'Rat Rapping' - Roland Rat Superstar (1983)

“With a penthouse suite, swimming pool,
Pretty young guinea-pigs playing it cool.”

The Stones. The Who. The Bermuda Dimensions. A classic rock lineage. “Woah! Back it up! The Who?” Yes, the Who. Roger Daltrey. My Generation. “No, no…. the BERMUDA Who?” Oh, sorry. The Bermuda Dimensions. Otherwise known as TBD. (No-one ever called us that, but let’s shorten the name now or we’ll be here all day). Yes, my second band. Well, not mine, as such. The second band I was in with my cousins, Grant and Matthew. (New readers can catch up on the adventures of our first band right here.) 

You haven’t heard of TBD? Pfft! Where you you in 1983? (Oh, really… well that explains it then. Anyway…) No, I’m not sure about the name either looking back at it. There were three of us. We had read some stuff about the Bermuda Triangle. 3D was on a second go-round at the cinemas. So, you can see where we were coming from at least.

With cousin Matt on vocals, cousin Grant on keyboards and myself on rhythm guitar, we could best be defined as a ‘bedroom band’. Or even better defined as ‘the spare bedroom of my grandparents’ band’. There was no touring the pubs and the clubs of the UK for us. Mainly as we were only 12 years old. Our arena was the C90 cassette. And our sound was… well… kind of diluted rocky, poppy, shambolic noodling. Our influences were Dexys, ABC, Adam Ant, and the Human League. And we sounded spectacularly like none of them. Even when we were doing countless cover versions of their songs.   

It was another of our bands mainly inflicted on close family, and occasionally friends. But we did have one celebrity fan. Oh, yes. (Wait for it.) Roland Rat! "What?"

Taking a cue from the cheeky self-promotion and enigmatic marketing of ZZT Records (Frankie, Art of Noise, Propaganda), much of our time which would have been best utilised rehearsing, was spent creating an image around TBD. Extravagant cover art and lyric books. Tour posters for tours that were never going to happen. And, of course, a fan club. For one flat fee of 10 pence  (bargain!) you got monthly newsletters, badges, album discounts (yes, ha ha), and loads of other stuff which most probably soon found a bin. 

Our school friends all humoured us by signing up. (And my dad quickly lost his humour when he discovered how much printer ink I was using up for just 10p a fan.) But we knew what we really needed was a celebrity endorsement. And celebrities didn’t come much bigger at that time than Roland Rat. So I popped him a letter in the post offering free membership. And this came back…

                  

Success! Of sorts. But, well, you know the ending to this. You've never heard of TBD. You won’t find our name in any Halls of Fame. Roland Rat didn’t help boost cassette sales in my school playground. Within a year we had gone our separate ways. But not for long. For about six weeks, in fact. As by the next half-term we were re-energised and our third band awaited. One that actually played a show. Kind of. But more of that in another post. (Hey - you only had to wait four years for this follow up.)   

'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

'(Hey You) Rock Steady Crew' - Rock Steady Crew (1983)

"Bodies in expression of music inspiration,

Tell us when you feel it,

‘Cause we’re gonna rock the nation."

Hip hop was my life. For one weekend in 1983. Think I got carried away by a trip to Croydon. It always seemed like Judge Dredd’s Mega-City One when I was a kid. With its towering concrete edifices, block wars, Umpty-baggers, chump dumping and Stookie glanding. (Ok, I may have over-stretched that analogy a little.). The big difference was that Croydon seemed more lawless. (Yeah, yeah, only joking. Or am I? Yes, I am.)  

Mega-City One illustrated by Gary Erskine.

Weekend shopping trips to Croydon with my grandparents meant I got gifts. Which is how I found myself in Our Price buying this 12-inch. My one connection to a scene that had nothing to do with my life. I wasn’t about to start popping and locking any time soon. But I’d seen someone breakdancing on a bit of cardboard outside Bejams earlier. Next to a wall covered in amateurish graffiti. So this seemed like a suitable souvenir.      

How different my life could have been if I’d let a little more electric boogaloo in to my world. Instead, the enchanting sirens of gothdom were beckoning me.

'Perfect' - The The (1983)

"What is there to fear from such a regular world?"

No-one can beat me at the 100 metres. Think that’s still true – can’t be bothered to Google it. But I hear the London Olympics is coming up, so I’m sure someone will give it a go. We’ll see.

My nickname at school should have been ‘The Flash’. Popular consensus chose ‘Goth!!’ instead. But my PE teacher could see beyond the petty labels to the raw talent sprinting towards him. So I was asked to join the school sports team and take part in the District Championships. Hmmm… Joining teams? Competing in events? It doesn't sound very much like me. And it wasn’t.

Which is why my school Sports Days were spent sitting in the shade at the back of the field with my sister’s Walkman, whilst reading interviews with The The and Sigue Sigue Sputnik in the NME. And with three ‘Breaking Bad’ DVD box sets in front of me, I’m all ready for this year’s Games.  

‘The Lovecats’ – The Cure (1983)

"You’re so wonderfully, 
wonderfully, wonderfully, wonderfully  pretty.

Oh, you know that I’d do anything for you."

"Michael, what were you doing in your room last night?"

"Erm ... [Ok, this could be awkward.] Probably writing, or drawing, or something." [Yes, that sounds good. I'm arty - that's exactly the kind of thing I do each night.]

"Oh, because I walked past your house and it kind of looked like you were dancing. By yourself. Your shadow was bouncing around behind your curtains. With your arms doing that 'Robert Smith thing' around your head."

"Oh, yes … I was probably doing that too."

[Thanks, life. Here’s the one girl that makes me feel like dancing round my room. And she catches me dancing round my room!!! Argh! Hang on … since when does she know where I live?]

"Hey, how do you know where …"

[Oh, she’s gone.]

Lesson learnt: Swap your childish Spitfire curtains ("Spitfires?!!?" I know. Exactly. Why?) for much thicker ones the day you reach double figures.

  

P.S. A year after this tale, I lent the above video to the above friend. And she spotted the little nip Rob gets from the kitten when sitting on the stairs (at 1.34). She acted this out for me. It instantly became my favourite moment in any video ever.


P.P.S. Yes, long-time readers, this is the same girl.  

'Joker Hysterical Face' - The Fall (1983)

“He made a mistake three times at least,
Let’s face it, you don’t make the same mistake twice”

For about 6 months in 1987, I refused to make friends with any one who didn’t own a white vinyl German import copy of the Fall’s ‘Room To Live’ album. This is because I’m an idiot.

This is certainly the group that annoyed my Dad the most when I was growing up under his roof. Which made them my favourite. Daubing ‘Victim of Educated Aimlessness’ (a quote from the album sleeve) in Tipp-Ex on my school bag didn’t exactly amuse my teachers either.

Oh, and as you’ve guessed, I made exactly no new friends in that 6 months. But it taught me to be more open-minded about peoples' musical tastes. Who am I kidding? I still secretly wish all my friends owned this on white vinyl.

Spotify linky:

The Fall – Joker Hysterical Face