Just to the south east of London, within the border of the M25, there is a little town called Bromley. It is a shithole (I can say this with confidence having been there and coming as I do from a similar shithole of a little town just to the north west of London within the border of the M25).
But this shithole (unlike Uxbridge) has a couple of things going for it, from a rock historian’s perspective anyway. Firstly, it was where old David Bowie did most of his growing up. Secondly, it gives its name to a group of Bowie fans who were amongst the earliest followers of the Sex Pistols and would influence the style and clobber of the UK Punk scene. But the Bromley Contingent were more than just avid fans, as a quick roll call will reveal.
Look at this lovely lot
Key members of the Bromley Contingent included:
Siouxsie, legend in her own right who would go on to form The Banshees and be generally fucking magnificent in everything she does.
Steve Severin, co-founder and bass player of The Banshees and rather brilliant musician.
Jordan, the ‘Queen of Punk’ who inspired much of the punk style and was a muse to Vivienne Westwood, Malcolm McLaren and Derek Jarman.
Simon ‘Six’ Barker, along with Severin the only other member of the Bromley Contingent that actually came from Bromley, now a photographer based in Prague.
Debbie Juvenile, assistant at Westwood and McLaren’s Seditionaries boutique on the King’s Road, who got nicked for assaulting a copper during the notorious jubilee boat trip down the Thames. She escaped charges.
Tracie O’Keefe, who also worked at Seditionaries and also got nicked alongside Juvenile but was banged up for a month. Poor Tracie died suddenly and unexpectedly of bone marrow cancer in early ’78, aged just 18.
Billy Idol, who went on to become the lead singer of Generation X and, following that, Billy Idol. Last seen in that film with Adam Stiller or Ben Sandler or whatever he is.
Bertie ‘Berlin’ Marshall, one of the youngest members of the group, now a novelist and playwright.
Philip Salon, poser and hanger-on who later was a big name on the New Romantic scene.
Soo Catwoman, the punk icon with the famous haircut whose image was used to flog all kinds of punk rock tat of varying degrees of quality whether she liked it or not. She and Salon weren’t really considered part of the Contingent by the rest of its membership but were strongly associated with them by virtue of hanging around them like a bad smell.
The Sex Pistols, pictured shortly after the Great Crabs Epidemic of ’77.
There were other members of the group who, as mentioned, mostly didn’t come from Bromley. The Contingent were named such by journalist Caroline Coon. Malcolm McLaren used them to build a buzz around the Sex Pistols in the early days, with Siouxsie, Severin, Barker and Simon Thomas turning up with the band for their famous naughty swearfest on dirty old fucking rotter Bill Grundy‘s TV show.
Young Sid Vicious, himself a friend and fan of the Pistols before he replaced one-man Chas ‘n’ Dave tribute band Glen Matlock as their bass player, claimed to dislike the Bromley Contingent so much that he invented pogoing as a way of trying to knock the poor sods over at gigs. Seeing as he played drums for Siouxsie and the Banshees in their first ever show he can’t have had that much of a problem with them though.
Siouxsie and Severin cut their ties with the Sex Pistols as soon as the Banshees began gigging in earnest, and the rest of the group moved on to their own things. It seems the majority of them are still mates after all these years, though, and often meet up (with the notable exception of old Billy idol who now spends his days in LA trying to avoid being put into any more films). When it came down to it, the Bromley Contingent were just a group of mates who were into Bowie and clothes and art. They weren’t really trying to change the world, but they did, just a little bit. Good on ’em.
“Are you all sitty comftybold two-square on your botty? Then I’ll begin…”
Hobbits are very fashionable at the moment, possibly even more so than in their previous heyday, the 1960s. Back then, the little creatures were so popular that musicians named themselves after them and Mr Spock sang songs about them. And in 1968 four little Hobbits set off on a magical quest to create something truly legendary.
The new back to school range from Oxfam
That legendary thing was the album Ogdens’ Nut Gone Flake by Small Faces.
Though they would later be cited as an influence on many bands, particularly The Jam and Blur, Small Faces – at this point in their career consisting of the classic line up of diminutive singer and guitarist Steve Marriott, diminutive bassist Ronnie Lane, diminutive drummer Kenney Jones and diminutive keyboard player Ian McLagan – were one of the more underrated bands to come out of the UK rock ‘n’ roll scene in the ’60s. It was often said of them that they ‘couldn’t play’ their instruments, an accusation that doesn’t hold a lot of water after you listen to a few bars of any of the songs they recorded. Not only do they rock, but young Marriott has one of the most powerful voices in modern British music (old Keith Richards is a big Marriott fan and really wanted him to replace young Brian Jones after they booted him out of the Stones).
Most people are able to agree, though, that Ogdens’ Nut Gone Flake is a masterpiece, mainly because it bloody well is. One of the things that helps this album stand out from similar fare of the time is the contribution of the legendary eccentric speaker, young Professor Stanley Unwin.
The A side of the album is a collection of fairly typical, if high quality, Small Faces songs – the popney knees-up of Lazy Sunday and Rene sitty comftibold with more soulful psychedelic tunes like the awesome Afterglow and the instrumental title track which opens the album.
Stanley Unwin, man of many faces and one hat
Side B is something altogether different, a six-song fairy tale about a young lad called Happiness Stan who goes on a journey to find the other half of the moon when he notices it missing one night. With the help of a giant fly and Mad John the tramp he learns some important lessons about friendship and the phases of the moon, and they all sing a happy song at the end. The songs are tied together with Professor Unwin’s inimitable narration of the story, each working with the other to create something very lovely out of what is essentially a very slight and slightly bonkers tale.
While there’s no denying the music on Ogdens’ is superb – in fact I’d go so far as to say as a concept album it works far better and is a lot easier to listen to than similar efforts by certain other bands of the time – the addition of Unwin’s Unwinese narration pushes the album beyond just ‘very good’ to ‘very special’. With his eccentric language and delivery young Stanley feels genuinely like a fifth member of the band (or one of their grandads). I’m not sure if it would have worked as well if the band’s original choice, Spike Milligan, had agreed to provide narration.
Anyway, while this has been more of an album recommendation than a rock history lesson (I’m breaking myself back in gently) I do urge you, whether you’ve never heard it before or listened to it a million times, to give it another listen as soon as you can. It really is a classic. Deep joy.
P.S. Thanks to @ProfessorUnwin for providing me with the title of this post.
P.P.S. Yes I know it’s been a long time but I’m back now. Hello. Keep watching.
Davy Jones, the smallest, cheekiest and most British of the Monkees, passed away in his sleep today. I haven’t got much more to say about that except that it breaks my heart a little bit and makes me sad.
I was planning to talk about the Monkees’ awesome film Head soon anyway (and I still will), but here’s young Davy singing Daddy’s Song from that movie. Enjoy, I’m off to have a little cry.
Everyone who’s able to access this blog has heard of the Beatles. There’s no denying that they were one of the most talented bunch of scousers to ever walk this earth, but you need more than talent to really make it big. The bloke that was absolutely crucial to the Fab Four’s success over the first part of their career (and beyond) was manager Brian Epstein.
Now, before you get all cross with me for calling him crazy in the title of this post, do please remember that it’s the title of a running series and I can hardly write a series of posts about prominent rock managers and not include young Brian, can I? And while he certainly wasn’t as batshit bonkers as Colonel Tom Parker, he did share a knack for achieving massive success in spite of some questionable business decisions. And it wouldn’t be wrong to file the hero of this particular (tragically short) story under ‘Troubled’.
It’s possible the Beatles might not have enjoyed anything beyond modest success without young Epstein’s guiding hand. He helped to develop their style, already influenced by Astrid Kirchherr and other Exi friends in Hamburg, and had enough business sense to help them turn an immaculately tidy profit. While many folk can lay a reasonably valid claim, Brian has to be the bookie’s favourite for title of ‘Fifth Beatle’.
He even managed to make an army uniform look natty
Brian Samuel Epstein was born in Liverpool in 1934. His family ran a large department store, NEMS (North End Music Stores), which sold musical instruments as well as furniture and other household goods. Old Paul McCartney’s dad once bought a Joanna there. Brian worked there as a young lad, before being drafted into a fairly hazard-free data entry job in the Army in London. On his return to Liverpool he was put in charge of his own shop.
During sessions with a psychiatrist friend of the family Brian came out as gay (a very big deal in the ’50s when homosexuality was still considered a crime in the UK), also expressing a wish to become an actor. His family agreed that he could go back to London, where he studied at RADA with the likes of Albert Finney, Susannah York and Peter O’Toole. Being more of a businessman than a creative type, Brian dropped out and headed back once again to the ‘pool, where his dad put him in charge of the record department of NEMS’ Charlotte Street store. Under Brian’s management, it quickly became a huge success and he was put in charge of an entire store on Whitechapel. In August 1961 he was given his own column in Mersey Beat magazine and was on his way to becoming kind of a big deal on the Liverpool music scene.
Stories vary, but it was either at the record store or in Mersey Beat that young Brian first heard about a band of local lads calling themselves The Beatles. He decided to check them out at the Cavern Club and got very excited about what he saw. He came back to hear them play at the Cavern on a daily basis for weeks before plucking up the courage to pop the question of whether they’d like him to be their manager. After several weeks of discussions, The Beatles signed a management contract with Brian Epstein.
But Brian didn’t.
I take back what I said at the start. That’s pretty fucking crazy right there, especially in hindsight. The biggest British band of all time and you don’t bother signing the piece of paper that says you’re entitled to take money off them? That’s more than a little nuts. As it happens, the contract was never contested, and UK law would almost definitely have found in Epstein’s favour, but still! It’s only a signature Brian!
The Beatles with John Simm. Hang on...
Still, the deal that Brian didn’t sign was a pretty sweet one. Like the Colonel’s with Elvis, it entitled him to a whopping, and highly irregular, 25% of their gross income. What balls these people have! Unlike the King, at least the Beatles did try to negotiate him down, even if they failed. He also, smartly, signed Lennon and McCartney to a 3-year publishing contract, just days before the release of Love Me Do.
Brian very quickly smartened up The Beatles’ act, another factor that undoubtedly contributed to their success. While they had already come back from Hamburg with their trademark ‘mop tops’ (I’ve never owned a mop that looked like that), they still wore leather jackets and jeans like stereotypical rockers. Young Brian got them to wear suits on stage, and also banned them from smoking, drinking and eating on stage. That’s right. Eating. Musicians smoking or having a drink during a gig, that’s pretty commonplace, but these skanky fuckers were eating on stage?! Imagine being down the front at one of their historic Cavern gigs, only to get spattered with soggy scotch egg debris as Lennon chews his way through Twist and Shout? Dirty sods.
Anyway, little changes like this helped them to appeal to a wider audience than Liverpudlian teens, but Brian’s hard work didn’t stop there. He traipsed down to London on numerous occasions to court various record labels, eventually securing a fairly shitty deal with EMI which entitled the Fab Four to a penny between them for every record sold. This deal earned them half as much for sales outside of the UK. Good job they were as successful as they were or they wouldn’t have been eating much on or off stage. Brian did eventually manage to renegotiate them a fairer deal.
WHY, BRIAN, WHY????
As you may already know, The Beatles quickly became a huge success, first in the UK and then pretty much the entire world, making them and Brian very comfortably off men. Brian soon took on management duties for other artists, although none enjoyed success anywhere near that of the Fab Four. Some of his ‘discoveries’ lead me to believe that his belief in The Beatles’ potential had nothing to do with an artistic ear. After all, it was Brian Epstein that launched Cavern cloakroom attendant turned tuneless shrieker Cilla Black on an undeserving world. Still, he made a few bob by sending these artists on tours around the UK.
Managing The Beatles soon became a pretty much full-time job, especially after they conquered America. There were lots of merchandising and publishing deals, some of which Brian managed very poorly indeed. While it seems a bit perverse to say so, The Beatles could have made a lot more money in the ’60s if Brian had handled things a little better.
Away from the business side of things, Brian had other issues to deal with. His homosexuality – still a crime in the UK – was a well-kept secret outside of close circles and keeping his love life under wraps must have been a struggle. His relationship with young Lennon was close and particularly intense, although by all accounts never went beyond platonic. Again, like Colonel Tom Parker, Brian didn’t object to the use of stimulants to cope with a busy schedule. Unlike the Colonel, Brian extended this blind eye to his own drug use and in fact was taking even more uppers to keep going than the members of the band. After they were all introduced to cannabis by Bob Dylan in 1964, Brian was as keen to experiment with drugs as the rest of them, eventually checking himself into the Priory in an effort to get himself off the old Billy Whizz. He was also a compulsive gambler, even playing roulette and cards with the Colonel himself when The Beatles visited Elvis at his house in California.
The last known photo of Brian, taken by Tony Bramwell
Brian Epstein died of an accidental overdose of sleeping pills on 27th August 1967, at just 32 years of age. While his methods weren’t always sound, he was instrumental in giving The Beatles to the world and setting them on a path that would produce pretty bloody good music that is still loved by millions almost 50 years later. Somehow combining business savvy with a free and creative spirit, Brian was a very unique creature indeed.
It’s competition time again ladies and gents! Be the first to get the answer to this one right and you’ll be the proud owner of no less than four coasters featuring the face of national treasure and rock goddess Siouxsie Sioux! That’s right, they’re bloody gorgeous too, I kind of hope no one gets it so I can keep ’em.
Anyway, to start resting your mug on Siouxsie’s, all you have to do is give me the song title depicted in the old picture down below here:
I think this one’s pretty easy, mind you I thought the last one was hard and the first guess was correct. We’ll see. Stick your guesses in the comments below and the very first right answer wins the fantastic Siouxsie Sioux coaster set. Good luck!
Update: Well, that was ridiculously quick. The answer was E=MC2 (E from Eels, The Equals and MC Hammer in a square) by Big Audio Dynamite. Congratulations to Chris Gunning, four lovely Siouxsie coasters are heading in your direction! By post, I’m not throwing them at you or anything.
Chas 'n' Dave eventually gave up piracy for the less cutthroat music business
Rock ‘n’ roll is full of surprises. With all the musicians hanging out together and contributing to each other’s stuff, you can get some interesting combinations sometimes. Then there’s the supergroup, the fantasy football of rock ‘n’ roll (sort of) where we get treated to dream team mixes of rock majesty.
But how the FUCK did cheeky rap scamp Eminem end up being backed by Rockney rebels Chas ‘n’ Dave?
It’s unclear whether old Slim Shady has ever been a fan of the dynamic duo of Chas Hodges and Dave Peacock (if not, he should be), yet they do appear quite prominently on one of his best-known tracks. How did this happen? Well, it’s simple really:
Before they were known for rollicking cockney jams like Rabbit, Gertcha and The Sideboard Song, pianist Chas and bassist Dave were prominent session musicians who played with a whole host of artists. They happened to feature on the track I’ve Got The… by Labi Siffre, as you can see below (keep with it, all of a sudden it will make sense).
If you got as far as the two and a half minute mark (I’ve no idea why you wouldn’t listen to the whole thing and then play it again immediately) then you’ll have a good idea of where this is going, so I’ll keep it brief.
That track was sampled by old Marshall Mathers for his debut single My Name Is, which means he pretty much owes his entire career to the cockney legends that are Chas ‘n’ Dave. Jay-Z also sampled the same tune on Streets Iz Watchin so they are as essential to hip hop as James Brown or Apache.
With the combination of rockers earning their bread and butter with session work before they get big and rappers pinching every catchy riff they can find, there are probably a lot of similarly surprising combos out there. If you’re aware of any, let me know!
Anyway, here are hip hop legends Chas ‘n’ Dave, with a bit of help from some geezer called Eminem:
(PS I know there are better versions of this video available but I chose one without pussy airplane dubs. “Do you like Primus” indeed. I bloody love Primus, so don’t go taking their name in vain. Since when was “violence” a swear anyway you fannies?)
He knows if you've been bad or good rockin' tonight
It’s Christmas, so let’s have a laugh.
I like making up stupid ‘misheard’ lyrics to well-known songs. Some of my lovely Twitter friends (@That_Lolly and @sharonGOONer especially) are really good at it. I’m willing to bet a lot of you enjoy it too.
So I wanna see ’em! It’s Christmas after all, so I probably won’t be blogging much, so let’s fill my comments with ridiculous misheard/deliberately vandalised song lyrics. There’s no prize as such, and no winners or losers, I just thought it would be a nice bit of Crimbo entertainment for us all. I’ll start you off with a couple of my own favourites:
Plus of course, changing the words ‘Merry Christmas’ to ‘Hare Krisna’ in any Christmas song that fits.
It’s peurile, it’s juvenile, it’s bloody hilarious. Now it’s your turn! Add your stupid lyrics to my comments, let’s all have a bleedin’ good laugh over Christmas. HARE KRISNA EVERYBODY!
“You’ve heard of Oxford Circus, you’ve heard of Piccadilly Circus, well this is the Rolling Stones Rock ‘n’ Roll Circus, and we’ve got sights and sounds and marvels to delight your eyes and ears!” – Old Mick Jagger
The world of rock ‘n’ roll and cinema have bumped hips on many occasions, with mixed results. The Beatles had several goes of course, and we talked about young Elvis’ cinematic exploits a few weeks ago. From documentaries to half-arsed drug induced ‘experimental’ efforts, there’s a whole lot of rock ‘n’ roll on film.
One band that seem to have had several hundred miles of celluloid expended on them are the Rolling Stones. Mick has had a go at the old acting on numerous occasions, and of course old Keef played a character much like himself but with a hat on in a couple of the Pirates of the Caribbean films, not to mention a wealth of documentaries and concert films centred on the band.
One particular gem, which remained largely unseen for almost 30 years, is The Rolling Stones Rock and Roll Circus. Filmed over two days in 1968 and originally intended as a TV special, it’s a great piece of memorabilia from the height of the British rock ’60s rock scene. Y’see, it’s not just a film about or featuring the Rolling Stones. A whole host of distinguished guests pop in to say hello.
The brainchild of old Mick, Rock and Roll Circus was basically conceived as a concert video, complete with audience in weird ponchos and floppy hats, with a circus theme to make it a bit different. The second half of the film would have the Stones knocking out some of their popular hits, with the first half featuring some of their contemparies and some acrobats and fire eaters to make sure the Circus criteria of the title was filled. While the Stones’ portion of the show is ok, it’s the first half that contains the most entertaining performances, some brilliant, some bonkers.
The film starts with the Stones and friends (including members of The Who, Lennon, Clapton and Marianne Faithfull) parading into the circus tent with jugglers and acrobats and all that kind of shower, with Jagger giving the speech partly quoted above in his trademark mockney manner (Noel Fielding does a nice little piss-take of it in the last ever episode of The Mighty Boosh). Then he and someone I swear is Jeanette Krankie introduce the first act, Jethro Tull.
Disappointingly, Tull mime Song for Jeffery, although old Ian Anderson sings live while doing his usual unhinged tramp/flamingo impersonation. The reason for this, supposedly, is that the band weren’t happy with the playing of short-term stand-in guitarist (and Black Sabbath LEGEND) Tony Iommi. Despite not actually being a southpaw, old Tony played left-handed, with thimbles on the ends of two fingers of his right hand after losing the ends of them in an industrial accident. By all accounts, the Tull weren’t too keen on how it sounded, so mimed to the recorded version while nutty Ian sang live.
The second performance of the show is inarguably the best. You can, of course, argue that it isn’t, but if you do you are simply wrong. In fact, it’s widely believed that one reason this film didn’t see the light of day for 28 years is that the Stones were so spectacularly upstaged on their own show. And who handed them their musical arses that day? The Who, that’s Who. Here it is (in a slightly dodgy copy, but the best I could find) in all its glory:
Electrifying, ain’t it? They’re all on top form, Townshend flailing, Daltrey wailing, Entwhistle playing it cool as usual and MOON! MOON! LOOK AT MOON! HE’S FUCKING MENTAL, LIKE AN ELECTRIFIED OCTOPUS!!! Truly, young Keith Moon is mesmerising. You can’t take your eyes off him. Watch as he rolls his eyes and gnashes his teeth like a Bedlam inmate! Stare entranced as he holds his sticks in that funny camp way when he’s tapping the high hat! Gasp as he casually tosses a tom over his shoulder like a discarded beer can. The man is rock ‘n’ roll personified, and fucking entertaining with it. I bloody love Keith Moon.
They were close, but Lennon shared his lunch with no one
Anyway, so The Who were pretty good. Then follows some thoroughly enjoyable, if not particularly extraordinary, performances from Taj Mahal and Marianne Faithfull, interspersed with circus shenanigans and followed up by Keith Richards in an eyepatch introducing Lovely Luna the fire eater.
After Luna we’re treated to a lovely little interlude, featuring good pals Mick Jagger and John Lennon fucking about. It is genuinely lovely, because watching it it’s clear to see that a) they really were good pals and b) they really liked fucking about. There’s more than a suggestion that they may well be a bit wrongchopped on the old drugs ‘n’ all, but fair play to ’em I say.
The purpose of their meandering little chat is to introduce The Dirty Mac, one of the superest supergroups to ever put their pants on outside their strides. How about this for a lineup:
John Lennon – vocals, rhythm guitar
Eric Clapton – lead guitar
Keith Richards – bass guitar
Mitch Mitchell – drums
That’s a fuckin’ SUPERGROUP if ever there was one. When the members of your band are so good that Keef is relegated to bass, you got it goin’ on.
The Dirty Mac churn through The Beatles’ Yer Blues and, while it’s not quite the spectacular chemical reaction you might have hoped, you get the feeling they’re just getting into their stride. Another song or two and they’ll be rockin’. It would take something truly awful to drag them back now. I mean, it would have to be something fucking terrible, like, oh, I dunno, Yoko Ono wandering on and literally screaming into a microphone for a full five minutes.
Oh fucking hell.
Yes, that is exactly what happens. Old Yoko and violinist Ivry Gitlis, who I’m sure is very good, join the band, who proceed to make some avant-garde noise while she shrieks and wails. That’s it. For five minutes. Potentially the greatest band in the world rendered fucking dire by the addition of a tiny but incredibly loud performance artist. That’s love for you.
The Dirty Mac never performed again.
Anyway, it’s now time for the headline act, introduced by young John Lennon in (very possibly made up) sign language, The Rolling Stones themselves. They launch straight into Jumpin’ Jack Flash and the crowd seem to be suddenly more animated than they have been for any of the more previous acts. The same can’t be said of the Stones.
The problem is, they were knackered. Thanks to cameras repeatedly breaking down the shoot had gone on much longer than expected. Unlike The Who, who had just finished touring, the Stones had been on a bit of a break, and their performance was nowhere near as energised. To make matters worse, young Brian Jones, in his last ever public performance with the band, is quite clearly completely off his tits, and I think someone may have wisely switched off his amp or at least taken his guitar out of the mix in post-production.
The only one who doesn’t look shagged out is old Mick, who keeps the band together and proves why he is genuinely one of the most skilled frontmen in the history of rock music. He looks fucking sexy to be perfectly honest. This is what it means to have moves like Jagger, and Maroon fucking 5 don’t even come close:
After a few hits, including a pretty good version of Sympathy for the Devil in which Brian Jones does literally nothing but giggle and stare at fairies, the band take the wise decision to have a bit of a sit down. Surrounded by a swaying audience, which now includes a fair few of the other performers, Mick ‘n’ Keef belt out Salt of the Earth and the end credits roll for a nice mellow ending.
After recording, the film sat gathering dust for nearly three decades, with only some of The Who footage being shown in the documentary The Kids Are Alrightin 1979. Parts of it were believed to be completely lost until someone found them in a bin in 1989 (and I moan about the bin men round here only coming once a fortnight)! In 1996 the film was put back together, restored and released for public consumption.
The 28 year gap made seeing this film for the first time seem a bit like opening a time capsule. The film is a little glimpse into the British music scene in the late ’60s, and a pretty entertaining one at that.
Punk gave us some great things. The Sex Pistols. The Clash. Post-punk. A wider variety of hair dye colours. That clip of Bill Grundy being a silly old sod. Incredibly complex and mesmerisingly beautiful dances like the pogo and the grapple (which are shamefully underrepresented on Strictly).
But one thing punk gave us, which I’m sure we can all agree was a load of shit, was gobbing.
During punk’s short reign spitting became popular amongst fans as a gesture of rebellion and to further fuel the outrage of their troubled elders. Weirdly, the people who bore the brunt of most of this salvo of saliva were the fans themselves and, of course, the bands they went to see. Which pretty much defines the phrase “shitting on your own doorstep”.
It’s not entirely clear how this unhygienic craze began. Some believe a bronchitis-ridden Johnny Rotten coughing up lung omelettes on stage one night might have triggered it. The Damned also had a habit of going to other band’s gigs and gobbing at them if they didn’t like them, which could have been the catalyst for this mass releasing of sputum. Personally I’m tempted to blame these two:
Dirty sods.
Believe it or not, spitting at bands was meant affectionately, in the ugly, aggressive way of punk. It wasn’t easy to play guitar, though, with the strings and your hands all covered in flob. Poor young Joe Strummer even ended up catching hepatitis after catching a mouthful of someone else’s mouthful.
Fortunately for all of us, the spitting craze was short-lived. While the trend for waving lighters in the air during slow numbers, which has lasted for decades, might be nauseating, it won’t cause you to catch something nasty from a stranger. Well, not directly, at least.
Twenty years ago today, the planet Earth lost young Freddy Mercury, and it’s never quite recovered.
There really was no one like Freddy, one of the greatest entertainers in rock and a thoroughly unique man. I’ve never met anyone who doesn’t like Queen and I hope I never do. Here’s to you Freddy, no doubt drinking Moët & Chandon from a pretty cabinet in Valhalla tonight. Love you x
