Dreamers: A Night with the BMX Bandits

Independent pop music in 1986 was genuinely that – it was independent – fierce in spirit and attitude – it was not part of the plan – it was immediate – simple and available from the right record shops or fanzine networks and tape exchanges.  I remember those times with both happiness and fondness. It was a time of awakening and feeling accepted – or not feeling accepted and knowing you weren’t the only outsider.

Not that I was an outsider – a loner – that was never my bag – give me a slightest hint of an audience and I’d be performing to it – liked the sound of myself see – clearly I still do – or I wouldn’t write this.  Yet 1986 was a formative time for many.  I was 14 – nearly 15 – growing up – the weight of the world sitting heavy on my shoulders and then along came all of these bands – shambling as John Peel said or jangly this and that – as various music journalists coined it. One newspaper  - the NME put some of this emerging independent experimentation together ‘on tape’ ( I’ve got it on tape – well a tape of the tape)  they called it C86. 

 As a rolling stone of  a tape it gathered momentum – it’s now viewed as a pivotal moment in defining an era – it didn’t feel like that at the time – it was just a tape with some songs on it that the NME gave away that week – some of them were shit songs ( you decide?)

However as the apocryphal story goes ‘this tape’ begat all other indie bands from that ground zero – thus we have that tape to thank for fucking Slowdive or The Chesterfields. (joke – natch)  However – it’s fair to say there was a lo-fi revolution taking place – The Smiths had opened our eyes  (another apocryphal story) and now out of that re-appreciation of rock n roll came these bands with 'soul' - not all about the hits but rather these bands were making something with integrity. It didn't matter that many of these fledging singles sounded cheap - under produced - it was all about existing - perhaps being on the outside of the mainstream - but here you could set the agenda.

The BMX Bandits have always been on my radar – not quite central – but there – pinging away – I know they are there - do you get what I mean? It turns out they’ve been there for thirty years.  I first met Duglas in South London – it was at a Teenage Fanclub gig at the Venue in New Cross (now home to three floors of independent sounds and lots of covers bands) but at that time they used to put on bands.  I was talking to Norman Blake or whoever and Duglas was there.  We struck up a short conversation about the magic of Brian Wilson.  

HE talked about SMiLE and promised to send me a copy.

He was true to his word. 

He sent me a tape. I don't know where he'd got it from - but it was such a lovely thing to do - he track listed it and put on a few other Beach Boys gems too.  It took another twenty-five years before I could thank him properly - via the wonders of the web (wonderweb?) and connections via cables.

There's something about that attention to detail and wonderfully openness that Duglas and his 'family' of Bandits have that can easily be mis-read - as twee and past it - or creepy and calculated - but if you look close into Duglas's eyes you can see he's been 'for real' since their formation. This is no novelty act. Tonight the 100 Club will be witness to another extension of PuNK (it's where it started maaaaaan) - that freedom to do just what you want to do.

Before the BMX Bandits - we have The School - a seven piece mish-mash of the Shangri-las, Motown, Spector, Beach Boys, The Pastels and dare it say it a C86 vibe - there's a craft in this Cardiff based troupe - horns and xylophones - pianos and guitars - layered vocals and sing along ding a lings - they are perfect in their own right. Reaching right back to the past to come up with something new. They are not twee - they will take you out in the underpass. You should all check them out - I will be doing so again.

And then this thronged crowd witness a beautiful pop performance - finely tuned and honest in its approach. Having read the piece in The Guardian previously – maybe it helped shift that perception of Duglas as eccentric rogue – and placed him in that rock n roll list of tortured artist – confronting his demons on stage through the simplicity of songs like ‘Your Class’. He's the Bellshill Brian Wilson - he even has the hand gestures to match.  

Love and mercy, indeed.

We are party to the wee talks from Duglas peppered with his observations and ultimate belief in love. His talks are funny - he is a funny man.  He eats an apple - he eats a boiled sweet. He plays the kazoo.  He gives us his best tunes.  It's a testament to this band that you can put a song as magical and wonderful as 'Serious Drugs' four songs in and know that you've got belter after belter left for the crowd. 

We are party to a pop band with tunes that should have been high in the hit parade.  I'm not going to try and describe the sound - but this is pure pop craft - there's a nod to the past  - you can't write songs like this without referencing Spector and Wilson - but there's so much more hidden inside Duglas and his Bandits heads - listen to the howling guitars of 'Kylie's got a crush on us' or the Ramones meets The Shirelles stomp of my favourite song of the night 'I wanna fall in love'.  Duglas and CHloe are in fine voice - they swap and harmonise all night - all sixties glamour and well tailored suits. Then there's the beauty of 'The Day before Tomorrow' were Duglas is joined by Sean Dickson (previously of The Soup Dragons) on omnichord. It's quite poignant really - Duglas tells us the tale of choosing their name and how him, Sean, Jim and Norman phoned up Eugene (from The Vaselines) to tell him their choices - how he hated the name the BMX Bandits - so they stuck with it. - and now here is Sean on stage once more with his boyhood pal - they hug after a riotous E102.

Pure class.

And then they are back to tell us of the injunction they have had to get to stop Kylie following them - cue Kylie's got a crush on us and then a blissed out Witchi Tai To to round it all off.

Glasgow in the early eighties must have been an exciting time - oh to be at Splash One. But you know I didn't need to be there - because of it - I've had a chance to hear those beautiful dreaming minds - Duglas, Norman, Sean, Bobby, Stephen, Rose,  - what a gang - what a set of groups.

What a bunch of beautiful dreamers.

It was a pleasure to be with Duglas and his Bandits in The 100 Club.  It's important to be reminded of the power of love. Duglas sings from his heart to yours and makes it seem that everything will work out right in the end. 

Anything is possible in Duglas's impossible dream.

BMX Bandits are thirty years old.  Here's to another 30 years.

Here is a wonderful song from the night - thanks as always to Ruth for capturing it

And here's one from The School 

That's love. Heaven's Above. Here come The Pastels again.

It’s taken far too long to write this….but the euphoria hasn’t diminished. I was in the company of The Pastels last week. And I missed The Fall this weekend but you can’t have all your heroes in one week – you know things could just implode with that kind of excitement. So here I am tonight – at home – with the incessant drone of charity ringing in my ears – you know the only time I wear my pyjamas is in my bed maaaaan. I’m old like that. You don’t want give anyone a shock. McCartney’s on in the background all wrong sounding strings, and Yesterday played in glittering jackets – like rock and roll has been wrung out of it all.

But rock n roll was alive last week in the Scala. I’ve told this tale many times before – but The Pastels are my Velvets. Art for the outsider. Now you know I’m part of the (main) stream –but I like to think that no one really listens to Sister Ray like I do. Well The Pastels – do that for me – that difference – but sincerity and fragility and noise and melody- just like Lou did – a band to fall into when the going gets tough and you just need a friend. We’re not freaks – we speak the same language – it’s just you lot out there that hate. Here - we're up for mutual respect and laughs and jokes – smiles and glances and late night chances.

It was good to have The Pastels back in London (although who was minding monorail was anyone’s guess) It was good to go to a Pastels show. It was an early start this one – doors were opened at 6.30 – and closed by 10.30. It was my kind of  night.  So I arrived with the strains of Bill Ryder Jones echoing through the labyrinth that is the Scala. You seem to be endlessly ascending stairs and opening doors in the hope of finding the band – kind of a Yellow Submarine scene without the psychedelic sights. Bill’s from Liverpool see –used to be The Coral and had the room hushed in wonder at his paeans to love lost and found. There's a deep rooted melancholy to his songs. You can tell he's lived it. A much more superior Jake Bugg - if you know what I'm getting at.

And the room was filling up. A friendly crowd. Waves and glances and nods and hellos – we’ve stood together in rooms across this city before. We like the same things. We all like The Pastels. It’s been 24 years since I last saw the Pastels – that was way back at the ULU. A four band bill – finishing with the kings of independent pop, before we them we had pale saints, Teenage Fanclub and the first London gig by Ride. I still have the poster. I didn’t get one from this gig. There was a part of me that wished I had. Funnily enough that ULU show had been populated by a mighty presence of Showsec security guards – this had that feel to - as my bag was searched and pockets were patted down. We’re a rowdy bunch us Pastel fans – I keep my blade tucked deep inside my anorak.

And on the bill this evening was another reference to the past – Lightships are Gerry Love’s extra curricular outfit – a Fannies for the future shall we say. I didn’t know that at the time – so it was a pleasure to suddenly see Love stepping out of the shadows to play a set of acid folk rock explosions (I’m trademarking that by the way) with a band that looked both glam rock and tinged with a Danish detective sartorial style. Gerry’s voice was in fine form – as harmonies and merged with delayed guitars and suddenly we had lift off (do you see what I did there?) I mean it when I say it had a folk attitude – authenticity again – I couldn’t quite make out the words but I got sense of it being about home. There was that familiar Fanclub feel to it but the sonics where doing something else. There was a guy making lovely squelches and producing shards of sound that took it away from what I was expecting and made it all the better for it. I really should look up his name – he’s in the Pastels aswell (so’s Gerry). There was a time – I’d know all the names – but when you get to my age it’s hard just remembering the names of your neighbours – let alone line-ups.  I need to go and listen a little more to Lightships – I like Lightships – I like their style.

And from one style to another – super style icon Stephen Pastel (as seen in A Scene in Between) and his band – except as I said before – this isn’t about leaders – this is a collective – a gang.  Always understated – but never overrated – The Pastels emerge to warm cheers and claps and whoops – and that was just me. Once again finding myself positioned at the front - this wasn’t intentional – I wasn’t jostling for position I just happened to be standing stage left –  where Stephen was singing. There’s no front with this group. As I said they were/ are my Velvets from the 1980s. A super Scottish crew – making tunes for the few – that’s what it felt like back then. A few pictures - got to base your look on something – like those few photos we had of The Byrds and The Velvets – MC5 and The Small Faces – The Pastels were in there too – we were carving style out of sound. And the Songs for Children EP on a bootleg blue vinyl and random purchases from record shops dotted across the North. Each and every one of their songs holding something special for me. I was rocking a quiff at the gig – but inwardly I was shaking my bowlhead all night. I’m done with the anoraks. But without The Pastels in my teenage years – I might not have made it.

It doesn’t seem like twenty four years have passed – Stephen and Katrina still feel the same – this duo manning the helm of the good ship Pastel. From the opening mariachi melodies of Slow Summits we were ready for our adventure to higher plains. Moving from new to old – this all too short set encapsulated all that’s often missed about the Pastels – this is a band with a whole heap of perfect pop (corn) tunes – and references that take in far more styles than the ‘shambling and twee’ bands they supposedly inspired. This is Miles Davies meets Lou Reed downtown with a twist of the Shrangi La’s and Can. It’s experimental and sentimental – which is good thing in my eye and sounds even better in my head. So we were tripping through the old and the new and everything sounded divine. If you haven’t got the latest Pastels tunes – and come on – this is their first ‘proper’ long player in 16 years – then buy it.  And in the flesh this beautiful album came alive – with a band of players augmenting those well-crafted words of Katrina and Stephen. From Wrong Light to Check your Heart (surely the BHF’s next song of choice for any health campaign) with Nothing to be Done , Different Drum and Summer Rain in the mix -  the interplay of the two singers was perfect in every sense. I guess when you’ve known each other that long things are going to kind of click. It doesn’t just click with the group though – as I’ve said before there’s no front with Stephen – the conversation is flowing back and forth with an awestruck audience but Stephen never plays the star. He’s humble and appreciative that we’ve even bothered to come to.

We wouldn’t have missed it though. Even though I had to go home to fetch my ticket at the start of the evening when I realised I’d left it at home.

All of this was leading to a final blistering onslaught of one-chord feedback drones in the shape of Baby Honey. With a temperamental pedal and six members locking down into a six minute odyssey to love. You couldn’t ask for anything else. But understandably we wanted more. So we were treated to even more wonders from this brilliant bunch of outsiders – who it seems have been spending their time becoming the wedding band to book if you’re getting married in the West of Scotland. Well not really but Katrina treated us to a rendition of an old soul tune (someone please tell me it’s title – my mind is not what it was) given the Pastels treatment and recently aired at a friend’s wedding (Pastels tune update - Stephen tweeted to tell me it was Love (It's getting better) and was actually released on the Worlds of Possibility EP - so thanks for that) and Daniel Johnson’s Speeding Motorcycle was revved up and run out.

And then after a lovely gentle downbeat ending (And once again I can’t name that tune – I thought I could but it seems to escape me now) – The Pastels were gone. It was 10pm and I was going to  be back home by 11pm with the biggest smile across my face since the last time I saw them.

It won’t be another 24 years. I’ll be seeing you soon. 

Here's Baby Honey from Glasgow a few years back - I'm hoping that a video will surface from The Scala gig but it's not there yet.Although I am reliably informed that there's footage out there - and i'll update this page as soon as it's available.  So thanks to mudonthedoor for posting this. 

Oh and it's Tom Crossley - the wonderful noise wizard in Lightships and The Pastels. 

At this stage in my life.

I had somehow gotten on to the stage – and was awaiting my turn to jump off.

As I have stated previously – I am not a friend of the mob but here I was indulging in sheep like behaviour. A push and a shove and the stage is ours. But here I was – on stage – well I had stepped up a foot or so as the crowd had surged and shook to the twin guitar action from Blake and McGinley and everything flowed into that moment of bewilderment and sudden realisation that I was amidst the group. Not performing but most likely ruining some else’s enjoyment. To feel self conscious at this point – does not make for a good exit. To catch the eyes of your friend and be certain that this was not what we ‘did’ only added to the awkward nature of it all.

I once tried to get onstage whilst Morrissey sang of our adolescent ills – but was harangued and prevented by burly Scottish men in shiny bomber jackets. It wasn’t that the bomber jacket had taken off as a fashion accessory de jour in Scottish cities and streets – this was Showsec and boots and snarled faces and grimaces.

To be fair they saved me the embarrassment of stumbling on stage and dancing awkwardly – or attempting to strike up a conversation whilst Johnny jangled to the left all white demin jacket and seaman’s cap.

When I was younger and what was then a regular concert goer – as ticket stubs seem to testify - there was a hardly a week without some live action. You get me? And without fail there would be a moment of sloppy looking youth jettisoning themselves from stages into the arms of the crowd – in an endless tide of arms and holed jumpers. I never really had the urge to want to do this – to impinge myself on proceedings in that way. I was more with the Keith Richards school of thought – get off my stage you fucker – and understood why you would use the telecaster to keep them at bay.

There’s a thing about the stage. Its openness and space – where performers come to share their wares with easily excitable audiences. Unwritten rules that say that you can look but don’t step up front – this is not where you are welcome. Those moments when you heave yourself up and glance at the setlist for the night – knowing what’s coming next but enjoying it even more because of that dramatic irony. Or shout at some roadie to pass the list to you after the lights have come on and revealed the stage as a mess of leads and dust – no glamour just organisation.

But here I was caught in a moment of youthful exuberance – as Snub TV cameras filmed the chaos. It had been one of those oddly organised bills – the Manics opening – all sprayed shirts that made them look like militant darts players – as me and McGee talked about the Clash and honesty. I didn’t appreciate the Manics at that point – it turned out they were an honest bunch. Then Swervedriver - another band with guitars and voices. I can’t remember Swervedriver if I’m being truthful. I saw them several times – none of it sticks. Finally the Fannies making music with harmonies and guitars. Slowly igniting a change in the right direction for all independent [bowl]heads.

Whatever happened at that concert resulted in me somehow bridging the artist and audience divide. I have a friend who talks about his brother’s love of The Specials and how they transcended the whole rock ‘n’ droll thing of performer and those to be performed at. How Terry Hall would simple have a look that reinforced that there was no difference – that The Specials were both me and you – and we were all welcome to a moment in the lights. Norman Blake didn’t exactly welcome us on the stage – but he didn’t kick me off either – I just sort of shuffled my way back –to the beer sodden floor and where I felt I belonged. I do remember watching Iggy Pop – on television – simple work the crowd into a frenzy – a unit – a platoon that he commanded. It was one of those supercharged moments where you could see the 60s Iggy in his eyes – all confrontation and hostility. But it resulted in lots of middle class white kids – kinda bopping with boots to Asheton’s guitar growl. All off kilter and really knowing they were ‘part of something’ – you know like it was a Glasto moment and Kitty and me were like soooo near Iggy and …and…..and.

The crowd wouldn’t spit on them in 1969. But Iggy handled it. Inviting them on. Stopped the show. Told them to get off. Which they did. You know you’re only visiting the stage. It’s not yours.

In some ways I still cringe about that moment. I had gone to the concert with James – I returned with James.

We did not discuss the stage incident – it would never repeat itself.

Teenage Fanclub: Everything Flows with me somewhere in the audience.