Poster Boy For The UK Underground

A frequent punishment for us 'fags' (new boys) at the 2nd division British public school I was made to attend was to get up at morning bell (7.20am) and run a couple of miles to another house across town. Wake up a crabby senior boy, get him to sign a chit, hoof it back, shower, and be ready for breakfast at 8am. If your transgression was bad enough, you might have to run to three different houses and if you didn't make it back in time for breakfast, you'd have do it again the following day and so on. Until you got it 'right'.

These were known as 'tish calls' because one had to visit a 'partition' in a dormitory where a boy was supposed to be able to sleep soundly without being molested. These sadistic penalties would be handed out by some little Hitler or senior creep (most likely a junior municipal politician or ambulance-chaser in-the-making) because one might have talked during prep or polished their shoes inadequately.

If a senior boy had a menial task that was 'beneath' him, all he had to do was yell "FAG!" and the first year lads (three of us) would have to sprint down the corridor toward the source. If you were the last to reach him, you got the job. It blew, and basically you just had to ride it out until it was your turn to terrorize some other poor kid four years hence. This was a school where you had to have your trouser pockets sewn up so you couldn't slouch around with your hands in them. Young gentlemen in the making, ha!

One day, I stole a copy of something a senior boy had left in an area forbidden to us lowly scum. It was called International Times, and I think it belonged to Martin Atkins. He was probably the coolest guy in the house at the time simply by virtue of possessing the Small Faces' 'Tin Soldier' in a picture sleeve. It didn't take much. I was deemed a miserable little toe-rag. My parents had sent me - a soccer player - to a school that played fucking rugby, a barbarian sport for thugs and thickos. Just about the only thing that offered me any solace was knowing I already had a better record collection than all of them put together, thanks to my uncle who worked for Decca. None of them had a test pressing of the first Them album or, for that matter, 'A' labels of The Rolling Stones' 'Come On' (given to me a week before it hit the streets), The Small Faces' 'I've Got Mine' or 'A Legal Matter' by The Who (as heard on "wonderful Radio London".

Them
(Decca, 1965)
The Rolling Stones: 'Come On'
(Decca, 1963)
The Who: 'A Legal Matter'
(Brunswick, 1966)
The Small Faces: 'I've Got Mine'
(Decca, 1965)

I was nearly 15, and up until now my preferred reading was Disc & Music Echo, The New Musical Express, Melody Maker, The Aquarist, Charles Buchan's Football Monthly, Ring Wrestling, Health & Efficiency and anything with the name Harrison Marks on the cover. But the International Times opened up a whole 'nother world. One that seemed far more exciting, and not only because it printed words like "fuck" and showed the odd pube (something H&E and the like saw fit to airbrush, leaving June Palmer, Jayne Tracey and Pamela Green not only 'bald' but sporting a gussett most unnatural. I knew that because Chloe, a choreographer for the Western Theatre Ballet, had shown me hers when I was 10. But that's another story.

We were seeing 'freaks' like Arthur Brown and The Pretty Things on Top Of The Pops or A Whole Scene Going, but the mainstream media had always looked down its nose at this stuff. Articles in The Sunday Times or Observer colour supplements on contemporary artists like Chris Burden or Otto Muehl always seemed condescending and derisive of their far out performance art 'events'. And surely this awful 'music' would eventually go away and musicians would all fall in line, start playing proper instruments and get their hair cut. But here was a publication that encouraged freedom of expression in all forms, be it cultural or sexual and suddenly radical new ideas were being presented. In fact, the 'revolution' was encouraged! I hated school, didn't much like authority and started to feel a kinship with anything that kicked against boring oppressors. The oboe gave way to the saxophone. The only advantage of being an oboe-ist in a traditional orchestra layout (by my reckoning) is the glimpse of mature, white panty when the first 'cello positions her instrument at the start (and repositions at the end) of a piece.

School Orchestra, June '68

So my hair gradually crept over my collar. I was already as big a fan of the Mothers Of Invention as someone with barely any money stuck in the middle of Rutland could be and, in the classifieds in the back of the paper, there was an ad for a poster of a naked Frank Zappa sitting on the toilet.

Another depicted a large, pink blobby figure was pointing to smaller version of the same thing exclaiming "Sod Off!" I felt this was more appropriate for my 'study' wall (a 6' x 8' cell I shared with Edmunds, M where we stashed our tuckboxes, brewed our own ginger beer and might have glanced at the occasional biology or geography text book) than the wrestling posters currently adorning them.

So I sent off some money and hoped for the best. 2 weeks later a tube showed up and the Farleigh housemaster, Ian Pringle, immediately confiscated the Sod Off poster, probably to give to his son..or wife. Still, there was a catalogue included that contained other items on offer. I wanted them all. Gorgeous, multi-colour posters advertising concerts (Traffic at the Saville Theatre), bands (The Move, Tomorrow), 'happenings' (14 Hour Technicolour Dream, Legalize Pot Rally), clubs (UFO, Middle Earth), featuring works by Martin Sharp and something called Hapshash & The Coloured Coat.

Some were printed on silver or gold heavy-duty paper, others used day-glo ink and all were beautiful examples of ground-breaking, psychedelic graphic design. I rustled some money together and ordered a Mr. Tambourine Man

and a Max Ernst poster

and they came - this time - with a letter inviting me to become an 'agent' for the company - Big O Posters. For every 10 posters I sold, I'd get one free (but not one involving a 5th colour or larger than 20" x 30"). My first job! And it lasted as long as it took to get enough posters to cover my share of our study wallspace. One of which was this beauty.

Had I been a couple of years older, I would have somehow inserted myself into this weird and wonderful new scene, but I got stuck doing 'O' Levels, learning to roll joints and trying to lose my virginity. Anyway, Mick Farren - whose name and abundant afro cropped up regularly during those times (not only as the vocalist for the first do-it-yourself indy band, The Social Deviants but occasional columnist/reviewer for IT) writes brilliantly and hilariously about what I missed in 'Give The Anarchist A Cigarette',

one of the most entertaining and enlightening books I've ever read. In fact, it was this book that gave me pause with the blog a few weeks ago. It just made me feel inadequate as a 'writer' and I needed to regain some confidence. Try and find it, it really is great.

Next thing I know, I'm failing all my exams, discovering sherry and Southern Comfort, stacking shelves at Tesco in Crouch End, snogging with and eventually getting Sonia the checkout girl next to the maraschino cherries in the warehouse upstairs and getting thrown out of the house by my mother after she discovered a lump of Lebanese Gold worth about 10/- or 50p as it was now known. Time was spent reading mags like Oz and Friendz, books by Burroughs, Thompson, Castaneda, comics like The Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers, in fact, anything with Gilbert Shelton in it, Nasty Tales and grooving intently to The Deviants, the Pink Fairies, The Pretty Things, The Edgar Broughton Band and mighty space-groovers, Hawkwind. You might enjoy reading about some of them in Rich Deakin's Keep It Together!: Cosmic Boogie with The Deviants and The Pink Fairies and, as I've said before, I enjoyed getting turned on to new stuff by ace djs like Andy Dunkley, Jeff Dexter, Pete Drummond and John Peel.

All of this prepared me nicely for my imminent start in the music business...making the tea.

In March 1994, Mick Farren, very kindly, sent me a copy of his 'The Lonesome Death Of Gene Vincent...and 44 Other Poems And Lyrics' for my "amusement".

It came with a note saying he and founding member of Blodwyn Pig, Jack Lancaster were working on "an electronic-music poetry project that we believe is a hell of a lot more sophisticated than a lot of what's going on in that field" and that when they had "some recordings that we're satisfied with, we may well come and bother you".

Unfortunately, they never did.

Reasons To Be Cheerfull

What do Billy Bragg, The Edgar Broughton Band, Paul Carrack, Carlene Carter, John Cooper Clark, Elvis Costello, The Damned, Dr. Feelgood, Ian Dury, Dave Edmunds, Peter Hamill, Hawkwind, Nick Lowe, Graham Parker, The Psychedelic Furs, Larry Wallis and Howard Werth have in common?

Well (apart from being core artists on North Fork Sound) they've all had their music wrapped in the art of Barney Bubbles. Born Colin Fulcher in 1942, he obtained his National Diploma in Design (with honours) from Twickenham College of Technology and in July 1963, created his first piece of commercial art - a poster for the Rolling Stones' appearance at the college's end-of-year dance. Now it's one of the rarest pieces of Stones memorabilia. Around the same time, he made a poster for the college's in-house group, the Muleskinners featuring none other than a soon-to-be member of the Small Faces, Ian McLagan. A love for music, fashion, art and photography played a huge part in Colin's development and in '67, he was inspired by a Pink Floyd event at London's UFO club to purchase four old projectors and create his own mobile light-show. He combined coloured inks with oil and placed the mixtures between glass slides which, when heated by the lamps' warmth, would 'bubble' and make gloopy shapes on walls at clubs like UFO, the Roundhouse and Middle Earth. An introduction to Oz magazine's Richard Neville and a move into 307 Portobello Road placed Barney bang in the centre of London's blossoming underground. He became art director for Friends (another counter-culture mag) who set up offices next door and soon freak-friendly labels like Island, United Artists and Vertigo were commissioning artwork for acts like Quintesscense ("Everything's great in Notting Hill Gate"), The Sutherland Brothers, Cressida, Cracious!, Quiver, Brinsley Schwarz and Hawkwind. It wasn't long before Barney's meticulous, expertly executed, pioneering designs were being used to separate stems and seeds across the nation. Reasons To Be Cheerful - The Life And Work Of Barney Bubbles by Paul Gorman tells of Barney's highs (and lows) so much better than I can and you'll find a huge amount of Barney's work presented magnificently between its covers. If you have even a half-decent record collection, you already have some of his work. Here, you can check out the rest.

Motörhead

I know it looks like I'm slacking, but I'm not...honest! The radio station takes up several hours a day, I'm scanning ALL my photos and converting some of my vinyl to mp3s and I haven't even unpacked the lps or books yet...so by the time I get to focus on the writing, it's usually dinnertime and nothing gets done. Furthermore, once a piece is written, I usually have to rewrite it at least once, so we get to Friday and we're still looking at Sunday's chart. I really thought it would be easier than this. Anyway, bear with me. Tomorrow, after giving my new cd shelves - thanks, Danny - a second coat of stain, I'm driving into the city to hang with Lemmy and see Motörhead at Roseland. I feel like I need to hear Overkill on an endless loop right now. It's time for some noise. I discovered some old photos while unpacking a box and worked on this one a bit more. Sorry if you've already read most of it...

The first time I saw Motörhead was at Emerson, Lake & Palmer’s Manticore complex, an old cinema they’d bought and converted to a rehearsal facility and recording studio. I had received an invitation to a showcase from their handler at the time, Frank Kennington, suggesting that Island Records might be interested in putting out their records. Since my job was to take a look at everything out there, I accepted. So I go on the appointed afternoon and, upon entering the building, encountered a deafening roar not unlike that of a low-flying airplane. When my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness (the only illumination was provided by the little red lights on the amplifiers and these fast moving bright white 'flashlights' flying about the place) it became apparent that while Motörhead were playing, a couple of Hells Angels were riding around the otherwise empty, seatless auditorium on their bikes. The din was staggering and it wasn’t long before the handful of us that had shown up promptly sought the peace and quiet of London's traffic outside on Fulham Broadway, where the fumes and stench were slightly more acceptable. Needless to say, the showcase didn’t exactly pan out the way they had hoped and it wasn’t until a couple of years later when (new manager) Douglas Smith called me at Bronze Records and asked if I would consider signing the band. By this time, they’d lost 3 record deals (an album ‘On Parole’ had been rejected by United Artists) and they’d just been dropped by Chiswick Records after their ‘Motörhead’ album had failed to light up the charts. Stiff Records had done a single with them too, but were prevented from releasing Leaving Here c/w White Line Fever by U/A who claimed the band were still under contract to them when the songs were recorded. At the time, Bronze’s biggest artists were Manfred Mann’s Earth Band, Uriah Heep and Osibisa, so it wasn’t exactly the first label a manager would bring their clients. In fact, it was the last. Doug admitted to me that he’d been everywhere else and, unless Bronze signed the band, they would probably have to break up. I told him that I wasn't really interested, but he convinced me to come and see them one last time, this time at Dingwalls, a club in Camden Lock. I agreed, mainly because I had cut acetates and the lacquers for (his other client) Hawkwind’s ‘Urban Guerilla’ single when I was at Trident. I liked Douglas and I’d also quite liked Motörhead’s eponymous single, although I thought its production left a lot to be desired. The band now had 'Fast' Eddie Clarke on guitar and, this time, they were just awesome! Not only did they rock the packed house, but everybody in the room was wearing a Motörhead t-shirt and a 'bullet belt' (Lemmy's trademark) so clearly there was an audience for them. I was very excited by what I saw and told my boss, David Betteridge, we should agree to Doug's suggestion of a singles deal which, upon some degree of success, would convert to a multi-album deal. Their idea was to go into a studio and cut a version of ‘Louie Louie’, Motörhead-style.
To this point, I'd not actually met the group and now it was time to put that right. These guys had a pretty fearsome image. Apart from just looking like they'd eat babies for breakfast, they were friendly with the Hells Angels - Lemmy rode with president and founding member of the Oakland chapter, Sonny Barger, when he was in town - and their drug intake was legendary. Lemmy had been fired by Hawkwind for forcing them to cancel some Canadian shows due to some customs officials mistaking speed for coke and throwing him in jail. It's not like I hadn't been around musicians who took drugs - hey, I'd even tried a few myself - but these guys just seemed so hardcore. Doug (or Drug-less, as the band called him) suggested I drop by on the second day of recording so when that day came, I went to Wessex Studios and knock on the control room door. It opens, and there’s Lemmy, clad head-to-pointed-toe in black. He barks, “Yeah? Who are you?”
“Uh…Howard...from the record company”.
“Wait...” and he begins to unroll his shirtsleeve, extracting a polythene bag of a white-ish powder. He sticks a switchblade into the bag and draws out a blade-tip full of what I figure is amphetamine sulphate and holds it under my nose.
“Snort that”, he commands. This gets repeated for the other nostril and when that’s done, I make a move to step inside but
“Hold it”, he growls, and goes to fetch something from inside the room. He returns clutching a tall can of Carlsberg Special Brew, gives it to me, and orders,
“Drink that...all of it...now!” I comply, wondering what's coming next but, as soon as I’m finished, he steps aside, ushers me in, offers me a seat at the center of the mixing desk and tells producer Neil Richmond to "turn it up, and hit ‘play’". Both sides of the single thunder from the speakers and from that moment on, I become a huge admirer of Lemmy and the guys in Motörhead, particularly the 'Philthy' Animal Taylor and Fast Eddie version. ‘Tear Ya Down’ is the B-side to Louie Louie and remains, to this day, a favourite getting played regularly on North Fork Sound. That single did well enough to chart (#68) and the band clawed their way onto Top Of The Pops, thanks to some skillfull maneuverings by Bronze promo-dude, Roger Bolton. To get on TOTP, a record had to be in the top 30, but somehow Roger pulled it off. That was the start of the band's climb to fame and, by now (I hope), fortune. Jimmy Miller was brought in to produce the pioneering and utterly glorious ‘Overkill’ album and the rest is history. You can see Lemmy - The Movie, coming in 2009.
Those interested in seeing some rarely seen photos can go HERE and click on "slideshow"

Motörhead start work on Overkill
David Betteridge (Bronze Records MD), Eddie Clarke, Lemmy, Phil Taylor, Doug Smith & ht (Bronze a&r)
Roundhouse Studios, Chalk Farm, London (late 1978)