Mike Peters of the Alarm in Seattle. (All Andy photos)
By Andy
Mike Peters grinned, raised one hand and informed the crowd that he was about to tell his Sex Pistols story.
The Welshman and leader of the Alarm had probably held court with others a zillion times and excitedly recounted his experience in Chester, UK in 1976, but he was going at it again with a first-time zeal that dragged you right back there with him.
After seeing the Pistols literally destroy the place with their tunes and bravado, Peters — then about 17 years old — shyly approached Johnny Rotten and inquired about anarchy. Peters said that Rotten whirled toward him and barked, “Fuck off!”
Laughter ensued during Tuesday’s night early set at the Triple Door in Seattle.
Peters then launched into a stirring mini version of “Anarchy in the UK” on acoustic guitar, afterward mentioning that not long after his Pistols run-in, he and his mates formed their first punk band, The Toilets.
And then came the Alarm’s epic anthem, “Spirit of ’76,” which was just part of the band’s rousing 1-hour, 45-minute set that featured all the hits off their ‘80s albums, plus the poignant lead track off their debut single, "Unsafe Building," and the later Alarm ripper, "45 RPM."
Peters is the only original member on tap these days — alongside guitarist/bassist and punk mainstay James Stevenson and drummer Paul Davis (Peters’ wife Jules handled keyboards on a few songs) — and the tunes remain as mammoth and meaningful as ever.
PS: I hadn't seen Peters play Alarm songs with a band since 1989, so it was good to watch him belt out these classics again. I witnessed the original foursome in action many times from '86-'89, including the epic "Spirit of '86" UCLA show. Cheers.
They didn't play "Superchannel" or "Two Rivers." (From Jules Jones Peters' Facebook page)
Call in sick and cancel all of your appointments! Lost World Press has just released "Punk Like Me! Liner Notes for a Revolution that Never Happened," and once you start reading it, you will not want any interruptions. Terry James Graham's autobiography is unlike any punk rock memoir you have ever seen. Instead of the usual friendly, conversational style peppered with acerbic wit, Graham's expressive style and unusual phrasing result in a work of creative nonfiction that is thoroughly captivating. Although he can be wordy, none of the words are extraneous. The rhythmic ramblings are often reminiscent of the poetry of Steven Jesse Bernstein. I can easily imagine a band playing jazz-punk fusion in the background as Graham lets the words flow.
“Adjacent” doesn’t have set boundaries, kind of depends on whom you ask. But I know it’s hiding somewhere under the mushroom cloud of baby-boomer fascism that huffs and puffs across L.A.’s endless patchwork of privy and privilege — under the overpasses, in that bleak industrial park and scattered among the stucco boxes that most people call home here in the entertainment capital of the world. It occurs to me as I tool around the streets and boulevards that L.A. is on its back, tongue hanging out, eyes rolled back into its coke-sniffing, Quaalude-popping head.
As he progresses through the atomic age, the British invasion, and the burgeoning Hollywood punk scene, finally chronicling the last wheezes of a moribund Gun Club, Graham adopts the lexicon and cadence of the time, his narrative firmly entrenched in zeitgeist. The second chapter, "The Wayback Machine," in which he recounts the early years of his mother, is downright Pulitzer Prize-worthy as the words come together like a painting. If not heat, dust. If not dust, thunderstorms; many days a ruinous brew of the three. West Texas in the ’30s had all the makings of a damn good country song, but not much else.
Not only is Graham's writing poetic, it is transportive. When he describes moments of musical awakening, you don't feel like you are sitting at the bar listening to a wizened punk rock crony telling stories of his glory days. When Iggy Pop takes the stage "glaring, pouting and posturing like a rock-and-roll snake come to life" you are there.
The punk/thrash metal gate screeched open with a vengeance, and in clamored Brain Cell Genocide (BCG) with machine gun-fire riffage that got the heads riveting and sweat spewing all over Lucky Liquor last Saturday in Seattle.
Our pal Ron E Banner's 50th birthday bell tolled a few days early and the axeman cameth with his new rock gang signing on with their debut gig.
Also offering their ear-gouging wares on the evening were Me Infecto, Trash Cult and Balsa.
Here's Cat Rose's photos to document the vociferous gig:
Birthday boy Ron Reyes rocks with Piggy. (All Cat Rose photos)
By Andy
My mind was dead set on singing the chorus, but my feet weren’t warned of the impending dance floor of doom.
When Piggy tore into “Slap Me Silly” on Saturday eve at Pub 340 in Vancouver, BC, I was off on my mission. I blasted through the crowd and approached singer Izzy Gibson to share some mic time, but then my shoes slipped on the beer-soaked floor, I tumbled and my right elbow met with the concrete. Yes, I took a fucking digger for the There’s Something Hard in There team.
“Slap Me Silly,” for sure.
Someone from the crowd grabbed one of my arms and Gibson handled the other one and I was up and at ‘em. You bounce right back and sing that chorus like you own the damn thing.
The body was a little sore the next day, but nothing a lifetime of punk rock gigs can’t handle, right?
So, yeah, Piggy ripped it up at a reunion gig to celebrate guitarist Ron Reyes’ birthday, and there was no way that Cat and I would pass up a road trip from Seattle to join in on the shenanigans alongside bassist Lissafur Lloyd and drummer Craig McKimm.
The tuneage from the Pigsters is always killer, and way better than the "Ave, Maria" dross they were playing on the juke up the street at the country dive bar/toothless convention/alternate dimension. Really, somehow religion made its way into the beer drinking -- hands were held and even a sign of the cross was made. At least a rockin' tune or two interrupted the service, and crazy dancing and even some motorized wheelchairing ensued on their dance floor. Amen?
Gibson planted herself on the drum seat for opener The Hater Game and they stuck it to us with a soulful, gritty set that featured potent slivers of funkjazzrocketc that got the crowd going in the band's debut gig. Just perfect to kick off the wild evening.
Reyes later took the mic and ripped through a batch of Rolling Stones covers with Richard Duguay and his Hellhounds. Rebel Priest brought things home in the final slot -- sorry we couldn't stick around, but our beds at a nearby hotel were calling us.
Poly Styrene, left, and daughter, Celeste Bell. (Courtesy of Celeste Bell)
By Andy
Once I heard Poly Styrene's distinct voice, I was hooked. There was no turning back -- I had to devour everything I could find from her bracing yet melodic band, X-Ray Spex.
Styrene's vocals and strong-minded lyrics resemble a razorblade cutting through your favorite sweet treat, and her UK punk outfit has made an impact on listeners from 1977 to now. Their saxophone-laced tunes are must-haves -- yes, required listening for all.
Styrene's voice now lives with us in spirit: She passed away from an advanced form of breast cancer on April 25, 2011 at the age of 53.
In the movie "DOA: A Right of Passage," along with her pipes, it was her curly hair that often flopped in her eyes, mouthful of braces and beaming smile that stands out.
Born Marianne Joan Elliott-Said to a Scottish-Irish mother and Somali father, the trained opera singer led the charge on the "punk wear" front by sporting day-glo, military and, even somewhat stylish, plastic-bag clothes. In the TV documentary "The Punk Years," Styrene noted that she created her clothing to somewhat match her braces.
Lyrics-wise, Styrene said in "The Punk Years" that she hammered on the commerciality, brightness, garishness and plasticness of the city.
Following is a Q and A with Styrene's daughter, Celeste Bell, about her mom and the upcoming documentary, "Poly Styrene: I Am a Cliche," in which she is narrator and executive producer.
** What does it mean to you to have your mother's documentary made? Were you involved from the get-go and how long has it been in the works?
It means the world to me. To be able to contribute to making sure my mother's legacy and work reaches a wider audience and hopefully her art gets the recognition it deserves. I have been involved from the start as I was introduced to the director, Paul Sng, through Zoe Howe, the writer of the Poly Styrene upcoming biography I am collaborating on. Together we agreed to make the documentary alongside (as well as complementing) the book.
** What’s it like going through X-Ray Spex footage and watching your mother perform so passionately?
It's amazing. I love the character my mother created onstage; Poly Styrene was undoubtedly super super cool and that's my mum! So it's great.
** What do you hope viewers will glean from the documentary?
I hope they will get to see how my mother was a truly unique individual and visionary artist who was ahead of her time in so many ways.
** You raised £72,912 GBP — 103 percent funded — on Indiegogo for the movie as of May 28. What are your thoughts on the massive support of this project? Do you have a release date planned?
I feel so blessed and appreciative of the amazing level of support we have had so far. It goes to show how many people were touched and inspired by my mother and her work. We hope to release in the winter of 2017.
** What bands played the fundraiser concert on July 1? What did the night bring?
We had the amazing Bruno Wizard and the Homosexuals, Screaming Toenail, Shabsi Mann, Micky O'Brien, Art Trip and the Static Soundand Steph from Big Joanie - it was a female heavy line up featuring many punks of colour and all the performers were amazing and the night was a big success.
** How did your mother influence your life and musical career?
My mother has been a huge influence on me. She supported my song writing and performing from the beginning; giving me lots of valuable advice as well as warnings of the pitfalls of the entertainment industry; especially the risks there are for young women in which is still very much a predatory and sexist industry.
** Your mother delved into all sorts of music, not just punk, what are your favorite tracks she recorded? (I love the synth pop "Trick of the Witch," and her jazzy solo tunes.)
My favourite tracks are "Plastic Bag" (for the genius lyrics and fantastic arrangements) and "Warrior in Woolworths." I also love "Sophia" and all of "Translucence" - a great early example of a chill out album.
** What are the best words of advice your mother gave you?
Don't write love songs if you want to be taken seriously as a female song writer (advice I often ignored but sound nevertheless).
** U2 is celebrating your mother with a large photo of her and other inspirational women during their recent tour. How has this affected you? What are the most meaningful messages that others have told you about your mother?
I am very proud of any recognition my mother's work gets by other artists. There have been so many positive messages and it's the messages I get from young people (not famous) who have been inspired by mother that moves me the most.
"Plastic Bag"
My mind is like a plastic bag.... It's 1977 and we are going mad It's 1977 and we've seen too many ads It's 1977 and we're gonna show them all apathy's a drag My mind is like a plastic bag That corresponds to all those ads It sucks up all the rubbish That is fed in through by ear I eat kleenex for breakfast And I use soft hygienic Weetabix To dry my tears 1977 and we are going mad It's 1977 and we've seen too many ads 1977 and we're gonna show them all apathy's a drag My mind is like a switchboard With crossed and tangled lines Contented with confusion That is plugged into my head I don't know what's going on It's the operators job, not mine I said It's 1977 and we are going mad It's 1977 and we've seen to many ads It's 1977 and we're gonna show them all apathy's a drag My dreams I daren't remember Or tell you what I've seen I dreamt that I was hitler The ruler of the sea The ruler of the universe The ruler of the supermarkets And even fatalistic me It's 1977 and we are going mad It's 1977 and we've seen too many ads It's 1977 and we're gonna show them all apathy's a drag! A clip of Styrene, Bell and Zillah Minx of Rubella Ballet in 2008:
