Jail Guitar Doors

Dan l-artiklu kellu jidher fuq il-gazzetta li kellhom johorgu l-Ghaqda Studenti Tal-Kriminologija, imma qatt ma deher (ghal xi ragunijiet li ma nafhomx). Hawnekk hawn l-artiklu kollu miktub minn Daniel, il-kitarrist tad-Dripht.

At the end of 2005, four shabbily dressed musicians played at the Corradino Correctional Facility, the local prison, in front of two score or so inmates. One of them, Daniel Cassar, recounts the events of that afternoon…

As the last chord rings out, a polite applause cues in from the seated audience, and awkwardly we unstrap our guitars to help ourselves to the provided soft drinks and assorted pastries. It was a far cry from the Rock'n'Roll notion of playing in a prison and tracing the footsteps of the likes of Johnny Cash and John Lee Hooker, yet it wasn't that we were after.

The gig was held upon invitation by Fr. Mark Montebello of the prison support group 'Mid-Dlam ghad-Dawl', as part of the Christmas festivity 'grants' that the inmates of the Juvenile Section are allowed. The invitation, which came a month before the gig, caught us by surprise, yet we could not refuse it – we were quite honoured to be asked, and anyhow, as a band we've played far more unlikely venues than a prison. In addition to that, it seemed like a fitting finale to quite an eventful year for us, so we accepted the gig without hesitation, and spent the month going on about business as usual.

On the 27th of December, we all took the day off from our respective day jobs, and met at our rehearsal room to load up the equipment. It was quite a DIY gig, since obviously the prison is much less equipped for a band than even the most remote of local toilet venues and this meant loading up whatever equipment we could patch up together – microphones, amplifiers, a borrowed P.A. and, of course, our instruments. Our cars drove out of the garage spaces looking more like a third world presidential convoy than a band driving to a venue and within an hour our cars were parked in line outside the main gate of the Corradino Correctional Facility (CCF) in Paola. Within a few seconds, a rather panicked security guard runs up to us to tell us to go round the back as we cannot block the driveway into the prison, and so we oblige. When our patchy convoy approaches the Juvenile Section Block's gate, we are overtaken by Fr. Mark riding a motorcycle, and the whole security procedure to get into the prison begins.

We are instructed to leave our belongings in a locker inside the security room, searched lightly for anything that might breach the prison security, and given the instruction 'In case anything happens when you're inside, stay put!'. After that slightly disturbing instruction, however, the guards loosened up somewhat and the tension pretty much waned. We were allowed to park our cars in the internal courtyard where we were greeted by a few of the inmates, who promptly helped us unload and carry the equipment into the chapel – where the gig was to be held. The chapel did highlight quite a resemblance to an orderly local youth centre event, chairs had been already set up facing where we were about to play – not on a stage but on level with the seated audience.

These two factors humbled us somewhat, the usual set up being on stage in front of a standing audience. Silently, the drum kit was set up and the amplifiers switched on, and the rest of the inmates joined us to the provided food and non-alcoholic drinks. We found it hard to break the ice, for obvious reasons, but the instruments did prove to be a bit of help. Among the inmates I found a fellow guitar player, to whom Fr. Montebello seemed to have provided a guitar for playing during mass – since he was quite in form. The temptation of an electric guitar plugged into an amplifier is great, even in normal circumstances, and sure enough, the chapel was filled with the reverberating riff from the White Stripes' 'Seven Nation Army'. This somehow filled us a bit with some confidence we were worryingly lacking, and soon after, we took to the 'stage' and began churning out our songs…

It didn't take us long to break some more of the ice, yet from the band's point of view, it was quite an awkward situation we were facing. Our frontman, Nick, seemed quite subdued compared to his usual loud antics at our more straightforward live appearances, but no one could blame him – the audience response ranged the wide spectrum of occasional foot tapping, polite nods, and a few clapping in between songs.

As we marched through our set of songs, the response got warmer and warmer, until we finally hit a nerve when we belted out our reggae rendition of the Black Sabbath song 'Paranoid'. Here the audience finally came to life, when we were joined with a few inmates singing along to some of the lyrics, and giving approving nods in our direction. After that, they seemed to be more at ease with our playing – and the clapping accompanied us incrementally stronger till the end of our setlist. However, it had to be at the CCF that both Nick and myself encounter technical problems with our guitars, and due to these we had to skip out on a few songs. Nevertheless, with all the confidence we could scrape, and admittedly, some memories of much worse live situations, we carried on with very little trouble.

… and the last chord rings out…

With the ringing of Mike's loud drumming still in our ears, we move towards to refreshment table, and here finally we realize that we went down quite well, and the interesting part of the visit finally started taking place.

Nick and Fre, our bassist, were immediately surrounded and were asked a barrage of questions about playing in a band, Mike got the usual 'drumming fans', and I, being the only smoker in the band, was joined outside smoking a cigarette with a few of the inmates and guards. The enthusiasm immediately showed from their end, and it very much looked like the prison staff and the inmates were quite on a friendly basis – after a bit, I found myself discussing Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, the Clash and a few more musical greats with our hosts. By now the oddness of the afternoon had lifted and it did not feel very different from chatting away over a cigarette or two with gig goers outside of a venue.

After a few offers for customized band uniforms from one inmate, discovering an ex-student of Mike's (bad influence?) among our hosts, an account of the proceedings of a satanic mass and a slightly comical yet somehow worrying incident involving a stray live rabbit that managed to infiltrate into the prison courtyard, we were helped to dismantle our equipment and load it back into our convoy of patchy automobiles. At this point we decided to present our little gift to the inmates and guards – a copy each of our last release (which was received with a subversive murmured comment 'Illejla kullhadd nifthulu kemm nistghu'), exchanged our good byes, received a few promises from our hosts' end to attend our gigs when their time at the CCF ends, and we were escorted to the guards' quarters to pick up our belongings.

It was when we were driving out of the gates that it hit us how imposing the prison walls are, and how they humble whoever is within them. The general air of awkwardness, and the lack of confidence we felt throughout did in fact come from the walls themselves. And no, this is no petty philosophical musing attempt, the walls really did drain our confidence – personally they made me feel quite small, and, for obvious reasons, trapped.

The post-gig conversations did lighten up the atmosphere somewhat, yet this was a day to grant the inmates some release – these kids, most of them younger than ourselves, are locked up within these walls on a daily basis, and most of them are in there for petty thefts and petty reasons. A few hours within those walls do affect you, even though it is very much dampened if you're comfortable knowing that you can up and leave whenever you want. Months and, like in some of these cases, years, can have a serious lasting effect on a person – and you cannot help but wondering if a number of these kids who we played to do deserve to be locked up. Is this the only way to counter certain petty crimes? Or should we present an alternative like community service that can have a genuinely positive effect as a lesson, rather than punish unconstructively by locking up?

I guess it leaves 'Mid-Dlam ghad-Dawl' to give hope and direction in what would be otherwise a pointless exercise in 'correction'. Even just the action of exposing them to a more constructive release, like in this case, music, can make a whole lot more of a difference, and here, the inmates, and ultimately us 'free folk', have a lot to thank them for.

Daniel Cassar plays in 'Dripht' which is made up of him, Nick Morales (Vox/Guitar), Fre Abdilla (Bass) and Mike Briguglio (Drums). They have released two EPs 'Dripht' and 'Global Warning' and play several local shows. For more information visit www.dripht.com.