Daniel (Miller) and Mute were the only ones who held true to the original spirit of the ethos of independent music, and I felt the official TG legacy was respected and safe in their hands. We’d known Daniel since the mid-1970s, when he’d released ‘TVOD’ and ‘Warm Leatherette’ through Rough Trade when he started Mute Records. We had mutual interests and principles, and he and Chris shared a passion for electronics, conferring and meeting up to exchange information on new sound technology. I looked upon the TG/Mute relationship as ‘family’.
I was shocked and sad to hear that Rod met with an untimely and brutal end after he’d finished Fetish Records and moved to Mexico. In 1997 his body was found on a beach, almost decapitated, reportedly hacked to death with a machete.
28 May 1984
For many years I dreamt of a life in the country with land and hope of all hopes an old school or church as my home. We have it!!!!
Living in London had become difficult, both financially and in terms of our lifestyle. I felt like I was running to stand still to pay bills, and every time I stepped outside our front door I was sucked into a vortex of uncompromising negativity and subjected to a pace of life that was not conducive to my creative sensibilities. We spotted a church for sale in East Heckington, Lincolnshire, and made an appointment to view it. The place was easily convertible but too small and isolated for Nick’s needs.
We drove home via King’s Lynn and picked up the local paper. When we got home we looked through it and saw a small village school was up for auction on the following Tuesday … in just three days’ time. Chris called his dad, Albert, who had experience with buying property, and asked if he’d come with us to view the school. We arranged to collect the key the next day and Albert came with us. He gave the building the thumbs-up. ‘It’s rock-solid,’ he said. A beautiful, red-brick Victorian primary school within reach of all amenities. It had two large classrooms, cloakrooms and a kitchen annexe with a row of outside red-brick toilets. It was just the right size and stood on a third-of-an-acre plot that was paved over as the school playground, with a jetty on the riverbank for fishing. Me and Chris were so excited – it already felt like ours but we didn’t dare let ourselves think that yet. We travelled back to Norfolk for the auction on the Tuesday. The bidding started, and there were only three people interested in it. Our bid got the school for an affordable price. It felt like a dream. We’d just bought our new home. We sold our house in London in a matter of days and moved in as soon as the major structural works were complete.
I continued to do some striptease work, travelling to London for just two days a week and staying at Chris’s mum and dad’s Totteridge house to earn enough money to have the playground dug up to make us a garden. Settling into the house was the first real break we’d had in years and we relished every moment of it. Life was suddenly so simple. Working with nature, planting apple and pear trees and flowers, watching Nick running round playing in the sun, and the cats tasting true freedom for the first time in their lives.
We lived in the house as the final work was completed, making special allowances for Phil the plasterer. He was the best for the job but also a cokehead, and would disappear on benders when he got paid. One of the builders would go in search to local pubs to pick him up while he was still under the influence, because once on the job he’d do fantastic plastering at breakneck speed. Other than the dramas surrounding Phil’s availability, it all seemed very idyllic, until a month later, when there was a full-on shotgun shootout between feuding Essex and Norfolk travellers who lived on their own land at the end of the village. Country life was not quite the quiet idyll we’d imagined it to be.
We’d entered a very close-knit community, many of whom had been born in the village, grown up together and gone to the (our) school … including two of the builders. Eighty-nine-year-old Joe who lived next door had worked on the local farm all his life and had never left the village. ‘He had no need to,’ his daughter told us.
At the same time as we moved into the village, a family called Newby moved out. I found out later that the Newbys had owned and farmed land in and around the village, and that our neighbour had worked for them – and the local churchyard had Newbys and Carters buried there. It was uncanny when I found out that Les’s family had originally hailed from King’s Lynn, then moved to Hull. How had I unwittingly ended up in a place with so many connections to my family and closest friend?
I took Nick to the small toddler group in the village hall so he could make friends. I didn’t have a lot in common with the other mothers and felt a bit guilty that I’d bought the school their children would have gone to (had there been more of them to keep it viable). I was there for Nick, who was happily playing with the other children. We wanted to establish a secure, happy base for him and ourselves. I gave up striptease work, which meant there was no regular income except for £18 a month child allowance. It was a struggle financially, living off credit cards and an overdraft, waiting for royalty cheques to come through so we could pay off enough to stop the bank coming down on us. It was the poorest period of our lives, and yet the happiest and most complete we’d felt. Away from the studio or gigs we found joy in the simple things, like family get-togethers, days out with Nick and his friends, and Nick’s large birthday parties.
We didn’t do any gigs the year we moved. We concentrated on finishing as much of the house as possible, getting the studio up and running first, keeping the school blackboard that ran the length of one wall to use for studio notes. The old school kitchen had a huge porcelain basin, ideal for developing and printing, and it became our new darkroom. The walls of the two cloakrooms were in a bad way so we covered them in old TG Heathen Earth posters. We had a ritual burning of some of the TG vinyl we had left over from our share of IR stock – including rare blue-vinyl copies of Heathen Earth. They represented the crap we’d left behind and it felt good watching it all go up in flames.
Our music had moved on to what would become known as the distinctive sound of Chris & Cosey – such tracks as ‘Driving Blind’, ‘Love Cuts’ and ‘Walking Through Heaven’ on the Songs of Love and Lust album we’d recorded in our studio in 1983, well before we left London. The front cover was a painting by Skot of a couple embracing, inspired by the James Bond film You Only Live Twice. The album was released on Rough Trade in January 1984. That, and the releases of Elemental 7 and the 12" singles, gave us some breathing space to make the school a home.
Once the builders had gone, we continued recording Techno Primitiv. I’d take Nick out to the park, the beach or to Thetford Forest to give Chris a good few hours of peace and quiet to finish mastering. Techno Primitiv and Chris’s solo album, Mondo Beat, were our final albums released on Rough Trade. Geoff didn’t feel an affinity with our sound or image any more and we weren’t going to change, but the parting of ways was amicable.
Alongside our music, I was still engaging with my art actions. Paul Buck invited me to perform as part of his five-day event, ‘Violent Silence Festival – Acts of Transgression’, a celebration of Georges Bataille. He and Roger Ely were coordinating the festival, which would take place at the Bloomsbury Theatre, London. It would include the staging of Georges Bataille’s My Mother, the first full production in English, adapted by Pierre Bourgeade and translated by Paul. The programme included works inspired by and in homage to Bataille – music by Marc Almond and Last Few Days, dance, films by Derek Jarman, Paul Buck, John Maybury, Cerith Wyn Evans, Steve Dwoskin, performances by myself (‘Such Is Life’) and readings by Roger Ely, Paul and Terence Sellers. My previous work with Steve Dwoskin derived from Bataille’s My Mother was my (and Steve’s) direct connection to the festival.
It was only a month after we’d moved. Me and Chris worked on music specifically written for the piece, but he stayed in Norfolk with Nick. I travelled to London and met up with John Lacey, who worked with me projecting slides we’d prepared especially for the piece. I was dressed in white and the slides were projected on to my body, following my e
very movement and simultaneously appearing on pieces of diaphanous white muslin I used in my ritual action. The performance was quiet and peaceful, the audience attentive and appreciative – including, to my surprise, two of my striptease fans.
Preparing for the performance had been interesting. Me and John arrived at the theatre to begin setting up and getting a feel for the place. We were escorted to the dressing rooms behind the stage, making our way from the back of the auditorium as quietly as possible as there was a woman with a head full of hair curlers stood soundchecking at the microphone. ‘That’s Terence Sellers,’ I was told. I knew of her but hadn’t met her before. She was acquainted with Gen so I wasn’t sure whether to say anything as I’d been reliably informed that my name was banned from being spoken in his presence. As I got to the stage, I said hello to her. She looked over to me and blanked me. OK, I thought, I know where I stand.
Part of my contribution included the screening of the COUM film After Cease to Exist – which nearly didn’t happen. During setting up in the afternoon, I was informed by one of the theatre hands that the senior theatre technician refused to show the film. She objected to the castration scene.
‘On what grounds?’ I asked.
‘You’ll have to speak to her yourself. She’s up there’, and he pointed to the upper circle seats near the projection booth, where a rather stern-faced, tough-looking, androgynous woman sat with her feet up on the seats in front.
I made my way to her, introduced myself and asked what her objections were. She explained that she didn’t think it appropriate to show a film of a man being castrated. I suggested that I explain the film to her and we could then have an informed discussion about it. We spent about an hour together, analysing and debating the film, sexuality and more besides, and she agreed to it being shown.
‘Ritual Awakening’ at the Zap club in Brighton was my penultimate live art action. It was part of the Taboo Festival of Eroticism run by Roger Ely. Nick was at his gran’s, and me, Chris, Brian and Tracey travelled to Brighton together and stayed in a quaint bed and breakfast that owed a lot to Fawlty Towers. The venue was a small club in King’s Road Arches, and full. My action was on the stage at the back of the room. Chris, Brian and Tracey helped me set things up, Chris did a live mix of the audio I’d prepared and we recorded the whole thing on to video. My art film, Pussy Got the Cream, was shown separately at the festival.
A year later I performed an extended version at the Bar Europa Festival in Amsterdam. ‘Ritual Awakening Part 2’ was my final live art action. I met up with Michael Moynihan (aka Coup de Grâce), who was also presenting his own performance involving cutting himself. It was intense and personal. I felt some affinity with him and his work … but we lost touch after he joined Boyd Rice’s band, NON, and became a member of the Church of Satan. After Michael, Johanna Went was on stage, just before me. Her performance was loud (screaming) and chaotic, with the stage cluttered with large props that she hurled about and then she threw liquid around the stage. I didn’t ‘get it’ – much like some people probably didn’t get early COUM. The stage was a mess and me and the theatre crew had to clean up before I could begin my piece. It was also quite late and the bar had been busy. I was made aware that my controversial history had preceded me. The audience were rowdy and drunk and making it clear that they wanted nudity, cutting and more. They got none of that. My last action was a ritual exorcism of everything that represented the spectacle people had come to expect from me. A disconnect from the tainted past. I couldn’t have had better reinforcement of my decision to make this the last art action than that entire trip to Amsterdam.
*
It’s never good when you get a call at 7.30 in the morning. It was ten days after I’d got back from Amsterdam. Chris answered and I could tell by the tone of his voice it was bad news.
‘Who is it, Mum or Dad?’ I asked him.
‘Your mum,’ he said.
My whole body went numb, then came a shockwave of rage. ‘Why couldn’t it be him? It’s not fair!’
Les had made the call on behalf of Pam, who’d been told not to tell me until after Mum’s funeral. I was stunned – I couldn’t quite process what I’d just heard. After all this time, I was even kept from saying a final goodbye to Mum. I didn’t blame Pam – she was in a difficult position and Dad was still very much a part of her and her children’s lives. Chris received a long letter from Pam explaining everything and hoping that I’d forgive her for not letting me know in time for the funeral. Mum had had a stroke and been admitted to hospital. She’d asked Pam not to tell me in case I visited her. She was worried it could stress out Dad and give him a heart attack, as he was due to undergo heart surgery. So I wasn’t told Mum was ill. Days later she had another stroke and a heart attack, and died. She was only sixty-six years old. All my hopes of being reunited with her were gone forever. She’d never see her grandson, Nick, or meet Chris, we’d never hold each other or laugh together again – my thoughts were all about the many associated losses signalled by her dying before Dad. I blamed him for them all. The only consolation I had was that he would be miserable without Mum.
Me, Chris and Nick went to Hull and Pam took me to the cemetery to show me Mum’s plaque and her name listed on a page in the book of remembrance. It wasn’t enough. I couldn’t relate these markers of her life to what Mum meant to me. Pam and I laid flowers together and wept. I saw all three of us as having each suffered in our own way, all to suit the needs of my domineering dad. I made a visit to the Hull Daily Mail offices to place a dedication to Mum. The day after we returned home I got a phone call. A man’s voice said, ‘Excuse me for disturbing you. I’m from the Hull Daily Mail. We’ve been asked by a Mr Dennis Newby not to print your dedication to your mother.’ Silence. He continued, ‘I don’t know why someone would make such a request, but as far as I’m concerned, if you say to me now that you still want me to print it, I would be very, very happy to do so for you.’ He was so kind and outraged on my behalf.
‘Yes, please print it for me,’ I said.
*
Lost in our world of music and video, we were fully focused on releasing our work on our own label, CTI. It hadn’t occurred to us to do it any other way. Then we were approached by the Nettwerk Productions record label in Canada, and shortly afterwards Kenny Gates of Play It Again Sam Records got in touch. After many talks regarding us retaining the artistic freedom we’d always had, we signed to both labels … and also later to Wax Trax! Records in Chicago. That gave us worldwide distribution and sparked what became the beginning of C&C’s world-touring electronica success.
Having done gigs in Holland with our friends Hay Schoolmeesters and Brecht from NL Centrum, we had them book and tour-manage us for Europe. We all got on so well, Hay with his wide smile, and tall, slim, leather-clad Brecht looking like Emma Peel, both speaking with the most wonderful strong Dutch accents. They were kindred spirits and unorthodox as far as booking agents or tour managers were concerned. They ran their own alternative art and music events and shared our DIY ethos. Sometimes Hay’s cousin Frank came along. He drove like a lunatic, always too fast and way too close to the vehicle in front. Me and Chris would close our eyes as we sat in the back of the car, pretending we weren’t there, our fingers crossed for a safe arrival to our next destination as we drove from gig to gig.
Hay had a dry wit. As we entered one strange venue he said, with a lopsided smile, ‘I think this is a beatnik club’, which I used later for lyrics. But neither he nor Brecht suffered fools gladly. A promoter didn’t pay up after one of the shows. As we set off to the next gig the following morning, Hay took a detour to the promoter’s flat, telling us to wait in the car while he and Frank paid the guy a visit. They came rushing back to the car ten minutes later with our money, saying we had to make a dash across the border because the guy was calling the police … and Hay and Frank were supposedly on a ‘suspects’ list due to their past anarchist activities.
As NL Centrum expanded, a lovely guy c
alled John Jacobs took over most of our European tour-managing and we always took along ‘Jan the video beamer man’. Our touring was like being away with ‘family’. Everyone was so kind, relaxed and happy in each other’s company.
We hardly ever played in the UK – there wasn’t the demand. Our main audience was in Europe and America but we made an exception for UK Electronica, which was a small festival with some live performances, talks and stands to sell records and related ephemera. Manning our stand led to some good new contacts and we met and talked to a lot of fans, including our good friend Joe Ahmed.
During our performance we projected one of our gig videos, which was full of cut-up images, including clips from blue films. Someone brought their ten-year-old son to see us play even though it was an over-eighteens show, and made an official complaint about the video content. Three days later we got a visit from the local police. Two squad cars pulled up in the drive with three uniformed officers and two detectives presenting us with a warrant to search our property. A friend had phoned to say that our names and address had been given to the police by one of the festival organisers, but we never expected to be the subjects of an investigation. We were kept in our living room while the police went around the house, searching everywhere and pulling out ‘evidence’ to take away with them.
‘What exactly are you looking for?’ I asked.
‘Anything that shows you naked,’ was the reply.
‘Come with me,’ I said, and gave them a pile of photos of myself semi- and fully nude, dancing, on holiday, etc. They thought (or had been informed) that we were making and selling pornographic videos. After hours of delving and questioning, they realised the accusation was possibly bogus, but still took boxes of videos, photos and paperwork away with them to look through, saying they’d be in touch. Three months later, on my birthday, me and Chris were walking around town when we saw one of the detectives. He nodded, smiled, then came over to us to say that we could collect our belongings whenever we wanted. They were satisfied that there was no charge to answer.
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