Jon.’
    Silence.
    ‘Hello . . . Chris?’ I said again.
    He said nothing.
    ‘Hello . . . Frank?’ I tried.
    ‘
HELLO!
’ he yelled.
    Another of the men came bounding over to me. ‘You’re Jon,’ he said. I recognized his voice from the telephone. ‘I’m Mike Doherty. Thank you for
standing in at such short notice.’
    ‘So,’ I said. ‘Maybe we could run through the songs? Or . . . ?’
    Frank’s face stared at me.
    ‘Frank?’ Mike said.
    ‘
OH YES?
’
    ‘Can you teach Jon the songs?’ he said.
    At this Frank raised his hands to his head and began to prise it off, turning slightly away from me, almost as an act of modesty, like he was shyly undressing. I thought I saw a flash of
something under there, some contraption attached to his face which he seemed to quickly remove, but I wasn’t sure that had happened at all. It was all so fast and discreetly done.
    ‘Hello, Jon,’ said the man underneath. He had a nice, ordinary face.
    ‘Hello . . . Chris?’ I said.
    Chris gave me a sheepish smile, as if to say he was sorry that I had to endure all the weirdness of the past few minutes but it was out of his hands. He took me to a corner and patiently taught
me the songs. I picked them up pretty quickly. They were indeed comprised almost entirely of C, F and G. There were one or two other notes, but certainly not the full range. They were mostly cover
versions of Queen and Beatles hits.
     

    Frank’s songsheet.
     
    Before I knew it the public had arrived, and we were onstage. As I played I watched it all – the band assiduously emulating with proper instruments the tinny pre-programmed sounds of a
cheap, amateurish children’s Casio keyboard, the enraptured audience of about three hundred people, and Frank, the eerie cartoon character front-man, his facial expression immobile, his
singing voice a high-pitched nasal twang. I marvelled at the mysterious train of creative thought that had somehow led to this place.
     

    Frank Sidebottom and Jon Ronson.
     
    Towards the end of the show Frank introduced the band. ‘On drums . . . Mike Doherty.’ There was a cheer. ‘On guitar . . . Rick Sarko. On bass . . . Patrick Gallagher.’ He
left me until last. ‘On keyboards . . . Jon Ronson.’ But something unexpected happened. Every other band member had been given a cheer of basically the same volume. But the cheer I
received was very noticeably quieter. I was baffled. What had I done wrong? A room full of strangers had for some reason made a unanimous negative determination about me on what seemed the scantest
information.
    And then, suddenly, I understood.