'Anaconda' - The Sisters Of Mercy (1983)

"She will, she will, she will, she will,

Let it take her breath away."

The garden’s on fire. From an exploding rocket far too big for a milk bottle. It immediately toppled over and shot the firework along the ground. And there goes the rhubarb patch. That was the first and last firework night my dad hosted at home. The very reason they recommend organised displays.

Our annual local display up at the park by the shops had recently been cancelled though from a complete lack of organisation in previous years. I’m not sure who even was supposed to be in charge of it. Or how it lasted so long. I clearly remember rockets raining in to the audience one year – though fortunately no-one was hurt. And the highlight was always the perilously huge bonfire. This was basically an excuse for the local estates to clear out their houses and save money on a skip.   

For weeks, the bonfire would build and build. Anything and everything was thrown on to it. From mattresses to gas canisters. And it towered over the park. You could imagine Richard Dreyfuss making mashed potato sculptures of it at the dinner table. By the time November 5th rolled round, this beast of a bonfire was so volatile that there was no need for an elaborate lighting ceremony. Basically anyone within a mile of it with a sparkler was likely to set it off. And the heat and roar of the flames was intense. It was no wonder the park had so few trees and so little grass left.       

The unbridled fun and total disregard for safety didn’t end there. For days after, the bonfire would be left unattended and smoldering away in the park. And then the games began. ‘Jump The Bonfire’. ‘Walk Through The Bonfire Without Melting Your School Shoes’. ‘Throw Your Friend’s New Gym Bag In The Bonfire’. Happy days.

About a month later you’d see a couple of men in suits slowly circumnavigating the enormous burnt patch in the middle of the park and looking mighty miffed. As if they could clearly remember their council department disallowing any bonfire event to take place here, and they weren’t ready to believe that these were the markings left by an alien spacecraft. Meanwhile, the locals would already have begun hoarding petrol cans and asbestos ceiling tiles to fuel next year’s bonfire.   

Spotify linky:

Sisters Of Mercy – Anaconda

'Gimme Shelter' - The Rolling Stones (1969)

"War, children,

It’s just a shot away."

No-one needs to buy a Rolling Stones record. That’s what I used to think. Their poppy hits were played non-stop on Radio One when I was growing up. To the point that the songs were drained of any resonance. And then I heard The Sisters Of Mercy’s version of ‘Gimme Shelter’. A maelstrom of apocalyptic visions and pounding rhythms. I expected this from The Sisters of Mercy. But from the Stones? How little did I know.

My parents record collection was light on Stones albums, so it was off to Our Price for any album they had with ‘Gimme Shelter’ on. Which was this Greatest Hits double set. Here my love of the Stones began. In their hands, ‘Gimme Shelter’ was something else again. It simply reverberated with unbridled emotion. This is what Steve Wright should have been playing on the Radio One Roadshow. And to think I still had to discover ‘Sticky Fingers’, ‘Exile On Main Street’, and so very many more.

I think we’ve all learnt something here about misconceptions. I’m now ready to hear The Sisters Of Mercy cover something by Genesis.  

Mick, Keith, Ronnie, Charlie and Bill introduce last week's
world premiere of 'Crossfire Hurricane' at the London Film Festival. 

Spotify linkys:

The Rolling Stones – Gimme Shelter

Sisters Of Mercy – Gimme Shelter

'Some Kind Of Stranger' - The Sisters Of Mercy (1985)

 "I could wait a long, long time,

Before I hear another love song."

Slap bang at the mid-point of the Great Goth Wars (1985-1989), I found myself in the cold, dank trenches. Well, in a cold, dank hole. In some forgotten valley in Devon. Way behind enemy lines, on a school geography trip (yep, the same trip where I’d been made to sleep on a fire escape for three days).

This had been my friend Scott’s idea. Not the trip. He didn’t have that kind of influence over the educational board. No, the whole sleeping-in-a-hole thing. Our teachers were taking us camping on the wild and windy moors for the night. So we could sleep under a tree by a stream. Still not sure to this day why that was so essential to passing my geography O-Level. But, as was quickly becoming the theme of the week, the school hadn’t brought enough tents. So two people would have to make their own shelters. You can see where this is going.

The upside was that Scott and I didn’t have to lug a rucksack of poles, tarpaulin and other gubbins over hills and across dales. The rather major downside was that we spent an April night shivering in an insect-infested hole, covered by a plastic sheet weighed down with bricks, as condensation slowly dripped on to our faces. So it kind of was a learning experience I suppose, in that I’d never do it again.   

Inner sleeve gothic brooding.

Spotify linky:

Sisters Of Mercy – Some Kind Of Stranger

'This Ole House' - Shakin' Stevens (1980)

"This ole house once knew his children,

This ole house once knew his wife.

This ole house was home and comfort,

As they fought the storms of life."

Deciding to write today’s post was a very difficult decision for me. But it’s something I felt I had to do. For two years now, I‘ve been sharing my record recollections with you. Hiding behind rare indie imports and obscure gothic gatefolds. While all the while recoiling in shame from a shadowy figure from my past. A figure that holds an unearthly dominance over The Smiths and Sisters of Mercy in the ‘S’ section of my archive. Yes, today I must face you all and reveal that I was once a Shakin’ Stevens fan, and own everything he released between 1978 and 1983.      

I have no excuses. But if I did have some, they would be things like… It was a long time ago. I was hanging out with a bad crowd. And I never really thought about the consequences.

I’m not going to blame anyone else for giving that first Shaky record to me, or even say who it was. I take full responsibility for my own actions. But I know now it was dangerous and can destroy lives. I just hope this hasn’t caused you too much upset.    

      

'This Corrosion' - The Sisters Of Mercy (1987)

“Well, what do you say
D’you have a word for Giving Away?
Got a song for me?”

Aaah … the Great Goth War of 1987. Yes, I remember it well. The battlefield? The Sixth Form Common Room. The prize? Control of the beat-up hi-fi. The battlelines were quickly drawn. In the back-combed, winkle-picking Gothic corner, my good self and my friend Chris (not the Mary Chain Christopher from earlier – he was too busy funking out in the music room). And all around us were our arch enemies: the casual lads of the Upper Sixth who all looked like they’d been dressed from a Littlewoods catalogue by their mums. It was clear from the very first break-time that our arrival was far from welcome in their sanctuary of tan chinos and fluorescent cardigans.

‘This Corrosion’ came out in September of 1987, at the start of the new term. As a result, it was the first casualty of the Battle of the Bosch (I can’t recall if it actually was a Bosch hi-fi – I just liked the alliteration). The Sisters were cruelly cut down in their 11-minute, bombastic, choir-laden prime by the bass-slapping, insipid bleatings of Level 42.

Chris and I lost a lot of good tapes that year, as they were yanked from the stereo and flung back at our heads. Skeletal Family. Ghost Dance. Rose of Avalanche. We salute you.

Just over a year later, it was always amusing to see these casual clowns back from their first weeks at University and claiming to have always liked The Smiths and Echo & the Bunnymen. May we never meet again.

Spotify linky:
Sisters Of Mercy – This Corrosion

P.S. Remind me to write about the Gothic thrills of Kensington Market some time.