Still feeling the Noize – Chris Selby and Ian Edmundson talking Slade in Flame at 50

According to Chris Selby’s impressive Slade Live! online listings (linked here), 50 years ago yesterday, Noddy Holder, Jim Lea, Dave Hill and Don Powell were on the Continent, recording for Belgian TV show Chansons a  la Carte.

Four days later, May 18th 1975, a day ahead of the Irish rollout of Slade in Flame, Noddy was among the special guests at a BBC Radio One fun day at the Mallory Park racetrack in Leicestershire, the day the Bay City Rollers proved to be the main attraction… and scarily so, as memorably recalled by legendary broadcaster John Peel in his posthumously-released Margrave of the Marshes memoir (Bantam Press, 2005) and more recently Daryl Easlea’s Whatever Happened to Slade? When the Whole World Went Crazee (Omnibus Press, 2023).

In both cases, it was chiefly about plugging new single ‘Thanks for the Memory (Wham Bam Thank You Mam)’, the band also (erm) memorably performing on the Rollers’ TV show, Shang a Lang, on June 2nd at Granada Studios, Manchester. By then that single, their 15th to chart in four busy years, had become their 13th top ten seven-inch hit, but it would prove to be their last until 1981. Soon they were headed back to America, the long spell away that followed (they wouldn’t return to the road on this side of the Atlantic until April 1977, by which time the homegrown live scene had changed immeasurably) starting in earnest with a show on June 12th at Kiel Auditorium in St Louis, Missouri, embarking upon a new decisive chapter in this iconic band’s quarter-century together.

Promotion for Slade in Flame was long behind them by then, but it was the film that never truly went away, ultimately proving more of a success than that sojourn in the United States… even if it took an age for the film to be properly recognised as anything resembling a classic of its genre. As Noddy Holder recently told Stephen Dalton in an interview for the British Film Institute (BFI) website, ‘It did dent our career, but it stands up strong now. After 50 years, people look on it in a totally different light. I don’t think our image any more overshadows the story, the script, and the music in the movie. It’s been looked on with fresh eyes in the last 10, 15 years or so.’

This year has certainly seen a major upturn in interest, the BFI’s remastering project giving Slade in Flame a fresh lease of life, leading to multiple events and screenings. And uber-fans Chris Selby and Ian Edmundson’s latest Noize Books and Recordings publication, Slade in Flame at 50, was out ahead of the pack and soon deemed an integral component of the golden anniversary celebrations.

Coming in at 290-plus pages, many in full colour, it tackles in depth not only Richard Loncraine’s film but also the LP and its singles; John Pidgeon’s book, and Andrew Birkin’s film script. It carries cast and production crew profiles, tells in detail the story of the making of the film and looks at its locations, reprints original PR handouts and contemporary press reports, tells the tale of the London premiere and offers timelines of the LP, the film and the tour that followed, and provides detail of tour and film souvenirs and memorabilia, along with images from the film and more about the look (from the eye-catching guitars to the stage gear, including interviews with clothes designer Steve Megson and iconic photographer and long-time friend of the band Gered Mankowitz, who shot the sleeve art).

Then there are interviews with Tom Conti, reflecting on his breakthrough part as the band’s upmarket manager, Seymour, eight years before roles in Merry Christmas, Mister Lawrence and (in his first Oscar nomination for best actor) Reuben Reuben, his interview with Chris and Ian coming in the wake of his recent high-profile role, portraying Albert Einstein in Christopher Nolan’s acclaimed Oppenheimer.

There’s also an original press feature by reporter and long-time Slade fan Richard Cox (who first saw them in 1970, attended 1972’s landmark Great Western Festival show in Lincolnshire – the first time they properly shocked a neutral audience who may have written them off as pop lightweights – and got to know them well), who also reflects on his memories five decades on, as do many other fans. And then there’s a great first-hand piece with good friend of this site, Don Powell. Exhaustive is the word, I feel.

Chris, who like his musical heroes hails from the Black Country, and Ian, from Bolton, Lancashire (younger than Chris, but old enough for me to add that rather than Greater Manchester, those authority changes only coming into existence in 1974, while ‘Everyday’ was at its chart peak) have built up an impressive set of Slade-related publications in recent years, not least The Noize – the Slade Discography and Slade: Six Years on the Road. And it’s fair to say both glow with pride at the acclaim coming their way for the book, deemed ‘thoroughly researched’ and ‘a further reminder of the band’s brilliance’ by Paul Moody in Classic Rock and ‘forensically detailed’ by Stephen Dalton in a feature on the BFI’s own website. Meanwhile, Daryl Easlea adds in the book’s foreword, ‘Chris and Ian are two of the great Slade historians – cherish them and cherish this great book.’ Can’t say fairer than that.

All good enough reason for me to set up a three-way video interview, first off congratulating the pair on the latest Noize production.

Ian: ‘A shiny book!’

I’m impressed. It looks grand – a lovely job, fellas. I guess it took a while to pull together, or did you have lots of material ready to go?

Ian: ‘The thing with Chris and me, how we got into doing the books was that I’d seen Robert Lawson’s Cheap Trick book {Still Competition: The Listener’s Guide to Cheap Trick}, and thought, ‘We’ll do a Slade book,’ so we wound up doing The Noize, our big book. But with everything we’ve done… we’re the people who never throw anything away! We’ve the crap of centuries here. Chris has these underground catacombs beneath his house where he’s got Noddy Holder’s afterbirth and everything. He used to live not very far from where Nod grew up…’

Chris: ‘Literally the next housing estate along, the senior school slap-bang in the middle. When anything happened, such as Slade topping the charts, we’d be down outside his mum’s.’

I love Chris’ tales and those of others from that area there in the right place at the right time for Slade’s emergence, many of them told in my book, Wild! Wild! Wild! A People’s History of Slade (Spenwood Books, 2023), including several about those young fans hanging around in the hope of seeing their local heroes on their frequent Black Country returns, seeing who might turn up, whose Roller it would be that day…

Chris: ‘Or Dave Hill’s Jensen – he’d go past the pig farm, past the gypsy farm, past the school, on to Nod’s. All very working class. We’d get on the 33 {bus}, go down, see Nod… sorry… Neville. ‘His name is Neville!’ His mum got really upset if you asked for Nod. It’s just the way it was.

‘With regard to the books, I got on board doing all the bits and pieces, then something came out… it was Nod’s first book, where he mentioned how the first ever gig {the classic four-piece} was April 1st, 1966. I thought, ‘This is fantastic…’ I went in the library, got the Observers… but no!’

I know where you’re coming from. As a keen family historian alongside my day job, I’ll often end up going down rabbit holes, browsing through regional newspaper archives (thankfully online these days rather than having to scrawl through endless microfiche rolls underground, as it was a few years ago). And I find it rather illuminating revisiting those daily and weekly columns, not just for features and news but also small ads for gigs in the corner of entertainment pages.

Regarding Slade, I spotted one in a Scottish newspaper in late 1969 or early 1970 where a venue announced a Slade show but self-censored itself in its listing, as if they’d been told ‘the name is no longer Ambrose Slade’ but wanted to ensure everyone knew it was the same band, so as to not miss out on ticket sales. And I’ve discovered lots of conflicting information, be that regarding Slade or several other name bands. It’s a bit of a minefield.

Chris: ‘Yes, ‘Slade… formerly Ambrose Slade’… or ‘formerly the ‘N Betweens’… that sort of thing. But that’s what got me into it, that mention of 1st April 1966. Recently there was a claim that they started even earlier that year. Something on EBay, a letter with a promo recording claiming they started in February… so again that changes the story. But yes, Noddy’s line was that they started on April Fool’s Day, and ‘we’ve been playing the fool ever since…’

Ian: ‘Well, you never let the truth get in the way of a good story, do you.’

But this time around I want to concentrate on Flame and the tour that followed, 50 years ago, with your latest book in mind. Daryl Easlea, in his foreword to Slade in Flame at 50 sums up neatly the appeal and cultural importance of the film, while touching on how it became a cult classic in time but not a hit on release, and how a sizable proportion of Slade’s core teen audience didn’t really get it. That gives me a chance to ask about your Flame experiences. How old were you, where did you see it, and did you go back more than once?

Chris: ‘It wasn’t being shown in Walsall, so I had to go into Birmingham. I think the support film was something like Our Man Flintstone. I could be wrong. A cartoon, a bit weird. And it just seemed to disappear once it had done its initial run. I don’t think it was retained for a second week. Nothing like that.’

As it meant a trip to Birmingham, I’m guessing you didn’t catch it more than once.

Chris: ‘No, not at all. I’d have been coming up to 19 at the time.’

Ian: ‘I was born in ‘58 so was coming up to my 17th birthday. I saw it at Bolton ABC. We had about three big cinemas in the town centre. I can’t remember what was supporting it. I seem to think it was a Monty Python film. The thing was, when I saw the film, I didn’t have these daft expectations that it was the story of Slade in any way – a documentary or some fly on the wall thing – because I’d read the paperback.

‘I went along, sat down, watched it, and enjoyed it. I thought it held together very well. I wasn’t surprised, because I’d read the book… and it sold 200,000 copies, allegedly. It certainly sold a lot of copies. So how did all these people, Slade fans at the time, not realise the book is a story? It’s not the story of Slade. I just couldn’t get how they got themselves into so much trouble with it. That doesn’t compute.’

The 1975: John Pidgeon’s Slade in Flame and George Tremlett’s The Slade Story, Photo: WriteWyattUK

My copy of John Pidgeon’s Slade in Flame book (Panther, 1975) still sits proudly alongside George Tremlett’s The Slade Story (Futura, 1975) on a shelf. My brother, seven years older and a massive Slade fan, had both on release, but photos had been cut out and I ended up buying my own copies in more recent years. I knew The Slade Story well, but can’t recall going back to Pidgeon’s paperback so much beyond my teen years, when its fairly graphic nature (if I remember correctly) appealed more.

Ian: ‘The book tells the story properly, and everybody who read it thought the film was going to be exactly the same. What tickles me is that people think they filmed things like {the mobsters} cutting Jack Daniels’ toes off, then decided to cut it out. They knew what wouldn’t get past the censors and knew what would have got the film an X certificate… so didn’t bother filming that.’

You would have known the songs well by the time the film came out.

Ian: ‘Yeah, I was good with the soundtrack.’

I love that LP (as does Noddy, calling it ‘probably our best’, with ‘Far, Far Away’ his favourite Slade single, as is the case for Don), although I didn’t have the context of seeing it at the time to examine how the band had moved on from what came before, for instance since Old, New Borrowed and Blue.

Ian: ‘It’s only really ‘How Does It Feel’ that is different. The added brass, the thing with Gonzalez. Apart from that, it’s not a lot different {from other Slade LPs}, except that Old New Borrowed and Blue was a patchwork quilt of leftover songs, because of Don’s accident.’

Daryl Easlea suggests in his Slade biography that if Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath or David Bowie had made that film, it would have been far better received by their fan bases. Maybe the critics would have followed suit. It’s now seen as a cult success but was a slow burner on that front.

Ian: ‘Well, if you look at Slade, their relationship with the press was always pretty dreadful. Once they built them up, they spent the rest of their career knocking them down. So Slade making a film was like target practise for the press. They could have walked on water, brought Christ on in the cameo, and they would have still found fault with it.’

Thank God it wasn’t the dreadful, The Quite a Mess Experiment film script they were originally set to go with. Quite frankly, that sounded awful.

Chris: ‘Well, it was a real thing. They weren’t making it up. It does sound dreadful. ‘Oh, I know what we’ll do, we’ll kill off the lead guitarist within the first 10 minutes.’ Mind you, Dave’s wasn’t the best of the four little cameos in Flame. Jim, Don and Nod acquitted themselves pretty well, but Dave was a little bit more ‘school play nuance’ sort of thing.’

True… but we love him for it (this scribe having had the pleasure of a couple of interviews with Dave, currently working on plans for his band’s final UK Christmas tour as Slade, the most recent linked here).

Chris: ‘And with Don they went for an A Hard Day’s Night sort of vibe with Ringo, on the train…’

Ian: ‘Well, he got his scene where he walked off on his own, doing ‘This Boy’, walking round with his old boss by the canal.’

I love that Ringo scene and Don’s a decade later. And as opening sequences go, the ‘How Does It Feel?’ introductory scene – from the steelworks footage to Don’s arrival back home at the Park Hall flats after his sidecar lift home – takes some beating.

In my case, there was a sense of wonder when it got its small screen debut a few years later, not least at seeing Don and Jim, the quiet ones as I perceived them, talking on camera. Admittedly though, as a story it took me longer to appreciate Flame. In fact, while Ian was 17 and Chris was 19 when they first saw it, I’d not long reached the age of 20 when I caught Channel 4’s late-night TV premiere screening after the pubs closed on Saturday 12th December 1987.

That landed on my folks’ black and white set five years to the week after my sole live Slade sighting at Hammersmith Odeon. My diary records very little about the experience (I’d probably had a few, it was my mate, fellow Slade fan Alan’s 28th birthday, him having seen the film in Guildford first time around with my brother, both of them 15 at the time), but further investigations recently informed me that it was up against Alain Delon and Nathalie Baye in Bertrand Blier’s absurdist 1984 flick, Notre Histoire (BBC2), indoor bowls from Bournemouth (BBC1), and snooker from Northampton (LWT) in those four-channel days.

I didn’t have a telly in my room then, so it would have been a case of toast and a cuppa to keep me awake before my late-night armchair viewing, Stoker, Paul, Barry and Charlie brought to life in my mum and dad’s council house living room. Then at half one I’d have crept upstairs, just before the opening credits of The Edgar Wallace Mysteries.

I didn’t see it as a cinematic triumph back then, but certain scenes stayed with me, and I was quick to snap it up on its first DVD release in 2003, also loving Gary Crowley’s interview with Nod. And despite the desperate subject matter in places, I enjoy it more each time I revisit the film. Also, while I never had the soundtrack LP on vinyl, I had it taped from Alan’s copy, later buying the 2007 Salvo reissue, which still stands up to muster, I feel. As for the film, it’s every bit as iconic as the best UK rock ‘n’ roll films of that decade or any other, not least 1973’s That’ll Be the Day and 1979’s Quadrophenia.

Chris: ‘What was going on at the time was things like That’ll Be The Day, films with actors in that also included pop stars. David Essex was a musical theatre actor, and then they introduced Ringo Starr, Billy Fury, Keith Moon… just doing cameos. So for Flame to come along, a complete film with non-actors essentially, apart from the likes of Tom Conti and Alan Lake, was a huge thing to do – nobody else had done that. The Beatles just had their jumping up and down, running about, blah, blah, blah. Nobody else did anything like Flame. Go back to the Fifties and the rock ’n’ roll films were just that. But here you had non-actors taking the main roles.’

That’ll Be The Day was fairly dark as well.

Ian: ‘Yeah, and it was the same production company. They knew how to make a film.’

You also mention in the book Performance, chiefly because of Johnny Shannon’s hard man roles in both films, and that was another important film milestone, Mick Jagger playing a key role. That was something I saw for the first time around the same time as Flame, again on the box. And there are certainly correlations, not least that element of Get Carter type bleakness.

Chris: ‘There was also Led Zeppelin’s The Song Remains the Same in that era, a little later. I went to the pictures to see that, and it was the most boring film in the world, with 15-minute versions of something or other. The biggest band in the world, and they make this God-awful film, which nobody mentions… or they don’t seem to. That’s not a cult classic!’

Ian: ‘The thing with The Song Remains the Same, the music’s fabulous, but when you go poncing around in castles and climbing up cliff faces with druid outfits on, pop kids didn’t want that! And Peter Grant going round in his car pretending to be a gangster… If they’d done a straight concert film, that would have been perfect.’

Something else that strikes me and comes across in your book is that while glam rock was to some degree a rebirth of rock ‘n’ roll with spangly, sparkly clothes and make-up – I’m thinking of the likes of Mott the Hoople and Wizzard paying musical homage to those earlier days – it was perhaps a little early to reminisce about the Sixties. It was the Fifties being canonised elsewhere, We’d not long come out of that era, so maybe the premise of setting the film in the late Sixties backfired on Slade at the time.

Chris: ‘That was quite confusing. We knew it was supposed to be the late Sixties, but when you watch the film there’s nothing, really, that says, ‘this is 1968’ – nothing about the Apollo moon landings in the background, or anything like that. It could be any time. It could have been 1974. It could have been contemporary. Even the clothes weren’t particularly… Alan Lake in a velvet suit, that could have been 1970s.’

Yes, a very cabaret circuit / working men’s club look in his case. And talking of the look of the film, I’m pleased to see you gave valuable space in the book to Gered Mankowitz and Steve Megson. Because the look of the film is iconic.

Ian: ‘It is, and I like that they’ve managed on the remastered version to brighten it a bit, because everybody always said it’s a very dark film… literally. Too dark. But they’ve improved the picture quality, and I hope the BFI have managed that with what they’re doing. I imagine they’ll have made it absolutely pristine – the picture and the sound, which has never been good.’

I’m impressed with the pen pics of those involved, and not just the bigger names. And I enjoyed your interview with Tom Conti, although it struck me that you worked hard to get him to open up, prodding the memory banks.

Ian: ‘We planned our questions and put them in a logical order, but occasionally he went off on a bit of a tangent!’

True, but that’s how interviews tend to work.

Ian: ‘Yeah, and he said to us before we started, ‘I’m not going to be much use to you. I remember nothing about this. I was there but can hardly remember it.’ But he was great, and enthusiastic, and lovely to talk to. We asked about the BFI screening, and he said he’d been invited to the premiere, and told us he enjoyed our book, which was good. So, yeah, job well done there.’

It’s a fair assumption that making a movie was up there with cracking the US market for Slade, high on a list of priorities. Do you think that was mostly driven by Chas Chandler or the band?

Chris: ‘I’ve always thought they were following the {Brian} Epstein thing – have No.1s, make a film, do a stage thing – The Beatles did theirs, ’63-’64, basically a pantomime. They don’t talk about that often, but they were on stage somewhere in London for a couple of weeks, all dressed up. So there was a plan for Slade too – No.1 records, a No.1 album, then do a film, conquer America. Which they all did – Rolling Stones, everybody. But the American thing was a mistake, totally and utterly, and the film was a strange decision… but a good decision that they didn’t follow The Beatles with that idea of putting a show on or that sort of format. It’s a proper stand-alone film, and it’s not Help! or A Hard Day’s Night or That’ll Be the Day or Stardust.’

We get the impression – as Noddy has agreed – that if people wanted more of a biographical take on it all, they had to wait 20 years for Vic Reeves, Bob Mortimer, Pau Whitehouse and Mark Williams’ Slade in Residence for the BBC’s The Smell of Reeves and Mortimer.

Ian: ‘Ha!’

Chris: ‘Yes! But {as actors} they must have been very good, because we’ve all said this about Flame – there are no outtakes. Although I still think that pigeon was the greatest actor in it, because he crapped on Nod’s head the very first time. No retakes, no nothing. Fantastic! In any film, there would have been countless retakes. Chas must have been saying, ‘Right, that’s three quid we’ve spent, let the pigeon go!’

Yep, I never met Chas but fear he would have frightened me. Incidentally, I was surprised while researching Wild! Wild! Wild! To discover that the pigeon loft scene was filmed in Harlesden, North West London. Those look like iconic Northern shots to me, as many more were in the film.

Meanwhile, the introduction to your book steered me towards another rock ‘n’ roll movie of that era, Never Too Young To Rock, one I was far less aware of. And despite your less than rave review, I’m quite intrigued to see it. I watched the trailer and a promo video of the title track, that film starring various breakthrough mid-Seventies pop bands – from The Glitter Band to Mud.

Ian: ‘Never Too Young to Rock? I’m trying to remember it, confusing it with the dreadful Remember Me This Way. And all I remember of that is Gary Glitter smashing a coffee table up.’  

Chris: ‘Yeah, I can see it now – The Rubettes and all that.’

Dig out the YouTube clip, and there’s a six-minute piece featuring the entire musical ensemble, together for the finale. I quite enjoyed it, but maybe because I was reminded of my love of ‘Remember You’re a Womble’ and all that as an impressionable lad.

Ian: ‘Nothing wrong with the Wombles. I’ve got their albums up there {pointing behind him on our video call}.’

Quite right too. Back to Flame though, and it strikes me now as odd that the LP (November 29th 1974) was out six weeks before the film’s Northern premiere at the Pavilion Theatre in Newcastle-upon-Tyne (January 12th 1975), with that a month before the London one at the Metropole in Victoria (February 13th), and the Scottish film rollout another month after that.

Ian: ‘They did a lot before the London premiere. They went round the regions first.’

I was delving in a bit more, not least in light of my better half’s cousin – whose dad was a press photographer – seeing the film in Cardiff, meeting the band at a BBC Radio Wales promo event (April 17th), where Slade were interviewed by (gulp) Jimmy Savile’s brother, Vince. It seems the band didn’t stick around for the film, but in the following print editions there were quotes from the band enticing fans to return for April 21st’s Capitol Theatre show, that just one of many promo events for the film and the following tour over a long period.  

Chris: ‘Yes, they did the Glasgow one with the fire engine and all that, before the London one.’

Ian: ‘Glasgow was the one with the (horse-drawn) hearse.’

Chris: ‘There you go. So was London the one with the fire engine, where it was raining outside, the likes of The Sweet and everybody else inside, taking the mick out of them?’

It was, the guests also including Diana Dors with her husband, Alan Lake, who memorably portrayed Jack Daniels.

Returning to the music, I’m still in awe that Jim, who I felt privileged to chat to for an illuminating and open feature-interview in 2018 (linked here) was barely 13 when he wrote the bones of what became the film’s musical masterpiece, ‘How Does It Feel?’ I mean, we know what a fantastic musician he is, but that still impresses me. Genius.

Chris: ‘Yes, his family were musicians – his grandparents. I spoke to his mother about it, and she was absolutely appalled when he joined the ’N Betweens! God bless her. She told me ‘James’ was going to be a serious musician. He’d done all these exams and everything, then at the age of 16, he turns up {for the ’N Betweens audition}, gets the job. I’ve just had a text off him, by the way… he can just about use a phone!’

Marvellous. On a similar front, I assumed those iconic lines about the yellow lights down the Mississippi and all that on ‘Far, Far Away’ were down to Nod, as has often been repeated. Don Powell says it in this book too, while there’s a quote from a 2019 Louder Than Sound website interview in which Dave Hill also confirms that version. As you put it, ‘In the most widely heard version of how the song came to be, Noddy Holder was sat on the banks of the Mississippi with Chas Chandler and he has always said that he sang the first line of the song out loud, off the cuff. Chas stopped him from enjoying his drink and taking in the view, telling him he had the bare bones of a song, and to go and write the rest of the song down, before he forgot it. He would finish the song lyrics off, and, with Jim Lea adding a fantastic tune with some superb melodic touches, the group had yet another winner.’

However, you suggest there may be an alternative version of the truth, with this another song James Whild Lea lays claim to, Jim telling Planet Rock, also in 2019, ‘All I had was ‘I’ve seen the yellow lights go down the Mississippi, I’ve seen the bridges of the world and they’re for real’, so I said, ‘Go away and write something wistful, Nod’. And what did he come back with? ‘I’ve had a red light off me wrist without me even getting kissed’. I said ‘Nod, do you think they’ll play that on the radio?’ He went ‘Yeah, no-one’ll know’. And he was right. I was being cerebral and philosophical and Noddy brought the laddishness. That’s why the songs worked.’ Help me, lads. I’m confused now.

Chris: ‘When we were 12 and 13, we understood they wrote everything jointly, but… well, it’ll be interesting to see what Jim actually says in his book.’

Indeed. Something else that Daryl Easlea is currently involved with, working with Jim on his official (auto)biography. And with regard to the Flame LP, as I understand it, it was put together in the studio rather than on the road, arguably a glimpse of what was to come, post-1983, in the later days of the band when they were no longer touring – Jim crafting the songs on his own largely, having a far bigger part in making the record than on previous occasions, maybe?

Ian: ‘Of the 10 songs on the LP, three of them have brass, and a lot is made of that. But basically, it’s only ‘How Does It Feel?’ that is such a departure – it’s symphonic in parts, orchestral in parts. Apart from that, the album is almost pretty much a regular Slade album.’

As it turns out, one of the New Victoria Theatre shows in London was recorded for posterity, and both of you got to dates on that tour, not long before they headed to America.

Ian: ‘I saw them at Belle Vue in Manchester. They came out later for photographs, taken with all the trashed seats. We’d gone by then. I won’t pretend I can remember all the set. The thing for me, my overall impression, was, ‘Jesus, they were loud!’ That was my first, and it was everything I wanted them to be. They were fabulous. The Radio One show after that, the Insight thing, was marvellous. And the New Victoria Theatre gig was great, a lovely thing to have. It’s about time it came out.’

In fact, this scribe returned to that recording while putting finishing touches to this feature. Meanwhile, Ian writes in more depth on that landmark Belle Vue appearance in Wild! Wild! Wild!, a taster of which featured in my most recent Slade-related feature on these pages, linked here. And how about Chris (who first caught them live 55 years ago – in January 1970 at a Walsall  community centre, as also recorded in my Slade book)?

‘It’d either be Birmingham or Wolverhampton. I saw them on every tour up until they finished. People will say, ‘I saw them 390 times’ and all that, but I saw them two or three times before ‘Get Down and Get With It’ got into the charts – community centres, baths, all that sort of thing. I love that all these people took the time to make notes of the setlists, take photographs, all that. But when I was old enough, I was off my head – I didn’t have a clue about the set! I was there, I enjoyed it, then had to get back home from wherever it was. That’s all I was worried about!’

Our web link dropped out at that point, so I didn’t get the chance to quiz Chris and Ian on last year’s novella, Whatever Happened to Flame? Based on the band Slade memorably played in the iconic 1975 film, the pair continue the story in a ‘fan fiction creation’ that makes for a lovely little read that makes you think exactly where the story may have gone from there. Unfortunately, if you didn’t get a copy, it was a limited-edition publication, so you may have to wait for the film rights to be sold and Slade in Flame 2 to go into production.

They are however working on a further edition of The Noize, and as Ian put it when we caught up this week, this one’s ‘the final version, out later this year’ and ‘will be spilt into two volumes, so that we can fit the kitchen sink in each one.’ Splendid. Can’t wait.

Shelf Life: Slade in Flame, never knowingly out of fashion with this scribe (Photo: WriteWyattUK)

Slade in Flame at 50 is available to purchase now, with more details via Chris and Ian’s website and the Facebook and Instagram links for Noize Books and Recordings.

That also remains the case for Wild! Wild! Wild! A People’s History of Slade, on sale via Manchester-based publisher Spenwood Books via this link.

And for details of the remaining UK screening and event dates relating to the BFI-remastered cut of Slade in Flame, head here.

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The Undertones – Exeter Phoenix

I’ve said it before, but any day of the week’s When Saturday Comes if you’re catching The Undertones live. And these days it’s far more likely to be the case anyway, most of their live outings involving weekend jaunts up and down the country or on the Continent.

In this case my Love Parade Date Night arrived on the back of the band’s Friday night return to Cardiff’s Tramshed, Derry’s Finest Five having headed across the Severn estuary and made for South Devon to play a tidy venue in front of a sell-out crowd. The impressive Exeter Phoenix, tucked behind Queen Street, started life as a university building in 1909, surviving (just about) two world wars and even seeing service as a military hospital (with more about that history here), finally becoming a live venue in 1999… the year The Undertones had their own ‘from the ashes’ moment.

And there on Gandy Street I found brothers Damian and John O’Neill on fine form on the wings, playing a blinder while Billy Doherty and Mickey Bradley set a no-nonsense pace. I got the impression that Billy mischievously sped things up from time to time to keep them on their (heavy) mettle, but all of them remained resolutely in step to keep up a blistering tempo, with no hint of offside flags from errant linesmen, the clarity in those guitars (kudos to those mixing the sound) somewhat special.

It would all still crumble, of course, if Paul McLoone wasn’t up to the task, his antecedent Feargal Sharkey having set the bar extremely high. But while the ’Tones lead singer continues to act the maverick young frontman (younger than the others, anyway), finding plenty of opportunities for showboating, he remains on point, far more than just half of a double-act of ready wit and sharp banter alongside Mickey that always provides something to savour.

I think we’re beyond setlists now, right? There will always be songs we feel deserve outings that are missed out, but packing it all into an hour and a half or so means something must give, and the material they deliver – around 30-plus songs, perfectly executed, irrespective of that downplaying/understating of their own abilities and talents, and isn’t that attitude a breath of fresh air compared to some out there? – always impresses and has the power to take us back to our respective youths. Furthermore, I feel we’re seeing far younger converts in the crowd these days, many of whom probably first came along primarily to laugh/marvel (delete where applicable) at their old folks’ dancing or just to indulge their obsession… but stuck around, soon catching on.

Talking of youths, at one point Paul and Mickey latched on to a couple of lads out front, telling them they looked like they were in a band… and if they weren’t, they should be. As Mickey put it, gesturing towards himself and his bass guitar, ‘How hard can it be?’ Having ascertained they did in fact play, they asked the lads their band name, and while I couldn’t quite hear the response, I like to think they were, as it sounded, The Undecided – a grand name for a possible future support act.

Content-wise, we got a fairly typical array of hits and more, the band striding through cuts from all six LPs over two incarnations, with more than a smattering of the added extras we love. And the finest moment for me? ‘You’re Welcome’, positively awe-inspiring. Some 44 years beyond Positive Touch, I reckon I can truly hear what I’m guessing John initially wanted to convey there.

I won’t be the only one who’s heard ‘Teenage Kicks’ much too much for it to affect me the same way, but I’ve not tired of the other tracks from that EP, two of which featured on the night, that early material and belters like ‘Male Model’ perfect tributes to David Johansen, the last of the original New York Dolls, lost to the world in late February. Add that to the fact that no original Ramones remain among us, and this year alone we’ve also lost Pere Ubu’s David Thomas, Blondie’s Clem Burke, The Damned’s Brian James, and The Jam’s Rick Buckler, and I’m all the more thankful for what we still have… and The Undertones’ retention of their punk rock energy.

On that note, when the main set ended, Billy was the last to slip away. I’m not convinced he wasn’t heading the Wrong Way to get backstage – a Spinal Tap moment – but as he reached centre stage, he clutched his fist to that thankfully rewired heart in appreciation of the love crowd on a sell-out West Country evening. It was a poignant occasion too, the band with a heartfelt dedication to lost Devonian fan Roger Hawke, his family there to mark the occasion in his memory. And it was the first Undertones show I’ve been to where I wouldn’t get to swap notes after the event with Vinny Cunningham, the Derry City super-fan, Undertones diehard, dedicated family man and talented film-maker behind so much of the band’s recorded screen product since the 1999 rebirth.

I reckon in the 20 times I’ve caught The Undertones live across 44 years (16 of those involving the Mk. II lineup in the last quarter-century), I hear something fresh on each occasion. And as long as that’s the case, I’ll keep on attending, quality nights always guaranteed from these stalwart geniuses of punk rock pop.

What also jumps out at me (increasingly so) about the 21st Century ’Tones is their sonic nod to the UK glam scene that was always part of the band’s DNA, songs like ‘Hard Luck’ and ‘Top Twenty’ great examples aired on the night. Then, similarly, there’s that in-built love of the Sixties US underground, as heard on ‘The Love Parade’ and ‘When Saturday Comes’. And above all else there’s that ear and heart for perfect pop, with ‘Tearproof’, ‘Wednesday Week’ and simple wee tunes like ‘Really Really’ among this night’s prime examples.

They’ve never stood still, later era additions like ‘Thrill Me’ and ‘Dig Yourself Deep’ arguably now as essential as ‘Hypnotised’, ‘You Got My Number (Why Don’t You Use It!)’ and ‘Get Over You’. But the edginess remains, and while I’m not sure if it was just the heat getting to those guitars, I could hear (admittedly unexpected) echoes of the drone of early That Petrol Emotion live highlight ‘V2’ on ‘I Know a Girl’, of all songs. Maybe that’s just my aural wiring, mind.

Talking of heat, ‘Here Comes the Summer’ was suitably special on an evening when I reckon the fish were jumping in the Exe and a few wired locals in the park by the castle were certainly high. In fact, you could almost taste the hot bods in the throng, my tired dancing feet at least fireproof as I headed down the steps an hour or so later, back towards my car across town.

The five of them soon returned, a three-number send-off ending rather inevitably with ‘My Perfect Cousin’, that punk pop classic having started its three-week UK Top Twenty tenure 45 years ago this week, yet still as fresh as ever all these years on… just like the band.

A post-match pint in the bar followed with members of the fellow faithful – in this case the Taunton Twosome, one of whom was already fired up about the next date, with Sunday another Bath night for band and fans alike. I’d be back in West Cornwall by then though, and while I never take the possibility of further sightings for granted, I’m already looking forward to my next jolly boys and girls Undertones outing.

With extra thanks to Graham Perowne for the photographs. You’ll find plenty more of Papa Smurf’s splendid live music work via Facebook and Instagram.

For related past interviews, features, live reviews and what have you on this website, just click on the band members’ names higher up or type ‘Undertones’ into the search engine on the right towards the top of this page and listen as the cogs driving the inner doings Sigh and Explode.  

And for all the latest from The Undertones, follow the band via their own website, Facebook and Instagram links. You’d also be wise to also catch the Rocking Humdingers pages on Facebook

  

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Wham! Bam! Thank You, Slade!

Fifty years ago this week, Slade were deep into their ‘Thanks for the Memory’ tour, on the back of the release of Slade in Flame, the cult movie about to get the remaster treatment five decades later, back on the big screen in the UK and Ireland before a BFI Blu-ray/DVD release. In the latest feature celebrating that much anticipated new release, I bring you the first of two further Flame-related features on these pages in the next few days – providing another tempting taster of Wild! Wild! Wild! A People’s History of Slade, my 2023 publication for Spenwood Books, which is still very much available to purchase from the publisher and the author (with relevant links at the foot of this feature).

Here, I’m including seven pieces lifted from the book regarding five key dates on that tour, my chosen contributors celebrating the band’s final English shows on that latest British trek, providing their own heartfelt testimonies regarding key dates in London (recorded for posterity), Wolverhampton, Manchester, Newcastle-upon-Tyne and Liverpool.

By mid-June, Slade would already be two dates into an all-consuming North American sojourn, and they wouldn’t properly be back on the road in the UK for two more years. Things were about to change, big time. But for many, that final 1975 tour on home soil was either something of a game changer or further proof of the band’s live power, the group they’d grown up with still proving essential, even if their dominant rule of the UK charts was coming to an end.

New Victoria Theatre, London

26 April 1975

Simon Harvey

When Slade first hit the charts in June 1971 with ‘Get Down and Get With It’, I didn’t realise as an 11-year-old lad what an impact the band would have on my life. The band were just starting out on their chart career, their self-belief sending them on a journey to international fame. Hit single after hit single followed in rapid succession, with no less than six UK No.1s following. Thursday evenings were spent watching Top of the Pops in hope of Slade being on with their new record, and Tuesday lunchtimes listening to BBC Radio 1 on the 247 MW frequency as Johnnie Walker announced the new chart countdown to hear what position Slade’s new record had entered.

Then there were Friday evenings listening to Rosko’s Roundtable, the self-styled Emperor playing new releases, judged by an ‘expert’ panel as to the possibility of chart success. He loved Slade, having a cameo appearance in their 1975 cinematic film outing, Slade in Flame. There were also evenings spent listening to Radio Luxembourg 208 MW on a transistor radio with an earpiece under the bed covers after lights out at 9pm (I had to be up early to do my paper round before school).

In the words of 1976 Slade hit ‘Let’s Call It Quits’, I was ‘trapped hook, line and sinker’ and desperate to see Slade live. Having saved my wages from my paper round, I was able to afford to make my dream come true at London’s New Victoria Theatre, travelling in from Slough with school friend Kim Bryant on public transport. We arrived at the venue mid-afternoon to be greeted by the sight of hundreds of chanting Slade fans outside the theatre, the assembled throng demanding ‘we want Slade!’ to the amusement of the attending police, security staff and passers-by.

Fans were dressed in Noddy Holder mirrored top hats, glitter-encrusted outfits, Slade t-shirts and silver-studded stack-heeled boots. It was like walking on to the set of an apocalyptic film, with life’s most weird and wonderful people all gathered in one place.

Eventually access was allowed into the theatre, where I was in awe of the beautiful Victorian splendour. The largest entertainment establishment I had been inside prior to the New Vic being our local village hall. After watching support act Bunny and what then seemed like an eternity, Slade hit the stage to a barrage of amplified sound and lights, tearing into ‘Them Kinda Monkeys Can’t Swing’ with a ferocity that was incredible to behold – Holder in full, unstoppable flow.

I was mesmerised at being in the same room, seeing Slade in the flesh as opposed to on TV – a mind-blowing experience that changed the course of my life. The set that night consisted of some of Slade’s big-hitting tunes, including ‘Far Far Away’, ‘Gudbuy T’ Jane’, ‘Everyday’, ‘Thanks For The Memory’, ‘Mama Weer All Crazee Now’ and a stripped-back, haunting keyboard and guitar-led rendition of ‘How Does It Feel?’, spine-tinglingly beautiful.

The gig and tour were recorded by BBC Radio 1 and remain available to listen to online via the Six Days on the Road documentary, with commentary by Stuart Grundy. That day started my Slade live journey in style, the first of 98 such sightings between 1975 and 1983 up to their final gig together at the Royal Court Theatre, Liverpool, promoting No.2 chart hit ‘My Oh My’.

I saw Slade play to full concert halls, thousands at festivals, and near empty clubs, but that gig at the New Victoria Theatre will always hold a special place in my heart as the day I got SLAYED.

Civic Hall, Wolverhampton

27 April 1975

Ian Petko-Bunney

I discovered them around 1973, the time of ‘Cum On Feel The Noize’ and ‘Skweeze Me, Pleeze Me’, going on to buy ‘Merry Xmas Everybody’, ‘The Bangin’ Man’, and Old New Borrowed And Blue. Then I bought Sladest and Slade Alive! – as good a live album capturing a show as anything. They weren’t touring in the UK then. They made Slade in Flame, and they’d been touring a lot in the US. But to promote Flame they did a tour. I lived in mid-Wales and persuaded my dad to drive me and a buddy from school to Wolverhampton. That was something I’d never experienced.

I didn’t see them again until I was at Cardiff University in ’78, on a much smaller stage. It was all standing and we were all moshing. That was knockout. They hadn’t really had hits for the longest time. Then came Reading, and the revival. I’m pretty sure I saw them twice in one week in ’79. I went with a couple of buddies, notably including Russell Pierce, who I still talk to and who runs part of a radio station in Lyme Bay, Dorset. We hung around for the soundcheck but got kicked out pretty quickly.

After that, I saw them at Monsters of Rock at Donington and, on before Blue Öyster Cult, Slade killed it. I remember Noddy talking about AC/DC’s Back in Black and how they had the big bell on stage, complaining as the rain dripped down from the bell. It was just a sea of people and that was a great, great show.

King’s Hall, Belle Vue, Manchester

29 April 1975

Ian Edmundson

Slade’s Flame tour show at Belle Vue in Manchester was a very special gig for me. They were my idols. I bought their records on release from either Derek Guest or Javelin Records in Bolton. They rolled into town amidst some fanfare. There was quite a lot of radio station promotion in advance. Maybe that was a sign that they were beginning their downward slide and needed to shift some tickets, but we’d all have laughed out loud at that idea back then. As far as we knew they were still by far the country’s top band, though you have to remember that ‘How Does It Feel?’ hadn’t reached the top 10, a bit of a blip for them. The press leapt on that and sharpened their knives.

I travelled in from Bolton, and on reaching the King’s Hall I dived into the merch stall and came away with a Flame poster (I saw the film a couple of times on release), the tour programme, and a ‘Cum On Feel The Noize’ badge which some swine mugged me for on a train near Bristol a year or so later. I went and took up a place on a stairway off to the right side of the room, out of the crush with a really good view, where I could put my swag down without losing it. All the hall stewards were too busy in the carnage down at the front to be bothered with where we were standing.

The support act were Bunny, who I enjoyed. They were close to being booed off by the crowd. After what seemed like an age, Slade took to the stage. In fact, they didn’t just take to that stage, they seemed to explode onto it. I reckon it was the crowd that was exploding. The welcome was deafening. Then it was Slade’s turn to be deafening. In about 50 shows that I saw, they never showed much restraint as far as decibels went.

The sound at Belle Vue was always an utter mire. The hall was huge and cavernous, and the sound just echoed around and around. I’d also suffered through Roxy Music struggling with the acoustics there. But I shrugged off the terrible sound of the room and got on with enjoying the show. They started off with ‘Them Kinda Monkeys Can’t Swing’ from Flame – a great opener, high energy, just right.

Nod was wearing a white suit with dark spots, and the biggest tie you’ve ever seen. Dave was wearing a dark glittery suit with studs all over it. When I married fellow Slade fan Julie years later, she showed me one of the studs that she had managed to pull off it. I still have it somewhere. That suit must have just been in tatters by the end of the tour. Jim and Don dressed more conservatively, in white and white striped outfits.

While the stewards fought in vain to control the masses, Slade played ‘The Bangin’ Man’ and ‘Gudbuy T’ Jane’, familiar tunes that were greeted like heroes, then another from the film, ‘Far Far Away’. Nod told us that he and Jim hadn’t really fallen out like they had in the film. A lot of dim people seem to have thought the film was a documentary. Jim took to the Fender Rhodes piano, and they played the new single, ‘Thanks For The Memory’. That song was just too long and wrong for a single for me, but we all still loved it. Jim stayed on the piano for ‘How Does It Feel?’ and the mirror ball over the stage did its work as the crew put a spotlight on it.

Everyone reverted to their own instruments for ‘Just A Little Bit’. Slade showed everything that they knew about dynamics on this song. It went from quiet to deafening and back again several times. A singalong with ‘Everyday’ gave everyone a welcome breather, before two newer songs, ‘OK Yesterday Was Yesterday’ and ‘Raining In My Champagne’, baffled a lot of people who didn’t know them. The show closed with ‘Let the Good Times Roll’/‘Feel So Fine’ with that bass intro. Years later, I heard the Amen Corner version and was shocked to see where Slade had lifted it from. Not that it matters.

There isn’t a better show-closer than ‘Mama Weer All Crazee Now’, so that was a no-brainer. Slade hammered their last tune home and when the lights came up, the crowd began to slowly drift out of the hall. As the room cleared, we saw the seats, where we should have been, were wrecked – we had done the right thing in keeping out of the way. My ears rang for a few days after and the Slade gig was all we talked about for the next couple of days at school. We could just about hear each other.

The gig left quite a big impression on me. I was drifting towards taking up bass guitar, and Jim Lea was an obvious role model. When I later fronted bands, chatting to crowds – like Noddy Holder did – came in very useful. One of those nights that you just don’t forget.

Diane Rutter

Jacket Hangs: Diane Rutter’s jacket from that Belle Vue King’s Hall show, all these years on

Me and my best friend Angela spent weeks making Slade jackets for this Tuesday night gig. I still have mine, a bit worn for wear these days, and it definitely doesn’t fit me anymore. Tickets were £1.60, including a booking fee, and coloured blue.

Angela was lucky as her parents let her go to two previous gigs, in November 1972 at Manchester’s Free Trade Hall and February 1973 at The Hardrock in Stretford, the day ‘Cum On Feel The Noize’ went straight to No.1. But this was my first gig.

After obligatory boiled eggs and soldiers for tea, we started getting ready. At the time I had a Dave Hill-style haircut (a Slade in Flame look) and both of us were absolutely covered in silver glitter – faces and hair – and wearing our homemade Slade jackets and platform boots which we’d sprayed silver, and carrying our Slade scarves. At last, we were ready to go, with Angela’s dad taking us in their car. We arrived at Belle Vue and there was a huge queue of Slade fans. We joined the queue until the gates were opened, and everybody ran like mad to get in.

The King’s Hall was also used for the circus, so the auditorium was circular in shape. We had tickets very near the front, Row D. Support band, Bunny, came on stage, but all you could hear was, ‘We want Slade! We want Slade!’, chanted non-stop.

At last, Bunny departed and the roadies came on, sorting out bits of equipment and twiddling knobs on the amps. Then the moment arrived, the lights dimmed, shadowy figures could be seen, making their way onto the stage. And suddenly, in a flash of bright light, there they were… SLADE!

With the aid of gig info online, I can tell you the setlist was, ‘Them Kinda Monkeys Can’t Swing’, ‘The Bangin’ Man’, ‘Gudbuy T’ Jane’, ‘Far Far Away’, ‘Thanks For The Memory’, ‘How Does It Feel?’, ‘Just Want A Little Bit’, ‘Everyday’, ‘OK Yesterday Was Yesterday’, ‘It’s Raining In My Champagne’, ‘Let The Good Times Roll’ and ‘Mama Weer All Crazee Now’.

It didn’t matter in those days what seat number your ticket said, because everybody swarmed to the front. I was stood very near to the stage – about two or three rows back – and started the gig on Dave’s side, but by ‘Thanks For The Memory’, I’d managed to get over to Jim’s side. Gazing up at our heroes was fantastic for 15-year-old (me) and 16-year-old (Angie) schoolgirls. We sang along with every song. I’m also fairly certain Nod did a rendition of ‘The Banana Boat Song’ (‘Day-O’), years before Freddie Mercury, who nicked a lot of his stage ideas from Nod. At one point, all the stage lights were switched off. Then, in complete darkness, a strobe light flashed. It was like watching a silent movie, except it most certainly wasn’t silent!

All too soon, the show came to an end and everybody made their way to the exits. We were absolutely buzzing. What a brilliant night. A famous photo of the band appeared in the Manchester Evening News the next day, showing all the broken seats in the concert hall. I remember when the lights came up, I looked round the hall and about the first half-dozen to maybe ten rows of seats had been completely trashed. They looked more like piles of firewood than seats. It wasn’t done out of violence or wanton destruction though, just screaming excited fans (mainly teenage girls) dancing and having a good night.

There was also a photo in the next day’s Oldham Evening Chronicle, showing a lot of the audience, including me and Angie. BBC Radio 1 recorded a show, compiled from most of the gigs on this tour, called 6 Days on the Road, which was broadcast a few weeks later. It was two years until I saw them again, but the memories I have of that very first time will stay with me forever.

City Hall, Newcastle-upon-Tyne

30 April 1975

John Craven

I only saw them once, with my mate Paul. It being my first ever gig, I thought all concerts were going to be like that. But they weren’t, not even Bowie or Iggy or the Ramones. My first and my best, and I’ve seen everyone I want. Shame it all came to a messy end with Dave and Don. A bit like Flame really. I even met Noddy at a book shop, and he shook my hand. Nice bloke.

Peter Smith

In April 1975 I finally relented, saw sense, put ‘cool’ aside, and went along to see Slade again. This was my one and only experience of Slade and their audience during their glam rock, mega-pop, teen sensation period. When sold out, as it was for Slade that night, the City Hall holds 2,400 people; I swear there were 2,200 screaming girls, and me and 199 other guys. The guys were either with their girlfriends, feeling very out of place (like me) and looking around sheepishly (also like me), skinheads who had followed the band from the start, or full-on Slade fans (who stood out as they were the guys dressed as Nod or Dave). I swear every single girl was wearing a Slade scarf, tartan trousers or top (or both) or Slade badges. Or, even better, a Slade rosette, often home-made, with pictures of Noddy cut out of Jackie or Fab208. Of the 2,200 girls, I reckon 1,500 of them were wearing top hats or bowlers with mirrors stuck on them.

I was seated upstairs on a side balcony, looking down on the stage. Not the best position in the house, and it only added to me not feeling fully part of the event. I felt so out of place and self-conscious, but what the hell; I was at a Slade concert again, and I knew how hard these guys could rock on a good night.

‘WE WANT SLADE!’ When they stepped on stage the place went completely crazy. The truth is Slade’s popularity was starting to decline and their last single, ‘How Does It Feel?’, had only made No.15 in the UK charts. But as a live act, and in Newcastle that night, Slade remained massive.

Noddy was on top form. No one could work a crowd like him. And some of his banter with the crowd was pretty filthy in those days. ‘Hands up all those girls with red knickers on… Hands up all those girls with blue knickers on… Hands up all those girls with NO knickers on!’ Today, this feels dated (probably bordering on illegal), but back then the crowd screamed and screamed and screamed with excitement. They waved their scarves in the air, and everyone sang ‘Everyday’. I stood watching, taking it all in. Sometimes I felt I was part of it, but mostly it was as if I was outside looking in. I couldn’t quite relate to the madness and craziness of it all.

The set had changed completely from the early days. Slade no longer started with ‘Hear Me Calling’ or finished with ‘Born To Be Wild’. However, elements of the old Slade came through now and then; those old rockers hidden behind the glam pop teen swagger. After all, deep down I knew Nod was still the cheeky raucous rock singer, Dave was still the big kid who wanted to show off, Jim had always been a real musician, and Don remained unphased by it all, the solid rock rhythm holding it all together at the back. But I left with a strange feeling; it was as if I’d been to a kid’s party where I didn’t know anyone, no-one spoke to me, and the party went on in full swing, completely ignoring me.

This was Slade the pop band at their height. Happy days.

Empire Theatre, Liverpool

5 May 1975

Denise Southworth

I’ve always loved the radio, and my passion was always music and buying records. Growing up I shared a bedroom with my sister, a year older than me. It was the glam rock era and we’d listen to T.Rex – Electric Warrior, Tanx, all that – and Gary Glitter, Slade, Sweet, Mud and Alvin Stardust. My sister liked Sweet, but I liked Slade because the music was loud and rocky. I love a good beat, and I love the drumbeat in ‘Take Me Bak ’Ome’ and ‘Gudbuy T’ Jane’. I started following them in about 1973 and my first gig was at Belle Vue, Manchester. It was back in the days when you had to go and queue for tickets, and if T.Rex or Sweet were playing, all the kids from school would go and queue up to try and get tickets. When The Osmonds came, the school was half empty!

I remember being on the balcony at St George’s Hall in Blackburn. I just happened to wave to Dave Hill and he waved back. That made my day. Afterwards, all the fans were waiting outside, hoping to catch a glimpse of the band, and it was mayhem. My mum and stepdad had driven me and my sister up to Blackburn and were waiting outside for us. My sister wanted to wait behind as my stepdad’s car pulled out and he was saying, ‘Get in the car quickly!’. He was worried about the car getting crushed under the weight of these hysterical girls. I wagged off school on the day after their Manchester gig. They were stopping at the PostHouse Hotel, Manchester (now the Britannia Airport Hotel). That was the first time I met them. I got their autographs.

At the Liverpool Empire, right outside the train station, I was hanging about outside before the show. One of the roadies, possibly Swinn, gave me a pound to go across the road to WH Smiths in the train station and buy him some Sellotape or something. I brought him back the Sellotape and the change. It was only afterwards that I thought, ‘I could have run off with that pound.’

For a hardback copy of Wild! Wild! Wild! A People’s History of Slade, click on this link to the publisher, Spenwood Books, or get in touch with the author.

A further celebration of Slade in Flame, in light of the forthcoming BFI remastering project, will follow on these pages in the coming days. In the meantime, to revisit my previous feature celebrating the film’s golden anniversary through the pages of Wild! Wild! Wild! A People’s History of Slade, from February 2025, head here.

This feature is dedicated with much love to Lancashire-based Slade super-fan Diane Rutter, who is among the above contributors, and her husband, Stu, another who features heavily in the book, not least in light of Diane’s on-going health battles. Here’s wishing the both of them our very best.

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David Lance Callahan / Kezia Warwood – The Acorn Theatre, Penzance

Intimate setting: The Acorn Theatre, Penzance, on the night in question (Photo: Malcolm Wyatt)

‘As your soul tumbles through its darkest night

As the lost ones fade in blinding light

As the road bends hard round to the right

I’ll be singing right outside’

Five months into my dream move to Cornwall, yet this was my first proper live music show in the vicinity, in an impressive intimate setting deep into Penwith, catching an artist I first saw take to a stage 39 years ago (yep, count them).

That first sighting of David Lance Callahan was on Valentine’s Night ’86 at the Clarendon in Hammersmith, West London, fronting NME C86 outfit The Wolfhounds. Yet, if I’m honest, that third on the bill appearance (preceding The Mighty Lemon Drops and headliners That Petrol Emotion) only served to put them on my radar. It was through John Peel’s championing, the following Unseen Ripples From A Pebble LP and the subsequent Wolfies’ shows I caught that I truly grew to admire a Romford collective that soon proved they had real staying power.

Within five years that ever-evolving, cultured outfit (always too important to be written off as ‘indie noise pop’) had gone, David moving on to new territory – ‘post-rock groove’, Simon Reynolds reckoned – with Margaret Fiedler in Moonshake. But by 2006 The Wolfhounds were back, part of a bill engineered by St Etienne’s Bob Stanley at the ICA in London, alongside Aztec Camera supremo Roddy Frame and June Brides frontman Phil Wilson, the latter (their bands initially paired on the short-lived Pink Label with the aforementioned Petrols, McCarthy and Carter USM forerunners Jamie Wednesday) just so happening to be in Penzance on Thursday night to check out David at the Acorn, his first date since a Flying Nun promo visit in Auckland, New Zealand.

It’s now been five years since the last accomplished Wolfhounds LP, Electric Music, David ploughing his music writing, performing and recording energies into an acclaimed solo outing, proving himself once again with three mighty long players sporting his name. And at the Acorn we saw several of those songs somewhat stripped to the bone – just him, a couple of guitars and a clutch of quality songs underlining his craft.

As is his wont, he remains keen to help lend a leg up to emerging artists on the circuit, and introduced a fair few of us on the night to Kezia Warwood, similarly armed just with a guitar and her own wiles, a short but always engaging set showcasing a fine voice and sound songwriting acumen, your scribe hearing shades of Joni Mitchell and maybe Suzanne Vega (check out early single ’Sweet Freeloader’ for a taste of that), this Sinead O’Connor fan also voicing a love of Lankum, her stirring take on The Incredible String Band anti-war ballad, ‘The Cold Days of February’, just one of the night’s highlights.

Kezia’s own numbers impress, not least ‘Coronation Street’, dedicated to ‘the gays out there’, while her penultimate number, ’17 Again’, got me thinking of Billy Bragg’s appropriation and recalibration of Simon and Garfunkel’s ‘The Leaves That Are Green’… then lo and behold led straight into her closing cover of ‘A New England’, pitched somewhere between Billy and Kirsty Maccoll and worthy of both.

Supporting Chance: Kezia Warwood, coming to a venue near you soon, no doubt. Photo: Andy ‘Wibble’ Whitehead

David came to the Far West on his tod, ex-Fall drummer and regular co-conspirator Daren Garratt back home, the bulk of the set taken from most recent release, Down to the Marshes, his ‘more worldly standalone album’ after ‘the Romulan twins of English Primitive I and II… birthed via Caesarean section  from their vixen mother,’ and while the LP itself – one his label, Tiny Global, reckon ‘will haunt your days and nights’ – carries the added joy of horns (step up, Terry Edwards, for one) and strings, the essence was here, David’s eclectic array of influences – from post-punk to folk, blues, Asian and West African – coming through loud and clear.

In a mighty advert for an album that ‘makes its own genres and rules’, David chose poetically pleasing closing number ‘Island State’ as his set opener, that followed by the LP’s own starting point, ‘The Spirit World’, as its ‘characters cribbed from Hilary Mantel walk around a Stepford park landscape, comfortable in their sparkling clean apathy’. More to the point for this listener, I have to wonder where he’s been hiding those rich vocals, David unleashing his inner Scott Walker meets Neil Hannon tonality.

Along the way we were treated to his (ahem) co-write with W.H. Auden, ‘Refugee Blues’, new song ‘Place Holder’ and ‘Down to the Marshes’ itself, his ‘walk through the lifetime of a couple measuring the stages of their relationship and family through the seasons on an imaginary suburban marsh, a Lea Valley of the mind’. And then there was ‘The Montgomery’, his haunting tale of a grounded US warship ‘lodged in a sandbank on the Thames estuary, and constantly threatening to explode with each rising and falling tide’. And if that ain’t a metaphor for our times, what is?

Time was always against us, with no time unfortunately for ‘Kiss Chase’ or ‘Father Thames and Mother London’ from the new platter, while there was just one Wolfhounds selection… even if in my case mean the latest LP title conjured up 1988’s ‘Son of Nothing’ opening line ‘Down where the river used to wind…’, which proved something of an earworm on my way to ’Zance. And while I couldn’t really picture old faves like ‘Cruelty’ or ‘Middle Aged Freak’ without bent-double guitar hero Andy Golding at his side, the more intimate setting suggested scope for a wander through the pensive ‘Lost But Happy’ and ‘Another Day on the Lazy A’, perhaps. That said, there are only so many quality songs you can fit in a set, and what was served up far from disappointed. And the oldest song he played? A slightly less wonky, raw take on Electric Music’s ‘Pointless Killing’, arguably akin to Kezia’s first choice of cover.

Other highlights included winning choices from his 2022 debut solo LP, ‘She’s the King of My Life’ and ‘Born of the Welfare State Was I’, the latter including its salutary nick from Bo Diddley’s ‘Pills’. And who knows, maybe next time he returns to the South-West, Kezia could accompany him on that.

And then came the wondrous ‘Robin Reliant’, its final verse quoted at the top, that fine song – ‘like William Blake brought up to date’ – certainly echoing down the street, remaining with me as I headed home, this seemingly rare bout of optimism from our neuvo-folk storyteller, its hero singing ‘above our trials and misfortunes’ and one that ‘will keep singing long after we’re gone,’ those sentiments amplified on a night when my wander back to the car coincided with a joyous glimpse of a clear night sky out West.

‘Seasons come and seasons go

Spring’s explosion and autumn’s glow

Summer blooms and winter blows

You can hear me singing’

For the latest from David Lance Callahan, including forthcoming dates (his next show is back on old ground at What’s Cookin’, Walthamstow, East London, on April 16th, with support from acclaimed Kentish singer-songwriter-pianist Marlody, and ticket details here) and release info, check out his Bandcamp, Facebook and Instagram pages.

And for more about Kezia Warwood, check out her website, Facebook and Instagram links.

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Shouting to the top and from the roof – remembering Rick Buckler, while celebrating The Jam’s legacy

I wanted to shout to the top and from the rooftops about all this last week… but then came Tuesday’s devastating breaking news about Rick Buckler, and everything (quite rightly) went on hold.

That all remains very much on my mind, as is the case with Jam fans everywhere. However, some things are worth celebrating, and I like to think – as confirmed by some of the lovely feedback already received – that the newly-published Solid Bond In Your Heart: A People’s History of The Jam (the premise of which was first introduced on these pages a little over a year ago, in January 2024, that feature copied here, and then again in late November 2024, with that linked here) does Rick proud, as it does his former bandmates, Bruce Foxton and Paul Weller.

Within the book there are many lovely tributes to all three members of that classic line-up, and more than one friend has already told me they revisited their own words on seeing the book after Rick’s departure with trepidation, but then realised their contributions stood up in the circumstances. In fact, what we find about Rick on those pages shows not only the love and respect so many of us had for his musicianship and creativity, but also shines light on his humour and personality. And there’s a few great stories within that spring to mind that made me roll up, with him in mind.

I was lucky enough to interview Rick a few times (with a link to our most recent feature-interview, from January 2023, here, with further links to two more at the end) and will always treasure in particular an in-depth chat we had backstage at Preston’s 53 Degrees not long after From The Jam came together in 2007. I always found him approachable and open, and nothing seemed to be off limits in our conversations. A thoroughly decent fella, and it was such a thrill to get to speak to him – this star-struck fan properly getting to channel his inner teen. Such a masterful drummer, part of a wondrous rhythm section with Bruce Foxton, and Paul Weller has said many times he was the right choice for The Jam, who were always a group in essence. Above all he always seemed a great bloke, down to earth, a proper family man, nothing like we assume a rock star to be. And yet he had such style.

Highly Respected: Rick Buckler at a signing session for The Jam – 1982 (Omnibus Press, 2022)

I’m sad that he never got to see the finished book, my last email still sat in Rick’s in-box, this scribe one of many who didn’t realise how understated that announcement from his promoter about postponed personal appearances was. But maybe that was the mark of the fella – no ego, just a lovely bloke who had time for so many of us. That’s certainly what I found in my own dealings with Rick, and my heart goes out to his family and close friends as they continue to get their heads around his departure.

Anyway, the night before that sad news broke, I received word via my publisher, fellow author Richard Houghton, that Paul Weller, who very kindly provided a foreword to the book – had now seen the finished product… and loved it. And his words?

‘Tell Malcolm I really love it! It’s a great, different perspective on it all. For me that says more than any biog bollox. Love it, thank you!’

So there I was, glowing. When Richard at Spenwood Books entrusted me – on the back of my Slade book (still available via this link) – with putting together this book for his People’s History series, I was hopeful of some sort of endorsement from those involved with the band, not least because of past dealings with Bruce and Rick, among others, But I really didn’t expect us to get a foreword from Paul, and I certainly couldn’t have dreamed of that winning review.

Paul’s Mod sensibilities suggested to me that anything nostalgia-based in book form about his breakthrough band could be written off as well meaning but somewhat pointless wallowing in the past. But I was keen to somehow navigate those treacherous channels and steer my way between out-and-out nostalgia and something more forward-looking that properly celebrated The Jam’s wonderful legacy… and I like to think Paul’s review suggests we got that about right.

I reckon I now need to have serious words with that Boy About Village who recalls hearing Nicky Horne play ‘The Modern World’ on Capital Radio just after his 10th birthday, and also that 15-year-old trying to get his head around Paul’s thinking in that conversation with a Nationwide reporter in blustery Brighton in late ’82; see what they make of it all.

There is a tie-in part two publication coming, this one taking a slightly different path, with hints of that already dropped by myself (with more details to follow). But right now I’ll say I’m really proud of Solid Bond In Your Heart, and Paul’s words and those of all of you who have already kindly been in touch about the finished book are music to my ears. So thanks, Paul, and thanks to everyone else who’s got on board with the book. More to the point, perhaps, a big thank you to Rick, Bruce and Paul for all they gave us in their time together as The Jam. To paraphrase a certain classic hit, what they gave us ‘will always remain’.

Spenwood Books’ Richard Houghton has been a busy lad this past couple of weeks, posting copies to all those who pre-ordered (the staff at his sub-post office in Chorlton, Manchester, must see him coming and try and lock the door as he struggles up the path), and a lot more were on their way this week. If you haven’t yet ordered, now would be a great time, with the Spenwood Books page link here. Cheers for your support, one and all.

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Set the house ablaze – celebrating 50 years of Slade in Flame

In honour of the British Film Institute (BFI) marking 50 years of Slade in Flame with its return – newly remastered – to the big screen in the UK and Ireland, then a BFI Blu-ray/DVD release, WriteWyattUK presents the first of two features celebrating the golden anniversary of an acclaimed cinematic statement from the Black Country’s finest.

This week in 1975, Slade in Flame was playing to audiences all over London, part of a staged roll-out around the UK and Ireland, and what the Black Country’s finest saw as the next step in their bid for world super-stardom.

A week earlier, on February 13th 1975, Noddy Holder, Jim Lea, Dave Hill and Don Powell had arrived in a blaze of glory on a vintage fire engine ahead of the London premiere of the film at the Metropole Cinema, Victoria, handy for the nearby New Victoria Theatre, where they would put on two dates 10 weeks later on a tie-in UK tour, that set of dates the last before they quit the home circuit in an ultimately unsuccessful bid to crack America.

That London premiere came a month after the film was first rolled out at the Pavilion Theatre and Cinema in Newcastle-upon-Tyne, with a number of UK public appearances following, such as that on March 10th in Glasgow where Noddy turned up in a horse-drawn hearse (the rest of the band in a Rolls Royce behind, as per John Milne’s story below), a nod (ahem) to their frontman’s character, Stoker, who gravitates to the film’s star turn, Flame, after a spell with the funereal Roy Priest and the Undertakers.

And while the overall public reception to the Richard Loncraine-directed Slade in Flame was initially somewhat mixed – for an outfit riding the waves of success barely a year earlier – the film is now rightly recognised as something of a classic, and it’s set to return to the big screen on May 2nd courtesy of BFI Distribution, a tie-in BFI Blu-ray/DVD release 17 days later, including new extra features.

I won’t go into too much detail as to the premise of the film, but in a nutshell it charted the rise and fall of fictional pop group Flame in the late Sixties, from raw beginnings on the club circuit to superstardom, its darkly realistic take on that world veering someway from the pop movie expected, a ‘warts-and-all portrait of a band in freefall amidst the music-industry suits who want a piece of the pie’. 

The common consensus is that it was the band’s manager, Chas Chandler (the Tyneside-raised Animals bass player who previously discovered and managed Jimi Hendrix), who decided a film should be Slade’s next step after a couple of years of huge chart success. That and finding fame in America. And despite the public image of the band during the glam era, Slade as a unit largely agreed that they didn’t want to do a ‘running and jumping around’ film in the fashion of The Beatles’ A Hard Day’s Night (much as they loved that, instead commissioning a script based on the real life adventures of many of their contemporaries and peers on that Sixties scene, The Animals among them.

The result was something closer to Nicolas Roeg’s Performance perhaps, and the previous year’s David Essex cinematic hit, That’ll Be the Day, Richard Loncraine (working on his first feature film) and screenwriter Andrew Birkin (sister of Jane) joining Slade on the road in America in a bid to soak up their experiences and hear their stories and those of other acts they worked with.

If you’ve yet to discover the film, or if it’s been a while since you caught it on the big or small screen, you’re in for a treat. Film critic Mark Kermode, a major fan, labelled it the Citizen Kane of British pop movies, one largely put together on location in London, Sheffield and Nottingham, the Black Country quartet – none of whom had properly acted before – supported by a cast including Tom Conti (the Oppenheimer actor’s first main film role) as manager Robert Seymour, Alan Lake as singer Jack Daniels (at one point fired from the set for disorderly behaviour, only reinstated thanks to his wife Diana Dors’ persuasion), Johnny Shannon (Performance) as manager Ron Harding, and DJs Emperor Rosko and Tommy Vance.

The tie-in soundtrack album, released in late November ’74, six weeks before the film premiered in Chas Chandler and fellow Animal turned co-manager John Steel’s home city, reached No.6 in the UK LP chart, preceded by lead single ‘Far Far Away’, which got to No.2 (kept off the top by Ken Boothe’s ‘Everything I Own’). As for the sublime ‘How Does It Feel?’, the second single, that stalled at No.15 in early March. No accounting for taste, but it seemed that Slade’s stellar chart reign was as good as done. And yet here we are, half a century later, that single (and the opening sequence of Slade in Flame in which it features) remaining among the finest ever moments in the history of pop and rock for this scribe, the tie-in long player one I still have to put on and savour every now and again.

The newly touched-up film – remastered by the BFI from the best available 35mm materials for its cinema release and its first ever release on Blu-ray – premieres at BFI Southbank on Thursday 1st May, and that’s as good an excuse as any to reproduce below five excerpts from Wild! Wild! Wild! A People’s History of Slade (still available to order from Spenwood Books via this link) in relation to the original release, the first from a certain James Robert Morrison, better known as Jim Bob, formerly of Carter the Unstoppable Sex Machine fame, who caught the film at his local South London fleapit on release in mid-February 1975.

ODEON CINEMA, STREATHAM, SOUTH LONDON

JIM BOB

It feels like Slade have always been there. One of my life’s constants. On all those Top of the Popses I watched as a kid and soundtracking my Christmases since forever. When I went to Streatham Odeon in 1975 to see Slade in Flame it was the time in my life I’d decided I was definitely going to be in a band. I was going to be the bass player. Like David Essex’s character in ‘Stardust’, Jim MacLaine, and like Ray Stiles from Mud, who lived on the same road as my old primary school. And Jim Lea in Slade. The bass players seemed like the coolest band members. Years later, in 2020, Jim Lea had seen the video for my song ‘Kidstrike!’, was getting a video made and wanted to know who made it. He’d apparently said he liked the song too. I don’t know if that’s true, but I still boast about it whenever the subject of Slade comes up. 

In 1999, if it wasn’t for Slade, my band Jim’s Super Stereoworld’s second single ‘Could U B The 1 I Waited 4’ would have been called ‘Could You Be The One I Waited For’. Boring. Also, there’s a song on my new album {Thanks For Reaching Out, 2023} called ‘Bernadette (Hasn’t Found Anyone Yet)’. When we were recording it, it reminded me a bit of ‘Coz I Luv You’, so we added a military type snare drum and a violin to make it more like it. We even talked about putting a microphone in the dance studio upstairs to record the kids’ dance class stamping along with the bass drum. Yes, all those years after seeing Slade in Flame at the pictures, I still want to be in Slade. 

ABC CINEMA, ENFIELD, NORTH LONDON

KEVIN ACOTT

This is your music.

You’re 13. The furthest, furthest away you’ve been is Lowestoft. You’ve (sort of) loved one girl in your life. And the only red light you’ve ever seen is the one upstairs in that boozer in Edmonton, the one with bullet holes in the front, the one they’ll knock down soon, right after punk. 

Music has been there though, kissing and embracing you, every day of those 13 years. Your mum and your dad love music. They both sing, sometimes. Not often enough, but when they do, it’s a sign they’re happy.

They love their music. Though not your music: they say they don’t really like your music. They don’t like His hair, of course. Or His cockiness. Or His hat. Or The Other One’s teeth. Or Their trousers. They don’t like the way these so-called musicians talk. Northern. Rough. You realise right then, as mum tuts, that you want to be Jim. Or Don. And that it’s never going to happen.

They did quite like that Christmas song though, mum once said. But you don’t care what they think: this… this is your music. Yours. You don’t know how. Or why. But you go to watch Slade in Flame at the ABC on Southbury Road, Enfield, full of thrill and fear, and you sneak in – it’s a double A – and soon you don’t know what you’ve just seen but all the adult world’s sex and darkness and violence and harsh scrambling-for-joy starts to enter you, engulf you. And so does its sadness and its regret, its sweetness and laughter and melody and harmony, its sillinesses and seriousnesses, its out-of-timeness. Changed.

Ha! How does it feel? HOW DOES IT FEEL?! I don’t know, Noddy mate, I don’t know. I didn’t know then and I don’t really know now. But: when I listen to you these days, I miss my parents and I smile and I understand at least a little more than I did. And I realise the Flame you helped light in so many of us still burns. And that makes me feel good.

This was our music. And it’s still our music.

OK. Yesterday was yesterday. But this was our music. And it’s still our music.

STUDIO 1 CINEMA, SUNDERLAND

PETER SMITH

I began to lose faith in Slade during 1973 and 1974. I thought they’d become too much of a teen pop band and didn’t feel it was ‘cool’ to go and see them live. I felt I’d lost that fine loud raucous rock band to the teenage girls who would scream at Noddy and Dave and go to the concerts sporting top hats with silver circles stuck to them, Slade scarves and tartan baggies. So, while all the girls at school were going to see them at the City Hall, Newcastle, telling me how great they were, I resisted the urge to go along. I didn’t fancy standing in a hall full of screaming girls. And anyway, I told myself, I’ve seen them before they ‘sold out’ to celebrity status, when they were a proper rock band. Looking back, that was a mistake; it’s funny how important it was to appear ‘cool’ at the time. And all along I secretly wanted to go and see them again. Still, I consoled myself by spending my time going to see Deep Purple, Led Zeppelin, The Groundhogs, Uriah Heep and lots of other ‘proper’ rock and ‘underground’ bands.

The next time I (sort of) saw Slade was when they made a personal appearance at a local cinema to promote Slade in Flame (February). I went with a group of mates to see Slade introduce the film. We were cutting it fine, timewise, and as we arrived at the cinema, we saw a big silver Rolls Royce pull up outside. Noddy, Dave, Jim and Don jumped out, ran straight past us, and made their way into the cinema. We quickly paid our money to the cashier (probably £1 or so) and followed them in, just in time to hear them say a few words to introduce the film, then run out just as quickly as they came in. I think they told us they were off to another cinema in the region to do the same thing. Strangely, given the band were making a personal appearance, the cinema was nowhere near full. Or maybe their popularity was already starting to wane.

I finally relented from my Slade abstinence and went to see them in concert again (City Hall, Newcastle-upon-Tyne, April 30th).

APOLLO THEATRE / ALBANY HOTEL, GLASGOW

JOHN MILNE

Me and my friends were Slade fans from when ‘Get Down And Get With It’ came out. When Play It Loud came out, they were dressed as skinheads and we dressed the same; that’s the way we were. My mum and dad used to get me Slade singles, and when I was 21, they bought me the American version of Play It Loud because I didn’t have a copy. Me and my pals would go to concerts together, and in 1974 I met Jessie, who I married later that year, and we started going to concerts together.

I missed seeing Slade perform ‘How Does It Feel?’ on Top of the Pops the first time because I had to go to hospital to see my wife and our new baby, Neville John Holder Milne. The next month (March 10th) Slade came to Glasgow to promote Flame. DJ Richard Parks was on top of a horse-drawn hearse with Noddy, who was dressed as an undertaker. The rest of them followed in a big black Rolls-Royce.

They started going down Bath Street, from where they were staying at the Albany Hotel, towards the Apollo, where the film was going to be shown. All the fans were running down the road with the hearse, including me. I had on white skinners and a Slade in Flame t-shirt and had a wee tartan gonk. As the hearse slowed down at the traffic lights I managed to jump up and I gave Noddy the gonk. My white denims got covered in oil because I was jumping up the wheels.

There’s a photo of me in the local paper running after the hearse. Me and Jessie kept running and running and running until we got to the Apollo. We decided to go home and get changed, then go to their hotel. We got there and the place was swarming with fans. We walked up to the main door and could see them walking about inside, so just walked in. We went to the lift, it opened, and Don Powell got out. We got a picture of him. He looked at us as if he got a fright. We said, ‘Where’s the rest of the band, Don?’ He said, ‘They’re in there getting something to eat.’ So we went to their table and who should be sitting there but Noddy, Jimmy and Dave Hill. I’ve got a picture of me sitting with Noddy, with Dave standing behind us. Fans were hitting the windows. They were so jealous.

When I showed Noddy my son’s birth certificate, he said, ‘Has your son got fair hair and blue eyes and long sideburns like me?’

CAPITOL THEATRE, CARDIFF

CHRIS HARRIS

Slade in Flame was out on general release in February 1975, and I was fortunate enough to attend the Welsh premiere, held at the Capitol Theatre, Queen Street, Cardiff, in April, a short distance from where I first saw the band live in June ’73.

This was thanks to my dad, a photographer for the Western Mail and South Wales Echo. How lucky was I? All four members of Slade were there in person. I managed to meet them briefly and have the album signed by each one of them. What a day that was, meeting the band, watching their film and tucking into a buffet! To my shame, I no longer have the signed album.

I also went to see Slade in concert at that same (a week later). Sadly, that fine building closed in January 1978 and was demolished in February 1983. What an absolute waste of an historic building. It was eventually turned into a faceless, half-empty indoor shopping centre. Shocking.

I remember fans en masse trying to pick up small pieces of Dave Hill’s discarded colourful face glitter that littered the stage and floor. All no doubt eager to take home a small souvenir of a fantastic evening.

I got to see Slade again in October 1979 at Cardiff Uni’s Students’ Union, then in December 1981 at Sophia Gardens, an indoor venue situated near Bute Park, a stone’s throw from Cardiff Castle.

Keep On Rocking back to this website and you’ll soon discover part two of my Slade in Flame special. And for a copy of the hardback of Wild! Wild! Wild! A People’s History of Slade and more details about the book, head here.

And to pre-order a copy of the BFI-remastered Blu-ray/DVD release of Slade in Flame, head here.

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Slady – Vinyl Tap, Preston

Can it really be a staggering 44 years this weekend since Slade’s Reading Festival rebirth? Apparently so, the Black Country’s finest spectacularly seeing off the critics in what proved to be the inspiration for an 11th-hour career resurrection, acceptance from a hard-nosed hard rock crowd paving a way for what turned out to be three final years of live shows for Nod, Jim, Dave and Don, that appearance the launchpad for a bolted-on couple of phases of the band, with more hits and more unforgettable live shows.

At the age of 15 I was lucky enough to see one of those shows, the band in full pomp at Hammersmith Odeon in December 1982, the classic line-up only touring once more in the UK from there. That marked my lucky seventh live outing since the summer of 1980, while Friday night was, (give or take a few I’ve failed to record) No.499, and it was somewhat poignant that it involved all-female four-piece Slady, a band that for my eyes and ears carry the true spirit of Slade all these years on, and of whom I heartily recommend a night or two in the company of.

It was great to see Noddy back on stage after his recent health problems last summer in Salford with Tom Seals and his big band. I’ve also had the pleasure of long chats in recent years with Dave, Don and Jim, and it’s lovely to see them all still working on various projects. But when it comes to full-on live spectacles that take you back to the beating heart of Slade, look no further than a cracking act with roots in South Wales, Southend-on-Sea, East Sussex and West Norfolk, on this occasion pointing towards the Magnetic North (a trip to a gig on the Fylde coast at St Annes Music Festival following) at a launch night for their latest single.

In my case that only involved a 15-mile round-trip from my Lancashire base, at a watering hole new to me in the heart of Preston’s university quarter, the Vinyl Tap on Adelphi Street not far off equidistant from three more venues that have played an important part in my gigging years around the city – The Ferret (‘saved’ last year from closure by a heart-warming Music Venue Trust-backed community campaign), The Adelphi, and currently dormant ex-uni hub 53 Degrees. And the Tap is another winner on this evidence, the kind of pub outlet sorely needed by emerging and established acts and punters alike.

True, in this case, the clientele was largely older, but there was enough youth in the headliners’ line-up to fool most of us that we were back in Slade’s early Seventies pomp, an impressive turnout welcomed on board a veritable time machine on a night when the girls’ infectious treatment of such classic songs brought miles of smiles, their love of performing, meticulous appreciation for the finer points of a grand back catalogue, and a storming live show plain for all to see, hear and taste.

Must I paint you a picture, as Billy Bragg asked? Well, here we have four consummate professionals who not only look the part but also nail the sound and (yep, that word again) spirit of the originals, bringing out the best of that wonderful Holder/Lea repertoire (the occasional Powell classic also featured) and live electricity of the band themselves in those halcyon days.

I’ll start with self-dubbed Gobby Holder, aka Danie, who really rules the roost (admit it, you said that in a Neville Holder style, right?) and was on fine form, that amazing voice (a Welsh thing, right?) leaving first-timers and regulars alike open-mouthed, the lady towering over us in killer platform boots, Nod’s trademark red shirt, braces, check trousers and mirrored top hat get-up (and get-with-it) wonderfully conveyed. At times, I worry for that vocal treatment (for instance, she seemed to have nowhere to go on ‘Born To Be Wild’, having opened on such a high note that the glass ceiling needed gaffer-taping back together within a minute), but she saw the night out in style.

Then there’s Jem Lea (Wendy), to her right and our left, ever dependable, laying down such stonking basslines that make you realise – not as if many of us needed reminding – how beautifully constructed Jim’s songs are. And as well as those cracking harmonies and backing vocals, she also steps up to the mic for the undervalued ‘When the Lights Are Out’, the Slade single that got away.

It’s something of a cliché to talk about engine rooms in bands, but Jem’s underpinning task is made far fluent through Slady’s stand-in Donna Powell (Kēra), the youngest of the quartet (I’d venture) in her element back there in Don-esque waistcoat, the smiles on band faces somewhat infectious, even catching out the more jaded live show veterans and miserable gits among us. And then there’s Davina Hill (Dawn), again playing a part to perfection – visually and sonically, bringing new life to H’s guitar parts and injecting plenty of her own innate stage presence into the mix. Much more than just a six-string denizen in eye-catching silver catsuit. Sparkling, to be sure.

As for that set-list, I never wrote a word all night, so bear with me, but with their musical prowess and stage allure where could they go wrong? ‘Take Me Bak ‘Ome’ set us on the right track, and from there, hearts regularly skipped random beats, with many highlights. ‘Coz I Luv You’, ‘Look Wot You Dun’, ‘Mama Weer All Crazee Now’, ‘Bangin’ Man’, ‘Skweeze Me, Pleeze Me’… the latter’s tweaked lyrics placing us firmly into a brave new century, Gobby letting it be known, ‘When a girl’s meaning ‘Yes’, she says, ‘Yes’ (not ‘No’)!’

On we went, the magic of Slade Alive brought to life on ‘Hear Me Calling’, ‘Know Who You Are’ and the afore-mentioned Steppenwolf cover. Hell, they even made ‘We’ll Bring the House Down’ and ‘Run Run Away’ sound cool. Some feat, that. I’ve a feeling, scribbling this now, there was ‘Move Over’ and ‘Just a Little Bit’ too, but maybe I dreamt that. The power of Guinness Zero, perhaps. And of course, B-sides were always important for Slade, so we got an outing for self-penned ‘Dig Me’, from their take on ‘Cum on Feel the Noize’, much of the calibre of those classic original flipsides. And somewhat as a tribute to Reading ’80 there were teases about ‘Merry Xmas Everybody’ being played on an August Bank Holiday weekend, before the band instead launched into its B-side, ‘Don’t Blame Me’.

Another personal highlight was ‘Gudbuy t’Jane’, their sign-off before a nailed-on encore featuring the new single and ‘Get Down and Get With It’. And while I might have got some of that out of order, that’s not important. Long may they continue to rock it, roll it, and reign over us. Nod bless our Slady.  

Slady’s Gobby Holder and Jem Lea, aka Danie and Wendy, feature in this scribe’s Wild! Wild! Wild! A People’s History of Slade. You probably knew that, but wait… you’ve not yet got a copy? Well, now’s the time to remedy that, messaging me or ordering direct via the publisher’s link.

You can also order Slady’s new single here, following them online via Facebook, Instagram, and their own website, seeing where they’re at next (next up, I understand, is The Betsey Trotwood in London EC1 on Sunday 8th September, Gobby and Davina rocking out live acoustic Slade tunes in the company of fellow Slade author Daryl Easlea. And you can catch the promo video for the new single, shot at The Marquis in Covent Garden, here.

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Echoes of The Bunnymen – Preston, The Continental

I was nervous enough ahead of this live show, let alone the band. Four fellas with deserved acclaim for their own adventures in music tackle a tribute set to a much-loved Liverpool outfit with such a revered back catalogue… and then word gets out just before stage time that the legendary guitarist behind that iconic group has showed up to see just what’s in store.

As I caught up with a couple of mates in the corridor on the approach to the Boatyard venue at the rear of The Conti, there was Scott Carey, bass player of some repute (latterly of West on Colfax and prior to that Paris Angels) balancing a couple of pints on his way past.

‘Ah, didn’t expect to see you here,’ I remarked, with a little of that poorly executed dry humour that is often my downfall.

‘And I didn’t expect Will Sergeant to be here,’ he responded, a little of that thousand yard stare associated with Viet vets in his eyes.

A few minutes later, queuing to go through, there’s past WriteWyattUK interviewee Will in front. What must he have been thinking… and what must the band have been wondering? Too late to pull out now. And yet, any fears on ours or their part were soon proved unfounded, this very public unveiling of Echoes of the Bunnymen – comprising WriteWyattUK favourites The Amber List with the aforementioned guest bass player – something of a triumph, and hopefully to be repeated again soon.

They didn’t go about this as any ‘run of the mill’ tribute act might. l was going to start this post with, ‘I don’t usually do covers bands, but…’ I’m sure I’ve already done that though. And in this case, we’re talking a four-piece of considerable merit and pedigree with a proper respect for the original group and the songs covered, their set spread across four vital LPs between 1980 and 1984 that paved the way and influenced so much more great post-punk indie magic beyond.

I guess as I knew he was there, I was listening – in my head – with Will’s ears and eyes, wondering just what he might make of it all. Yet if he or us were just expecting hits, we’d have been pleasantly mistaken. ‘Going Up’ and ‘Show of Strength’ saw us away, followed by my first real highlight, ‘Heads Will Roll’, all the proof needed that we were in for a storming gig, ‘Turquoise Days’ then leading to the wondrous ‘Silver’ before ‘Stars Are Stars’ and ‘Crocodiles’ brought us to the sublime ‘Ocean Rain’.

As is often the case at such social events, softer touches lead to incessant talking closer to the bar, but that was neatly shut down – with more polite humour than most of us could manage – by frontman Mick ‘Mac’ Shepherd, that latter fourth LP title track reminding me I’m long overdue in playing that wonderful album in full again, to dive back into its many depths.

Honourable mentions for the afore-mentioned Scott Carey and drummer Simon Dewhurst. Les Pattinson and Pete De Freitas’ shoes, and all that. As for Mick, his voice lends itself well to the experience, and not at one point did I feel this was beyond any of them. Turns out Tony Cornwell, on lead guitar, didn’t know Will was there until after. Probably a good thing on his part, confidence wise. He certainly cracked it though, and word has it the guest of honour loved it, fully endorsing the project and by all accounts happy to bask in the glory of those songs from a distance (not least a few they don’t tend to play these days). He was certainly swapping notes by the bar later.

There were plenty of A-list hits, ‘Killing Moon’ and ‘Seven Seas’ lovingly rolled out before ‘Villiers Terrace’ led to ‘The Puppet’ and ‘Do It Clean’, then ‘The Cutter’. ‘Rescue’ was in there somewhere too. Wonderful. ‘Is this the blues I’m singing?’ asked Mick. Certainly was, and in some style.

They’d hardly walked a few yards from the stage before they were back to close out, ‘Pictures on My Wall’ leading to a lap of honour on ‘Bring on the Dancing Horses’. Hopefully we’ll see them back again soon, and a fair few of us will be there again. ‘Wherever they may roam,’ you could say.  

For more about Echoes of the Bunnymen and forthcoming shows, head here.

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Preston Weekender: Sunday on the Square – From The Jam / Buzzcocks / Space / Evil Blizzard

‘Hello hooray, what a nice day…’

Forty years to the week from my first live solo sighting of Bruce Foxton – at Guildford Civic Hall on his Touch Sensitive LP tour – the Flag Market in Preston was transformed into Nostalgia Central for this punter, the ‘Manchester Rain’ forecast by Steve Diggle’s second-on-the-bill Buzzcocks staying away on this occasion, the impressive setting (Preston’s own Cenotaph to the left of the stage, the Sessions House to the right, the Harris Museum, Art Gallery and Library over our right shoulders) a fitting backdrop in the four hours I caught of an impressive heritage meets locally-honed talent line-up on a grand spring day.

Commitments elsewhere ruled out my latest encounter with WriteWyattUK faves The Amber List, first live sightings of Beach Mountain and Ginnel plus many more Lancashire-based guests, but I at least arrived in time to hear the crowd roar along to the unmistakeable heavy metal thunder supplied by Evil Blizzard (if a band who wear face masks can be described as unmistakeable) as I strode along Lancaster Road looking for a way in (30 years after I was at that end of town for my first Preston work engagement, a banking role that inspired me within a year to quit the day job and enrol at the local uni).

In an event curated by Preston’s Business Improvement District organiser Peter Alexander – from the city’s not far off Blitz nightclub – and due to take place in the same location last summer but then pushed back, at first inside the nearby Guild Hall then shifted back outside after a discovery of RAAC at that venue, the Blizz were concluding their be-masked thang as I snuck closer to the stage, the grotesquely-grand PIL-popping finale ‘Are You Evil?’ blasting out. And while the open-air aspect perhaps wasn’t working in their favour from distance, they left an indelible stamp on the proceedings, even if their trademark claustrophobic intensity was maybe lost on many of the uninitiated milling around by the food stalls and bars. There were enough fans to see them over the line though, terrace-like chilling chanting ringing out across the square and into the side-streets.

Getting closer was the key, I realised, and the same applied for next act Space – the nearer you got, the better they sounded, this punter consequently inspired to return to first two LPs Spiders and Tin Planet (accounting for two-thirds of a 15-song set here), two of my first purchases when I finally succumbed to the CD era (well, you can’t rush into these fly-by-night fads), part-soundtracking my early days in this beautiful neighbourhood, as frontman Tommy Scott would have it.

They were a three-piece on this occasion, increasingly impressive as the set unfolded, even though as with the other acts you had to be near the front to get the full effect, the latter half of the set more convincing for these ears, Tommy’s earlier virtual duet with Cerys Matthews (the Catatonia chanteuse’s lines for ‘The Ballad of Tom Jones’ played over the PA in what he called their ‘cabaret moment’) low-key in comparison to later crowd-pleasers like the top-notch ‘Female of the Species’, ‘Me & You vs the World’, a gorgeously out-of-hand ‘Violence is Art’ (by Tommy’s side-project The Drellas) and the aforementioned ‘Neighbourhood’.

The jury remains out for many regarding a post-Shelley Buzzcocks, but they gave it large, Steve Diggle – a few days short of his 69th birthday and close to the release of his Autonomy memoir – in his element, the champers backstage clearly ensuring it wouldn’t be a case of ‘no showy’ and ‘no band on’. Okay, so the crowd were often clearer on diction amid renditions of a flawless back-catalogue mixed in with a few recent additions, but I’m all for celebrating that wonderful legacy. ‘What Do I Get?’, ‘I Don’t Mind’, ‘Everybody’s Happy Nowadays’, ‘Promises’… oh, man, that was just the opening salvo. And while their Preston Weekender performance wasn’t up there with past live highlights, they gave it their all, inevitably finishing a 13-song set with ‘Ever Fallen In Love (With Someone You Shouldn’t’ve Fallen In Love With’) and ‘Steve’s ‘Harmony In My Head’, setting us up nicely for the headliners.

Okay, there are lots of gesturing to the sky moments from the ‘Cocks original these days, live music equivalents of Frank Lampard Jr. goal celebrations, but he’s still out there, doing it, kept younger by his band, and playing with a smile on his face. Fair play. Besides, I’m not doing the same things I was when I was 10, so why should he be out to replicate what he was an integral part of in the late ’70s (when this was all just ‘nostalgia for an age yet to come’)? He’s never claimed he’s Howie or Pete. And you can always play those classic LPs at home.

With both the Buzzcocks and From The Jam, you have an original band member out front (both 68 on the night), more likely seen back in the day as the second songwriter. But I think it’s fair to say Bruce Foxton never looked to lead the latter, always happy to co-front alongside Russell Hastings, who’s certainly proved himself down the years to be a consummate pro, not only capable of playing Paul’s parts and innovate with that wondrous song catalogue, but also emerging as a formidable songwriter in his own right, as proved by three fine LPs – under the names Bruce Foxton then Foxton & Hastings – since 2012.

I make it 17 years since Bruce joined – in what originated as tribute act The Gift, with fellow Jam legend Rick Buckler also key to the mix in the early days – and while the live set rarely showcases Russ’ own writing talent – the band seemingly wary playing to audiences where the majority are just there to hear Jam songs – and despite this being a shortened set (organisation for the Weekender proving somewhat problematic, the final act seemingly heavily affected by a 11pm curfew) there was time to showcase 2022’s ‘Lula’, sounding great to these ears on a gorgeous evening at From The Jam’s first outdoor gig of the year other than a Dubai engagement.

Technical problems didn’t help, but Russell, Bruce, Mike Randon (drums), Andy Fairclough (keys) and Gary Simons (percussion, second bass) got around that, holding it together in a set that often sparkled. While wondrous opener ‘A Town Called Malice’ sounded more like a soundcheck, they hit form from ‘To Be Someone’ onwards, Bruce leading on Ray Davies’ ‘David Watts’ before that trademark bass intro signalled ‘Pretty Green’ on a night of solid gold choices. Every one a Maserati, as Graham Chapman put it.

Further in, Russell’s wistful mention of hopefully being home within six hours or so to see the sun rise over the South coast near Selsey Bill or Bracklesham Bay heralded another evocative number taking me back to my Surrey roots, ‘Saturday’s Kids’, the band then daring to dream with a restarted ‘Heatwave’ from that same Setting Sons masterpiece, summer definitely on the mind.

And while we got little further than the looped subterranean sound effect intro of ‘Tube Station’, there were many more highlights to come, not least Russ’ poignant solo rendition of ‘English Rose’ in its place, the set like The Jam’s own career ending while they were on that high – time up against them – with three glorious singalong romps, ‘The Eton Rifles’ followed by ‘That’s Entertainment’ and another evergreen anthem for our times, ‘Going Underground’, still making this boy shout and this boy scream all these years on.

The Jam’s incredible legacy remains solidly intact, Paul’s brazen, brave decision to end it when he did long since proved to be the right course. But these past 17 years have proved just how much life remains in those songs. Ever resonant, ever apt, and a pristine songbook in safe hands through Weller’s occasional re-imaginings and the live interpretations of From The Jam.    

With a massive thank you to Michael Porter Photography for the use of his wonderful images. You’ll find a full set and much more via this link.

Ever get to see Bruce, Paul and Rick live with The Jam the first time around, anytime up to that final emotional farewell at Brighton Conference Centre in December 1982? Then there’s still time to contribute to a new book paying tribute to The Jam, pulled together by this writer, Malcolm Wyatt, alongside Richard Houghton at Spenwood Books, looking for fans who might like to relive those glory days in print, ideally calling on those ‘who were there’.

On the back of the success of recent Spenwood Books publication, Wild! Wild! Wild! A People’s History of Slade, this Lancashire-based Surrey lad is working on a follow-up featuring Woking’s finest trio, a celebration of all that was great about the band – from working men’s and night club days through to those memorable Beat Surrender finales.

A key cornerstone in this Boy About Town’s music journey, The Jam resonated with me from the moment I first heard them – I’m thinking ‘Modern World’ on the radio, late ’77, aged 10 – and it still pains me that I never managed to catch them live. By the time of that December ’82 split, I was only 15 and while I’d already managed a few concerts, the opportunity never arose.

My first live show, at a Surrey village youth club in mid-July 1980, involved the debut appearance of Blank Expression, who ended up supporting The Jam at Brixton’s Fair Deal 21 months later. That was barely a week before The Jam played the third of seven dates in total over the years at my nearest big venue, Guildford Civic Hall. But that was between ‘Going Underground’ and ‘Start’ topping the charts, Paul, Bruce and Rick at a commercial peak, and the clamour for tickets to see these local lads made good ruled out any hope of this 12-year-old getting in. The same went for the return that December, this Saturday kid just about a teenager by then.

There were back-to-back Civic Hall shows in July ’81, barely a fortnight after my first visit there for The Undertones, me missing out due to lack of funds – wages from a village grocer’s and Sunday paper-rounds not going so far – and having to make do with a heady diet of the incomparable All Mod Cons, Setting Sons and Sound Affects at home, among my brother’s record collection.

When this legendary three-piece from just up the A320 returned to Guildford in early March ’82 ahead of the Trans Global Unity Express tour, a private gig marking John and Ann Weller’s silver wedding anniversary, this 14-year-old secondary school lad clearly wasn’t in the know. And I was travelling back from a half-term break in Cornwall with my folks when the split was announced, with little chance of a ticket when the initial farewell tour was extended and set to finish back at Guildford, a subsequent frenzy for tickets leading to a far bigger finale down the A281 at Brighton.

My brother and many mates I grew to know in years to come were at the Civic for what was seen as the proper last show, but I had to make do with those final telly appearances, then a copy of Dig the New Breed on cassette. The Bitterest Pill was mine to take.

I’ve since seen Paul, Bruce and Rick many times, in various formats, and had the joy of properly meeting and interviewing the latter two. Four decades after it all ended, they all still have that stellar allure for this perennial teenager. But I never saw them first time around, so hopefully you’ll indulge in me having to live the live experience via your own recollections of those halcyon days.

Solid Bond in Your Heart: A People’s History of The Jam, set for publication in September (with a pre-order link here), celebrates an explosive three-piece that conquered hearts and minds All Around the World, working their way upwards and onwards from Surrey’s club and pub scene, properly launching their first assault on the capital in the year punk rock exploded, going on to enjoy a half-dozen incendiary years of chart success before the plug was pulled.

What can we add to what’s already out there? There’s been a wealth of great books about the band and their individual members, but we have a chance to add to that canon, many of the eyewitness accounts already lined up being told for the first time, further highlighting an amazing outfit with the help of those who were there at various key stages. I’ll include excerpts from my interviews with Bruce – having first interviewed him in the mid-‘80s in my fanzine days – and Rick, and Jam co-founder Steve Brookes, and words of wisdom from Russell Hastings among many primary players, peers, insiders and those others who truly made it special – the fans. The idea is to celebrate an evergreen legacy and a trio that inspire to this day, 40-plus years after the split. And I’d love to hear your stories about seeing the band and how much The Jam meant to you.

Here are a few prompts to help some of you get the grey matter going:

Where and when did you see The Jam live, and who did you go with?

What initially appealed about the band, how did you get to know about them, what was the first Jam record that truly resonated with you, and did you hear that on the radio, TV or a friend’s record player maybe?

If you saw them live, what was it like in that crowd? Did The Jam shape your own direction? Did they inspire you to get involved in music, politics, fashion, find new avenues in films, literature, etc.?

And when that decision came to call it a day, how did you feel about that?

For more details, send your words, contact email address and any good quality Jam-related copyright-free images you may have (memorabilia, you with band members, etc.) to me via thedayiwasthere@gmail.com

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Attila the Stockbroker – Foxtails, Chorley

Mick Pike, frontman of Preston post-punk outfit Pike and Lancashire alt world music faves Deadwood Dog, has a new venture on the go alongside his day-job. He tells me, ‘We haven’t a clue what we’re doing,’ in a ‘Blockbuster’ style, but he’s fooling no one, his licensed coffee bar in Pall Mall, Chorley, a cracking venue to catch another old veteran of the punk wars, John Baine, the artist better known as Attila the Stockbroker, out there entertaining and spreading the word about the evils of fascism since an enlightening moment catching The Clash at the Rainbow in ’77.

It says ‘punk poet, dub ranter, singer-songwriter, early music punk pioneer, writer and social commentator’ on the tin, and these days Attila – now 66, just ahead of Paul Weller – organises gigging schedules around Brighton and Hove Albion fixtures. In fact, he’s probably done that for many moons, and on this occasion that involved a post-match trek from Anfield after a narrow defeat at Premier League title contenders Liverpool. And despite the result, it’s clear that on reflection he’d happily take that feeling of disappointment bearing in mind where his club were at when he first properly got involved behind the scenes with Dick Knight and co., helping resurrect the Albion from ’97, the club having narrowly avoided a drop into non-league but soon playing ‘home’ games 70 miles away at Gillingham (‘If Kent was the garden of England, that was the outside toilet,’ he put it last night, recalling the Priestfield days).

He certainly made swift progress from Merseyside after the final whistle, getting to the venue not long before me, a few miles away, rare Spring bank holiday sunshine having necessitated a back garden kickabout with the lad followed by a sharp exit while listening to the closing stages of Arsenal’s ground-out goalless draw at the City of Manchester Stadium that ensured Liverpool stayed top.

A pint of White Rat in hand, I squeezed in at the end of the bar just before his first set, the same bitter being drained a little more fluently by our Sussex coast visitor, mighty fine lubrication on a night when it seems his voice was on the edge of croakiness, Attila opening with songs about his beloved Joe Strummer and first pop love Marc Bolan. He’s never pretended to be a great singer, but he can work his way around a few chords as well as his sharp prose and poetry, as those who have caught his band Barnstormer will know. And he bedded in, he played to his strengths, easy and entertaining repartee and a little preaching to an admittedly already converted audience proving to be his danger USP (unique selling point, that is, for those who’ve not been on marketing courses), the White Rat a key stage prop (‘White Rat, I wanna Rat; White Rat, a rat of my own!’ he sang, his sten guns over Southwick transported 250 miles north west. Danger Stranger alert).

John’s stories and verse ranged from standing in for Donny Osmond one night to travels in Albania and North Korea, the latter connection ultimately leading to catchy singalong ‘DPRK’, the Village People’s ‘YMCA’ reworked. Props also included his phone for poems he couldn’t remember so well (I could never do his job – I’d remember bugger all without a book or a notepad, and I’d be sweating at the thought of gadgetry failing me if I was reliant on a moby) and two mascots from the National Poo Museum in Sandown on the Isle of Wight, where his poo-et in residence role not only gives him a chance to indulge in childish humour but also help spread the word re bowel cancer awareness and pollution at the hands of corpulent utilities companies seemingly working hand in hand with short-sighted, share-scheming, money-worshipping Governments.

For me the true standout sections across his first set were his personal takes on losing his mum to dementia and his relationship with his step-dad, respectively ‘It’s Made of Wire’ and ‘Never Too Late’, the latter something I hadn’t heard for a while but was no less poignant (this scribe having lost both his folks to that dreadful disease), while the second set included a triumphant dub poetry section, an autobiographical ’40 Years in Rhyme’ (although it’s 44 now, he added) for me suggesting lineage back to Ian Dury’s wonderful ‘You’ll See Glimpses’ before a crowd-pleasing ‘Tenorman’, loved by no less than late great Benjamin Zephaniah, his toasted take on advice for the ageing bloke detailing his own cancer battle and the need to check yourself out to potentially save your life, while praising the wonders of our ailing NHS.

The politics was everywhere of course, from railing against Tory-voting relatives and Express/Mail/Sun-reading types to national obsession with the Royal Family, with ‘Prince Harry’s Knob’, ‘Maggots 1 Maggie 0’ and ‘Poison Pensioner’ worthy winners. These days he bats for the Labour Party, brought back into the fold by Jeremy Corbyn and determined to stick around, continuing a south coast pushback against the Tories, canvassing for his wife, Robina (who got plenty of mentions on the night), an ‘Anyone But Conservative’ philosophy at the ballot box not far from my own take on it all, determined to be rid of those in charge rather than focus on in-fighting among those on the left. And this being Attila, there was plenty of talk of socialism, the intricacies of anti-semitism name-calling and the sad erosion of national building blocks that the likes of Nye Bevan established, post-WW2, delivered by an artist proud to have been part of that golden generation that prospered under the Welfare State with regard to health, social care and education.

As he puts it on ‘40 Years in Rhyme’, ‘When I started off, spoken word was people talking to each other. Now it’s a genre!’ And I think we touched on it all, his words about Bob Crowe and the unions also going down well, and the finale a pensive piece on Palestine. I come out of gigs like this thinking the world will be alright after all, his words and the audience’s warmth for the subject suggesting perhaps the years of Brexit and twisted UK support for the Johnsons and Farages were just blips, the hedge fund drivers set to be banished, the Trusses, Kwartengs and Rothermeres to be resigned to history, as gleefully envisaged in ‘Left Wing Economic Establishment’, the song to go with the t-shirt. But then I think of the dinosaur who lives a few doors down, excited at the thought of Reform UK chancers coming through, suggesting we may still have some way to go. That said, all the time the likes of Attila are banging the drum and adding a little recorder (two at a time, I should add), there’s hope for a brighter future.

It took me just short of 35 years to catch him a second time, having first chanced upon Attila at Reading Festival in August ’89. But it was worth the wait… not as if my non-attendance down the years will have helped his bank balance. My mate Alex wrote this week, ‘I hope Attila doesn’t remember his review of our Guildford Labour Party Young Socialists’ magazine from the ’80s. It was, and I quote, ‘It’s shit’. If there had been a second edition, we could’ve put it on the front cover.’ We were sixth formers then. Wish I’d have been able to dig out my copy and get him to sign it, staples ‘n’ all. That may have been my first foray into publishing outside a school mag, quickly followed by Captains Log and Wubble Yoo fanzines, the latter charting my enduring love affair with Woking FC, one of our biggest paydays coming at the away end of the long gone Goldstone Ground ahead of an FA Cup tie in December 1992,the Cards securing a replay. That’s the only time I was on Match of the Day, slow-mo VHS plays catching me turning around to my better half with a wry, defeated smile among a sea of despondent fans following their goal. And thankfully Clive Walker later made up for his involvement in their eventual progress, signing for us, providing some of the best entertainment ever witnessed at Kingfield. Happy days. And while that has no real place in this review, if Attila’s allowed to rant and go off at tangents on stage, I am too. It is my website, after all.

Cheers, John. I raise a glass of White Rat in your direction.

For my 2015 feature-interview with John Baine, aka Attila the Stockbroker, head here. And for the latest from Attila head to his Facebook, Instagram and Twitter pages and check out his Soundcloud and website links. And to see what’s coming up at Foxtails in Chorley, which offers cask ale, beers, wines, spirits, barista coffee, bar snacks and live music, and is sport-free – apart from when Attila’s visiting – and dog-friendly, check out their Facebook and Instagram links.

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