Kept Alive by my Irritability

I recently awoke on a warm summer morning with an idea buzzing in my head. Call it the curse, or gift, of a writer. I reached for my phone and began tapping an email to self on re-connecting with the music of Manchester band, Magazine. I’d recently bought the re-mastered CD of a long-lost album from my youth, The Correct Use of Soap. Once I’d got my initial thoughts down, I performed my morning ablutions and a bit later roughed it up into this expanded article on early musical memories. We were once the young men Ian Curtis’s sang about, and I was a youth in Liverpool in the late 70s and early 80s.

How did the Greater Manchester area (yes, I know Salford is a city, Macclesfield and Stockport towns, each with their own identities) spawn so many soulful lyricists, backed up by searing post-industrial-wasteland self-taught rock musicians? We’d all grown up with 60s and 70s rock, pop and soul music ringing in our ears, but somehow the raw energy of Rock, the ragged anarchy of Punk Rock, seemed more appropriate to the task of observing, describing and reflecting life in a grim urban landscape. I’m talking about the front men of Magazine, Joy Division and the Smiths – Devoto, Curtis and Morrissey. I saw them all in concerts where I connected with their music, reflected on the power of youth to challenge, the sour lot of the working class, how to build hope out of urban decay, and how to be alone in a crowd. Add to this the notion that emerging young adults see the world around them with a clarity and purity of thought as yet unpolluted by the capitalist dogma that has created the consumer bubble in which we are trapped. I think my nostalgia for the punk and new wave bands of my youth is a recognition that the ideas conveyed through music helped with my orientation and gave me a sense of identity and location. I’m talking about roots. We all come from somewhere and home for me was Liverpool, where I had the freedom to meet up with my mates, jump on a bus and go into town to see bands at Erics Club, and others that followed, like the State, where I saw Howard Devoto and his band just after he left Magazine. He still performed some of the old classics – Shot by both sides, Philadelphia and Song from under the floorboards. A man made old and wise before his time by his sharp wit and trademark receding hairline. It’s his introspective, almost paranoid lyrics that I’ve recently rediscovered:
I am angry I am ill and I’m as ugly as sin, my irritability keeps me alive and kicking. The opening lines to A Song from Under the Floorboards – a track on Magazine’s third album, The Correct Use of Soap. I’m putting it on my funeral playlist, along with Decades by Joy Division (see below). Don’t be alarmed – I’m not ready to check out just yet.

Spiral Scratch EP cover – Howard Devoto front right

This was in the early 80s and I was already a veteran of over 50 gigs. In my early 20s, perhaps a year or two younger than my onstage heroes, I also had a swagger and surety that I knew something, that the World and all its riches were waiting to be discovered. Armed with notebook and biro, I scribbled impressions to later be forged into pithy gig reviews for my music column in a local community news magazine. I interviewed the Stranglers at Brady’s in 1980 and chatted with Andy McClusky at a Psychedelic Furs gig.
By pure chance (or fate?) I had been the wide-eyed junior reporter in BBC Radio Merseyside’s studio on the morning of Tuesday 9th December 1980 when the breaking story that cleared the decks was the news that John Lennon had been shot in New York. I heard the news that day, oh boy. Janice Long, later Radio 1 and TOTP presenter, then Studio Assistant, was detailed to look after me. Yeah, I’ve had a mug of tea made for me by Cheggers’ sister. A truly surreal morning. Alan Jackson and Roger Phillips were true pros, conductors at the heart of a city waking up to shocking news, pulling together a reverential and sentimental wave of music and sound bites, a collage that portrayed an outpouring of grief over the fate of Liverpool’s best loved son (sorry Paul). I wince every time I hear Imagine – it was played to death that week. I’ve got a good face for memories.
The Beatles’ rock n roll legacy were the northern new wave bands I now spent my meagre wages going to see and buying their records. Echo and the Bunnymen were new on the block, my new favourite band in the fickle world of pop music, and I adopted their look with dark crombie overcoat, drainpipe black jeans and baseball boots. In those days my wild frizzy red mop of hair grew out in an unkempt afro. No gel required.

Morrissey (left) and Johnny Marr, the Smiths

But back to my gig memories. In 1978 I made a good choice to go and see the north’s answer to the Pistols – the Buzzcocks. I’d bought their Spiral Scratch EP (with ‘Boredom’ on it – scan pictured) co-written by Pete Shelley and Howard Devoto, in his pre-Magazine days. Devoto had left the band by the time of the Buzzcock’s ’78 UK tour. The speed of delivery and energy were there, but the Buzzcocks had better-formed songs than the Pistols. I’d heard their support band, Joy Division, on the late night John Peel radio show, and was intrigued. But I was simply blown away. Joy Division’s set was mesmerising, and once I’d seen Ian Curtis’s manic butterfly dance to She’s lost Control, I was hooked. It was a performance that can only be compared to footage of Jim Morrison fronting the Doors, although this was no imitation. Like Morrison, he was a driven poet with a vision to share. Curtis was locked in his own world of pain, but his thoughtful, introspective lyrics painted graphic visual images of suffering, set against a bleak landscape, but tinted with hope, defiance and resilience. In reality, he was suffering with a debilitating condition – epilepsy, treated with mood-altering medication. Add to this a self-destructive ménage à trois that he couldn’t resolve, he reached overload and took his own life on the eve of what was to be the band’s first US tour in 1980. A poet and philosopher, his legacy survives in a huge global following for Joy Division’s slim body of work forty years on. I saw them three times, the third one of their last gigs in April 1980 at the Russell Club/Factory in Manchester. Dead souls, Atrocity Exhibition, Decades and LWTUA stood out. I don’t mind admitting my eyes welled up with tears when I read Paul Morley’s obituary of Ian Curtis in the NME.
But let’s get back to the lyrics of these three great Northern poets/lyricists that are still inspiring new generations of young people. To hear today’s students singing along to Morrisey’s lyrics at a Smiths tribute band gig in 2020 was a pleasant surprise. So, now to some favourite lyrics and links to YouTube:

Philadelphia by Magazine (extract):
Buddha’s in the fireplace
The truth’s in drugs from outer space
Maybe it’s right to be nervous now
Everything’d be just fine
If I had the right pastime
I’d’ve been Raskolnikov
But Mother Nature ripped me off
In Philadelphia
I’m sure that I felt healthier
Maybe it’s right to be nervous now…

Where have I seen you before?
‘Same place you saw me, I expect
I’ve got a good face for memories’
In Philadelphia
I’m sure that I felt healthier
Maybe it’s right to be nervous now…
Lyrics: Howard Devoto – great guitar riffs from John McGeogh
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-dBLEA2o3Gc

Decades by Joy Division (extract)
Here are the young men, the weight on their shoulders
Here are the young men, well where have they been?
We knocked on the doors of Hell’s darker chamber
Pushed to the limit, we dragged ourselves in
Watched from the wings as the scenes were replaying
We saw ourselves now as we never had seen
Portrayal of the trauma and degeneration
The sorrows we suffered and never were free
Where have they been?

Weary inside, now our heart’s lost forever
Can’t replace the fear, or the thrill of the chase
Each ritual showed up the door for our wanderings
Open then shut, then slammed in our face
Where have they been?
Lyrics by Ian Curtis – an eerie foretelling of his fate? The track has a funereal feel and a timeless, compelling beauty…
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n272UVfsciM

What difference does it make? By The Smiths.
All men have secrets and here is mine
So let it be known
For we have been through hell and high tide
I can surely rely on you
And yet you start to recoil
Heavy words are so lightly thrown
But still I’d leap in front of a flying bullet for you

So, what difference does it make?
So, what difference does it make?
It makes none
But now you have gone
And you must be looking very old tonight

The devil will find work for idle hands to do
I stole and I lied, and why?
Because you asked me to!
But now you make me feel so ashamed
Because I’ve only got two hands
But I’m still fond of you, oh-ho-oh

But no more apologies
No more, no more apologies
Oh, I’m too tired
I’m so sick and tired
And I’m feeling very sick and ill today
But I’m still fond of you,
Oh, my sacred one…
Lyrics by Morrissey
Impossible to pick a definitive example of Morrissey’s lyrics, given his wide body of work, but I’ve gone for an early hit and personal favourite, What difference does it make? I stood three feet from Johnny Marr as he played the jingly-jangly riff to this immortal classic when they supported the Sisters of Mercy at an impromptu University of London SU gig in 1983. My mate was from Manchester and had already ‘discovered’ the Smiths in early ’83, and we were familiar with their early singles Hand in Glove, its brilliant b-side Still Ill, and This Charming Man. I remember them slowing the tempo with Reel Around the Fountain – still a favourite from the first album. It’s time that the tale was told.

One of many great nights seeing raw emerging talent on tiny stages, belting out future hits. Snapshots in time, but music destined to be not only for their contemporary generation but future ones as well. Thank you Devoto, Curtis and Morrissey for sharing your thoughts and feelings with us through such inspiring and memorable songs.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XbOx8TyvUmI

These songs, these lyrics, these memories have formed the soundtrack to my life. I followed my own muse and became the editor of the student magazine at the Polytechnic of Wales (now University of Glamorgan) in South Wales in the early 80s, reporting on such gigs as New Order, the band re-born from the ashes of Joy Division, in January 1983, when they first played Blue Monday to an audience at Cardiff Uni JSU. Musical taste evolves and I carried my love of now, happening live music forward with me on my journey through life, but occasionally pausing to listen to early loves and influences from the great days of my youth.
Viva music, viva la vida.

Checkout my books here: https://timwalkerwrites.co.uk

The Skids – Gig Review

On the evening of 7th June 2018, I joined a couple of mates at Reading Sub89 Club to see the reformed Skids take to the stage. For me, this was a trip down memory lane as I had seen the Scottish punk rockers perform at Eric’s Club in Liverpool in March 1979. That’s a gap of 39 years…

I had relatively low expectations of the evening but was warmed up by the buzz of a large (possibly sell-out) crowd who enthusiastically sang along to support act TV Smith’s rendition of his classic single (with The Adverts), ‘Looking Through Gary Gilmore’s Eyes’.

The Skids took to the stage with hoots and applause, Richard Jobson beaming his pleasure and showing off remarkably youthful looks and a muscular torso that clearly spends much time in a gym. With him was fellow founder members Bruce Watson and Bill Simpson, now supplemented by the youthful addition of Mike Baillie and Jamie Watson. A tribute was given during the set to deceased founder member and co-writer of many of the songs, Stuart Adamson, who tragically died in 2001.

The performance was simply astounding – the band were tight and energetic from start to finish and, apart from a couple of minor slip-ups, were bang on the money – or the Yankee Dollar, if you prefer. Richard Jobson’s banter between songs oozed with the charm and polish of the seasoned TV presenter he became after splitting from the Skids in the 80s. I was transported back in time when they finished their set with fan’s favourite ‘Into the Valley’, teased in by that memorable bass line that sent the crowd wild. After a short breather they re-emerged to give us three more songs.

During the set they covered the full sweep of their musical career, from singles and tracks dating from 1977 to 1982 when they first split, to tracks from a new album, Burning Cities, recorded 35 years after their last album, that stood up well with the old material. Old favourites played with gusto and that distinctive Adamson-esque Scottish guitar style included: The Saints are Coming; Masquerade; Circus Games; Charade; Working for the Yankee Dollar; Animation; Goodbye Civilian and Woman in Winter.

I’m pleased I made the effort, as it is all too easy to let these opportunities to see your old favourites pass by. Their performance was tight, energetic and a lot of fun – I thoroughly recommend seeing them to all you post-punk music fans.

On John Cooper Clarke and The Fall

Ever been dragged to a gig by a mate and had your eyes opened a new and unexpectedly amazing experience?

As a young impressionable schoolboy in Liverpool during the punk rock explosion of ’77-’78, I was asked by a classmate, John, if I would go with him to see John Cooper-Clarke, as he also wanted to be a punk poet. I said, “Who’s he?” …Come on, cut me some slack here…it was March 1978 and there was no internet, only the music press for info…JCC was just starting out.

And so I went to my first ever night club gig at Eric’s in Liverpool, on Mathew Street, opposite the once famous but derelict Cavern Club (it had been closed for some years, before it was revived as a tourist attraction). It was 7th April 1978 and was billed as ‘The Fall plus Special Guest’ (see attached flyer with JCC autograph!). The special guest was a lanky Salford punk poet with dark glasses and a mop of black hair – pretty much identical to how he looked a few months ago in 2015 on TV in ‘Have I got News For You’. The Salford Bard, now being touted as the next Poet Lauriat and with poems on the school curriculum, was unexpectedly brilliant. I still remember ‘I Married a Monster from Outer Space’, and ‘Kung Fu International’, apparently recorded ‘live’ at that gig and used as a B side. He was followed by Mark E. Smith and The Fall, at that time a rough punk-imitator band, as most new bands felt they had to be. ‘Last Orders’ was the stand-out track from this early punk thrash.

Now, the reason I’ve put finger to keyboard with this blog post is that it just occurred to me that both these unwell-looking acts ARE STILL GOING! Both are gigging in 2015, John Cooper-Clarke down the road in Guildford this week supporting Squeeze. I loved the last scene of the last episode of ‘The Sopranos’ played out with JCC’s ‘Evidently Chicken Town’. Now cropping up in TV commercials, the former coke and brown addict is an inspiration to us all in….well….survival.

The Fall, who released their first album the year after I saw them in 1979, have gone on to be one of the most prolific recording acts in British music history. With 31 studio albums to date, and many more live albums, Mark has tried his level best to bore us all to death. Although not such a big fan, I was persuaded to see the Fall in the late 80’s twice, and enjoyed both, very different, performances.

One was in a dingy club in Croydon, where, with Brix on bass, they belted out classic and memorable versions of ‘Eat Yourself Fitter’ and ‘Cruiser’s Creek’. The other was at Sadler’s Wells Theatre (I kid you not) where sometime in September 1988 I was dragged by mate Jimmy to see ‘I Am Curious Orange’ with The Fall on stage with the Michael Clark contemporary dance group cavorting around them to quite brilliant versions of ‘Curious Orange’ and ‘Big New Prinz’ (scan of programme cover shown – anyone else go to this?). Inspired and innovative…

What impresses me most about JCC and Mark E. Smith is their unshakable belief in what they’re doing – in their art. They have spanned the late 70s, 80s, 90s, 00s and are still batting on in 2015 and, no doubt, beyond. They must have met virtually everyone in UK showbiz….a kind of anti-advertisement for Manchester. Keep Away! It’s all like Beezley Street! But bizarrely, Manchester and Salford acts like The Fall, The Smith, JCC, Joy Division/New Order (Happy Mondays, Oasis in the 90s) have all tickled my imagination, tuning me in to a grim Northern outlook that is remarkably tough, resilient and strangely uplifting. Hell, they’re even thinking of taking tourists there!

I say, Rock on JCC and Mark E. Smith. You have inspired a generation and now reach a younger audience who see the Punk Era that spewed you out as a kind of Golden Age. We grew up then, and understood the value of questioning the Establishment and of rebellion…without questioning, without perspective, the country will end up being run by someone like….errr….David Cameron!

JOY DIVISION: A ROCK DOCUMENTARY (BBC iplayer)

In the late 1970s the two big post-industrial cities in England’s North West corner – Liverpool and Manchester, were manfully struggling to stay alive. Ignored and despised by central Government, a population proud and defiant dared to shout, “We are still here!” It was impossible to live there at that time, as I did, and not be affected by the economic collapse that opened the door for the divisive politics of Thatcherism. A cynical new era characterised by greed and selfishness was being ushered in, and many artists were making their feelings felt through art and music.

I have often asked myself why I was drawn so strongly to the music and imagery of Manchester rock band Joy Division. On the surface, their music is gloomy and petulant, riding off the back of the punk rock anti-establishment, anti-everything that has made life a struggle in the grim North. But for me, their music was strangely uplifting – defiance in the face of overwhelming odds, and a determination to have the best life possible in difficult circumstances. The positive energy that comes through their music inspired a generation of young post-punk rock fans, and still resonates today.

From the lilting love-gone-wrong lyrics of the beautiful ‘Love Will Tear Us Apart’ to the rolling drums and pulsing beat of ‘Twenty Four Hours’. Yes, lyrics tinged with regret and hurt, but ultimately smashing through the gloom to a brighter day. There was hope, and through it all we must keep going. Sadly, for singer Ian Curtis, the heavy weight of life’s problems proved to be overwhelming. He couldn’t square the circle; he couldn’t go on any more. He committed suicide on the eve of their first US Tour, just when they were on the verge of making the Big Time.

OK, the TV documentary points out that he was in the middle of a love triangle, and his suicide by drug overdose followed a showdown with his estranged wife. He had a complicated love life and was battling medical problems – crushing depression and worsening epilepsy. The impending tour was the straw that broke the camel’s back, the thing that finally pushed him over the edge. With hindsight we can say that we should have seen it coming – the lyrics of their final album – Closer – can be interpreted as one long suicide note from Curtis – asking over and over again for help.

We heard him, through his music, and were drawn to his battle – a battle against environment, health and emotions. Wasn’t it like that for all of us? Trying to come to terms with an angry and increasingly divided society. Ian Curtis spoke to me. That’s why I was so captivated when I first saw Joy Division on stage, supporting the Buzzcocks, at the Mountford Hall in Liverpool in 1979. He was so absorbed in his own performance, it was mesmeric. He commanded you to watch him, and everyone in the room did. Punks stood and watched, not sure how to dance to their distinctive music. ‘She’s Lost Control’ a powerful memory, with Curtis’s strange, twisting butterfly dance, like a man trying to escape from a straight-jacket.

I bought their records and got into their music, fascinated by Ian Curtis’s lyrics – a man of his time, shouting to be heard. The band had developed what many others had failed to do – their own distinctive rock music style – brooding, northern and compulsive. I was a member of Eric’s Club where most of the up and coming punk and post-punk bands played. I went to see Joy Division there and a repeat of their first album set – Unknown Pleasures. Dance, dance, dance, dance, dance to the radio.

In early 1980 the younger brother of one my friends called on me with a strange request – would I accompany him on a coach trip to Manchester to see Joy Division at the Factory? No one would go with him, and he really wanted to see the band. He was sixteen or seventeen at the time and I was nineteen. I agreed, and we bought out coach and gig tickets from Probe Records in town. Boy, was I glad I went on that trip. April 1980 at the Russel Club (The Factory) in Manchester. What an amazing set – all their second album stuff, including brilliant versions of Twenty Four Hours and Atrocity Exhibition. Add to this, Love Will Tear Us Apart, Transmission, Dead Souls and Shadowplay, and you have the set of a maturing rock band, ready to take on the World. I bought a cassette of the gig on the way out. This was real. This was special.

Barely one month later, Curtis was dead, and the band and fans were left devastated, picking through the ruins of what might have been. I read Paul Morley’s obituary in the NME with a tear in my eye. It was a personal loss, a bereavement in my wider cultural family. The band decided to continue, releasing their next scheduled single, ‘Ceremony’ under a new name: New Order. The ‘b’ side – ‘In a Lonely Place’ is a wonderfully melancholic farewell to their tragic friend. With this single there was a belligerent sense that life goes on, and the band must play on. Ian would have wanted it, and they still had plenty to say.

‘Here are the young men, a weight on their shoulders’, sang Curtis. Young people making their way through life…the challenge is to keep going – don’t give up. Continue to develop yourself and look for opportunities. Work is a means to a better life, but stay true to yourself, your beliefs, ethics and cultural identity. I wish Ian had found the help he needed to continue the fight. A casualty in the ongoing battle to survive and make sense of it all. Thanks, Joy Division. You helped show me the way through the urban jungle to a brighter day.