We'd often have a little chat and on this particular evening in Manchester, I thought he said: 'What are you doing after the show? 'Chicken vindaloo, pilau rice, half a dozen poppadums, bhindi bhaji, Bombay aloo and a stuffed paratha.' About 30 minutes later, I started to get this distinct waft of curry. The rest of the band weren't best pleased - after all, there was a certain mystique surrounding Yes.I looked down and my roadie was lying there holding up an Indian takeaway. The singer, guitarist, bassist and drummer were all thoughtful people - interested in philosophy and alternative lifestyles and this was an image at odds with the fact that the keyboard player was a beer-swilling, darts-playing, meat-eating oaf, one who would happily eat a curry in the middle of a show. I was a classically trained musician who had worked with numerous artists as a session musician.Golden years: Rick Wakefield at the height of his fame in the Seventies There was a mad percussion section where everybody banged things.
The grandiose elements of Yes were spiralling out of all control and the stage set was unbelievable.
It had been designed by Roger Dean, who had done the album cover, and reflected the record's artwork.
It wasn't the sort of outfit that attracted groupies: our fans were more likely to throw synthesizer manuals on stage than knickers.
The other four members of the band - guitarist Steve Howe, singer Jon Anderson, bassist Chris Squire and drummer Alan White - were all technically gifted musicians and, without being immodest, we were a huge band with massive record sales. Indeed, sometimes I needed directions just to get to my keyboards.
One evening I pushed a bit too hard and the Hammond went hurtling towards the edge of the stage.
I dived on top of it to try to slow it down but organ and organist crashed over the edge.
'Yes, I think I know what the problem is,' he said prodding a circuit board.
The curtain went up and Yes had suddenly acquired a sixth member who was messing about with a complicated piece of electronic wizardry in the middle of the stage, completely oblivious to the audience of 20,000 punters, all of whom appeared to accept this as perfectly normal.
In my previous band, the Strawbs, I'd had a Hammond organ on wheels.
When we were playing the last number of the night I would push this thing across the stage and race after it while playing it.
The Hammond was smashed to smithereens and I was cut to ribbons.