Guilty Pleasures (Part 19)

GUILTY PLEASURES (Part 19)

I wonder what a Roxy Music audience looks like? Would it include anyone under the age of forty or might it be solely an over-fifties thing? Might a proportion be lisping, middle-aged homosexuals or balding, pot-bellied ex-lotharios? Would it be a men only thing or would women be equally represented? Who might the men be as in what kind of work might they do as a living? Brick layers, carpenters and navvies or office middle-management and shopkeepers? Who might the women be? Housewives, divorcees, and the kind who work behind the perfume counters at John Lewis and Debenhams? Who knows?

A few of the early Sex Pistols followers were Roxy Music fans – Siouxsie Sioux and the Bromley contingent et al, so there's obviously pedigree there. David Bowie was a fan. Roxy Music always straddled the lines between glam rock kitsch and art school weird with a layer of sexual ambiguity slapped all over them. Brian Eno was always an alien, Andy Mackay was a porn film extra and Bryan Ferry was a lounge lizard. The other two were just Sixties throwbacks painted with a sprinkle of glitter. Though what kind of name is 'Brian' for a pop star? What kind of name is 'Bryan' for an oily, sexually perverted, cocktail bar crooner?

Is it fair to suggest Roxy Music were one of the most interesting yet largely unacknowledged bands of that whole 1970s Top Of The Pops era? Is it fair to suggest that not Virginia Plain, not Street Life, or not any of their hits but a song called If There Was Something from their debut album is one of the greatest songs ever?

There's only one way to find out, I suppose. So see you at the Exmouth Pavilion in January, windowlickers, where an approximation of Roxy Music will be trying to seduce, bugger and abandon a selection of sexually ambivalent farmers and fishermen (along with their fishwives?) from various towns and villages dotted along the East Devon coast. It's going to be the first gig of the year and probably the best gig of the year also...

Guilty Pleasures (Part 18)

GUILTY PLEASURES (Part 18)

A pale imitation of a shadow of the Bee Gees is better than no Bee Gees at all, as they say. And like God, if the Bee Gees didn't exist they would have to be invented. Which brings us neatly to Jive Talkin' who, according to the Wakefield Express are the 'original and best Bee Gees tribute act in the world'. And who would dare argue with the Wakefield Express?

The Bee Gees, of course, were once anathema to a generation incubated in the white heat of Punk Rock and suckled on the flaccid teats of everything alternative when the word actually meant 'alternative' and not just the same old shit covered in a layer of talcum powder.

Oh, how we laughed at those who took the Bee Gees seriously and who saw them even as role models. Saturday Night Fever was in no way the soundtrack to our lives as we vandalised the Council estates in which we were born. Far from it. The Bee Gees were bereft of sex and drugs and revolution and therefore held no meaning or appeal to us in the slightest.

When the mode of the music changes, however, the walls of the city shake. The wheel of the world keeps on turning bringing everything eventually full circle and here we all are now and just look where we're at. Nowadays it seems the alternative to the 'alternative' is a Bee Gees tribute act playing at the Exmouth Pavilion for £18.50 a ticket. Who'd have thought?

And will I be there? You bet! With my Cuban heels, my feather boa and my open-neck shirt I'll be dancing my clogs off and strutting my stuff til the break of dawn and the sun is shining on the cow shed.

See you on the dance floor...

Guilty Pleasures (Part 17)

GUILTY PLEASURES (Part 17)

I saw Status Quo in Exmouth last Sunday. Or at least they purported to be Status Quo. They didn't fool me, however, because they looked nothing like them and even the name wasn't quite the same. They called themselves Quo-incidence, and they were playing at the Exmouth Cider Festival.

There are some things in life that go hand-in-hand, isn't there? Fish and chips, Morcambe and Wise, er... night and day, um... love and hate, ... er... Status Quo and cider! They were onto a winner straight away, really, playing this gig.

I was watching them and I was thinking 'If I was on drugs or pissed out of my brain then they'd be really good. I could tune-in to their 12-bar blues extended jams and groove away into infinity. I could circle the world and square the circle, turn reality back in on itself and turn cartwheels in the snow storm of my mind.'

Alas, as it was only 4 o'clock in the afternoon and not being a northern industrial imbiber, I was stone-cold sober, which meant rather than being 'really good' Status Quo were instead merely 'good'. Looking at the rest of the audience, they seemed to be treating the concert as a rather sedate affair with very little nodding of heads let alone full-on head-banging. On closer inspection I realized it was because they were all too wrecked to even move. On the outside they may have looked like strangely beautiful Easter Island statues but on the inside they were in the delirium of a cider-fuelled frenzy. You could see it in their eyes. They were in rapture and Status Quo were the heavenly choir.

It begged the question, actually: How come Status Quo aren't as revered as say, the Ramones? Both bands led long and distinguished careers, both being globally (and fabulously) famous. Both produced seminal and unquestionably classic songs and albums and both went equally astray over the years, producing some pretty ropey rubbish. Both stuck to an almost rigid formula and both laid down a gauntlet of examples to follow and to most definitely avoid.

So how come Status Quo lack the same critical respect as bestowed upon the Ramones? How come wearing a Status Quo t-shirt is decidedly uncool whilst wearing a Ramones t-shirt is moderately hip, even when purchased in Primark?

Such are the mysteries of the Universe.

For all that, I would have preferred a Ramones tribute band over a Status Quo one but such is life and you can't always get what you want though sometimes you might find - as someone once sang - you get what you need. Do the Ramones go hand-in-hand with cider? Is a Status Quo tribute band what we need? Are there even any Ramones tribute bands around nowadays?

And by the way, if anyone thinks Bristol and Somerset are good for cider then I should let you know that there are people down here in Devon whose whole lives are one big, never-ending cider festival with the soundtrack to their lives being Status Quo's Paper Plane. And there's nothing wrong with that in the slightest, I might add.

Guilty Pleasures (Part 16)

GUILTY PLEASURES (Part 16)

I saw Oasis in Exmouth last Sunday. Or at least they purported to be Oasis. They called themselves Supersonic and purported to be an Oasis covers band but who knows? They might actually have been Oasis purporting to be a covers band called Supersonic purporting to be Oasis?

It gets so confusing sometimes, doesn't it? Trying to distinguish between fact and fiction, reality and illusion, truth and lies. And this is just down here at ground zero and as we cast our eyes beyond the horizon at national politics, global politics, mainstream media, the Internet, Facebook... it becomes intolerable. What exactly is going on? Who or what can you trust if you can't even trust yourself?

They were okay, actually, whoever they were. They played all their hits. Liam's put on a bit of weight since last time I saw him on television but he's entitled to. He's lost none of his attitude though, as evidenced by the remark he made about the last song the DJ played before they came on and plugged in: "Now for some proper music," he said "Not like that last song that was played."

That last song happened to be Wannabe by the Spice Girls. I wanted to call out to him "Haven't you had the ginger one, Liam?" but I thought I might be getting him mixed-up with Robbie Williams and I didn't want to cause upset before the concert had even started. It was a family event after all.

It was a boiling hot day and he was dressed in a coat. Again, I wanted to call out to him: "Liam! Take your coat off! Make yourself at home! This is Exmouth, man! Chill out!" But again, I didn't want to cause a scene so I let him suffer for his art. It can't be easy being a style icon, I thought. Especially on a hot day.

Liam's no stranger to these parts, actually. I saw him about a year ago in Budleigh Salterton when he was walking along with a couple of women and children and as I passed him I overheard him advising one of the women to invest in a pub down here. "You'll make a packet, man." he said. He had a big coat on then too though it wasn't such a hot day.

Robbie Williams is no stranger to these parts too come to think of it, as he owns an apartment down at the Exmouth marina (though he probably just rents it out). He's been seen in town once or twice though nobody's had to take out a restraining order against him yet.

"Yer, Fred, izzat Robbie Williams up there singing? He's put on a bit of weight, ain't he?"

But I digress. 'Supersonic' were entertaining in a slightly mind-bending kind of way. I particularly liked their version of Get It On by T-Rex. And as a review of a concert (which this purports to be), that's all that needs to be said, really. Next week we've got Status Quo playing along with a bunch of other bands all for free at the Exmouth Cider Festival. The week after that, we've got Neil Diamond back again, followed by Elvis Presley the week after. All for free! And in October we've got Pam Ayers coming!

Sometimes I can't tell if I'm living in one of the best coastal towns in England or if it's time for me to move?

Guilty Pleasures (Part 15)

GUILTY PLEASURES (Part 15)

The problem with someone (or something) like Psychic Sally is that she's an epitome of putting a dollar onto everything. It's a mindset of always thinking about how much money can be made from anything? What's its financial worth? How much can it be sold for? In Psychic Sally's case it's £24.50 per person, the cost of a ticket to get in to see her perform when her Call Me Psychic tour rolls into town. There's also Psychic Sally jewellery available alongside books, DVDs, greeting cards, bags, T-shirts and candles.

I understand how we all live in a capitalist society and that we've all got bills to pay so if you've got something to sell be it a certain skill or your labour, your time or your talent then you're inclined to use it so as to enable you to get by. Psychic Sally - or Sally Morgan, to give her her real name - uses her psychic powers.

Sally's a medium, communing with the dead and passing on messages from them to the living. I'm not interested in debating the truth of this because essentially, everyone is free to believe what they like and if anyone believes death is not the end then all power to them. It's their prerogative just as it's the prerogative of others to believe in what they wish be it reincarnation, angels, Heaven, Hell, or that dead is dead. Whatever gets you through the night.

No, the problem with what Psychic Sally does is her putting a monetary value on something that by its own definition stands beyond our earthly plain and therefore stands outside of any man-made system such as capitalism.

Is there nothing in this world that cannot be exploited? Is there nothing that can stand exempt of the profit motive and consumerism? It would appear not and that's why capitalism is so powerful and has been so successful as a system. It's this very strength, however, that is going to be its ultimate downfall because ultimately capitalism will exploit and consume itself.

Paradoxically, absolutely everything can also be exempt from being capitalised on and exploited but only if we so desire it. Regarding something like spiritualism and communing with the dead (because that's what we're talking about here) there are plenty of spiritualists and mediums out there who are happy and willing to provide their services for free. For nothing. Those who seek such services therefore have a choice to either go to those who are serious and are not wanting anything back in return, or to go to someone like Sally Morgan who say they are also serious but ask to be paid £24.50 for the privilege whilst putting tiny disclaimers at the bottom of their advertisements saying 'for the purpose of entertainment'.

So will I be going to see Psychic Sally at the Exmouth Pavilion? Will I fuck. Though I might just take a stroll down there on the night just to see what kind of people it is who are going. It would be funny though if it was cancelled due to unforeseen circumstances, wouldn't it?

Guilty Pleasures (Part 14)

GUILTY PLEASURES (Part 14)

Purists might scoff but I'd bet my bottom dollar that Bowie himself would have approved of Bowie Experience. He was always an arbiter of good taste though, wasn't he? He raised the bar by being an early champion of Lou Reed and Iggy Pop (among others), though the slight problem that arose for him later on in his career was that he'd made such an impact upon pop culture that any band or artist of any merit would always have been influenced by him in one way or another, so the bands he later touted (such as Placebo, Arcade Fire, the Pixies even) were always cut from his own cloth.

So with this in mind it was bound to have eventually brought him round full circle to appreciating a tribute act to himself - the Bowie Experience.

Now that he's passed away, watching a tribute act to him is the closest we're going to get to experiencing him live. So will it be worth it? I hope so. The guy who impersonates him must be doing a good job of it for him to be touring the UK in what is actually quite decent-sized venues.

Of course, we've always got the records, the videos and the films of Bowie to help keep the flame alive; and of course, we've always got the bands and artists that were influenced by him. I'm thinking Momus here in particular for some reason.

I wonder if Bowie Experience will come on all loaded, man? Well hung and snow white tan?

Guilty Pleasures (Part 13)

GUILTY PLEASURES (Part 13)

First off, The Real Me is a song by The Who from their Quadrophenia album but it's also the name of a three-piece band knocking out cover versions of Sixties songs in pubs, clubs and at festivals around the East Devon area. The Kinks, The Who, Small Faces, etc, etc, are all represented and delivered with aplomb.

When they recently played a free gig at the Exmouth Pavilion they did two sets, the first being their usual set of songs from the Sixties but for the second set they said they were going to try something a little different: A whole set of songs spanning the career of The Jam. And this is indeed what they did, delivering what was in effect a greatest hits show of Jam songs.

Pretty Green, Start, Strange Town, Thick As Thieves, In The City, David Watts, Eton Rifles, Down In the Tube Station At Midnight, Private Hell, When You're Young, even my own personal favourite A-Bomb In Wardour Street. They even did That's Entertainment and Butterfly Collector.

I was impressed. They were brilliant. They attacked the songs with energy, excitement, enthusiasm, and - importantly when it comes to The Jam - with aggression.

The song I came away with in my head at the end of the night, however, was Boy In The Bubble by Paul Simon; in particular the line "Every generation throws a hero up the pop charts."

You see, The Jam were one of the top bands of the late Seventies/early Eighties and when it came to mainstream musical culture they were one of the most important. They were always listed alongside other such classic bands as the Pistols, the Clash, the Damned and so on - and for very good reason. There was a time when they could do no wrong.

Whilst watching The Real Me I was thinking: If The Jam ever reformed with the original line-up they'd probably sell out the O2 Arena but would they be as good as The Real Me? I suspect not. So why wasn't the Exmouth Pavilion packed out with punters?

I'd say there were around 100 people there, a number of them obviously old fans of The Jam but a large number also looking as though they were just out for a typical Saturday night drink with a bit of music chucked in. Not that numbers count for much I know. As Anthony Wilson once said: "The smaller the attendance the bigger the history. There were 12 people at the Last Supper. Half a dozen at Kitty Hawk. Archimedes was on his own in the bath." But still.

These old Jam songs were once urban hymns. Urban folk songs that everybody knew. They electrified a generation. Their importance cannot be overstated. But then again, so once were the songs of Elvis Presley, the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, the Sex Pistols, the Clash, and so on and so forth. Nowadays all these bands and their songs are covered by tribute acts up and down the country, week in week out. So too the songs of The Jam. None of them, however, hold any of their original power and are no longer capable of transcending into the realm of having a social impact. All that's left nowadays is the music and the nostalgia which is fair enough but what made them so special in the first place has now gone.

Watching The Real Me was very enjoyable and I'd recommend people go and see them, particularly if they do the Jam set again as they were really good at it. Walking home afterwards, however, I got to wondering: What songs nowadays are having the same impact that Jam songs (for example) once had? Has everything that can be said or done with a song been said and done already? Is any new band playing original songs simply re-hashing for a new generation what has already been sung? And what exactly is any tribute band (such as The Real Me) bringing to the table?

The answer to that last question is that they obviously enjoy what they do but they also bring enjoyment to others (which is no mean feat) along with a certain kind of weirdness. And all tribute bands, I would argue, are inherently weird often without even knowing it and I don't mean that as a sleight. Weirdness makes the world go round. "You can't be weird in a strange town," said Paul Weller. But as Hunter S Thompson said: "When the going gets weird, the weird turn professional."

Was a time when I wanted all bands to be themselves, to be original and to sing their own songs. Nowadays, however, I'm not sure if that's so important. The world has changed. What does it matter if a band sing their own songs if those songs are unoriginal? Nowadays it's no longer songs that have the power to transcend into the realm of making a social impact but the weirdness itself of the bands themselves. In particular the weirdness of tribute bands such as, for example, The Real Me.

Guilty Pleasures (Part 12)

GUILTY PLEASURES (Part 12)

He's back and he's bad. Back to get what's his. He's mean, he's keen, he's a loving machine.

Down here in Exmouth we're only in it for the sex and the drugs, and all the rest is propaganda. So suck on this, motherfuckers. Sex Pistols at the 100 Club? The Stones at Altamont? Elvis in Vegas? We shit 'em. Neil Diamond at the Exmouth Pavilion is where it's at and you knows it. Celebrating 50 years of hits. And it's not even the real Neil Diamond! How much more disorientated can you get without the aid of mind-altering drugs?

See you all there, cock-knockers.

All together now: "Sweet Caroline, good times never seemed so good. I've been inclined, to believe they never would..."

Guilty Pleasures (Part 11)

GUILTY PLEASURES (Part 11)

"The only performance that makes it - that really makes it, that makes it all the way - is the one that achieves madness. Right? Am I right? Are you with me?"

So says the character as played by Mick Jagger in Nic Roeg's Sixties mindbender of a film, Performance. It's a sentiment I've always tended to go along with but of course what is meant by 'making it' is open to interpretation. It can mean fame and fortune and all the trappings that can come with that: the mansions, the cocaine, the driving your television into the swimming pool and throwing your Rolls Royce out the hotel window. It can also mean artistic success as in realisation of artistic vision, art for art's sake, untainted vision, purity of intent and other such ideas from the William Blake school of thought.

I want my pop stars to be fat and bloated Elvis Presley style, shooting at the television with a golden pistol whilst overdosing on qualludes. I want them locked in permanent childhood Michael Jackson style, riding their own private rollercoaster at midnight and having sex with their pet monkey. I want them in full-blown fucked-up mode a la Sid Vicious; heroin tracks down their arms, on stage with a bloody nose and 'gimme-a-fix' carved into their chest.

I want my pop stars to be idealogical puritans, strict of vision like Crass. I want them ploughing their own path without concessions to commercialism like Captain Beefheart and his Magic Band, or without a hint of even a nod to populist appeal like Laurie Anderson or Extreme Noise Terror of old.

I once saw a band of mental health patients playing a concert at a local community hall that could so easily have been a scene from One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest. They weren't exactly musically adept, in fact they couldn't play their electric guitars at all but it was brilliant. It was as though through their music and performance they were communing with God. That's how I like my bands.

"Some days I'd wake up and hear birds singing and I couldn't tell if they were outside my window or in my head."

So said Brian Wilson of The Beach Boys after a long period of blasting his mind to smithereens with drugs. If ever a band could be said to have acquainted themselves with madness then it would be The Beach Boys who at one point even managed to pull psycho warlord Charles Manson and his Family into their orbit. It's the stuff of legend and it's these things that come to mind when I think of The Beach Boys. Who truly understands madness, I wonder? Only the mad themselves, I'd wager.

"But I don't want to go among mad people," Alice remarked. "Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat "We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."

Next month Beach Boys tribute band The Beach Boys Band are coming to Exmouth and what a load of old tosh you might say? Or you might say you only like The Beach Boys for their songs and their harmonies? And that's fair enough. But when I think of The Beach Boys I think Death Valley '69. Dune-buggy attacks. Smile. Cease To Exist. Teenage symphonies to God. Bleached white bones in California desert. Death pickings at Madison Square Gardens. Helter Skelter. Two Lane Blacktop. Good Vibrations. God Only Knows.

I think if we all take the right drugs it could be an interesting night.

See you all there, psychonauts.

Guilty Pleasures (Part 10)

GUILTY PLEASURES (Part 10)

As a teenager full of the joys of youth, I rather liked the Anarcho Punk band Crass and would always go out of my way to catch them live. They would lay on what can only be described as a roadshow, with banks of televisions stacked alongside stages bedecked in anarchist and peace banners. It was all very un-rock'n'roll.

They were always supported by bands and poets such as Flux Of Pink Indians, Poison Girls, Dirt, Andy T, and Annie Anxiety. Except these bands and poets weren't really support acts because they were all very brilliant in their own right; Poison Girls in particular, who on a variety of levels may even have been actually better than Crass.

Yes, I used to like Poison Girls.

Their lead vocalist was a woman in her mid-forties who went by the name of Vi Subversa and she was unconventional to say the least. That is, unconventional in terms of who might typically be regaling audiences of volatile, angry young Punk rockers in an Anarcho Punk band.

Her voice was cracked and smoke-ravaged in a Marianne Faithfull kind of way, and her age lent her lyrics a conviction that shone with a truthfulness that was rare. When she sang - or declared - for example, a line such as "I denounce the system that murders my children," you just knew she really meant it.

All of Poison Girls' songs were exceptionally good but there was one in particular that for me was inspirational. A song from their début album Chappaquiddick Bridge, entitled Daughters and Sons. It was a song that demanded no explanation. You either understood it or you didn't and if you didn't then you probably never would.

I saw Poison Girls live on a number of occasions over the years, one such time being at the Treworgey Festival, in 1989. There's a school of thought that says the Castlemorton free festival of 1992 was the last major free festival before the Criminal Justice Bill took hold but I'd argue it was Treworgey even though it was actually (or meant to be) a ticket festival.

Like the Glastonbury festival at that time, there was the pay-to-enter site and the free Convoy site adjacent to it but very quickly all the fences came down and it merged into one gigantic free-for-all with no policing, no rules and no infrastructure.

Along with Hawkwind, the Levellers, Misty In Roots, Gaye Bykers On Acid, Chaos UK and all kinds of strange and wonderful bands, Poison Girls played a set and later on that evening I saw Vi out on site and on a whim I approached her and said "Hey! Thank you, Vi, for just being alive!"

She gave me a bemused look and asked why I said this so I replied "For being so good, for being so brilliant, for being so inspirational."

I found myself babbling and Vi probably thought I was just drug-addled (as most people at that festival were) but I wasn't really. Well, I made my excuses and continued on my merry way, leaving me feeling as though I'd just embarrassed myself and Vi probably wondering what the fuck was all that about?

A few months later I went to see Poison Girls again when they played at the Thekla showboat in Bristol, and I saw Vi walking around in the venue so, like an idiot, I approached her again and with a smile said "Thank you, Vi." And once again she gave me a bemused look as if to say 'What for?'. And once again I began babbling: "For everything. For being so good. For being so inspirational. For just being alive." I was embarrassing myself again.

Vi Subversa passed away last month, which made me remember these two occasions I met her, both times (though she was on both occasions lovely with me) leaving me thinking I'd made a fool of myself. With the news of her passing, I once again pondered just how brilliant Poison Girls were and how very special and inspirational they were. And it made me think I'm glad I said those things to her on those two occasions rather than trying to be cool or trying to discuss politics or whatever with her. I'm glad I said what I said because I meant it and now there'll never be an opportunity to say such a thing again - except for here on the Internet.

So, thank you, Vi, for everything. For being so good. For being so brilliant. For being so inspirational.

Thank you for just having lived.

                                                                                                                                                                               John Serpico

Guilty Pleasures (Part 9)

GUILTY PLEASURES (Part 9)

I always thought Boney M were brilliant and subversive. I know they were manufactured and all but so what? Does anyone still care about such things these days?

I've nothing at all against ABBA but at a time when the IRA were at war with the British State did they ever sing a song about Belfast? No - but Boney M did. At the height of the Cold War did ABBA ever sing "I see mushrooms, atomic mushrooms. I see rockets, missiles in the sky. We kill the world - Don't kill the world."? No - but Boney M did. At a time when Bob Marley was considered to be a 'political' singer, did ABBA ever cover any of his songs? No - but Boney M did. And was I just imagining it or did Boney M make Painter Man by The Creation their own and turn it into an anti-fascist anthem (a painter man being what Adolf Hitler was before he started his career in dictatorship)?

I remember seeing Boney M (or a version of them, at least) some years ago at Gay Pride in Amsterdam. There I was, skipping and dancing away amongst a thousand gay men, all singing along to Brown Girl In The Ring (tra la la la la - she looks like sugar in a plum - plum! plum!) and mid-song Bobby Farrell made a short speech from the stage, urging us all to love foreign gay people as much as we love ourselves because they're not as strong or as confident as us and they need our support. "Will you do that for me?" asked Bobby. He himself was originally from Aruba but was by then a resident of Amsterdam where as you might imagine, he was treated like royalty.

Did Cliff Richard ever make such a speech at one of his concerts? No - but Bobby Farrell did.

And talking of Bobby Farrell, wasn't he one of the greatest dancers ever? Wasn't he so obviously born to dance? Did he not blaze like a comet with the wind at his heels?

And so, Boney M are playing at the Exmouth Pavilion next month (or a version of them, at least). Bobby Farrell won't be there as he sadly passed away a few years ago and of course, any version of Boney M without him is like a house without books, or a body without a soul. So should I go to see them? Let's go to YouTube and just remind ourselves of them for a moment, shall we?

The problem with playing just one song by Boney M is that you immediately want to play another and there's such a choice to be made. Let's run with it...

Oh, I just can't stop...

Fuck it. I'm going to see them. They're even being supported by ABBA tribute act GimmeGimmeGimme, which just about seals it. It's like a Don Corleone offer that you can't refuse. I'll be digging out my sequinned cat suit and cape from the back of the cupboard, taking a load of amyl nitrate and I'll be dancing crazy like a fool. See you there, windowlickers.

Guilty Pleasures (Part 8)

GUILTY PLEASURES (Part 8)

In my whole life there is probably only two people who, when being in the presence of them have exuded greatness. Just two people who very obviously were living legends. It was plain to see. Undeniable. There was about them an undefinable quality. Something rare, unspoken, and very special. One was Joe Strummer of The Clash; the other was Johnny Cash.

I was always a fan of The Clash and was lucky enough to have seen them when I was very young, even getting to go backstage to meet them. It wasn't, however, until I saw Joe Strummer during the Class War Rock Against The Rich tour in whatever year it was that I suddenly realised how much of a living legend Joe was. As I said, he exuded greatness. He had 'it'.

As for Johnny Cash, he's always been legendary but it wasn't until I saw him at Glastonbury festival that I realised just how iconic he was. I used to work at the festival and would see a lot of the bands backstage, and though a lot of them were 'stars' I was never awestruck by any of them - until Johnny came along.

There was something about him; in the way he walked, the way he held himself and the way he spoke. Here was a very modest man who was from a different age but still very much relevant to the present. He had survived where so many others had not. He carried with him a grand and very heavy sense of history and when he strode out onto the stage and said "Hello, my name's Johnny Cash", he brought forth all that same history into one single, live moment.

Both Joe Strummer and Johnny Cash were very much one-off, unique figures and their like will probably never be seen again. To attempt to emulate them would be a futile task and there have been quite a few people who have tried. Ultimately, the greatest honour to be paid to them both would be to have them as inspirations and an influence but then to go your own way, live your own life and sing your own sings.

That's not to say, however, that their songs can't be covered. There's been some very good covers of Clash songs over the years and one of my favourite albums is, in fact, a tribute album to Johnny Cash entitled Til Things Are Brighter featuring the likes of Marc Almond, Michelle Shocked, the Mekons, Marc Riley, and Mary Mary of Gaye Bykers On Acid.

Playing in Exmouth this weekend is Johnny Cash Revisited, "an unmissable journey spanning five decades of music from the legendary 'man in black'." Purists might scoff but even if it's merely a pale shadow of an imitation of a copy, how can you really go wrong with songs of such quality?

See y'all there, cowboys and aliens. Yeehaw!

Guilty Pleasures (Part 7)

GUILTY PLEASURES (Part 7)

Questions? I've got questions.

What did Showaddywaddy think of Punk Rock? Did they ever go to any Punk gigs in the Seventies? Did the the battles between Punks and Teds on the King's Road in the Seventies ever encroach upon them? Did they ever have any contact with Malcolm McLaren when he was supplying Teddy Boy drape outfits from his Let It Rock shop? What did they think of the Ramones? Were they ever fans of The Cramps? What did Americans make of Showaddywaddy? Did they ever get to meet Elvis? Johnny Cash? The Clash? Einsturzende Neubauten? Fidel Castro? Did they ever get groupies? Did they ever party with Queen? The Sweet? Ozzy Osbourne? Dave Lee Travis? Did they ever go in for dwarf throwing at any of their parties? Were there ever fights at their gigs? Were there ever any full-scale riots at their gigs? Did they hate Thatcher? Showaddywaddy are from Leicester, have they ever heard of Gaye Bykers On Acid who were also from there? Or even the Lesbian Dopeheads On Mopeds? Do they know who Ted Chippington is? Who killed Kennedy? Who killed Bambi? If Mickey's a mouse and Donald's a duck and Pluto's a dog - what the fuck is Goofy? Hey hey, my my, will Rock'n'Roll never die? Is it better to burn out than to fade to grey? Are Showaddywaddy the Kings of the Bop? Who put the bop in the bop shoo bop shoo bop? Who put the dip in the dip da dip da dip? Who was that man? Are Showaddywaddy the greatest Rock'n'Roll band in the world?

Showaddywaddy are playing at the Exmouth Pavilion on 22nd May and I shall be demanding some answers.

Guilty Pleasures (Part 6)

GUILTY PLEASURES (Part 6)

I was once upon a time a great admirer of the Sex Pistols and in particular John Rotten. I say 'once' but I should declare that still to this day I fully appreciate them and all that they did. To think that John was only 19 at the time of the Pistols but how brightly he shone then. How fierce his intelligence was and how righteous his anger. Viewing old clips of him now on YouTube it's quite astounding how incandescent he was, articulating what I and many, many others were thinking and feeling.

"We ain't got no heroes." he would say "They're all useless." And oh, how I identified with that. A slight problem being, however, that in the process John became a sort of anti-hero hero of mine and very slavishly would I soak up his pearls of wisdom. Over a Pink Floyd t-shirt he had scrawled 'I hate' and I thought that if Johnny hated Pink Floyd then they must be bad so I chose to agree with him and chose to hate them too - without ever actually listening to them.

It was only a couple of years later at a friend's house whilst trying our utmost to exit planet dust via his sensimilla that my friend put on the Wish You Were Here album and I realised how brilliant Pink Floyd actually were.

I learned a valuable lesson that day.

And wouldn't you know, it turned out that Johnny never really hated them himself and that he even liked Hawkwind and Alvin Stardust...

Which brings me to Think Floyd, regarded by many as being the UK's finest tribute to Pink Floyd. They're playing at the Exmouth Pavilion and I may just go and see them. As a teenage Anarcho Punk Rocker such a thing would have been unthinkable, particularly as tickets are £17.50 but you know, this is 2015. In answer to Marc Bolan's old question, I think I know what happened to the teenage dream. I've heard the chimes at midnight. I know for whom the bell tolls. But the world keeps on turning. And the sun also rises.

I still see light at the end of the tunnel.

Life is good.

Guilty Pleasures (Part 5)

GUILTY PLEASURES (Part 5) 

The King is dead.

Alvin Stardust is dead.

All dreams of him playing one day at the Exmouth Pavilion have now been dashed. Instead, on the streets of Exmouth his loyal disciples walk now in stunned silence. In pubs throughout the town, grown men (or at least, those old enough to remember) weep silently into their beer glasses, trying hard to accept that he is no longer with them. They drink to his name. They drink to his memory. Mothers at home sob into pillows, knowing their children will never now experience what they did as children. They will never know the joy, the thrill, the emotional frisson he could instigate by simply standing motionless, sideways on, microphone held level; just looking, cooing, singing.

What to do? What words of comfort are there?

Stalker of dreams. Haunter of childhoods. Black leather pop demigod. He of the black glove, the ruby ring, and the clutching hand. The exaggerated quiff. The sideburns. The raised eyebrow. The steely eye.

He has gone.

Here in Exmouth we were awaiting his return. His presence. His gifts.

But no more.

Who will lead us now?

This night, throughout Exmouth, candles are being lit.

Guilty Pleasures (Part 4)

GUILTY PLEASURES (Part 4)

All the world's a stage just as it's also a hall of mirrors. Refracting, reflecting into infinity it echoes. Exmouth is a prism of rainbow light, iridescent against the beckoning sea. And if music be the food of love, play on.

The hungry and the hunted no longer explode into rock'n'roll bands but was a time when music offered a way out from lives pre-determined by place of birth. What could a poor boy do but to play in a rock'n'roll band? Though these are the days where the mode is retro the beat still goes on. Just put your ear to the ground and listen very carefully. Like a dim, distant signal from a dying star - the beat goes on. Kids walk around with their head in the clouds. Cities burn in the summertime. And the beat goes on. From this mad ball of confusion - oh, the beat goes on.

Can you hear it? We want the world and we want it now? Can you smell it? Something burning?

But in the pubs of Exmouth and I'm sure throughout the land, the majority of bands play covers of their favourite songs or pander to what they presume the punters want. It's the 1970s all over again but without the Glam, without the glitz, and without a 1960s hangover. The new groups seem unconcerned with what there is to be learned; not turning rebellion into money let alone turning money into rebellion. But the bands play on.

Hope, however, springs eternal because cover bands are actually really strange and very weird and with weirdness comes the potential for innovation. Which brings us neatly to Dr Feelgood.

Hailing from Canvey Island, in Essex, Dr Feelgood specialised in raw R&B honed into lacerating perfection through constant gigging. Arguably they were at their prime during the early 1970s when they would play to packed crowds in pubs and clubs in and around the Greater London area, spearheading what was to be known as 'pub rock'. The energy and malevolent sense of menace they exuded was tangible and in the opinion of many were the British godfathers of punk rock. With growling, shouting vocals, singer Lee Brilleaux spat out lyrics like hateful accusations as lead guitarist Wilko Johnson chopped out riffs and hurtled around the stage propelled by an amphetamine-fueled psychosis.

Dr Feelgood are still gigging to this day although the band contains no original members, which suggests that to all intent and purpose they're a covers band though that's in no way meant to belittle them. If you're going to have a covers band then why not have one of the very best? Why not have Dr Feelgood because with them points the way to an example of endless possibility.

Dr Feelgood in the 1970s inspired by rejuvenating energy into the pub-based gig, paving the way for the youth-quake of punk rock. If these days are an echo of the 1970s then an echo of a band such as Dr Feelgood can only be a good thing if only as an example of the potential for innovation.

Turn and face the strange, as Bowie sang. Check out Dr Feelgood at the Exmouth Pavilion this month or at a town near you. At the same time, check out Oil City Confidential, the 2009 film documenting the early days of Dr Feelgood which is not only director Julian Temple's best film by far but also in my opinion one of the best films concerning music that has ever been made.

John Serpico

Guilty Pleasures (Part 3)

GUILTY PLEASURES (Part 3)

Hey! Look! Look! It's The Wurzels! Playing at the Exmouth Pavilion! Yes! Get down there everyone!

The original gangsters. Still keeping it real. Too hot to handle, too cold to hold. The hardest of the hardcore. Forever next level. Somerset posse in the house!

"Drink up thy zider, drink up thy zider for tonight we'll merry be - merry be! We'll knock the milk churns over and roll 'em in the clover. The corn's half cut and so be we!"

The Somerset Massif. Countryside dancers, revolution romancers. Keepers of the flame. Torch bearers for multi-generations. Keeping it gangster. Recognize! Booyakasha!

"When the moon shines on the cow shed and we're rolling in the hay, all the cows are up there grazin' and the milk is on its way. I am a zider drinker, I drinks it all of the day! I am a zider drinker, it soothes all me troubles away! Ooh aar ooh ay, ooh aar ooh aar!"

The group that left Motorhead at the starting blocks. The touchstone for every punk rock band in the West Country. A force of nature. Over-liberated, you might say. No sleep til Exmouth! Jumpmotherfuckersjumpmotherfuckersjumpmotherfuckersjumpmotherfuckers......

"Where be that blackbird to? I know where he be! He be up yon Wurzel tree and I be after he. Now I sees he and he sees I, buggered if I don't get 'en. With a gurt big stick I'll knock 'im down, blackbird I'll 'ave he. La la la la la, la la la la la la.  'Ow's 'e father? Alright!"

Guilty Pleasures (Part 2)

GUILTY PLEASURES (Part 2)

"Brothers and sisters! I wanna see a sea of hands out there! Let me see a sea of hands! I want everybody to kick up some noise! I wanna hear some revolution out there, brothers! I wanna hear a little revolution!

Brothers and sisters, the time has come for each and every one of you to decide whether you are gonna be the problem, or whether you are gonna be the solution? You must choose, brothers, you must choose. It takes five seconds, five seconds of decision. Five seconds to realise your purpose here on the planet. It takes five seconds to realise that it's time to move. It's time to get down with it! Brothers, it's time to testify and I want to know, are you ready to testify? Are you ready?"
Brother J.C. Crawford, Spiritual Advisor - MC5.

".... Change down, man. Find your neutral space. Take control. You have done something to your brain. You have made it high. If I lay ten mils of Diazapam on you, you will do something else to your brain. You will make it low. Why trust one drug and not the other? That's politics, isn't it?

Politics, man. If you're hanging on to a rising balloon, you're presented with a difficult decision. Let go before it's too late? Or hang on and keep getting higher? Posing the question: how long can you keep a grip on the rope?

They're selling hippy wigs in Woolworth's, man. The greatest decade in the history of mankind is over. And as Presuming Ed has so consistently pointed out, we have failed to paint it black...."
Danny, purveyor of rare herbs and prescribed chemicals - Withnail and I.

Right now, right now it's time to, right now it's time to KICK OUT THE JAMS MOTHERFUCKERS!!!