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Chairman Ralph's Ministry Of Truth

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Communiques

**** UPDATES: 5/8/23 NOW ADDED: "Budgie's Garden" Art Show Press Release, right here, and Ad (Take II): In Featured Songs, of course! This time around, we've got some crazy psychedelic bits happening, as our art show rolls on into its second month of viewing.

MOVED/UPDATED: Cherie Currie/Brie Darling and SLF/Avengers live reviews are now in "Gig Notes & Reviews." 
Chairman Ralph/Crooked Beat appearance is now in "Clash Book Dispatches." Bio/FAQs section is now updated, along with a new section for current releases (where you'll see info on Desperate Times, and My Life As A Vagrant 'zines/e-books).

ALSO: Lyrics for all tracks on ESCAPE FROM CHICAGO (CRACKERBOX OASIS) are now posted in Featured Songs (click on: "Description"). Sing along with the bouncing beater, as the Windy City fades farther and farther in the review mirror! :-)

Complete lyrics are also available for the 4.29.94 and A BUDGIE'S LIFE EPs, as well (just click the Description box).  And the tracks are yours to grab, as always, over in Featured Songs.

PLUS: My appearances at The Poetry Den, where I've performed off and on, since 10/22 -- check it out in the Links Section! DIY live performance, and outsider art, with plenty of like-minded souls for company.

AND: An excerpted audio version of "The Jam: This Is The Modern World Revisited," which appeared in my 'zine, DESPERATE TIMES #1 (2015), with guitar and effects by yours truly. Head over to Spoken Word Tracks, and hear both offerings for yourself!

OFFLINE (FOR NOW): HAPPY TRAILS (LITTLE BUDGIE IS 47), because I only have so much space. It'll return at some point, I'm sure. :-) AND: "Rebel National Anthem #1," recorded live (2/26/19),

Due to various boring technical issues, like abuse of privilege, comment capability is back off, and preapproval is required. But if you really have something on your mind...you know where to find me. ****

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Two of the works that are featured in the show. Another one of the paintings that can be seen in the "Budgie's Garden" art show. One of five works by Chairman Ralph: a pop-art collage, inspired by the Honeycombs' song of the same name. Another of Chairman Ralph's collages, inspired by Geoff Goddard's celebrated 1963 single of the same name.
"BUDGIE'S GARDEN" ART SHOW: NOW SHOWING THROUGH JULY 31
May 8, 2023

Spring offers the promise of renewal, and local artist Lisa Quinlan-Heibutzki feels no differently, as she prepares for “Budgie's Garden,” her first major show in 14 years.

“I had created a lot of art work, and felt it was time to get it out there. I always derived pleasure, knowing that one of my paintings was being enjoyed by someone else. I had sold some individual paintings online, but felt it was time to do a show,” she said.

“Budgie's Garden” opened April 1, at Front Street Crossing, 227 S. Front St., Dowagiac, and runs until Monday, July 31. The show is cosponsored by Blue Dart and Cass County Council on Aging (COA), and features paintings of birds, flowers and landscapes.

Visitors will also see illustrations for short stories by notable local author, Charles McKelvy, and a joint work created with Lisa's husband, Ralph, who also has several collages of his own, in the show.

Quinlan-Heibutzki holds an art education degree from Western Michigan University. Previous shows included “Budgie's Nest,” which ran in October 2006, at the Hillsdale Annex (Hillsdale, MI), and a smaller affair, held in 2009, at the Livery (Benton Harbor, MI). She has also sold numerous paintings privately.

Blue Dart Art Director Sharron Ott hopes that visitors will take inspiration from Quinlan-Heibutzki's view of nature, “and by the way she works the materials to create an intriguing painting,” she said.

“I have always enjoyed Lisa's paintings,” Ott said. “There is a unique raw strength, while at the same time, being refined, and well-rendered. This is why I was excited to invite her to participate in the Engage Program.”

“Budgie's Garden” is part of a joint effort by Blue Dart Art and Cass County COA “to provide these shows for local artists, helping the artists share their work with the community,” she added.

The theme of “Budgie's Garden” also fit the season, Ott believes. “Being spring time, I thought that Lisa’s pictures would be very appropriate, as many of her works depict flowers and gardens. I hope it to be as if the flowers are coming up inside of the COA, when the people come down the hallway,” she said.

As an artist with disabilities, Quinlan-Heibutzki draws on influences ranging from Charles Schulz, the late creator of “Peanuts,” to Impressionist painters like Van Gogh, and Monet, and outsider artists who don't show up on the popular radar, she said.

“I taught myself to draw using 'Peanuts' comics at age five, and, kept drawing and painting. Visually, I am influenced by my own photographs, my stamp collection, and Victorian-era photos. My painting, 'Budgie Information,' was inspired by a vintage photo of a circus performer and her birds, with some obvious changes,” Quinlan-Heibutzki said.

Other inspirations happened closer to home, such as at Berrien Unitarian Universalist Fellowship (St. Joseph, MI). She began gardening there, after a raised gardening box had been built for members' use.

“I took pictures there, and based a few of the paintings on them,” Quinlan-Heibutzki said. “The painting 'Midnight Garden' is based on one of those pictures. I also took pictures of my own produce, and painted 'Make Your Salad' from them.”

Those activities ended up inspiring her show, in ways she didn't imagine. “I had never gardened, and it became a new hobby, that I found out I liked, and thought it would be an apt name to celebrate this show,” Quinlan-Heibutzki said. “'Budgie' is a nickname of mine, so it made sense.”

Whatever draws people to “Budgie's Garden,” they'll find no shortage of imagery to inspire, when they leave the show, Quinlan-Heibutzki feels.

“There's some variety in my art work, I think people will enjoy. Also I hope my love for nature and birds comes through the show,” she said.

For further details on the show, or purchasing information, contact Blue Dart Art Group, at bluedartart63@gmail.com, or Quinlan-Heibutzki, at biggreenfrog40@yahoo.com.

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"DESPERATE TIMES" #2: NEW REVIEW
Dec 1, 2022

Just in time for the holidays comes another addition to the growing stack of great reviews coming in for Desperate Times #2 ("Anyhow, Anyclub, Anywhere: The Rise & Fall Of Safari Sam's"). This time, it's from the long-running UK punk 'zine, Positive Creed, the brainchild of Rob Stone, who does a great job with his DIY publication, as well.

Thanks to Rob for such a full-on thumbs up, and hopefully, we'll get a few more of them down the line, before we're done and dusted! While we're at it, the holidays are just around the corner...Desperate Times is available for $10, postage paid, right here -- just contact me, via this website, and we'll set up the transaction, once I give you the relevant link!

Then, once you have it in your hands, ponder where all of this relentless Disneyfication of our neighborhoods and communities -- along with the double-barreled, double-digit rent increases that accompany the whole unsavory phenomenon -- is taking us.

<UGLY THINGS #55 REVIEW>
"Ralph Heibutzki, a.k.a. Chairman Ralph, pays homage to the classic DIY fanzine format of olden tymes here with a haphazard scissors-and-glue-stick collaged layout, complete with paste-up lines, blurry photocopied photos and newspaper clippings, hand-drawn illustrations, and the pages all held together with a single staple in the top left corner.

"The throwback format is appropriate as the issue tells the story of Safari Sam's, a Huntington Beach venue that was one of the hot spots for the underground music scene in California's Orange County in the 1980s. The 'zine charts the rise and fall in a scrappy oral history format..." (Mike Stax, Winter 2020)

<POSITIVE CREED #44 REVIEW>
"A big chunky 'zine all the way from the States that investigates the rise and fall of Safari Sam's, a music venue in Orange County. From what I can gather, it sounded like a pretty happening place in its day, hosting the Minutemen, Fire Hose, Social Distortion, the Jesus and Mary Chain, and a whole bunch of others who were all involved in the eighties punk movement.

"There's interviews from individuals who were about at the time giving a good insight into how things were and it sounds like a tough time for some with police harassment cropping up regularly along with business and licensing issues. I have to say that I found this a really fascinating read into a world of pissed off teenagers getting creative by forming bands and writing poetry and creating their own reality whilst trying to make a difference. It's this sort of thing that hits the home of impact that punk rock made on people and continues to do so.


<DESPERATE TIMES #2: SNAP DESCRIPTION>
While Safari Sam's established itself as a hotbed of great rock 'n' roll, it's also a story of a strongly conservative social culture, constant harassment from city bureaucrats and cops, and, ultimately, a force that proved too strong to overcome...gentrification. It's a story that was relevant then, and still plays out today, all around the nation. Now, you can read it for yourself, and draw your own conclusions.

"Roll the credits in your mind for this story, which has played out since the dawn of DIY (in general), and punk rock (in particular): Anykid in Anytown USA doesn't like what's happening there. Maybe they don't hear their type of music, hope to carve out room for something else...or simply want something else besides the standard issue profit-mongering water hole.

"Whatever the reason, Anykid gets Anyclub up and running. Anyclub survives the initial growing pains (hit or miss bookings, spotty audiences, official and unofficial sabotage). For awhile, everyone has a more interesting place to go. Then, sadly but surely, the obstacles start piling up -- too many to overcome in short order.

"The doors slam shut, and the lights go out, leaving Anyclub to live on, in people's memories, and a big black hole in the local scene once more. Roll the credits: wash, rinse, repeat."

 

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...paying tribute to the Fun House cover effect! Gratuitous nudity, plus an art director&#39;s attempt at surrealism -- must be the &#39;70s, right? :-) The review of the Stooges&#39; infamous gig with Ten Years After, with whom they shared the stage at the Boston Tea Party (&#34;There is advance and largely negative reaction in the hall&#34;), though the reviewer seemingly takes a shine to that singer (&#34;Iggy is a new face, he has an authentic weirdness, a real dynamism, the pull of an angry magnet&#34;). Blow this one up, if you can, to read it -- it&#39;s worth your time! &#34;From being a mere deviate&#39;s dream, they have become cataclysmic prophets, ushering in The Age of the Ig. &#39;I&#39;m real oh-myed.&#39;&#34; Dave Marsh summarizes his take on Fun House, accompanied by Tom Copi&#39;s celebrated photo (above) of Iggy walking across the crowd at the Cincinnati Pop Festival -- which happened that summer, and whose ripples rang out, loudly and clearly, thereafter.
C'MON, RONNIE, TELL 'EM HOW I FEEL: MICHAEL BEGNAL REVISITS A DETROIT LEGEND IN NEW BOOK, "THE MUSIC AND NOISE OF THE STOOGES, 1967-71"
by Words: Chairman Ralph/Images: Courtesy Of Michael S. Begnal
Apr 22, 2022

You'd never know it now, amid the plethora of boxed sets, bootlegs, remasters and reissues hitting the racks these days, but once upon a time, copies of the Stooges' landmark albums – The Stooges (1969), Fun House (1970), and Raw Power (1973) – were on the level of Bigfoot encounters, UFO sightings, or exotic rock rumors (“Jim Morrison is alive 'n' well, reborn as a corporate warrior/7-Eleven counter lackey/off the grid adventurer”). In other words, experiences and glimpses of something bigger, to speak about reverently, but not taken seriously, since – what were the odds that anybody would ever actually get to hear any of those so-called legendary platters?

Few bands started with such a promising bang, yet fewer still made the transition from hero to zero with such rapidity. I came of collecting age in a world where the infamous, in-concert snapshot, Metallic KO (1976), was the only Stooges album that you might even spot in a record bin – coming two years after their final breakup, even as their body of work languished in out of print limbo, curiosities to be seen, and maybe furtively enjoyed, but never actually heard.

Eventually, the world caught up -- somewhat. By the time I began rounding up the usual suspects in 1994-95 for my eventual MC5/Stooges retrospectives in DISCoveries, and Goldmine, the albums had finally become common currency (though, even then, workarounds persisted – hence, I found myself making do with a French import of The Stooges, after I'd snagged the other two albums). The notion of “Detroit rock” had finally become embraced as some sort of legitimate sub-genre, and highbrow rags like MOJO had begun publishing in-depth pieces – but that was as far as any power broker sitting behind their desk seemed prepared to go.

It's hard to imagine what followed, in hindsight, when I spoke to the Stooges' perennial backbone of Ron and Scott Asheton, on their Ann Arbor turf. Although they were finally getting a bit more respect – and even royalties from their albums, God forbid – neither were enshrined in rock 'n' roll Heaven just yet. Scott was playing locally, with various bands – including Stand Fast, fronted by his sister, Kathy – while Ron was dividing his energies between his major post-Stooge band, Dark Carnival, and trying to get various movie projects off the ground.

The phenomena that led to their renewed prominence – the Stooges reunion (2003), and their induction into the Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame (2010), along with the resurgence of the Detroit music scene, and Stooge music featuring prominently in commercial – lay a good half-decade or more off, light years away, in pop culture terms.

The notion of an academic exploration of the Stooges' music and legacy seemed equally far-fetched – what light, if any, could you shed on the lyrical mindset behind the likes of “I Wanna Be Your Dog” – yet that's exactly what Michael S. Begnal has done in his new book, The Music And Noise Of The Stooges, 1967-1971: Lost In The Future (Routledge), which offers a fresh look at the band, while trying to pierce through the fog of myth that surrounds so much of their history, as you'll see shortly. (Full disclosure: I provided full transcripts of my interviews with the Ashetons, because when you're involved – you're involved.) For availability, or other information, visit www.routledge.com.

Drawing on the critiques of scholars like Theodor Adorno, and interviews with many of the principals – notably, the MC5's guiding light, John Sinclair – The Music And Noise Of The Stooges raises the curtain on the collision between art and commerce, “with the band's 'noisy' music and singer Iggy Pop's 'bizarre' onstage performances confusing their label, Elektra Records,” its back cover blurb notes. “As Begnal argues, the Stooges embodied a tension between market forces and an innovative, avante-garde artistic vision, as they sought to liberate audiences from passivity and stimulate an imminent joy in the rock 'n' roll moment.”

All of these subjects definitely seemed worthy of deeper examination, once I read The Music And Noise Of The Stooges, which we then explored in our interview (3/09/22) – so crank up, drink up, rear up, and proceed accordingly. The highlights follow, as always, for your reading pleasure below.

PT. I: “THEY ALL HAD A VISION”

CHAIRMAN RALPH (CR): So let's get down to it, I guess, without further ado. Let's start with the level of fandom. I've told you my story. When I started, Metallic KO – for a long time – was the only Stooges record you could get, let alone find.

The Stooges were a name that everybody seemed to know, but not a lot of people got to hear. So what was your journey through all this? How did you find them, and how did that affect you?

MICHAEL BEGNAL (MB): I was into the Ramones when the first album came out in '76, when I was 10, thanks to a family friend, who brought the record to our house. At first, it was the Sex Pistols and the Ramones. The Sex Pistols had covered “No Fun,” so, I knew that was a Stooges song, even though I hadn't heard the original yet. And that Sid Vicious album, Sid Sings, he does “Search & Destroy.”

CR: That's right.

MB: So I was like, “Those are really good songs,” and I got Raw Power. I got it in New York City – we would go to New York a couple of times a year, when I was a kid, when I grew up in Central Pennsylvania. It was '81, and I got an import version of Raw Power, which was the '77 reissue, with the British reissue.

So I was into that, Raw Power, even before the Elektra ones. Of course, as you can tell from the book, the Elektra ones were the ones that really became the big ones for me, probably even more than Raw Power, obviously. They're all great. So I was into Raw Power, and then – was it '82, before the Elektra albums were finally rereleased?

CR: I'm gonna say '83, because that's when I remember buying Fun House, in the summer of. I'd gotten Raw Power during my high school days, at the mall, of all places – in the bargain bin, at Boogie Records!

MB: Yeah. Well, I bought 'em in '84. I remember getting into the first album, in the summer of '84, and I kept seeing the guys in Black Flag, Henry Rollins and Chuck Dukowski, at least a couple of times, mention that Fun House was the shit.

So I got that rerelease of Fun House, which isn't the gatefold, and then I had all three of the studio albums. Then I started getting into them, and I picked up Metallic KO around that time, too.

CR: Wow, so your trajectory's completely opposite of mine, basically.

MB: Yeah. It was just what was out there, you know? I'd heard of them because of the Sex Pistols. I knew it was Iggy Pop – Iggy Pop was having solo albums out, that I'd heard. I had the Soldier album, probably got that around the same era, and the same time I got Raw Power.

Also, there was an Iggy Pop Autodiscography in Trouser Press, in '83. And that had him talking about all the Stooges albums, so I was aware of them from that, too.

CR: And, of course, he was continuing to play the Stooges material live.

MB: Yeah. I mean, I didn't see him live at that time. But you'd hear the name the Stooges mentioned, any time you heard something about Iggy Pop.

CR: So, what made you decide, to write about them, and especially, to take the route that you did? At the time – in purely commercial terms – they didn't achieve a lot, really. As you point out yourself, they only really got welcomed back to the party, once their influence spread enough, to the point where they had something to sell.

MB: Right, right, yeah. I mean, that's one of the main arguments of the book, is the way that capitalism drives all this stuff. It's not like they were welcomed back, or got into the Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame, simply because of three influential albums, and then, nothing.

But yeah, why? I mean, it was one of those things, where it was, “Oh, they influenced the Sex Pistols, and all these punk bands. I guess I should check them out.” But then, it's the power of the band itself, and I don't know, it just got me at the right time, I guess.

When I started getting into Fun House, in '84, I guess I'd just turned 18. Fun House was one of those albums, that it grows on you over time. You keep listening to it, and hearing different things in it, and hearing it differently. In fact, when I first played Fun House, I was like, “Nah, I didn't like it quite as much as the first album, or Raw Power.”

But yeah, something's weird about the sound, it's got that big echoey metallic sound, as opposed to the, sort of fuzztone sound I'd been getting into on the first album. But then, I kept listening to it, and it started to grow on me, and it just becomes too powerful to deny, I guess.

CR: Oh, OK, that makes sense, I think.

MB: Actually, it is kind of funny, though, because a lot of the ideas that I've had about the Stooges' music over the decades, all came out in the book – but I wouldn't have had the wider critical context, or the theoretical context, to kind of somehow connect all these dots. That's something I've only been able to do later.

CR: So basically, the book is your attempt to put all these things into perspective, not only for yourself – but those that don't know a lot about the Stooges, or just maybe only know the name, and a song or two, and that might be it, them.

MB: Yeah, right. Well, I wanted to really bring out their importance beyond just, “Oh, it's cool music,” or, “I really dig them.” I wanted to do more than just describe them, but rather, to actually analyze, to the extent that I could. And honestly, I wanted to do more than just do, yet another Stooges fan type of book.

I wanted to take it somewhere else, and bring this critical context to it, and analyze it, in this wider context. Because I think, a lot of people actually tend to see the Stooges as separate from any context. “They were just out there, doing their own thing, and they were ahead of their time.”

I'm arguing back against that idea, throughout the book. And why that subtitle, Lost In The Future? Because a lot of people see them as ahead of their time, or influences on the stuff that happened later, and not that many people really stop to think about them in their own moment, in their own context.

CR: Even if they didn't sound like everybody else, to say the least. But what contributed to that impression? I mean, why did people take it like that?

MB: Yeah. I mean, I guess you could understand that with Fun House. That doesn't really sound like a lot of other stuff that was happening. The first album, it's almost – you listen to it, and it sounds very '60s now, with the wah pedal, and the fuzz tone, and all that.

When you really stop to think about the musical structures, the things that they're doing, they really are connected to the blues, and they really are connected to rhythm 'n' blues.

But that's one of the points I make in the book, is that that had gone out by the late '60s. That's when you had all of these players trying to be real slick, and do concept stuff. So that basic rock 'n' roll sound had come to be seen as passe.

CR: Yeah, and I'm reminded of when I interviewed Jimmy Silver for my Goldmine piece. You may remember the quote, when they opened for Ten Years After, the guys passed the time in the dressing room, making fun of them, and doing impressions of them, calling them Five Minutes Later?

MB: Yeah, Ten Years After, they're the villains for a part of the book. Even in your Stooges article, at that period in '69, the Stooges played with them a few times, and really hated them, and hated their audience, and their audience hated them, so Ten Years After gets to be the villain. But they do sum up what we were just saying, I mean, because Ten Years After was playing old rock 'n' roll covers, and they were doing some blues rock, but they were doing it in a slick way.

CR: Yeah, exactly. Exactly. Well, and of course, to what extent does the influence – and the isolation, or the relative isolation of the Midwest – play into all this?

MB: Well, I mean, again, they weren't isolated from everything. The Detroit sound was its own thing, and they were part of that, for sure. It's not like they weren't original, in any way. Of course, even in the Detroit scene, they were seen as weirdos, or whatever, musically.

CR: Again, to go back to this way that the Stooges are seen – of course, you've got the Ed Ward review, which is awfully condescending, to put it mildly: “Yeah, this is pretty crappy, you might see something in this, God knows why.”

MB: Yeah, I think the line is, “But the fun is infectious.” He spends most of the article slagging them, but then condescends to be like, “But it's fun.”

CR: But I guess, one of the other things that I thought of, did that reputation get baked in, in some ways?

MB: Yeah, I think that's true. That's also easy, to critics like Ed Ward – and that is a condescending review – but a lot of critics really liked them, like Bangs, and Marsh, and all those guys. They got a lot of really good reviews.

Sometimes, the good reviews were still driven by that, “It's a clear degeneracy,” kind of thing. But they got a lot of good press. Yeah, I mean, maybe Elektra could have done more, maybe they just didn't resonate, to an extent.

But one of the points I'm making in the book, and that other people are making – that was a big thing that Sinclair was telling me. He said the Doors got big, because Elektra pumped a lot of money into promoting them. And they didn't do that for the Stooges.

CR: No, and one thing occurred to me when I read your book, that popped into my head was, you could even see that, in the way they were signed – because the MC5 got a $20,000 advance, and the Stooges only got five [$5,000]. Kind of underscoring their position as not just an underdog, but almost as an afterthought.

MB: Yeah, right, and that's why you got to thank Danny Fields for getting them signed at all. But yeah. I mean, Elektra thought the MC5 was going to be the next big thing.

CR: For sure. A bit more conventional, in that sense. So what do you think was the key factor, then, in the Stooge evolution, between the first album, and Fun House? Two albums, that are worlds apart – hard to believe it's the same group of people behind them, too, really.

MB: I know. I mean, I think they had a vision. This is the thing – the standard narrative is, “Iggy had the vision. The other guys were kind of just of his backup band.”

CR: They were there for the ride.

MB: Yeah, but I think they all had a vision. At the time, they were really locked in, as a unit, and it wasn't just Iggy. I don't meant to discount, Iggy, obviously, but I mean, I think Ron's vision is just as important as Iggy's. And all the guys were – I mean, they were playing all the time.

Yeah, I mean, it's hard to put your finger – it's hard to analyze that sort of intangible thing that happens, when an artist takes their art seriously, and puts their vision into effect, what's the chemistry behind that?

It's tough to quantify, but I think they had a collective vision, that they wanted to take a giant leap forward, and made it happen together, by playing all the time.

CR: Or, as Ron said, “We learned our trade by playing live.” And that, I think, is pretty much on the money.

MB: Yeah. And I guess Ron practiced a lot. There was that CREEM piece on the Detroit bands, where it talks about Ron practicing with Bill Cheatham. Bill was his understudy, and it talked of Bill being on Fun House, but then, he wasn't. But I guess Ron was teaching Bill the rhythm parts, so that he could work on his solos. So there was a lot of thought and effort and practice behind it.

PT. II: “JUST GO WITH THAT SOUND...”

CR: Well, and of course, when I finally got to hear the complete Fun House sessions... I spent, what was it? The whole summer of 2018, driving around in my car – which, I guess, is a very Stooge-like thing to do, and listen to these things – and what struck me about it was, it seemed much more disciplined and thought out, than we all had been led to believe, all these years.

MB: Right, even by the band members themselves – whether they just forgot some stuff, or they were purposefully, or maybe subconsciously, trying to create this myth: “It was almost all first takes.” No, it wasn't! There was, thirtysomething takes of “Loose,” or whatever.

CR: Forty-four. I mean, I spent a whole day or two, listening to those. It was almost like highway hypnosis, at a certain point.

MB: Yeah, yeah, I know. I've listened to the whole thing through twice now, and some of the other selections, just a number of other times. The last time I listened it through was in the early stages of writing this book, and I actually was driving back from a trip. And it was a 10-hour trip, and I listened to four of those (CDs), straight through, on that drive.

CR: Wow.

MB: Yeah. I know, but right, they were really intent on playing them, over and over and over, till they got the one that just felt right.

CR: Which is, in an odd way, very similar to the way that the Rolling Stones did stuff.

MB: Yeah, right, right. I've read a bit about the Exile On Main Street sessions, anyway. But with Fun House, the whole idea that it was basically just a live album just turned out, not really true.

I mean, in a way, yeah, because Iggy was singing live through a PA, but there's overdubs on almost all the songs, and it wasn't like the Kingsmen doing “Louie, Louie,” where they're like, “All right, go in. We wanna do a practice one.” “OK, go ahead.” “Wait, that's it, it's done.” “What?”

CR: Exactly. And then, of course, you have Steve Mackay as the X factor, which dramatically changed the sound.

MB: Yeah, absolutely. Steve Mackay's great on that. You know, it's weird – a couple of the reviews that came out, like Dave Marsh's review, and I think, Jazz & Pop, said something like, “These guys have a few things to work out yet, but I'm sure they'll end up being really good.” And it's like, “What? What are you talking about?” His playing is great on that album.

CR: Yeah, for sure, so you even still see a little of that, “What is this?” kind of stuff dogging the proceedings, with comments like that.

MB: Yeah, right.

CR: So, with that being said, when Iggy's asked, “How do you think they're going to take it?” He says, “I think the kids are going to flip out of their minds.” And some of them did, obviously, but not nearly enough. Why not?

MB: I don't know. I mean, again, part of it could be marketing, or lack of marketing. Like Iggy always says, he wanted to make music that he could get off on, the way that he got off on music that he really dug. So I think that they did that, and why that didn't resonate at the time for others, I don't know. I mean, it definitely doesn't sound like a lot of stuff that was happening out there.

One of the things that I'm arguing in the book is, by 1970, and really, a little earlier – but definitely by 1970 – the big thing in rock was going back to your country roots, like the Byrds, and the Dead. I mean, I like the Byrds, and I can even listen to Grateful Dead stuff, once in a blue moon, and the Band.

CR: They were the apostles of that, of course.

MB: Yeah. That kind of thing was getting really big around '69-'70, and the Stooges just didn't fit into that kind of zeitgeist.

CR: You also mention, of course, the '50s revival was starting to gather steam, too. And obviously, they weren't anything like that.

MB: Not really. I mean, they had the Bo Diddley beat on the first album, but they weren't overtly doing that in a recognizable way. So that couldn't be their shtick, or whatever. They were using elements of all that kind of music, but not in a recognizable way.

CR: Of course, as you point out, in the book – your here and now isn't working, so you're going back to some imagined halcyon time. And you can recreate this on your terms, and it's not a very exciting choice, right?

MB: Yeah. I mean, it's the narrative of authenticity. You think of the Dead and the Byrds: “We did that psychedelic thing, we were into the drugs, and we were into all that weird stuff. But now, we're into this real thing,” which is going back to, like you said, this idealized version of Americana.

CR: So I guess the Stooges didn't fit into anything like that, did they?

MB: No, I mean, it's that nostalgia thing that you see happening at the end of the '60s, and they definitely weren't doing that. And Alice Cooper wasn't doing that, at the time, and Alice Cooper was able to get gigs in '71.

CR: Well, because he, of course, and his merry men shed their artsier, psychedelic leanings on their first two albums, which – at times – sounds quite club-footed, to put it mildly, but it's entertaining, in that sense.

You're hearing them try all these weird things. But then, suddenly, when Bob Ezrin comes into the picture, it gets much more focused in the pop-rock realm, with some heavier guitars, basically.

CR: Yeah, I know, just poppy enough to get on the radio, but also hard rock enough, in a more structured way than their first two albums, that they're able to still keep their hard rock cred, or maybe even their new sound, hard rock cred.

They adopted Detroit, and I guess, Detroit kind of adopted them, and they took on that Detroit hard rock sound, and then, Bob Ezrin gave them just enough of that pop edge to get on the radio, which the Stooges couldn't do. The Stooges couldn't get on the radio, really.

CR: Not really. Even though, again, you go back to the first album, the shorter songs are are all pretty much to the point, and catchy, on their own terms.

MB: Yeah. Well, that's true.“1969” is pretty catchy, right. Just listen to it, on its own terms – it's catchy enough, that if there was promotion push from the label, who knows? That's what Danny Fields was arguing in that letter that's reproduced in the Jeff Gold book, where he writes to Jac Holzman, trying to tell them to do just that.

CR: Yeah. He's arguing, “You're missing the boat here, if you don't do this.” Although, when we get to Fun House, and they try the single there, what's telling is – the full-out assault, it's all edited out, before your ears are allowed to get to that point.

MB: Yeah, I think they edited the solo on “Down On The Street,” right?

CR: Yes. Well, there's that. And then, of course, you have that brief experiment, where Don Gallucci is doing his best Ray Manzarek impression...

MB: Yeah. That never came out at the time, though.

CR: No, but it's almost as if somebody upstairs felt, “We need to hedge our bets a little bit, so we can sneak this strange cargo across the counter.”

MB: Right. Yeah, like, “Is there anything you can do with this, make it a little more radio-friendly, or something?”

CR: “A little more presentable?” I mean, I have no complaints with what he played. What he played is appropriate. But it just ends up sounding like the Doors with a heavier guitar, maybe.

MB: Yeah, it does, it does.

CR: And it loses their identity, and I thought, “I'm glad that this didn't come out, because that would have been the wrong direction to go in,” as far as I'm concerned.

MB: Yeah. That totally would have.

CR: As you say, part of your book is how capitalism drives this stuff, this push, and this pull. They were able to get signed, and yet, from the very beginning, there almost seems to be this hesitancy on the part of the Elektra regime, to fully embrace what they have taken on.

MB: Yeah, exactly.

CR: So, from your perspective, when do things start to go south? When does it all go “pear-shaped,” as they say in the UK?

MB: I mean, in terms of just working with the label, or...

CR: Or even, in terms of the promise of the group, especially, because there's a lot of talent in in the original band, right? Scott's a terrific drummer, always knows what to play.

MB: Yeah.

CR: And Ron, need we say more? Ron is the guy that launched a thousand ships on guitar. And Fun House, for my mind, is Dave Alexander's peak as a bass player, really.

MB: Yeah, well, I mean... They fired him, what was it, three months after that, or something?

CR: I know. But, I mean, “Dirt,” and “Fun House,” it's that big, booming sound of his, that really drives the song along.

MB: Yeah, I know. You can really hear the difference between the two albums, the two Elektra albums. Dave's playing on the first album is fine, and he does a couple interesting little things, here and there, but like all the other guys, something happened in that year, where you hear his playing on Fun House, and it's just like, “Whoa, that bottom!” And his playing is doing things, like bending the notes in and out, and it's a heavy bass sound. And yeah, that group, with Steve Mackay? Just incredible.

I mean, this isn't that original for me to say, but I think the promise went south, once they realized that Fun House wasn't really selling. And then, of course, that's when the heroin came in, big time. So Fun House came out in August 1970, and a couple, few months later, it didn't seem to be going very well. The habits started getting out of hand.

CR: Yes, exactly. Although, as we see in that final chapter – and you make that point quite well – they almost pull it out of the ashes, even on the edge of oblivion.

MB: Right, right.

CR: There's all those songs, poorly recorded as they are, on that boxed set – which is the only evidence that we have of them, right? Yet it suggests, had they been allowed to, they could have made a pretty compelling third album, that – again – would have sounded nothing like the other two.

MB: Right. No, I mean – yeah, I think it would have been a great album. It's weird to me the way, more recently, that Iggy and James both have been, I don't know, critical of that material.

Maybe it's just the recordings, where it's hard for anybody who's not really into it, to just tune into the murk of the recordings. Obviously, it puts a lot of people off, but when you really do tune in, through the murk, the material itself – it's amazing stuff. It really would have been a great third album.

Then again, it would have been, probably not that marketable, which – aside from the drugs – was Elektra's issue. But who knows? There's a couple of pieces in there, that maybe could have been catchy enough for a single, or whatever.

CR: Yeah. Well, “Big Time Bum,” when I first heard it on YouTube – I thought, “This sounds like, if you had taken Mick and Keith and company, and fed them Mexican super meth (laughs). It's the Rolling Stones on meth, really.” But it has that raunchy rhythm 'n' blues-style drive, that you don't hear in other bands of that time period.

MB: Yeah, right. I mean, it's kind of a piece with “I Got A Right,” in terms of the tempo, and so on. Just a year later, the Stones are doing “Rip This Joint,” which is about the same speed, but a little more rockabilly-fied, there.

CR: And a little more cleaned up, obviously, to say the least.

MB: Yeah, yeah.

CR: Yeah, I've seen some of the comments on YouTube: “But I can't make out the words!” I think, “Just let the music carry you along. The music tells you what the mood's going to be, really.” It's not an issue for me, and it's not an issue for you, obviously.

MB: Right, right. Yeah, it's not, and that's a good point. Obviously, you can analyze lyrics as lyrics, and write about their meaning.

But there's another level, where you're just hearing the whole thing, and the lyrics is part of it, but it's a sound that's not analyzable, in the same way as just getting at the meaning of lyrics. And like you said, you can just go with that sound.

CR: To go back to the subtitle of your book – 1971 is where you draw your line of demarcation. Because there was a third album, Raw Power, and a different guitarist, in James Williamson – and Ron, of course, infamously gets shifted over to bass, and there's that whole drama.

MB: Right.

CR: So why is it not included in your line of thought? Why is that not the Stooges, or is just, Iggy & The Stooges?

MB: Well, it is the Stooges. I'm not even making a value judgment, about which is the better version – I think they're both great. I felt like stopping, and the band broke up there (in 1971). It's a natural stopping point.

There's a trajectory to the Elektra years, from when they started, to '71, that I track in the book. I think it's convenient for me, to those arguments that I'm making, because it does allow you to focus on the Stooges, how they were treated by Elektra, and their attempts to make the third album, and then, the breakup, and the collapse. It makes sense to follow that arc. And they pick up again, and the arc kind of repeats itself.

CR: Except, this time, it's [MainMan overseer Tony] DeFries, and Columbia, and not Jac Holzman, and Elektra, right?

MB: Right, exactly, but it's kind of the same thing, although the arc peaks and dips much more quickly, in the Raw Power years. But yeah, it seems like, the '67-'71 period is like a unit in their history, and they break up – it's a clean break.

At the time, that was it. Well, actually, there is the thing in the White Panther paper. They announce the breakup of the Stooges, and it does quote Iggy saying, he might use the name for something in the future. So that actually ended up happening, of course, but at the time, even Iggy and James, none of them knew what was going to happen.

The band was broken up. Iggy was like, “Yeah, I'll go to New York, and hang out in Danny Fields's apartment, and see if I can meet some people, and try to get something going.” But he had no idea that he was gonna be reforming the Stooges.

CR: Right, there were no guarantees.

MB: Yeah, so it was a clear break. The band was done. So, I mean, it seemed like a good stopping point. I guess, I don't know if this'll work out – it might not, so I'm not making any promises – but I've started trying to write an intro for a book, on the '72-'74 years.

CR: Yeah, because you could almost make the case for treating that on its own, just like you treated the Elektra era, really.

MB: Yeah, I think so. Yeah, definitely.

CR: We'll see how it turns out. Was there anything that surprised you about the Stooges, in all your research? Or something you learned, that you didn't know before?

MB: I mean, there's a lot of myths about the band out there, that aren't really true, and a lot of information keeps getting repeated, as if it were true, but it's not.

CR: Such as?

MB: Well, I knew you were gonna ask me that. I mean, one, which we've kind of already covered, is that it's all Iggy.

But really, they wouldn't have been who they were, without all four of those guys contributing. And Ron, especially, I think, didn't initially get as much credit for the vision of the Stooges' sound, as he does now... I'm not saying, that's all thanks to me, obviously.

CR: Right, right.

MB: But, boy, I think one of the myths is – when did the heroin start? Some people think Fun House is a heroin album, and it's not. OK, Iggy may have sampled it one time, in San Francisco, but even that, Iggy denies that.

And it was late summer, or early fall, really, when that stuff started. So Fun House is definitely not a heroin album. And then, “Loose,” “I'll stick it deep inside,” is definitely not about shooting up.

CR: No. Well, I never thought that, even when I first heard it.

MB: Yeah, I know. I never thought that, either, but I've seen people saying that. “What? And then, that makes you like it? That's why you like it?” You're crazy.

CR: Maybe that says more about them, than it does about us. OK. What else? Well, people treating them separately from everything that's happened, we've kind of covered that.

MB: Separately, yeah, I mean, and that's one of the main arguments of the book, that we've kind of touched on, this idea that they were punk before there was punk. Well, punk was already being talked about in 1970. It's not exactly the same as punk as we know it now, but...

CR: Right.

MB: So they weren't proto-punk – that's a term that I hate.

CR: You dislike that, you make that pretty clear, I think.

MB: Yeah, yeah, it's just a retroactive term. It doesn't really make a lot of sense. It's like, “Hey, guys, I've got a great idea for what we should call it! Let's call it proto-punk, and then, in 1977, there'll be some British bands that...”

CR: “That'll pick up on it...”

MB: Yeah (laughs). “And they'll call it punk,” even though it was already being called punk in America, from 1970 onwards. This is something, that if I'm able to manage to write book II, that I want to get into more, is because the punk thing actually does start to take off, in around '72, '73, even before the CBGB's scene.

The term starts getting used a lot more often, and people are defining it a little bit more specifically, than just like, an odd mention here or there, than something like Lester Bangs does there, or something.


PT. III: “THEY DID CREATE SOMETHING ORIGINAL”
CR:
What is the thing that you want people to take away most from your book, in general, and the Stooges, in particular? What do you hope they understand?

MB: I would like people to understand that the Stooges were great artists, and that they thought about their art, and that they had a vision for it, and that they were pretty uncompromising in their vision, and it wasn't just a bunch of, “Oh, I don't know, let's just play some crazy rock 'n' roll.”

Like Ron Asheton says in that interview – I think that's a filmed interview – “People would see us onstage, and doing all this stuff, smashing things, and they'd be like, 'Oh, it's the Stooges, just being these crazy guys.'” But they actually were also very serious about their art, and they knew what they were doing.

It wasn't just random chance events that led them to do what they did, and I think they really wanted to create their own genre of music, that would be original. But I think that they thought that they could also be commercially viable somehow.

CR: Yeah.

MB: In retrospect, I don't know, maybe that seems a little far-fetched. But then again, that's the other part of the book is, we like to think that all this stuff is just random, “Oh, you know, people's tastes, and it was just ahead of their time.”

But the way that the music industry has a stranglehold on this stuff, and shapes people's tastes, and basically tells them what to like, plays a big factor in it. And the industry chose not to allow the Stooges to be a viable band for very long.

CR: Yeah, I guess, Culture Industry: 1, Stooges: 0, and all roads lead back to Paul Butterfield, at some point, is the box score, right?

MB: Yeah (laughs). I mean, I guess I didn't really talk too much about Butterfield. I mean, of course, there's the famous connection to Sam Lay, and Iggy's time in Chicago. But yeah, I know, the Stooges were pretty into those early Butterfield albums, as I recall.

CR: Exactly. Of course, you had the band that Iggy was in before the Stooges, the Prime Movers, who were even more overtly influenced by that kind of material.

MB: Yeah, that's another one of the myths. Because Iggy tells that story about coming back from Chicago: “I'm not gonna do the blues anymore, and I'm create something totally original.” So they did create something original, but it is actually, also, connected to the blues. There's blues stuff and blues material throughout the Stooges, but it's just not in that recognizable eight-bar form...

CR: That we're all used to.

MB: That we call the blues. That's not a completely original idea, either, but it's something that I think needs to be reiterated. There's a really great book on punk that just came out, pretty recently, by Evan Rapport, on punk. And he makes that point, too, that these early punk bands were a lot more connected to blues roots than we realize. It's called Damaged: Musicality and Race in Early American Punk.

CR: Wow. That's quite a mouthful, but I think that sounds promising.

MB: He's approaching it from a musicological standpoint, and also, a sociological standpoint. He transcribes, in musical notation, some of these songs – and then shows you how the early Stooges, and the New York Dolls, and he writes a lot about the MC5, as well – he shows you the connection to the blues roots that these bands have. Even the Ramones, who pretty overtly claimed they didn't have any blues influences, in fact, do.

CR: Sure. Well, they're using the classic I-IV-V form, again and again and again...

MB: Right, right.

CR: That's the early template that sets their style, right?

MB: Well, “Blitzkrieg Bop,” that totally uses the I-IV-V.

CR: So that's what you want them to take away, that's what you want them to know. That there's more here than meets the eye, and what you've been told is not necessarily true.

MB: Yeah, I mean, pretty much. On the one hand, yeah, there's an intangible quality that serious artists have, where they're taking that stuff, and transmuting it into something new – but it's not as if they're completely sui generis, as if they're not connected to history, or their own time, and place. Because, of course, they are.

CR: Absolutely.

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Here&#39;s how the view looked from the crowd that night, for Ronnie Joyner and company... Here&#39;s how the proceedings looked when Danny (left) took the stage with Billy Hancock (center), and Dave Elliott (rear, on drums). As Ronnie says, note the difference in crowd size as the night wore on! But no matter who played, it looks like a good time was had by all, as the saying goes. (Photo courtesy of Ronnie Joyner) (Photo courtesy of Ronnie Joyner) (Photo courtesy of Ronnie Joyner)
"IT'S ALRIGHT, REST EASY, DAN": RONNIE JOYNER SHARES MORE GATTON-RELATED MEMORIES
Jan 3, 2022

As I mentioned in my last entry on this website, the experience of writing Unfinished Business: The Life & Times Of Danny Gatton (Backbeat Books: 2003) gave me more than just the opportunity to tell a great musical story. While music is obviously the book's major focus, with Danny at the center, Unfinished Business also emerged as a great human interest story, especially from a broader cultural perspective. 

Many of the comments I've gotten have remarked on how vividly my book evoked the era that it covered, from the '60s to the '90s, starting with the venues that have since been cosigned to the memories of those who played there, like Danny, or were simply regulars show goers -- names like The Bayou, The Cellar Door, The Crazy Horse, and so on -- and how the scene they sprung up around them operated.

As many of my interviewees commented, Washington, DC wore its contrarian colors proudly, being a place where the likes of Carl Perkins could tour regularly, long after their initial hitmaking days had passed. In that spirit, it wasn't hard at all to imagine Danny's first independent release, Redneck Jazz, outpacing the Rolling Stones's Some Girls, the hottest album of 1978! Whether that memo -- or the resulting sales reports -- got back to Jagger Central, I've no idea, but it wouldn't have been hard to imagine his reaction, if it had: "Hey, just who is this Gatton guy, exactly? Somebody find out what's going on!"

In many ways, Unfinished Business also evokes a simpler time, when vinyl records, the stores that sold them, and the maze of clubs, large and small, ruled the roost of Anytown USA's local musical universe, when only three national networks existed -- and if your local TV station really felt daring, it signed off at 2:00 a.m., instead of midnight! It was also an era of when "the band" definitely existed as a grouping of specific, uniquely talented individuals, and how the loss of one or two of them could mark a major shift in your allegiances. The same story held true for those precious pieces of black plastic, whose contents often made (or broke) reputations at a single stroke. 

I'm appreciative to all my interviewees, large or small, cult or major label alike, who took the time to detail that era, and how Danny's life and times fit into it. I naturally wound up with many more anecdotes and stories than I had room to accommodate, which is why I appreciate hearing from fans who contact me to drop over them over the virtual transom (so to speak).

In that spirit, picking up from where Part I left off, Ronnie offers some Gatton-related recollections and stories that, while not specifically about the man himself, shed some additional light about him, and the scene that he inhabited. Enjoy, and to anyone else -- all I can say is, "Keep 'em comin'!"

"MY TALL POMPADOUR
AND PEGGED JEANS TIPPED HIM OFF":
THE FLEA BOPS' LIFE & TIMES (8/23/21 email)
Darren Lee Spears was an amazing rockabilly singer fronting a buzz-generating up-and-coming local band here called Go Cat Go. Man, Darren could sing like Elvis and Carl Perkins rolled into one, and while he was just 27 in 1993, the year of the benefit, he was writing some cool original songs. The drummer in that band was Lance LeBeau, who would also be the drummer in Flea Bops for the entire run of our band (1991 - present).

One day I was in the auto parts store buying some struts, when a prematurely bald, gray-haired, gray-bearded, portly guy in a Sun Records T-shirt came up to me and asked me if I liked rockabilly. My tall pompadour and pegged jeans tipped him off. I said yeah, and he told me about a gig his band was playing locally that night. His name was Bill Hull, and he was their guitar player.

Long story short, I saw them, was blown away at how good they were, and fell into their fold. A secondary band (Flea Bops) was started, featuring me on vocals and rhythm guitar, Lance on drums, Lance’s brother (Preston) on electric guitar, and Lance’s wife (Wendy) on upright bass. The two bands often gigged side-by-side for two years, but Go Cat Go was going to go national on some level, while Flea Bops still needed a lot of seasoning.

But then, Darren was shot and senselessly murdered in a robbery...and then, the benefit gig with Danny. What’s interesting, though, is that less than a year before Darren was killed, Paul (my mom’s husband, and Danny's hot rod buddy) took Danny a copy of Go Cat Go’s six-song vinyl EP (pictured on the poster). According to Paul, Danny was blown away by Darren.

Danny asked Paul to talk to me about getting Darren to record a few songs with Danny. I went to Go Cat Go with this request. Darren was thrilled, needless to say, but there was some uneasiness about this with the rest of the band, for obvious reasons. But I went back to Paul and told him yes. Paul told Danny yes...and Darren was killed soon thereafter, nixing the collaboration forever.

Now, Danny had already done the play-with-the-rockabilly-singer thing with Robert Gordon and Johnny Seaton. And while I think Darren was much more talented than those guys (no slight intended to either of them), I’m sure the Danny/Darren collaboration would not have financially netted much more for either of them, than it had previously netted for Danny while with Seaton or Gordon — but there would have been some good music made. Oh well…

 

LAST (BUT NOT LEAST): REMEMBERING PAUL ALSOP,
CAR FLIPPER 'N' CHICKEN PICKER (8/17/21 email)
Lastly, I’ll share one more piece of information about Danny that is, again, typical of my life “around” him, but not directly involved with him. It’s not a story “about" Danny, but someone like you who spent so much time writing your book would find it interesting.

So, my dad, the man who introduced me to Danny’s music, died pretty young at age 40. in 1984. My mom got remarried a couple years later to a guy named Paul Alsop. Paul, also from Oxon Hill, was an auto body man, a hot rod builder, a car flipper, an artist, a left-handed in-the-garage Tele chicken-picker — and worshipper of Danny Gatton.

He was a unique individual, to be sure, but a sometimes difficult personality to deal with. Bipolar. My mom and Paul were the owners of the Charlotte Hall house where I now live. Paul was in Danny’s circle of hot rod guys. He was a regular down at Danny’s garage, but rarely would Danny be up here, according to my mom. But those years Paul was hanging out with Danny were lost opportunities for me to get to know Danny personally.

Relationships are tricky things, and I guess I thought it was best not to elbow in on Paul’s relationship with Danny — but I regret that now that both are long gone. Paul died back in 2016. My wife and I sold our house and moved into Mom and Paul’s house. My mom is now in Florida.

Paul's garages here looked like something out of "American Pickers." Filled with signs, odds and ends, cars, guitars, amps — anything cool. Paul had a couple of Danny’s old vehicles in the garage here. Paul also had one of Danny’s prototype Telecasters. I think he bought it from Danny or traded a car or body work for it. Paul was forced to sell it when he was battling cancer in 2015 and could no longer earn a living. It came with a detailed letter from Billy Hancock, verifying its authenticity to the guy who bought it. I still have the letter if you’re curious and want to see it.

My mom let the auctioneers come in and sell everything in the garages. She was overwhelmed by the task of dealing with the stuff in there, so she just trusted them to be fair. God knows what else of Danny’s was in here. I stayed out of the loop and let her do it her way.

The only thing I have left of Danny’s (oddly enough being that these auctioneers seem to know what’s what) is a Leslie cabinet that toured with Danny in the early 1990s. The access panel has Jay Monterose’s schematic drawn on it, as well as the notes of the tour and Jay’s signature. It’s pretty cool, but it’d take some doing to get it in shape again. I also have a few of Danny’s old hot rod car Maryland state registrations for the 1956 Ford he owned in the 1970s/80s.

Paul was involved in the Sam’s Crab House tribute show organization, and I think he was also involved in at least one of the Tramps tribute shows. I still have a gold-colored left-handed Tele that was presented to Paul at one of those shows. It’s signed to Paul by most everyone who played there.

One last thing. Billy Hancock actually lived in this house for six months or so. He and his wife rented a room from Paul. I used to see Billy here from time to time and we’d talk a little. Shortly after Paul died and before the auctioneers rolled in here, Billy showed up one day. We talked a bit, then he got around to the point. Did I still have his old 1959 Danelectro guitar and his Tex-Rubinowitz-custom-made electric bass?

Those were prized possessions of Paul’s. I’m guessing Billy needed some money and sold them to Paul, but Billy was telling me how he’d love to have them back in the family. He said he bought the Danelectro when he was 12 years old, with money from his paper route.

Well, they were Paul’s, not mine, so I went into the garage and dug them out and gave them to Bill. Needless to say, he was a happy guy that day as he drove off in his 1990s vintage tank — maybe a Caprice? He’s gone now, too, but I’m glad he was reunited with those instruments for awhile again.

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Here&#39;s the T-shirt that Ronnie Joyner mentions in his email -- which he designed for the tribute show to Danny, held at Sam&#39;s Crab House (Clinton, MD), on November 12, 1994, after his passing. Courtesy of Ronnie Joyner.
"IT'S ALRIGHT, REST EASY, DAN": RONNIE JOYNER SALUTES DANNY GATTON IN SONG (PT. I)
Dec 19, 2021

The passage of time is a complicated and mysterious thing. It's something we never think about, until some anniversary or other reminds us of its passing – and forces us to think about our mortality. However, it can also lend a dose of perspective that's hard to come by, when the latest, greatest phenomenon in any creative field is enjoying their day in the sun.

This is especially true of popular music, where today's trend quickly becomes tomorrow's curiosity, such as the solo crooners and quirky instrumentals that served as the soundtrack of British life in the early '60s – before the Beatles dropped their first single, “Love Me Do,” and changed that equation forever.

Though much of its sales were concentrated around the Fab Four's Liverpool stronghold, every guitarist who heard “Love Me Do” now had to think about learning to sing, and write their own songs – or risk falling behind in the race of chart success.

On the flipside, there are plenty of musicians who never become household worlds, but persist in people's memories, long after they pass on. So it is with Danny Gatton, who left us too soon in 1994 – yet remains an influential name among guitar players, although he never scored a Top 40 pop hit, and rarely toured nationally. In his lifetime, much of his exposure came through his two major homegrown releases, Redneck Jazz (1978), and Unfinished Business (1987) – which served as the title of my book.

I've covered cult heroes of all shapes and sizes in my writing career, but the aura surrounding Danny Gatton -- and his jaw-dropping instrumental ability – puts him near the top of that list. We're closing on 20 years since Unfinished Business: The Life & Times Of Danny Gatton saw the light of day, yet I still get emails at a steady clip to this website.

Every now and then, however, you get one that reminds you of why you did the work. Ronnie Joyner's email (August 16) is only the latest such example. He's recorded a fine, rockabilly-driven tribute, “It's Alright, Rest Easy, Dan,” whose dclivery – and chorus – tells you what you need to know: “Well, listen now, I feel you near, I got a message that you'll want to hear/It's alright, rest easy, Dan – everything's fine, with Holly, and Jan.” You can hear it at the link – which you can cut and paste below, or hit from my Links page.

You'll want to hear Ronnie's other songs, like “Girl Too Beautiful,” about the doomed Twenties silent screen idol, Barbara LaMarr – which he's posting at a steady clip on his YouTube page. (See that link, too, for further reference.)

But like all true deep divers, Ronnie didn't leave it there – he also shared his thoughts about what inspired “It's Alright,” followed by his own recollections about Danny's life and legacy.

I post them here, because they definitely show – along with the other various bits and pieces on the “Danny Gatton” corner section of this website – the depth of his legend, whether you know him as “The Humbler,” “The Master Blaster of the Telecaster,” or “The Telemaster.” Enjoy, dig in, and remember, there's always room for one more.

 

RONNIE JOYNER: WRITING “IT'S ALRIGHT” (8/16/21 email)
Hi, Ralph — my name is Ronnie Joyner! I’m from DC, but I live down in Charlotte Hall, just 10 minutes from where Danny Gatton lived in Newburg. I’m a singer and rhythm guitar player in a rockabilly band called Flea Bops — and have been since 1992. My band opened for Danny a couple times at Tornado Alley in Wheaton, Maryland.

I don’t know why it took me so long to read your book about Danny, but I finally read it about six months back and I thoroughly enjoyed it. What an epic accounting you did of Danny’s life and career. Invaluable! Reading your book recharged my consciousness about Danny, so I got the urge to do what I usually do when that happens — write a song and make artwork.

The COVID-19 layoff from gigging encouraged me to finally learn GarageBand so I could start recording demos of my original songs that have been piling up. It’s been fun and I’ve uploaded about 21 songs to YouTube over the last year.

So, I wrote a song about Danny. My son played electric guitar on the recording and I gave him the direction to play like Danny (haha — impossible!), and he did a pretty good job. I told him to play with the vibe of what Danny played on “Driving Wheel,” right down to paying homage to Danny’s lead break, which is a lick Danny liked to play over and over throughout his career.

Meanwhile, I did an illustration of Danny that I used for the page graphic on the YouTube “video.” It’s not really a video — it’s really just a static image — but it looks pretty cool.

Incidentally, my band played at the Sam’s Crab House tribute, and I designed/illustrated the commemorative t-shirt for the event.

Anyway, for obvious reasons, I thought you might enjoy checking it out: 
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hIofzO07HSA.

 

GROWING UP WITH DANNY (8/16/21 email)
“It’s Alright, Rest Easy, Dan” is a song I wrote about guitar legend Danny Gatton. The Telemaster. The Humbler. By the time of his death in 1994 at age 50, Danny was recognized by many folks as arguably the greatest guitar player ever. While I didn’t know Danny, he was in the orbit of my life for as long as I can remember because of my father.

My dad loved hot guitar, and Danny could play some hot-ass guitar. Plus, Danny was from the same Washington, DC neighborhood as my dad. Dad was two years older than Danny. They didn’t know each other, but Dad knew all about the kid from Elmira Street who was a guitar burner in the still-early days of rock-n-roll in the late 1950s. Dad was born on January 17, 1943 and Danny was born on September 4, 1945.

Oddly enough, Danny and I share the same birthday, although I didn’t come along until 1963. Dad saw Danny play while Danny was just a teenager gigging with a local band called the Offbeats. And Dad followed Danny’s upward trajectory through the 1960s and into the 1970s. I still have Dad’s copy of the Danny & the Fat Boys' 1975 45-RPM single “Harlem Nocturne” on Aladdin Records. It was magical to me. Danny’s take on that classic song became one of his signature tunes.

Dad had neighborhood pride, so Danny was a made-man forever in Dad’s eyes. And Dad knew good guitar. It was all around him. In fact, Dad’s best friend was another neighborhood kid named Dwight Clark. Dwight’s brother was none other than Roy Clark, another legendary picker. Again, I was always in the wake of Danny as he (and my family) moved further and further away from DC over the years. Danny moved to nearby Oxon Hill, Maryland in the 1960s, and my family moved to Oxon Hill shortly thereafter. Danny and his wife (Jan) later moved to Accokeek, Maryland, and it was there they had their only child (Holly).

When I got married in 1989, my wife (Carla) and I bought a house in Accokeek. In 1988 Danny and his family moved to rural Newburg, Maryland, and my family moved to nearby Charlotte Hall, Maryland in 2002. And always there was Danny’s music around me. My dad was nearly ten years gone by then, but I met Danny in 1993 — and Dad would have been amazed.

I was in a rockabilly band (Flea Bops) that was on the undercard of a Danny Gatton gig at Tornado Alley in Wheaton, Maryland. I met him and watched his set in awe from right in front of the stage. We played one more gig with Danny, but it would be the last.

Sadly, Danny, a sufferer of depression, shockingly took his own life on October 4, 1994. Here was a guy that, from the outside looking in, seemed to have it all. He could play the guitar like nobody else alive. He had a wonderful family. And he lived in an old farmhouse with lots of surrounding land and a big garage for his hot rods.

But depression is a dangerous thing, so much so that anyone suffering from it is capable of a desperate act to escape it — even if it means leaving devastated loved ones behind.

My song is a prayer sent to Danny. If I could tell him something to relieve his immortal soul (if it needs relieving), it would be, “Hey, Danny, it’s alright now. Rest easy — everything’s fine with your wife and daughter.” I don’t know Holly or Jan, so I’m not really qualified to say they’re fine. But everything I’ve read about them seems to indicate that they soldiered through the tough times after Danny’s death, and are now doing great in their lives. Because of how life ended for Danny, it’s hard to hear his name and not think of that tragic finish. My way of shaking that off is to play some of his music. His guitar playing is so amazing that you can’t help but get swept up in its genius — and soon you’re thinking of nothing but goodness.

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COMING SOON: ANOTHER ENTRY
Sep 21, 2020
This space will serve as a placeholder, so I can move content around more easily.
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DAVID DANN MICHAEL MAKES HIS FEELINGS ABUNDANTLY CLEAR...
GUITAR KING: CHAIRMAN RALPH INTERVIEWS DAVID DANN ABOUT HIS NEW MICHAEL BLOOMFIELD BIOGRAPHY (7/28/19)
Nov 3, 2019

If you play guitar, and know a little bit about the blues, chances are, you'll offer an eager response when I ask, "I just got this Mike Bloomfield show from 1980, wanna hear it?" If you're part of the general public, you'll probably just shrug, or ask, "Michael who?" That's hardly surprising, as his name gradually receded from commercial consciousness after his glorious 1960s run -- first, with the Paul Butterfield Blues Band, then, with his incendiary guest shot on Bob Dylan's album, Highway 61 (1965), and his work with the Electric Flag on The Trip soundtrack, and his only album with them, A Long Time Coming.

And, while Michael did his share of inspired work during the '70s -- notably, If You Love These Blues, Play 'Em As You Please, his mail-order-only album for Guitar Player's short-lived recording division -- getting it was no mean feat. As a teenager, it required a lot of detective work to track down, after a high school teacher turned me on to those '60s-era sounds.

For me, it meant scouring rack after rack of discarded "Special Value" eight-tracks, which is how I scored The Best Of The Electric Flag, among other treasures, and Nick Gravenites' My Labors, one of many albums that Michael guested on. (Alas, I never got to hear it in its entirety, after going through two eight-track -- and one cassette -- an omission that I've since remedied, with the bootleg stuff from that era.) 

My quest accelerated after Michael's untimely death in February 1981, at just 37, which inspired a fine profile in Rolling Stone -- one that raised bigger questions. How (or why) did someone with such a fiery, instantly recognizable guitar style, fall so firmly off the commercial radar? Why didn't more people acknowledge his influence at the time? What contributions did he make, in the grand scheme of popular music? And what particular hellhounds -- chemical, emotional, psychological, take your pick -- led to Bloomfield's sad and lonely end, abandoned by his partymates in a battered old  car, after failing to come around for the final time?

Now, we have a better idea, thanks to Guitar King: Michael Bloomfield's Life In The Blues (University of Texas Press), by David Dann, who addresses all of these issues, and many, many more, in 740 breathtaking pages.

Monumental and massive, Guitar King gives its subject a suitably epic feel, even as it moves at a brisk pace through the peaks and valleys of Bloomfield's life -- building on the foundations laid down by earlier efforts, If You Leave These Blues: An Oral History (Backbeat Books, 2000), by Jan Mark Wolkin and Bill Keenom, and Michael Bloomfield: The Rise And Fall Of An American Guitar Hero, by Ed Ward (Cherry Lane Books, 1983, reissued in 2016), and then, taking those works to the next higher level.

As Guitar King takes shape, you feel Bloomfield's larger than life presence all over again, and other bygone figures with whom he hung out, or played, like Albert Grossman, Bill Graham, Janis Joplin, and Buddy Miles, to name just a few -- as well as Paul Butterfield (another figure overdue for rediscovery and reappraisal, which has partially happened with the documentary, Horn From The Heart, now available on DVD).

As a longtime Bloomfield fan, I couldn't pass up the chance to talk with David, to whose website I contributed, as he notes -- and revisit the larger questions that surround Bloomfield's life, and art, which we naturally could only do on the most relevant occasion, as all-American as one you could find...what would have marked the Guitar King's 76th birthday (7/28/19). So sit down, strap yourself in, and...well, hell, enjoy the ride.


PART I: "...VERY, VERY FEW GUYS WHO SOUND LIKE BLOOMFIELD"
CHAIRMAN RALPH (CR): So what thoughts run through your mind, on that particular occasion (Michael Bloomfield’s birthday)? I worked with you on the site, and watched that grow by leaps and bounds. Then, gradually, I saw you expanding it further. You did the radio special.


DAVID DANN (DD): Well, obviously, it’s a day to think about Bloomfield’s contributions to American pop culture, which is – for me – a fairly large consideration.

The radio broadcast was done in four hour-long segments. I had a show for many years here, at Catskill Public Radio – it was broadcast there, and a few other stations. That was really the very first effort I made to reach out to Bloomfield’s former bandmates, and some of his family members, and get them on tape, so that I could use them for the radio program.  

But I had no inkling that I was ever going to write a biography of Michael. Certainly, the radio broadcast, I thought, was going to be the end of whatever my efforts were.

CR: But when I listened to it, I thought, “If you really want to do the excavation work, there’s a hell of a book in here, and a hell of a story to be told.” What got you on that particular path?

DD: Bill Keenom and Jan Mark Wolkin published an excellent oral biography, If You Love These Blues. I had read that book, and that was what got me started on doing the website – you were the first person to make an outside contribution, which I very much appreciated, because it was all about Norman Dayron, who, at that time, was sort of a mystery man. To me, anyway.

CR: And kind of a polarizing figure among some, too.

DD: Indeed! Very much so.

CR: And we’ll get to that, of course…

DD: Sure, sure. On my doorstep one day arrived a large carton, which turned out to be all of Bill Keenom’s interviews – and he very kindly sent them to me,  because he saw that I’d been working on the website, and thought they would be helpful.

At least half the material on these tapes never quite made it into their book. I just became more and more fascinated in the story, and started to do interviews of my own for the website. One thing led to another, and I started to write, about seven or eight, nine years ago. Here we are today.

CR: For sure. And then (came) the search for someone to publish it, which, of course, you successfully managed, so…

DD: Yes. I was very lucky in that regard. I first went to the University of Chicago, thinking that –

CR: That would be the logical home.

DD: Yeah, because Bloomfield spent so much time in Hyde Park, he’s from Chicago, and it’s (about the) blues. They said, “This isn’t the kind of book we do, but there’s a place in Austin, Texas, that would love this. The editor there, he’s a big Bloomfield fan. So contact Robert Devens, at University of Texas Press, and see if they’ll go for it.” That’s what I did, and they were very interested. It was very easy. I didn’t…

CR: You didn’t have the struggle.

DD: No, no struggle at all. No agent, no nothing.

CR: I was really glad that they gave you the space and the time that you needed, to get the story told.

DD: They were great, in that way. My editor, at first, was alarmed, because I sent him over 850 manuscript pages (laughs) – he was expecting 300, I think, or 400.

And he said, “You know, this is wonderful, but it’s far too large for us to publish. Economically, we just can’t manage it.” So I spent about a year, hacking away. After seven edits, and (cutting) 140,000 words, we came up with something that was too big for them, but too small for me, so we sort of met in the middle.

CR: But you have the website. And you could put extras from your book on it.

DD: That is, in fact, the plan. A number of interesting anecdotes and side stories are going up on the website, once the book comes out. I’m going to do a fairly detailed thing on Bloomfield’s Les Paul, the guitar that is pretty much identified with Michael, and he lost in 1974.

CR: Right, when he just ran out on the guys at the –

DD: The Cave, in Vancouver. I had a lot of help, from several Canadians – Chris Okey, who owned the guitar after Michael passed. He, unfortunately, has passed, but we had a great couple years’ worth of e-mail conversations about it. He was looking for it, trying to find who had it, and I think he found the person – but he couldn’t confirm it, nor could I, so I didn’t include that.

CR:  But do we know where that guitar is, then?

DD: I have a pretty good idea. It’s in the United States.

Tony Bacon, the British writer who’s a guitar expert – in his book, Million Dollar Les Paul, he speculates that Bloomfield’s guitar, should it come on the market, would approach that figure.

Which is wildly absurd, when you think about what Michael thought about his instruments, didn’t take care of them, and didn’t really care whether he played a Les Paul, or a Sears Silvertone. So, to think it could be of that value, is just –

CR: Mind-boggling.

DD: Sweetly ironic.

CR: It is. Well, I remember asking Norman about this, and as he so eloquently said to me: “He didn’t give a shit.”

DD: That’s right (laughs).

CR: It’s an example of how he approached his art, because Norman went on to say, that Michael liked to say, “It’s all bare meat on steel strings.” And the more you use effects, the more you sound like everybody else.

DD: Yes, that’s very true. Well, he certainly didn’t, and that always is an indicator for me. Because there are people who can sound like (Jimi) Hendrix, (or) Robin Trower – and do so convincingly – and there are a legion of people who approximate what Clapton can do. There are guys in every town who play like that. But there are very, very few guys who sound like Bloomfield. Almost nobody.

To me, it’s like a jazz signature. There’s nobody who sounds like Bird, nobody that sounds like Ben Webster. Johnny Hodges had a distinct sound. So that tells you a lot about the quality of Bloomfield’s playing, and the uniqueness of it.

CR: For sure. So what were some of the biggest challenges that you encountered, along the way?

DD: Well, one of the more challenging aspects of the early writing was to find people that he knew in his grade school and teen years, his high school years. There were lots of stories about Bloomfield going to the South Side, and sitting in, all that kind of stuff – but most of it was sort of urban legend-type stuff.

I was very lucky to find a couple of guys, through endless searching on the Internet, and calling wrong numbers, eventually connecting – Gerry Pasternak was one of Michael’s drummers in his high school years. He and Michael played together on Rush Street quite a bit, and that was fascinating. He told me lots of Bloomfield stories.

The other guy was Roy Jespersen, another of Michael’s drummers. And he filled me in on the famous (story of) Michael playing the talent show, his sophomore year – he was supposed to play a Chet Atkins tune, which is nice and mellow, and they played that tune.

And then the curtain came down, and the kids were applauding, and the curtain came back up, so Bloomfield went into this rock ‘n roll number they had rehearsed, and the whole place just broke out in pandemonium. The kids climbed on the stage, and were screaming and yelling, and got him in quite a lot of trouble. But Roy filled that in, with all the color that you might expect. So that was great.

I spoke to maybe a dozen of his childhood friends, and they had some wonderful stories to tell me, family members, as well.  But, of course, the other difficult thing was Michael’s death – which was controversial, and sort of shrouded in…

CR: In mystery.

DD: Exactly. Well, I had a number of things to work from. Roy Ruby’s friend, a friend of Michael’s, Brent Pellegrini, who is an investigator, did some research for me.

He came up with some data that very much helped in formulating the story. I mean, no one knows for certain what happened, but I think I’ve gotten pretty close to the circumstances – and there’s no conspiracy involved, or anything really mysterious. It is speculation on my part, to some degree, but I also had some information, that I was unable to use, because I was asked not to publicize it – that pretty much confirms the scenario that I create.

CR: And I assume you had the old police reports, toxicology (reports), and things of that nature, to work with?

DD: Yes. He was poisoned with meth, and some other forms of amphetamine, and that was something, of course, all Michael’s friends knew he would never, ever have taken, because his system was running in high gear, constantly, so…

CR: Sure. So, I guess, it was almost like the scenario in Pulp Fiction, then (the accidental overdose scene).

DD: Yes, I think that’s pretty much what happened. Except that Michael didn’t wake. He woke up, and then, he went back (to unconsciousness).

CR: Right, and then, the second time, they couldn’t bring him around. Or he didn’t come back, basically.

DD: Exactly.

CR: The quote that really got to me was what Norman said, when he had to claim his car, seeing his (Michael’s) leather jacket on the back seat, and that’s when it hit.

DD: That was a powerful moment, when he said that. I think Norman was really shocked by it, because he had just seen Michael the day before. And Bloomfield seemed to be in good spirits, and good shape, relative to how he had been, prior to, the month or two earlier.

 

PART II: "THINGS WERE COMING TO A HEAD"
CR: Yeah, for sure. So, were there any surprises along the way, as you went through and researched those lesser-known corners of his life – like his involvement with the Mitchell brothers, for instance?


DD:  Yes, yes. The Mitchell brothers had opened a theater in San Francisco, the first real porn palace. They had the big theater portion, where they showed their films, but there were rooms for specialized viewing and activities.

And Michael, being an inquisitive guy, wandered in there, at one point, and met them. Being Michael Bloomfield, he struck up a conversation with them, and so, they knew him. They were running into trouble with the censors, because their stuff was seen as gratuitous, defined as pornography, and they wanted to put a high art gloss on it.

So they decided to hire real musicians, to compose real music, to go behind their unseemly movies. I’ve seen a bunch of them, and they’re about as unsexy (laughs) as anything I can imagine.

CR: Well, c’mon, something like Hot Nazis – how sexy could that really be, right?

DD: Exactly! It is not. And something that struck me as interesting, that Michael, being a person who identified very strongly with his Jewish background, Jewish culture and heritage, that he would do music for…

CR: For something like that, yeah.

DD: So I have to think, that he probably never saw any of these things. Or he only saw a few of them, and he was just given a script, and just cooked up some tunes, which is pretty much what Norman said. Norman probably told you about that. (CR mentions the presence of names like vocalist Anna Rizzo, among the all-star talent that Bloomfield recruited.)

DD: I know! She was the vocalist for the Sodom and Gomorrah theme. She obviously recorded it in the studio, and it sounds like “I’ll Be There,” something in that genre. If you heard it, you would recognize it. When she did see the movie, she was like, “This is too weird for me, I’m leaving.”

But you know what, Ralph? The most interesting thing about Sodom & Gomorrah is Michael’s music. If you can get through the visuals… it’s really world music. It’s quite impressive. It’s too bad that he didn’t do it for a legitimate Hollywood-type movie. Because I think he would have been lauded for real creativity, for the soundtrack. It’s pretty impressive.

CR: Because if he had been attached to something more legit – I think it would have done a lot more for him, probably.

DD: I think that’s true, but as you pointed out about Michael’s guitar, he didn’t care. He really didn’t care about his career, at that point, not in the commercial sense.

CR: No, that’s true, and again, we can get into all this. But were there any people that you didn’t get, like (Bob) Dylan?

DD: I had back channels to Dylan, and managed to get to Dylan’s guy. And apparently, the request was passed along, but was politely declined. Which is not unusual. Because, who am I, and he’s Bob Dylan (laughs), so…

CR: Sure. Was there anybody else who fit that category?

DD: This is funny, but I have six or eight hours of in-depth interviews with Nick Gravenites, that Bill Keenom recorded. I reached out to Nick, because I wanted to talk to him about certain aspects, that I wanted to fill in, from Bill’s interviews.

And I sent him to my website, so that he could see the kind of work that I was doing. He went there, and saw your interview with Norman – and he was so incensed, that he refused to ever talk to me again.

CR: Really? What did he object to?

DD: Hey, listen, I have no idea. I tried to reason – I said, “Listen, this is perfectly innocuous. This is an excellent interview.” I hadn’t even talked to Norman at that point.

CR: And we just mostly stuck to the technical aspects, which is what the piece was about.

DD: Exactly, but I think there was such bad blood between Nick and Norman, for one reason or another, over the years, that just the mention of Norman – that definitely will turn Nick off. So that was one thing I regretted, not being able to talk to him. But I did have a lot of wonderful interviews that Bill Keenom did with him.

CR: Yeah, and certainly, in that book, he comes across very colorfully, and very well-spoken.

DD: Yes. He is. He really is exactly that, he’s a marvelous storyteller. And I have to sympathize with these guys, because they’ve told the story many, many times, and here comes another author, who wants to know something or other. And I can see where you’d sort of reach your limit.

CR: Yeah, and of course, if you look at the Jan Mark Wolkin book, there’s some acknowledgment, from Norman’s side, that things were not always what they should have been.

DD: Yeah. Norman is fairly candid about that. He was with me in the week that I spent out at Mill Valley with him. He’s apologetic about it, but Norman is an inveterate storyteller. He’s a real natural raconteur.

And he can just entertain you for hours. And, like, Michael was famous for embroidering the truth, stretching a story, that kind of thing – and I think Norman does that, to some degree. But once you know, you know where the truth is, and where it isn’t. And Michael was doing quite a lot of drugs, off and on, and Norman was, too, and so, judgment was always kind of –

CR: Clouded.

DD: Exactly.

CR: I mean, you point out, quite correctly, some of the flaws (on the Dayron-produced albums). I just took the liberty, before I talked to you, of listening to some of that (material) again. Cruisin’ For A Bruisin’, the title track, the vocal is really garbled.

It’s hard to make out what Michael’s actually saying. And I thought to myself, “Well, somebody should have caught this,” because the track is fine. If you can’t hear what the guy’s saying, I think that does take away your enjoyment, somewhat.

DD: Well, I think that’s true. I forget who it was – maybe it was Susie, when she heard it, she said, “Michael, I don’t know what you’re saying. I can’t understand you.” On that tune, anyway.

But I think, at that time, things were coming to a head – the EMTs in Mill Valley had regular trips up there, to revive people from overdosing. It wasn’t a healthy environment.

CR: No. And we’ll get into this, in a little bit – but my impression, at least of the Takoma albums was, Norman was doing the best with what he had, which wasn’t much.


DD: I think that’s right, and I think that Norman was really making a concerted effort to really have a production company. CT Productions had been incorporated, it had officers, and a base of operations, and he was working with Takoma, and a few other small labels. He was trying to make a product out of Michael’s creative efforts. And so, you got to give him credit. Because if it hadn’t been for Norman, we may not even have had those records. I think we would have not heard from Michael for the last portion of the ‘70s.


PART III: "MICHAEL WAS NONE OF THESE THINGS"
CR: So, to reel it back to the beginning – as you say, at the beginning of the book, the conflict with his father is certainly one of the major driving forces of his life, I would say.


DD: Yes. I think that’s a very important aspect of Bloomfield’s psyche. Harold Bloomfield was a driven man, a very gifted businessman, and someone, who, along with his brother and his father, Sam Bloomfield, created one of the great kitchenware industries in the country.

And so, this is something that only happens if one is quite committed to (being) very responsible, working round the clock. And he had this son, who was casual, to say the least – about, not only about his school work, but his responsibilities…

CR: His approach to life, for that matter.

DD: Approach to life. And the only thing that seemed to interest him was playing this guitar, this music… It wasn’t the kind of music that he would want his son to play, if he would want his son to be a musician, which he certainly didn’t.

He was a professional boxer, for a period – excellent sportsman, horse rider – and Michael was none of these things. He wasn’t particularly coordinated. He was heavy as a kid, clumsy, he was loud and obnoxious, at times. Harold was taciturn, to a fault.

So right away, father and son did not see eye to eye, and pretty quickly, I think, Michael knew, the bright and sensitive kid he was, realized that his father did not love him, did not care for him, was constantly judging him, and judging him negatively.

As Allen Bloomfield, his brother, told me, Michael never felt his father’s love. And he was always looking for it. And I think that created many issues in his life later, where he felt expectations being put upon him… And he either resisted them, or failed to make them.

CR: Where the gatekeepers of the music business, and the audiences he played for, become a surrogate father that he didn’t feel like satisfying.

DD: Absolutely. And his first manager, Joel Harlib, told me over and over again, that Michael had this weird, insecure side to him, where he could be this egotistical guitar player, who would climb up on the stage with Muddy Waters, at the drop of a hat.

He was also a guy who was really uncomfortable doing a solo set, at Mother Blues. Joel said, “I had to drag him to these few gigs that he would do, so he would have a career that I could manage.”

So he was very insecure about certain aspects of his life. Once he felt that he was not measuring up, and being judged as not measuring up – not only in his family life, but in his professional career – he was really overwhelmed, with feeling the inadequacy.

And I think that had a lot to do with, essentially, his breakdown around the Super Session recording dates, where he flipped out, and could not complete the recording. Then had to be sedated to sleep when they did the live Session (album). I think he really just, basically, had panic attacks a great deal.

CR: Yeah. And as Mark Naftalin says, in the Wolkin book, he would walk away again and again, rather than deal with this stuff.

DD: Yeah. He would retreat to the safety of his room, watch TV, play guitar to the commercials.

CR: When you talk about the (Paul) Butterfield, and the Electric Flag experiences – the one thing they had in common was… Well, first of all, how could the departure of one guy make such a difference? And yet, neither band was really ever the same, after he left. So that’s one thing.

DD: Yes. Good point. 

CR: The other thing that occurs to me is, even if they hadn’t overbooked them – as he complained to the press – I’m not sure that he would have stuck around that much longer, anyway.

DD: I think you’re right. He began to resent the direction the band was going in, with (drummer-vocalist) Buddy Miles. He wasn’t real happy about that. Also, as I point out in the book, his marriage had just fallen apart, and that was really a difficult time for him.

Plus, he’d been internationally humiliated in (Ralph J.) Gleason’s “Perspectives” column (in Rolling Stone), where he just said, “Hey, Bloomfield’s a phony. He’s not a black man, he never will be a black man, he’s just pretending to play this stuff. Why doesn’t he play his own stuff?” And I think Michael felt that deeply for years afterwards.

All of that came together – he just had to get out of it, he had to hide away. So, you’re right. I think he would have probably left the Flag at some point, anyway, because that’s what he always seemed to do.

CR: OK. So – once he quits those (two) bands, he’s done the Super Session record, which, on paper, makes him somewhat marketable, as a performer, right? It was his only gold record. It should have been the ideal launch pad to establish him as a solo artist. But that didn’t happen, either. How come?

DD: Well, for the reasons we’ve enumerated. He was an emotional basket case at that point. The best indication of his emotional state was his solo recording, which came out six or eight months after Super Session, It’s Not Killing Me. I mean, it was killing his listeners to listen to it, because it was a very, very painful and personal recording.

I asked Michael Melford, one of the co-producers  – “Why did he record those tunes?” Melford said, “Well, he had something he wanted to get off his chest. He wanted to really tell his public what had been going on in his emotional life. You know, he didn’t realize this would be painful for people to listen to.”

CR: And (Bloomfield thought) they would take it for what it was.

DD: Exactly. People were used to hearing Super Session, hearing those Butterfield albums, and that was another Michael Bloomfield they knew, not this guy who’d sing these slow country tunes badly (laughs).

CR:  It took him, I think, a few years to come to grips with singing, I would say.

DD: I agree. He was never a natural singer, but he found – certainly, in those recordings that were done at the McCabe’s Guitar Shop, in Santa Monica, in ’77, I think? They’ve come out in a million different guises, but his singing there is really, probably, the best that he ever recorded. He’s together, he’s relaxed, he’s not swinging for the fences. It sounds totally natural.

CR: I love his performances, too, on (Between The) Hard Place And The Ground, where his voice careens through things. It gives it, kind of an odd character, that a more polished singer would not have been able to do.

DD: Yes. It occurred to me, one time, listening to one of his very last recordings, that he sounded quite a bit like Ray Charles, in the way that he approached the vocal, and everything?

CR: Yes.

DD: I don’t know if Michael was consciously or unconsciously thinking of Ray Charles when he sang – he loved Ray – but it had never occurred to me before, and it gave me insight into what he was trying to do.

CR: I have to say, too, when I started doing my thing, I thought, “OK, if he can get away with it, maybe I can, too” (laughs).

DD: Well, yeah, you could, yes. You know, if it comes from the heart, you can do it.


PART IV: "NOT QUITE WHAT THEY HAD IN MIND"
CR: So, in terms of his addiction, which seems to be the filter through which he made a lot of his choices in life –


DD: Yes.

CR: What was the gateway? Lack of love from his father, or the culture of the time, which began to get more freewheeling? Because I think it started much earlier than most people surmised.

DD:  Allen Bloomfield told me an interesting thing about his brother.  They used to be shipped off, in the summers, to these dude ranches, camps out in the Southwest, for a couple of months.

He said that Michael developed this thing they would do there – I think he was probably 10 years old. They’d hyperventilate, then, a friend would grab them around the chest, so they couldn’t inhale. Allen would say, “We’d do this, and you’d see stars – you’d be tripping for 10, 15 seconds. A great high.” Which they didn’t understand was a high, but it just was a thrill.

His brother, loved to do this, just for the sensation, the thrill of it, the excitement of it. The other thing he would do, they would ride the Silver Streak at Riverview Park, which is an amusement park, in Chicago. It was the biggest rollercoaster, and it had an 80-foot drop, the first hill. He said that Michael would time it, to get in the front car. And Michael would stand up, just as they were tipping over the hill, so that he would levitate for a second in the car.

CR: Oh, jeez!

DD: He says, “My brother was totally into these wild, crazy sensations and thrills.” I think it was just built into Michael, that’s just his makeup. He was accelerated, and his personality hyper, most of the time. This was just like a peak experience for him, invariably. So drugs were more of the same, I think, and as long as they came along, he was going to take advantage of it.

CR: And in a sense, it was just an extension of his natural brain chemistry, then?

DD: I think that’s true, I really do. But now, it’s interesting, because it didn’t extend to alcohol, not until very late in his life.

CR: And so, now, to open this theme a little further – was Michael bipolar? There’s speculation in the Wolkin book, to that extent.

DD: Well, Allen thinks he was. And Allen also thinks their father, Harold, had issues.

CR: To put it mildly.

DD: Yes. Well, he manifested them in a different way. But I talked with the head of the Psychology Department at Rutgers, who was a fan of Bloomfield’s. I laid out Bloomfield’s personality traits, what I knew of his medical experiences, and this doctor said he really wasn’t convinced that Bloomfield was bipolar in the classic sense.

CR: Why not?

DD: He thought, he might have been OCD, or some other clinical definition – which, I apologize, I don’t have this right in front of me. It’s fairly technical.

CR: Sure. But, at any rate, he didn’t buy it.

DD: He wasn’t convinced. Not being able to actually examine Michael, he couldn’t say for certain. But so, obviously, Bloomfield had lengthy periods of mania, and didn’t have the accompanying depression, which is usually an indication of bipolar condition. At least, there’s not much evidence of Michael having the low moods – he was hyper all the time.

CR: No. But I would say, the OCD part fits. Especially, when we talk about things like that incident in Canada, where all he’s thinking about – he wants to watch that (PBS) TV show he’s on!

DD: Yes (laughs). Correct.

CR: He bitches to the performers. He rushes through the performance, so he can get back in time (to fiddle with his hotel room’s TV set) – this is extraordinary behavior, for sure.

DD: Right, absolutely. And it resulted in him abandoning his signature instrument. The interesting thing is, he never mentioned it again. That guitar, it’s just disappeared, completely off the face of the earth.

So Bloomfield had, I think, obsessive qualities. And he very much had an active mind. He couldn’t calm himself down. That was a large part of his issue. That’s, of course, why he liked heroin, and later, Placidyl.

CR: And, of course, the other issue was his discomfort, and his absolute dislike of going on the road, too, right?

DD: Yes, because he couldn’t sleep.

CR: Well, having been on my book tour with Mark last summer (for We Are The Clash), I thought, “I can empathize completely.” (DD laughs.) And when you do yours, you’ll understand what I’m talking about.

DD: I’m sure I will (laughs). Yeah, well, that’s a good insight. Imagine –Bloomfield had been doing it for two and a half years, by the time he quit the Flag. Even gone abroad, and done it with Butterfield – and the tour they did there was rigorous, to say the least. I mean, they slept on the bus, some of the time, they were just dragged here and there. Well, it’s a young man’s game, obviously.

CR: I imagine, that was where a lot of the drug stuff came in. Because you were using it as a tool, just to sort of get through it.

DD: Absolutely. I talked to a couple of guys who played with Michael, in the early ‘60s, on the North Shore of Chicago, and these were older musicians – and they told me quite a bit about amphetamine use, that it was extremely common. You took a couple of pills before the set, and that would get you through the night. And then, you’d take a pill to go to sleep, and you’d repeat that routine seven days a week.

And some of these guys had been doing it for years and years, so, the rigors – and these were people who weren’t on the road. They were just working a local gig. You can see that it’s arduous, it’s really difficult.

CR: What was the moment, for all practical purposes, that he became box office poison to a major label?

DD: Well, he famously did an interview with the LA Times, just prior to the release of the album that he had recorded with Barry Goldberg, and Ric Grech, and Carmen Appice, called KGB.

And Michael said, basically, “This whole scam, I don’t know these guys, the company says we’ve been dying to play with each other, and we’re creating wonderful music.” He said, “We go in the studio, I have no connection to these people whatsoever, I have no idea why I’m doing this, I’m just doing it for the money. It’s all hype and more music industry shenanigans.”

The was published, pretty much verbatim, what he said – and as you might imagine, the label (MCA), was outraged. So Bloomfield wrote a letter, resigning from the band, and later said, “I probably shouldn’t have said all that stuff, that was stupid, what I did,” although what he said was true (laughs).

His records prior to this hadn’t really been selling at all. But now, he was not only a guy who wouldn’t tour, and wasn’t producing hit records, but a guy likely to turn on, to attack his parent company in public. And nobody wanted to deal with him anymore. That was pretty much the end of his major label recording opportunities.

CR: And yet – right after that, you could argue, he gets into a sustained period of creativity and focus, from the Guitar Player record, to Andy’s Bad, and Analine, the all-acoustic album, his first album for Takoma.

DD: I would agree with that. He said, at the time, he had developed this aesthetic that was his own. He called it his “set of Bloomfield criteria.” He realized he didn’t have to play music that had commercial appeal.

He didn’t have to play music that pleased his manager, or his record label, should he have a record label. He could just play what he wanted to play. He didn’t even care if he pleased the audience. And I think he had been greatly impressed by Randy Newman, and by Ry Cooder. He saw those guys making their own kind of music, in their own way, not really worrying about the standards of the industry or what was selling, what wasn’t selling. And that really impressed him.

And that’s why he showed up at Radio City Music Hall, to play the Newport Jazz Festival, the opening night, for the midnight blues show. Bloomfield’s introduced, and the crowd goes wild, because there are so many fans who knew him from the Electric Flag, and Butterfield days, and he very rarely was in New York.

He comes out with a couple of acoustic guitars, sits down on a chair, in the center of this huge, 100-foot stage, and proceeds to play these acoustic blues numbers. Everybody, at first, is like, “What the hell?” No one knew what he was doing.

CR: Right.

DD: They were charmed by it, because Michael is such a good player, but then, he played two or three other numbers acoustically, and people began to get restless. Mike Michaels, who was playing harp with him – a friend, from the Hyde Park days – said he could hear people shouting for (songs from) Super Session.

And Bloomfield’s just plucking away on the stage, playing whatever he wanted to play, and that was the first time he did that. And he did that more and more, so that he would always do an acoustic set, sometimes on piano, then bring out the electric band. Toward the end, he was just doing solo sets himself. That played well with some people, but a lot of people in his audience did not understand what he was doing, and that made it…

CR: Yeah, and I think you make some pretty perceptive comments in your book about that, that it could be a rough ride, because he didn’t necessarily explain what he was always about to play.

DD: No, he didn’t put in the context. Even as late as 1980, when he played Washington, D.C., with Woody Harris, and played the acoustic gospel music – the reviewer said, “Everybody was like, ‘Where’s his amps? Where’s the drummer? What’s going on? We don’t understand. This is Michael Bloomfield, the Super Session god.’”

CR: Of course, he didn’t want to be the guitar god anymore, and people deep down, (were) hoping he would be. 

DD: Absolutely. Everybody was hoping, “Well, maybe the old fire will come back, and we’ll have Michael Bloomfield again.” But it did not happen.

CR: Exactly, so… Well, we could argue the Takoma relationship arose by necessity, as much as anything else, because nobody else would have been interested in letting him go down that path, right?

DD: I think you’re right. Takoma was issuing lots of acoustic music, and folk music, as well as blues. They were following the path of the early independent record labels of the ‘60s, like Vanguard, and Elektra. And they put out lots of really good records. Some of Bloomfield’s records are good.

CR: So, well, let’s get to that, then. Where does Norman fit into that picture? As we’ve mentioned, he’s fairly polarizing. And to some fans, those records are fairly polarizing, too. People either seem to like them, or not like them.

DD: I think everyone pretty much agrees that they were not quite up to the standard that one expected from Bloomfield, with his talent, and his musical vision. But they were also created on a budget, and at a fairly chaotic time in Michael’s life. Norman had left Chess Records, after the death of Leonard Chess, and it was bought by GRT. And he came out West, and was teaching one of the first audio engineering courses.

CR: Right, as I documented.

DD: Yes, yes. But I think that wasn’t really paying the bills all that well. I think he realized that Michael could take control of his own art. That was the motivation – he was going to help his friend get his music out, but they were going to make some money doing it.

CR: Right, and as you alluded to earlier, he hoped to establish himself as a go-to producer for that kind of thing.

DD: Yes. Yeah, that’s right.

CR: Like I said, I think he did the best with what he had. Which wasn’t much.

DD: I agree. I think you’re right. As you reported in your interview with him, he got $2,000 to record, and then, they spent another $2,000 on production, to actually manufacture the records. But that was it.  That was their budget.

CR: I mean, even in the ‘70s, that wasn’t much money, really.

DD: No, you were working with Columbia…Or some of the other (major) labels, which Michael had been. The only time that Michael and CT Productions was working with a real budget was when they recorded the Count Talent album, for TK.

CR: Yeah, and that was $50,000, I think, is the figure Norman quoted.

DD: That’s right. But that was the exception.  I mean, that was very unusual.

CR: Because you had somebody that was actually prepared to sink that kind of money into it. Although, as you document, even then, they were less than happy, and they made them go back and redo things, right?

DD: Yes, they tried to remix the recording. But that is an odd record.

CR: It really is. Not without its charms, though. And I thought it was his weakest, although now, I think there’s actually a pretty good double EP trying to get out.

DD: I think that’s right, yeah.

CR: I like his vocal on “Saturday Night.” I like “You Was Wrong.” I like Nick’s song, “Bad Man,” that’s exceptional. He did a good job on that. “Sammy Knows How To Party,” I’ll put on there, too, because it’s so weird, and so unusual, and knowing that it’s about Sammy Davis, I think, “Okay. Now I know what he meant.”

DD: Yeah, but without that context, it is weird.

CR: It is weird, and it doesn’t make sense, right. I would agree with you on that. Those particular ones, I think, are the standouts. Maybe one of the Bob Jones cuts (“Let The People Dance,” “Love Walk”), too. Those were pretty good semi-disco records for the time.

DD: Yeah, the playing is good. It just, it’s certainly not what TK was looking for, because they wanted to launch their Clouds label as a rock ‘n’ roll label.

CR: Right, and he comes back with, as you said, celebrations of rhythm and movement. Not quite what they had in mind.

DD: Not quite what they had in mind, no, that’s true.


PART V: "IT'S A GREAT RELEASE"
CR: So, when we get to the end of that (Takoma) period, marking the downward slope of Michael’s life – could he could have gotten himself out of that? Why didn’t he get better? Why didn’t he make the effort?


DD: Part of it was, that he was surrounded by lot of drug users, heroin users, people who needed things from him. Woody Harris said he was astonished, when they were recording the gospel record… how people took advantage of Michael. They just manipulated him, and were constantly pestering him for various…

CR: Like hitting him up for money?

DD: For money, or a place to stay. So his home environment was just…

CR: Chaotic.

DD: Chaotic and toxic, to some degree. So you try to be creative, in an environment like that, and you also are dealing with pretty unsettling emotional stuff. His relationship with Christie Svane was probably the best thing he had in his life at that time.

CR: Yeah, but he couldn’t make the effort (to clean up) even for her, really.

DD: No. He tried, but… And the claim was, at the end of his life, he was cleaning up, getting himself together, and looking healthy. And that he was encouraged, because he was pretty sure that they were going to get married, and he was very excited about that.

CR: So that house must have been like a train station.

DD: I think it was. There were a lot of people in and out, all the time. Chris McDougal, who was Michael’s assistant during the Flag days, said that during that period, and afterward, there would be guys just banging on the door night and day.

There’d be junkies from down in the city, looking for a fix – they were strung out -- or there guys looking to sell whatever they had on hand, psychedelics, or narcotics... That’s a pretty rigorous environment for even a healthy person to deal with, and Michael was not, emotionally, in good shape.

He was drinking toward the end, way to excess, and I actually have a recording of Michael, singing and playing, when I can only think that he’s really, completely knackered, and it’s pretty terrible.

CR: It’s excruciating, I imagine.

DD: It is, yeah – and yet, the playing still is, like, “Wow! Boy, this is really great.” But I also think that Michael was charming. He was a charming guy, even when he was loaded – and that was one way he was able to move in certain circles on the South Side, or the West Side, or to hang out with Polish polka bands, because he could just talk his way into anything.

So when he’s up on stage, in the last portion of his life, and he’s clearly inebriated, and he’s not quite together, he does have this kind of boyish charm that I’ve seen, over and over again, in videos from that period.

CR: Yeah, even on those Italian shows, where the crowd could get fairly difficult.

DD: Yes, exactly! That’s one thing I was thinking of, too. Those were painful, those shows.

CR: But let’s turn it around. What if he had lived? Because (in) the ‘80s, if your name wasn’t Stevie Ray Vaughan, or Robert Cray, you were in for a bumpy ride (DD laughs), really. Well, they were the only two, in my mind, who survived it.

DD: That’s true, if you were going to play in that style. I doubt, very much, that Michael would have been playing that way. If he’d gotten himself cleaned up, somehow gotten his home life together, and got into the hands of a responsible and capable producer, who wasn’t his best friend, and party mate, which Norman was, to some degree…

CR: Right. Yes.

DD: I think he would have done very much what Ry Cooder did, which is, explore different kinds of music. He would have played electric on occasion, but he certainly never would have been in the category of Stevie Ray, or played like that, anyway. I think those days were long gone, and I don’t think he had any regrets about that.

CR: Right, although I’ve seen some things online, which mentioned that, supposedly, he was suffering from arthritis in his hands those last couple years. Did you find any documentation of that?

DD: Yes. In ’76, I believe it was, he was in the hospital, in the summer, for an operation on his thumb. He didn’t say what that was, but I have him on tape saying he’d just gotten out of the hospital for that treatment. I think he probably had a bone spur … I don’t know if that was arthritis, but he did have a problem with one of his hands.

And I speculated for awhile, maybe, that’s why he played so much slide, because his fingers were hurting, toward the end of his career. But (Mark) Nafatlin said to me that he was not aware of Michael ever having any pain in his fingers.

But the way he played, I can’t imagine that he would not have had some physical difficulty on occasion. Just add the intenseness, the intense way he played, particularly with Butterfield…

CR:  Yeah. Right. It’s fairly demanding music, right?

DD: Absolutely, and people don’t realize that. As a guitar player yourself, and I am, too – you got to be in good physical shape to play like that.

CR: You do. That part is not negotiable.

DD: Yeah, and so, it wouldn’t surprise me if he had trouble with his fingers.

CR: But you didn’t actually find anything one way or the other, then?

DD: The only thing I know is that he was in the hospital for a procedure on his hand. But I don’t know – it doesn’t sound like that was arthritis. It sounds more like a bone spur, or something…

CR: But when we look back, what do you think his legacy is? For a non-listener, a non-initiate coming late to the party – where they should they start?

DD: Well, they should start with the first Butterfield record. That’s a really good place to start. The tunes are short, the soloing is intense, the playing is first-rate, and that’s how people learned about Bloomfield’s talent.

But I think Michael’s real contribution is that he was a guy who was an amalgamator. He brought together disparate musical styles, and created something more out of them. He took blues, and infused it with rock, sort of a rock sensibility, where the soloing was intense, and it was loud, fast, and exciting, and it was long.

There was that aspect of jazz, Coltrane or Pharaoh Sanders taking a 20-minute solo, well, Bloomfield would take a 20-minute solo. No other rock guitar players ever did that. They had 15 or 20 seconds of solo, before the singer came back. But Bloomfield would wail, he would just go. So that was part of it.

And then, of course, taking a bastardization of Indian music, and adding that to the mix, for “East-West,” then, getting into soul music and other world music styles, with the Electric Flag …I like to kick around the idea that Bloomfield’s playing with Butterfield, and later, with the Flag, pointed jazz in the direction of fusion. Because fusion was largely driven by guitars. I think that Michael had a hand in setting the stage for that.

So I see him as somebody who helped pop music to grow up, from the early ‘60s formulaic stuff, to a music where you not only rocked out, but also listened. And, of course, brought blues to the greater consciousness of the American listening public, which was a huge contribution. And pretty much shaped the sound of rock for a good portion of the ‘70s, certainly, the late ‘60s.

CR: Well, and “Another Country” always struck me as the logical sequel to “East-West.”

DD: Absolutely, yes. And it’s sort of like “East-West,” using the studio as an instrument, in addition to the musicians.

CR: Yeah, I actually got introduced to it by, The Best Of The Electric Flag, on eight-track, of all things.

DD: Wow! That’s great.

CR: Yeah. But, as a teenage boy, I remember, when it got to that free-form interlude, my head was completely blown apart. “Wow,” I thought, “this was radical, even for 1967.”

DD: Well, it wasn’t the first time that had happened. But it was within six months of the first time, or seven months. That record is probably my favorite Bloomfield record, just because it encapsulates so many different ideas, and so many different styles. And it’s got some great pop tunes on it, it’s got great soloing, and –

CR: It’s got great everything, really.

DD: Yeah.

CR: And to go back to “Another Country” – what’s exciting, once they blow your mind, with the free-form barrage, and then, how he leads the band back out of it.

DD: It’s a great release.

CR: It is.

DD: And it’s very similar to what he does in “East-West,” with the melodic portion, the third portion… Where you get this intense aural assault going on, and suddenly, boom, it all drops out, and it’s just Bloomfield in rhythm. And it’s, wow!

CR: Exactly. So, yeah, that is masterful. Because, as we know, that kind of thing, especially back then, was pretty deadly when it fell into the wrong hands.

DD: Yes (laughs), that’s certainly true.

CR: Of the later things that he did, what would you recommend? The Guitar Player record, perhaps, if they can get it?

DD: Yes, that would be a good place to start. There’s some exceptional playing on it. I love “Thrift Shop Rag,” that just knocks me out every time I hear it. Some of the other tunes, as well – “Death In My Family,” that’s great. It’s all good.  So, yes, that would be the record, I think. (Between The) Hard Place (And The Ground) would be good, too. That’s an excellent recording.

CR: I always enjoyed that.

DD: Yeah, it is good. You know, what’s interesting, too – is that three of the tunes on there are not from the (Old) Waldorf.

CR: Yeah, they’re studio creations, right?

DD: They were recorded for Columbia. And I think Norman just purloined them. They were supposed to be on Try It Before You Buy It, Bloomfield’s second solo album. I guess Norman had to fill out the rest of the record, and he said, “Oh, we got this tape, let’s throw it on there, so…”

CR: Which is surprising, considering how much stuff he did record of them (live), that he couldn’t find enough to fill that record out, right?

DD: It is surprising, but I think he also thought that those were good tunes, and – as I quoted him (saying) in the book, “We were done working with the corporate people. It was Michael’s stuff, and we were gonna put it out.”

CR: Yeah, and that definitely makes sense to me. Because, if you had gone to see him in that time period, those are songs he probably would have been playing anyway, right?

DD: Yes, I think so, yeah.

CR: So, what do you think is next for you? What are you kind of looking at down the road, if anything? Or is this (book) going to be it for awhile, you think?

DD: Well, it’ll be it for a bit of time, but I would love to do a detailed history of the Chicago music scene, starting around 1955, and going up to, maybe 1967, ’68, after Big John’s closed. There was so much stuff going on at that time, and it had such a huge effect on the national scene, by the end of the ‘60s.

The guys from Chicago, or who had been through Chicago, were making huge success and affecting the sound of pop music. Nobody’s talked about those early days, and all the guys in Old Town, the clubs there, who was playing, and who was down on the South Side. That would be a fascinating story.

CR: All right. I think we’ve basically covered what we need to cover – unless you can think of something I’ve forgot.

DD: No, I think you’ve hit all the bases, and then some – I appreciate it. Very good. This has been really terrific. I really appreciate your taking the time, and investing in this interview. I feel like we’ve done a pretty good job of covering Mr. Bloomfield on his birthday.

Special thanks to David, and also, Joel Pinckney, University of Texas Press, for images, press materials, and a copy of the book!

RELEVANT LINKS
Michael Bloomfield: An American Guitarist:
http://mikebloomfieldamericanmusic.com/#top

michaelbloomfield.com:
https://www.michaelbloomfield.com/d2ijjklh0eixt0ejvreg8dg18kgbzq

Permalink
Co-author Mark Andersen, at Merriweather Post Pavilion, just before hand-delivering copies backstage of We Are The Clash to Foo Fighters singer-guitarist Dave Grohl, and a friend. (PHoto by Chairman Ralph) Ralph poses after the Foo Fighters show at Merriweather Post Pavilion with a copy of We Are The Clash. (Photo by Mark Andersen) Ralph (right) makes a point during a signing/presentation with Mark Andersen (second, left) at Politics &amp; Prose, in Washington, D.C., which marked the first stop on their tour (July 6) to promote We Are The Clash. (Photo by Don Hargraves) Ralph and Mark work feverishly to sign copies for Politics &amp; Prose customers. About 150 showed up for the event, which also ran about 15 minutes over time -- a good sign of engaged they were! (Photo: Don Hargraves) A page from the scrapbook of Jo-Anne Henry, who hung out at Electric Lady Studios when the Clash were recording their best-selling album, COMBAT ROCK. According to Jo-Anne, who came to the Politics &amp; Prose signing, this was an early working tracklist. Wonder what became of &#34;Due In Kangaroo Court W1,&#34; and &#34;Fulham Connection&#34;? (Photo by: Chairman Ralph) Chairman Ralph (left) and Mark Andersen (second, left) with their audience before their presentation and signing at Brickbat Books. Mark suggested taking this photo, following the central idea expressed in &#34;We Are The Clash&#34; -- that the band is more than just people onstage, it also includes those who listen to them, and are inspired by them. (Photo: Frank Blank Moriarty) But someone&#39;s got to do it, right? Ralph and Mark (rear) sign book plates for We Are The Clash&#39;s publisher, Akashic Books, before the signing/presentation at the Book Cellar, in Chicago, IL (7/30). The book plates went inside copies of We Are The Clash for select patrons of a Kickstarter campaign, who asked for his signature, and that of co-author Mark Andersen, as part of their pledged contribution. (Photo by Lisa D. Quinlan) <br />
CHAIRMAN RALPH HITS THE ROAD TO PROMOTE WE ARE THE CLASH
Aug 23, 2018

Anyone can write a book. But only one thing matters, whether you convince someone else to take the risk, or self-publish – getting it over the finish line, and getting it out. For those who do make it – as Mark Andersen and I have managed, with our new book, We Are The Clash: Reagan, Thatcher And The Last Stand Of A Band That Mattered (Akashic Books) – the result feels like running a marathon. You're elated and exhausted, and a little bit anxious, too. What will reviewers think, and how will people react?

Last month, I got to find out some answers to those questions, as I went on a book tour to the East Coast, after Akashic released We Are The Clash on July 3. While nearly everyone I knew looked forward to some badly-needed rest on July Fourth, I'd have to leave home for ten days, so I could join Mark for book signings in Washington, D.C. (July 6), Philadelphia (July 10), and New York (July 12).

We kept busy during our downtime, too, including a local radio interview in Takoma Park, MD (July 8), and a 45-minute one with our Philadelphia host, before our signing at Brickbat Books.

We squeezed in some related tasks, too, like hand-delivering a copy to Foo Fighters singer-guitarist Dave Grohl – backstage, no less, at the Merriweather Post Pavilion, after we'd caught the last hour of his band rocking a screaming, sold-out, 13,000-seat house.

For those who haven't toured the country, I definitely recommend figuring out how you're passing the time, because – like so many bands say – one mile blurs into the next, and one town doesn't look much different than the last one.

Or, as I told my friend Don, after stopping in Lucas County, Ohio, searching vainly for somewhere decent to eat around 10:30 p.m: “We must be on tour, all right. We're having dinner at McDonald's!”

But he'd volunteered to drive me down, right? That's the game.

Similar thoughts ran through my head on the return trip to St. Joseph, which required taking three trains – from New York, to Washington, D.C., and then, Chicago, and back home – for about 23 hours (no kidding!).

Sure, I got my fair share of sleep between all of these stops, but suffice to say, I felt like I'd run several marathons by the time it all ended. Still, We Are The Clash marks my second book with a Washington, D.C. area connection. My first book, Unfinished Business: The Life & Times Of Danny Gatton (Backbeat Books, 2003), focused on another previously untold story, that of Washington, D.C.'s late “Telemaster” of the guitar. I ended up making a major research trip to the area in 2001, and doing a couple of book signings in 2003, which is the last time I've made it out there.

For any author, book signings offer the nitty gritty flipside of all the hours that you put in – when you meet and greet readers, whether they've already bought your book, or waiting for you to sign it that night.

Whenever I felt my energy flagging, I'd think back on those nights, and the conversations I'd had. There's no other experience like it, which is why you do it.


“Pop Will Die”

We Are The Clash deals with the final two years of the British punk band's existence. That era started in 1983, when lead singer Joe Strummer kicked co-founding guitarist Mick Jones out of the band, which he aimed to remake in a leaner, harder-rocking, and more out aggressively political image. Only two years, however, the Clash would fall apart – and split up for good – after releasing its final album, Cut The Crap, in November 1985.

With help from three replacements – drummer Pete Howard, and guitarists Nick Sheppard and Vince White, all in their mid-20s – Strummer hoped to blow away the era's dominant trends of synth-pop and heavy rock. “Pop will die,” he vowed, “and rebel rock will rule.”

With rare exceptions, though, this story has only been told in bits and pieces. However, it's also one with a strong sociopolitical streak running through it, as our publisher's press release notes: “While the world teetered on the edge of the nuclear abyss, British miners waged a life-or-death strike, and tens of thousands died from U.S. guns in Central America, Clash cofounders Joe Strummer, (bassist) Paul Simonon, and (manager) Bernard Rhodes waged a desperate last stand after ejecting guitarist Mick Jones and drummer Topper Headon. The band shattered just as its controversial final album, Cut the Crap, was emerging.”

Suffice to say, We Are The Clash isn't just another sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll story – although all of those qualities make their appearance. As Mark and I feel, the issues that fired up the Clash's music through the '70s and '80s – and such heated political debate – still dog us today, whether it's social inequality, the growing political divide in American society, or workers' rights, to name only three.


“More Than A Footnote”

On those grounds alone, Mark and I hope that We Are The Clash will strike a chord with readers, whether they experienced them during the '80s, or didn't. And, whether they agree with our conclusions, or not, we also hope that our readers appreciate the human interest side of the story – including the Clash's May 1985 “busking” tour of northern Britain and Scotland, in which the band played impromptu “unplugged” sets for whoever showed up, and passed the hat after the finished, just like any other street performer.

It's an audacious idea that no major band has tried since, and one of many stories from this era of the Clash that haven't been told fully – until now. For Mark and I, We Are The Clash also puts an exclamation points on five long years of work, that also required launching a successful Kickstarter campaign, to help Akashic with the production costs – for which we raised $16,131, from 211 supporters.

What happens now is up to the public, and the reviewers – whose verdicts, so far, have proven sufficiently supportive, and encouraging, of what we've tried to do, such as this notice from Publisher's Weekly: “This is an inspiring take on the rock-band bio format, as much a political history of the 1980s as it is a look at an influential band in its final years. More than a footnote to the rise and fall of one of the last great rock bands.”

Six weeks or so after We Are The Clash dropped on the public, the road show behind has continued to roll on – with book signings in Chicago (July 30), where I joined Mark – who headed on to Minneapolis alone (August 1), and off to the West Coast, as part of his family vacation.

As usual, we squeezed in a couple joint radio interviews, too – If I need anymore inspiration, I'll only to recall Mark's words from our press release announcing the book: "I was a Clash fan from 1977 on, and the band was a tremendous inspiration for me as a teenager. But this period of The Clash -- for all its failures -- actually may have had an even bigger impact on the work I've done with Positive Force and other community projects since 1984."

For more information about We Are The Clash, visit www.akashicbooks.com.

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Desperate Times, Issue #1, as it unfolded on the layout table. (Photo by: Ralph Heibutzki)
DESPERATE TIMES 'ZINE: NEWS & REVIEWS
May 24, 2017

What a spring we've enjoyed at Desperate Times Towers! First, I'll mention our latest review,via Xerography Debt, which said (for the benefit of those who can't read sideways): 

"Pure old-school vibe and I love it. This one takes me back to the times when 'zines in punk were a very essential part of communications on the scene. This publication has a lot to read, but is also very artistic with its words and images. It is both interesting to read and look at it. The 'zine talks about music in a way that makes you want to read more and more about the topics. I cannot wait to see what is coming next from this publication. I am very sure that I will not be disappointed."

Thanks, Xerography Debt! I hope that future issues live up to that particular billing.

Locally, we seem to have caught the fever, too. On April 14, Krasl Art Center hosted a grand opening for a new 'zine library that it's creating, complete with a 15-minute keynote speech from Luz Magdaleno, founder of Brown & Proud Press (Chicago, IL). Not surprisingly, I wound up recording and writing many more comments than my resulting Herald-Palladium story could accommodate, but I think the basics came across well.

I swapped a copy of Desperate Times #1 with Luz, for her 'zine, Serio....and, best of all...was asked to drop off two more copies of DT for the library. Since then, my wife and I have also taken out time to contribute one page apiece for a special collaborative 'zine that Krasl also rolled out for the grand opening (and will also end up in the 'zine library). That just goes to show, there's no limit to the formats and styles associated with 'zines, which the best part (and reason) for doing them.

Lastly, but certainly not least: Desperate Times #1 is now available at Quimby's Bookstore, in Chicago. I pulled off that feat by dropping off five copies at their table, for a consignment, during the Chicago 'Zine Fest, on May 6. I'd missed it a couple times before, because I couldn't seem to remember that it preceded the Grand Rapids 'Zine Conference -- the event that inspired me to get into the game.

Suffice to say, the variety and diversity on display across the Chicago 'Zine Fest Floor proved awesome to behold -- and, naturally, difficult to summarize in a paragraph or two. However, based on the energy and commitment that I witnessed, it's fair to say that proverbial printed paper comeback of 'zines continues apace. I caught up with Luz again, this time at her table, and handed off a photocopy of my Herald-Palladium story, which she'd requested. 

Overall, it's been a great couple of months. We'll find out soon enough what the rest of the year holds, as I begin the process of compiling Desperate Times #2. Onward and upward.

<REVIEWS: ROUND ONE (2/09/16>
Well, the verdicts are trickling in (along with the orders): thanks to those who have shown a willingness to wrap their arms around Desperate Times, the 'zine that sticks up for the right to cut, paste 'n' comment...without a care in the world for where the chips may happen to fall.

Here's what they're saying so far: UGLY THINGS #40: "....A throwback to the classic cut 'n' paste style of the '70s and '80s with collaged Xeroxed images, hand-drawn graphics, and -- ah, yes, I remember them well -- paste-up lines." "Written, assembled and stapled by UT writer Ralph Heibutzki, Issue #1 has articles on Swedish Killed By Death favorite Hemliga Bosse, a reappraisal of the second Jam album, and Sylvain Sylvain stage banter, and some personal commentary pieces." Thanks to my main man, UGLY THINGS Supremo Mike Stax, for his comments there...as you'll gather from the above company, this is one instance in which I don't mind being seen as a throwback....they don't call it "old school" for nothing, right?

MAXIMUM ROCK 'N' ROLL (#391, December 2015): "Mostly punk oriented, Chairman Ralph is putting in work to dig it up; digging through clues in comment threads in old KBD blogs to contact the old '77 punks behind classic singles or making the two-hour drive for a 'storytellers'-style session with Sylvain Sylvain. It's good to know that someone is hoofing it to dig up and preserve the gritty details....Curious to see what gets turned up for #2."

POSITIVE CREED #28 (UK): "All the way from the States, DESPERATE TIMES is a new 'zine with a difference. Ralph has done a good job with this debut effort, and put it together in a Dada kind of way, which gives it an old look, which takes me back to a time when 'zine editors relied on imagination, not modern technology. "Inside this issue, you'll find an interesting piece on the New York Dolls, an article on the Jam which goes back over their THIS IS THE MODERN WORLD album, a brief chat with Paul Shand from The Numbers, a really nice piece of writing regarding theft at work, and various other things which have been thrown into the mix. "For a first attempt, I'm impressed with what's going on here, and my only criticism is that each page is only printed on one side, which makes it a bulky read...and I think it would not only be cheaper to distribute, but easier to follow if both sides were used. Nice work, Ralph, and I look forward to seeing issue #2 soon, my friend." Thanks, Rob, nice on that score, as well!

And, as I freely acknowledge, the last point he raises about the single versus double-sided issue is a fair one....believe me, though, it's not intentional, or some kind of art statement on my part...it's more a reflection of living in a small town where your options are crap! :-) Or, in other words...the best deal I've found on double-sided copies so far is 9 cents a page, versus the nickel per page I currently pay for my single-sided copies....so guess what's winning out? And I'll probably have to stick with the latter, at least for the short run, until I find some clever way around the whole nonsense.

Or, put another way...I could have waited for the ultimate moment, with all the options falling into place...but you don't always happen to get that particular combo, in life or in art...so I followed my instincts, and went with what I had. If you have any interest in the proceedings, I hope you won't mind...for all I know, I suspect you won't. So what are you waiting for?

Check out the contents for yourself, all 44-odd pages, with a color stock cover that'll make you sit up and take notice (trust me)...for only $5 postpaid, to: PO Box 2, St. Joseph, MI 49085-0002, USA. Go ahead -- just take a deep breath, and take the plunge! And it'll beat seeing the usual stacks of junk mail, or bills...more updates to come, as events and space dictate.

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...which included (left) the founder of Black Lives Matter, while the gent on the right read an amusing story about horses. ...which I&#39;ve included, just so you can get an idea of what the space was like. This came during a brief lull in the action, as the room stayed busy nearly all afternoon. ONE OF THE 'ZINES THAT I BOUGHT ("PRAY 4 PUNK") Written by R. Hendricks, this story of an autistic guy&#39;s 1991 disappearance in Grand Rapids kept me turning the pages...and broke my heart, as well. Check it down for yourself, and find out! Matt Feazell, the mastermind behind &#34;The Amazing Cynicalman&#34; series, gave a 90-minute workshop showing you to make mini-comics...so my fellow attendees and I can add that to our list of creative achievements! ...as Matt shows off his completed mini-comic at the end of his workshop: DIY production at its finest.
GR ZINE FEST WRAPUP (7/25/15)/ANNOUNCING THE 'ZINE: "DESPERATE TIMES"
Aug 2, 2015

The hunger for something tangible seems all the rage these days -- as anyone witnessing the return of vinyl can attest. The same situation seems to apply to 'zines, those gloriously cut 'n' pasted, hand-designed, errantly-stapled samizdat dispatches from some alternate universe where nobody gives a rat's ass about celebrity A-list circle-jerking...the latest auto-tuned pop something-or-other phenom...let alone the latest installment in some mercifully forgotten movie franchise.

No, 'zines serve a purpose, and more people seem to have reached the same conclusion, judging by the turnout I witnessed at the Grand Rapids Zine Fest (7/25/15), which took place at the Kendall College of Art and Design's Fed Galleries. Having planned on doing a 'zine myself for some time now, I decided to go and see how the field looked. After all, pundits and scenesters alike had been sounding the death knell of 'zines since the 2000s, when blogs seemed to have taken over the space that they'd occupied. The '90s era of zinesters-make-good-now-here's-your-book-deal seemed as unthinkable as an ashtray on a motorbike.

However, the energy on display in the room said something else to me, as my wife and I made the rounds of tables -- from anarchist-oriented, to feminist, to personal and back again, all the passion on display made me want to pursue my objective that much more. Given the heavy hand of tech developments like "Mobilegeddon," all of a sudden, paper looks like a better and better bet: you can hold it in your hand, you can put it down again. Hey, what a concept! I suspect that's one reason for developments like the return of vinyl records, and the apparent rebound of indie bookstores.

The day's bigger draws included Matt Feazell, best known for his series of mini-comics: "The Amazing Cynicalman." Fittingly enough, he gave a workshop on the subject -- and, 90 minutes later, I found myself creating my first one! Now that's energy in action, I say. The afternoon concluded with a workshop, where several exhibitors read from their own 'zines -- and, though I didn't have a table, I was able to read excerpts from one of my own 'zine's forthcoming articles. Hear it for yourself on the "Featured Songs" portion of this site.

Somewhere, somehow, an inner ring of true believer is doing its best to keep the cause alive, which makes me want to sign up all the more. The nature of instant publication is hard to deny, especially when you're used to publications sitting on your ideas for weeks -- or even months -- at a time, only to say "NO" anyway...or, worse, seeing them watered down through sheer attrition in the editing process.

While I can't leave these developments behind just yet, I've dedicated that it's time for my own outlet, my 'own zine -- and its name is DESPERATE TIMES, which will combine my lifelong love of outsider music and art with personal commentary, essays and reflections on whatever topic or issue might strike my fancy (though it'll most likely come wrapped up in a social bent). I'm working on it this week as I speak -- creating a look that dips into the currents of Punk and Mod, without permanently dropping anchors into the choppy waters of the past.

DESPERATE TIMES will cut through the fog of those '77-era ills that seem stronger and more noxious than ever -- cultural apathy, glaring social inequity, mindless media content, and narrowing of opportunities for the majority -- with humor, without a concern for the passing of trends, or falling into the common traps of art/cynicism for its own sake, or making lengthy lists of rules that everybody else but the compilers feel obliged to follow. DESPERATE TIMES will offer a voice to music and the culture on the margins, and -- in the process -- reclaim a space outside mainstream cliches of "elevator speeches", "media platforms" and "staying on message." DESPERATE TIMES will stake out a presence away from the gatekeepers' mindless power games of "thumbs up, thumbs down, what else you got, kid?"...and, hopefully, leave its own lasting imprint.

What happens from this point? Stay tuned, as I begin assembling the final product, and figuring out the usual distribution/promotion issues...but all I know is, after seeing all that energy on display, I don't feel like standing still.

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Vaughan MacKay: &#34;This shot was taken at a lake. somewhere in Southland. Maybe Lake Manapouri, as we played a show near there..Looks like we were dressed up to play. Would have had a bit to drink on the bus as it was a three hour trip.&#34; Vaughan MacKay: &#34;This would have been a few weeks after he (Mason) joined the group. He ordered a Ludwig Kit. It hadn’t arrived so he was using Phil&#39;s [Sharman&#39;s) Premiers. (They used to be mine). According to Vaughan, don&#39;t let the date in the background sign fool you -- &#34;it was from an agricultural show (of) the previous year.&#34; Vaughan MacKay: &#34;I used a Gretsch this night. What a terrible guitar. I was usually using a cherry Gibson 345 stereo, and that spoilt me.&#34; Woodend takes its name from one of New Zealand&#39;s early settlers (Thomas Woodend), and is quite small (population: 2,637, according to the 2006 Census).  <br /> <br />However, the band had other reasons for playing there, as Vaughan MacKay explains:  <br /> <br />&#34;In New Zeland at that time it was illegal to have alcohol in night clubs or public dances. We used to hire the Woodend Hall, print $2.00 invitations and sell them prior to the night...Private do, you could drink as much as you liked. We did this a few times. You can imagine how popular these nights were!!&#34; DAVE HOGAN (LEFT)+VAUGHAN MACKAY SHARE A LIGHT MOMENT According to Vaughan MacKay, this color snapshot dates from late 1969,  &#34;when Phil rejoined the group on bass, or shortly after that when Dave went to live in Melbourne.&#34;
"THE CROWDS WERE ALL IMPORTANT": VAUGHAN MACKAY RECALLS THE UNKNOWN BLUES' LIFE+TIMES (8/9/14)
by Words: Chairman Ralph/Images: Vaughan MacKay Archives
Aug 16, 2014

Some ideas just take on a life of their own.

When I started delving into the Unknown Blues' life and times -- and the resulting DVD, ANTARCTIC ANGELS AND THE UNKNOWN BLUES -- I imagined that I'd do a writeup of the film, and call it a day....at the least.

However, that notion quickly fell by the wayside after the filmmaker, Simon Ogston, put me in contact with some of the former Unknown Blues members...one thing led to another, which is how Dave Hogan's interview came onto this webpage...and how you're reading this email chat now with lead guitarist Vaughan MacKay, who's gone above and beyond in providing his own recollections for me. (Thanks to Vaughan for providing all the photos, as well.)

Given the length of this chat session, I thought only fitting to include Vaughan's thoughts separately, so we don't have a super-lengthy block of text to read...so dig in, delve on and don't think you've heard it all...especially when we get to the story of that German military tunic!

CHAIRMAN RALPH (CR): What made you want to be a musician, and who inspired you -- especially since you switched from drums, to guitar? And how did that percussive approach carry over to your playing style?

VAUGHAN MACKAY (VM): I learned drumming in boarding school and played in the college pipe band. Mainly out of boredom, but once I started learning I was hooked. After leaving school I took a few lessons from a jazz drummer and bought a drum kit. Started playing Shadows, Cliff Richards and Beatles music. Gradually, a few Rolling Stones tracks. As I was drumming I would watch the guitarists at rehearsals and pick up a bit from them. Little by little. I don't think playing the drums influenced my playing style really.

CR: Tell me a bit about your previous band, The Whom -- did they make any recordings, and how were they different (or not) from Unknown Blues?

VM: I played in a few bands before Whom. Whom was a polished outfit, matching Beatle suits. The equipment set up on stage like the Beatles and playing a lot of Beatles stuff. We did play numbers by other groups such as the Searchers, The Kinks, The Animals and a few of The Rolling Stones at my insistance.. The group was tight and strong vocally. We recorded a single with our own song (I can't remember the name) on side one, and "That's How Strong My Love Is" on side two. My one recording as a vocalist. We also appeared on NZ TV playing "Satisfaction" to demonstrate the Fuzz Box...I felt stifled in Whom as they were very conservative. I was getting more and more into the Stones. I was sacked as a result. (Thank God). The Unknown Blues were the complete opposite. We were very serious about our music, but not into uniform dress and a clean cut public image.

CR: What was New Zealand's music scene like before the Stones and the Pretty Things arrived there -- and how did it change from that point on, since bands like yourselves -- and Chants R&B, to cite another example -- drew so much inspiration from them?

VM: I think up to this point Instrumental Guitar bands and American pop were very popular. Bands doing steps on stage and solo performers with show band backing. Conservative.

CR: One of the things that fascinates me about watching the film is how these harder-edged London sounds traveled half a world away. What accounts for the appeal of that music, then and now?

VM: It's easy to play, Is great party music and has a great beat. It is based on american blues and is timeless

CR: I love this description from the Audio Culture entry on the band: "At their peak, they could pack out the swirling psychedelic decorated basement club, playing with local fellow travellers, The Third Chapter and The PIL. One memorable YMCA concert was filmed showing Hancock smashing a redundant semi-acoustic bass, Who-style, in a blistering finale to a hot show. They were not asked back."

Throughout the film, there's an element of "...their reputation preceded them wherever they went." Which gigs were the best -- or most riotous -- and which venues were good for you? (And who were those bands mentioned above -- what they were like? As wild as Unknown Blues, I suspect?)

VM: The Best Gigs we played were The Cellar Club in Dunedin, The Ag Hall Dunedin and a club in Christcchurch. I think it was called Sweethearts. We also played some private dances in Invercargill at Woodend which we ran. They were invitation only and the tickets were about $2.00 each. For this you could drink as much as you could.

After these nights we didn't use brooms to clean the floor. We used Squeegies!!!

Many Invercargill girls lost their "Cherries" at these nights The Third Chapter and The PIL were resident groups at The Cellar Club. They were great musicians and welcomed us to The Cellar. I remember their great parties.

The Dunedin crowds were much different to Invercargill ones. The girls, or some of them, liked to shock. I remember on girl called The Leppy Lady as she was very short, walking into a party in high boots and fur coat. She opened the coat... Stark naked with a very nice figure.. Just one of several memories.

CR: OK, let's talk about that Luftwaffe jacket -- as you probably know, that photo of you wearing it is among the most iconic images associated with the band. As I've mentioned to Dave, and Simon, this is a good 10 years before Johnny Rotten & Co. -- and the New York Dolls, as well -- flirted with such imagery (including the swastika, which we also see in the film).

Obviously, you guys weren't pro-German, or anything like that -- but what motivated you to wear that kind of clothing, and how does it fit into the overall equation of the Unknown Blues' look and sound?

VM: Someone said to me "Don't let the truth get in the way of a good story"... So here is the truth.

We didn't dress or act to upset people. We wore what we wanted to. Dave loved white or yellow and wore leather waist coats. Bari loved jeans and always wore blue suede boots. Rocket wore anything he liked and was very fashion conscious. Wombie changed his style of dress during his time with the Blues but was always tidy and well dressed.. As for me, well, I liked uniform tunics. I had my old school cadet jacket. with Sergeant's stripes which I wore a lot. I also had an old redcoat jacket and ripped the sleeves off as it was too hot on stage.

The Unknown Blues stopped playing in July 1969 and up to that point I didn't own a German tunic. I went up to new Plymouth for four months after that time and during that time bought a German Wehrmacht Cavalry Leutnant's jacket. I thought it looked great. When I returned to Invercargill in November or December we did one or two extra gigs and I wore the tunic on stage during this time. I make the point that it wasn't a Luftwaffe tunic. It was a German army one. Nor was it a "NAZI" tunic, but an ordinary army officer's tunic.

We never played at the RSA according to me extensive band archive. I think the photo was taken at St Mary's. There is no way I would have worn the tunic in an RSA as my father was in German capivity for four years. I was brought up to respect our veterans, not upset them. Hope this clears this up once and for all!!

CR: In retrospect, bands like Chants and Unknown Blues could be considered forerunners of punk -- and the film makes a strong case for that, as well. How do you feel about your association with the term, and the movement that exploded during the mid-'70s (and also resonated strongly in Australia and NZ, too)?

VM: This question just makes me smile. We often used to party before gigs and would go on stage in whatever we were wearing that day more or less. We wern't anti social, in fact I would say we were very social. The girls loved our parties. Some of the snobbie girlfriends of other Invercargill bands would leave their boyfriends and then sneak out to our flat. Yes, we were sometimes drunk in public sometimes but were usually happy drunks..

CR: As I've told Dave, your association with the Antarctic Angels immediately reminded me of another parallel to '70s punk (specifically, the Sex Pistols' diehard fans -- the Bromley Contingent). How did the relationship affect your music, and what did they see in it, from your standpoint?

VM: We were kicking around with a lot of the guys who were later Antarctic Angels before The Antarctic Angels were formed. A lot of these guys loved our music and one by one started buying bikes. Roy Reid, the Founder of The Antarctic Angels, was a close mate and was often our Roadie when we went away. He learnt a bit of guitar and was on stage with us from time to time. RIP, Roy!

CR: Between yourselves and Chants, the talent definitely existed to record an album, or two -- though you primarily did covers, in your own way, and were known primarily as a live phenomenon, Why didn't you achieve more in that arena, you think?

VM: We were never interested in recording. We were a live band. I think when we played there was an excitement which fuelled the crowd which in turn fed back to us and took us up higher. This was not drug fuelled as we weren't into that. We drank a lot but put a good performance above everything.

When we were offered to do sessions for Viking in Christchurch we saw it as an opportunity to get there to play and bracketted the sessions with gigs in Christchurch. I think we spent about four days there. One huge party from beginning to end. We arrived at the recording session after a night of playing and parties. Bari's guitar case was full of beer and someone smuggled in a bottle of whisky..

We were surprised to see some session brass musicians in bow ties there to fatten out the rhythm section. They were really square with bow ties. Man what a circus.. We were doing a cover of John Mayall's "Suspicions" and I laid down a pretty good fat solo. Sounded great but a sax player thought he could do a better one. Had to remind him they were backing musicians on this day.. What a hoot. Later in the day we found a party and then off to play a gig. It was a riot..

CR: What do you think led to Unknown Blues' demise -- did it come down to a lack of an audience for original music, or simply a case of not being able to fend off real life any longer?

VM: The demise of the Unknown Blues came over a few months. I became engaged and wanted to see the North Island. Dave, Phil (Sharman) and Wombie wanted to go to Melbourne.

Bari wanted to stay in Invercargill, although he lived in Melbourne later.

We lost interest to a degree I think. Maybe we were burnt out as we were living in party houses and sometimes the parties would go on for weeks with only brief interludes and playing engagements. Our rehearsals often developed into parties.

CR: How long did you continue playing after the breakup, and is music a significant part of your life today?

VM: After The Unknown Blues broke up I played in another group in Invercargill for about a year. I think The band was called Powerhouse. Bari Fitzgerald was in this band with me along with another friend, Paul Kirkwood, on drums. We played in Dunedin, but by this time The Cellar Club was gone.

I then moved to Dunedin in about 1972. I played as a fill in guitarist for Noah with Steve Brett and Richard Lindsay (a fine guitarist!!)

Around this time I also played with a Group called Roach whose members came from Timaru. Still rock but J. Geils type music. I still have a few guitars around the house and enjoy myself with them, but no more playing (in) public.

CR: How did you react when Simon first approached you about making a documentary about Unknown Blues, since the story had effectively been lost to time (and the memories of the participants involved)?

VM: I was very surprised but became enthusiastic about (the idea). I think it was a great experience.

CR: The chemistry between yourselves come through loud and clear in the film. What other factors do you think made the "classic" lineup (Bari, Dave, Keith, Rocket and yourself) so potent, musically speaking? Did you learn anything new from watching the final product?

VM: Not really, except it was a great week -- there is a chemistry there, but it's hard to define. Rocket's bass and Wombie's drums put down a solid beat and Bari, Dave and I bounced off each other. On a good night a single number could go for two hours. The crowds were all important. It wouldn't have happened in an empty hall.

CR: As the cliche goes -- the reunion footage makes it seem like you'd never been apart. Do you see a day when the Unknown Blues will rise again, or has that day passed, you think?

VM: Not really. maybe four of us will but as for the fifth. Nope I don't think so. I love those guys. We lived through a very special time.

CR: Are there any bands in today's Kiwi scene that you might regard as a kindred spirit?

VM: I really don't know. I have lived in Australia since 1979.

CR: And lastly, the million-dollar question -- any regrets, and what kind of footprint did the Unknown Blues leave on Kiwi music?

VM: No regrets. I think we were all blessed to have been born when we were. We were teens during the pop revolution. What can I say? Met so many wonderful people. It was right in the hippie time and many of those people are lifetime friends all around the world.

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"ANTARCTIC ANGELS/RUMBLE AND BANG" MOVIE POSTER UNKNOWN BLUES IN ACTION...TAKE I UNKNOWN BLUES IN ACTION...TAKE II ANTARCTIC ANGELS, ALL LINED UP IN A ROW... ...AND ENJOYING AN UNGUARDED MOMENT (OR TWO) "ROCKET" HANCOCK TAKES AN AXE (AND GIVES THAT CAR 40 WHACKS...) "WOMBIE" MASON: LIVE@ THE CELLAR CLUB, DUNEDIN, CIRCA 1969
"THIS IS THE STORY FOR MOST BANDS": "ANTARCTIC ANGELS" DVD BRINGS THE UNKNOWN BLUES STORY TO LIFE
Aug 3, 2014

Some of the most fascinating stories -- from a journalistic perspective -- are the ones that don't get told right away. In some cases, though, "right away" is a matter of definition. Just ask the members of Unknown Blues, who tore up New Zealand from December 1966 to June 1970.

Taking their name from a track by the Pretty Things -- whose August 1965 tour, along with a previous outing by the Rolling Stones, provided the jump-off point -- the Unknown Blues and their biker fan following, the Antarctic Angels, burned a permanent footprint into local fans' memories as a loud, wild and rude outfit to reckon with...drinking heavily from the well that yielded Buddy Guy, T-Bone Walker and Muddy Waters...plus the amped-up white blues of Chicken Shack, Cream, and Fleetwood Mac.

And that's where the story sat after the band broke up. Like many local acts, then and now, the Unknown Blues remained a live phenomenon: aside from a couple of sessions that didn't satisfy the parties involved, the Unknown Blues left no recorded footprint behind.

And that's where paths diverged for the classic lineup: lead singer Dave Hogan has continued playing with various bands (Blues Hangover, Southern Lightning, The Paramounts). So does guitarist Bari Fitzgerald, who plays locally -- in and around the band's Invercargill stomping grounds.

The remaining members (bassist John "Rocket" Hancock, drummer Keith "Wmobie" Mason and lead guitarist Vaughan MacKay), on the other hand, left music and got on with real life. If you didn't catch them in their prime, you wouldn't have seen or heard the story -- which filmmaker Simon Ogston has now documented in this snappy, roughly-hour-long documentary.

The resulting DVD ("Antarctic Angels And The Unknown Blues") emerged, as we'll see, while Ogston set about documenting the story of another long-unheralded local New Zealand legend (Chants R&B) for a totally different documentary project ("Rumble & Bang"). From there, nature simply took its course.

But that's perfectly fine, because the Unknown Blues story is more than that of an inspired local band -- although that's the obvious starting point. It's also a great human interest story of five guys who had the time of their lives, but didn't give a damn, and have no regrets now. As far as I'm concerned...that's the perfect exclamation point.

Having stumbled across the story myself, I threw out some fishing lines to Simon, and the band, as well...and this is what emerged. Enjoy...and long live the Unknown Blues!

SIMON OGSTON (7/12/14 INTERVIEW)
CHAIRMAN RALPH (CR): First, tell me a little about yourself: how did you end up in the film business, and what did you do before starting Bellbird Pictures?

SIMON OGSTON (SO): I'm largely self-taught, I started working in TV in 2006 as a reporter, then started Bellbird in 2009 with the intention of making family history films, then went off the rails and started making doco's about underground Kiwi music

CR: You stumbled on the Unknown Blues Band while researching the Chants (story). How did that connection come about?

SO: I was interviewing someone about the Chants R&B and he told me that "if you think these guys were wild, you should check out the Unknown Blues". Up until that point very little was known about the band, just a very brief mention about them and the Antarctic Angels in a few NZ (New Zealand) books. Of course this lack of info added to the band's legend. Everyone who ever saw the group in or around Invercargill in the 1960s has never forgotten them.

CR: In a sense, both bands' stories follow the familiar arc that you see in films like "That Thing You Do!": band forms, gets some local notoriety, makes the odd record, then splits up and gets on with real life. What made you decide that both stories were worth telling?

SO: Yes, this is the story for most bands. I guess I'm interested in groups that pursue their own approach and in the process develop something that is distinctive to NZ rather than just mimicking overseas groups. With the Unknown Blues in particular, the story had basically been lost to time and I thought it was worthy of recording just because it was so out of the ordinary at the time - like in most Western countries, the late '60s were a time of significant social change in NZ.

CR: Tell me a bit about the lone Unknown Blues recording that features in the film -- where did you source that clip, and can you tell me where/when it was recorded?

SO: Somebody recorded that live performance off their radio at home, I'm not sure who. The band did record a few songs in a studio in Christchurch but these were ruined by engineers in bowties who insisted on overdubbing a brass section. The recordings have been lost, probably forever.

CR: The talent was certainly there, so why didn't both bands achieve more, you think, recording-wise? Why didn't they write more original material?

SO: Not sure -- I guess the concept of writing your own music was largely yet to filter into NZ at that point, most bands played exclusively covers, although their versions did differ significantly from the originals.

CR: Although both bands had strong blues/R+B leanings, they arguably fall into the proto-punk category, too...to what extent do you think is this perception accurate, or is it more a case of how "polite" (quote-unquote) New Zealand society viewed such endeavors at the time?

SO: I think the rawness of the Unknown Blues in particular is a connection with punk, a general preference for playing loose and raw rather than technical proficiency.

CR: I'm (also) thinking of the swastika affectations and images like (guitarist) Vaughan McKay playing in the Luftwaffe military jacket -- I'm intrigued at how that sort of imagery surfaced well before Johnny Rotten or the New York Dolls were toying with it.

SO: I guess the desire to provoke a reaction among a generally more conservative society has been around a long time. For most people it was the most shocking thing they could think of. Having said that, I would wager that wearing a Luftwaffe jacket into an Invercargill RSA in 1967 was considerably more dangerous than the exploits of Ron Asheton or Sid Vicious.

CR: As a biographer and historian-type myself, I know -- and so do you -- at how difficult it can be to pin down stories that weren't particularly well documented (or only sketchily documented, at best). What were some of the challenges that you faced in making both these films, and how did you deal with them?

SO: The main challenge, as always, is a lack of any funding. I found most band members' memories were pretty intact and everyone was pretty open about talking about it. Having such a wealth of photos was a real plus. It's a shame there's no film footage in existence.

CR: How's "Antarctic Angels" been received since its release?

SO: The Unknown Blues film has been popular among the gang/band's old cohorts, it's been a great way of bringing some old friends together. I think they're very happy the story has been preserved for posterity

CR: And the million dollar question: what's up next? Your website mentions a documentary on the Skeptics -- how's that coming?

SO: The Skeptics film "Sheen of Gold" is out now on Flying Nun Records, and can be ordered from their website. The next film will be on Phil Dadson and his percussive ensemble From Scratch.

CR: Are you done with music for now, or is there another great cult story somewhere in the pipeline, just waiting to be told?

SO: There's a few things in the works, we'll see what happens...

"...WE WERE MORE THAN READY TO BE CORRUPTED":
DAVE HOGAN RECALLS HIS UNKNOWN BLUES EXPERIENCE (8/02/14)

CR: The Keith Richards comments cited near the beginning of the film ("How the fuck can you stand to live here?") are priceless. What was New Zealand's music scene like before the Stones and the Pretties arrived -- and how did it change, since bands like yourselves (and Chants R&B) clearly drew so much inspiration from both of them?

DAVE HOGAN (DH): In short, very conservative. It was the era of short back and sides haircuts and every member of the Unknown Blues was definitely a “post war” baby. I was the baby of the band, born in 1949. When we heard The Pretty Things and Rolling Stones it was like nothing we had ever head before. On top of that they looked like nothing we had seen before and we more than ready to be corrupted.

CR: What other bands and/or musicians proved influential in your development as a frontman, and a harp player?

DH: Before the British R&B bands I personally loved early rock and roll. Elvis, Jerry Lee, Little Richard, Gene Vincent, etc. So that was the initial musical grounding.

CR: One of the fascinating elements in Simon's film, to me, is how those harder-edged London blues/rock sounds traveled so far away. What accounts for the appeal of that music, in your mind, and what kind of effect did it exert on the local scene?

DH: Like everywhere else in the world at that time there seemed to be the thought that you were either a Stones or Beatles person. New Zealand was no exception. There were plenty of conservatives and plenty of rebellious extroverts – the Unknown Blues definitely fell into the later category.

CR: Other than those Stones/Pretty Things tour stops -- what, do you feel, was the catalyst in your own band's formation?

DH: At school I was asked by the vocational guidance officer what I wanted to be. To which I replied a singer in a rock and roll band. I was about 14 years old at the time, so I guess what I did was a given.

CR: Throughout the film, there's definitely an element of "...their reputation preceded them, everywhere they went." What were some of the best and/or most riotous gigs, in your opinion? The best venues?

DH: The Cellar Club in Dunedin was always fantastic and our first ever gig at a Christmas Bible Class Dance in Invercargill was probably the most riotous and set the precedent for things to come.

CR: In many respects, you and the Chants could be considered proto-punk forerunners -- albeit with strong R&B leanings -- to what extent is this accurate, you feel, or does it say more about how "polite" New Zealand society viewed such goings-on? 

DH: Back in the 60’s a “punk” was prison term for young men who provided sexual favours to other prisoners. We definitely didn’t fall into that category, however I did enjoy the attitude of the Sex Pistols, New York Dolls, etc, when they provided “punk” with a new definition a decade later.

CR: I'm thinking, in particular, of some the more compelling images in the film, particularly Vaughn wearing that Luftwaffe jacket. -- a good 10 years before Johnny Rotten & Co. flirted likewise with such imagery (and six years if you count Johnny Thunder's swastika T-shirt -- don't know if you've seen that photo).

Obviously, you guys weren't fascists, but how does that imagery fit into the equation of the Unknown Blues' look, and sound?

DH: We like to provoke not just with our music but also with how we looked. Alongside Vaughan’s German Gear there were yellow jeans, pink Denim Jackets and our bass player “Rocket” was known to borrow clothing from his eldest sister’s wardrobe – and that was way before Boy George.

CR: Your adoption by the Antarctic Angels is another interesting element -- right away, I thought of the Bromley Contingent's early loyalty to the Sex Pistols as another common element with punk. What do you think the Angels saw in your music?

DH: Those guys were our neighbours, school friends and relatives. They were also up against the system and it seemed only natural that we fell in together and got into some very hard partying.

CR: Between you and Chants, the talent definitely existed to record a full album or two -- you were known mainly as a live phenomenon, so why didn't you achieve more in the vinyl realm, you think?

DH: The Unknown Blues were taken into a recording studio by a representative/manager from Viking Records and laid down two tracks for a proposed single. The tracks scrubbed up pretty well, but the record company representatives decided that we were a bit too rough and ready to be launched onto the New Zealand scene as potential pop star material.

CR: What factors led to the band's breakup?  Towards the end, as the Audio Culture entry on Unknown Blues makes clear, you had a fair amount of lineup changes -- was it a case of breaking up the original chemistry, or a lack of a wider audience for original music?

DH: Rocket left the band to move to another city. Vaughan got engaged to be married and plain and simple the gigs had dropped off.

CR: Looking back, what kind of imprint did Unknown Blues leave behind on the Kiwi rock scene?

DH: Internationally known Punk Chris Knox of Flying Nun records has said that we were a direct influence. Thanks Chris. Also, we have been mentioned in a couple of books on the history of New Zealand Rock and Roll. And Hell! We have been inducted into the World’s Southernmost Hall of Fame.

CR: How did you feel when Simon first approached you about making a documentary about the Unknown Blues' life and times? I imagine that you had to be surprised, since the story had effectively been lost to time.

Were there any surprises, for you, in terms of what people remembered (or didn't remember -- this being the '60s, after all)? What does Antarctic Angels say about the era in which Unknown Blues existed?

DH: First off, I thought Simon was stark raving mad to even suggest such an idea. I mean, who gave a shit about us? Then when I met and spoke to Simon he proved to be the nicest guy in the world and somehow he convinced me that such a project made perfect sense. I am so grateful he did.

CR: Seeing the reunion footage makes plain that -- as the old cliche goes -- it's like you'd never been apart. 

Do you see a day when the band will play again, or has an exclamation point has effectively been put on Unknown Blues' existence for good?

DH: Playing with the Unknown Blues again after a break of 40 years was truly one of my life’s highlights. However, as much as I would like it happen again, I wouldn’t put any money on it.

CR: Obviously, playing with a guy like John Stax keeps a foothold with your roots. What are your current musical influences, and how do you see yourself fitting -- or not fitting in, as the case may be -- with what's happening now? What's your favorite record of all the ones that you've made since the Unknown Blues era?

DH: I still love the Blues, The Stones and The Pretty Things, so what I play really hasn’t changed at all since I started. I love them all, but here is the time to plug a live album that Southern Lightening have just recorded. It contains all the good old stuff and it should be out by the end of this year.

CR: Lastly, any regrets -- or did everything happen for a reason, in the end? 


DH: I have always refused to regret anything, mistakes and all. Rock on everyone.

LINKS TO GO
AUDIO CULTURE: CHANTS R&B PROFILE: http://www.audioculture.co.nz/people/chants-r-b

THE UNKNOWN BLUES PROFILE: http://www.audioculture.co.nz/people/the-unknown-blues

BELLBIRD PICTURES: http://www.bellbirdpictures.co.nz/

DAVE HOGAN'S MELTDOWN: http://www.davehogansmeltdown.com/

THE SOUTHLAND TIMES: "Unknown Blues Band A Blast From The Past": http://www.stuff.co.nz/southland-times/culture/5687368/Unknown-Blues-band-a-blast-from-the-past

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“I OFTEN THINK OF HIM WHEN I PLAY IT...”: HOWARD PICKUP RMEMBERED, 15 YEARS LATER
Dec 26, 2012

Like many charter members of Punk Rock's Year Zero, John Howard Boak's impact proved all too brief – but what a resume he acquired, as one-quarter of the original Adverts, who remain one of the era's most influential underdogs. Renaming himself after the loudest part of a guitar, Boak – now known to the world as Howard Pickup -- carved out his own unique sonic vapor trail on the band's two albums, CROSSING THE RED SEA WITH THE ADVERTS (1978), and its greatly underrated, but equally worthwhile followup, CAST OF THOUSANDS (1979).

In many ways, the Adverts were punk's archetypal “here today, gone next year” story, bookended by two markedly contrasting halves. Where the first album emerged to a near-universal ecstatic reception, the band's main songwriter, TV Smith, freely acknowledges that the critically-pummeled CAST OF THOUSANDS was a bridge-burning, scorched-earth sequel – a declaration of independence from the 1-2-FREE-FOAH! Formula that his peers had perfected in '76 and '77, but also recorded during a time of heavy indebtedness, and precious little help from its new label, RCA.

The band's last recorded gasp, “Cast Of Thousands”/”I Will Walk You Home,” appeared in November 1979 – and, like its parent album, slipped out to indifference and yawns from the public. The B-side, in particular, “had one foot hanging over the outer edge of what most people would call 'punk',” Smith wryly observes, in his sleevenotes for THE PUNK SINGLES COLLECTION (1997). “For most of our fans that particular walk – from Cast Of Thousands to One Chord Wonders – was the one they weren't prepared to make.”

By then, the Adverts no longer existed to kick around, anyway, disbanding after a final gig on October 27, 1979, at Slough College. Smith would endure numerous setbacks to continue his career, but the world would hear no more from Howard Pickup – who'd simply stopped coming to rehearsals a few months before the end,. He never joined another band, and never again lent his telltale spidery guitar parts to a different outfit, or one-off project. That was then, this was now, and he'd simply had enough.

The rock 'n' world heard no more from Howard until his untimely death from a brain tumor, aged 46, on June 11, 1997. (Some online sources give the date as November 7, 1997, but I'm positive that this is wrong – I was writing for Goldmine at the time, and if I recall correctly, the fall date coincides with the issue in which his death was announced. The BBC Channel 4 documentary, “We Who Wait,” puts the timeline at two months after he got his diagnosis, in May 1997. I think I'll put my money on Auntie Beeb here.)

Most chroniclers are quite happy to quit there, and call it a day. However, if you have any sense of curiosity – then and now, an absolute must for success as a writer – your gut suggests that there's always a good human interest story around the corner. In this case, I found myself wondering what Howard's life after the Adverts felt like. How did he look back on the whole experience?

Did Howard ever see one of the many punk documentaries that have splashed across our TV and cinema screens in recent years, and feel a twinge of “what have been”? If so, was it enough to jump-start the interest again? I found an answer while circling the Internet – and reached out to a gent who came back with an insightful slant on all these questions, one that could only have come from someone with knowledge of the person involved.

Read the answers for yourself, and make up your own mind. If nothing else, this particular entry should get us all thinking about the other side of fame – and its effects on those people who don't jump back in the barrel after having their proverbial day in the sun.

Thanks to Steve H. for his recollections, and also, for providing the attached photo. This entry is also dedicated to Tim Cross, who died this summer from cancer, and played such a pivotal role in the Adverts' life and times – not only on CAST OF THOUSANDS, but many of TV Smith's subsequent solo outings, as well. RIP to him, and Howard – a part of the Adverts, now and forever.

MEMORIES OF HOWARD PICKUP (STEVE H.: 12/10/12)
I am happy to say that Howard was a great friend of mine who I miss a lot.

After the Adverts finished he moved to Kingston, which is south of London and worked as a taxi driver before starting his own courier company. I met him when he employed me as a driver and at first we were just worked together, but soon became friends as we seemed to share the same sense of humour and similar interests -- he was an extremely funny chap.

I had worked for him for quite a few months before he mentioned his music past. He had left all that behind him and wasn't interested in playing and didn't really have anything good to say about his time in music. I was never really a fan of punk, so when he lent me copies of the old albums I did my best to get into them, but as I say, it wasn't really my kind of thing.

He was very much into fitness and he and I would go jogging in Richmond Park and even took up doing weights, but I soon lost interest in that.

His interest in music returned when he and I visited a music shop and saw a demonstration of some of the new types of equipment that was around and suddenly he had to have it. He managed to get some money out of the company and brought himself a Roland U20 keyboard that was linked to a PC and we spent many happy hours trying to figure out how it worked. We were old analog boys and this was the new digital stuff. It took us a while, but we got it all working and put a few things together..... If you know of this kind of equipment you will know that it very easy to make loops that sound great........ but only to the people making them.

One day he decided he wanted to play guitar again so after work we drove into London and he brought a (Japanese) Fender Strat, but he found it difficult to get back into playing, so the guitar was soon put behind a door and forgotten.

I worked with him for 4 or 5 years before moving on to other things, but we kept in touch and would speak on the phone every few weeks. He called me one day and asked if I wanted to buy all his music gear as he had completely lost interest. So the next time I visited him I left with most of what he had. Much of it was out of date, but the Fender is still my main guitar and I often think of him when I play it.

As I mentioned, Howard was very fit. He didn't smoke and drank very little, so I was very shocked and saddened when he suddenly became very sick. Even after all these years I can still get quite upset when I think back to that time. I wasn't able to spend much time with him as my Father was also dying at the same time.

I didn't go to his funeral, but there was a get-together at his house for all his friends. When I am in that part of the country I often drive down his road and look at the house where he and I had so many laughs.

He was buried in Carnforth which is a long way from where I live, but I promised myself that one day I would make the journey and 2 years ago I did. I found his grave and spent a few moments remembering a great friend.

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L-R: JIM, DAVID & WALLY (Photo By Mark Oliff) BEAT OF THE BEAST GIG POSTER, LATE '88 YOUR HUMBLE NARRATOR (..ON A GOOD NIGHT OUT, AFTER THE BAND SPLIT UP: 1993)) YOUR HUMBLE NARRATOR: EARLY '90s
A DRUM BEAT BEHIND BOOK EXCERPTS (PT. TWO): A NIGHT WITH WALLY NIGHTINGALE
Nov 25, 2010
"ANY CHANCE OF SOME MONEY UP FRONT"?: EDITOR'S NOTE
History is written by the winners, and rock 'n' roll is no exception. The late Sex Pistols guitarist Wally Nightingale looms large in our "coulda been a contender" file, since information about him is hard to come by...sacked as the classic Sex Pistols lineup began to emerge in 1975, he essentially fell off the map thereafter, save for the odd fleeting glimpse or two that he left behind.

If you've seen Alex Cox's SID & NANCY (1986), you'll meet a character named "Wally Hairstyle." Glen Matlock's account (I WAS A TEENAGER SEX PISTOL: 1991) contains some interesting anecdotes, and -- even though the abbreviated version of Wally's given name (Warwick) translates into Brit slang for "idiot" -- he definitely doesn't come across that way in the two interviews that I've seen from Jon Savage's book, ENGLAND'S DREAMING (2002), and his ROCK COMPACT DISC chat from 1993 (posted on the God Save The Sex Pistols website, www.sex-pistols.net/). I haven't seen an obituary for him, although he apparently died on the eve of the Sex Pistols reunion tour in 1996 (if someone can confirm or rule out this information, this site would appreciate it).

Other than those tidbits I've mentioned, that's it...which makes our latest excerpt all the more fascinating for the questions that David raises about the machinery of fame. Why do some people seem to catch all the breaks, while others get chewed up, and spat out? How do those who don't cross the finish line deal with the inevitable "what might have been" feelings? And finally, what does their treatment say about ourselves, and how rock 'n' roll mythology is shaped for masss consumption? Answers on a postcard, please...otherwise...I'll get out of the way, and let you get on with your reading!


A DRUM BEAT BEHIND, CHAPTER SIX:
The Wally Nightingale story (Edited/adapted excerpt)

For my twenty-fourth birthday, in the April of 1988, I went out with the band for a daytime drink in Camden Town, North London. Drinking with us was Wally Nightingale, a strange guy who I’d met at the 100 Club just a few weeks earlier. He’d been standing talking to the Sex Pistols Glen Matlock and the legendary British DJ John Peel. At first I was more interested in meeting John Peel, as I’d met Matlock before in the toilets at a Damned gig back in 1979. At this point I hadn’t clocked Wally but once I had my mind started working and I asked him if he wanted join me for my birthday pissup.

In the early '70s Wally Nightingale, along with two of his schoolmates, had started a band, The Strand or The Swankers. Later, on Malcolm McLaren's suggestion that they get rid of Wally, he was kicked out and replaced by Johnny Rotten.

On the day Wally arrived pretty messed up, holding a briefcase that contained an assortment of drugs – including cocaine and speed. Behind Wally’s back I kept saying to everyone. “Wally's such a fucking wally.” And I really thought he was, but as I needed him for my plan, I just put up with him and we all got shitfaced.

We left the bar sometime late afternoon and made our way to the back of London Zoo. We all climbed over a high barbed wire fence, not having a fucking clue what animal lived in the enclosure and jumping into. This wasn’t such an easy climb, not for the not so agile Wally, so together Big Jim and Joe pulled him over and we got in for free. As I stood with Wally drunkenly watching the penguins I asked him if he wanted to guest at one of our gigs, he said yes, I jumped in with the penguins and we later set about putting my plan into action.

A few days after my birthday while sitting around his house, where he still lived with his mum in Shepherd's Bush, West London. We all sat drinking tea while Wally told us stories about when he roadied for the Clash, his pre-Pistols days and the time he spent in prison for possession of Class A drugs. He also told us that he’d written the Sex Pistols song: “Did You Know No Wrong,” but was never credited on it. While standing with him and his mum in there garden, he said to me that not being a famous Sex Pistol had played a part in his nervous breakdown. At the time I didn’t realise that what I was planning, was going to end up as such an historical piece of punk history. But apart from mentioning that he’d hung around with Sid Vicious, this is pretty much all I can remember about what Wally told us.

We had a gig booked at the hometown Castle on the 20th of April 1988 and I wanted Wally to guest on two songs for our encore. I knew that our fans would turn out in force, as we hadn’t played there since December, four months previously. This was going to be so different, it was Porky's debut as our new/fifth member, and Wally, the living legend onstage with us as well. All that Wally had to do was learn two covers, the Ramones's “Blitzkrieg Bop,” and “Born To Lose,” by Johnny Thunders; it was as simple as that! As we went to leave his house he whispered in my ear.

“Any chance of some money up front.”

Not prepared for this I simply said, “No.” And we left. For this gig I sent the press just a small flyer of our poster. Over background pictures of ourselves it read: “The Beat of the Beast, with very special guest Wally Nightingale of the Sex Pistols.” This was only 10 years after the Sex Pistols had split up and they were still big business, and as far as I’m aware we were the only other band Wally played in. Although he did tell me he’d worked with the avant-garde New York band Suicide. But he may have made that up.

Before the big night we paid one more visit to Wally's house and while passing his bedroom on my way to take a piss, I noticed that on his wall he had one of our posters. As shivers ran down my spine, I noticed Wally had added a picture of himself to it. I then felt really bloody sorry for the man because he actually had nothing going for him at all, apart from being the punk rock version of Pete Best, the original Beatles drummer before Ringo Star. This broken man was the only other person in the whole world, apart from Paul Cock and Steve Jones, that could honestly say: I started the Sex Pistols. He never fulfilled his dreams and the whole situation had completely turned around. It was Wally who needed us and it must’ve been really important to him. I remember thinking, bollocks! What the fuck have I got myself into?

The day of the gig arrived and so did Wally with his guitar case in hand. He brought us unseen video clips of the Sex Pistols, but we never got to see them because we were all to out of it by the end of the night. After setting up Wally frantically tried to hold down a chord on his guitar but as his hands were shaking so much, he only managed to make a horrible fucking racket. Big Joe eventually shouted out:

“Wally, will you shut the fuck up.” And then, said nicely: “What song do you wanna do first?” This was our soundcheck come first rehearsal with Wally and he replied to Big Joe, saying. “Blitz Bop.” Before he’d even had time to shut his mouth we all shouted out together: “It's fucking 'Blitzkrieg Bop!'” And in Dee Dee Ramone style, I shouted out “1-2-3-4,” and we all went straight into the song, apart from Wally. We were all looking at each other as we realised that our Wally didn’t know the song and for once not one of us said a fucking word. It turned out that he didn’t know either of the songs, so Big Joe tried to show him but he just didn’t get it! Once Wally was up onstage for the encore, he played fret wanker fiddly guitar parts over the songs. But because everyone was drunk and having a good time, this was kind of un-noticed by most of the two hundred people in the audience.

Later the same night I found out that Wally wasn’t such a wally after all and we ended up having a really great time. He was very sensitive and a really nice guy, but he was lost in the what might’ve been head fucks that had been going around in his mind for far too long. As far as I know, this was the end of his musical days, but at least he managed to end his story with a small piece of glory. Sadly after this night, I never got around to seeing him again. The famous Wally Nightingale died in 1996 from drug related complications.

The four original members of The Beat of the Beast are all still alive, Vince the singer is an artist and part-time postman, living in Romford, Essex. Both Big Jim and Joe have lived in Canada for the last 20 years; Porky, the fith member, sadly died on New Year's Day 1999, and I’m living in Upton Park, East London. Today I hold down a full-time job working in a music college, I’m a photographer/artist.

ROLL THE CREDITS, THEN...
For David's limited edition handscreen prints: www.hipposcreenprinters.
For David's photography and designs, visit: www.artificialdesigns.co.uk.
Fancy saying hello? Then visit: facebook.com/davidappsphotography.
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First photo session, Kings Road, Chelsea, either late 1983, or early 1984.  Left to right: Big Jim, Big Joe, Vince, David. Circa 1986-87. Left to right: David, Big Jim, Vince, Big Joe, Porky.
A DRUM BEAT BEHIND: DAVID APPS Q&A+BOOK EXCERPTS (PT. ONE)
Nov 19, 2010
As we all know, the best (and worst) things fall completely out of the blue...happily, this Q&A/excerpt from drummer David Apps and his band, Beat Of The Beast, falls into the former category. Late one night, I was using my Googlin' fingers to find out more about Wally Nightingale, the original "almost"-Sex Pistol...and, to my surprise, learning that he did manage one outburst of musical activity with Beat Of The Beast, in 1989...which is how David's name came up.

Not running across this tidbit before, I naturally had to email the man himself, and here's part I of David's punk rockin' adventures with Beat of the Beast. That should whet your appetites for Part II, where David covers that night in all its myth-bustin', punk-rockin', pulse-poundin' detail. David isn't playing music these days, but remains active as an artist: see www.artificialdesigns.co.uk for the lowdown. He's also got limited edition prints available here: www.hipposcreenprinters. If you simply want to say hello, cruise over to his Facebook page, and send a message accordingly to: facebook.com/davidappsphotography.

Chairmanralph.com is proud to present these excerpts from David's book, "A Drum Beat Behind," which (to my knowledge) haven't seen the light of day before. Without further ado, we open with our email Q&A exchanges, and proceed to the excerpts...note to those sitting in the publishers' chairs: wake up, and give this guy a break! Enough said.

CHAIRMAN RALPH (CR): OK, as you say on your my space: Beat Of The Beast helped kick-start the punk scene in Brentwood, such as it was.  What kind of neighborhood was it, exactly, and what kind of scene sprang up in its wake? 

DAVID APPS (DA): To start with I didn’t write the MySpace information, The Beat of the Beast's guitarist, Joe, did. What he was saying is that we all came together in a crowd, drunk, played and eventually took over a bar/venue called the Castle and made the town we lived in, like no other. To a lot of people it’s legendary and it was The Beat of the Beast and myself who made it what it was, fucking mental!

Originally, I came from Hammersmith, West London. Coincidentally, the same part of London that Wally Nightingale lived, but this is not where our paths crossed. I moved out of London around 1964/65 to Thames Estuary, Essex, and the dead end streets of a place called Corringham. I was a hyper child, unable to sit still and by the early '70s I’d been labeled as a special child, special meaning I was fucking stupid. I was taken out of my school and put into what was known then as a remedial school, a school for kids with learning difficulties. I was picked on for being dumb, but that didn’t last long because as soon as anyone took the piss out of me, I started to lash and started fighting back. I felt that I was useless and this is why I found music and the dream of being in a band. Music was my only escape.

While still at school in my early teens, by chance in December 1976 I sat and watched the Thames television program with Bill Grundy as he interviewed a then-unknown band called the Sex Pistols, and the rest is history. By November 1978, I moved to another Essex town called Brentwood. Here I met two older punks and from here on the timeline of punks started to grow. I worked my way up the punk rock ladder amongst our scene, and made it to the top. Brentwood today is a wealthy commuter town, just a half hour train journey out of London, but in the late '70s and through to the very early '90s it was full of interesting, odd, arty, violent and fucked up individuals who all came together and had a lot of fucking fun.

By the time I’d reached 35, I was still academically crap so I set out to turn my life around and decided to write a book on my upside down life. At the same time I was teaching myself to read and write and at nearly 47, it’s almost completed and I’ve achieved what I set out to do. Below is an excerpt from Chapter Six of my book, A DRUM BEAT BEHIND, written by Mark Oliff, who managed The Beat of the Beast.


FAME? A CLASSIC ROCK 'N' ROLL DEATH AWAITS!
By Mark Oliff

I first remember seeing David in the summer of 1979. He was hard to miss as he walked along the street wearing creepers, a kilt, Seditionaries cheesecloth, leather jacket, white face and black spiked hair. This was at the tail end of the '70s and punk ruled the world, well, our world at least. I was a Stranglers fan and for David it was the Sex Pistols. I remember drinking in The Castle and seeing him with his friends, all of them looking good. Coloured hair, makeup, safety-pinned shirts and lots of girls! The first time I spoke to him was after Adam and the Ants in December 1980, after that we used to meet up at gigs, train stations, parties, clubs and the Castle.

It all seems a bit hazy now but somewhere between 1980 and 1990 there were innumerable times when I would have not been in the least bit surprised if I were to hear that David was dead. In fact, I was mentally prepared for the time. (If in reality I would have been is another matter). I had a scenario worked out in my head. I am in The Castle, someone comes in and says to me “David’s dead”... “Oh, really, what a surprise... do you want a drink?” I reply. If that sounds callous it’s not meant to be, you see we all knew what he was capable of.

During this time David was about as extreme as one person could be: drink, drugs, self abuse, fights, cuts, scars, broken bones, broken drum kits, smashed windows and many dentist appointments. Finding out that David had, “Got into a fight last night, was in hospital, had 10 stitches somewhere on his body or had shagged a horse” was a common occurrence.

All throughout the '80s David was a bundle of pent-up frustration, unable to express himself verbally, short temper, short attention span and very impatient. Here are some examples: “This won’t work.” SMASH! “I’m bored”(jumps backwards through closed pub window). “Don’t touch my hair/hat” (someone does). PUNCH ! “I don’t want to rehearse anymore” (breaks drumsticks in half and proceeds to stab them through the skins). A comment from a gang of Mods/Casuals/Teddy Boys/Skinheads along the lines of “Wanker, punk's shit” would have David wading into the lot on his own. He usually got hurt but not always. Whatever the outcome his pride was intact and point made. He would always stand his ground and stand up for his beliefs and friends 100%. These were violent times if you were a punk rocker. Looking different usually meant taking a beating, getting chased all over town and not being allowed into pubs. This is why we all hung out in (at the time) a notorious biker’s pub. They didn’t mind us and we didn’t bother them, in fact, we crossed cultures, as punks liked Motorhead and bikers the Ramones. We also swapped our drugs, poppers and speed, for blues and acid. It’s not like today when you can pretty much get a job in a bank with pink hair and a pierced nose.

David is a walking contradiction. Larger than life, almost like a cartoon. In The Beat of the Beast when he smashed his drums up it was never in some rock ‘n’ roll imitation of Keith Moon or Rat Scabies; it was out of pure frustration. You see David has that unidentifiable “something” about him (it’s probably honesty). He also has a big grin, a big heart and is one of the funniest people I know. We all wanted to make it in a band and the fact that it didn’t happen for David probably saved his life.


YOU'VE HEARD THE NAME...
CR: What (if any) aims did you have -- to be just a good neighborhood/local band, or did you have something more ambitious in mind?  Who were your main musical influences?

DA: As a band the four individuals all wanted the same thing, to take over the world. We had fuck all, so we wanted music to be our living. But what we achieved on our amazing six-year journey was to course total chaos, without ever compromising once. I/we hated what punk had become, the postcard, red Mohican, Exploited shit. We believed in change and moving on, still with our punk beliefs and attitude, because to us what was what punk was about. By 1982 punk had lost its way and had been taken over by the people who just two or three years earlier had been giving the early punks a beating for the way we looked. Football, racism and narrow-minded punx with an x destroyed the very thing that they thought they were part of.

...NOW MEET THE BAND!
The writing below is taken from Chapter Six, A DRUM BEAT BEHIND, the introduction to the members of The Beat of the Beast.

Vince was on vocals, a fun loving quiet individual, bordering on shy until he’d sunk a few drinks and let his inhibitions go. He then became a female letch, only with great charm. He always looked good, he was handsome, intelligent and a level-headed, likeable man aged 22. He spoke out if need be and over the coming years proved to be an excellent songwriter, frontman and friend. He worked in London's West End for PRS, the Performing Rights Society. His job was sorting out the royalty payments for songs played on television and radio. He was in the music business, bang smack in the heart of London. Because of this I really thought we had that foot in the door, “it's not what you know but who you know” type of thing. How naive I must’ve been? I had a lot to learn.

Jim Guttersnipe, or Big Jim as he was known, was the bass player. A six foot two, massive Herman Munster-built giant aged only 15 years old. Big Jim was a gentle giant (that’s how the police described him after releasing him from a night in the cells.) He’d been arrested in a street fight after battering two grown men who’d started on him. He was an inquisitive, fun-loving, boisterous, clumsy, funny and loveable character. He became my constant companion and guardian angel. Hearing his deep booming chuckle of a laugh always brought a smile to my face and at times we were inseparable. When pushed to the limit, Big Jim could quite easily explode and when he did, it was time to run for cover.

Joe Guttersnipe, or Big Joe as he was known, was the guitarist. A six-foot, massive honey monster-built giant aged 17. As brothers, Big Jim and Joe had the same characters, but Big Joe was even more boisterous.

He once said to me: “When I was at school I thought my name was Get Off!” Joe just wouldn’t leave you alone. He was constantly mucking fuddling his words or as he called it, talking in his joined up speaking. He was extremely funny; fun-loving when happy, but when down, Big Joe became unpredictable, a time bomb just waiting to explode. And when he did, as with Big Jim it was again time to run for cover. As time passed it became apparent that Big Jim and Joe were targets in this world of small town gigs we were about to embark on. The majority of the time it was a gang of lads fighting a solitary giant, but Big Jim and Joe never backed down.

Myself, if I’ve been doing a good job of writing this book you will already know all about. I’m the drummer, aged 19, and less than three months away from leaving my teens forever.

As for our musical influences, we were all into the early punk scene and mostly the British side of punk. We all liked the Clash, Sex Pistols, Ramones and the New York Dolls. Vince was heavily into early Adam & the Ants, Big Jim liked Motorhead, Big Joe Chelsea and Roxy Music and for myself, it was Johnny Thunders. We took all our influences and mashed them all together, musically and visually. It’s funny, because with the benefit of hindsight, I really don’t know how we got away with it. It was English eccentricity at its fucking best!


YOU'VE SEEN THE GIGS...
CR: Besides the one-off with Wally, what were some of your more memorable gigs that Beat of the Beast played?

DA: There are loads of memorable gigs, but these are mostly for the trouble. For a time we had a large loyal following and playing in front of fans that were going mad was so much better than playing in front of just the four members of the support band and a man with his dog! But it was a gig in France that stands out the most, for me!

...WHAT HAPPENS BEHIND THE SCENES, EXACTLY?
Edited excerpt from Chapter Six: A DRUM BEAT BEHIND.

On the 19th of February, 1986, I fractured my wrist in a fight and the following day – without any sleep, at seven a.m. – 10 of us headed off to France. To start with the French customs became suspicious and pulled us all in for questioning. They along with the French gendarmes (police) escorted Big Jim and Joe away and 10 minutes later they both walked back to us laughing.

“We've just been strip-searched,” Big Jim started to explain while Big Joe talked over him and said. “They looked up Jim's bum but when they saw my soiled underpants they decided to let me go.”

One by one we were all taken off and received the same treatment, even the two girls were inspected up close. This was odd as no one ever got stopped leaving England while traveling into Europe; it was always when coming back into the UK that suspicious-looking characters were stopped. It was fucking ridiculous, who in their right mind would risk taking something out of England when you can pretty much get whatever you like once you are in Europe?

After driving for around an hour the temperature had fallen and it had started to bloody snow. We pulled over and opened the back door to find Big Jim, Joe and the roadie sat in the pitch black huddled together for warmth. Even Big Joe's sacred bottle of Coca Cola was frozen solid. After building their bedding up over then we went to pull off the curb to rejoin the road and hit a metal signpost. This was like a great big tin opener and it ripped a hole in the side of the van. We called it a small hole when talking to Big Jim and Joe, trying to make things sound better than they really were.

“At least you have some light coming in now,” I said, and then shut up before one of them hit me. It was big enough to get your arm through and once we finally got going again the snow came in and settled on all our equipment.

Once we arrived at our hotel Big Jim and little me fell out and had a fight at the top of the staircase. To start with Big Jim bunched me straight in the face. This was a good hit as he’d got me straight in my black eye. All 15 stone of my good friend, the jolly giant Jim, knocked me backwards and all that was holding me upright was my bad hand grasping hold of the banister rail. As I pulled myself upright we started to fight and I was told after that while I was going for it we’d came close to going over, if not through, the banisters. We soon made up and went to do our live radio interview.

We all sat in the studio with the French DJ in front of us playing one of our songs. He then explained we were from England, just outside of London, and that the gig was going out live on air. I sat looking around and left Big Joe and Vince to do all the talking. After one or two hard to understand questions the DJ then said...

“Do you have a message for the French listeners?” Vince, using his great British sense of humor, replied and said:

”Yes, stop blowing up Greenpeace boats.” All of a sudden there was silence and then someone entered the soundproofed room and talked in raised whispers as another one of our songs came on. On June the 10th, 1985, the French had blown up a Greenpeace boat, the Rainbow Warrior, while in French waters. This was fucking great! Vince had hit a nerve, but that was the end and the interview was cut short. The promoters later told us that strait after the comment the radio station put out an apology, and that probably saved us from being eaten alive by the anti-Greenpeace French.

At our soundcheck I managed to fall off the back of the stage and landed two meters below. I thought I’d broken my fucking back and I couldn’t move. As luck had it I wasn’t crippled, but I’d landed on my coccyx and if you’ve ever hurt your coccyx before then you might feel for me a bit here. The coccyx, or tailbone as it’s known, is the triangular bony thing found at the bottom of the vertebral column, just at the top of your bum crack. And not only was I in complete fucking agony when I did eventually get up again, I could only walk if I was bent over like an old man, I was fucked! But I still played.

We all had our own copy of the setlist but Big Jim had lost his so he was using Big Joe’s, which turned out to be different from Vince’s and mine. Big Jim had started playing one song along with Big Joe while Vince and me were playing another. We all started looking at each other but carried on regardless. I was looking over at the roadie who was standing picking his nose unaware of the chaos that was happening onstage. The nose picking along with our fuckup had started to make me laugh, so I just continued and made it up as we went along. No one even bloody noticed. The venue was packed and we’d had a fucking great audience reaction all the way through our set. We played two encores and finally left the stage at around twenty past two in the morning.

The following day with hangovers from Hell we were taken out for breakfast/lunch by the promoters. I couldn’t lie down, sit up or walk with out being uncomfortable and in fucking pain. I only had my bloody creepers with me so this made walking on the snow and ice almost impossible. Everyone was in shops looking about when all of a sudden a French skinhead came around a corner and bunched me straight in the face, I slipped on the ice, hit my head on the ground and was knocked out cold. At the same time, with his skinhead uniformed steel toe-capped boot, he kicked me straight in the fucking coccyx. As I came around I remember seeing Big Joe spraying the skinhead in the face with a can of CS gas. The French skinhead’s English wasn’t that good and while he was holding his eyes, he just kept saying, “Thank you, thank, you.”

After everything that had happened on the way home we ended up in the middle of the English Channel in an appalling storm. Everyone threw up and I had it all down my last clean-ish T-shirt. The storm was relentless and everyone was so relieved when we finally arrived at the cost of England. We were then told that due to the extreme weather conditions only cars were allowed off the boat while HGV lorries and vans would had to stay on because it was too dangerous for them to leave the boat. The captain then announced that he was going to be turning around and heading back to France. I couldn’t fucking believe what I was hearing, England was next to me outside the fucking porthole. The boat normally carried so many thousands of people and it was empty apart from over wait lorry drivers and our selves. Once the ghost ship left port we had a drink at the bar and made conversation with the bewildered lorry drivers telling them our story, this one that you’re reading now.
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