"view From A Hill" - Fragment Din Cartea Lui Mark Burgees

[Guest Batz]

Acest fragment din cartea autobiografica a lui Mark Burgees (The Chameleons) este extrem de interesant :

 

"The vacuum created by the closure of the ‘Electric Circus in Manchester was eventually filled however in the wake of what was to be another musical phenomenon. The band was Joy Division and the place was The Russell Club, formerly a reggae haunt in the heart of Hulme, which served the West Indian community of Moss Side; now taken over each weekend by the post Punk modernist movement and re-christened, The Factory.

I first came across Joy Division at the Electric Circus when they'd been formerly known as Warsaw playing the occasional support slot and they were a late addition to the bill during the final celebrations as the club prepared to close down for good. The last two nights of the Electric Circus were brilliantly unforgettable, but at the same time an extremely sad affair, taking place over two consecutive nights and also featuring The Fall; Manchester's very own punk poet, John Cooper Clarke; and 'Buzzcocks' along with a whole host of other bands that had frequented the place over the previous two years and a few local luminaries, all of whom had influenced Manchester's Punk scene to varying degrees.

The Fall were quite simply brilliant from the off. Mark E. Smith is one of the most enigmatic, charismatic and genuine performers Manchester has ever produced. Their performances were always darkly sinister and intense and they quickly became big favourites of mine.

John Cooper Clarke was a hilarious talent and very striking with his anorexic frame, black suits, white shirt, black tie, mad beehive black hair and a pair of black Rayban sunglasses that seemed to be permanently glued to his nose. He recited poems with titles like, 'You Never See A Nipple In The Daily Express', or, 'I Married A Monster From Outer Space', in an exhausting rant like style that suited his thick, Salford accent. The first time I ever saw him at the Electric Circus he recited his ode to Heinz Baked Beans as two transvestites danced around him, continuously pelting him with cold baked beans as they performed a striptease and all the while John was barely able to continue through fits of laughter.

Buzzcocks, who that night still featured an original line-up that included a giant of a bass-player named Garth, would eventually go on to enjoy a string of hit singles but they really had to be experienced live to be fully appreciated. While their records were undoubtedly good they were never really able to capture the raw energy of their live performances at the Electric Circus and the bootleg recording that began circulating not long after the Circus closed its doors and titled 'The Best In Good Food' remains the best Buzzcocks album they never released. The first time I ever saw them I'd turned up at the Circus to see The Stranglers but had mixed up the dates and I was a week early. On being told the featured band that evening were a local band called Buzzcocks and being aware of them via their excellent 'Spiral Scratch' EP, I paid my 50p anyway and went inside. When the band came on I recognised Pete Shelley immediately as one of the regulars at the Ranch, where the Manchester scene had begun and the band simply blew me away. Eventually Buzzcocks would fire Garth and replace him with a bass player more in keeping with the image of the times, which was a great shame because he was a tremendously exceptional bass-player and a massive presence.

I suppose I must have been fairly impressed with Warsaw because I remember them clearly. This being the second or third time I'd seen them they struck me as being a rather static, unhappy looking bunch of characters and they sounded terrible, but they had a charged presence, there was no denying that. The gaunt, lead singer was uncommunicative and looked very uncomfortable up there and so for me the guitarist became the main focal point. Dressed as a German 'SS' officer, he'd shout out things like, "What about Rudolf Hess?" While the bass-player, the most visually motivated member of the band, looked like a refugee from the Polish ghetto, complete with cloth cap and beard. After their set at the close of the Circus I didn't see Warsaw again until they eventually appeared on the closing slot of a regional news and arts TV programme. By this time they'd changed their name to Joy Division and the Nazi references came thick and fast in their wake. Tony Wilson, who as I say, had been a staunch champion of Punk and the 'New Wave' while working as a presenter for Granada Television, now began promoting the band vigourously. The Punk hype of the late seventies had obviously taught Wilson a great deal about spinning a concept and along with his partners he began to forge a new myth in his own, inimitable fashion. Together with local gangsters, business managers, graphic designers and gig promoters he created Factory Records and together they set out on a path that was to redefine Manchester and indeed the rest of Europe in terms of style and culture. Consequently, as the Joy Division myth grew, Manchester became one of the hippest cities in the world.

To be honest I found the sudden transition of ambience from the highly charged atmosphere of Punk in its heyday, to one of alienated, introspective depression too sharp a contrast at first, which is ironic considering the body of work I was later to produce as a member of The Chameleons. It may have been that at the time I wasn't really open to the shifting spirit of the times, although I think it was more a case of my unwillingness to celebrate or wallow in my own feelings of alienation. My brief flirtation with drugs had come to a temporary halt. I wasn't taking as much amphetamine as I had the previous year; I didn't smoke dope, hadn't the slightest interest in heroine and had dropped acid only once, so I suppose I may have been out of step with the mood of the moment. Having said that, I quickly came to think that Joy Division's 'She's Lost Control' and 'Atmosphere' are amongst the greatest recordings of their day.

Over time, Joy Division's ideas became more refined and the fresh, intensity of the band's live performances was truly something to behold, although their live sound was often inconsistent and on one occasion was so bad I'd been forced to abandon my place down the front and seek refuge in the bar, despite the dramatic performance. Joy Division grew stronger with every gig they played however and in terms of sophistication; they were easily head and shoulders above anything else that was happening in the British alternative music scene at that time. This didn't stop me from referring to them as "Joy Depression" though.

My most memorable experience watching Joy Division was when I attended one of the last shows they ever did in the spring of 1980. By this time I'd become reacquainted with the other founding members of The Chameleons. Reg and Dave after we began seeing each other at some of the Punk gigs at Middleton Civic Hall and we'd stop and chat for a while but that was really as far as it went. A year or so later I'd started attending Rochdale Technical College, preparing to re-sit 'O' Level exams that I'd skipped during my final year at Moorclose and discovered that the both of them were enrolled as students in the Art Department and so occasionally I'd see them there; but it wasn't really until I'd formed a band of my own, The Clichés; and learned that they too had a band called Years, that we began spending more and more time with each other. We'd met up one night at a gig by The Fall that had been staged at the college and as we all made our way back to Middleton together they'd told us they were struggling to find somewhere to rehearse. We had a regular rehearsal room but very little equipment and so it was suggested that we pool our resources and our relationship gradually built from that, eventually evolving to the point where we'd jointly stage gigs here and there.

Joy Division were scheduled to play a gig at the Derby Hall, situated in another Manchester suburb called Bury. The venue ran under the auspices of Bury Metro Arts and its co-ordinator Adrian, who featured a season of mainly local talent every Monday night over a period of about six weeks. Dave and I in particular had been keen to support local live venues, especially this one, having already played the Derby Hall with Years and The Clichés respectively. So every Monday night we'd dutifully catch the bus to Bury but more often than not the gig would consist of a group of hopeless throwbacks, resembling characters from 'Asterix The Gaul'; presenting faithful reproductions of Pink Floyd cover versions. The finale to the season however marked a major improvement in that Factory Records had taken over the venue for the evening and alongside Sector 25 and A Certain Ratio, the headline act was Joy Division.

This time in the company of Reg and Mark Hoyle, who was then the singer with another local band Vibrant Thigh, Dave and I turned up as usual to something, which for the Derby Hall was considerably unusual, queues at the front door and sold-out signs. We were kicking ourselves for not anticipating this and in desperation we turned to Adrian, who we'd now got to know quite well and we reminded him of all the dross we'd paid to see over the previous six weeks, making the long journey in all weathers and told him we weren't trying to get in for nothing, we just wanted to get in. Finally he relented and said that if we agreed to help clear away a few beer glasses after the show we could come in, which seemed fair enough.

Once inside I noticed that the audience had evolved since the last time I'd seen the band and they were now a rather curious crowd, dressed in 'Fred Perry' sports shirts, 'Slazenger' sweaters and all sporting side parting haircuts and we were treated to an early glimpse of where Manchester, as a fashion culture, was heading. After being rather unimpressed with both opening acts it was time for Joy Division to take the stage and we jostled our way down to the front to get a better view. The band walked out onto the stage and I was immediately struck by something odd. The lead singer, who by now had thrown himself into the opening song, was not Ian Curtis, in fact, it appeared to be the lead singer of another Factory band, Crispy Ambulance.

I said nothing for a while, trying to make sense of this situation but the longer the set went on the more confused I became. Glancing around the room, it seemed that either most of the audience hadn't noticed or they just didn't care. But how could that be? I remember thinking to myself. It was obvious from the way they were dancing around that the 'Fred Perry' brigade now represented the band's regular following. How could they not notice that it wasn't Ian Curtis up there? At the end of each song, the whooping and cheering of the crowd erupted, as if this was all perfectly normal. After some time I turned to the guy standing next to me and said, "That's not Ian Curtis up there!" He gave me a puzzled look. "What are you talking about? Course it is!" I patiently repeated the statement and he looked again at the singer, who was now in the midst of an Ian Curtis dance routine, whereupon the guy told me I was full of shit. We argued for a minute or so until finally he grew irritated, saying that he'd seen Joy Division dozens of times over the previous two years and did I not think he wouldn't know Ian Curtis when he saw him. I replied that I too had seen Joy Division numerous times and obviously he didn’t recognise Ian Curtis when he saw him because that wasn't Curtis up there. Just then, the singer glanced stage right and at the end of the song, having now been on stage for around thirty minutes, he walked off the stage to be immediately replaced by Ian Curtis. I looked around at the audience, laughing at their totally bewildered faces. The guitarist walked over to the keyboards and Joy Division performed two or three songs, which I later found on the new album 'Closer'. Throughout that performance I just stood there, totally stunned. It felt and sounded absolutely fantastic. Once the songs were finished the band walked off the stage and that was it. The gig was over and suddenly the room erupted into violence.

Not expecting the evening to end quite like this, the Derby Hall management had been happily allowing the audience to carry glasses of beer into the venue all night and I don't think they got any of the glasses back because they now began to rain down onto the stage along with a torrent of abuse, as the stage crew valiantly tried to dismantle the bands equipment. Some of the more unruly members of the audience actually tried to climb onto the stage and attack the crew, only to be hit with microphone stands or whatever else came to hand. A stack of folded chairs, which had been lying unused around the venue, were seized and these too were thrown in the direction of the stage and were now lying broken and splintered on the floor amongst the piles of smashed glass and the bloodstains and I remember thinking to myself, shit! We promised to help clear up at the end of the night, we'll be here until fuckin' dawn. Eventually what few security staff members there were managed to clear the hall and eventually Adrian showed up, his face as white as a sheet. He explained that the management hadn't been able to get Curtis onto the stage and what we'd seen had represented something of a compromise.

As I was finally getting ready to leave the venue I walked into the front lobby and saw another familiar face, a guy named Paul, who worked as a staff writer for the local paper, The Bury Times; it had been Paul who'd reviewed Years and The Clichés at the Derby Hall and in the weeks since we'd all got to know him quite well. Sat with him at the table was Ian Curtis and so I walked over and said hello and shaking Paul's hand, I pulled over a vacant chair and joined them for a few moments. Ian Curtis didn't look at all well. His face was very pale and he looked extremely unhappy. "What the fuck was that all about?" I asked him. Curtis was distant and said that he just hadn't felt up to performing and that, in fact, he'd been ill for some time. I told the both of them about the arrangement we'd made with the promoter in order to get through the door, adding that all the clearing up I'd just had to do had been worth the short time he'd been on stage, because what I'd just seen and heard from them had been truly awesome. At that, the man actually cracked a smile and thanked me. I asked him what their plans were and he told me that they had a new album that was about to come out and a planned tour of the U.S. "America eh?" I joked. Curtis just looked very sad and didn't reply.

Some time later Reg and I were at my place listening to John Peel when he featured a track that at first had us scratching our heads trying to figure out who it was. In fact at first we actually thought it was some lost demo by The Doors. After the track had played out Peel told us it was from the new Joy Division album and that he was playing it in memory of Ian Curtis, who it was being reported, had very recently committed suicide."

 

‘View From A Hill’ Mark Burgess ©

[Guest Morgan]

nu puteai sa pui chestia asta inainte sa plece junky?

[Susceptor]

@Morgan: conteaza cand a postat-o? era asa de important sa vada majestatea sa, groapa de gunoi acest lucru inainte sa plece? oricum daca vrea poa' sa intre sa citeasca, cand o sa aiba net.

 

@Batz: respectele si felicitarile mele; subiectul JD + IC a fost unul destul de neclar si ma bucur ca am inteles mai multe acum