Look at The Buzzcocks, they went the opposite way – dead pop, which was a good idea as well. Girly pop. We played a lot of shows with them, kept us going.
We’d go on before them and do our shit, some of it was up, some of it down, some of it all in one chord. The Buzzcocks would go on, do their poppy set. Then The Heartbreakers would come on and do a rock and roll drug-addicts set. It was great! And The Worst would come on … each had their sound. It stuck out. If you didn’t like it you could fuck off. Not like now; it’s a dirge now. You don’t get that variety. Now all the bands have the same attitude, the chords are not going anywhere. I’m not a musician but I know that, as a layman, that’s my advantage – that shit’s not going anywhere but downhill. It’s depressing to me. It might work for a nineteen-year-old student but I don’t think it works in general.
To be honest though, it wasn’t a happy time.
I’ve never been matey with musicians, even then. I think that’s where I got off on the wrong foot. I’d had enough of gangs at school. That’s where they get upset. Musicians don’t like it if I spend time with other people, non-musicians. Who wants to hang around with the group all the time anyway? – you spend enough time with them on the road, for fuck’s sake. It’s a nightmare to me. I don’t think in the same way as they do. It’s as if I’m speaking the same language as them, but for some reason or other we’re not having a conversation.
I remember The Buzzcocks, not Pete Shelley, but the rest of them, saying that we’d be a good band if only you’d get rid of the lead singer. And the band were taking notice of this, I know they were.
They didn’t want to be in The Fall. The whole concept of The Fall back then was mine. They didn’t get it; members of the audience did, but not them.
So, in their own way, they were already against me. They didn’t think I had it in me. They’ll say different now, but that’s a fact. It’s still the same: people waiting for me to fall on my arse and fuck up.
Always makes me laugh with former members, they all want to be together, but when you get down with them and are together they don’t like it. You want to walk around with me all the time, you want to follow me around, then I’ll come out with you – it’s like the group in Arizona – Ben, Steve and Spencer. If you want to follow me around I’ll come out with you, then they start going, ‘Oh, I don’t want you to come out with us.’ Then of course I’ll say, ‘Well, I am coming out with you. I will go to the sound-check. I will sit down with you. I will talk about all your problems.’ And of course they don’t like that. So what are they talking about?
They like to complain. But if anybody really complains, they don’t like it. There’s no backup for it. I’ve sat down with loads of musicians, and said, what’s the fucking problem, and they go, nowt! Or they start talking about money. Well, I’ll give you the money. And still that’s not enough. They want the best of both worlds, they want to sit down with loads of people, but they’re not willing to commit themselves properly. They think they’re superior to people in gangs, people in the street – it’s always the same. What are you going to do?
Voices 1
I hear the grinding of knives. I confuse the hosts by moving on. They’re eaten out. I have no time other than this. I don’t sedate as easily as they … Dresdenized … A city ravaged … A carcass left kicked. Loosed the demons … Everything rained on … He thinks he’s more man than the rest. King Dick. And she’s the sort of bird who’d look through the dictionary for the meaning of the word psychiatrist … ‘You’re like this weird mix of Adolf Hitler and Gandhi’ … ‘Just call me Andi’ … They’re unable to mourn the passing of their youth … The lyrics are often cut up and difficult to understand … Constant Experimentation … Many a time he’s exploded … They reek of self-pity and confusion … I’ll meet you in The Red at 3.00 … I’ll meet you in The Woodthorpe … Drink … I hope to become an afternoon amnesiac … The dead remain piled: mouths agape … The hanging room in The Ostrich. Don’t go in there. There’s a reason why it’s always empty. Nobody goes in there. Well, only those that don’t know … These bad instants. The unhinged … Bald stalker’s back. Boozer’s skin … Those flats over there; great times. I’m getting fucking sick of the fucking builders next door; from seven till seven. Salford mate of mine said he’d go round … They don’t know what time they’re living in. They’re in rewind … I’m having it he got pushed … You can’t be a hard man with a soft heart. If you two weren’t here I would have kicked the fuck out of him … Ten years ago I would have followed him to the train station and kicked the fuck out of him … They’re not your real mates, though, are they? They say they are. That’s what they say, anyway. But you’re not telling me that they’re your fucking mates … Any man fond of throwing a kazoo – that most proletarian of instruments – into the mix … I’m on the hard road again. And if you’re not in the exhibition – go boil a chicken … He came round at about twelve with a bag of cans. I was a bit fucked by then. But he started singing that … In a drunken sleep, I dreamt of soft drinks … They keep sending me letters about sorting my bins out. Bury Council. Blue bin for that. Green bin for that. Brown bin … Piles of Holsten in the same bin … I’ll wait up for them. Stupid cunts. Stupid Bury accent … I’ll wait up for them and yell obscenely … An accepted inaccuracy and inarticulacy is the common tongue … Pounced on by midges … There’s never been a way into people … She was never all there … I got on the bus the other day and there was this bald bloke who kept staring. I’ve seen him around … He wears powerful blandness … Spitting lyrics like coughballs … You get judged so much it doesn’t matter any more. Let them think what they want. I’ll throw them a v-necked v-sign for their trouble … ‘I lost 65,000 words of my self-help book and I need to get them back’ … And on the plane back the air-conditioning … I don’t know why I acted like that. The band was okay. The visas were sorted. I don’t know. It’s weird. It’s not the first time. You just get worked up … He poured water all over Steve’s suitcase. I don’t know how he got in there. And he’s trying to put a cig out on Spen. Spen just banged the door on him. Nearly broke his arm. Told him to sober up … I looked at him and I knew he wasn’t up for it … Perpetually frightened of nameless threats … Different fucking matter when we’re talking unpaid chokey debts. They think they’re ruleless … Rock and roll became more serious and less important … Demmicks … Her circus of the face … This old mate of mine used to look like Peter O’Toole. He was great. He’d take ages to get ready. You’d be waiting for him downstairs. He looked good though … I remember being in The Church on acid. It’s like a Hammer Horror pub. Everybody turns round as you walk in. Log fire. It’s that sort of mentality … They’re all fucking coppers and mouth-almightys in there anyway … There’s always some mad cunt on the fringes. I don’t know what goes on inside his head … Ringing up, threatening people. They don’t think I know. They think it’s all alright and I’ll just fucking not say a word and let them act like fucking … We’ll have a change of scenery today. Meet me in The Old Monkey … I don’t know where you’re going with this … Why are we still talking about Rough Trade … Is it not finished? It should be finished by now, surely. If it’s not finished in three weeks then I’m canning the fucking thing … Nervous breakdowns. Young lads losing it … You alright for money? I know what it’s like … It’s never easy. Will that do you? I’ll post it through the letterbox … Can you do me a favour and put the typewriter in the office … Put some pictures of me up on the wall … It’s the same as always … I’ve known people to just fucking lose it like that. He came at me. This big cunt … I think he’s a sleeper. His dad was a communist. How did they afford to fund him through university? His mum was only a cleaner. It’s because of his dad, that’s why. That’s how … Watch him when he comes out of those meetings with all the other leaders. Grinning. They put something in his food years ago … So-called member of the sane society. Bollocks. They’re the worst we’ve had for ages … You wouldn’t eve
n get that shit in Cuba … I think they had the right idea in Russia. You can’t go round talking like that. Not with the likes of them. I’m having it more than him have been poisoned like that. I bet the restaurant’s pissed off … They were going to bomb Old Trafford … Foiled … Incurably ineffective … He prowls the stage. A brooding presence … When will they get new words … Backs against the wall. Piss-head. Speed … Cig in face. Cig on arm … I could give up smoking today. Now. But I don’t want to. I like them. I like the taste.
And what’s with that Man United fan? His mush, his big red mush contorted with the animated delivery of constant speak, like a gargoyle lurching out from a horror-film mansion. Shooting me a look; maybe he knows; maybe he works the night as well …
5. The Group/s and their Useless Lives
I find it hard to talk enthusiastically about the ex-band members thing. I don’t understand the big deal with it. They came, they saw, they fucked off and now I no longer see them. I find it all very boring, to be honest.
The Fall are about the present, and that’s it. The reason I’m quizzed about this so much is a combination of general, unenlightened curiosity by people who are amazed that it keeps happening and why I’m such a bastard for letting it happen; and because I’m not in the public glare. That’s what fucks them off. That’s why those other books don’t work. It’s like that bloke from the Guardian who nearly had a nervous breakdown saying, ‘I can’t get to the point of you.’ I said, ‘Well, look, you’re only supposed to be interviewing me for the new LP.’ I’m telling him it has nothing to do with me. And Simon Ford with his book, Hip Priest; tracking down the ex-members …
There’s something there that they don’t like or don’t understand – what’s the point? I think you’ve got to make a stand against this attitude that everybody’s life is common knowledge; when it isn’t.
I remember when Through the Keyhole was the only outlet for all this heightened prying. David Frost and Loyd Grossman – they’re the culprits. And Madonna. She was the first to orchestrate people’s idle interests, to make the private a public free-for-all. And now she wants her privacy back. That’s the sort of people we’re talking about here. I, on the other hand, have never bought into all that. I find it grotesque that people spend their time in such a way. Imagine looking back on your deathbed and remembering the days you spent reading up on these air-wasters. You can switch on the internet and find out what Beyoncé had for breakfast. You don’t actually find out about the lyrics of these people, their ideas, etc. What’s it for? Who’s it for?
Let’s get it straight here – this is not a book about them. The Fall is about more than just disgruntled ex-members.
You can read all that shit everywhere else.
I’ll only talk about the following for the benefit of the ghost-writer and the publishers …
Karl Burns (drummer – signed in 1977/sold in 1998)
I met Karl Burns in the old Labour Club headquarters in Prestwich above what is now the great and wonderful Bargain Booze. I’d go down there with my Irish mates. Sit around and discuss issues in a self-important way, like those old do-gooders Marx and Engels. Actually, the main reason for turning up was that you could get a late drink there, but you had to be a member. And, as with most things, and especially where drink is involved, it helped if you showed a little bit of willing.
At the time, Karl was the drummer in a group with Vini Reilly out of Durutti Column – it was like Vini’s secret life. He never used to play clubs; but on the sly he and his band would play all the hits from The Who and The Stones and The Beatles in pubs. I got talking to Karl. He then came to the first gig and said to us afterwards that he could do better … And it just worked from there. He was a very original drummer. He was better than anybody around at that time; everybody else was shit in comparison to him. He was an original and that’s what we needed.
We had a bit of a love–hate relationship. He could be very nice but he could also be a bit of a bully – he’s a big fellow, but I was one of only a few who could control him, who could stick with him.
After a bit, I got fed up with policing him. He’d show you up with girls in dressing rooms. I was very puritanical at that time – I didn’t like having girls backstage. I’m still a bit like that. The groupie world – you don’t need it; it causes a lot of problems. That’s how we usually fell out: he’d get a girlfriend and his work would go to shit. I’d say to him, ‘You’re twenty-odd, why are you acting like a fifteen-year-old?’ He’d disappear on tours and come back a week later. Meet a bird and fuck off. Good job we had two drummers. I wasn’t having that. With him it was third time unlucky when the sparks flew in America. He was getting really bad at that time. He didn’t have the fire any more.
You’ve got to keep fit if you’re a drummer. It’s alright for me but not for everybody else. You start lying to yourself if you go too far. Stop believing in the right things. The worse thing is that it gets harder to cope with the doubt; once you lose the belief, then you’re surplus.
I’m not saying I know what I’m doing all the time. I don’t. But I do believe in what I’m doing; that’s the difference. It’s a lifetime thing, and he started talking himself out of it long before he bailed out on me in New York.
In the end he became his own audience. He wasn’t sure of his role.
I’ve not seen him since The Ark broke up, and I don’t miss him …
Best drummer we’ve had is Orpheo – one third of The Dudes. He’s got a lot of different styles that integrate into soul stuff but don’t intrude. It’s not that obvious. There’s a bit of Caribbean in there every now and again; but he doesn’t know it himself. I like musicians like that. Karl sedated his creativity in the end. I couldn’t be doing with that.
Steve Hanley (bass – signed in 1979/sold in 1998)
First time I met Steve Hanley was at Eric’s in Liverpool. Just before Dragnet. I remember watching him and thinking we’ve picked the wrong bass player in Marc Riley; because Hanley and Riley worked as roadies for us once every two months or so, and it was clear Hanley was the better of the two.
He was in this Christian band called Staff 9 who used to do all these old Christian numbers; just before U2. We gave them a support at Eric’s for a laugh. So we got him in and switched Riley to guitar.
He was always very loyal. Always gave a good performance, good at organizing things. I think he just got fed up. The finances were going up and down at the time – one day we’d all be on good money and then six months later we’d be booted off a label or I’d leave a label. I think it was the uncertainty of it all. Like many, he found it hard to live like that; pressure tells with some more than others. Eventually he said, ‘I can’t really cope any more.’ But this was before he bloody dumped me.
I think the quiet ones are usually the worst.
Craig Scanlon (guitar – signed in 1979/sold in 1995)
Craig Scanlon was always very good, to be honest. Looking back, it was a big mistake getting rid of him. He was a bit of a sacrificial lamb. The group was getting a little too big and nobody was actually doing anything and neither was he. He may have just burnt himself out. But I must admit I wasn’t at my best in the mid 90s either.
I looked on him as a co-composer. He was another original, but like a lot of those guitarist types they want the credit but not the responsibility. They want a say in all the songs but they don’t want to fill in the tax forms. And when the going gets good, they start acting like Keith Richards. It’s a syndrome. But it’s not very Fall. I’ve found it with a lot of guitarists.
I think I’ve been too slack sometimes. It’s my job to keep the band fresh. I’m always looking out for the musician’s benefit. If they’ve got to go, then that’s it. The benefit of being in a group is it’s not like being in a standard job. It’s not fixed. You don’t have to return home with a pissed-off mush because you’ve heard enough from the cunt sat next to you.
You shouldn’t be in the position where you start hating
what you do. You can see that this is the case with a lot of people, but they stick at it. The worse thing about that is you can hear that the zip’s gone from their game. It’s the Beckham syndrome again. People always let you down. It’s a truism. Not only that but they let themselves down as well. The only thing you can do about it is write about it.
I suppose I have pissed a few people off with my way of doing things. People accuse me of being arrogant or self-centred or just plain ruthless when it comes to relationships, working relationships. It’s as if I’m the only one who’s ever thought of themselves as at the centre of this blue and green ball. Suddenly they’re all innocent and sinless. It’s ridiculous. You’re not telling me that nobody else has ever thought the same way. It’s barmy. They can’t handle that I’m willing to admit it and that I don’t hide it; because they’re the fucking same in a craftier way.
We’re talking about adults here who have the right to choose. What the critics and ex-members don’t realize is that I can call on just as many other people who’ll tell you a completely different tale.
I’d be dead if I just acted the way they say.
The post-Fall life really gets to a lot of them. It’s as if they’ve been to Vietnam or had a particularly fraught space-excursion and their senses have been obliterated. That’s all they can talk about, that’s all that remains in their fried heads. I’m thinking about setting up a post-Fall-syndrome therapy hour. That’d chase a few wolves from the door.
If I was to go round and apologize for everything I’ve ever done I wouldn’t have any days left in me. And The Fall would be non-existent. And whose version of the truth rings loudest? It’s hard to get at. You only remember what you want to remember.
The way I see it, there’ve been a lot of good bands who have worked hard, but in the end they didn’t know when they were at their best. The Fall, on the other hand, have lots of moments when they are at their best and this is because of the constant changes – this is what counts in the end.
Renegade: The Lives and Tales of Mark E. Smith Page 5