More Musings on My Time in the Music Business

 

The World's Most Flexible Record Label 

Original logo design by Chris Morton 

 

I. 

 

The independent record label founded by Dave Robinson and Jake Riviera - Stiff Records - is revered by many people fascinated by the British music industry in the mid-late 1970s and early-mid '80s.  

 

Indeed, one will often see it described as legendary - mostly because of its impressive roster of artists that included The Damned, Elvis Costello and the Attractions, Ian Dury and the Blockheads, Ten Pole Tudor, Motörhead, Madness, and The Pogues, but also because of the sleeve designs produced by the graphic artist Barney Bubbles [1].

 

My memories of it, however, are mostly shaped by the few miserable days I spent working there in the spring of 1987 ... 

      

 

II. 

 

By this date, Riviera was long gone following a series of disagreements with Robinson [2].  

 

A collaboration between Stiff and Island Records in 1984-85 had not worked out as planned [3] and, after the deal collapsed, Robinson regained full control of the newly independent label. 

 

However, underlying problems - mostly of a severe financial nature - meant that Stiff was forced into liquidation shortly after I turned up at their west London offices as a kind of exterminating angel ...  

 

 

III.  

 

Out of the blue, on St. George's Day, I got a phone call from Roddy Forrest, who had (briefly) been the  general manager at Charisma Records back when I was Jazzing it up at 90 Wardour Street [4]. He asked me to come and see him at his office the next day, at Stiff, as he wanted to offer me some work. 

 

So, the next morning, wearing my hand-painted Pagan T-shirt, I set off to Portobello (not my favourite neck of the woods; seedy and threatening, as I noted in my diary). 

 

Roddy was friendly and I was happy to see him again. But I did not enjoy my first day at Stiff:

 

 

The Von Hell Diaries: Friday 24 April, 1987 

 

Awful day. So glad I quit the music business when I did. It's a horrible industry, basically overseeing the production of shit. 

      Met a few new faces, including Dave Robinson - the boss - very Steve Weltmanesque in several respects, as Roddy pointed out, but, if anything, more intense. Did not like him. I think the only person I found attractive was the Irish girl, Sharon, working on reception.

      Roddy asked me to listen to some songs and give him some feedback. But my main task is to promote new releases with a number of record stores across the UK - i.e., make a lot of phone calls to people I don't know and try to sound enthusiastic. Boring. But it's only for a few days.    

 

 

I was in a far more positive frame of mind by the following week, however:

 

 

The Von Hell Diaries: Monday 27 April, 1987

 

Another day working at Stiff. Surprisingly, it didn't go too badly - went well, in fact, and I even enjoyed it at times. The people are friendly. But Robinson is bad tempered. 

      Rang 14 stores on a list of 19. Had to go to Sarm West Studios as well to pick something up. Owned by Trevor Horn, it's the studio where Duck Rock was recorded - and the Band Aid Christmas single. Bumped into Anne Clark, who I used to vaguely know, and we had a nice five-minute chat. When I got back to Stiff, it turned out someone had just been fired - I don't know who and I don't know why. 

      Roddy invited me to his place in Maida Vale for dinner (living with an Anglo-American woman called Maxine and her five-year-old son). Very tense atmosphere, but the food was okay. Roddy kindly gave me a selection of records (which I sold the next day to Reckless Records, apart from The Ramones album, Animal Boy, which I kept).

 

 

IV. 

 

By the middle of May, I'd had enough: the work was dull and the atmosphere increasingly unpleasant. 

 

And so, on the 14th, I went into the office one last time to collect the money owed and to say goodbye to Roddy. Woke up relieved the next morning knowing I didn't have to go to Stiff and stuff any more envelopes, make any more phone calls or photocopies, nor feign interest in the music business, etc. 

 

Shortly after I left, Stiff also reached the end of the road ... 

 

For despite success with artists like The Pogues, the label was drowning in debts of almost £1.5 million. After going into liquidation, ZTT moved in and purchased the remaining assets for a reported £300,000. They didn't attempt to resuscitate the label, however, rather, they placed it into a state of suspended animation for the next twenty years.

 

As the UK record business transitioned towards corporate ownership, small independent labels like Stiff and Charisma Records - run on an unconventional business model, staffed by eccentrics, and prepared to take a risk with signings and releases - were simply no longer able to survive [5].

 

 

Notes

 

[1] I should point out that none of these acts meant anything to me and I didn't buy any records produced by any artist signed to Stiff. I can't in all honesty say I'm a fan either of work by the tragic figure of Barney Bubbles (sorry, Paul).    

 

[2] Rivera left to form Radar Records in late 1977 with Andrew Lauder (formerly of RCA) and took several Stiff artists with him, including Nick Lowe and Elvis Costello. The label folded in 1980. 

 

[3] In 1983, Stiff mistakenly sold a 50% stake to Island Records in order to alleviate debt. Ironically, however, this partnership backfired when Island itself ran into serious financial trouble and Robinson ended up having to fund the deal himself, further straining Stiff's finances. 

 

[4] Forrest's (shortlived) appointment as GM at Charisma was announced in Music Week (26 Jan 1985) - along with Steve Weltman's promotion to managing director at the label. Roddy had previously worked for Arista Records as artist development manager and at Phonogram Records as product manager. 

      I was associated with Charisma for a few weeks in 1983 and between July 1984 and October 1985. For posts written about my time there, click here. 

 

[5] In December 2017, the Universal Music Group acquired ZTT and Stiff Records.   

 

 

More Tales from Charisma Records: Memories of Steve Weltman and Shelly Clark

 

First Floor, 90 Wardour Street, Soho, London W1. 

Tel: 01 434 1351 

I. 

 

Charisma Records was a small independent label founded in 1969 by the ebullient figure Tony Stratton Smith and is mostly remembered today as the home of a few old hippies and prog rockers [1] and for releasing various novelty records, which, depending on how one views these things, may or may not include Malcolm McLaren's Duck Rock (1983). 

 

For me, however, Charisma is a place I remember fondly not so much for the artists and acts associated with the label, but the equally talented and, in some ways, equally eccentric cast of characters who were running the company during its final years after it was bitten (and eventually swallowed) by the Virgin shark [2]. 

 

 

II.

 

These characters, for example, include Steve Weltman, who had left RCA to take up the role of Managing Director at Charisma in 1981, where he had previously worked in the early '70s and so understood the ethos and history of the label.  

 

I didn't have a personally close or even particularly fond working relationship with Weltman [3] and, as far as I remember, he only twice called me into his office for a serious chat.

 

On the first occasion, it was to warn me against visiting McLaren's office on 25 Denmark Street, as, due to ongoing legal wranglings between Charisma and McLaren, any and all future contact would be construed, he said, as a breach of trust (I was essentially accused of being a spy and of passing on confidential information) [4]. 

 

Needless to say, I didn't heed this warning. For one thing, I wasn't technically an employee of Charisma, so didn't feel under any legal obligation to do so and, obviously, my loyalties were very much to Malcolm, who had placed me in the Charisma press office in the first place. 

 

On the second occasion, it was to advise that I could, if I wanted, have a very bright future working in the music industry and that I should seriously consider my options and seize any opportunities that came my way. 

 

Again, needless to say, I didn't pay any attention to this careers advice and, in October 1985, with £1000 stuffed in an envelope, and carrying more books than clothes in an old suitcase, I set off on a bus from Victoria coach station to Madrid, with the intention of becoming a novelist and poet [5].    

 

 

III. 

 

Another Charisma character that I remember well (and with rather more affection) was the young woman heading the A&R department, Shelly Clark ...

 

Although I was primarily Lee Ellen Newman's right-arm in the Press Office, occasionally I'd be asked to help Shelly deal with the ever-growing backlog of tapes that were sent in by hopefuls and wannabes all aspiring to become successful recording artists. 

 

These tapes, rather sadly, were kept in a number of black bin bags, as if in anticipation of their fate. And to be fair, most were rubbish. It often surprised me to see the lack of care many people took with their submissions; sometimes forgetting even to include a return address or phone number, let alone a brief bio and photo [6].

 

Shelly was, I think, a generous soul. She did once throw a cup of coffee over me [7], but then, on the other hand, she gave me a big hug and a kiss on my 22nd birthday and we shared a couple of bottles of wine in her office listening to various outtakes from Duck Rock. We even once went to see a band together - The Opposition - at Camden Palace (25 June, 1985), on the orders of Steve Weltman.   

 

Unfortunately, I think she was a little ground down (or bored) by the job. And I'm not sure Shelly really knew or cared very much about music. I liked her though and think this photo taken of the two of us by Holly Fogg, the Charisma Secretary, shows that we enjoyed an affectionate and playful relationship: 

 

 

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Historians of the British music industry tend to view Charisma in three distinct phases: the first phase between late 1969 and July 1975; the middle phase, from August 1975 to August 1983; and the final phase from September 1983 until Charisma's full assimilation into Virgin in 1986-87.  

      Whilst it is the first phase that is traditionally of most interest to historians and record collectors - this being seen as the golden period during which Charisma released records from artists such as The Nice, Genesis, Lindisfarne, Van Der Graaf Generator, et al, it's the final phase that interests me here and which I was a part of. 

 

[2] Stratton Smith sold Charisma to Richard Branson's Virgin Records in stages. A special relationship, which included a distribution deal, was agreed in September 1983 and this was (inevitably) followed by a full sale of shares in 1985. By the end of the following year, Charisma had been fully assimilated and ceased operating as an independent label; the last new release with the Mad Hatter logo appeared in October 1986.

      Sadly, Stratton Smith died shortly afterwards, of pancreatic cancer, aged 54, in March 1987. On the few occasions he and I ever spoke, he invariably misremembered my name - calling me James rather than Jazz - though he did once say he admired my 'lateral thinking'.   

[3] Having said that, Weltman did invite me to his birthday party on Saturday 1 June 1985, at his house in Esher, Surrey (one of the most affluent towns in the UK, popular with bankers, lawyers, corporate executives, celebrities, and so on). 

 

[4] Ironically, but also to his great credit, it had been Weltman who - undeterred by Mclaren's troublemaking reputation - had insisted that Charisma sign the latter and pay him an advance of £45,000 in order to make the album fusing "contemporary urban black sounds with world music" known as Duck Rock. 

      See Paul Gorman, The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren (Constable, 2020), pp. 494-95.  

 

[5] See the autobiographical fragment on my move to sunny Spain in October 1985 (18 Aug 2020): click here. 

 

[6] Just as surprising was the level of naivety displayed by those who sent in tapes containing a full album's worth of songs; did they really think anyone would continue listening beyond the first 30 seconds of the first couple of tracks? 

      More irritating, however, was the defensive arrogance that occasionally accompanied a submission: If you can't hear the musical brilliance of these highly original songs then please return them without delay.

 

[7] As recorded in a diary entry dated Tuesday 5 February, 1985. The coffee was thrown playfully, rather than in anger or with malice.

 

 

On Being (and Not Being) Leonard Zelig

Stephen Alexander and Leonard Zelig 

(SA/2026)

 

 

I. 

 

Zelig (1983) may not be my favourite Woody Allen movie, but it's the one that philosophically most interests and also the film that most closely resonates with my own experiences. 

 

The title character, Leonard Zelig [1], played by Allen - who also wrote and directed the movie - is, paradoxically, a man without any fixed character or distinguishing features; someone who, out of a pathological desire to fit in and be liked, takes on the personal traits of those people around him. 

 

Our friends the psychologists refer to this with the term environmental dependency syndrome - although some see it as an actual disorder that compromises individuation and prevents personal autonomy [2].  

 

Made as a fictional documentary, Zelig uses archival footage, faux-newsreels, and interviews with real-life intellectuals - including Susan Sontag, Saul Bellow and Bruno Bettelheim - to chronicle the life of human chameleon Leonard Zelig in the 1920s and '30s, humorously exploring themes of identity, conformity, and celebrity. 

 

It's an almost flawless film and certainly far more than the one-joke technical novelty that some critics dismissed it as at the time. To enjoy a short theatrical teaser trailer, click here.  

 

 

II. 

 

Rewatching Allen's film, it struck me that, in some ways, I'm a bit Zelig-like, in that I have the knack for being at the right time and place and of appearing to fit in, even while secretly remaining on the outside of events and somewhat indifferent to what others think of me. 

 

For unlike Zelig, I don't need to be loved; I just need to be close enough (and invisible enough) to watch the chaos unfold; more an amused observer rather than an active participant or paid-up member of an established scene.  

 

 

III.

 

For example, when at Charisma Records in 1984-85, I was both employed and not-employed; at the heart of the music business whilst never really belonging. I hadn't applied for a job in the press office and had no ambitions of building a career. 

 

Rather, I just found myself placed there thanks to the machinations of Malcolm McLaren who wanted me to act as a mole, letting him know what was happening behind the scenes during a very turbulent period when the Virgin shark was in the process of digesting Charisma, having swallowed the label in 1983.     

 

Then, in the 1990s, whilst doing doctoral research at Warwick University, I was both a member of the philosophy department and not quite part of it. Registered as a part-time student, I was based in London rather than resident on campus or living nearby. I was also co-supervised by a professor in the English department and that made me a bit suspect to some in the philosophy department.

 

I knew (and quite liked) Nick Land and even produced some artwork for the magazine Collapse at his invitation, but, again, was never really one of Nick's gang or involved with the CCRU as they accelerated off into the future.        

 

Finally, and by way of another example, between 2004-08, I spent a good deal of time at Treadwell's, in Covent Garden, seemingly a key figure on the pagan witchcraft scene, presenting over thirty talks at the store during this period on subjects ranging from thanatology to zoophilia - as noted by Gary Lachman in an article for the Independent [3].    

 

But, once more, despite my ability to look at home in an esoteric environment, I always felt like an enemy within (just a little bit too sceptical, too cynical, and too insincere to ever really belong).   

 

IV. 

 

In conclusion: I am and I am not Leonard Zelig. 

 

Whilst he transforms physically to fit in, I'm more of an intellectual chameleon: in other words, he has no fixed look; I have no fixed ideas. 

 

In our own ways, however, we both haunt cultural history by being everywhere and nowhere at once, reflecting the mood and the madness of the times. 

 

  

Notes

 

[1] The name Zelig is Yiddish of Germanic origin, meaning 'blessed' or 'happy' and has historically been associated with individuals considered to be favoured by a higher power.

 

[2] EDS is often caused by frontal lobe damage, often resulting from strokes, tumours, or degenerative diseases like dementia. Those with the condition not only copy the gestures and mannerisms of others, but also often use objects inappropriately; unable to resist the impulse to interact with their environment. Such behaviour, as one might imagine, can lead to awkward social situations and, in severe cases, can have serious consequences. 

 

[3] See Gary Lachman, 'Pagan pages: One bookshop owner is summoning all sorts to her supernatural salons', Independent (16 September 2007): click here. 

 

    

Who Was That Young American Press Lady?

Lee Ellen Newman: Press Goddess 

Charisma Records (c.1983)

I.

 

As Paul Gorman reminds us in his excellent biography, when Malcolm McLaren presented his groundbreaking new record 'Buffalo Gals' to the executives at Charisma Records in the autum of 1982, excitedly telling them how kids "'danced on their heads to this beat in the middle of the streets of New York'" [1], he may have anticipated a little bemusement, but not such angry incomprehension and resistance. 

 

Unfortunately, however, that the track was "a stylistic aural collage to rival McLaren's work in fashion, interiors and design was entirely lost on the record company ..." [2]   

 

The head of promotions declared that it was not music and refused to take it to the radio stations; poor old Tony Stratton-Smith wondered how he was going to recuperate at least some of the monies paid out in advance; and, according to McLaren, the only person who stood up for him was "'the press lady: a young American, new in her job'" [3].  

 

 

II. 

 

The question becomes: Who was that young American press lady?

 

And it's a question I'm happy to answer; not only because today happens to be her birthday, but because Lee Ellen Newman is one of the people I will always be grateful to.  

 

For she it was who advised me on the importance of building a wide network of contacts, of cultivating a likeable public image, and of remaining calm under pressure (even if, unfortunately, I never quite managed to accomplish these things to her high professional standard).  

 

And she it was who taught me how to write concisely and persuasively and to master the art of what is known in the PR world as strategic storytelling; i.e., the deployment of a cleverly structured (and seductive) narrative in order to appeal to a target audience and achieve a specific goal [4].  

 

So, thanks Lee Ellen for being an early mentor, a dear friend, as well as one of the few figures in the music business that Malcolm always had affection for. 

 

And happy birthday!

 

Notes

 

[1] Malcolm McLaren, quoted by Paul Gorman, in The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren (Constable, 2020), p. 517.

 

[2] Paul Gorman, The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren, p. 516.     

 

[3] Malcolm McLaren, quoted by Paul Gorman in The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren, p. 517.  

      As Gorman goes on to elucidate, Charisma seriously considered taking legal action against McLaren on the grounds that he had grossly overspent and that "he was in breach of the contractual obligation to deliver music of acceptable commercial value". 

      However, 'Buffalo Gals' became a top ten hit in the UK and other countries and this "proved sufficient for Charisma to back off from its legal posturing" and press on with release of McLaren's debut album Duck Rock (1983) and other singles taken from it, including McLaren's biggest selling and highest charting hit, 'Double Dutch'.

      Relations between the artist and the record label failed to recover, however, even though Charisma would release two further McLaren albums: Fans (1984), which fused opera with R&B; and Swamp Thing (1985), composed of out-takes recorded between 1982 and 1984, which I like, but everyone else hates; McLaren's version of 'Swingin' the Alphabet' ('B. I. Bikki') is even more hilarious than that given us by the Three Stooges in their 1938 short film Violent is the Word for Curly (dir. Charley Chase): click here.     

 

[4] It may sound a bit cynical and manipulative and some might view strategic storytelling as a form of what is called by our political friends spin. In my experience, however, it's more a game whereby you give a journalist, for example, what they want for a good feature and they give you what you need in order create excitement around the artist you are representing and boost sales of whatever it is they're promoting. In other words, strategic storytelling is an exercise in backscratching rather than backstabbing and the wilful deception of others.  

 

 

Readers who wish to know more about Buffalo Gals should see the post entitled 'And They Dance by the Light of the Moon ...' (19 Feb 2019): click here.

 

Readers who think they might enjoy a post in which I reminisce about my time with Lee Ellen at Charisma Records should see the post entitled 'Memories of Summer '84: Charisma' (17 July 2024): click here.  

 

 

That Time I Met Mr Pickle ...

 

I. 

 

One of my favourite scenes in The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle (1980) is the closing animated sequence in which McLaren and his motley crew are all aboard the good ship Venus and Johnny Rotten, having been found guilty of collaboration, is forced to walk the plank. 

 

Abandoned by his shipmates, the singer finds himself literally all at sea where he is soon swallowed by a great white shark with the Virgin logo clearly visible on its fin [1].    

 

This scene replayed itself in my mind when, in 1983, the Virgin Group acquired Charisma Records (although it wouldn't be until 1986 that the latter was fully digested by the former; still maintaining at least a measure of independence until then). 

 

So, let us say that I was not a fan of Richard Branson and would laugh at Malcolm's stories about this hippie entrepreneur whom he vehemently disliked and derisively called Mr Pickle (either intentionally or mistakenly confusing the surname with that of an English food brand made by Crosse & Blackwell since 1922) [2].  

 

 

II. 

 

I first met Mr Pickle when, as a Charisma employee, I was sent an invitation by him and the directors of the Virgin Group to attend a party at the Manor, in Oxfordshire, to celebrate the first anniversary of Virgin Atlantic.  

 

The Manor, for those who might not know, was a recording studio housed in a 17th century Grade II listed building that had been bought by Branson in 1971, for £30,000, when he was only twenty-one years of age. It was where Mike Oldfield famousy recorded his precious Tubular Bells (1973) [3].

 

As pretty much everyone from Charisma was going to go, I decided I'd also (somewhat begrudgingly) accept Branson's invitation. And here, for those who may be interested, is my memory of the day based on an entry in the Von Hell Diaries dated 22 June, 1985 ... 

 

 

III. 

 

Unsure what to wear, I decided to go with the pink check suit I bought two years ago and which I've kept hanging in my closet - unworn - ever since. After my friend Andy arrived, we went over to pick Lee Ellen up from her place in Chelsea. Then cabbed it over to Kensal House (i.e., Virgin HQ), from where coaches transported everyone to the Manor. 

      Those of us from the Famous Charisma Label were segregated from the Virgin staff and we were seated as a group at the back of the bus. As Robin had kindly brought along several bottles of wine, however, no one seemed to mind about that and, amusingly, we were soon making twice as much noise as the Virginians on board (to be fair, perhaps that's why we were placed at the back of the bus).  

       The Manor was an impressive country pile (provided you have the capacity to be impressed by an assemblage of bricks) and set in very beautiful grounds that included trees, lakes, swimming pools, tennis courts, etc. Mr Pickle was there to meet and greet us personally as we got off the bus. 

      There were three large tents erected and Branson had laid on copious amounts of food and drink as well as various entertainments that one could sign up for, including horse riding and helicopter flights. But I was more interested in Shelley's friend Claire to be honest. Unfortunately, I ruined my chances with her when I split my lip open swigging champagne straight from the bottle. Note to future self: spitting blood à la Sid Vicious is probably not the most attractive look. 

      Ultimately, it was a dull event - even with the odd pop star in attendance - and the weather didn't help (typical English summer's day - wet and chilly). Glad when the coaches turned up to take us back to London. Mr Pickle dutifully came over to say goodbye and shake everyone's hand for a second time: very much Lord of the Manor. And very much not to be trusted ... [4]    

  

 

 

Not to the manor born ... Andy Greenfield and myself 

The Manor Studio (22 June 1985)

 

 

Notes

 

[1] I have written about this scene in a post published on 4 March 2024: click here. 

 

[2] Use of this nickname is confirmed by Paul Gorman in The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren (Constable, 2020), p. 355. 

      Gorman's assessment of Branson is one I fully endorse; essentially, a very clever businessman from a privileged background who knew a good opportunity when he saw one and had "cultivated a knack of appropriating aspects of youth culture to his commercial gain" (ibid., p. 356). 

 

[3] The idea of building a luxurious home recording studio was still novel at this time; the Manor was only the third such studio in the UK. Oldfield recorded his debut studio album at the Manor in 1972-73 and it was the first album released on the Virgin Records label (25 May 1973). 

      In April 1995, after the takeover of Virgin Records by EMI, the Manor was closed as a recording studio and the building, listed for sale in 2010 at £5.75 million, is now the country home of some toff or other.   

 

[4] Lee Ellen, Robin, and Shelley all worked at Charisma (in the press office, accounts, and A&R department respectively). The final line is my recalling McLaren's famous advice given to Helen in The Swindle: 'Never trust a hippie'.   

 

 

Diary Snippets, Faded Memories, and Missed Opportunities from July 1985

Portrait of the Artist ... (1985)

 

 

Monday 1 July

 

Sent my proposal for a Malcolm McLaren biography to another 13 publishers. [1]

 

 

Tues 2 July

 

Virgin have decided to pay me £500 a month: £100 less than expected; £250 less than hoped. Pissed off. [2]

 

 

Weds 3 July 

 

Met with a Greek woman called Versa Manos from Arista Records. Offered me a job as a press officer: £9000 a year, expenses, and a car. I told her I didn't drive and would prefer a horse. Everyone says it's a great opportunity and I should take it. But do I really want a career in the music business ...? Thinking of moving to a remote cottage in Scotland instead. [3] 

 

 

Sat 6 July

 

Lee Ellen [4] begged me to go and see Bruce Springsteen at Wembley with her. The problem is, whilst he was born in the USA, I belong to a generation that professes boredom with the USA. After an hour, therefore, I'd had more than enough, so left. He's good at what he does, but I don't care for it. 

 

 

Fri 12 July 

 

Carrolle came over with a (very) belated birthday present: a copy of Guy Debord's Society of the Spectacle. Kind of her. Love the cover of the book, but don't really understand a word of it. Perhaps I can get Roadent to explain it to me one day! [5]

 

Later, I met up with Keith and David Gedge of the Wedding Present: they gave me 35 copies of their excellent debut single ('Go Out and Get 'Em Boy!') and some press cuttings. Agreed to help promote the record, even if Charisma won't be offering them a recording contract. [6] 

 

 

Tues 16 July

 

Went to a party at the NME: a leaving do for the editor, Neil Spencer. Listened in to his conversation with Lee Ellen: he's a boring socialist - just like Billy Bragg, who was also banging on about what a great bloke Neil Kinnock was and how he was proud to support the Labour Party, etc. [7] 

 

 

Fri 19 July

 

My fascination with Mozart continues: decided to investigate the practicalities of having a suit of clothes made in late 18th century style and went to a tiny tailor's shop off Carnaby Street which, apparently, has dressed all the stars in its time. 

      The strange little man with the measuring tape said he could do whatever I wanted and that the entire ensemble would cost £610 (including buckled shoes for £85 and a cape for £150; but not including a wig or cocked hat which would be extra). 

 

 

Sat 20 July  

 

Deciding the Amadeus costume might be a bit much, I went to Hyper Hyper to see if I could find an interesting new outfit there: I couldn't. Hated everything and everyone. Felt much happier in Kensington Market, although the mass-produced punk style clothing now feels very regressive and is worn by people who having arrived Nowhere now fully intend to stay there.   

      On the tube home, some idiot gave me a hard time about the book I was reading; Nietzsche's Beyond Good and Evil - told me I was a fascist. 

 

 

Fri 26 July  

 

To the Savoy for a press conference announcing a new musical project by Dave Clark called Time, featuring various artists including Freddie Mercury, Stevie Wonder, and Julian Lennon (thus the reason Lee Ellen and I were there, as Julian's a Charisma act). 

      Apparently, Time would be both a stage show and a concept album that combined a rock soundtrack with a science fiction narrative (groan). Cliff Richard had also been roped in and he was there alongside Dave Clark at the press conference, answering questions: I DO NOT LIKE HIM.  

 

 

Weds 31 July 

All packed and ready for my trip to France (leaving tomorrow - train and ferry). Ticket £42.80 rtn. Bought 1800 francs (ex. rate = 12 to the pound, so cost £150). Very excited to be getting out of England for the first time and, of course, to be meeting Sophie. Qui sait comment les choses vont évoluer? [8] 

 

 

Notes 

 

[1] Rejected by all - including Virgin Books.

 

[2] I don't know what the average wage for a 22-year-old working in London in the music business was in 1985, but I suspect it was more than the £125 a week Virgin paid me. The offer made by Arista of £9000 a year (see the snippet that follows dated 3 July) was, I suspect, closer to a typical entry level salary at this time.     

 

[3] I didn't. In fact, three months later and I decided to quit London and have nothing further to do with the music business; fleeing south to Madrid with the intention of writing a novel beneath the radiation of new skies.  

 

[4] Lee Ellen Newman, Head of Press at Charisma Records. 

 

[5] Carrolle Payne, McLaren's PA / office manager at Moulin Rouge Ltd. Roadent was her boyfriend and the one who got her the job with Malcolm, whom he had known since the old days with the Sex Pistols. 

[6] Keith Gregory, bass player with the Wedding Present, was someone I knew from my time in Leeds as a student. The view at Charisma was that the Wedding Present's jangly guitar style of indie rock was passé. The band, however, went on to have great success, including eighteen singles charting in the top 40. Can't really say I had any role in this, although I did manage to get them an interview with someone from Sounds in July '85. 

      To play the band's self-financed single 'Go Out and Get 'Em Boy!', released on their own label (Reception Records, 1985), click here.    

 

[7] In November 1985, Spencer helped found Red Wedge with British musicians Paul Weller and Billy Bragg. The collective aimed to engage young people politically and garner support for the Labour Party in the lead-up to the 1987 general election. All of the usual suspects gave support, including Jerry Dammers, Tom Robinson, Jimmy Somerville, and alternative comedians such as Lenny Henry and Ben Elton. 

      After the 1987 election produced a third consecutive victory for Margaret Thatcher's Conservative Party, many of the participants drifted away and funding eventually dried up. Red Wedge was formally disbanded in 1990. 

 

[8] Actually, things turned out very well and I'm pleased to say that Sophie and I are still in touch forty years on. 

      For those who might be interested, 19 year-old Mlle. Stas and I had agreed to meet up having exchanged a few letters and phone calls after she contacted the Charisma press office with a query about Julian Lennon. 

      The photo at the top of this post was taken by Sophie on my last night in France (5 August 1985).   

 

 

Electric Boogaloo: Remembering the Rock Steady Crew

The Rock Steady Crew in a Charisma Records 

promo photo (1983)

 

 

I. 

 

Apparently, the Rock Steady Crew are still a thing even today; indeed, the name has become a kind of franchise, used by various other groups of hip-hoppers and b-boys in multiple locations. 

 

I have to admit, I like this idea; it's not something that the Rolling Stones ever thought to do and even though Malcolm declared in the post-Rotten days that anyone can be a Sex Pistol, the actual band members were quick to assert intellectual property rights and demand other assets and accumulated royalties during their High Court case against him [1].  

 

 

II.

 

For me, however, the RSC - and I'm not referring to the Royal Shakespeare Company here - will always consist of the six members pictured above: Prince Ken Swift, Crazy Legs, Buck 4, Doze, Kuriaki, and, up-front and centre, 15-year-old Baby Love, who provided the vocals on their international hit single, '(Hey You) The Rock Steady Crew' (1983) [2].   

It is, to be brutally honest, a rubbish song; although when I first heard it played in Steve Weltman's office I reluctantly agreed it was 'not bad' [3]. Ultimately, the RSC were just another novelty act, signed by Charisma Records [4] in an attempt to cash in on the surprise success of McLaren's 'Buffalo Gals' (1982) [5] and exploit the burgeoning American hip-hop scene. 

 

Having said that, I remember them with a certain fondness; especially Doze, who was very friendly, very funny, and clearly a talented artist. And it was a shame that they were destined for the same sad fate as befell Adam and the Ants two years earlier - i.e., to make a spectacle of themselves on stage in a Royal Variety Performance ... [6]. 

 

 

Hip-hop meets pomp & circumstance: the Rock Steady Crew 

with a soldier from the Household Cavalry 

(London, c. 1983)

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Those who want to know more about this court case - which was instigated by Rotten in 1979, but not fully resolved until 1986 after much legal wrangling - should see chapters 26 and 31 of Paul Gorman's biography The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren (Constable, 2020). Long story short: Malcolm, unfairly in my view, loses the case and everything is awarded to Lydon, Cook, Jones, and the estate of Sid Vicious (including, ironically, rights to The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle).

 

[2] '(Hey You) The Rock Steady Crew' was released from the group's debut studio album Ready for Battle (Charisma Records, 1984) and it reached number 6 on the UK Singles Chart. Blue Soldier and Stephen Hague, two of the co-writers of the song, also produced the track; the other co-writer, Ruza Blue, was the Crew's manager at this time. Click here to play the song's promo video on YouTube.

 

[3] This according to a diary entry made on Tuesday 16 August, 1983. Weltman had just returned from New York with the newly recorded song and accompanying video, which I first saw on the 19th, thinking it a pale imitation of McLaren's video for 'Buffalo Gals' in some respects, but noting that Baby Love was certainly easy on the eye. 

      

[4] Charisma Records was founded in 1969 by Tony Stratton-Smith and remained, at heart, a hippie label much loved by prog rockers, despite it's eclectic roster that included Monty Python, Sir John Betjeman, and Billy Bragg. Sadly, Charisma was swallowed by the Virgin shark in 1983 and fully digested by the latter in 1986. Steve Weltman was the managing director of Charisma, 1981-86.   

 

[5] 'Buffalo Gals' was very much a surprise hit - and a hit despite rather than because of the good people at Charisma Records, on whom the track's genius (and revolutionary nature) was completely lost. McLaren later recalled:

 

'It was greeted poorly by almost all at the record company. The radio plugger [...] was so outraged he refused to take it to radio and declared it was "not music" [...] The only person who stood up for me was the press lady: a young American, new in her job.' 

 

Charisma seriously considered legal proceedings against McLaren on the grounds that he had grossly overspent the budget and that he was "in breach of the contractual obligation to deliver music of acceptable commercial value". 

      However, thanks to the hugely positive response Kid Jensen received after playing the track on his Capital Radio show, Charisma were quickly obliged to recognise that they not only had a potential number 1 on their hands, but that they possessed a track capable of causing "a sea-change of significance in popular music terms to rival the advent of punk". 

      See Paul Gorman, The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren ... pp. 516-517. 

 

[6] On 23 November, 1981, Adam and the Ants played two songs at the Royal Variety Performance, much to bass player Kevin Mooney's obvious discomfort; he thought he'd joined a post-punk band, not a pop pantomime troupe happy to entertain members of the English royal family. Refusing to take the performance seriously - thereby infuriating Adam - Mooney was subsequently sacked. Those who wish to watch, can do so by clicking here. 

      On 7 November, 1983, the Rock Steady Crew performed in front of Her Majesty the Queen at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane: click here. Their being added to the bill is an even more egregious example of cultural appropriation in which a marginalised subculture is ripped out of the urban context in which it derives its meaning, its magic, and its potency simply for the amusement of the rich. And the fact that this was done with the connivance of their record company and, one suspects, either the naive or knowing complicity of the RSC themselves, is doubly depressing.

      It's not often I find myself writing in praise of John Lennon, but I do admire that during The Beatles' set at the Royal Variety Performance in 1963, he sarcastically requested that wealthy members of the audience rattle their jewellery rather than just clap their hands like those in the cheaper seats: click here.

      It's worth noting that The Beatles also refused future requests to appear at the Royal Variety Performance, despite their continued popularity and the fact that all four had been awarded - and accepted - MBEs from the Queen in 1965 (Lennon returning his in 1969, in protest at Britain's involvement in or support for various armed conflicts around the world). 

 

 

Memories of a Duck Rocker

Nick Egan: Front cover of Malcolm McLaren's Duck Rock (1983) [1]

and Duck Rock (2023), a mixed media collage on canvas, 48 × 36 in [2]

 

 

I. 

 

I was very pleased to discover that the artist, designer, and film director Nick Egan is alive and well and living in the Hollywood Hills with his wife and family. 

 

I was even happier to discover that he has recently been reimagining some of the record covers he designed back in the 1980s; including Malcolm McLaren's Duck Rock (1983), which has been transformed from a 12" square image into a large mixed media collage on canvas, using digital artwork, airbrush, oil pastels, acrylic and metallic paints.    

 

Still referencing the art of Keith Haring and Dondi White [3], which formed such a vital part of the original work, it also includes the magically customised boom box (or ghetto blaster, as we used to say) designed by Ron West, that became known as the Duck Rocker - one of the most iconic objects in the cultural history of hip-hop.   

 

Due to the size and shape of Egan's 2023 work, it reminds one of poster art; and in fact Egan has admitted that this was his intention:  

 

'I saw it as a poster that had been put up on the walls of a New York subway station, with the Duck Rocker retained as the base image, but, as time went on, people would come by and graffiti over it. Some would try to peel it off the wall, and others would stick another flyer over it until it became almost unrecognisable from the original, exactly how it would look if it did appear on a subway wall.'

 

I suppose it's fair to say that Duck Rock is Egan's greatest achievement as a designer of record covers [4]; although his recreation of Édouard Manet's Le Déjeuner sur l'herbe (1863) for the cover of the Bow Wow Wow album See Jungle! See Jungle! Go Join Your Gang Yeah, City All Over! Go Ape Crazy! (1981), will always just top it for some of us [5].

 

 

II. 

 

I first met Nick Egan back in the spring of 1983, at Malcolm's first floor office on Denmark Street, after he'd kindly offered to help find me a six-week work attachment of some description. He was very tall and thin with lots of blonde hair and wore a large punk-style jumper, a pair of striped pirate trousers, and a Buffalo coat from Nostalgia of Mud, so looked good.     

 

He gave me several names and numbers to try, including that of the press officer at Charisma Records, and told me not to worry as he was sure something could definitely be arranged (although unfortunately not at Moulin Rouge, as he and McLaren were both going to be in New York for a lot of the time in April and May). 

Thus it was I ended up at 90 Wardour Street; in the Charisma offices above the Marquee Club, working as Lee Ellen Newman's assistant (and general dog's body). Amongst my more amusing assignments was taking the Duck Rocker to the HMV, where it was to feature in a window display dressed by Nick to promote Malcolm's album [6].

 

Whether this was the original customised boom box - or one of several that were made - I'm not sure; but it looked fantastic and was surprisingly heavier to carry than one might imagine. Judging by the stares of astonishment it received - and the number of people who stopped me as I walked along Oxford Street requesting a photo - it wasn't only the Zulus in South Africa, the Hip-hoppers in New York, or the Hilltoppers in the Appalachian Mountains, who were enchanted by it.       

Unfortunately, I didn't think to have a photo taken with the Duck Rocker. However, here's a picture taken in the Charisma press office, standing in front of a smaller replica (which, I think, was eventually given away as a prize in a Smash Hits competition), accompanied by a photo of Malcolm in NYC with the mighty original [7].

Notes

 

[1] Malcolm McLaren's groundbreaking studio album Duck Rock, produced by Trevor Horn, was originally released on Charisma Records in 1983. Arguably, it has proved to be as influential - if not more so - than Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's the Sex Pistols (1977). 

      A 40th anniversary double vinyl edition was issued on the independent label State51 Conspiracy in 2023. This featured six additional tracks and was produced in collaboration with Young Kim of the Malcolm McLaren Estate: click here for details.

 

[2] Duck Rock (2023), by Nick Egan, is available to buy from the Wilma Gallery: click here for more details. For those who can't afford the asking price of the original canvas (£22,800), there are some very nice limited edition prints available, starting from just £150: click here. 

      Other works by Egan can also be viewed on (and purchased from) the Wilma Gallery website: click here.     

[3] Keith Haring (1958-1990), was an American Pop artist who emerged from the New York City graffiti subculture of the 1980s. At Nick Egan's invitation, he provided the illustration that formed the pink background image of the Duck Rock sleeve (for which he was paid $1000).

      Dondi White (1961-1998), was also an American street artist; he provided the Duck Rock lettering, again having been asked to do so by Nick Egan (unfortunately, I don't know how much he was paid).

 

[4] The album cover artwork for Duck Rock is now included in the permanent collection of New York's Museum of Modern Art: click here.

 

[5] Amusingly, Egan transformed Andy Earl's 1981 photograph, inspired by Manet's canvas, back into a painting entitled We're Only in it For the Manet (2023): click here for details. 

      By his own admission, Egan always felt a little awkward being credited for the original record sleeve, as it contained none of his graphics; yes, he directed the photo shoot, but the artist responsible for the actual image was Andy Earl. With this new canvas, however, he has made it very much his own.       

      For those who are interested, I explain why I love Manet's Le Déjeuner sur l'herbe in a post on TTA dated 27 April 2017: click here. 

[6] According to my diary, this was Monday 23 May, 1983. 

      Amusingly, Malcolm had agreed to dance with a buffalo gal in the store window on the following Saturday, but he pulled out at the very last minute, insisting he must have been drunk to have ever agreed to such; much to Lee Ellen's irritation, as she had already informed several journalists who went along to witness the event.  

 

[7] The photo was taken by Bob Gruen in April 1983. Many more wonderful photos of McLaren taken by Gruen can be found on the latter's website: click here.

 

 

Bonus 1: click here for a fascinating interview with Nick Egan conducted by Mike Goldstein in August 2013, in which he discusses his work with Malcolm on the cover of Duck Rock. As Egan makes clear, he was involved with McLaren as a conceptual partner rather than simply an art director; in other words, he worked on Duck Rock from its inception all the way through its recording and mixing, contributing ideas at every stage. 

      Egan is currently working on a book project which explores the cultural influence of Malcolm McLaren and features his artwork from the Duck Rock period. 

 

Bonus 2: To watch the feature documentary Creative Vandal (dir. Peter Pahor, 2024), chronicling the career of Nick Egan, click here. 

 

Bonus 3: The essential track on Duck Rock is, of course, 'Buffalo Gals', which was released as a single in November 1982 on Charisma Records. The video pretty much captures what was happening in NYC at the time (filtered through the imagination of Malcolm McLaren who directed it): click here.

      For those who might be interested, my post on 'Buffalo Gals' (dated 19 Feb 2019) can be accessed by clicking here.     

 

That Time I Met Neneh Cherry (An Extract from the Von Hell Diaries: 1 March 1985)

Cover of the Float Up CP album  

Kill Me in the Morning (1985) ft. Neneh Cherry

 

 

It was only when reading a review of Neneh Cherry's recently published memoir, A Thousand Threads (Fern Press, 2024), that I finally twigged that she had been the lead singer with a band that I'd been to see back in the spring of 1985 ...

 

Without wishing to get too bogged down in rock history, Float Up CP were essentially Rip Rig + Panic playing under a new name, but still peddling a kind of funky, jazz-infused post-punk sound, over which Miss Cherry added her own soulful-pop vocals; all a bit too experimental for my tastes, I'm afraid. 

 

Nevertheless, I was persuaded by Steve Weltman (Managing Director of Charisma Records) to do a spot of A&R work on his behalf and check out the above group. My diary entry for Friday 1 March, 1985, reads as follows:

 

 

Went to see Float Up CP. I wasn't paid any extra to do so, but as I had a car to take me to and from the gig - plus ten quid spending money for drinks - I can't complain, I suppose ...

      Dragged Andy [1] along, as he had called over with a (belated) birthday present - a copy of the Bhagavad Gita - and a bottle of wine. I suspect I'll enjoy drinking the latter more than reading the former, being as I am pagan-punk rather than Hindu-hippie in nature!

      The car arrived at 10pm. After initially taking us to the wrong venue, the driver eventually managed to get us to the gig on Holloway Road, just in time to see the band come on stage. They were, to be fair, actually quite good; especially the singer - a slightly plumpish, but very lively girl with a hitched up skirt and falling shoulder straps. Ultimately, however, despite her charms, they were not really my cup of tea.  

       After the show, spoke briefly with Nils [2], whom I like, as he's always friendly to me. Also managed to say a quick hello to the inimitable Jock Scott [3], who was up on the stage at some point during the gig. Then Andy and I walked all over North London trying to find a fucking phone box, so we could arrange our ride home. 

      Ended up in Kings X, where we walked into a Wimpy Bar 'to have a rubber bun' - as Poly would say [4]. Funny enough, we bumped into the singer from Float Up CP, so chatted with her until the car arrived. Turns out she was born in Sweden, but grew up from an early age in New York. Seemed like a really nice girl. And very sexy! Unfortunately, if she told me her name - which I'm guessing she probably did - I can't for the life of me recall it.     

       

 

Readers will not be surprised to discover that I did not go on to become either a great talent spotter or a great diarist; whatever unusual abilities I may or may not possess, it seems that hyperthymesia is not one of them [5]. 

 

As for Float Up CP ... well, they would go on to release a studio album nine months later - Kill Me in the Morning (Rough Trade Records, 1985); a track from which - 'Joy's Address' - released as a single the previous year - can be played by clicking here. 

 

And Miss Cherry would, of course, go on to become a huge solo star who remains very much respected and admired within popular culture (not only by fans and critics, but by her fellow artists). Her smash hit single 'Buffalo Stance', released in November 1988 from her debut album Raw Like Sushi (Virgin Records, 1989), which reached number 3 in the UK, but went all the way to number 1 in her native Sweden, can be played by clicking here.

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Andy Greenfield; longtime friend, who is now an internationally respected biologist, but who back then was a Ph.D student at St Mary's Hospital, Paddington.

 

[2] Nils Stevenson; former road manager of the Sex Pistols who had renewed his working relationship with Malcolm during the Duck Rock period. I'm still not quite sure if he was officially managing Float Up CP, or simply acting as a kind of mentor to the group.    

 

[3] Jock Scott; a punk performance poet and well-known man about town and face on many-a-scene. I wrote a post in memory of him published on 18 April 2016: click here.    

 

[4] Poly Styrene; singer-songwriter and front woman of X-Ray Spex. The line I'm quoting is from the song 'The Day the World Turned Day-Glo', which was released as a single in March 1978 (on EMI Records), reaching number 23 in the UK singles chart. 

 

[5] Hyperthymesia - also known as highly superior autobiographical memory - is an extremely rare condition that enables individuals to spontaneously recall a large number of life experiences in vivid detail. The term was coined by American neurobiologists Elizabeth Parker, Larry Cahill, and James McGaugh in 2006. I may spend an excessive amount of time thinking about my own past - one of the signs of hyperthymesia - but, unfortunately, I have the memory of a goldfish.