In Harlow, although I didn’t know it, The Hare pub was the place for bands to meet, along with the Playhouse Bar.
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Pressure Pub
Because it was fairly central to everyone I socialised with, we had started to frequent a pub on the far side of town called The Hare. A few friends from school used to hang out there and it quickly became the place for youngsers to come and chill out after a hard week of avoiding doing anything at college or school.
The Hare, Harlow – McMullen (mcmullens.co.uk)
Being a 17th Century inn, The Hare was the obvious place in Harlow to start a punk band.
James Doherty – Is that my Guinness?
Blakdale (pronounced Blakedales) – where Roy met Steve C in ’76. The rest is history, much like Blakdales.
Gary Hull, Roy, Me, Allan Walker & Clive enjoy a nutritious breakfast – Bradford ’79
Diane Butler and Jackie Jones – backcombing was a speciality
Lakes
Dave “Dartz” Bridge, Alistair “Gibbo” Gibson and I had spent a fortnight away in the Lake District, mainly because we enjoyed Geography and Geology and went to look at Palæozoic land masses, Arêtes and Basket of Eggs (Drumlin) scenery. Our geological ramblings suitably fulfilled, we returned to The Hare and were unceremoniously chucked out by the landlord for being underage.
Gibbo, Dartz & Me atop a breezy Skiddaw, Cumbria, ’781
It was the 24th of August 1978, the day before my 18th birthday, so I couldn’t really argue. I was one of the youngest in my peer group, so the others did argue but it was to no avail. Not only was I 24 hours underage for drinking in a pub, but I also only looked about 12.
Steve “Frisk” Christy, chucked out of The Hare, so went to the offy instead
Pressure Purchases
For my 18th birthday I had asked my dad to buy me an electric guitar. I had owned an electric guitar once before. An old right-handed copy of a Stratocaster which I’d traded with a friend of Steve Byrne’s, for a full-face Cromwell crash helmet I didn’t use anymore.
Monster Japanese 50cc Bike, soon to become a monster Japanese guitar & amplifier
I had spoken to a guy I worked with who played guitar in a band. He’d suggested something like an Ibanez/Peavey combo for the money I was looking to spend, and I’d been scanning the adverts in the music papers for months and had seen an Ibanez Les Paul Custom copy ‘left-handed’ for sale in a shop in Ealing and decided I had to have it.
Aladdin’s Cave
One Saturday (when I wasn’t in The Hare) I travelled up with my dad on the train and with the assistance of an AtoZ of London we found the shop tucked away in a side street. On entering, we discovered the wall behind the counter was covered from floor to ceiling with guitars of all makes, colours and sizes. It occurred to me I’d never been in a real guitar shop before and the plethora of equipment on sale, was breath-taking. It was like an Aladdin’s cave of bejewelled guitars: bright reds, metallic blues, deep blacks, sonic purples, sunlit yellows; everything.
London A to Z. Early offline Beta version of Google Maps
Ibanez & God
And then, there in the middle, shining out like a beacon from heaven was a pure white, left-handed Ibanez Les Paul custom guitar with gold hardware, black binding and a black scratch plate and volume/tone controls. As if it had been struck by a ray of sunlight, the guitar appeared to glow and shimmer, and I felt the sturdy touch of God’s hand upon my shoulder as he propelled me forward, and suddenly the shop was full of the majestic voices of angels singing “Hallelujah! Hallelujah!” over and over. I looked again. This time it stood out because it was both white and left-handed and I knew then it would be mine.
Ralph and the Streets
I didn’t care what the guitar sounded like: the action, neck, frets, machine heads, bridge, saddles, pickups, wiring, weight, feel, playability. None of that stuff mattered because I either didn’t know what it was, or that it was important.
How the Ibanez Les Paul “White Wanderer” may have looked in the guitar shop in Ealing
What I did know was months of searching had led me here and if I didn’t go away with this guitar, I’d be starting again from scratch. One of the assistants in the shop got it down, plugged it in, ran off a few riffs upside down and handed it over. “Take your time,” he said, “I’ll be over here if you have any questions.” How daunting, I thought. I had to play it now. In front of everyone!
When in a guitar shop, some go for Stairway To Heaven, others prefer Ralph McTell
I sat on the amp and my dad sat next to me. I honestly had no fucking idea what I was supposed to do. So, I did what any other self-respecting novice would do. I apprehensively strummed an open E chord. It jangled brightly and harmoniously in my ears. “Wow!” I said. “That sounds good.” I tried a few chords and played “The Streets of London” by Ralph McTell, not because I thought it would sound good on an overdriven Les Paul, but it was one of the songs I’d learnt at my guitar lessons and so I could play it quite well.
Johnny & Johnny
“Well, what do you think?” my dad asked. “Are you going to be Johnny Hendrix then or that Johnny Horrible bloke?” He often did this. And he also sung the wrong lyrics. Partly for the entertainment factor, partly to wind me up and partly I guessed, to distance himself from the younger generation, as if misremembering lyrics effectuated a dismissive attitude to something of little consequence or importance.
One of his favourite songs was “You Sexy Thing” by Hot Chocolate, but he would sing “I believe in milkmen,” instead of “miracles.” What was a miracle was he wasn’t put away.
“I believe in milkmen!”
Jam Trifle
The lyrics, “Hello Hooray, what a nice day for the Eton Rifles,” became “Hello, hooray, what a nice day, he’s a right one,” which then became, “…what a nice day, eat your trifle.”
The Eton Trifles
Who or What?
He didn’t save this for me alone though. I remember he asked my brother Robert questions about an album Rob had borrowed from a friend, which my dad referred to as “The What – Dead at Wrexham.” Robert would roll his eyes, sigh in a world-weary way that only a teenager can and reply, “It’s “The Who Live at Leeds!””
“That’s them!” he’d reply enthusiastically. “The Who…Live…..at Wrexham.”
The Who may have played as ‘The What’ when they toured North Wales
Pressure Peavey
I bought the guitar. I couldn’t afford a case for it, so they put it in a guitar box, and I took it home. Later I bought a Peavey Classic 50-watt combo amp from another shop in London. This time it was in Tooting and my dad came with me again. He drove this time as getting a 50-watt, two tonne amp home on the tube was going to be a bit of a tall order.
My mate Steve “Bernie” Byrne came with me and tried to talk me into buying some guitar strings, but I wouldn’t part with any more money than I had decided was necessary. It was a habit I think I’d picked up from my parents. If I hadn’t broken a string on my guitar I reasoned, why would I need spares?
Roy & Steve board the wrong bus to Rock ‘n’ Roll stardom
Find People Who Want The Same Thing
A few weeks later I was back at The Hare, meeting other “musicians” and suddenly I was discussing forming a band.
NEXT – PART 5 – SOUND OF THE SUBURBS
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