Memories of Summer '84: Charisma

Just another day in the press office at Charisma Records 

for Jazz and Lee Ellen (1984)

 

 

Entry from The Von Hell Diaries Tuesday 7 August 1984

By the time I got into Charisma this morning, Lee Ellen was already freaking out because Malcolm had cancelled three cover-interviews [1]. As she tried to re-arrange things, I was sent over to McLaren's office on Denmark Street with two cheques: the first for £5000 (a video fee) and the second for £20,000 (advance against the next album). 

 

I had also been given a letter, marked private and confidential, that I was instructed to hand personally to Malcolm. Unfortunately, there was no one in to receive either the letter or the cheques when I got to Moulin Rouge. However, on the way out I bumped into Malcolm and we both went up to his first floor office.

 

Clearly, the contents of the letter were not to his liking. And when Carrolle [2] arrived, he told her she couldn't have the half-day agreed, but would have to type up an immediate reply, which I was to then take back to Charisma. While they worked on the letter, I chatted with Andrea [3] who, by this time, had also arrived at the office. 

 

As well as the letter, Malcolm also gave me three tape cassettes and a small box containing 'valuable jewellery' that he wanted to have couriered to Nick Egan [4] in New York without the US customs knowing anything about it. I was told to wrap the things up carefully and if anyone asked at Charisma what the package contained I should tell them it was a rubber fish. 

 

For security, I was put in a cab by Carrolle - even though the walk from Denmark Street to Wardour Street is literally only a few minutes via Soho Square.              

 

Later, Lee Ellen called me and said I should meet her at 6 o'clock at the Soho Brasserie on Old Compton Street, where Malcolm was going to give an interview to someone from Time Out. Had a fun night chatting, eating sausages, and drinking Black Russians. The Melody Maker journalist Colin Irwin joined us - he's clearly in love with Lee Ellen, but then, to be fair, who isn't?

 

The terrible trio - Glen Colson, Jock Scott, and Keith Allen [5] - also briefly came over. Not sure I'm a fan of the latter; a bit too aggessive for my tastes, so glad when he and his pals headed off to the Wag Club. 

 

Found it ironic that, interview over, Talcy Macly of all people should tell me he's never seen anyone as pale as I am. He asked Lee Ellen what she'd being doing to me. 

 

He also advised that I needed to 'calm down' a little, saying that he'd never want to rob a bank with me as I made him a nervous wreck. 'Listen Jazz boy', he said, 'you've got to learn how to make people feel comfortable. Be a bit more cunning; don't show so much enthusiasm'. Having acted as my mentor-cum-career's advisor, he then launched into a long (but fascinating) monologue about Oscar Wilde. 

 

With regret, I left in time to catch the last tube back to Chiswick. Lee Ellen told me the next day that Malcolm kept her up until 2am with his stories and his complaints that pictures from a recent photo session had made him look like Michael Bentine. 

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Lee Ellen Newman was the Press Officer at Charisma Records, a label founded in 1969 by Tony Stratton Smith and home to a few old hippies, such as Genesis, but also the label to which Malcolm McLaren was signed.

[2] Carrolle Payne was McLaren's Personal Assistant at Moulin Rouge (25, Denmark Steet). 

  

[3] Andrea Linz was a talented fashion student and McLaren's girlfriend and muse at the time. 

 

[4] Nick Egan is a visual artist and graphic designer who collaborated with Mclaren on many projects in the early and mid-1980s. 

 

[5] Glen Colson was a music publicist associated with Charisma Records; Jock Scott was a popular performance poet (about whom I published a post on 18 April 2016 in his memory - click here); Keith Allen was associated at this time with a group of British comic actors known as the Comic Strip. 

 

 

Musical bonus: Malcolm McLaren, 'Madam Butterfly (un bel di vedremo)', single released from the album Fans (Charisma Records, 1984) on 20 August 1984: click here. Video directed by Terence Donovan.

 

 

For further memories of the summer of 1984, click here and/or here.    

 

Memories of Summer '84: Stringfellows

Bev Hillier photographed in the office at Just Seventeen 

(Soho, 1984)

 

Entry from The Von Hell Diaries Wednesday 11 July 1984 

 

As I had nothing better to do and nowhere else to go, I spent the afternoon hanging around Soho ... 

 

Crossed paths with Adam Ant and Marco Pirroni on Wardour Street. I was tempted to say hello, but didn't. After all, what can one say without immediately adopting the position of a fan? 

 

Called in to see Lee Ellen at Charisma [1]. She was going to a party at Stringfellows [2] to celebrate the launch of Music Box [3] and invited me along. 

 

Can't say I was particularly impressed by the venue or the crowd and, alarmed by the bar prices, felt every inch the society boy on social security ... [4] 

 

Dave Vanian and Rat Scabies from the Damned were there; as was Feargal Sharkey and Midge Ure. Couldn't decide if I was in pop star heaven or pop star hell and wasn't sure they'd know either. 

 

Was more impressed by the Amazonian-like cocktail waitresses; tall, leggy blondes wearing tutus and skimpy leotards. At some point, one of them squeezed the square-padded shoulders of my jacket and said: 'Are they real?' 

 

I suppose she was just trying to be funny, but it seemed a bit cheeky at the time and I couldn't help thinking that one might squeeze her breasts and ask the same. 

 

Before leaving, I made small talk with the photographer Neil Matthews and the video director Tim Pope. I like the former: not sure about the latter; friendly, but don't really know him. 

 

Also stopped to say hello to Bev Hillier, the features assistant at Just Seventeen, who I have always had something of a crush on. 

 

She looked sexy dressed in a stripy sailor outfit, but told me she hoped one day to meet a rich man who would take her away from everything, as she didn't want to still be on the party circuit and working all hours for a magazine when aged forty. 

 

Made me wonder on the way home if anyone is ever really happy with their job (with their life)?

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Lee Ellen Newman was the Press Officer at Charisma Records, a label founded in 1969 by Tony Stratton Smith and home to a few old hippies, such as Genesis, but also the label to which Malcolm McLaren was signed. 

 

[2] Music Box was a pioneering pan-European 24-hour cable and satellite television channel operated by Thorn EMI and Virgin Vision. It broadcast from 29 March 1984 to 30 January 1987, before the world decided that what it really wanted to watch was MTV. 

 

[3] Stringfellows was a London nightclub opened by Peter Stringfellow in 1980. A venue at which the rich and famous loved to party throughout the 1980s and early-1990s. 

 

[4] An amusing phrase taken from a song entitled 'The Suit' found on the album Metal Box (Virgin Records 1979), by Public Image Ltd. Click here.

 

 

For further memories of the summer of 1984, please click here and/or here.  

 

Memories of Killing Joke (1984 - 1987)

Killing Joke in their mid-80s splendour

(L-R: Geordie Walker / Paul Raven / Jaz Coleman / Paul Ferguson) 

 

A correspondent writes: 

I got the impression from a recent post [1] that you were something of a Killing Joke fan back in the mid-1980s and I was hoping you might expand on this - did you, for example, ever see them live in this period, when, in my view, they were at their very best? 

 

Well, as a matter of fact, I did see them live on at least three occasions; as attested to by the following entries in the Von Hell Diaries (1980-89) ...

   

 

Sunday 1 Jan 1984

Hammersmith Palais: felt a bit like a hippie event with people sitting on the floor. Having said that, there were some fantastic looking individuals amongst the assembled freaks and morons. The support band were the March Violets: who were shit. An inferior Sisters of Mercy (who are also shit, by the way). Is there something in the water in Leeds?

      There was also a young male stripper prior to Killing Joke making their entrance on to the stage. All the punks began to pogo as if on cue (to the latter, not the former). To be honest, the set got a bit dull half-way through; I suspect that all gigs are at their best in the first ten minutes with the initial release of energy. 

      Mostly, the group played old songs and I was a bit miffed that they didn't play any of my favourite tracks from Fire Dances (although they did do a rousing version of 'The Gathering' as an encore). Jaz Coleman [2] is a captivating performer. The rest of the band are essentially just solid musicians (albeit ones who look the part and know how to create a magnificent noise). 

 

 

Sunday 3 February 1985

 

Off with Andy [3] to see Killing Joke at the Hammersmith Palais once again ...

      Lots of punks out and about on the streets of West London - and lots of police to keep 'em in line. Felt like a mug having to queue up for tickets. Met Kirk [4] inside as arranged, though he fucked off to watch the show from the balcony with some video director friend of his. A couple of support bands: Heist and Pale Fountains; neither of whom were much cop. Killing Joke came on to all the usual fanfare - and Gary Glitter's 'Leader of the Gang'. 

      The set was made up of tracks from the new album - Night Time - and the first two albums (nothing from Revelations or Fire Dances). Became separated from Andy and made my way to the front. Got so hot that I seriously thought I was going to spontaneously combust (though probably sweating too much for that). Brilliant night: almost tempted to describe it as a (neo-pagan) religious experience - song, dance, and Dionysian frenzy. Even Andy enjoyed it (I think).   

 

 

Sunday 28 September 1986

 

Back to the Hammersmith Palais for what seems to be becoming an annual event in the company of Killing Joke. Not a bad show, but nowhere near as good as last year. It also felt like a much shorter set; one which opened with 'Twilight of the Mortal' and closed with 'Wardance'.  

      Most - if not all - of the songs were from the first, fifth and (yet to be released) sixth album. The new tracks sounded great - and Jazz looked amusingly grotesque as he blew kisses to his brothers and sisters - but the performance never really took off. And so, I went home feeling a little disappointed.      

 

 

Finally, it might also interest my correspondent (and other readers) to know that I once met Jaz Coleman, at Abbey Road Studios:

 

 

Friday 7 August 1987

 

Lee Ellen [5] rang this morning: she said if I got over to Virgin by 1 o'clock, then she'd take me with her to the studio where Killing Joke were recording and introduce me to Jaz Coleman (having reassured him that I wasn't some lunatic fan). 

      Jaz was much smaller in person than expected and had strangely feminine hands, with long, slim fingers. He also dressed in a disconcertingly conventional manner. Geordie, the good-looking guitarist, was there, but the rest of the band, apparently, had been fired.

      Jaz played tapes of the new material (just the music - no vocals); sounded good (quasi-symphonic). He said the new album would be called Outside the Gate - which is a great title [6] - and that it would bring the Killing Joke project to perfection. After completing it, he planned to emigrate to New Zealand. 

      Mr. Coleman also took great pride in showing me parts of a book he'd been working on for eight years and we talked, very briefly, about D. H. Lawrence's Apocalypse (which he liked) and Yeats's Vision (which he didn't like). 

      Before leaving, Jaz expressed his desire to converse at greater length one day and I very much look forward to that (should such a day ever in fact arrive) [7].   

 

Notes

 

[1] I'm guessing the post referred to was 'Musical Memories' (30 Aug 2023): click here - although I do mention Jaz Coleman and Killing Joke in several other posts on Torpedo the Ark. 

 

[2] Jaz Coleman; lead singer with post-punk British band Killing Joke.

 

[3] Andy Greenfield; friend and, at this time, a Ph.D student at St Mary's Hospital, Paddington.

 

[4] Kirk Field; friend and, at this time, lead singer and lyricist with the band Delicious Poison. 

 

[5] Lee Ellen Newman; friend and, at this time, Deputy Head of Press at Virgin.  

 

[6] In fact, I thought this was such a great title that I later borrowed it for my Ph.D - although the phrase outside the gate can be found in Nietzsche and D. H. Lawrence, and is also often used in occult circles.

 

[7] It hasn't so far. 

 

 

Although there were bootleg audio recordings made of all three gigs discussed above and these are now available on YouTube, they are of such poor quality that they don't give a fair representation of just how good a live band Killing Joke were (and to diehard fans still are). Readers are therefore invited to click here to watch a performance recorded live in Munich, at the Alalabamahalle, on 25 March 1985, for broadcast on German TV.     

 

Dinner with Malcolm at L'Escargot

Malcolm McLaren enjoying a glass of wine in 1984 [1].

 

 

I.

L'Escargot is London's oldest - arguably finest and most famous - French restaurant [2].

 

Housed in a mid-18th century Georgian townhouse and located in the heart of Soho, L'Escargot was established by snail-loving Georges Gaudin, a painted sculpture of whom still sits astride a giant snail outside the restaurant to this day (see image below).

Ella Alexander - no relation - provides an excellent description in a review piece for Harper's Bazaar:

 

"If L'Escargot were a person, it would be a wealthy French dandy never seen without his cane, cravat or cigar. London's oldest restaurant is a bastion of Soho decadence, where red velvet, chandeliers and jacquard curtains still reign. It's as far from modern luxe as you can imagine, which is all part of its charm." [3]

 

Regrettably, I've only had the pleasure of dining there once - almost 40 years ago - when L'Escargot was owned by husband and wife team Nick Lander and Jancis Robinson, and managed by Elena Salvoni, widely recognised as one of the greatest maître d's of the time and known fondly by regulars as the Queen of Soho [4]. 

 

But it was a memorable night for me - not so much because of the food (mushroom soup followed by pheasant), but because of the company; for it was one of the few times I accompanied Malcolm McLaren for dinner and got to enjoy his unique genius in a more relaxed setting than the office on Denmark Street ...

 

 

 II.

 

Note: the following account is based on an entry in the Von Hell Diaries dated Tues 27 Nov 1984. 

 

Myself and Lee Ellen - the Charisma Records Press Officer - were supposed to be going for a quick bite to eat and then to the theatre. But whilst dropping off some new photos that required his approval, Malcolm insisted that we go for dinner with him and a friend who designed rubber jewellery in the shape of fish (and who, according to Malcolm, was in the IRA).

 

After a brief discussion, it was decided we'd go to L'Escargot ...

 

Malcolm was in a very buoyant and - even by his standards - exceedingly talkative mood; he was pleased with a film made for The South Bank Show that was soon to air on TV [5] and he was looking forward to escaping the muddy hole of London and starting a number of new film projects - such as Fashion Beast - in the US. 

 

Nothing was happening any more in London and any up and coming young rascal who wanted to do something radical, should, he said, relocate either to New York, Leningrad, or Australia. 

 

Other topics of conversation (by which I mean McLaren monologue) included: the history of the English music hall; famous Victorian scandals involving the British Royal Family; the influence of Jack Zipes on contemporary readings of the fairy tale; why fascism is an ever-present danger and England in the 1980s resembles Weimar Germany in the late 1920s.  

 

Malcolm was disappointed that I had to leave early - though it was nearly 1am - and told me I was a drongo for living way out west in Chiswick and should move to Bloomsbury as soon as possible. 

 

However, he did confess that whilst an art student he dated a great big fat bird who lived in Turnham Green (he also told me that at around this time he'd shot up the Spanish Embassy with a machine gun in order to protest the Franco regime, but I have my doubts about the veracity of this latter tale) [6].  

As Malcolm and Tom walked off into the Soho night, Lee Ellen and I got a taxi to Sloane Square. Walked her home and then made my way back to Chiswick. Bed at around 3am, but couldn't sleep as I felt sick - the sign, so they say, of a good evening. 

www.lescargot.co.uk

 

Notes

 

[1] Unfortunately, in an age before smart phones, no photos were taken on the night at L'Escargot that I reminisce about here. However, this image of McLaren - screenshot from The South Bank Show (see note 5 below) - was taken only a few weeks earlier in New York and he wore the same suit on the night I dined with him in Soho.

 

[2] L'Escargot, 48, Greek Steet, Soho, London W1. The restaurant is currently closed for refurbishment, but is due to re-open on 10 May 2023.

 

[3] Ella Alexander, 'L'Escargot, London: How London's oldest French restaurant kept its allure 90 years on', Harper's Bazarre (29 June 2017): click here. 

      It's easy to understand from Alexander's description why L'Escargot would be such a popular hangout for actors, artists, and fashionistas. And whilst I'm sure McLaren liked the place, I think he found the history of nearby Kettner's - founded in 1867 - far more exciting, and used to love telling stories of how the Prince of Wales would dine there with his mistress Lillie Langtry, whilst Oscar Wilde entertained young boys in the rooms above. It was in Kettner's that he also once encouraged me to smash a window.

 

[4] Born in Clerkenwell, in 1920, to parents from Northern Italy, Elena Salvoni died in March 2016, aged 95. Having started work aged 14, at Café Bleu in Soho, she devoted her life to hospitality, ending her career at L'Etoile, also in Soho, where she continued to work even after her 90th birthday. 

      Readers who are interested can find a nice feature on Elena published in the Evening Standard (29 April 2010): click here.  

 

[5] See the recent post 'When Melvyn Met Malcolm (A Brief Reflection on The South Bank Show Episode 178)' - click here.

 

[6] Who knows, maybe it's true ... As Paul Gorman reminds us, McLaren attended several political rallies and demonstrations as an art student in the 1960s, protesting against the war in Vietnam, the apartheid regime in South Africa, etc. He was even arrested, aged 20, for burning the American flag outside the US Embassy on 4 July 1966. 

      See The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren, (Constable, 2020), pp. 71-72. 

 

 

From the Office of Malcolm McLaren

 

I. 

 

Whilst rummaging through a box of what I call treasures and others label junk, I came across some stolen stationery from Malcolm McLaren's first floor office at 25 Denmark Street ...

 

This included a few sheets of headed paper with the names of the two limited companies which McLaren traded under post-Glitterbest [1]; Tour D'Eiffel Productions and Moulin Rouge.     

 

The latter incorporates the figure of a can-can dancer into its logo, whilst the former includes a comic character who appears to have been taken from a saucy postcard. 

 

Both speak of McLaren's Francophilia, or, more precisely, his long fascination with the French capital; something I've discussed in an earlier post published on Torpedo the Ark [2]. And they also tell us something of his playful spirit and joie de vivre.  

 

 

II. 

 

According to biographer Paul Gorman, McLaren was working out of the office on Tin Pan Alley from the early spring of 1980 until moving full-time to LA in 1985 [3]. 

 

This was an incredibly creative period in which McLaren not only managed Bow Wow Wow, oversaw Worlds End and Nostalgia of Mud, but developed his own solo career as a recording artist - releasing Duck Rock in 1983 and Fans the following year.

 

I first went to the office on 30 March, 1983, having been invited to call up by Nick Egan [4] the day before (I was attempting to arrange a six-week work attachment as part of a degree course on critical theory, art and media):

 

 

Finally met Carrolle [5]: she looked great dressed in a McLaren-Westwood outfit with a big death or glory belt buckle holding things together; reddish-purple hair; multiple earrings. Very friendly; an East End girl. 

      Malcolm wasn't there, but the two black Americans hanging around were, apparently, the World's Famous Supreme Team [6] - so that was kind of amusing.

      Admired the large 'Zulus on a Time Bomb' [7] poster on the wall - next to a map of the world and some old movie posters, including one for the Elvis Presley film Love Me Tender [8].   

      Nick Egan arrived - he also looked great; very tall, slim, punky blonde hair, wearing striped trousers, a big jumper and a Buffalo-style sheepskin coat. He introduced me to a photographer, Neil Matthews, and gave me some names and numbers to call. This included Lee Ellen, the press officer at Charisma Records, who he was sure could find me something to do (unfortunately, he and Malcolm couldn't help directly, as they were going to be in New York).

      Even though Malcolm wasn't there in person - he had something wrong with his ear - it was clear everything revolved around him; Malcolm says ... Malcolm wants ... Malcolm needs, etc. That's understandable, as he's the star of the show, but it does reduce everyone else to the status of a satellite. 

      Left the office feeling happy. Went for a coffee on Old Compton Street. [9]   

 

Fourteen months later, however, and everything was rapidly coming to an end; the roof had fallen in at Charisma Records - literally and metaphorically, Tony Stratton-Smith having sold the company to Richard Branson - and McLaren had relocated to Hollywood, leaving me and Carrolle to close the office at 25 Denmark Street once last time ...

Carrolle starts her new job tomorrow. I went over to help her shut up shop so to speak; took us several hours to take down shelves and pack everything away - books, posters, papers ... etc.

      Although Carrolle was upset, she laughed when she heard from Malcolm on the phone, complaining about an old biddy who had been appointed as his secretary at Columbia Pictures and who was driving him up the wall. Whilst I'm sure Malcolm will have fun in LA, I suspect he'll miss London. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if he returned sooner rather than later. The latter might be a muddy hole, as he says, but he's very much a Londoner at heart [10].

      Carrolle let me have the large map of the world off the wall as a souvenir. I also grabbed a copy of the Bow Wow Wow single 'Louis Quatorze' that was lying around. Left the office feeling sad: in many ways it really is the end of an era. [11]    

Notes

 

[1] Glitterbest - the Sex Pistols era management, publishing and production company founded by McLaren and his lawyer, Stephen Fisher, as co-director - went into receivership in February 1979, after Johnny Rotten successfully took legal action against the company.

[2] See 'Notes on Malcolm McLaren's Paris' (21 May 2020): click here. 

 

[3] See Paul Gorman, The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren, (Constable, 2020), p. 451.

      Whilst Gorman mentions that McLaren was trading from 25 Denmark Street as Moulin Rouge Ltd, he says nothing of Tour D'Eiffel Productions Ltd. It would be interesting to know which company was registered first and how they differed (if they differed at all).    

 

[4] Nick Egan is a visual design artist and film director who collaborated with McLaren on many projects during the period we are discussing here. Probably he came up with the letterhead designs shown here.        

 

[5] Carrolle was Malcolm's PA and office manager at 25 Denmark Street. We had corrresponded prior to this first meeting.

 

[6] The World's Famous Supreme Team was an American hip hop duo consisting of Sedivine the Mastermind and Just Allah the Superstar. They found international fame when McLaren enlisted them for his 1982 single 'Buffalo Gals' and then featured samples from their radio show on Duck Rock (1983).

 

[7] 'Zulus on a Time Bomb' was the B-side of McLaren's second single 'Soweto', released in February 1983 from the album Duck Rock (Charisma Records, 1983), written by Trevor Horn and Malcolm McLaren.

 

[8] Love Me Tender was Elvis's first film; dir. Robert D. Webb (1956), starring Richard Egan and Debra Paget. It was named after the smash hit single of the same title (which Presley performs in the film, along with three other songs). 

 

[9] Entry from the Von Hell Diaries dated Wednesday 30 March 1983. 

   

[10] Indeed, even McLaren's vision of Paris was one shaped by London. As he says in the song 'Walking with Satie': "I first saw Paris in Soho when I was thirteen". This track can be found on the 1994 album entitled Paris. 

      McLaren would also explain to Louise Neri that he was fascinated by the ways in which England influenced French culture and history. See Paul Gorman, The Life and Times of Malcolm McLaren, p. 433. 

 

[11] Entry from the Von Hell Diaries dated Monday 13 May 1985.

 

 

Snapshots from 1983 (Featuring Johnny Rotten, Billy Bragg and Lorrie Millington)

Johnny Rotten and Billy Bragg (28 October 1983)

 

 

I. 

 

Despite the cynical brilliance of 'This Is Not a Love Song' [1], it's probably fair to say that I listened more to Killing Joke and the Dead Kennedys in 1983 than to Public Image Ltd., and that Jaz Coleman and Jello Biafra suddenly seemed more interesting characters than Johnny Rotten.

 

Nevertheless, when PiL played live on The Tube [2] in October 1983, I felt obliged to watch out of love and loyalty for all that Rotten had meant to me:

 

"PiL opened their short set with 'This Is Not a Love Song' and closed it with 'Flowers of Romance'. In between, they offered a kind of honky-tonk version of 'Anarchy in the UK'. 

      Rotten lived up to his name and probably deserved to be booed or bottled off stage. But very funny as he patted the front row punks on their spiky heads and even spat for the camera. Whilst he made little effort to actually perform, it was hard to tell if his apathy (and professed sickness) was real or just part of the act. Ultimately, this is more punk cabaret than punk rock and Rotten seems only too aware that the gig is up and his day is almost over. Nevertheless, he still looked good and I want that electric blue raincoat he was wearing!" [3] 

 

 

II. 

 

Nine days later, and I went to see my pal Billy Bragg playing at a tiny club in the centre of Leeds: 

 

"Arrived at Tiffany's. My name was supposed to be on the door, but wasn't, so had to talk my way in by insisting I was from a London record company; I think they call this blagging. 

      Once inside and having got a drink from the bar, I went to say hello to Billy pre-set. He seemed genuinely pleased to see me and insisted I give him my new address so that he could send me a copy of photo he had taken up in Newcastle when he and Rotten were guesting on The Tube [4]. He also filled me in on the latest Charisma gossip and news of Lee Ellen [5].

      Unfortunately, Billy's set didn't go smoothly - he managed to twice break strings on his guitar. Fortunately, the small crowd (and it was very small) were clearly fans and so supportive; they requested (and were given) autographs after the show. So much for punk doing away with the idea of stars! But then Billy isn't really a punk, more a Clash-influenced folk singer. Hard not to like him though - he's always been friendly to me (and he's a fellow Essex boy)." [6]    

           

 

III.

 

Twelve days after this, having missed the chance to see them at the Rainbow on Boxing Day in 1978, I thought I would take the opportunity to finally see Public Image Limited play live (at Leeds University) - though it would again require talking my way into the gig, as I didn't have a ticket and Lee Ellen insisted there was no guest list: 

"Decided to go to the Faversham [7] for a drink prior to the gig. To my delight, Lorrie [8] walked in soon after I arrived, looking fabulously sexy in black leather trousers, a big black jumper, and dark glasses. Amazing hair and make-up too. We sat down and she popped some pills given to her, she said, by her doctor. 

      It was decided that, rather than wait for the people she was supposed to be meeting, she'd come with me to the PiL gig. As we were leaving, who should walk in but Miss Hall [9]. She appeared not to see me, however. But then she's so far up herself these days, that's not surprising.

      Managed to get myself and L. into gig without any problem, despite not having tickets; I told the people on the door I was Malcolm McLaren and that Lorrie was Vivienne Westwood. If you're going to lie or bluff then it's always best to lie big and bluff with confidence. People might still know you're bullshitting them, but they'll admire your audacity (that's the theory anyway).

      The support band weren't bad; the singer was young and had style as well as energy. As for PiL, well, it was great to hear songs with which one is so familiar played live - 'Low Life', 'Memories', 'Poptones', 'Chant', and - of course - 'Public Image' (with which they opened). Rotten looked great too; young and still amazingly charismatic. He told those who spat that they were out of date. The band finished with 'Anarchy in the UK'. The crowd went wild, but I just stepped aside and felt a bit sad to be honest.

      'If you want more, you'll have to beg', said Rotten. And they did. So they got a two-song encore consisting of 'This is Not a Love Song' and 'Attack'. And that was that. If Rotten left the stage with gob in his hair, I couldn't help feeling that the audience left with collective (metaphorical) egg on face. As I said after his appearance on The Tube, Rotten is offering us punk cabaret now (or even punk pantomime) - particularly with his jokey cover version of 'Anarchy'. But then perhaps he always was ...

      Shared some chips with Lorrie afterwards and said our goodnights. She agreed to come over on Sunday. She's a strange girl, but I like her a lot. Duck! Duck! Duck!" [10]              

 

 

 

Notes

 

[1] The single 'This Is Not a Love Song was released by Public Image Limited in 1983: click here to listen and watch the official video on YouTube.

      The song became the band's biggest commercial hit, peaking at No. 5 in the UK Singles Chart. A live version can be found on the album Live in Tokyo (Virgin Records, 1983) and a re-recorded version on the band's fourth studio album This Is What You Want... This Is What You Get (Virgin Records, 1984).

 

[2] The Tube was a live music show broadcast from a studio in Newcastle, which ran for five years on Channel 4 (from November 1982 to April 1987). In that time it featured many bands and a host of presenters, including, most famously, Jools Holland and Paula Yates.

 

[3] Entry from the Von Hell Diaries (Friday 28 October, 1983). To watch PiL's three-song performance on The Tube, click here.

 

[4] Billy did, in fact, send me the photo and it's reproduced at the top of this post. I hadn't known he was also on The Tube the same night as Rotten - had only seen the latter's performance.     

 

[5] Charisma Records was an independent label based at 90, Wardour Street, above the Marquee Club. Charisma marketed Billy's first release, a seven track mini-album entitled Life's a Riot With Spy Versus Spy (Utility, 1983). Perhaps the best-known track - 'A New England' - can be played (in a newly remastered version) by clicking here. 

      Lee Ellen Newman was the Charisma Press Officer whom I adored then and still adore now.   

 

[6] Entry from the Von Hell Diaries (Sunday 6 November, 1983).

 

[7] The Faversham is a well known venue in Leeds (est. in 1947). In the 1980s it was a popular place for punks, goths and students to meet or hang out.  

 

[8] Lorrie Millington - artist-model-dancer-writer and a well-known face on the Leeds scene at the time. I have written about her in several earlier posts; see here, for example.   

 

[9] Gillian Hall - ex-girlfriend; see the recently published post which included an extract from the Von Hell Diaries dated 3 October 1982: click here.  

 

[10] Entry from the Von Hell Diaries (Friday 18 November, 1983). It might be noted that the last line refers to the fact that Duck was my pet name for Lorrie (because she danced like one). The photo of myself and Miss Millington was taken shortly after events discussed here.

 

 

Double Dutch

Malcolm on set whilst filming the video for 'Double Dutch' and me 
receiving a silver disc to mark sales in the UK of more than 250,000 copies

One of the (many) joys of Martin Scorsese's The Wolf of Wall Street (2013) is an extensive soundtrack that affords one the opportunity to hear Malcolm McLaren's still remarkably fresh sounding single 'Double Dutch', taken from his debut album, Duck Rock, and released in the summer of '83 when, all over the world, high school girls were taking to the ropes ...
 
I don't know why Scorsese (in collaboration with music supervisor Randall Poster and executive music producer Robbie Robertson) selected this song, but it presumably has some significance to him as it's one of only 16 - out of 60 used in the movie - to feature on The Wolf of Wall Street: Music from the Motion Picture (Virgin Records, 2014).    

For me, it's a track that has a very special resonance and brings back happy memories of a time when I was working at Charisma Records as an assistant in the press office, alongside the very lovely Lee Ellen Newman, and as a sort of intermediary between the label and McLaren's office on Tin Pan Alley, managed by the indomitable Carrolle Payne.

I recall, for example, meeting those dark and lovely skippers from New York who featured in the video for McLaren's single and who are name-checked in the lyrics to the song (Hey Ebo! Ebonettes); I remember also riding around Town in a limo with the Rock Steady Crew who had come to teach Londoners how to breakdance and elevate graffiti into an urban art form (but that - as they say - is another story ...). 

Although there were other songs on Duck Rock I liked more than 'Double Dutch', the latter - co-written and produced by Trevor Horn - was undoubtedly the catchiest and, in reaching the UK chart position of number 3, also McLaren's biggest hit (though - surprisingly - not so in the US).

Whilst primarily about the sport of competitive rope jumping, 'Double Dutch' is also an excellent example - arguably - of McLaren's willingness to cheerfully engage in cultural appropriation and the racial fetishisation of young black girls in order to further his own commercial and artistic ends ... 

Play: Malcolm McLaren, 'Double Dutch', the third single release from Duck Rock (Charisma Records, 1983): click here. Note: this is the 12" version of the song.

An Interview with Malcolm McLaren (August 1984)

After recently going through a box of treasures from the past, I came across the above photo of myself with Malcolm McLaren and a copy of a taped interview recorded in the offices of Charisma Records, above the Marquee Club at 90 Wardour Street, back in the summer of '84. 

Malcolm was signed to Charisma at this time and I acting as an assistant to his very lovely Press Officer, Lee Ellen Newman, whilst (unsuccessfully) chasing a job as a presenter on a new cable and satellite TV channel. McLaren's new album, Fans, which fused opera with contemporary urban sounds was due for release in the autumn. 

As a means of marking the fifth anniversary of his death which passed earlier this month (April 8), I thought it might be nice to post an edited transcript of this short conversation with my mentor from over thirty years ago:

J: It's been a while since we've heard from you on record, but I'm pleased to know you have a new single out at the end of the month called Madame Butterfly. Would you like to say something about this song and the ideas behind it?

M: [Laughs] Oh dear! So what d'you wanna know then?

J: Just tell me anything about the single; or tell me a bit about opera ...

M: It's marvellous, opera. Because opera is about the most irrational art form ever in the sense that it gets to your emotions better than anything else. It combines drama with music - and it's live. It's one of the most difficult things to actually record. But it wasn't that which intrigued me, so much as the actual drama created with the music in someone's voice and I chose certain stories that were obvious classics, like Madame Butterfly, because they seemed to lend a certain emotion to people now that you could construct as something very sincere and without any cynicism.

J: I'm sure Madame Butterfly is a moving story, but it all sounds a long way away from the Sex Pistols. Do you think that you've changed personally over the years - mellowed ...?

M: I don't think it's mellow. I think that what is great about opera and the story of Butterfly in particular is that it's so poignant; it's the absolute opposite to anything that's bland. Most emotions are packaged today in pop music and they don't have that kind of irrational element. That's what's so great about opera; you don't know why you're feeling what you're feeling, but it makes you cry and it makes your heart thump!
      That, combined with something black and tough and real rootsy - something I suppose that you could say is still happening in New York - is why the record is so great. It's the combination of those two forces; something tough and rootsy with something that's melodic and very majestic and full of emotion.
      When you listen in the discotheques today all you hear are lyrics that have very little meaning other than to get up and dance, or make love and have sex without any particular slant, or any real purpose. This record demonstrates that all that is, I suppose, very happy and schlocky. What's good about this record is that it doesn't have anything that schlocky in it.

J: In the past you've made some memorable videos, such as the ones for Buffalo Gals and Soweto, which are very fast and breathless. Is that how you think a good pop video should be and is that how the video for Madame Butterfly is going to be?

M: No, the video for Madame Butterfly is actually gonna be very cinematic and has no mimed playback whatsoever. I wanted to create a moment and an expression that would enhance the record and allow you to listen, rather than be bamboozled by a variety of images. I think the content is in the record and the content's in the vocals mainly. The vocals are what you want to listen to and you don't want to be completely disillusioned by seeing my face on screen and burst out laughing, so I've just opened it up to a lot of girls sitting about in a Turkish bath, waiting, and crying their eyes out.

J: Do you welcome the emergence of music TV which obviously relies on videos as much as records?

M: I don't know, I suppose it's a good thing in a way - but only if it actually has a different policy from Top of the Pops and some of the other more format programmes that exist on ordinary television. Cable is great only because perhaps it can be less censorial and allow a bit more experimentation. Also, it provides an opportunity to people who don't necessarily warrant being categorised as musicians or filmmakers. The great thing about video is that it's a technology that most people - who may be brilliant sellers of raspberries or great horse riders - can go off and use and I think cable TV may accept that more readily than the record industry or the national TV stations.
      I think what's happening today is that we're creating a very new way that people receive music and culture generally. The future really lies in technology being given to people that normally would not be able to make a record, play an instrument, or shoot a movie and that's the most exciting thing.

J: You mention the future: what else have you got lined up?

M: I'm just finishing off my commitments [laughs]. I made this record only because I was tired of making another straight ahead rock 'n' roll record. I don't think I've done too much of that, but I decided to venture into something that was, for me, badly needed; something more dramatic and emotional, more personal. The sort of record I've never made. I've either made very politically-orientated, sloganistic records - such as when I managed the Sex Pistols - or, thereafter, I started to get involved as a mercenary manager managing various pop groups and creating good antics and good visual ideas, but, at the end of the day, the delivery wasn't as profound as it should have been.
      When I finally made a record on my own, Duck Rock, that was really very much to do with ethnic music and the discovery of dance and looking at the world with the eye of rhythm. This time, I haven't thought about rhythm at all and have gone for what I would just declare emotion - it's purely emotional music.    

J: Finally Malcolm, why do you think I would make a perfect presenter on the Music Box?

M: [Laughs] Maybe because you're more daft than I think you are [laughs].