After my Pa left school, in 1928, at the age of 13, his Father secured him a job at Heybridge laundry. It was an apprenticeship in a profession that would stand  him in good stead for his next big adventure.
But for now, as a young teenager, it was regular work and an education of another kind……

At this age, my Pa writes that his knowledge of the fairer sex was limited to the fact that they wore skirts and boys wore trousers. At the laundry his duties consisted of filling the washing machines with soiled linen, which would be washed by a senior laundryman, after which the linen would be “Hydro’d”(spun dried)then Pa would convey the linen to be ironed, which was done by women.  Everytime my Pa passed these particular 2 women, he would playfully pat them on their bums. “Cheeky arrogance” he called it. However after one playful pat too many, the women grabbed him, had his trousers off in a flash and poured oil all over his penis! Bearing in mind my Pa was short and slight, he was no match for these 2 ladies and promptly burst into tears!
He ran down to the boiler room where the foreman was firing the boilers. Seeing his tears and obvious distress, the foreman asked Alfie what was wrong, and he replied that the girls had poured oil on his “Drib”, the only term he knew for his penis!
The term “Drib” dates back to 1700s, probably derived from dribble, or a small amount, as in dribs and drabs. Tho’ it has to be said my Father was well hung! Apparently Drib is also Hip hop slang for a gram of Ganja!

After his first close encounter, my Pa learnt rapidly about girls, and had various affairs over the 3 years he worked at the laundry, calling it a most enjoyable sex education! The haystacks along the road leading towards the laundry were the venue for many a kiss and cuddle, a roll in the hay!

My Pa stayed at the laundry until the depression hit businesses and less people required their services. He was made redundant in 1931(there was no redundancy payouts in those days), so he went to sign on at what was then called the Labour exchange. Alfie said he was “dead scared” of the officials there, who would shout and holler at you, no doubt in an attempt to put you off claiming the meagre amount of 3 shillings a week Dole money. He said you had to convince them you could not find a job!
But his stint as one of the great unwashed was not to last, because after several weeks the Labour exchange sent him for an interview at John Sadd and son, which at the time was a successful local timber business.The manager who interviewed him recognised Pa as his Saturday paper boy and gave him the job. Pa loved timber and wood machining, and before he was 21 had become a skilled and proficient wood machinist.
The pay at Sadd’s was poor compared to other firms, so it was with great joy my Pa applied for and was given a job by another timber company in Stevenage, starting pay one shilling and six pence an hour, 7 pence more than Sadds.
He confronted the management at Sadd’s saying he’d been offered another job, but would stay with them if they upped his pay to the top local rate of one shilling and 3 pence an hour. They offered him one shilling and 2 and a half pence per hour. Pa walked out with the manager’s words ringing in his ears, that he’d never hold the job down, but Pa knew it was a “Doddle”, and him and his friend George Hinton started work in Stevenage.
Alfie loved motor bikes as a young man, and once owned an Ariel 4 square, a bike so big and heavy that often as not once he’d kicked the bike off the stand he promptly fell over! Eventually he settled for a Triumph, a bonneville I believe. Alfie and George travelled to and from Stevenage on their motorbikes.

Coming home one weekend to visit their ladies, George was involved in a serious bike crash and spent many weeks in hospital. Pa got rather lonely without his pal, Stevenage was a small town back then, with very little in the way of entertainment. One weekend at home his old foreman sent word he wanted to talk. He offered Pa his job back, saying they’d never been able to replace him. Pa accepted his offer happily, he’d missed Maldon, tho’ he’d enjoyed his time in Stevenage, but without George it hadn’t been much fun and he was glad to be back amongst people he knew.

Ma and Pa married at Saint Mary’s church in April 1937. Initially they lived with my Grandfather, Alfred Ruffle, but shortly thereafter rented their own cottage in Mill road for seven shillings and six pence! Pa’s pay was a colossal three pounds eight shillings a week, a very good wage for the times. The economy was booming and everyone was in work.

I remember my Pa telling me that when he’d first met my Ma, the only shoes she had were a pair of Wellington boots, and they were too small for her! Alfie bought her a pair of shoes, a move which improved my Grandparents Percy Double Day and Ethel Kate Mead’s opinion of him. Previously they’d thought him something of a Scallywag…………..

On September 3rd 1939 England declared war on the Germans, initiating World War 2. My sister Anna was 3 days old.
Pa of course got called up to do National service in November, but failed the medical due to his deafness, with both his eardrums perforated. He told me a tragi-comic tale that he waited for his name to be called to go in to see the Doctor for his medical…and waited… and waited. Until all the other people waiting had seen the Doctor, and he was the only man left in the waiting room. He went up to the clerk to ask why his name hadn’t been called. It had. Six times!
He went home with a glum face and confronted my Ma with the certificate  of exemption, she apparently burst into tears with relief!

Pa promptly joined the Auxiliary Fire Service and remained with them until the end of the War, at which point he joined the local Maldon Fire Brigade part time, another job he adored.
Pa said the AFS was made up of conscientious objectors and the like, some of whom were Gay. Several of them were rather camp and apparently very funny. Whilst my Pa was ferociously Hetro he didn’t have an issue with Gay men, and worked with a few in the Merchant Navy.
With the coming of the War Alfie was working at Sadd’s under what was called the Essential works order, which was mostly for people whose work was important to up keeping the war effort.
But also as a member of AFS he was also involved with firewatching, and since women were also involved in firewatching it made  the job interesting for Pa, if somewhat hazardous!

Pa had several women he’d see firewatching, and of course the blackouts proved brilliant cover for his frolics.
He describes one of these gals as rather superior in her manner but peculiar in her sexual capers. They would meet outside the railway station, and cavort on the covered  flagstone annexe on his overcoat. She would instruct Pa as to her desires, but wouldn’t let him fondle her! One evening they lay quietly when they heard heavy footsteps clomping through the booking office. They hardly dared breath as the footsteps stopped, and doors shut. It was the train driver and fireman going off duty. One of them remarked he needed a pee………….. and he relieved himself all over their legs! As it was pitch black their cover was safe, tho’ Alfie remarked he thought the chap was never going to stop peeing! They didn’t use the annexe again after that!

In 1947 my sister Helen was born, and Afie continued to work at Sadd’s. Through advice from my Ma’s uncle Harry Day, who had just left the Royal Navy, he was told he could make alot of money in the Merchant Navy, utilising his skills as a laundryman.
And so it was, in May 1950, Pa went to sea as a chief laundryman, with the Orient line. This was to be the start of Alfie’s biggest adventure……………

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It’s a sad and shocking statistic that at Christmas time incidents of domestic violence and friction increase dramatically. And why should that be? Is it the close proximity of other family members, that one usually never sees except over the Festive season, that irritates? Is it the increased Alcohol intake that causes people to become more aggressive? Or is it the sudden boredom that some some people suffer over the Holiday season?

No, I think I know why tempers are flared and fuses are short over Christmas. In two words, FAIRY LIGHTS!

So you’re thinking, how can something so innocuous and pretty cause so much bad feeling? Well, first up the lights that you carefully packed away from the previous Yuletime, ensuring all the bulbs are working, and carefully replacing all plugs and fuses, dusting them, polishing them etc. rarely work the following year. Or worst still, you put the lights on the tree, they work fine. You decorate the tree and mysteriously the lights go out. You carefully replace every single bulb and yay, they’re up and running again. That is, until a Wood Louse farts in close range of the lights and suddenly they go down again. So you carefully replace every single bulb again, nothing! Fighting back the sheer rage you carefully undecorate the tree, take all the Fairy lights off and plug them into a different socket and hey praise the Lord they come back on. Your rage and anger turns to delight, you calm yourself, you put the now working lights back on the tree, carefully redecorate the tree and plug in the lights. And hey, guess what, Satan(and NOT Santa)is messing with your head cos those damn lights just ain’t working!!!
Why why why? So you go into Poundstretchers or the late lamented Woolworth’s and ask the nice assistant for replacement bulbs. “Oooh no, we haven’t stocked those since the 70′s!”
And that’s it see. Replacement bulbs are a myth. Those 3 or 4 you get with your new set of lights, well make them last. Cos they’re the only 3 replacement bulbs in the KNOWN UNIVERSE. That’s it, just 3.

As a consequence people like me hoard replacement bulbs. I have approximately 5000 different types of bulbs. Not as a result of buying replacements but through keeping the remains of old sets, in the very vain hope that MAYBE one day you’ll buy a set of lights and hey look I’ve got tons of spares cos I kept the remainder from the set way back in ’63. Dream on, Buddy. Because before that occurs we will have colonised Mars, found a cure for Cancer and a reformed Osmonds will be number 1 in the Internet charts with that old GG Allin fave, “I wanna f**k  myself”.
It just AIN’T gonna happen.

If there was any justice in this world, if suddenly things turned fair for the average Dude on the street, the after sales service on Fairy lights would be first class. There’d be a help line, open through out all of the Holiday season, 24/7.

It’s Christmas day. As Fonz Linge would say, you’ve eaten your way through the pain barrier. In a happy haze of Whisky and Beer you contemplate the Christmas Dr Who, a short nap, the family arriving, Pyros a go go, more single Malt, then beddy byes clutching your favourite new toy. And what happens? The Fairy lights go down!
No problemo in the perfect world. You call the Fairy lights hot line, an 0800 number to boot. Within 10 minutes 3 chaps turn up in white lab assistant type coats. They assess the situation immediately with the aid of test meters and such like. Within 5 minutes they’ve either fixed your lights, apologised for the inconvenience, and left in a flurry of snowflakes and Ho Ho Ho’s. Or they replace your tree with an “It’s a Wonderful life” monster, with Harrods Fairy lights and small decorative Crackers containing Indoor fireworks or small pieces of jewelry made of Kashmir silver, and REAL candles, just like when I was a baby.And trust me Mr Health and Safety, our tree NEVER went up in flames, showering us with molten plastic and glass.

Much.

And whilst we’re on the subject of H&S, what is this silly shite about not being able to festoon our high streets over Christmas?
THEY say that there’s potential for injury, with the possibility of decorations falling from lamp posts etc. and causing harm to the cruisers below. Yeah right. When did you last see someone impaled on a Christmas decoration? “God look at that poor man, he’s being strangled by stray Tinsel!”. “Crikey that poor woman, those tree balls almost bashed her brains out!”. If there’s anyone out there who’ve witnessed scenes like this please get in touch. And ease up on your Parklife! Cos it just NEVER happens, Christmas decorations AREN’T dangerous! They’re just supposed to fill us with the Christmas spirit, not fill us full of dread and fear of walking down the street, paranoid we’ll be horribly mutilated by them!
As John Prime said to me recently, this stupidity is a result of our “Litigation Nation” a get rich quick scheme inherited from our American cousins. To people older than 40 all this “Nanny state” nonsence is insanity and an affront to our intelligence and common sense.
Please could our Government have an attack of common sense someday soon?
Ah well, what was I saying about the Osmonds………..

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYBODY!!!

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There’s major part of my “Fetish” that I didn’t mention. Sadly it isn’t something I’ve experienced since probably the late 60′s, and that’s Indoor Fireworks. Indoor Fireworks you ask, surely some mistake? Not the type that Sergeant Alan refers to in his comment on “Firework Fetish”? No, you read me right, mini Pyros for use INSIDE the home. I think my earliest recollection of them is connected with Christmas Crackers, as I believe that at one time individual Indoor Fireworks were placed in Crackers alongside the paper hat and cheesy joke, as a type of novelty. I have a vague recollection of Crackers that once you’d taken them from the box it revealed a number of small perforated doors containing said Pyros. Can anyone verify that?

But the most common Indoor Fireworks I can remember were just like the ones in these beautiful photos by Martin Weselby. These little Pyros only happened at Christmas, which was such a “gas” for a kid like me, who loved and still loves Christmas and Fireworks with a passion. They were by no means spectacular, but several did flash and delight, and of course the mini Sparklers were a good reminder of the excitement of November the 5th, with their distinctive smell, which I’m pleased to say remains unchanged to this day.
And that’s a big part of the Indoor Firework experience, the smell! For instance, the “Flashing Lighthouse” which for all intents and purposes was like a miniature Roman candle, a bright sparkling flash of a morsel. But the smoke it gave off was phenomenal, and would easily fill the room. I can’t quite recall the smell, only that I loved it and that it was VERY chemical. Another classic was the  “North Pole” which I believe was essentially what were then called “Coloured matches”, long headed matches that burnt considerably longer than regular matches, with a coloured flame.

And of course a concept that would be totally frowned upon and banned immediately(if not sooner!)in this day and age, the “Smoking Monkey”. Just like the little fellas with grand moustaches in Martin’s photo, who look like they have massive spliffs in their mouths. Just light the tip of the ciggy and yay! they start blowing smoke rings, more lovely chemical smoke! I can remember buying a little Monkey (made from plastic probably) at the wonderful Joke shop in Colchester, along with lots of little fags for him to smoke, what a happy little Monkey he was! And they sold Bangers out of season too,  a wonderful shop.

The “Snake in the Grass” was again a small flashing beauty, which when lit produced what looked like a wee Snake coming from it’s lair, some 4 or 5 inches of chemical ash rising from the cardboard. Or a big long curly poo depending on how you looked at it. How thrilling!
And another mini marvel missing from Martin’s pics is “Snow Storm”, again a cone of silver foil that when lit produced a shower of white chemical ash that would fill the room like a mini blizzard. Again with a major fog of chemical smoke. Also available at the Joke shop, small white pills that you put on a saucer that also produced a similar effect, I remember them being in blister packs.

Of course the promise of Indoor Fireworks was far more grand than was actually delivered, and the packaging probably excited me more as a young boy than the little Pyros themselves. I recall the kitchen in the family home at Fitch’s crescent, Christmas night, early evening, the family excitedly gathering around the table, the lights low, with either Jed or my Pa on lighting duties, happy times.
But oh that smoke!

And that’s probably why I cajoled my parents into letting me have a Chemistry set. A Chemistry set you ask? Children allowed to play with dangerous and toxic chemicals? Surely some mistake? No, again you read me right, in the 1960′s and way back to Victorian times, kids were allowed Chemistry sets, as an educational toy. And the selling point for me was the hype about them inferred that they had some “Magic” ingredients, more like Alchemy than Chemistry. Way before Harry Potter. And of course I was convinced I could make my own Gunpowder, which was surely one small step away from making my own Fireworks!!!
I actually found my Chemistry set recently whilst going through the bowels of my outside store cupboard. Ma and Pa couldn’t afford to buy me a Chad Valley set, so clever Pa made me a grand looking wooden box to keep all the bits and pieces I acquired from another wonderful shop, this time in Chelmsford, called Body’s. Body’s was right of Burger King, on the edge of the bridge, a marvellous old fashioned chemist’s shop, that amongst the myriad of pills and potions, and surgical aids too numerous to list actually sold chemicals! And it had a beautiful red neon sign above the door.I can recall buying Magnesium ribbon from this shop, which was a fabulous coil of silver metal, inside a small cardboard box the size of an incence cone box. I acquired my fondness for Magnesium ribbon at school when some hapless Chemistry teacher showed us the effects of burning Magnesium. Right, we’ll be having some of that then, looks a bit like a Firework, and the fact that it burnt at 473C (883F) and was extremely dangerous was irrelevant, the flame was beautiful and bright white and I had to have some!

Of course it would be a dreadful lie to suggest that I was committed to the educational qualities of my Chemistry set, all I wanted to do was blow things up, or at least make them fizz and erupt uncontrollably. A customer of mine told me one of her friends managed to blow his little finger off attempting to make his own Fireworks, in the family garage, with his Chemistry set! Bet he wore that stump like a badge. “No, I didn’t go to the ‘Nam, I did it making my own explosives!”
He must have been a God amongst his school mates………..

And so I read that certain American chain stores are predicting the must have toy for boys this Christmas will be the revamped, new improved Chemistry set! Without chemicals…………..but with safety goggles and apron.
Isn’t that a bit like Ringo being the last of the Fab Four reforming the Beatles with Liam Gallagher? Beatles lite. Chemistry set lite. Oh how sad………………

Anyway, as a last word about Indoor Fireworks, I think I spot a rather sinister  sub plot here. Silver foil wraps. The inhalation of toxic smoke. Little white pills, the smoking “Monkey”, “Flashing” Lighthouse………..God it’s a wonder my entire generation weren’t drug addicts and Junkies! And if that wasn’t enough,  they then gave us our own laboratory and chemicals and said “Go forth!”

“Alwight Tel?!?”

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Further to Charles Birch’s excellent comment about his Great Grandfather, I recieved this:-                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 Hi Terence!

Here are a few images for you – don’t know if they’ll be of any use to you, but still…?!

1) A later picture postcard of Anita the ‘Living Doll’.

2) The photograph (date unknown) I was talking of, featuring my Great Grandpa Charlie Birch, and Anita ‘The Living Doll’ who is visable but just slightly out of shot.  She occupied his ‘Living’ carriage.

3) An earlier photograph (taken in 1910) of my Great Grandpa, aged 50, with dogs and a Shetland pony that featured in his famous Midget Show that starred Anita ‘The Living Doll’.  Eddie Monte is stood at the living van door.  Photograph courtesy of UK Fairground Ancestors website.

 

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Originally posted on Psychedelicgaragepunk.com on January 7th 2009

Like I’m sure many other Beach Boys fans did, I eagerly awaited the reissue of “Pacific Ocean Blue” by Dennis Wilson. I’ve had a very clean copy on Mini disc, taken from an original pristine 1977 cassette tape, for a number of years. I love the album, the songs, and I love Carl Wilson’s backing vocals.
This music is of course unmistakably the work of a Beach Boy. But certainly a sight more left field. And of course Dennis has this strangely Gothic, Operatic slant on certain songs (see “Cuddle up” as an example prior to POB) which fascinates me.
And as for “Bambu”, well I have countless versions, little of which I’ve ever particularly liked, as it’s raunchy R’n'B with Dennis’ croaky voice(as a result of somebody punching him in the throat in a bar room brawl) drunkenly meandering.
But “Bambu” or no, I started to get very excited about a trip into Dennis’ archives.
With songs like “Forever” from Sunflower, and the brilliant “A time to live in dreams”
from the Hawthorne, California compilation, I’ve always felt Dennis to be seriously underrated by the general listening public and  Beach Boy fans generally. Another near genius from a family of incredibly talented musicians.

I was rather taken aback by the amount of hype surrounding this re-ish, but then with Brother Brian once again being a cash cow for the music industry ( though through touring rather than cd sales nowadays) it shouldn’t have come as any suprise.
But what really suprised, and I must say personally disgusted me, was the media wheeling out the old “Wild man of Pop” chestnut, like, what the heck has that got to do with the music?  I thought that stupid attitude had been  buried with Kurt Cobain, who’s suicide was rightfully  deemed a shocking waste, and a dreadfully sad thing. I also think it laid to rest any glamour about Heroin, as both Cobain’s and Courtney Love’s squallid lifestyle were made very public. Post Cobain’s death, many Seattle scenesters took a public stand against Smack, at least the ones that hadn’t already o.d.’d……………….And I hate to dissapoint Pete Docherty, but most people think you’re a sad, talentless tosser.

The “Live Fast, Die Young” philosophy that the media once again promoted via the Dennis Wilson reviews was I think not just dreadfully irresponsible, but wholly unessessary, because  Dennis was indeed a major talent. And the only time the people that were close to him speak negatively about him, was when he was drunk or on Class A drugs.

When I was 15, in 1972, drugs were nowhere near as prevelant as they are today. And the penalties for possession were much harsher. Even simple Cannabis possession could result in a custodial sentence. But worse still, our peers like Keith Richards actively promoted drug use, via his lifestyle, the “Elegently Wasted” look, and the “Nudge nudge, Wink wink” innuendos in interviews. So the more impressionable types in my generation were convinced that drugs were cool, that drugs promoted creativity, and that the more you took, the cooler you were.
I think we can thank Keith Richard for a number of deaths, most noteably Gram Parsons, a major talent himself. Not that Gram wasn’t on his own excessive path to “the Gilded Palace of Sin”.
But certainly when they  became friends, Keith upped the ante, a period he now describes as his least creative. He thanks Jagger for keeping the band afloat, post “Exile on Main street” era. And indeed even David Bowie, for those that don’t know, helped to keep the brand name alive by penning “It’s only Rock ‘n’ Roll” for the Stones, and gifting it to them as their own. Neither Jagger or the rest of the band believed Keith would live very long with his then drug and alcohol consumption.
I do find it hysterically funny that Keith did those series of ads on US tv decrying drug use. And was it Bill Hicks that said “don’t worry Keith, we won’t do drugs, cos YOU DONE ‘EM ALL!!!’

Whilst LSD and Marijuana is said to have promoted brilliant studio experimentation before and around the time of “Sgt. Peppers”, it’s said the Beatles  decided after this period that creativity and drugs didn’t go hand in hand. George Harrison stopped taking drugs completely after visiting Haight Ashbury in 1967, as a result of seeing the Hippy dream going sour with young kids starting to use Heroin. And recently in an interview in Mojo about the White album, Macca said he thought the distance between him and Lennon was started when John started to dabble with Heroin.
And indeed. recently Brian Wilson was asked what he most regretted about his life, and he said it was the years of  serious mental illness brought on as a result of Heroin and Cocaine use.
I think we can deduce, from the most creative writers and performers of the 20th century, that far from promoting creativity, drugs, and alcohol destroy it.
Because Dennis’ drug and alcohol abuse wasn’t about the odd joint or a few beers.
Apparently him and Brian would snort OUNCES of Cocaine, and he’d drink Vodka by the quart. And ultimately what killed Dennis was being too drunk to swim after diving off a friends boat to retrieve stuff from the water he’d thrown over board, in a drunken rage. How tragic……
Charles Mason was apparently quoted as saying “Dennis was killed by my shadow”.
Yeah, right Dude……..Helter Skelter…..

So to return to Dennis Wilson, for the sad Fleet street hacks to wheel out the “Drugs and Alcohol are really cool” cliches is just sick making. Because the mega talent that was Dennis Wilson was killed by those cliches, Brian and Carl had their dear brother taken by them, and people that love Dennis’ music had a major talent stolen by them.
So how can someone  tell me drugs and alcohol are cool?

As for the reissue its self, I have to sum it up with one word, dissapointment.
Pacific Ocean Blue is without doubt a beautiful album, showing Dennis to be blessed with a big chunk of the Wilson talent and it has to be said, the remastering is fabulous.The bonus tracks on the POB disc are great,”Tug of Love” is beautiful, and Dennis’ version of “Only with you” is a treat, a better master than the boot version. Mexico is certainly interesting, the melody is almost identical to “Court of the Crimson King” by King Crimson.

But as to  the much vaunted “Bambu”, with the exception of  4 tracks, a keen Beach Boys collector will already have the lot. And as I’ve already said, aside from a few tracks, Bambu for me is fairly desposible, though this master is better than most of the bootleg cds.  And I love Dennis’ version of “Love surrounds me” again a better master than the boots, as is this particular version of “It’s not too late”, though this version’s outro is a lot less Psychedelic than the numerous bootleg versions.
“Love remember me” is pretty, “Common” has potential, and no doubt would’ve been great with vocals. “Cocktails” is an interesting, sprawling, drunken drone, as is “I love you”, which is almost Prog in it’s tone and structure. For the completist these tracks are essential, but as far as Dennis’ performances on most of these, incohereant would be a kind description, though there’s a haunting loveliness to the songs.
I can’t understand why a beautiful song like “Carry me home” stays in the vaults whilst these aforementioned “works in progress” make the re-ish?
And here comes the really big question about this reissue, where is the “Sound of Free/Lady” single issued by Dennis under the name Dennis Wilson and Rumbo, featuring Daryl Dragon on instrumentation,in 1970? Thankfully, the bootleggers remastered the single long ago, even taking out the minor pressing fault on the A side.

And let’s not talk about chronology, as  Bambu is drawn from sessions from the late 60′s, right up til ’79.
There resides in Capitol’s vault, an unreleased album which Dennis made in 1971, with Daryl Dragon once more. Some of these tracks have been released, “Barbara”, on the “Endless Harmony” sound track cd, a version of “Cuddle up” and “Make it good” from Carl and the Passions. And apparently the Rumbo single is part of that album.
Top marks to the bootleging chaps, now if you guys could get a job with Capitol or Sony, perhaps we could get some of the “Up to 300″ unreleased Beach Boys tracks in the various archives released too!
I suppose Sony are hanging onto “Sound of Free” for the next deluxe reissue, coming to  a webstore near you soon. Well, as soon as they can max out the sales on this particular edition. Then they’ll just add another track or two and hey presto another “ULTIMATE legacy edition”. Yeah right….
And great news, the Beatles back catalogue is being remixed and reissued, Hallelujah and EMI be praised! Still, now Macca has said he doesn’t mind people illegally downloading his music, at least it won’t cost us an arm and a leg, like all their other reissues!!!

I love the Beach Boys music. I consider myself an uber fan.  Brian Wilson is undoubtably a musical genius. Carl Wilson, as Brian says, had the voice of an Angel, probably the most beautiful  voice in popular music. Dennis was obviously a brilliant writer, and his production skills fantastic. The Beach Boys music has soundtracked the lives of countless millions these past almost 5 decades, and they stand along side the Beatles as musical giants. And I can’t begin to tell you what absolute joy this music has given me much of my life.
So why don’t the major labels give us what we want? Why can’t there be a properly organised trawl through Dennis’ and the Beach Boys archive? Why can’t Capitol employ some one who cherishes the Beach Boys music as much as we do, and organise a proper extensive reissue program?  By the time Capitol get it together the tapes will be particles of magnetic dust. What about the promised Brother records box set? The 5 cd Smile set? The definative Brian Wilson box set?

Again I’ll say, POB is a fabulous album. But it’s another missed opportunity. Because the record companies simply don’t care about the fans, and never have.  And the cynics amongst us are saying it’s just because they WILL produce yet another DEFINITIVE  version, or similar, for us poor saps to shell out yet more hard earned cash on. To line the already over stuffed  pockets of the record companies. Again and again. As they have done with so many major artists. Just like the Beatles catalogue. And Bowie’s catalogue. And  Elvis’ catalogue. And the Who’s catalogue. And soon XTC’s catalogue. And just about any other major artist you can mention. Watch this space……..

In the meantime, I’m off to visit these peer to peer sites and wait for the new Beatles remasters!

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Originally posted on August 10th 2008 on Psychedelicgaragepunk.com

I believe I’ve seen the Ramones in excess of 27 times. I simply can’t comprehend that Joey, Johnny and, my personal favourite Dee Dee, are dead. If I had to choose just one band to take to heaven, a desert Island, or where ever, it would be Da Brudders, hands down. To say they totally rock out would be a massive understatement! Johnny’s guitar, Joey (and Dee Dee’s) vocals, the lyrics, the simple nursery rhyme-like fluidity of the song. The sunny, Beach Boys type melodies, the melancholic tunes, the raw aggressive more-punk-than-the-rest songs. But most of all, that adrenalin, amphetamine charged raw power.

Looking back in this year 2008, 1976 seems like a whole lifetime ago. But that was the first time I ever saw them, at the Roundhouse (a favourite haunt of mine and Will’s) on July 4th 1976.

We must have seen the Pink Fairies numerous times there in 74-75, a fabulous venue always populated by Freaks, with much stoner and freak rock on the menu from the early 70s, though of course numerous bands, like the Pink Floyd and Doors, played there in the late 60s, a fabulous venue.

There was a minor buzz about Ramones prior to the Charles Shaar Murray review of their first album, and CBGB’s had been written about in the NME. We’d also bought the ‘California Sun’ live import Ramones single which we thought was brilliant and life changing.

Added to which, under some influence from Edwin Pouncey (later “Savage Pencil”), who’d given us such delights as the Blue Oyster Cult, and the very wonderful Dictators, (both produced by Sandy Pearlman and Murray Krugman) we dashed down to our local Parrot records, in Colchester, to order the Ramones first album, on import. We played it to death in the late spring/early summer of 1976, and of course when the UK dates were announced, we had to have tickets, and were deliriously happy that the first gig was at the Roundhouse, our old stamping ground.

Of course the other band that made the gig unmissable were the Flamin’ Groovies. I’d been championing Cyril and the boys since I’d bought their second album (Flamingo) and third album (Teenage Head) as cheap imports whilst still at Art school in 1975. I had already seen the Groovies, I think it was at the Lyceum in the Spring of 1975. The following day I went to Rock On record shop (what a record shop that was!!! It totally turned my head around, lots of imports and original 60’s LPs) and bought their French UA singles “Slow Death” and “Married Woman”.

I must say, I’ve searched the Net high and low for more info about the UK Groovies gigs prior to ‘76, and found absolutely nothing! Please, please, if somebody reading this knows of a link or somesuch, please mail it to me. The memory of walking into the gig(and little else!) is still with me, help!!! By 1976 they’d mutated into Beatle clones, dressed in fabulous Tonik (the old Skinhead fashion fabric that changes colour depending on how the light hits it, lots of purples and mauves) Beatle suits., frock coats in the old 60s psyche style, embroidered waist coats (Teddy boy Edwardian style) and beautiful bottle green Anello and Davide Beatle boots.

The single version of “Shake Some Action” was getting some national airplay, and certainly on the fledgeling Capital Radio, (still a relatively hip channel ) and we’d already had the delights of the “Shake Some Action” album, produced by Dave Edmunds at Rockfield studios, sounding like a glorious Gumbo of Phil Spector and the Beatles, with some English Rock’n’Roll inflections, both from the early 60s – the Mod era – and the Psychedelic era.

I have to mention Paul Revere and the Raiders too. I think Cyril Jordan must have been mightily impressed with their hook filled Garagey pop, and of course the Groovies covered “Kicks” (on “One Night Stand” in 1987) and “Him or Me” (the b – side of “You Tore Me Down” single on Bomp, 1974). I read in Mojo in 2006(?) that Cyril had seen the Beatles at Shea stadium in 1965 and had decided that he would put together a band that emulated the Beatles style completely, and find fame and fortune as a result! Guess he was still banging that drum in 1976. It was prime Beatles influenced Power Pop, with added kick. And we thought it was very hip – certainly it influenced Paul, Will and me as the Accidents, both musically and sartorially, and when the Jam came along a year later in their cheap looking 60s suits it just confirmed it for us.

That the Beatles were hip once more (cue an avalanche of Beatles bootlegs, all hungrily snapped up by Paul and yours truly), that the 60s were still extremely influential on modern music, specifically guitar and Powerpop. And I suppose the vibe and inspiration the Groovies gave me further inspired me to reappraise the music of the 60’s to this day. Because the 60s still looks to me like a huge, not yet fully explored, Rock’n’Roll Goldmine, with many diverse seams and avenues just waiting to give up their delights to me.

We, that is the Accidents, did get to meet the Flamin Groovies, in 1977, at Essex University.

Radio Birdman supported them, though we didn’t know alot about them then.. They sounded a bit “country” to our ears at the time (????!!!???) so we really didn’t give them a chance. I love Radio Birdman now of course, “Aloha Steve and Danno” being an all time classic single, amongst the other classics I first heard via the New Race album. That album, “The First and the Last” being one of my all time favourites, which I got on cd for the first time recently, an expanded version. When I lived in South Florida I would take great delight in cruising round in a 1990 Mustang GT convertible that a friend had left with me (Cherry red paint work, cream leatherette seats, 0 – 90 mph in under 10 seconds, it rocked!) with “November 22nd 1963′  or “Crying Sun” blasting out of the fabulous 4 speaker stereo that the ‘Stang had. I’ve seen Radio Birdman since, and thought they totally rocked, and of course Deniz Tek has played with both Wayne Kramer (Dodge Main) and Ron Ashton (The New Race), all three being guitar Gods to me.

Cyril Jordan The Groovies were excellent fellows, Cyril Jordan and George Alexander especially. After some trepidation on our behalf, and much “oh go on, you knock”, and having stood outside their dressing room for a while, they welcomed us back stage after the gig, allowing us to share their rider. I still have the empty can of the beer Cyril gave me! Told me he’d bought his 12 string Rickenbacker from a guy who’d bought it for his son, in 1966 and who’d quickly grown tired of it and left it in a closet. Cyril said the guy opened the closet and there it was, almost factory fresh, probably 10 years later. When the guy told Cyril he wanted a hundred Bucks for it, he nearly tore the guys arm off. It was a beautiful guitar, and sounded so good through the Roland space echo, an effects unit that Jem from the original Surf Rats discovered to his great delight, some years later.

Cyril and the rest of the dudes spoke in a heavy, Californian drawl, probably the first time any of us had heard an accent like it. Cyril also used the phrase “Rock out” a number of times, which Paul and I thought was a wonderfully descriptive ism, and used it as frequently as we could from there on in! As a twenty year old Punk rocker, with a major love of all things 60’s and Powerpop, this was a dream come true. The Groovies had played local, and we’d got to hang with them, how Rock’n’Roll was that?!?

But just as the Groovies wore their 60’s influences on their sleeves, so did the Ramones. From the Beach Boys, to the girl groups ( just like the New York Dolls ), to Phil Spector, to the Beatles and all things Garage and UK beat related, they sucked all of that in, to end up sounding totally unique, unmistakably THE RAMONES!!! I always tell people that when the Ramones came on stage that night, it was like Elvis at Vegas, seemed like a million flash bulbs were going off in the space of the first 30 seconds. The way they sang and spoke, they sounded like Aliens. New Yorkers. Genuine Americans. In bike leathers and jeans, something Will and I were pretty much already doing. Beaten up faded 501’s, with cap sleeved tees and leather Bomber jackets, and Dr Martens boots or shoes.

The sound was massive, monolithic, like a Tyrannosaurus Rex in a cage, right in front of our very eyes. Dee Dee’s cry of “Wun – Choo – Fee – Four” preceeding each song, counted the same each time, no matter what the tempo. Twenty songs in twenty minutes, no guitar solos, just sheer raw power. And loads of catchy, essentially 60’s styled, Pop. With Johnny’s super fast buzz saw guitar dominating the proceedings, the most distorted, powerful guitar sound ever. Like a huge Amphetamine rush, an uber buzz for both the Heart and Soul. And I totally connected with them, they immediately became mine and Will’s ultimate Rock’n’Roll band.

It’s really hard to explain the feeling of a Ramones show in these times. Rock’n’Roll is so corporate and neutered generally, a shadow of it’s former self, though remarkably some of the Heroes of my youth still totally Rock, see Iggy and the Stooges, The Dolls, and DKT (the surviving members of the MC5). Get hold of a copy of “It’s Alive”, play it through a 2000 watt hi – fi, at maximum volume, that’ll give you some idea!!! Al and I saw the Ramones in January 1991, and they’d just bought their new monster P.A., it was REAL loud. When they came back on for their encore, they actually turned the P.A. up a couple of notches. It was so loud Al and I actually moved away from the front, the sheer force of the music felt like it was re-arranging the molecules in my major organs!!!

I was with Will and several lady friends that wonderful, historic, life changing evening in 1976. I remember turning round to one of the gals and saying “Joey, what a wonderful name for a budgie!!!”.

R.I.P. Joey, Johnny and Dee Dee, see you in Rock’n’Roll Heaven Dudes.

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I have what I term a Firework fetish. If you ask anyone who’s close to me they’ll tell you I’m fanatical for Pyrotechnics.
I don’t just love the effects(they’re heavenly, specifically rockets, the bigger the better!) but I love the smell of the smoke, the smell of an unlit firework(although since the demise of the proverbial “Blue touchpaper” they don’t smell as good. Blue touchpaper had a fantastic smell all of it’s own!)and the smell of a spent firework.

10 years ago, fireworks were an entirely different beast. For starters they were louder and more dangerous. And even the smaller fireworks in a box packed a punch. And of course you could buy loose fireworks, nowadays they’re all boxed, with the exception of cakes and larger fireworks of that ilk. This is because the Government doesn’t believe ANY of us can be responsible adults, and really does believe not selling individual fireworks prevents accidents. Yeah, right.
40 years ago, well hey, we were all blowing ourselves up with the most exciting range of pyros you can imagine. It’s a wonder my generation aren’t limbless freaks, disfigured, charred torsos and little else.

Tho’ my lovely Dad always brought home a stash of fireworks on November 5th when I was really small,  wrapped in a brown paper bag, once I got to proper pocket money age it was down to me to get my own, tho’ Pa, Jed and Tom would make contributions.
The first shop I bought fireworks from was Tickners, in Mill road, in Maldon. They had a “Firework club”, a way to save a little money each week. This usually kicked off late Spring/early Summer. Every week I’d go into Tickners sweet shop and put a few old pence into my club so that by the 5th of November I’d have quite a few shillings to buy my fireworks from their wonderful range, displayed in a big glass cabinet, to the left of the door as you walked in. I even had a little card with the amounts I’d paid in, week by week. This made me feel very responsible, not to mention very excited!
Mr Tickner was a very tall chap, but had a problem with one of his legs. I’ve always thought it was a tin leg, at least that’s what us kids believed in the 1960′s. But my gal Sal remembers he had a huge stack healed shoe, so perhaps it may have been a Rickets deformity from his childhood.
The shop floor was akin to Woolworth’s, dark, small, varnished floor boards. Mr Tickners special boot made a loud clomping noise as he walked around the shop. Mrs Ticker was tiny compared to her husband and in my memory I can see her wearing a floral pinny, as most women did for working in, in those days.

And that glass cabinet, for a few short weeks, held now unimaginable delights.
Bangers, like small sticks of Dynamite, the most portable Firework , with their big brother, the Cannon, which WAS a small stick of Dynamite! A friend of mine in the mid to late 60′s, who lived across the way from my family in Fitch’s crescent, Gerald Moule, did some really neat tricks with Cannons.
When the Prom lake was still as it should be(for swimming in) he’d get an old Marvel milk can(that must’ve been some remnant of the second World War, powdered milk)which was probably a half litre size in new money, put about an inch and a half of sand in, put a Cannon in the sand, lit it, jammed the lid on, then threw it in the lake! Such was the explosive power of the Cannon that it would blow the lid off the tin resulting in quite sizeable bubbles, reminiscent of the end of the opening titles for “The Prisoner”. Cool or what? Gerald also had not one but TWO Johnny Seven guns, the most desirable toy of the mid to late 60′s, the most rocking boy’s weapon ever! It had various launchers, detachable guns, not to mention a sub machine gun. The first was a birthday gift from his parents, the second he bought as a result of gradual “aquisition” of money from his Mother’s purse, a shilling here, a shilling there.

There was a grenade launcher on the top of the Johnny Seven gun, and Gerald’s was modified to accommodate a Cannon, it’s blue touch paper just visible.

I pray that Gerald eventually found his vocation as a demolition expert, or a bomb chap in the army, such was his devotion to pyros. The last memory I have of the boy was meeting him on his trolly(not a shoddy trolly, but the wood was aged, unlike my pristine machine)him pulling out a stubby 3 inch high firework, breaking it in half, emptying it and making a pile of gunpowder on the pavement and igniting it. This was what he termed a “Genie”. It went off with an impressive woosh which scorched our eyelashes and brows. All this, and in daylight too!

Every time I’ve visited North Tenerife, it’s always amazed me how the locals have no concern as to whether it is day or night when lighting fireworks, especially when they’re celebrating Fiesta.  In the beautiful little village of San Vicente,  there are 2 firework factories on the edge of town, both run by brothers. The locals say that each year throughout the Fiesta in February, the 2 brothers vy for pyrotechnic supremacy.
For a pyromaniac like myself it’s a wonderful experience, akin to the nightly finale (tho’ obviously not QUITE as big)at Disneyworld. The sky is full of light and fire for what seems 15 plus minutes, and of course they fire them from the mountains on the edge of the ocean, with spectacular results.
Yet in the day time too, tho’ to much less effect, you see and hear what I initially thought may have been excavations involving dynamite, seeing brief flashes, hearing bangs riccocheting around the mountains, and major smoke. Just some crazy Guanches throwing a few in the sky!

When Ma and Pa and I used to visit Nan Moore in Hertford, there was a shop really close by, that sold Bangers all year round. The type that came in a blister pack, probably 6 or 8 of them, sadly I don’t recall the make. It was an odd little toy shop, come model shop, fairly small, but the shop window was crammed with goodies, big Airfix kits, balls of every type, jokes and novelties and on a day of window shopping/toy dreaming, I espied the Bangers. I believe it was the same shop I’d bought some spectacularly green coloured luminous(i.e. glow in the dark) paint. This paint was marvellous, and really glowed a very bright luminous green in the darkness of the old coal shed, by the back door of our house in Fitch’s crescent. Trouble was, after a quarter of an hour or so of painting I began to feel very nauseous and headachy. I can only think this was “Radioluminescent” paint, which contained low levels of Radium, a Radioactive substance!
As Steve Marriot remarked to me around the time of Chernobyl, “Glowing in the dark could be a gas, get me a lead lined Limo!”

Bangers obviously were dangerous if not treated with some care, and when I was 10 or 11, an older kid who we’ll call “Tin Tin” almost met his end as a result. At Maldon refuse tip some kids had found the wreck of an old car, and Tin Tin had decided to throw Cannons down into the petrol tank, via the filler cap, in the hope of igniting whatever gasoline remained. The first couple seemed to fizzle out, but I got a real bad feeling about it, and told Tin Tin there was a potential for the car to explode. He just laughed and said that’s exactly what he wanted. I hightailed it on my Chopper, pretty sharpish as well, and so did most of the other kids. When we got about 2 or 3 minutes away, sure enough the car did explode. It wasn’t sufficient to blow Tin Tin to bits, but the oil sump had exploded, showering him with hot oil. Miraculously, he wasn’t blinded. But the hot molten oil burnt his face, and stayed in his skin. After a few days in hospital I saw him at school, looking like he had the worst case of black Acne you ever did see! And his face was scarred with oil for years, certainly into adulthood, no doubt a constant reminder of his stupidity………….poor man.

At some point in the late 1960′s, Tickners was suddenly no more. I believe poor Mr Tickner died, and seem to remember Mrs Tickner struggling for a while on her own, because for sure(and trust me, certainly NOT me, because I was brought up to be honest and not do “bad” things, a goody goody as Will assured  me recently)most of the kids that went in there to buy loose sweets tried to pinch as many as they could whilst the Tickner’s eyes were averted!
I vaguely recall going in there with my Ma after Mr Tickner died, to give her condolences and moral support.
So a new sweet shop appeared next door, run by a Mrs Mansfield. She too ran a firework club, and I recall the cards that showed my weekly deposits were white and even more important looking than the Tickners. Groovy thinks young Terence, but hey, what were those exotic looking bubblegum cards in Mrs Mansfield’s that I’d not seen elsewhere? They were cards that were to change many young lives at that point in the 1960′s, they were cards that were collected more furtively and obsessively than any other, they were cards SO exciting and dangerous that 40 plus years on, the incredible  thrill still haunts. They were CIVIL WAR CARDS!!! Or to give them their correct title “Civil War News”cards. Aside from the new and totally scrummy gum(a type of sugar free flavoured plastic!), aside from the counterfeit Confederate bills enclosed in the wax paper outer wrapper(we were rich, maaan!), the cards were just……..well they were horrific. Gore, blood, gun wounds, bayonets, the one card that sticks in  my mind was “Wall of corpses”, Yankie soldiers using a mound of their dead comrades as a shield against enemy guns. Looking at the grisly images was tough, yet I believed it was very adult, because it made me realise that things like that REALLY happened, and that whilst they were disturbing(and one never knew what perverse atrocities would be in the next pack)you simply had to accept them and get over it. But the “getting over it” bit was the rush, the thrill, the car crash “rubbernecking”, “a crowd of people turned away, but I just had to look” moment.

And the style of art, the actual painting on the cards, was fascinating. Lots of gaudy colours, and bold images, which evoked the paintings and graphics on fairground rides at the time, the images of Lions and Tigers on a “Speedway” ride, the reason why I loved Clovis Trouille’s paintings, because they reminded me of the fairground(a place I adored as a child, sometimes the smell of a diesel engine will bring the fairground thrill back to me) and the Civil war cards. Bold, big images brightly coloured with gold outlines, a unique combination of colours. And looking at the words I’ve just written evoke another major thought, Circus! And firework wrappers and labels.
Of course like all great things, once adults looked at the cards, once the media had exposed these “shocking images” they were taken off the market, deemed “too horrible” for childish consumption. Like Bangers. Like “Space Shuttle” fireworks. And Jumping Jacks……

So into my adulthood, my obsession ran unabated. And with better financing, we could really Rock!
My dear friend, George Coventry, who sadly passed away September last year, always had access to a remarkable selection of fireworks.
He “knew a chap” who sold fireworks by the score, and at very keen prices.
A word about dear George. It would take me a whole other article to do the rascal justice, but as a bit of background about the man, well he was an Eastender proper, and an “Arthur Daley” type to boot. I used to joke and call him “Da Godfather”. He was a warm, caring man, and took a shine to me, and treated me like I was family, always asking me if I needed money or help of any kind. He had a seriously illustrious past. He told me he went out for a pack of ciggies once, and didn’t return home for 3 months! Essentially he went on a massive 3 month bender, and lived in the pub!
This marvellous Alcoholiday ended one morning when a very hungover George asked the landlady of the pub if him and his pals(all small time villans to a man)had behaved themselves the previous night. She replied that they had,  until one of his mates had shot the clock off the wall  with a fair sized handgun, in disgust at closing time!
George had proper Mod roots, and rode a Lambretta scooter in the mid 1960′s, and wore a Beatle suit. He loved music with a passion, and frequently argued with his family as to what year such and such a record was released. It was then down to Terence to settle, by consulting my beaten up old Guinness book of hit singles. I loved George. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say he was like a Father to me, and his wonderful arsenal of pyros made our relationship all the more attractive.
I’d buy display rockets off him, the size of which I’d never handled before, 6 in a heavy duty cardboard tube about 4 feet long, with beautiful “Flame” artwork on the outside. And big packs of rockets, 20 to a pack, which were just fabulous.  And at Christmas time a few years ago, Al and I decided to “Nuke the Neighbourhood”.

Al’s house at that time had a very narrow back yard, maybe 12 feet wide by 30 feet long, so we’d fire the rockets from the edge of the garden, towards the road. As it it was Christmas we’d decided we’d fire mostly display rockets, tho’ Al had a couple of cakes and a fair sized Catherine wheel, with which he managed to set fire to the neighbour’s fence. Oh how we laughed watching a fairly drunk Al(the son of a Fireman!) attempting to quell the blaze with several small glasses of water. Seemed like a good idea at the time.
But the display rockets, oh joy, so big, so powerful, a real thick fizzy whooosh when they went up. When they went up, that is.
Because unknown to us Georgie’s pyros would contain a few “Pups” as Al named them. i.e. life threatening, defective, dangerous explosives.
I lit most of the rockets as per usual, and when you light lots of similar pyros you get an idea of how long they will dwell on  the launcher before takeoff. This particular rocket just didn’t feel right, and after a good 5 second gap it still hadn’t left the launcher. The smoke from the rocket’s tail was phenomenal. At that point I said “Oh F**k!” and ran like buggery! Too late, the rocket exploded in the launcher. The immediate effect was  the bang, undoubtedly the loudest, most deafening, most Tinnitus inspiring explosion I have ever heard, it was so loud it shook the path underneath us, with a huge fog of smoke(hmm…delicious)very Apocalips Now, smell of Napalm etc. But wait, you ain’t ever seen a brocade of purple stars go off a mere 10 foot away from you! It was so bright it must’ve been etched on our Retinas for the rest of the evening! And when we got over the initial shock, we went into fits of hysterical laughter, as much with relief that we were still alive as anything else. The smoke took ages to clear, and I really expected our faces to be black and smoke charred, like a Roadrunner cartoon! Al said that the sparks that hit the window “misted the glass” which he tried to clean off a number of occasion, to no avail. Obviously the sparks were so hot they had started to melt the glass when they hit!
Alan’s old gaff was the scene for my 50th birthday too, and of course I had to have pyros in celebration. I think I took 60 fair sized rockets, unfortunately when, as Heggy puts it, I started “parting my hair” with them, in a somewhat inebriated state, he and Al finished the job of firing.

And lest we forget, the man with the plan, the dude who started it all, the chap we have to thank for our grand firework tradition,  some say the only real democrat in English politics, the Godfather of Gunpowder, the Ayatollah of Rock’n'Roll-a, Mr Guy Fawkes.

Guy Fawkes is notorious for his involvement in the Gunpowder Plot of 1605. He was placed in charge of executing the plot because of his military and explosives experience. The plot, masterminded by Robert Catesby, was an attempt by a group of religious conspirators to kill King James I of England, his family, and most of the aristocracy, by blowing up the House of Lords in the Palace of Westminster during the State Opening of Parliament. Unfortunately for him this plot was uncovered and Guy was arrested. After several days of torture(!) he admitted being part of the plot and was sentenced to be hung, drawn and quartered.
As the noose was put around his neck, he flung himself from the scaffold, killing himself, and avoiding the dreadful second and third part of his punishment.

As kids we’d go out “Guying”. We’d make a figure out of old clothes, stuffed with newspaper, and put a Guy Fawkes mask on his head, usually given free with one comic or another, and take him out on our trolleys or a wheel barrow, and ask “Penny for the Guy”.  See, we were even allowed to beg as children! And of course a few good souls would give us money, some of which we’d keep for the big day, a little would have to be salted away for a pack of Bangers. The Guy was then stuck on top of the bonfire on the 5th, a supposed celebration of the King’s escape on that fateful eve in 1605.

Bangers, Cannons, Jumping Jacks, Ariel Bombshells, Mine of Serpents, Hurricanes and Flying Saucers, and all the beautiful fireworks of the 60′s and 70′s, a fantastic piece of our history and culture, all sadly missed but still celebrated and loved!
Let’s light up the skies and celebrate November the 5th.
And the 6th. And 7th if you like. And Christmas…..and Birthdays, Diwali, the New Year……………….

 

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Originally posted on Psychedelicgaragepunk.com May 20th 2008.

The first big gig I remember going to was at the Oval cricket ground, on the 30th of September, 1972.

The main attraction for me was Emerson Lake and Palmer (ELP).  My dear old mate Barn was fanatical about them and I’d bought “Pictures at an exhibition” myself, which I thought was rather dark, and rocked in an odd kind of manner.

The cover images of the “Tarkus” were all it took to convince me I should attend. When we walked into the Oval, either side of the stage there were what initially looked like huge images of the tarkus. But they were actually full sized models of tarkuses. They were almost as big as the p.a. stacks – which were about the size of a house! It seemed like a comic book prog rock wet dream!

A word about progressive rock, or “prog rock” as it’s now termed… It certainly wasn’t called “prog” in 1972. I think our generic term for it back then was “Underground music”, although I’m sure “prog” became a common term in ‘73 or there abouts.

“Underground music” was enjoyed by “freaks”.

I suppose “freak” was a term for pot smoking, long haired rockers – a la the Ladbrook Grove crowd. Weekend hippies. Kids who liked the hippies use of recreational drugs (LSD and pot) and their style, but for whatever reason couldn’t live the lifestyle proper. Perhaps they were students or, shock horror, actually worked!!!

The freak fashion of the day was Afghan coats, old fur coats, army great coats, loon pants – most of which were available from the ads in the back pages of Sounds, New Musical Express (NME), or Melody Maker.

It has to be said, and someone may have already made the observation, that prog was essentially an extension, a high tech version, a PROGression of psychedelic music. It was more overblown and self indulgent than psychedelia – but then some late 60s psyche, like Rainbow FFolly, was already heading towards the indulgence of prog rock. However I personally would have been horrified had you have suggested at the time that there was a link between psychedelia and progressive rock.

As much as I adored ’60s music (and I still do with a passion), at the start of the ’70s, the ’60s seemed light years away. Old hat, old fashioned. Just old!!!

It was inconceivable, at the time, that the 60s would ever be in vogue or fashionable again. However, less than 3 years later  the music world was once again, ready to go FAB! And I must have been amongst the first few hundred to witness the Flamin’ Groovies re-birth as essentially (arguably both visually and musically) a reincarnation of the Beatles, with added  Mod/Powerpop overtones.

I seem to remember that prior to this gig Barn may have bought “Moving Waves” by Focus (what hip young Dudes we were!), so it’s likely we were expecting something exciting. And I remember they played a blinder – Jan Akkerman, in particular, delighting me. Don’t think I’d ever heard an electric guitar (a Gibson SG, similar to the model Tony Mcphee of the Groundhogs played,I believe) so loud before. Of course I’d never heard such loud music before, absolutely thrilling, I can recall delight and not a little fear. Major physical vibrations.

Genesis were simply breath taking. Unbelievable.

And don’t forget children, this gig was their first major London appearance. These were still their real glory days, the Peter Gabriel led Genesis wasn’t the hideous bloated Phil Collins led dross monster rubbish they became in the 80s.

Just like the photo, given to me by some chappy at Reading the following year, Gabriel had shaved this odd circular chunk out of the peak of his hair. He looked so otherworldly. Well, that and the make up. And the red evening dress. And then, at some point in “Supper’s Ready”, I believe (it was an abridged version as far as I remember) he wore a full head mask of a Fox’s head. It looked so damn real. Very scary!!!

The sound seemed fabulous, the instrumentation rather surreal yet very heavy and rock out in places. Those rumbling bass pedals!!!

And of course, Gabriel’s between song banter, sounding like a public school boy (as he once was), reciting Edward Lear in the most sleazy and almost pervy way.

That gig totally sold me on Genesis. I saw them four or five times more in their Gabriel heyday. They kind of lost it for me with “The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway” – though I think that album has its moments.

I can recall Jack Bruce jamming with Focus, which was rather exciting. Jack Bruce had won best bass player of the year in the Melody Maker awards, for no doubt the umpteenth time. He was backstage collecting his award when they asked him to jam. I think they may have done “Crossroads” and perhaps a couple more Cream songs. I lost interest when it became a dirgey jam.

Next up were Argent. I’d loved “Hold your head up” and “Dance in the smoke” from some CBS compilation – was it “Fill your head with Rock”? If you know the answer, please leave a comment below. But when they came on, the volume went up and the quality control went down – especially post Genesis, who were brilliant.

I remember laughing my head off at the end of their opening number. The guitarist seemed to be using an unfeasibly short curly lead (remember those, chaps? I think they got to be dreadfully unfashionable just prior to punk). He was throwing lots of silly shapes, and while he was pretending to stab at his amp with his stratocaster, he managed to pull the amp off the top of his two Marshall 4×12’s (which were obligatory in those days), causing the whole ensemble to collapse.

There was much panic amongst the roadies who tried to prevent the amps from crashing to the ground. And then, of course, they had to put the whole lot back in place again, while they launched into the second song. It looked really daft. Oh how we laughed.

I don’t want to sound like I’m dissing Rod Argent though. He played keyboards in the Zombies and wrote most of the material on their album “Odessey And Oracle”. That album, which has just been reissued as a fortieth anniversary edition, surely ranks as one of the all-time top British baroque pop psychedelic classics.

I’m afraid I simply can’t recall Wishbone Ash. I thought they headlined, although other sites say ELP did. I’m not sure. So Barn, if you’re listening mate, any ideas? And hey, how about re-instating the Gabriel look on the barnet for old times sake. Barn’s barnet!!!

I adored Wishbone Ash. I saw them many times up until the mid 70s. They seriously rocked in those days. They were incredibly loud live. The twin guitar lines and vocal harmonies were amazing, very dynamic, and not a little folky round the edges. How about folk sensibilities in their arrangements and vocals??? Ah well, I remember seeing them at the Kursaal. It was a wonderful evening, with lots of bopping on that sprung floor. But at the Oval?

Not in this life.

I can’t actually recall at which point in Emerson Lake and Palmer’s set the Tarkuses kicked in, but they breathed a lot of smoke and fire, and shot fireworks into the sky. It was incredibly spectacular.

That was one of the really great and entertaining aspects of prog. Whether it was Pink Floyd’s inflatable pigs on the “Animals” tour, or Gabriel’s costumes in “The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway” show, or the Tarkus, it had a grand sense of theatrics. It might sound a little absurd in this day and age (altough the Flaming Lips stage show is very theatrical) but the sight of Keith Emerson sticking bloody great daggers into his keyboard just totally rocked.

And of course they did “Lucky Man” complete with wonky Moogs.

Keith Emerson’s Moog synthesizers were specifically designed for him by Robert Moog. They were heat sensitive machines and tended to go out of tune if they weren’t kept at a specific temperature. It was a warm and sunny afternoon and many circular fans were employed to keep them cool and in tune.

Greg Lake’s voice was fabulous – and that day I probably got to figuring it was he who sang on “Court of the Crimson King” by King Crimson, an all-time prog rock classic. And if I’m not very much mistaken, the stage was covered with a huge Persian carpet, which apparently ELP would insist upon being laid, before they even thought about setting foot on stage!!! Rock’n’Roll excess,anyone?

I think this little adventure may have been a school trip organised by Paddy Mulville and Bob Mardon (who went onto  Chelmsford Punk festival infamy). I seem to recall reluctantly being herded onto a homeward bound coach. But now, I could say I’d hung out with the Freaks, heard some great underground rock, maaan, and I was only 15!

Original comments:

1.
Barn // May 29, 2008 at 9:47 pm

Hi Tev,
Blinding website !! Great to get some confirmation on some very hazy memories. Yes, I remember getting moving waves, was it at Lightning records or what became lightning records near the castle ? You brought Relics I believe that afternoon, I strangly remember the bus ride back but for no real appparent reason !!!!
Yes, I would have said ELP headlined but now I doubt it. I remember a bloke standing in front of us while watching Ash…I was too shy to ask him if he was David Bowie or not !!! Could’ve swore it was him.

Yes, you’re correct ‘Dance in the smoke’ was on ‘Fill Your head with rock’….I’ll have to dig that out again ! I also remember Argent being a bit of a joke.

Pictures are great, historical treasures. They are wandering around on the page tho’…..psychedelic.

I look forward to more memories.

Love from ‘Why you shaved your head , you fucking hippie’ Barn
2.
Ali (Mr Spins) // Jun 1, 2008 at 1:29 pm

Yup you’re right it was Dance in the smoke from fill your head with rock CBS sampler Side two Track 3 actually
3.
Coffer // Aug 4, 2008 at 9:28 am

Terry what were you on!! You completely forgot a gig in August that year (before ELP), Yes at the Crystal Palace Bowl. Amazing performance by a band at the height of their abilities and before they disappeared up their self-indulgances. Actually the weekend was also notable for the fact that we had no where to sleep the night before and wandered round London with an older friend (Ian) before finding a squalid squat to kip in.

Other bands there were: Spooky Tooth, Capabilty Brown, the Mahavishnu Orchestra (complete with 20 minute Billy Cobham drum solo) and Lindisfarne (complete with 20 minute harmonic a solo). Yes were worth the wait though and I still remain convinced that the girly scream at the start of Yours is No Disgrace on Yessongs is me.
4.
Terence Ruffle // Aug 4, 2008 at 7:06 pm

Great you remembered the bit about staying in a squat!
I do remember the Yes gig, but really couldn’t figure the date, thought maybe it was September too. It was a fabulous gig and I do intend to write about it, got a mega Ramones article coming up, working on a Dennis Wilson piece to tie in with the POB re-ish, and next , Sunshine pop!Phew!
Also, I have the program and ticket for the Yes gig, neither of which has the date on!
What was I on? Lemonade and Lovehearts, of course!!
Peace and Love. Mr T
5.
Gordon Adam // Dec 22, 2008 at 11:19 am

Great concert, we slept outside the Oval all night (hardest pavement in the world) so we got a really good spot.
Sorry you forgot the Wishbone Ash set and that they almost didn’t play due to the Gibson flying V being srolen.
I have forgotten who the best female singer was. I believe it was Maggie Bell but am uncertain. (probably due to consumption of illicit substance way back then)
6.
terence // Dec 22, 2008 at 6:11 pm

Hi Gordon,
thanks for the comment mate. As I say, I saw Wishbone Ash many times, but simply can’t recall them at the Oval. Those were the days, huh?
What a terrific decade the 70’s was, the tail end of Psyche, Prog, Blues Rock and Metal, and of course my faves, Glam and Punk. Life, Culture and Music is so bland and manufactured these days, not to mention stifling and sad….
Glad you clocked the site mate, glad you were at the gig coming soon: Yes at the Crystal palace bowl, the world premiere of “Tales from Topographic Oceans” Yee-har! The Psychedelic old farts dissapear in smoke…..
7.
Terry Garrett // Jan 23, 2009 at 11:05 pm

Anybody who was there,
Yeah I remember it well, queuing to get in I thought Argent were playing, might be mistaken. Definitely remember Focus (and with Jack Bruce) as this started a long (still existing) love of there music culminating buying Moving Waves on the Monday (rejected Close to the Edge at the time – couldn’t afford both). Eventually met Focus as my band’s drummer Chris (Cobby) Cobb did a roadie stint with Blue (supporting)in ‘74 at the Rainbow. Anybody remember AYUP?(after the Yorkshire saying). Three of us went to the Oval that day and were NOT too popular when we arrived ‘a bit’ late for a gig at Bromley’s Stockwell College that evening.
Anyhow ELP were great and I am almost certain that Wishbone finished the concert as we couldn’t see them because of afformentiond gig. Still I had seen them before and what a blinding band.
So glad I went to this and other great gigs in the seventies, wasn’t that decade great (well the first half at least). This ranks almost with Bath 1970 (best gig in the world).
8.
Terry Garrett // Jan 23, 2009 at 11:11 pm

Oh forgot to mention Genesis – a band that took me some time to appreciate but when you’re hooked boy what a band. Bought all there stuff by Christmas that year. Managed to get Genesis – the Gabriel Years, and it’s a good read. By Bob Carruthers (on Angry Penguin) bought mine for £5 from Zavvi but may be avail online.
9.
Terence Ruffle // Jan 24, 2009 at 11:18 am

Argent did play Terry,I made a comment about them in the article.
Yeah, Gensis were brilliant, an almost Supernatural quality to their music.
Didn’t get to Bath, sadly, every one says it was one of the best festivals ever.
I’ll check out the book, cheers mate, the 70’s, they were such a gas!
10.
Coffer // Jan 29, 2009 at 10:08 am

Terry those lovehearts must have had some extra fizz – the Crystal Palace Bowl was the premier of Close to the Edge – thankfully (can you imagine sitting through the whole of Tales from Topographic Oceans).

Alan White had only recntly joined the band, after Bill Bruford’s departure to join King Crimson, and had to learn their whole set in a matter of days. Jon Anderson had to put lyric sheets down on the stage for Steve Howe and Chris Squire as they had not yet memorised all the lyrics.

Looking forward to your review of this gig – definitely one of my all time favourites.
11.
millwall paul // Jun 1, 2009 at 9:51 am

hi all i was there at this concert was just great and that evening i went to the brixton acadamy to see deep purple do machine head one of the best days and night of my life just blew me away
12.
vagabond trader // Jun 30, 2009 at 11:21 pm

Whoa, talk about shaking out the cobwebs. My first trip abroad and we went to the Oval show. Fantastic memories, thanks!

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Originally posted on June 6th, 2008 on Psychedelicgaragepunk.com

I read with some amusement recently that Steve Jones, the guitarist with the Sex Pistols, saw David Bowie at the Hammersmith Odeon, the night before he retired as Ziggy Stardust,on July 2nd, 1973. I was there, tho’ I don’t recall seeing Steve. But I do recall guitarist Mick Ronson (Ronno) playing a white Les Paul at the gig, one that looked remarkably similar to the one Steve Jones played in the Pistols. I wonder if this was one of Jonesy’s infamous heists? Perhaps if anyone knows they could leave a comment?

To give you some background about myself at the time, I was sixteen and had been gig-going since the previous year (see the  Emerson Lake and Palmer article). I’d heard “The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars” in September ‘72. A friend, David Gowlett, had bought it pretty much when it came out. I don’t know who’d advised him that Bowie was cool, tho’ I suppose by late in ‘72 he was a chart star with ‘Starman’.

I recall David bringing Ziggy to my house, and all of my friends and I listening to the whole album from start to finish. On Ma and Pa’s trusty radiogram! I can remember it being an amazing, life changing listening experience. The guitars were seriously hard, and rocked more than any Brit Glam Rock that was around at the time, perhaps with the exception of the Sweet’s b-sides. Not that I was listening to British Glam at the time. In fact I thought it was totally uncool. “Brickies in Baco foil”! The Stooges entered my life round about then and I thought they rocked harder than anything I’d heard before. And the New York Dolls were about to enter my life too. By 1974, I was listening to the Dolls albums continuously, at least a couple of times a day.

I had an outrageous sound system at the time, a Linear valve amplifier – donated, I think, by Nick Fisher. The sort of amp us junior players would run our guitars or basses through, amateur-esque, but still damn loud! I ran a Wharfedale turntable through the amp. It was mono, obviously. The amp drove a pair of two by twelve cabinets. One was a Marshall, which I probably bought from my Sister Helen’s club book! (Hands up how many of you bought your first amp or combo from Kay’s? I can see uncle Stom’s hand up at the back there, and maybe Jem’s too?) The other amp was a Fender – the 2×12 that came with my brother-in-law Jed Wilson’s amp, an infamous Bandmaster. That beautiful cabinet was stolen when the Accidents supported Lilliput at the Rock Garden, in Covent Garden, on the 8th of October, 1980.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             I can’t imagine what hell my parents went through, having to listen to the Dolls day in and day out, through what I suppose was my first p.a.!!!

But back to the gig……                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 Ronno’s guitars definitely hit the spot for me. But the whole vibe, the lyrics – some of which were fairly outrageous for the time – and Bowie’s voice really took me somewhere else. It was part futuristic, and in retrospect, pre-defining certain aspects of Punk. Surely Bowie’s ginger/red mullett hair do, often imitated but never equalled, spawned the spikey punk architype sported by Johnny Rotten?                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     I know there’s been a million different interpretations of the Ziggy story, but I just thought it was about an alien rock’n’roll star, whose biggest misfortune was to hit the Top of the Poppermost, just as Earth went into it’s final decline. Oh no! The cover of Ziggy looked as though Bowie had just popped down to planet Earth for a quick photo shoot and his rock’n’roll Flying Saucer was parked just around the corner and out of the shot.

There was a very important thread running through my life in those days, and that was Veronica Peyton. Veronica was my second girlfriend, and pretty much the hippest person on the planet at that time. At least I thought so. We met at school. It was 1972, the autumn term. Her parents were great, they’d drive us back to their fabulous country abode,and let us listen to our music quite loud, on an original early 60’s Dansette record player! I’d heard of Roxy Music through “Virginia Plain”, but never heard their album, which Veronica had. Someone I wasn’t familiar with at all, was Lou Reed. David Bowie had produced the fabulous “Transformer” album (with major and not fully credited help from Mick Ronson). Veronica turned me onto that too. And with a lot of help from David Gowlett, I was fully immersed in the Velvet Underground by the Spring of ‘73. It was the sound track to our school leaving exams. Oh dear!!!

Veronica also had Bowie’s recent (at the time) re-issues of”Space Oddity” and “Hunky Dory” – both of which I loved. But the one that really got me, cos it rocked so hard, was “The Man who sold the World”. Tony Visconti played the bass on it, and his playing really rocked, as of course, did Ronno’s guitar. It was pretty much the same guitar sound as “Ziggy”, but much more aggressive and proto metal. And the lyrics projected a lot of sexual ambiguity, fairly homosexual or bisexual. Thankfully “She shook me cold” alleviated my fears. It was really raunchy in a very heterosexual way.

The other big revelation which Veronica gave me, was “Raw Power” by Iggy and the Stooges, which was also produced by Bowie. Iggy was so hard, in your face – “wild” and “rebellious” don’t come close to describing this sound. This band sounded like crashing chunks of sheet metal, the most devastating noise I’d ever heard. It was the rawest rock’n’roll ever, I thought – I and probably still do. Aside from the Bowie thread, and the fact that Roxy were from a planet in Bowie’s universe, and that Lou Reed had been brought back to life by him, all of which Veronica understood, there was a look – which both Veronica and her sister Hilary had. It was part Victorian – frock coats and fox furs. And perhaps lacy shirts or tops. They were both hip to Biba (where the New York Dolls made their first UK appearance) and when money allowed, they would shop at Kensington market. Though Hil was an amazing seamstress, she would often use both sources as inspiration.
A dash of glam, diamonte and classy stack heeled boots. And black nail varnish. Lots of expensive looking rings, jet and chains. Straight legged red tab Levis, which I’d not seen before, except on the occasional better dressed skinhead. Like my good self, neither were adverse to plundering Oxfam charity shops, which seemed to be bristling with late Victorian and 1920s fashion in those days. And long, usually black hair (or in Hil’s case blonde), a pre Joey Ramone look, that sometimes obscured quite large parts of the face.

Kee-rist, that sounds like Russell Brand!!!

I remember seeing a few other friends of Veronica’s and Hilary’s, who all had a similar but less classy look. Perhaps they went to the same school in Brentwood? I can’t give you a label or an “ism” – it was their look. It was unique and very attractive. Certainly, again, it was a precursor to the punk look. So when Veronica told me that her and Hilary had tickets to see David Bowie, and would I like to go along with them, I was deleriously happy!

When we got to the Hammersmith Odeon for the David Bowie gig on July 2nd 1973, there were a lot of glam kids wandering about. But they looked like a bunch of David Cassidy fans! Tho’ there were a few Zig-a-likes, mostly girls. Unlicenced merchandise ran even more unchecked than it does nowadays. There were lots of cheap Bowie scarves, posters and mags. Of course, wish I’d bought a bunch of it now, it’d look great next to my official Ziggy program and ticket, and the signed (albeit in 2000) unpublished Ziggy pic. On the hoarding of the Odeon, it said “FROM 8P.M., WE’RE ALL WORKING TOGETHER WITH DAVID BOWIE” which intrigued me enormously. Like we’d be invited to some grand party, a huge team.

Our seats were in the circle, and cost £1.50, but we weren’t too high in the “Gods”, and had an excellent view of the stage.As far as I remember, prior to Mike Garson coming on and doing his solo medley on piano, I believe the music coming from the p.a. was excerpts from the Walter Carlos soundtrack to “A Clockwork Orange”. Perhaps the theme? Can anyone verify that?

Clockwork Orange was released in 1971, but its influence was still evident – it certainly influenced Bowie’s style, as Ziggy. I went to a party at Bob Mardon’s house, at Christmas ‘72, and among the freaks and occasional hippy, several guys were dressed like droogs, complete with one eyelash, bowler hats, white boiler suits, and DM’s (Dr Martin’s) boots. I thought they looked totally cool, tho’ they drew some protestations from the “peace, maaan” types.

Mike Garson sounded like some lounge style piano player given a free hand with Bowie’s then recent back catalogue! After Garson had finished his piece, the march from Clockwork Orange blasted out (Ninth symphony, fourth movement, not second movement – archivers, use your ears!!!). It wasn’t the theme, as is often reported – this mistake could easily be rectified by a quick earful of “His Master’s Voice” or the soundtrack remaster. As the man in teddy boy gear finished the announcements, the band literally thrashed into “Hang onto yourself”.

The sound, I recall, was pretty dreadful initially – tho’ Mick Ronson’s guitar was loud and proud, and good enough for me! Ronno looked kind of “Little Lord Fauntleroy” round the edges – white or silver (I can’t remember) long socks going up to what looked like black  pantaloons. Shiny black “highwayman” type shoes, and a frilly white shirt. He had a little catwalk in front of him, that took him into the edge of the front of the crowd.

I can recall once he’d stepped out on the catwalk he pretty much stopped playing guitar, and just let the crowd paw at his white Les Paul for a while rather than play it. I was horrified! He wasn’t playing, just hamming it up! And in the meantime, the crowd went wild……

I can remember the three lightning flashes in big white circles behind the band, and when I listen to the soundtrack to the Ziggy movie I recall the songs and, of course, the marvellous costumes Bowie was wearing. But I think it’s fairly pointless for me to repeat things you can find on other web sites.

Again, this must’ve been a school trip. As I wearily plodded back to the coach, what should be playing on the radio, but “Drive in Saturday”?! I have to be honest tho’, while I can look back on the gig and say I witnessed a major event in the history of Rock’n’Roll, I was terribly disappointed. With the exception of John Lennon, Bowie was probably my biggest hero at the time. And the whole event smacked of teeny bop, which I loathed, because it was so false and plastic. And, although the sound improved, it left a lot to be desired, compared to other gigs I’d been to that year. I was at the Rainbow theatre in Finsbury park, a few weeks later, for the Traffic “On the Road” tour, and the sound was phenomenal. I met a chap there that had been at both the last Bowie gigs, as a St. Johns ambulance brigade man – apparently a great ruse for getting into gigs for free. He said that aside from the fact that he’d been appalled, cos the floor of the Odeon had apparently been awash with pee downstairs (a standard feature at most teeny bop gigs he assured me, from the boppers wetting themselves!), he reckoned Bowie had “sold out”. “Sold out” was a term used when an “underground” band signed to a major label, and were no longer the exclusive property of a few hip minded individuals. I won’t say that was Bowie’s intention entirely, because I think his art has always come first. (Okay, I like “Let’s Dance”, don’t give me a hard time!) But obviously he wanted to be popular with the masses. However, I suppose I couldn’t equate Bowie with major popularity at the time. I wanted him to be the outsider, for us outsiders! No sell out! And the gig just seemed like the carnival that was the Osmonds, the Partridge family et all. So I bitched and moaned to Veronica and Hil majorly, so much so that by the time we got back to the coach I think they both hated me! Which was a shame, cos as a teenage boy I loved them both dearly and of course still do………

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This blog first published June 2008 on Psychedelicgaragepunk.com

I first met Wade at a Rock bar in Pompano beach, South Florida, in the summer of ‘89. He had a kind of cowpunk look about him, very modern post punk, post Hanoi Rocks – cowboy style but definitely punk rock. For the most part his guitar sound sucked, but his playing was real good. He had a strange old Fender combo. It was cream coloured, just like Jed’s Band Master amp that I used with the Accidents. Wade had two guitars, a Gibson Les Paul and a cranky old Fender Jaguar – which he’d drag out to play this whacked-out surf instrumental.

I liked his whiny Johnny Thunders type voice, and his grand rock’n’roll vision. I think we must have had a number of influences in common – the Ramones, the Cramps, and the New York Dolls most certainly, tho’ I can recall him asking me about English music of that era. And in common with the few other punk types I knew at that time, he loved the Cure. By the Summer of 1990 I had turned the whole band onto current English music, a favourite of mine being Swervedriver.

Wade also had the most beaten up car I’d ever seen, a ‘73 Camero. Every time he drove over a speed bump or a pot hole, the drive shaft disengaged! He also turned me onto drinking “Fireballs” – which were a concoction of Tabasco and schnapps.

When I arrived back in FLA in January 1990, he asked me to join the Thee Exploding Clocks and play at another Rock club in Pompano beach. I had to learn all the songs in four days – a challenge I couldn’t resist! Shortly after my first gig with the band, we sacked the bass player – mostly cos we hated his look and his playing, but also because he was bald! He used to wear a bandana to cover the fact, which we hated too. So it came about Bob Adams joined the band. Bob was a great all round musician. He also became a dear friend of mine.

The whole band adored UK punk music, so it must have been a great novelty having me in their ranks. And of course I showed them the appropriate nuances. For me it was a great experiance. As I say, the Bobs rocked out – we were a cranking unit live. Bob Jacobs was a seriously kick ass drummer. He could easily play US hardcore type drumming, and he also had a pretty good voice. He did a lot of bvox live, and I seem to remember he sang lead on a cover we did -  “You got me covered” (I can’t remember who did the original).

After a number of gigs in and around our part of South Florida, it became impossible to work with Wade. His idea of a pre-gig drink was a litre of Wild Turkey. Plus, he became increasingly  dependent on Xanax, a heavy duty tranquiliser.

So it was with heavy hearts we sacked Wade. I switched to bass, Bob Adams switched to guitar, and the Sniffs were born! The name came about when Kat Young and I were driving out to a restaurant. I put a tape in the player – “This Charming Man” by the Smiths. Ever keen to musically educate, I asked Kat if she knew who the band were that we were listening to?

“Yay-ah” she replied, “it’s the Sniffs!”

I can recall a few gigs we did as a three piece, the last one being at the Ambassador club, in Deerfield beach, in December ‘90. It was a grand old bar, with a huge  sign above the entrance – four foot high red neon letters spelling out its name. After we’d finished our soundcheck, we went into the main bar for a beer. The locals, mostly good ole boy rednecks, were having a heated conversation about the situation in Iraq. It Looked like the first Gulf war was about to kick off. “Say Buddy, you’re English, right? Wadda you think we should do?”. “Nuke ‘em!” I replied.

The L7 studio, where both bands recorded,was off of Martin Luther King junior boulevard. I always thought it was very sad that such an area of deprivation was named after a noble fellow like Martin Luther King. The whole of that area was literally the “wrong side of the tracks”, or as the white Americans called it, Crack town. Peter, the engineer, operated  rigorous security, as a result of a very nasty attack. Along Dixie highway, the old North/South interstate road, small gangs of Afro-American women roamed in search of punters to offer cheap sexual favours. These women were known as “Chicken Heads”, as oral sex could be obtained for $10, or a crack rock. A small gang of these women managed to break through the perimeter fence one evening. They got into the studio and offered services to Peter, but when he refused to give them money, they set upon him with baseball bats. Before the security guard could call the police they’d managed to give him a nasty beating. That whole sleazy, dangerous vibe probably helped put an edge on those recordings.

I can’t really remember why or where( probably via one of the local rehearsal studios) – but early ‘90, I discovered Crate amplification. The feedbacking guitar sound on the Clocks’ CD is my old ‘74 Telecaster, going through a 100 watt Crate combo. I think it was a valve amp – it certainly had dual rectifiers in the pre amp. You could get a sound that can only be described as a cross between the clasic overdriven Marshall amp with serious Mesa Boogie overtones. It was lovely!

I used the 12 string Rickenbacker that Paul Sullivan had used on stage with the Gene Tryp. It was a ‘66 vintage, so I was told. It had thin, solid  body, with a shape similar to the small bodied Ricks that the Beatles used prior to the hollow bodied models. I think some one once told me the model number was 366. Anybody know for sure? Through the Crate amp, it suddenly became very Pete Townsend, particularly on “Time for Confusion”, which I tried to give Who and Husker Du overtones.

Pete the engineer played in an excellent country band. Their staple was traditional country, but they also played country rock in the style of the Burritos or the Chris Hillman band. Pete was an exceptional pedal steel guitarist. Their lead guitar player was no slouch, either, and had done sessions in Nashville. At the time of the Clocks recording, Pete’s band had a residency at Club Elvis, in Hallendale. The guys asked me to go down and jam with them and, as I was a mega Elvis fan, it was an opportunity too good to miss! So Kat and I took a trip down to Club Elvis one night.

I was bitterly disappointed, because I expected wall-to-wall Elvis memorabilia and 50’s style decor. But what we got was a fairly shabby, glorified roadhouse bar, jam packed with cowboy rednecks!

I sang a few Elvis songs with the band, which the audience enjoyed. I have a recording of the evening, but sadly most of the music is obscured by some big cowboy harassing Kat to dance the two step with him!

A CD of music Thee Exploding Clocks and The Sniffs recorded at the L7 studio is now available – 19 years after we recorded it.

If you want to have a listen to these two great bands, you can buy a copy of the CD at http://Psygap.com

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