How to destroy rock n roll - an evening with The Telescopes

They make fucking noise.

The Telescopes make beautiful fucking noise.

It's been a while since I was actually in New Cross. I pass through it - but don't stop there so much (can't stop, won't stop) - not since those heady university Goldsmiths' daze. Which is pretty much where The Telescopes came in. Okay - I first found my love for their sonic shakes whilst living out life with a bowlhead and bag on the mean streets of Scunthorpe - a northern town to bring you right down.  The Cheree realeased Kick The Wall - summing up all that teenage frustration in guitars and screams.  On hearing Stephen and Co's cacophony I decided that I liked it and wanted to taste a little more - and I pursued it with abandon in my early university time.

So I set about going to a number of gigs of theirs - early days for them and late nights for me. It was clear then - as it was with tonight's concert - that The Telescopes take no prisoners. They just play hard motherfucking rock n squall - and that my friends is exactly as it should be. Early Telescopes had that Iggy/ Stooges/ Spaceman thing going - no down tempo numbers full on sonics and screams.

I sent letters - mainly to Jo - and Stephen as well - interviewed them for a fanzine - jumped myself silly at gigs - supported them in Hull - watched them play with The Mary Chain and then slowly I stopped listening for a while. It was those repetitive beats - pulling me somewhere else.

But now here I was again waiting for a set of something - and to be honest I wasn't expecting it to be that hard - that brutal - but I felt challenged and that's good - it makes you think - it makes you question music. And as that's my bag - tonight's Telescopes - so different to years gone past - but so bloody-minded and similar in repose and attitude - did just that. They destroyed rock n roll for all around and simply put it back together in layers of reverb and hate.

The day was billed as a Psych All Dayer  - but I was making an evening of it. I tend to end up at these things on my own - my 45 year old set don't go in for this type of abuse - so I arrived for a set from Black Seas - a five piece Jaguar guitars and tweed sort of thing - they had noise and jangle - a touch of early valentines and a singer prowling and sending deep reverberations around - I guess it was a Nick Cave type thing - but with none of the presence and he was wearing a Nike t-shirt - so I'm not having that. You've got to put some effort in.

This was followed by a transcendental trumpet and electronica pyschedelic workout by two blokes under the name Hirvikolari - they started with dub echoes and bleeps and pretty much kept it that way as a colossal twenty minute beast was unleashed with modular pulses and repetition. I liked it - I liked their style.

Next - Melt Dunes - young psych upstarts - with loud guitars and hair - I quite like d them to be honest - a bit Sabbath - a bit of this and that - but their was conviction and a sense of  show - some youth down the front showing that he dug it - I liked that - this band will have fans - they will show their appreciation. They finished with a cover -  and I can't remember it's name - but it was fantastic - all

repetitive and shouting - they will certainly make some memorable records.

And then to The Telescopes - this brooding thing - slowly lumbering to the stage from the caves - finally alive and hungry. Stephen has been ploughing this field for some time now - incarnations of The Telescopes - forever looking further and beyond the now - exploring new space with a set of like minded 'cavemen'.  This current line up found Dave Gryphon on three stringed bass - 'Why would I need a G?', Stuart Gardham ( I think - but I might be wrong) stretching the sonics through six strings and John or Jon hitting the skins - warrior like - in control and controlling. Stephen spends most of the night crouched down - kneeling on the stage - listening and adding - sending his vocals spinning out and out into space ringing around and around - merging and melding into one noise - one beautiful noise.

If truth be told - I didn't recognise a song - there was a fella and his wife  - had waited all day for this - he was wearing a Chapterhouse t-shirt - he didn't stick around - they weren't playing the hits. Not that that would be a bad thing - The Telescopes have an army of tunes - they just decided that this wasn't the place to play them - or if it was - present them in such a manner that meant they became something else. Feedback jazz - was my bag that night.

It's hard to describe the sheer force of this group - it is not noodling or sonic fuckery for the fun of it - it seems to me that they actually want to push the limits of sound. I was on such a buzz on it finishing - it felt like I'd been fought with - punched and dazed - half the crowd had made it through the door - pushed themselves away. It was confrontational pop music. I can only imagine it must have been like witnessing Suicide or Throbbing Gristle for the first time.  It was not for the faint hearted. It wanted to fucking eat us all up - but there was subtlety and simmering within - at one point with all members fallen to the floor pushing their instruments against speakers and stage - vibrating - shaking - as Stephen howled down the microphone there came about a point of sudden bliss coupled with an expectation that we had hit new heights - that rock n roll was dead and somehow it needed to be saved - it needed raizing from the dead. And all that we had learned came crashing down in that sound - it was offerring a new perspective on these South London streets.

The Telescopes were asking us to think - in this nostalgia fuelled era (of which I'm completely guilty - but I mean it maaaaaan - I truly do ) they didn't represent the past - and sell t shirts and CDs of glory days - they simply put that aside - they continued to breathe new breaths - new life and grew into this. I turned 45 this year - why should Stephen be stuck being 19 - we've all moved on. I'm glad I took th etrip back to past memories. I left New Cross just as the Venue crowd were lining up to get in. Times have changed - I first met Duglas from BMX bandits there - I got the feeling that the BMX Bandits would not be on the Venue's playlist tonight.

So why stick with the past?

I feel Stephen an Co are still trying to explore what can be done - they are still kicking against the wall. Even if it means that they don't necessarily play 'Kick the Wall'. Do you get me?

You should try it though actually having a night with The Telescopes. It's modern. It's vital. It's music pushed to its limits.

It's a fun night out.


One from the new long player 

He will be missed

Robert Young has died.

I woke with the usual resistance to rise – cold morning and grey skies. It’s Thursday – not quite the weekend – it can be a hanging around day if you’re not careful. When I was younger it was the arrival of early hours hedonism  - but today I got up  - I washed – missed breakfast and replaced it with nicotine - a habit of youth so sadly not shaken yet.

I get to work – I work – I work.

Check the phone – sometime past ten o’clock.

Tagged in a post from the wonderful Jo – news seems to be emerging that Robert ‘Throb’ Young is dead.

I haven’t seen the man in 24 years but I’m genuinely shocked. And gutted.  And sad.

You can begin all this rock n roll casualty talk if you wish. And it may well be true – but check the record – check the record – check the guy’s track record.  He was the guitarist with Primal Scream. No solo projects. Nothing to distract him – except rock n roll. Primal Scream were a much maligned monster when I first met them – it had turned out all heavy and leather and the bowlheads wanted fey and inferior music. I wasn’t one of them. I loved the sheer power of The Scream’s new take on rock n roll in an age of jangly guitars and emerging grunge. Throb and Innes had bottled that MC5 magic - a double guitar assault with Bobby G in the middle - it was all effortlessly cool. They were wearing leather - their shirts were open - chelsea boots and chains. This wasn't anorak city.

Our little known band then – and little known band now  - managed to convince Paul at The Adelphi that we should support them – so he let us. We were third on the bill and got paid £25 quid or possibly £50. Our name wasn’t even on the poster.

We played in t-shirts freshly bought from Crusher – who was their touring manager and merchandise man and pretty much go to geezer.  We finished and The Scream had seen us – they liked it and asked us down to Sheffield the next night.

I know I’ve written this before. But indulge me. It just might get me writing again.

So we drove at speed to reach Sheffield – cars full of us and little else. It was a date with the screamteam. We’d been booked by them – not the venue – they would make it alright. I felt like a kid – these ‘adults’ of rock n roll asking us to play were little more than the big kids at school themselves – they were super cool.

The Scream – were open, honest, wild and full of promise.

And I’m hanging on to those memories.

That's Throb's guitar. The Williams Sheffield Take Two

So eagerly under prepared  we arrived in Sheffield. The third night ‘on the road’. We had no amps – little room for guitars and drums – but we we’re young and up for it. Toby leant Paul his kit. Henry leant ian his amp and Throb lent me his Les Paul – there was no rock star selfishness in the man. He wanted others to have a good time, to have a party.  Suddenly this two-bit rock n roll band (that’s us – not the Scream) were transformed by Marshall amps, solidly constructed guitars and drums. A mighty fucking racket for the rabble of fans. We used to have a song at the end of our ‘set’ all two chord stooges and feedback. Howling guitars and anarchy.

And I’m hitting this beautiful guitar’s pick-ups – driving that feedback out as the booze flowed through me.

Turns out I might have hit it too hard.

But Throb doesn’t mind. A broken Les Paul – it can be fixed – but not tonight. A little mild panic sets in – you know I only met the guy yesterday. He declares it ‘rock n roll’ and straps on the Flying V – effortless – cool – smoking throughout the gig. 

Robert Young made young girls and men fall in love with him.

As Gillespie and Innes said in their statement following his death Throb always saw the stage as a place to conquer. "When we go onstage it's a war between us and the audience" He would conquer it and everyone in that room. Bring then down with his battle sound. This wasn’t a man borne out of malice. He was always open. As my brother said to me – he made him feel welcome.  So I’ll remember the vodka, the hair, the embraces, the acid house parties, the screamadelica shenanigans, the talks, the recommendations and the women.

Throb and a young Rob Dillam (pre Adorable)

I’ll remember Robert Young.

And if running round the past and fitting me into the story makes me seem sad – a touch too nostalgic – then so be it. Hearing the news that he was dead forced me back there.

They're great memories.

I’ll miss Throbert Young. 

I’m turning down the Marshall to zero tonight.

It’s what’s different that makes them strong

I’m going to write about The Pastels properly this time. There’s a post buried in here (the blog – not these words) about the honesty and integrity of a great Scottish band but I want to say more. I grew up in a steeltown. You should know that by now. Where we jostled for meaning in our lives as mighty furnaces blew smoke and sulphur into the air.

I was never going to be part of that shift scene (6 – 2 then 2 – 10 and 10 – 6 and back again) – believe me I wasn’t harking after a 9 to 5 slot either (I didn’t want to become one of those steps on the boss man’s ladder - You know I had dreams they could never take away.) I had music in this England’s dreaming - growing up was shaped by music – the difference and diffidence of youth movements. And you can only chose from what’s around – I wasn’t going to form a new sub cultural existence in Scunthorpe was I? I mean how could we? The Pistols hadn’t played here. You need that sort of shit to rebel and set up Factory records – oh and a job in television and that. That was the other side - the west – we were strictly East coast – Slaughter and the Dogs and Sham ’69.

So those early eighties were spent immersed in all sorts of cultures (clubs) – the bootlace tie blues with Elvis and Shakin’ Stevens, I was wearing grey pointed shoes, pleated trousers and new romantic ruffs whilst listening to OMD, Duran Duran and Kraftwerk. I was jitterbugging with Wham. I dabbled with a touch of Madness. I even bought two U2 long players. And Paul was digging the Velvets, the Bunnymen, The Cure, The Fall.

It was a trajectory that was always going to lead to The Pastels.

I cannot recall when I first heard The Pastels. It certainly would have been around 1986 – because they were so C86 maaaaaan. Of course they weren’t – they weren’t invented by the NME – they were invented by Rock ‘n’ Roll. I never quite get all that shambolic nonsense – I know the band I was in wanted to be able to play – we wanted our noise chaotic but controlled. The fact I couldn’t play didn’t help – but in my head I played the right notes. I always thought that The Pastels were pretty tight as a band – as a unit – as a community. It might not have been over produced – but it had a beat – you could bug out to it.

Anyway it might have been earlier – sort of Million Tears, Truck Train Tractor, Crawl Babies time – which I think spans a few years. There is nothing twee in their approach. It’s as barbed and controlled as The Velvet Underground. Just because Stephen never rolled on the floor – took his top off and told us he wanted to be our dog – didn’t mean there wasn’t/ isn’t that sense of urgency and confrontation in the music of the Pastels.

Listen to their cover of Pablo Picasso.

So during that time of finding friendships and all the fumbles and smiles and letters and mixtapes through the post and passed between lovers - The Pastels would invariably work their way into the fabric of my existence in that steeltown.

There was a time that making or receiving a tape cassette from someone was as complex a decoding mission as that of those at Bletchley Park. The cues - the codes – the inferences and comparisons – the melody and lyric – a message to you and you alone because you had the tape – it was given to you - made for you.

Constructed with you in mind.

Each song ringing with subtext because this was made for you by someone else. I still want to compile – to set one song against another – it’s list making for other people. It’s thinking about them. But do you remember that feeling when you placed a song next to another and another and another that inescapable feeling of falling in love? The need to be involved in the physical act of selecting, or rejecting a song. I have fallen in love many times to the 45 revolutions per minute of a 7 inch single, or the whirring of the tape spools as they passed through and over the heads of whatever tape player I could find that worked. Finding those hidden tunes on records as you flipped them over and released the b-side. I once had a friend – who never played b-sides – he couldn’t see the point. I expect his record collection consists of all the NOW albums – just the hits my friend- just the hits.

I’m not sure you get that on Spotify – it’s not a mixtape. Recommendations not real revelations.

Which brings me back to The Pastels – you were probably wondering where they had gone. A real revelation. That first listen to The Pastels was most likely on a tape cassette from some other lonely (planet) boy or girl who was stuck in Derby or Durham or Doncaster. A tape hissing and whirring with Baby Honey secreted on Side Two – it had to go there – it was quite long see – and you wouldn’t put that on side one would you?

And then a 7 inch brought home from Record Village – I remember Paul and I just looking at the postcard that came with Comin’ Through. The Pastels – apart from having one of the coolest names in pop looked super fucking cool too – a gang – a gang that embraced all. This was not macho – this was egalitarian rocking out (with rucksacks) and then a 12inch from Leeds or York – adding to our knowledge of superior pop. And that first wonderful long player ‘Up for a bit’ – and we where up for a bit – who wouldn’t be at that age? There was a playfulness in the title – with an air of menace. You don’t survive in Glasgow without it. You don’t survive any city that ain’t that pretty without a slice of the solid. You had to look after yourself in those days. You could get a pasting from the ‘bouncers’ on the Baths Hall doors for having a bowlhead – well maybe not the haircut. I think I got a pasting for calling them ‘cunts’ but that’s another story.

I made a t-shirt – because you couldn’t buy one – you couldn’t just look it up on Amazon. I had to make a stencil and spray paint it. Paul stole it though. He was slimmer than me then. And then a journey to Leeds – The Duchess of York. With Stephen all crepe soled shoes and dazzling shirts – there simple was nothing that couldn’t be done. They were all conquering – as I’ve said before I thought selling out the Duchess pretty much meant the road to superstardom. And then with them at the ULU – early days into my university existence – all friends down to the smoke and drinking Thunderbird wine and rolling around on floors and other people’s beds. The Pastels providing the soundtrack. Ride may have made their debut at that gig - but it was The Pastels who triumphed. They had moved it on a notch. They weren’t looking back – they never had. They’d been (sittin’) pretty forging out a new sound - great songwriting, showmanship and shoes – see when that comes together how can it fail? The Pastels live was and is exciting. A cacophonous sound and a band with women in – no patriarchal rock monsterism on show here. Equality in feeling and expression.

He sings – she sings – they sing. This is a band who take risks – they still do.

I’ve been listening to Slow Summits recently – a record from outsiders – risk takers – not chancers. There's a big difference. It’s got this backwash of sound and structure that is both exploratory and familiar. It’s pastoral and filmic, melodic Morricone meets Russell soundscapes for the masses. Uplifting music for people – all the people – all the time – you can hear it coursing through Slowly Taking Place. All six minutes thirty three seconds – with those simple harmonies breaking through at the bitter end making you want it to carry on for another six minutes.

And then take a song Night Time Made Us – it brings you to your knees. This is not an example of a throwaway pop mentality - as always with The Pastels they didn’t make tunes to be forgotten. You know you don’t hang around for thirty years without a great deal of understanding. Night Time Made Us is so warm – so supportive a tune – father and son – mother and daughter – being born and growing older. I simply love it.

Summer Rain’s outro has a kind of Kes meets Intastella vibe – all weaving flutes and drones. You see it’s what is different that makes them strong. Stephen said that – I can’t claim to have written that – but he’s right. Honesty and truthfulness – this band has never set out to deceive –its eyes were always on what might come along up ahead. Not how to play the corporate game. As I said early – they are outsiders making music to warm your inside. This is not twee, nor calculated marketing. Just because you want a change of ideology you don’t have to cover it in symbolism and anger. You just make things that have a beauty for everyone – you bring about change collectively.

And it seems that The Pastels are being discovered again. A shift in the collective consciousness. Long live the internet and the chance to pass things on. We may not shout about it in fanzines anymore – but you can get a piece of this and that – right here on the screen. Slow Summits is hopeful – it’s got humanity at its heart.

So here’s ‘Check your heart’ the first glorious single from Slow Summits – it resonates in so many ways – you know I’m getting older – I should have my heart checked.

A song in love with the pop moment. A record to dance to. Dance to with the kids. Because I do a lot of that these days. And I want to play ‘pure popcorn’ moments with them because that’s the dad I am. We dance – we sing – we laugh together.

I like taking risks when The Pastels are in involved.

You can read a wonderful interview with Stephen here by Jenn Pelly for Pitchfork  

You can find out all about his 'baker's dozen' here - it's a great trawl through thirteen of Stephen's favourite albums. 

Here's the great video for Check Your Heart. Check out Duglas dancing near the end (alongside others) 

 

We all want to join The Pale Blue Dots

You know how things seem to turn out strange and wonderful – how worlds collide and odd things happen? That’s been my walk through the world of music – down those streets that we slip through I’ve chanced and happened across music that shakes the very soul. That resonates and runs rings around (the world) and me. And throughout these journeys into sound there’s been constants - obviously a brother hip to the sounds of the underground has always brought new sounds to this London home but there’s been a friend from way back when who’s always been making art maaaaan.

Always had a tune up his sleeve. He’s got a whole load more these days.

He’s in The Pale Blue Dots.

You’ll want to join them by the end of this.

Now imagine a chance encounter. A slip of fate that brings him and a super furry animal together in 2013. In cold viewing rooms these headz imagine a return and an extension of pop pop pop music. A new Wilson brothers with a dollop of boogaloo, a Spectorish vision with a ramalama attitude.Well that's how I like to imagine it. I guess it was less romantic - you know just conversations and that.Extra expressos and hellos to the catering staff as words about music flowed. So he’s wringing out these orchestrated beauties from the grey streets of London and Bunf is laying siege to soundscapes and strumming – something’s going to happen – do get me?

They’re both an interesting bunch of groovy fuckers. That’s a given. Eclectic and knowledgeable – and that’s what seeps into their music.

https://soundcloud.com/the-pale-blue-dots/additional

You see - they start swapping tunes – fragments – pieces of this and that – strings and guitars – ooh ooh oohs and la la las. They start making music these two men of the world. They start making music with a nod to the past and an eye on somewhere else. It’s not about global superstardom – it’s about honesty and integrity. It’s about making that transition to shed the cocoon and fly fly fly.

For a day at least.

To be honest it all came out of the (pale) blue. I received an email. There was a track Thermos. It was all harsh and electric. Two chords and mumbles. It was great like that. Bunf wielding the ‘goldie’ – that heavy rock Les Paul ethic. All angular and growls. It seems the Super Furries have been up to lots – independently from one another but somehow connected in that love of the different. I mean they haven’t released an album in five years – or so- but there’s a connection in what they are all doing in that time away from one another.

And now it’s Bunf’s turn too.

He’s in The Pale Blue Dots now. So suddenly I was party to this transformation – this beginning – I’ll hopefully be there at the end too. What I like about this band – is that they’re my age – you know don’t expect leather jackets and angst ridden lyrics. It’s just mining something else – like I said – a nod to the past with an eye on something else. And each day I would awake with a message from Richard – an idea here – a first take there - and then another and then the gates opened and tunes were and are winging across wires in the world to rooms and headphones leading to smiles and tears.

http://soundcloud.com/the-pale-blue-dots/its-alright

They’ve put them up – on soundcloud – they say ‘work in progress’. I guess they are – Richard likes to work a tune – play around with the sound. I swear Richard’s always been a writer – making music – just letting it flow. I’ve sat in bedrooms in Scunthorpe and played the very guitar he’s writing with - the one  Bunf rates – it’s always had tunes hidden inside it - Mick's guitar. And it was always on the cards that we'd be singing his/ their songs -  then as it is now – except he’s holding a running flush this time. This is not smalltime.

http://soundcloud.com/the-pale-blue-dots/beetroot

And I said it before, I was a late adopter to the sounds of the Furries – Paul turned me on to them – this subversive bunch of Welsh psychedelics, wizards and ravers. Here was a band that was writing music for the future. I don’t really see how they got all that Britpop pigeon holed coverage – SFA were doing something differently then and still are now. The Super Furry Animals should have been bigger than Oasis – they’ve got the tunes and the attitude (and the furry suits)

And that’s basically what you get in all the The Pale Blue Dots songs, well apart from the furry suits.

They’re doing something differently to what people expect. As I said it’s got a touch of the Nilsson about it – all Brandy Alexanders and nods and winks - late night sessions - white outs and floorboards. What could turn out bombastic has simplicity – and a groove sitting under that Wilson percussion and (good) vibrations. It’s a Lennon and McCartney vibe writ large in 2013 – but infused with Alexander ‘Skip’ Spence, Joe Meek and Bolan. The list goes on and on and on - they listen to music much more than me. This is not a parody – an attempt to weld some sixties aesthetic onto modern living.

It’s a bunch of good tunes. That a band can play.And you can sing.

I’ve lived with these sounds – these songs for a while. And believe me there are plenty more out there/ in there. You see a test of a tune is whether the kids will sing it. It’s that simple – and they’ve got a huge stomping rocking and rolling boogaloo of tune in ‘Devastation’ – it’s a Bunf and Chester triumph. They haven’t put that one on Soundcloud yet. You should pester them to do so. Because we sing it on a daily basis. We shout it out in the car.

I’ve got a feeling it’s going to be a smash.

So what I’m saying is have a listen. There’s a whole heap of stuff on the soundcloud site. Recordings of generators next to piano stompers, reckless drumming and heartfelt strumming.

It’s a gas maaaan. This is all going to be word of mouth. You hear it. You like it. You tell somebody else. Eventually someone will stop you in the street and tell you about The Pale Blue Dots.

It's just going to get around (from town to town)

http://soundcloud.com/the-pale-blue-dots

Rock n Roll and wearing a bootlace tie in Doncaster

In my line of work you often come across the emerging tribes, the cults and fashions of the young and ridiculous. And I cannot fail to acknowledge the obvious fact that that once was me – all dressed up with nowhere to go – but putting on a show anyway. It transpires that the mid-eighties in Scunthorpe was part of a large scale sociological experiment where by all sub cultures were allowed free reign in schools and on the streets.

I mean I used to go to school in a tweed jacket topped with a quiff – we had a uniform – but it didn’t seem to matter as Patrick jackets collided with Donkey ones and doc marten boots. It was a free for all in the playground. It was a freedom we don’t always get under Gove and his return to the headmaster ritual of the 1950s.

I still look at clothes. I can’t fit in them but I still look at them. I’m no hipster – do you get me? I may have to start dressing like Tad to make up for my inability to sustain a healthy diet. These flirting with fashions fit snugly alongside our falling in love with sounds. I’m not sure whether it’s the clothes that lead to the finds or the songs which dictate the style – which takes me back to those pre-adolescent moments of developing a look to match the eclectic tastes being shaped through radio, film, television, friends and records, an older brother, record shops and market stalls.

I wore a bootlace tie. It was purchased in Scunthorpe Market. It may well have had a skull on it – or something rockabillyesque. I bought it because I liked Showaddywaddy and Matchbox. There was a rock n roll revival taking place – the late seventies a throwback to the fifties. All crepe soles and blue suede. A friend even had a drape made.

He was ten.

He would wear it at our first year disco in Secondary school – I wore pleated trousers and a grey mesh vest. By then the bootlace tie had been discarded and Visage and the new romantics were taking hold – the beginnings of my love affair with the synthesizer carved out in tributes to Bowie and Berlin. I have vivid memories of venturing to Doncaster. A city. It didn’t make Scunthorpe seem quaint or backward. This was not cosmopolitan.

It was larger and just as violent.

We never seemed to turn out the bands like the North West did. There is no equivalent of The Beatles this side of the country. Our ports brought in fish not rock n roll. Doncaster. Like any good city had a shopping precinct. All concrete and glass with punks and that, sat around smelling of glue and cider. I had come with my mum and brother – I am not certain why. I would wear my jacket – it had a Shakin’ Stevens patch and a Stray Cats one on the back. I would wear my bootlace tie too.

I was scared of the punks.

I thought they wouldn’t like the rockabilly clothes that I wore with pride. These names pinned to my back to mark me out as a fan. If I am honest they didn’t even notice me walk by. Those moments of dwelling that blow up but don’t go pop in your (inner) mind (y’all.) As I have said before rock n roll music – which any old way you might choose it – has always been coursing around the fringes throughout my life. And dressing to demonstrate your idols on t-shirts and badges and patches and bags is all part of that allegiance and defiance of youth. I would always buy a t-shirt at gig. Sell the fanzines in my bag and give the loose change to the t-shirt sellers or invariably the members of the band at the beginnings or ends of set filled with shimmers and jangles – feedback and attitude. And my t-shirt said ‘I understand – I get all of this’.

Whilst wearing the patches of rock n roll across the concrete streets of Doncaster and Scunthorpe – I thankfully had not gravitated towards the wearing of my idols on fabric so close to my skin. I did not own a Showaddywaddy t- shirt – although I would wear one now – postmodern maaaan. I think the first t-shirt I bought to ‘rep’ the band was The Smiths. A black Hatful of Hollow one from the Meat is Murder tour – Sheffield City Hall – five pounds well spent.

I wore it till it frayed.

And then came countless other t-shirts – at first mainly Smiths ones – The Queen is Dead, Shelia Take a bow, Shoplifters – the list goes on. And The Primitives ‘Stop Killing me’ black and white number, The Groove Farm, The Cure and and and. I still wear them today – in a nod to the allegiance and cultural belonging that liking pop affords. I have an Edsel Auctioneer one, various Brian Wilson ones, My bloody Valentine ‘Feed me with your Kiss’, a Primal Scream ‘Ivy Ivy Ivy’ one, Public Enemy, the Pistols and the most recent purchase a grey one with Metroplex records emblazoned across the chest. These emblems of safety and tribal belonging have shaped the fan world since they cottoned on you could get the kids to part with more cash if you but a name and face on it. Okay so the The Sidddleys never had a pencil case made but I swear my brother and I contemplated the Brian Wilson dressing gown that was available on the ‘That Lucky Old Sun’ tour. It would have gone nicely with our Smile bags – mine is currently gathering dust in a cupboard.

It is unlikely that I will ever seize the zeitgeist again and rock up a look with patches and badges – not that my rock n roll tributes were ever of the moment. I may occasionally venture out to Sainsbury’s proclaiming my love for the valentines as the young folk busily stay hip to music’s ever changing moods.

They’re wearing the crepe soled shoes again. They are as yet not modelling The Edsel Auctioneer gear.

This is The Edsel Auctioneer – they were/ are from Leeds – I will write about them at some point in the future. I did like them so much that I bought a t-shirt – so they’re worth a listen. Kind of like a northern Buffalo Tom – but much better.