'Boys Don't Cry (New Voice)' - The Cure (1986)

"I try and laugh about it,

Hiding the tears in my eyes."

The Eighties in one image. Well, my Eighties. I can’t speak for the striking coal miners or those that fought in the Falklands War. I’m thinking they’d probably choose something less frivolous.

My Sixth Form days would begin and end with this poster of Robert Smith hanging over my bed. My black school folders had this silhouette drawn on them in silver pen. My friend Toni had a Boys Don’t Cry T-shirt she wore one summer day we were walking her dogs over the fuel allotments. It was on badges I found in Kensington Market and postcards bought on the Isle of Wight. I’m surprised I didn’t get it as a tattoo. (Well, not that surprised, actually.)  

And, of course, I’d painstakingly copy that look. Plumes of distressed hair, over-sized suit jackets, high-tops with multiple sets of laces, and a guitar slung nonchalantly over my shoulder (the guitar was one fashion accessory too far, to be honest - especially when out shopping or visiting the dentist). It would be a long time until another sleeve had that impact on me again. Probably ‘Life Is A Rollercoaster’ by Ronan Keating. Ho ho ho.  

‘Last Exit For The Lost’ – Fields Of The Nephilim (1988)

“Summerland holds me in sumerian haze.”

“Gooooooth!” I used to hear this shouted at me about two dozen times a day at school. Most often in quite friendly ways – it kinda became my nickname back in the days when I was the only goth in school. But every so often it was some gang of lads in the year above heckling me between classes. That’s as far as they ever went though, until one day when I was in the Lower Sixth.

By some twist of good fortune, all the friends I made at my first school grew up to be the toughest kids in the playground in later years – the kind that would always be called out of class to see the Headmaster for smoking at break-time, bringing knives into school, or burning down the music room. Strangely enough, the toughest kids can be the most sentimental, which meant I always escaped their bullying as they’d remember the days we used to play with our Smurfs together up the park.

By the time I reached the Sixth Form though, my luck looked like it was about to run out as by then they’d all either left or been expelled (generally the latter). This left me in the clutches of my arch nemesis: the Head Boy. His favourite band was Level 42. Need I say more? He’d parade around school with two lackies and continually tell me to tuck my shirt in. This seemed to become an obsession with him. He seemed to feel I was undermining his authority by completely ignoring his request and walking straight past him without even looking up.

What I didn’t know at the time was that one day he finally snapped and was planning to ambush me with his mates up the school’s bridle path. But it seemed I had a guardian angel. Well, two really. A kid we called ‘Stir’ stepped in to warn them off for me – because his sister in the year below liked me (yes, I know, imagine someone liking me; I was as surprised as you). 'Stir' was one of those kids who would either charm or pummel you into doing something – the choice was yours. They left me alone after that. I only found all this out a few years back. So I’m sending a big belated thanks out now to ‘Stir’ and his fab sister. And a big “ner-ner-ner-ner-ner” to that Head Boy, wherever he is. Oops ... perhaps I shouldn’t do that. I haven’t anyone left to protect me these days.

Spotify linky:

Fields Of The Nephilim – Last Exit For The Lost

'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.