Industrial Records paid for Sleazy and Gen to go to New York and Kansas to work on the William Burroughs album Nothing Here Now but the Recordings. Gen wrote me many letters chronicling their progress and how homesick he felt, and bored and lonely as Sleazy went cruising whenever chances presented themselves – or ‘slinking off into Queendom’, as Gen put it.
That album turned out to be the last release on Industrial Records. I had no inkling that the end was so close; we’d been forging ahead with TG sound and video ideas, as well as the TG style. The TG military look had moved on from army surplus and the camouflage flak jackets and trousers I’d made to our very own bespoke TG uniforms, designed and made by fashion designer Lawrence Dupré, a friend of Jean-Pierre Turmel’s. The fabric was tough grey canvas with a silk-screened, unique TG camouflage print, and Lawrence had made each uniform to suit our personal specifications. I had culottes instead of trousers, the hood of my jacket was detachable and the jacket could be rolled up and folded inside itself into a pouch in the lining. They were beautiful pieces and made with such care.
Lawrence came to visit and we took a group photo of us wearing them outside Beck Road. She stayed with Gen and was crying one day when I went round there. Gen had told her to leave. She wasn’t due to go home for another day but he wanted her gone immediately. Gen stormed out with Tanith and I tried to console Lawrence. She couldn’t understand why he was behaving that way towards her – it was obvious there’d been something going on between them. But Gen had a new girlfriend called Paula, who was now the focus of all his affections, and Lawrence was feeling hurt. There was a knock on the front door – I answered it and there was Paula. What a strange position for me to be in, comforting one of Gen’s lovers and answering the door to another. Stranger still was when, four weeks later, I received a tenth-‘anniversary’ bouquet of flowers from Gen to mark the day I’d agreed to move into the Funhouse. It all seemed a bit odd, seeing as Paula was more or less a fixture by then and Gen knew about me and Chris living together.
My 1980 birthday celebration was a firework party at Beck Road with some old and new friends, including Paula. It was good to see Gen happy and more light-hearted. I liked Paula – we got on well and we’ve stayed friends. Two days later, TG were in Germany for two gigs at the SO36 Club in Berlin and another in Frankfurt. Thankfully we took our new custom compact flight cases to make setting up quicker, seeing as we had to wait until the room was cleared from a circumcision ceremony that had taken place prior to our show – the spilling of newborn penis blood prior to a TG gig seemed somehow fitting, even if I wholeheartedly disapproved and thought it barbaric. At that gig we created a new TG song inspired by Chris’s incredible industrial mechanical rhythm. Gen asked us what to sing about. ‘Discipline,’ me and Sleazy said. That was the birth of one of the most iconic TG songs.
Being in Berlin, I couldn’t not visit Checkpoint Charlie to see the sad and brutal history of the division of Germany. The Berlin Wall was still up then and TG posed for photos standing in both East and West Berlin, with one foot either side of the border. We were being closely monitored by the armed East German guards in their watchtowers, who became impatient at us not obeying their barked orders to move back into the West. When they then aimed their guns and shouted a final warning at us to move away from the borderline, we weren’t going to argue and so moved on to our next, less risky, photo location, the Reichstag building. The photos came out so well and, seeing as ‘Discipline’ was created live in Berlin, we used one of the images for the cover of the ‘Discipline’ 12" single that was later released on Fetish Records. It hadn’t been a convivial trip but some good had come of it.
Discipline and a bit of common sense is what Gen could have done with when he cut a girl’s arm at the TG Rafters gig in Manchester a month later. I don’t know why he did it – there were mutterings of it possibly being a mark of her commitment to or trust in him. Who knows, but she bled so profusely that me and Sleazy had to give her first aid to stem the bleeding, while Gen looked on, worried that his cutting her had gone horribly wrong.
*
We’d been working with Derek Jarman and had done a soundtrack for his film In the Shadow of the Sun. The recording of it was an odd experience. The studio was in a freezing cold disused mortuary. It had green lights, which gave it an eerie feel, and the ambience was dominated by the residual presence of the dead bodies that had passed through, as well as all the post-mortem procedures that had taken place there. It was a strange environment for recording music and the engineer’s austere demeanour didn’t help. We arrived with our compact set-up. We all watched Derek’s film closely as we played along, improvising to the visuals. It was like playing a gig to a fourteen-inch black-and-white monitor hooked up to a ‘piano keys’ VHS machine. Then me and Sleazy did some choir-type vocals that Chris sampled into his Eventide Harmonizer. We recorded the session on to an eight-track and took it to Martello Street for the final mixing. The soundtrack had gone from one death factory to another, and premiered at the Berlin Film Festival.
After that, Derek wanted to film a TG gig, so, when we were due to play at Heaven in London, he came along with his camera. It was two days before Christmas, my busiest and most lucrative time for stripping, and I arrived at Heaven having already done three bookings. Heaven was a predominantly gay venue at the time, with a loaded atmosphere from the fetishistic activities that took place there. I spent most of my time being looked after by a young and very handsome gay guy. We’d got on so well, talking and laughing together. The gig went well and after the show, as we were stacking the gear ready to load the van, the guy asked me out on a date. I was flummoxed. ‘I thought you were gay?’ I said to him.
‘I am, but I really fancy you.’
‘But, but, I …’ was all I could stammer. I didn’t know what to do or say. He was genuine about it, fanciable, such fun and so kind, but I was with Chris and wasn’t interested in getting into anything with anyone else. I said no, it couldn’t happen, and we parted with a hug and a gentle kiss.
The Lyceum show in London was a Fetish Records night with Clock DVA, Z’EV, Cabaret Voltaire and TG. We played first on the bill as we’d requested, to an audience of about three thousand, mainly made up of people looking ‘industrial’ in an assortment of army fatigues. We’d noticed a TG ‘uniform’ emerging at previous shows so we decided to wear white and test their mettle with a very long rendition of ‘Discipline’. The night was more of an endurance than a pleasure for me. I had really bad flu and was dosing myself with cold remedies just to get through the show.
Rod from Fetish Records hung out with us quite a lot. He’d asked me to play cornet for a Bongos album and often called me to chat and chat me up, one time even proposing a partner swap – me with him and Chris with his girlfriend. No, thanks. He came with TG to some of the meetings at the Institute of Ecotechnics in London. The institute was in a large old building where they ran workshops, research and education programmes on the harmonising of ecology and technology, as well as inviting artists and holding talks by William Burroughs and Brion Gysin. That’s where I met Brion and I took on the task of transcribing tapes for him. I spent hours at Beck Road typing pages and pages of dialogue, very appreciative of the vari-speed feature on Chris’s cassette machine so I could slow the tape down to understand what Brion was saying.
*
By the beginning of 1981, my life had taken some significant turns. I was in a good place despite the troubles within TG. I’d been regularly attending a photographic course to improve my skills and continued to take Tanith to classes on Monday evenings. And with the help of Chris’s dad, me and Chris were looking for a cheap property to buy together. I’d been ensconced in Chris’s family for some time, going skiing with them and being invited to family celebrations. They’d welcomed me with open arms and we visited them every week. The love and laughter of his close-knit London family was a revelation, not having had a family of my own for so long … and very different from Yorkshi
re family life.
Chris’s parents, Rose and Albert, looked after Tremble for us when we went to Rome with TG. I’d been approached to make a sound work for RAI, Italian national radio, based on the theme of ‘A Journey Through the Body’. Robert Wyatt was taking part and had asked for me to be involved in the project. Robert and I had been writing to one another for quite some time (and have remained close). I thought it would be an interesting opportunity for TG. We all went to Rome to record at RAI’s studios for a week. The studio technicians were a joke – they were stoned or drunk and unhelpful most of the time – so we took over the recording sessions and recorded with their grand piano, synthesisers and other assorted instruments. When we came to leave, RAI refused to give us a copy of the recording. All we got was a cassette tape of it. It was unofficially released in 1982 on a label of unknown origin with unfamiliar titles, and one track appended with ‘(for Paula)’, with a photo of her on the inner sleeve. I doubt Paula was fully aware of the history of the recording. Nevertheless, Gen was, and I didn’t appreciate what was initially my project being appropriated and work attributed to someone else. That misrepresentation of the work was eventually rectified when it was officially released some years later by Mute Records.
24 March 1981
It’s totally impossible for me to trust anyone now. I wonder what stories have gone to how many people in my name, by Gen’s hand … We are all drifting far apart now, I can almost touch this awful block between us …
There were arguments about money. IR was a registered limited company so we needed and had got an accountant, Peter Edney. As directors, me and Sleazy signed cheques and withdrew money to use as petty cash for mail and admin expenses. Money was going astray and my queries as to where the money had gone didn’t go down well with Gen, who then told me the accountant had asked for Sleazy to have his own IR chequebook so he could sign cheques without my signature. That didn’t sound right to me. I checked with the accountant. He’d said no such thing to Sleazy but he had noticed some financial matters that needed addressing and recommended that we restore parity regarding the allocation of IR money, through me, Sleazy and Chris being paid an amount equal to what Gen had ‘received’.
Apart from money, there was something else weird going on. Chris came across a letter to a TG fan among the pile of post waiting to be sent off. It was typed on my ‘Cosey’ letter-headed paper. Thinking I’d written it, Chris asked if I wanted to put it in an envelope to be posted. I didn’t recall writing a letter so I read it. Gen had written it as if he were me slagging him off, and signing it with my special signature. I was speechless, trying to get my head around what he’d done, and why anyone could even come up with the idea of doing that. I wondered how many other people Gen may have vindictively sent letters to before Chris discovered this one. I was so upset I confronted Gen. He just shrugged his shoulders with an air of indifference.
*
I’d been stripping for some time (more about that later). The Sunday Times magazine was doing a feature on ‘everything’ you can hire and wanted to include a stripper. They contacted my agency, Gemini, who asked me to do the photo session knowing I’d done modelling before. I went to the photographer’s studio straight from a lunchtime booking. When I walked in, there was an odd atmosphere, as if they didn’t know what to expect but had in mind some archetype of a stripper. I didn’t want to hang around long as I had another booking that evening, so I got my costumes out and selected a tiny silver G-string with matching bra, long gloves and a silver tinsel boa, and started posing as they clicked away. It was over and done within half an hour and I went on my way.
The feature came out on Sunday, 30 November 1980. Me and Chris happened to be driving home via Fleet Street at about 2 a.m. and saw the Sunday papers being loaded up for delivery. We stopped and bought a copy and were surprised to see that I’d ended up on the front cover of the Sunday Times magazine, with the strapline ‘Stripper for hire: £115 per hour’, next to a policewoman at £7.43 per hour. I bought half a dozen copies ‘hot off the press’. But I wasn’t so pleased when the exposure triggered an enquiry by the Inland Revenue, who demanded an interview with me regarding my earnings. I contacted Peter, our IR accountant, and asked if he’d take me on as a client. He accompanied me to a face-to-face meeting at the tax office. The taxman was convinced by the Sunday Times article that I was earning £115 an hour and I was lying about my income. I wasn’t and showed him figures and my living expenses. He didn’t believe I could live on so little, but I was adept at that from my frugal hippy days. It went as far as nitpicking about the cost of washing powder for my washing machine. I didn’t own one – I used the launderette at 25p a scoop of Persil. There was lots of indignation on my part, with Peter kicking my leg under the table to stop me being so argumentative. Everything was shown to be above board eventually, I had no worries, and I paid my estimated tax bill.
The Sunday Times appearance got me a lot of bookings outside of the usual pub circuit and stag nights – one being at Guy’s Hospital for a doctors’ party. The room was large and packed with people, including the hospital rugby club. I was introduced and entered to foul-mouthed catcalls from a girlfriend of one of the rugby team. I left the stage and refused to go on unless she was removed. She left and the show went down very well, ending with them presenting me with a framed enlargement of the Sunday Times cover. I was very touched. It still hangs in my office.
*
TG was due to play its first gigs in the USA, in Los Angeles and San Francisco, arranged by Michael Sheppard. They were also to be the last. As me and Chris were together and Gen had told me he was falling in love with Paula, I suggested that she come with TG to America. He was over the moon.
TG was still operating but had split into two camps – me and Chris, and Gen with Sleazy. Chris had had enough of the acrimony towards him and me. As all four of us were sat around in the living room at Beck Road talking about the forthcoming American trip, Chris announced that he was leaving TG and that the US shows would be his last TG gigs. Gen went ballistic, grabbed a small chair and put it in the centre of the room, shouting at Chris, ‘Sit there!’, ordering him to take up position for interrogation, to explain himself to the rest of us. Chris stayed put and just reiterated that he was leaving and that’s all he had to say. I suspected Gen’s anger was down to Chris’s announcement pre-empting Gen throwing Chris out of TG, but Gen changed the subject and switched to my leaving him and being with Chris – telling Chris that fate dictated that Gen’s and my destiny were linked. I couldn’t make sense of why he’d still be expecting me to return, when he was with Paula. Of course, if Chris left TG, I would too. That made the already high level of tension between the four of us worse, with me and Chris feeling we were deliberately excluded from interviews and other TG matters, and that Gen and Sleazy were planning another venture together. All TG-related opportunities from interested parties went to either Beck Road or Martello Street, so me and Chris never knew exactly what was going on. We felt like we were being edged out. The commitment between the four of us, and to TG, had gone.
I knew the USA trip would be difficult but was determined to get some enjoyment out of it. Me and Chris had been trying for a child and my period was two months late. The first thing I did when I got to LA was a pregnancy test. It was positive. We were ecstatic and rang his family straight away. His mum, Rose, was thrilled for us. His sister, Vicki, in the background and clearly unaware of our situation, asked, ‘Whose is it?’ That was a little upsetting. Then she said, ‘I’m pregnant too’ (with her second child).
We went and told everyone. We were so happy … but Gen wasn’t. Being pregnant confirmed that I wasn’t going back to him. He said we were no longer welcome at Beck Road unless we made an appointment to see him and that he expected me to give him half of my savings. What? We weren’t married, this wasn’t an alimony situation, and the only savings I had were what I’d put away from my stripping earnings after I left him.
A few days la
ter he married Paula in Tijuana, Mexico. We weren’t invited. It didn’t matter. We’d decided to indulge our liking for the ambience of cemeteries and took a long walk to the Hollywood Forever Cemetery to see Rudolph Valentino’s interred ashes. It was a tranquil place, perfect for a picnic and far away from all the negativity back at the TG motel. Our friend Jerry Dreva, who’d taken the black-and-white photo for the 20 Jazz Funk Greats album on our last LA visit, came to the Travelodge and gave us a chocolate replica of the album.
Friends didn’t know what to make of the atmosphere and felt torn between the two camps – especially Skot, who later told me that, ‘Gen had issued a sort of ultimatum that it was you OR Gen. I picked you. As Gen became more of a rock star I had become less close to Gen and less trustful of Gen’s motives. During the early TG days, I’d often read chunks of my letters to Gen spouted in interviews as Gen’s ideas warped like a funhouse mirror to suit his purposes: ASSUME POWER FOCUS. The origin of that phrase was never offered to the public by Gen.’ The phrase was used by TG.
Skot picked me and Chris up the next day to drive us to the Griffith Observatory to see the amazing Tesla coil and its giant arcing sparks. We spent hours there, sitting in the planetarium, looking through the huge telescopes and the simple but magical camera obscura. We hit the second-hand record stores, the wax museum and Sunset Boulevard.
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