Leicester musician, Jersey Budd, played huge gigs at Glastonbury and the Royal Albert Hall. He toured with his old school mates, Kasabian. Everything was in place for him to be The Next Big Thing. But did it happen? Jersey speaks to feature writer, Molly Lee.
It’s a Saturday night at a small rugby club in Blaby. Leicester musician, Jersey Budd, is playing a couple of sets for a fundraising event for a charity. It’s a small gig for a local charity. He’s not being paid. In the corner of the club, sit his three children – Isla, Joni and Wilco.
Half on their iPads, half singing and dancing along to their dad’s music, his kids are his biggest fans. Today, after 20 up-and-down years in the music business, it means more to Jersey, 41, to have his loved ones sitting listening to his songs than crowds of people.
More than a decade ago, Jersey was performing in front of thousands of people at Glastonbury and venues like the Royal Albert Hall with a roll-call of famous artists. He was many people’s hot tip to become The Next Big Thing.
It never quite happened.
Today, music is simply a hobby for him and his career is in plumbing.
Young Jersey got his first plumbing job from his dad. It was simply a means to an end, money for him to buy guitars and amps. All he cared about was music.
One day, stood at the top of the scaffolding at a building site he was working on, he received a life-changing phone call. He had been signed to an agency. He was going to make it big.
Delighted, he handed over his plumbing kit and waved goodbye to his colleagues. It seemed like a new dawn had broken for Jersey. But little did he know, some years later, he would buy that kit back and return to his job as a full-time plumber.
From Glastonbury to Room 1.32D in Clephan: Jersey Budd shows the DMU Music Journalism students he still has it.
“I never thought I was going to be a big, massive star,” says Jersey, with a smile. “Making it for me would be dropping the kids off at school in the morning and, by the evening, I’d be playing music.” He did that for a while – he was a professional musician, signed to a record label – but it was a precarious existence, and it didn’t last.
His first memories of music are with his parents, growing up in the Leicestershire village of Countesthorpe, where his dad’s old record player constantly played old classics such as Bruce Springsteen, The Beatles and more.
Jersey didn’t realise he could sing until the age of 14, when his mum, who was the dinner lady at his college, told some students: “My little boy can sing.” Soon after, he was in a band, playing old rock covers in the music department at lunchtime. It was an invaluable apprenticeship.
Suddenly, the shy and nervous teenager Jersey turned into an aspiring artist.
“The first time I realised it was for me was when the girls started coming over,” says Jersey, with an infectious laugh. “When the girls started taking an interest in me, I thought: ‘Ooh this could be a possibility’.”
After learning a few guitar chords from his friends and shadowing fellow Leicester musicians, Kasabian – who went to the same school – 14-year-old Jersey wrote his first song, Mystery Queen. It was a simple song, but, today, he sees it like your first love or first kiss – you remember it forever.
A mantra Jersey still follows when creating music is from Velvet Underground’s Lou Reed – “three chords and the truth.” This applied perfectly to his first song as he didn’t care if everyone thought it was crap. It didn’t matter. He liked it.
In 2006, Jersey started travelling down to London with his old school mates Kasabian.
“Sometimes it felt like I was riding on their coat-tails a bit, but I was dead proud of them,” says Jersey, who played with the band twice at Royal Albert Hall for Teenage Cancer Trust. He was paid £50.
He also toured around Europe with Scottish songstress Amy McDonald, where his band went down well in France, Germany and Holland. It was a heady baptism into the world of live music.
In true rock and roll fashion, he had many crazy nights out, including one time he played with Oasis’ Noel Gallagher sat down in the bathroom of Ringo Starr’s daughter’s home.
In 2009, he played at the Queen’s Head stage in Glastonbury in front of a sea of people waving Leicester flags.
Jersey was told he would sell 100,000 records. His name appeared in every major newspaper and magazine at the time. All the steps were taken, all the groundwork was done. It was looking good. But it didn’t happen. For some reason, it didn’t take off.
In 2011, Jersey knew the relationship with his manager was going downhill after his album – well reviewed in the music press – didn’t sell. Shortly after, his manager ditched him by email.
The next day, trying to be positive, he rang his booking agency in London. But the bridge was already burnt as soon as his manager dropped him.
“I fell out of love with music and the industry,” says Jersey. He realised the music industry was a dog-eat-dog world. He also realised it wasn’t for him.
“I thought what’s the point? Nobody’s listening so I felt a bit sorry for myself.”
Hello Cleveland, sorry Clephan: Jersey and the DMU Music Journalism students.
Although he didn’t make it big, Jersey has a legacy – specifically in Leicester. The unofficial anthem of Leicester City Football Club (LCFC) is his version of Louis Armstrong’s When You’re Smiling. His song is played at every LCFC home game, where all fans sing along.
One of his favourite moments was at the LCFC vs Roma match in the semi-finals, where him, his dad, his sister, nephew and five-year-old daughter sat in the family stand before the game. As Leicester City captain Jamie Vardy was about to kick off, the club started to play his song.
“I’ll never forget my little girl’s face,” says Jersey. “It still brings me to tears today, her little face showing that her dad isn’t just a plumber who comes back home all scruffed up. Her dad has actually achieved something.”
It wasn’t just his little daughter who was proud of him that night. His dad was, too.
“My dad stood next to me and said, ‘that was f*ckin’ alright weren’t it, Jerz?’” says Jersey. “That was his way of him saying I’m proud of you son.”
That’s all that mattered to Jersey.
