'Tower Of Strength' - The Mission (1987)

“And you’re true to me,
And still I need more”

If you were looking for me on a Saturday night in 1987/88, the best place to start would have been The Astoria. Formerly on Charing Cross Road. Now dust on the wind. (Oh, how very poetic. Wayne Hussey would surely approve.) And much missed.

Not my pic. Happy to remove if anyone wants to claim it.

Snake-dancing to All About Eve. Moshing to The Wonder Stuff. Choking on dry ice to The Nephilim. So very many formative gig experiences happened for me within its dark-to-the eye and tacky-to-the-touch walls. Most always in the company of my cousins or my friend Chris. We’d go back to school the following Monday laden with tales of taking an elbow to the face from a zealous stage-diver during ‘Too Many Castles In The Sky’ by Rose of Avalanche, while our classmates talked about a great pair of Hi-Tecs they’d bought in Farnborough. Could never understand why others didn’t want to share our world. “Hey, I got elbowed in the face. You don’t see the great joy of life in that? No?” 

Let’s avoid making a list. But if we were making a list, and it was called ‘Bands I Saw Most Often At The Astoria’, then straddling the misty peak like a gothic colossus would be (you guessed it) The Mission. They seemed to be the house band in those years. Even when they weren’t actually on the bill, various band members would pop up on stage for other people’s shows. And every time I saw them was a petal-strewn delight.       

My final visit to The Astoria was for Kate Nash, Soko and Noah & The Whale. In 2008. There had been almost a twenty-year gap. But nothing had seemingly changed. Those walls were as dark and tacky as ever. Except, I noticed for the first time there was a balcony. It must have always been there, but us teenage goths had no time for balconies. Now none of it remains. Pushed aside to become an underground station entrance when they finally finish rebuilding Tottenham Court Road. Unlike all the ‘80s bands I saw there that have since come back together, this is one icon that unfortunately we won’t get to see reform.   

Oh, yes - those beloved multi-formats.
Here's the limited 12-inch Bombay Mix.

With insert and sticker.

'Which Smiths Record Cover Are You?'

“Michael, if this was a proper blog, you’d have one of those link-baiting personality tests everyone loves so much.” You’re right. Again. That’s why I love you so. Let’s get to it…  

Just answer the three simple questions below to discover which Smiths album sleeve you are...

1. 
Do you have a favourite colour? (I don’t want to know the actual colour - it will have a negligible impact on the end result, believe me.) 

2. 
Have you ever watched a television show? (You have? Excellent. This is going well, isn’t it?)

3. 
Something random about fruit. Erm… Do you believe in bananas?     

Ok, that’s it. And I’ve decided that you are… 

Yep, ‘The World Won’t Listen.’

Make of that what you will. It could mean you’re terribly introverted. Or then again, perhaps incredibly extroverted. Who am I to say? Try doing it again if you’d like another album. You won’t actually get one, but it will reconfirm your first choice. 

Back to our regular programming tomorrow. Probably.  

'Happy When It Rains' - The Jesus & Mary Chain (1987)

Oh, you’re still here. Good, good. I was hoping you would be. What’s that? Oh, let’s not stop for questions. Let's call it the lost year. Here we go…  

"And we lived our lives in black."

Hmm… why can’t I see Chewbacca’s face clearly? I’ve seen this film 56 times and I’m sure everyone’s favourite walking carpet was never such a fuzzy blur as this. Fuzzy, yes - he’s a Wookie after all. But never a blur. 

This was the moment I realised I’d be needing glasses. Which as a child in the early '80s meant big, thick, plastic, tortoise shell NHS specs. The humiliation! I mean, they hardly complemented my fixed brace and Paddington Bear-style duffle coat. But it meant I could watch Star Wars again in all its low-res, slightly chewed, VHS glory - which was the most important thing in my life at that time (oh, how nothing changes). And in about a year’s time a certain Steven Patrick Morrissey was about to make my glasses very fashionable indeed - though not really in my corner of the playground where the Kids from Fame were the prime role models.

Despite the nascent thrills of actually being able to see things again, my 20/20 vision was pretty short-lived. Bewitched by the screeching Siren call of the Mary Chain, my de rigueur floppy indie fridge was to quickly obscure all before it and Chewbacca once again became a fuzzy blur in my life for the next decade. As did most of my classmates - which explains why I never recognise any of them at reunions (the comic effect of this would work better if you believe for a fleeting moment that I’m the sort of person that actually goes to class reunions). And road signs - which most probably contributed to my failed driving test.    

Me. And fringe. Circa 1988.

Of course, no such fringe issues exist today. Ah, the dangers of backcombing.      

"Strangeways, Here We Come" - The Smiths (1987)

"I travelled to a mystical time zone,

But I missed my bed,

And I soon came home."

Is the Summer over? Can I come out of hibernation now? What did I miss?

So… we were talking about The Smiths. "Oh no, Michael. Let’s move on  to something else." Ah, but we can’t. We need to wallow in the 25th anniversary of "Strangeways…" and The Smiths splitting. The news that Johnny Marr had left the group had broken in the NME a month back. It almost ruined my week on holiday in Swanage with my grandparents and cousins. Above the Mary Chain on the cover was a big ‘Why I Quit’ headline. Oh, here it is…       

My copy of this is in the loft somewhere, so thank you vinylonthe.net.

Come on, you know you’ve missed these stupidly detailed musings. Heartbroken by the seaside, there was at least one final studio album on the way. Though the cloying absurdity of their current single ‘Girlfriend In A Coma’ didn’t bode well.

Morrissey has often claimed ‘Strangeways…’ is his favourite album. Marr too. I can’t agree as ‘The Queen Is Dead’ remains their glistening pinnacle for me. But they bowed out in their own inimitable style with some wonderfully intuitive paeans to the loveless, witless and, er, spleenless. And no-one rolls an ‘r’ quite like Morrissey.

  

Let’s hope they never reunite.

Spotify linky:

The Smiths – A Rush And A Push And The Land Is Ours - 2011 Remastered Version

'Darklands' - The Jesus And Mary Chain (1987)

"And Heaven, I think,

Is too close to Hell."

It’s the Mary Chain. Which can only mean one thing. Anniversary time. It’s two years today since my first ‘Psychocandy’ post. And I’ve been humbled by some of the great responses I’ve received over that time:

"Your earlier posts were funnier."

"Do we really need to see your thumb in each picture?"

"There’s not enough Sigue Sigue Sputnik."

As has become tradition, to mark the occasion I’ve chosen another Mary Chain record that’s celebrating it’s 25th anniversary: the magnificently melancholy ‘Darklands’. A radical departure for the Mary Chain after the feedback-drenched nihilism of their debut. Now we got acoustic-plucking nihilism.

It was the soundtrack to my O-Level revision. Or, perhaps more accurately, the soundtrack to me avoiding my O-Level revision. It was such an influence that the Mary Chain began popping up in the life model prep work I was doing for my art exam. Which was quite a radical departure for me too, as before then my inspirations had been mainly Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio and Judge Dredd. This new direction did little to boost my grades. And my tutors were only to become even further bemused as A-Levels beckoned and I entered my Pixies period.   

      

Spotify linky:

The Jesus And Mary Chain – Darklands

‘Levitate Me’ – Pixies (1987)

“Come on pilgrim,
You know he loves you.”

So it wasn’t bad enough having to share a school with rabid Bros fans. Oh no. I actually had to share a school with the Bros twins Matt and Luke themselves. That’s right. My poor, fey gothic heart was imprisoned in the temple of infantile pop by the ascending pharaohs of the culturally inane. What’s more, they lived at the end of my road. There was no escape.

The Goss boys were a couple of years above me and I can’t say I noticed them at all until they left. By then I was in the lower sixth and their first single had come out ('I Owe You Nothing'). And then they were back, playing the school gym at lunchtime. And then they were everywhere. Now, I can understand the kids in the first year thinking this was all very exciting. But I had classmates who were thrilled simply because they had finally discovered a band before the rest of the world. Oh dear. How to explain to these people that there were far better bands waiting to be be discovered out there. Just turn on the John Peel show. Go to a gig that isn’t being held either at lunchtime or in your school gym. Read a music paper. Please. But no, I was surrounded by people buying multiple signed copies of the first Bros single as an investment for when they hit the big time – yes, Spencer, I’m talking about you. Which is all very fair enough I suppose as those singles probably were worth a fair bit for two weeks in 1988 as Bros-mania swept Saturday morning telly.

Meanwhile, I was hunting down the first Pixies mini-album and wondering who would like to come see My Bloody Valentine with me. And people wondered why I felt so isolated at school. Funnily enough though, I can talk about those bands now and quickly find kindred spirits. Don’t see so many people bonding over Bros.

Spotify linky:

Pixies – Levitate Me

On this day ... 1987 (aged 16)

Scribblings from my diary …

“It’s McHappy day (whatever that is) and all hell is breaking loose outside McDonald’s”

‘A Feeling’ – Throwing Muses (1987)

“I never could see anyone besides you,
Believe it or not (probably not)”

It’s a Kristin Hersh Saturday double-bill. We’re all ‘Crooked’ below. And up here we begin where it began, with Throwing Muses.

Hands up all you 4AD obsessives. I discovered so many of my favourite bands through that one label. They still have a real ear for discovering the most wonderful new artists. But in the 80s, I’d buy most everything they released: Cocteau Twins, Pixies, Dead Can Dance, This Mortal Coil, Ultra Vivid Scene, and many more. If only for the glorious sleeves by Vaughan Oliver and v23 (though the Muses always did their own).

It was hard to make friends with Throwing Muses’ songs. They were wilfull and wayward and, well, wonky. And that just made you love them even more. ‘A Feeling’ is one of their more delicate compositions and the first time I felt the hug of friendship. And it nestled high up at number 3 in my Melody Maker Reader’s Chart back in 1992. (Where would it be today? I reckon number 3 still.)

Spotify linky:

Throwing Muses – A Feeling

'Thru The Flowers' - The Primitives (1987)

“You won’t ever know,
what it took to let you go.”

In the summer holidays of 1988, my cousin Matt and I decided to become writers for My Guy magazine. Yes, that’s right, the one with all the photo stories for young girls. Now obviously there were a few barriers to overcome. We hadn’t written a photo story before. And we didn’t exactly have that much insight into the minds of the target audience. But I’d read a few copies of my sister’s Just Seventeen. And, most importantly, Matt had actually been in a couple of My Guy photo stories. See? Doesn’t sound so stupid now, does it? Oh, alright, it still sounds kinda stupid.

Matt had been instantly typecast by My Guy as the ‘irresistible bad boy indie kid’, which meant he got to wear his Primitives T-shirt and leather jacket in every story. Using his insider knowledge we could surely sell a story of our own. Or perhaps not. A couple of rejection letters later it was time to head back to school and the project was forgotten. Until now. Well, actually, it’s still pretty much forgotten as I can’t recall anything we wrote. I’m quite sure I must have copies of those stories somewhere though – if they turn up, I’ll post some excerpts.

Spotify linky:

The Primitives – Thru' The Flowers

'Everyone Thinks He Looks Daft' - The Wedding Present (1987)

“Was it really full?
They must have queued there since half past three.
No, I didn’t go;
Was it a good film?
Well, that’s just me.”

Oh, look. There’s that girl I really like talking to that guy I really hate. And they’re calling me over. And she’s wearing that top I told her I liked last week. And now his hands are in hers. And they’re telling me about the party they’re going to this weekend. And they’re asking if I’ve been invited. Please excuse me. I need to go slam my head against the toilet wall in the Science Block.

The Wedding Present’s ‘George Best’ was my comfort blanket in my late teens for these situations. Oh, who am I kidding, they’re my comfort blanket to this day. I had The Smiths to tell me I would meet someone some day. And The Weddoes to tell me, yes, that’s true, but they’d already be seeing someone else.

I’m quite sure I’ll pick further songs from this album in other entries, but tonight we’ll go with the opener. If you ever hear me listening to this, then I’m having a bad day.

Spotify linky:

The Wedding Present – Everyone Thinks He Looks Daft - Live In Valencia

(Spotify has let me down again and I can only find a live version for you. Are you reading this Spotify?!!?)

'Five Get Over Excited' - The Housemartins (1987)

“I am mad from Scandinavia,
I want a guy in the London area.
He must be crazy and Sagittarius,
‘Cause I am Leo and I’m hilarious”

The Lower Sixth geography field trip was billed as ‘a life changing experience’ by the class in the year above us. Can you imagine these people? I mean, who even speaks like that at 17 about a school trip to Slapton? Those three dreadful days being endlessly ferried about in a moldy minibus while everyone around me sang ‘Hotel California’ just pretty much affirmed everything I already suspected about life. And sleeping out on the fire escape every night didn’t help matters.

That’s right, the fire escape. I’m not sure how many Health & Safety regulations that contravenes, but this was 1988 and such things were still just on the ‘nice-to-have’ list. It turned out our school hadn’t organised enough beds. So someone wouldn’t be able to sleep in the main dorm with everyone else. I quickly volunteered for that and was promised a bed in a separate room. Except the bed was one of those fold-out things. And the room was basically the landing of the fire escape.

The first night I was woken up by everyone coming back from the pub and using the fire escape to sneak pass the teachers – while drunkenly belting out another chorus of ‘Hotel California’. So I put a stop to that by moving a chest of draws in front of the door – another safety no-no I would think. Then I was woken again at 4am by the light streaming through the curtain-less windows. Good times.

I’ve found an old folder that says our days were filled with the joys of fluvial data, cumulative infiltration and pebble size analysis. My strongest memory though is visiting Plymouth to conduct some kind of town centre survey, but instead conducting my own survey of the shelves of Our Price. 'Now That's What I Call Quite Good' was just out and I clearly remember holding the tape in my hands, but I didn’t have enough money to afford it. So it was back on the minibus to ride into the sunset, with The Eagles tribute band telling me "I can check out any time I want, but I can never leave." Indeed.

Spotify linky:
The Housemartins – Five Get Over Excited

'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.

'Vet For The Insane' - Fields Of The Nephilim (1987)

“I want to go home,
In this asylum I cry for you.”

My sister is six years younger than me, which meant that in my early teens I was occasionally put on babysitting duty. And this is the song I used to terrify her with when she went to bed. But in a playful way. Yes … a playfully terrifying sort of way.

Five minutes after closing her door, I’d crank up my stereo and belt this out from down the hall. She’d be yelling at me from her room to turn it off within about five seconds, and by the final minute – when the eerie childrens' voices and chimes arrive – she’d be up and yelling at me in my room. I never tired of this routine.

Now, I should point out that we have always got on fabulously – none of that usual sibling squabbling. And I think she developed a love/hate relationship with this song. Plus, she got her own back a year later by continually torturing me with her New Kids On The Block albums. Hangin’ tough, indeed.

Spotify linky:

Fields Of The Nephilim – Vet For The Insane

'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

'Catch' - The Cure (1987)

“Yeah, I know who you remind me of
A girl I think I used to know.
Yeah, I’d see her when the days got colder
On those days when it felt like snow.”

This is one of those songs where every line seems to be lifted from a moment in my life. You know those sort of songs, right? It means you immediately adore them, but don’t want to listen too many times in case they get tarnished. Yes?

A few months before this song was released, I met a girl in the snow. To be honest, I hit her on the back of the head with a snowball. She spun round. We met. If her scowling from a distance can be called ‘meeting’. Yes, I’ve decided it can.

The song will tell you all you need to know about this girl for the moment. We became fast friends, so the part of the song about not catching her name was true only for about half an hour. We’ll call her Toni, for that was in fact her name. And we’ll cross her path again in future songs. (Basically, in every single Cure song - and there will be a few.)

Listening to 'Catch' again right now, it still seems plucked straight from that January day. (Pause for reflection.)

So the lesson here is … always hit girls on the back of the head with snowballs if you get the chance. Erm … no, perhaps that isn’t the lesson.

Spotify linky:
The Cure – Catch