'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

'Ants Invasion' - Adam And The Ants (1980)

"10.35 and I hope I’ve made the right decision.

Heart is beating;

I’m alive,

But I don’t call this living."

"Don’t go in the bamboo!" These were the chilling words of warning I’d hear endless times as a kid. From my parents. From my teachers. Everyone seemed spooked by bamboo. These days it’s all pubescent vampires and post-apocalyptic zombies. Back in the Seventies it was giant grass.

There were tales. Told by flickering candlelight on cruel October nights. Well, some of them. Others were told under the flickering school hall strip lights in morning assembly. Of children being shredded alive by running through the bamboo patch on the school playing field. "Hold it there! What?!" Yes, exactly. I’m not sure who the school thought they were fooling with this. How come these grisly deaths by menacing perennial evergreens never appeared in the local paper? And why didn’t they just chop the bamboo patch down? I’m pretty sure our Head Master was cribbing his assembly notes from a Stephen King book.

And then there was the Bamboo Man. Who lived in the woods near our house. Apparently. "Stay away from the Bamboo Man!" "Is he made of bamboo then?" "Er, no. He lives in the bamboo." "Well, the name needs some work." Of course, the tales of a Bamboo Man just made you want to play in the woods even more. Would we see him? What did he eat? Did he steal those Micronauts I hid in the silver birch last week?

It would seem Bamboo Man was only visible to adults though, as none of us kids ever spotted him. Despite continually throwing rocks and assorted masonry in to the bamboo to flush him out. Kids, eh?

Three decades later though, I hear he’s still dwelling there. Well, that’s what my eleven-year-old nephew has been told. Surely this must be Son Of Bamboo Man by now though? And why is all this bamboo still around? Is someone panda farming in the area? Don’t people own scythes anymore?

  

Spotify linky:

Adam & The Ants – Ants Invasion

P.S. It's always a delight when I open an album sleeve and some forgotten treasure spills out. Today it was this 12-page catalogue...

'Raiders Of The Lost Ark' - John Williams (1981)

"Dah-da-da-da,

Dah-da-dah."

Was anyone here at my 10th birthday? I’m thinking of holding a reunion. It’s a long shot, I know. Especially as I think I only invited about three friends. Who I haven't seen for three decades. Can you guess what we saw? (Though the film actually has a different official title now. ‘Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark.’ Mr Lucas just loves to tinker.)   

This was my last birthday party. I peaked at 10. There would be no coming-of-age-type-events as I turned 18 and 21. No need. I’d seen Harrison Ford escape a giant rolling boulder. What was going to top that?

Only one other party comes to mind when I was younger. A dinosaur and pirates themed event in a local school church when I was about six. Shared with another boy in my class who had a birthday that week. I liked dinosaurs. He liked pirates. I wish I’d gone as a dinosaur pirate now. That would have been spectacular. Perhaps it’s not too late. I need to roll these parties together. A screening of ‘Raiders’ with everyone dressed as dinosaur pirates. And there’ll be warm Kia-Ora and a box of stale Revels for all. Who’s in?     

Spotify linky:

John Williams – The Map Room: Dawn

'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.  

'Weightless Again' - The Handsome Family (1998)

"We stopped for coffee in the Redwood forest;

Giant dripping leaves,

Spoons of powdered cream.

I wanted to kiss you, but wasn’t sure how."

There’s a note waiting for me in the hallway. Must be from my new neighbours welcoming me to the building. Yes, it’s from the girl next door. But she seems to have skipped straight over the welcoming part and launched straight in to ‘Please don’t play any music between 11pm and 8am’. That’s friendly. Especially as I haven’t even played a single song yet. Guess she must have noticed that the dozen crates I moved in yesterday were all labelled ‘Records’.  

She needn’t have worried. My tinnitus means I can never play anything loud anyway. And over the next couple of years, I often thought I’m the one who should be writing letters as she seemed to be continually throwing Proclaimers-themed parties.

Fourteen years later, she’s moved on. And I’m still here. Nesting. Moving again seems too much of an ordeal. Far easier to just buy every flat on this floor and knock through. That’s the plan. At least that was the plan, until my friend pointed out that when I’m older I’ll be stuck three floors up with no lift. Hmm.

   

Spotify linky:
The Handsome Family – Weightless Again

'(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.