Me and my Bandmate Jemie Nevermind we’ll meet at 2 o’clock outside the Camden Town station.
Coffee, Cigarettes and Vinyl are the goals of the day.
Nothing more simple I would say …….
Maybe a few Beers at the end of the evening, but we’ll see.
Jamie has a friend named Nick who runs a small but fabulous dvd shop and a brilliant Punk vinyl shop there in Camden …… go to find him on Saturday has become a sort of ritual.
The last time we were in his store Nick (who has a great musical culture) has suggested to me to read a book called SICK ON YOU written by Andrew Matheson … ..
Obviously, Run to buy the book was the first thing I did just out of his shop.
I could not wait to sit in the tube and start reading … and as I suspected
I loved it instantly.
Smooth, easy, fun and very Rock ‘n’ Roll !!!!
So I thought to suggest this book to all of you
SICK ON YOU
THE DISASTROUS STORY OF BRITAIN’S GREAT LOST PUNK BAND
Thanks to Nick for the suggestion !!!!
This is a small sample taken from the first introductory page.
Rules for a rock ’n’ roll band
Four or five members maximum. No sax, no horn section, no Keyboards, no Moog-synthesizer boffin, no back-up chanteuses, no nothing. Two guitars, a bass, drums and singer, that’s it. Think the Beatles, Kinks and Who for four, Stones for five.
The singer sings. That’s it. No hanging a guitar around his neck mid-show and strumming a few cowboy chords to show he can play, no sitting at the piano for a poignant ballad or two and definitely no tambourine bashing. And for Christ’s sake, no standing on one leg and sucking and wheezing into a flute like that hobo in Jethro Tull. Ata pinch a shake of maracas but just for a portion of a song then toss them aside. If a singer can’t think what to do with himself during a bandmate’s solo he should consider a career as a bank teller.
Great hair, straight hair, is a must and is non-negotiable. If a member starts going thin on top put an ad in the Melody Maker immediately. If he has too tight a natural curl or, saints preserve, a perm, well, shame on you for hiring him in the first place. Be firm about this; a hat won’t work.
No Facial hair. Girls, or at least girls you’d ever design to paw, do not swoon over the Grateful Dead. Gerry Garcia is no sane, recently showered girl’sidea of a pin-up.
No girlfriends. They are cancerous for the esprit de corps. They lower the band’s collective sexual currency and can twist a measly bass player’s brain until he thinks he should get a triple-album solo deal and headline Vegas.
Two words: Yoko and Ono.
I still believe in these rules but as fate would have it we broke most of them.