Melody Maker, July 19, 1980

Bibliography   72 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 00 01 02 03 04 05 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 UK & Ireland weeklies UK & Ireland magazines UK & Ireland newspapers US newspapers US rock magazines US music magazines US magazines US alternative weeklies European magazines European newspapers Canada  •  Mexico  •  Asia Australia  •  New Zealand South America  •  Africa Blogs  •  Fanzines  •  Books Online publications Melody Maker   1974 April 20 1975 November 1 1976 August 14 1977 March 26 1977 June 4 1977 June 25 1977 July 23 1977 August 6 1977 August 13 1977 August 20 1977 September 3 1977 September 17 1977 October 1 1977 October 8 1977 October 15 1977 October 22 1977 November 5 1977 November 12 1977 December 17 1977 December 24 1977 December 31 1978 February 18 1978 February 25 1978 March 4 1978 March 11 1978 March 25 1978 April 15 1978 April 22 1978 April 29 1978 May 6 1978 May 13 1978 May 20 1978 September 30 1978 October 21 1978 October 28 1978 November 11 1978 November 25 1978 December 9 1978 December 23 1978 December 30 1979 January 6 1979 January 13 1979 January 20 1979 February 3 1979 February 10 1979 April 14 1979 May 12 1979 June 2 1979 September 29 1980 January 5 1980 January 19 1980 January 26 1980 February 2 1980 February 23 1980 March 8 1980 March 29 1980 April 5 1980 July 19 1980 August 23 1980 September 6 1980 October 4 1980 October 11 1980 November 22 1980 December 6 1981 January 3 1981 January 17 1981 January 24 1981 February 7 1981 February 14 1981 February 28 1981 March 7 1981 April 4 1981 May 30 1981 July 11 1981 September 5 1981 October 17 1981 October 24 1981 October 31 1981 December 19 1982 January 2 1982 January 9 1982 January 16 1982 March 13 1982 May 15 1982 May 29 1982 June 12 1982 June 26 1982 July 3 1982 July 31 1982 September 18 1983 January 8 1983 May 28 1983 June 4 1983 June 11 1983 July 2 1983 July 9 1983 July 30 1983 August 20 1983 September 10 1983 October 15 1983 October 29 1984 January 7 1984 April 14 1984 April 21 1984 April 28 1984 June 2 1984 June 9 1984 July 28 1984 August 11 1984 August 18 1984 September 1 1984 October 13 1984 October 20 1984 November 17 1984 December 15 1985 March 16 1985 April 13 1985 May 4 1985 June 1 1985 June 8 1985 July 13 1985 July 20 1985 July 27 1986 February 22 1986 March 1 1986 March 22 1986 May 24 1986 July 5 1986 July 12 1986 September 13 1986 November 15 1986 November 22 1986 December 6 1986 December 20 1987 January 31 1987 February 7 1987 May 2 1987 June 27 1987 November 28 1987 December 19 1988 February 20 1988 February 27 1988 May 14 1989 January 28 1989 February 4 1989 February 11 1989 February 18 1989 February 25 1989 May 6 1989 May 13 1989 May 20 1989 June 24 1989 July 15  1989 October 21 1991 April 13 1991 April 27 1991 May 18 1991 June 22 1991 July 13 1991 October 12 1991 October 26 1992 April 18 1992 May 30 1993 January 23 1993 February 6 1993 March 6 1993 August 21 1993 October 9 1994 February 5 1994 February 12 1994 February 19 1994 February 26 1994 April 9 1994 April 23 1994 April 30 1994 July 2 1994 July 9 1994 July 16 1994 November 12 1994 November 19 1995 April 1 1995 April 8 1995 May 27 1995 June 3 1995 June 10 1996 May 18 1996 July 20 — Nothing but music and fun Allan Jones Three nights in the life of Allan Jones, who found Elvis, the Specials and the best of British at Montreux Extract: Next morning we found Jerry outside the Mayfair pub on the promenade. Suggs, Madness' singer was with him. They were polishing off the day's first round of drinks. Suggs had come over to see the Specials and Clive Langer. Madness were due in the studio this week to begin work on a new album with Langer. "We've written the songs for it," Suggs explained. "We're just working on the reviews. We're going to review it on Saturday, record it Sunday and have it in the shops on Monday..." "You're going to spend a whole day on the new one, are you?" Dammers asked him. "It's not a rock opera, is it?" Dammers had been fiddling with his new Yashika camera. He started shooting everything in sight. "You should save it for the Alps and mountain goats," Adrian Boot told him. "Mounting goats?" Suggs exclaimed. "What kind of behaviour is that?" Meanwhile, back at the Casino, Jake Riviera was leading the F-Beat crew from the bus that had brought them from Orange where they'd played a festival with the Feelgoods the previous night. Clearly, there had been a considerable amount of chasping out the night before. (Note: to chasp — to be one of the cha(s)ps; to enjoy a damned good evening with the chasps; this will include copious amounts of drink and a lot of blimming — ie, bantering.) Billy Bremner described the coach as a kind of mobile Jonestown, with bodies sprawled everywhere all the way from Orange. Downstairs in the casino's main auditorium, they were locking the doors and evacuating the press. Elvis Costello was preparing for his soundcheck and no one was invited. The Attractions started up, Elvis strummed a few bars. A French photographer who'd previously gone unnoticed rather foolishly whipped out a camera; he was whipped out of the auditorium before he'd removed his lens cap. Elvis' attention was then diverted by the hapless individual in the lighting gallery who was fiddling with the spotlights. "Tell that motherfucker to stop, or we do," he ranted. One of the Attractions' road crew approached the gallery, shouting. He was ignored. Elvis' temper was on the blink; a definite wobbler was waiting in the wings. "Look, mate," the roadie shouted to the gallery. "We're not asking you to stop fiddling with those lights. We're telling you." A tap on the shoulder told me that my renegade presence at the back of the press gallery had been detected. I missed the eventual outcome of the altercation. Boo. The F-Beat night at the Montreux Festival opened with a set from Clive Langer and the Boxes, whose first album, Splash, has just been shunted onto the racks. Their performance rather lacked the consistent edge of surprise and the unexpected twists of focus that characterise the best moments on the album, but it was lively enough. Langer plays with music as if he's mixing an exceptionally potent cocktail, when the ingredients are blended successfully, his songs can knock you out. When the recipe's not specific enough, they just make you a little giddy. "Burning Money" and "Hope And Glory" were lethal, a lot of the rest of his set was a little diluted. Still, once you get the taste, you can't easily put him down. A surprise appearance by Carlene Carter prefaced Rockpile's performance. Looking thrillingly diverting in a dramatic mini-skirt and cowboy boots, and clearly nervous, she was carefully coached through "Cry" by the brilliantly simple touch of Rockpile. Gaining confidence by the moment, her duet with Edmunds on "Baby Ride Easy" was full of vigour and dashing humour. She retired looking relieved to have completed the brief set without fainting. Rockpile's own set was predictably superlative. They'd probably win my heart if they just walked out onto a stage and produced a display of advanced origami and did a few card tricks. With a set that features more good rock 'n' roll to the square inch than most bands accumulate in several lifetimes, they made you hope that God's jukebox will prove to be primed with their records when you get to heaven. "Right," said Nick Lowe after a bristling assault on "Crawling From The Wreckage," "since this is a jazz festival, we're gonna do a Tony Bennett number..." The Swiss looked utterly bemused. Basher began to croon. "I left my heart in Stan Francisco." "This next one's almost as old as that," Basher announced. "This next one's almost as old as me," Edmunds flashed back. Rockpile fell sideways into "I Hear You Knocking." "Oh, yes — now I liked that one," Basher beamed as Edmunds and Billy Bremner brought the number to a coruscating climax. The three of them exchanged the kind of grin that told you everything you ever needed to know about the collective personality of Rockpile. Looking a little out of condition (but don't we all at the moment, dear?), Elvis Costello declared war on Montreux with a virulence that would've shocked even his most longstanding admirers. The movie director Sam Fuller once famously defined the cinema as a battleground. That's exactly what rock 'n' roll becomes in Costello's raging hands. Wrestling with demons most of us have only vaguely imagined, Costello doesn't just write and perform songs that are among the most literate and penetrating in the entire repertoire of rock 'n' roll, he unleashes upon his audience the darkest possible realities. Live, he's always such great theatre because you never know how far he's capable of pushing himself. Every performance seems an attempt to achieve some kind of personal catharsis or an act of personal exorcism. It's compulsive and frightening, rarely entertaining in any conventional sense. He can make you feel as uncomfortable as he clearly feels. The new numbers in his set were rather obscured by the violent pace of the performance and the unsuitability of the casino for this kind of elemental rock 'n' roll. "Clubland" and "From A Whisper To A Scream" sounded terrific, but they eluded any detailed scrutiny. He also performed a stunning version of "Walk, Don't Look Back" that continued his affection for the style of modern soul music he began to explore on Get Happy!! Splicing together songs from different periods of his career ("Green Shirt" fading dynamically into "Chelsea," "Big Tears" pressing at the contours of "Secondary Modern," for instance), he created an electrifying mosaic of images and impulses. The Attractions, meanwhile, seem to scale one peak of musical empathy, only to climb another. Their collective performance on an extended "Watching The Detectives" rivalled the extraordinary dementia of, say, Neil Young's "Last Dance," from Time Fades Away (one of the all-time great moments in rock history). By the time they'd wound up with "Mystery Dance," "Oliver's Army" and an incendiary "Pump It Up," I felt like an emotional corkscrew: all wound up and nowhere to go... Jerry Dammers was the first to suggest that everyone should troop off to the Hazyland Disco. Elvis wasn't at all convinced that it was a good idea, though he was prepared to be persuaded. He'd arrived at the hotel, still as damp as a dishcloth after the gig. "You can fuck off for a start," he said. He was smiling, but I'm not sure it counted for very much. Costello now lives under such constant scrutiny that anything he says that's overheard by any passing hack is going to be taken down and used as evidence. Any chance remark, of the kind you or I could get away with, he has to live with. No wonder he's always on edge. It must become an intolerable burden. I wouldn't be surprised if he searches his hotel rooms for bugging devices and sleeps wearing a gag in case he starts rambling. There must be few people with whom he can feel at ease; reporters certainly aren't among their number. It's impossible to reassure him that you aren't going to spend all night chasing him, asking him foolhardy questions about his personal life when all you really want to do anyway is have a beer and chasp out a little. As it happens, he pesters Boot and me more than we'd even presume to pester him. "Still here are you — taking this down are you — tape recorder on, is it?" The joke, such as it was, did wear a little thin... Dammers was quickly bored with wasting around the hotel. He scampered off to Hazyland. Elvis and a few others followed. Jake went off to round up the Attractions and those members of Rockpile still standing. While we were waiting for them, the lobby was invaded by a small army of Japs in matching blue tracksuit tops. This was the Japanese Youth Orchestra. "Ah, I see the Boomtown Rats have arrived at last," Riviera remarked, taking the stairs three at a time. "Love the new image, Bob," he said as he flew past a puzzled Nip. Lively here isn't it?" Dave Edmunds said, suppressing a yawn as we strolled the early morning streets of Montreux looking for Hazyland. "I'm not surprised it's remained neutral," Jake reflected. "I mean, who'd even want to invade Switzerland? Even the Germans didn't want it and old Adolf was into taking anything he could get his hands on. He even invaded Belgium. But who would want to invade a country where all they ever do is make cuckoo clocks and chocolates? Hannibal had the right idea: trample all over the place on elephants." It cost an arm and a leg to get into the Hazyland Disco; a couple of drinks would've left us as limbless torsos. "My first drum kit probably cost less than a round of drinks in here," Terry Williams said. The drum kit you've got now probably cost less than a round of drinks in here," Jake replied. "I hope you're taking all this down," said Elvis Costello, who just happened to be passing. "I reckon it's down to the old Bunce Cards," said Dave Edmunds fishing out a ribbon of credit cards. "The blue ones or the green ones tonight, Dave?" Pete Thomas asked. "Billy Bremner told me this really funny joke today," Edmunds began. "Oh, God," said Bruce Thomas. "Edmunds'll be doing card tricks in a minute." The group on stage was a seven piece cabaret band. They were dressed in white silk and they played what they hoped would pass for dance music. "Not Dexy's Midnight Runners, is it?" Jake asked. "Where's your tape recorder then?" Elvis Costello asked, coming back the other way. "Taping all this are you?" A girl appeared on stage. She was only there two minutes before she was down to a rather fetching silver G-string. Her breasts were as pert as puppies. Not that I was looking. "Frankly," said Jake Riviera, moving a little closer to the stage, "I find this sort of thing obscene." "I'm not enjoying it, either," said Edmunds, peering over Jake's shoulder. "I wonder if she plays the trumpet as well," Pete Thomas wondered. The dancer disappeared into the wings. "I like a woman with a cultivated voice," said Edmunds. There were about 12 of us in this small hotel room overlooking Lake Geneva. Someone had set up a video; a tape of some police series was playing. We'd just got to the prison riot sequence. Heads were being split open by truncheons. "Ah, the Music Machine," Jake Riviera said. Adrian Boot laughed and fell over on his side. "If you're going to get a camera out, I'll break your fingers," Elvis Costello told him. The sun was up over the lake. It was about six am. "Lake looks lovely this morning," Jake said, a hand over one eye. "I think I might go for a walk on it later," Elvis Costello said. Photos by Adrian Boot. << >> Melody Maker, July 19, 1980 Allan Jones on the Montreux Jazz Festival, including Elvis Costello & The Attractions, Saturday, July 12, 1980, Montreux, Switzerland. Melody Maker reports EC will play the Edinburgh Rock Festival, Sunday, August 17, 1980. Ian Birch interviews Clive Langer. Images Cover and page scan. Page scans. Costello for Scotland Melody Maker Elvis Costello and the Attractions plus the Average White Band head two of the nights of this year’s Edinburgh Rock Festival. The Rock Festival is an official part of the city’s international festival, running for three weeks from August 17, and the fringe Niteclub festival, announced last week, has now been incorporated into the rock festival. The Average White Band now open the concert series with a show at the Playhouse, and Elvis Costello and the Attractions mark the first night of the festival proper on August 17 at the Playhouse. Tickets are now on sale at: £3.50 and £3 for the AWB and £3 and £2.50 for Costello, on sale personally or by post from the Playhouse box office, Greenside Place, Edinburgh, with cheques or postal orders payable to Regular Music, plus an s.a.e. The rest of the festival bands, believed to include Ultravox, will be announced next week, and the festival will feature at least 15 groups spread over three venues – Edinburgh Playhouse, Tiffanys and Niteclub. A family affair Ian Birch After months in something of a musical hiatus, Clive Langer, ex-Deaf School, has come home to roost with F-Beat. Ian Birch sees how he's getting along with his new family. On the wall of Nick Lowe's front parlour studio in Shepherds Bush is pinned an indispensable item — for the owner, in particular. A booklet entitled "How To Play Rock Bass" is stamped with the warning, "Studio copy — please — do not remove." Could this be the real source behind all that pure pop for today's tipplers? Early morning cuppa in hand, Clive Langer listens intently to a playback of a new rhythm track. The drum sound is dizzyingly strident but, however much he might like it, Langer knows it will have to go. It doesn't fit the new feel that he's trying to formulate. "I'm a bit obsessed with swing at the moment — swing in a pub sense." (Fittingly, Paul Riley, ex-bassman with one of pub rock's first swing combos, Chilli Willi and the Red Hot Peppers, wanders in with his early morning cuppa.) "What I'd like to do with the new songs is create a live feel where you roll through a set as opposed to attacking a set. That's what I'm thinking about this week, if you know what I mean. It's partially getting a bit older — you get a bit more laid back." Langer looks as if he's finally come home to roost with the F-Beat consortium. When Radar bit the dust in a flurry of unpleasant business machinations, masterminds Andrew Lauder and Jake Riviera took matters into their own hands and set up a new Ponderosa which is something akin to Bonanza topped up with a dash of Dallas. It's a family affair — you support me and I'll produce you (as long as it's finished before closing time) — currently centred on Rockpile, Costello, Lowe, Carlene Carter (Nick's wife) and, of course, Langer. Langer's involvement began last Christmas when Jake and Elvis arranged a meeting in a pub (where else?) to discuss the possibility of Clive supporting El on his small-venue, UK tour earlier this year. Costello's interest had been aroused by a Liverpool boat trip gig late last year when they had shared a bill, and by I Want The Whole World, a 12-inch EP of five songs Langer released via Radar. The timing was almost God-given. After the demise of Deaf School (whose last album English Boys/Working Girls was unjustly lost in the punk obsession), he did a lot of drifting and a lot of drinking until Radar appeared. Through their auspices, he tried his hand everywhichway. He produced Liverpool comrades like the Yachts ("Look Back In Love" plus "Yachting Types") and Bette Bright ("My Boyfriend's Back" and "Captain Of Your Ship") as well as four cuts in TW studios by an outfit called Radio Earth who have since evolved into Comsat Angels. He took to the stage, playing in Bright's back-up band the Illuminations who were a chummy mishmash of Yachts, Deaf School and Rich Kids. He acted as talent scout and picked up on Madness many months before they became the Eighties' Monkees. It was this link that led to him producing their debut album, One Step Beyond, in mid-'79. He worked on his own material with the Boxes' a loose-knit outfit who, for the EP included Budgie (formerly of Big In Japan and now a Banshee) on "drums and average bass" and Ben Barson on "pyrotechnic keyboards." Lack of finances made it such a casual set-up that they played only four gigs throughout '79. The Boxes have now consolidated around Barson bassist James Eller who came via an MM classified and co-writes often with Langer plus drummer Martin Hughes, who was once part of Gary Holton's Gems. So, prior to the Christmas meeting, Langer was manager-less, had the "sort of agent who never got us a gig!" and a new shaky deal with Sire/Korova who weren't too keen on a band album but would have been interested in a solo effort. "I think I did actually sign something but I don't know what happened to it. I did sign a piece of paper but it never got to them." Riviera stepped into the breach. He offered management only if Langer joined F-Beat. That was agreed. "Still, contracts with Jake are a bit meaningless. We know that if we're not getting on, we just won't bother. I don't know what the situation is if we don't sell any records at all. But luckily, there's other ways for him to earn money out of us all — not that it's just based on that." How much is it based on that, then? "Less than with other people, certainly." The band supported Elvis during that mammoth trek of deliberately unfashionable towns and, when that finished, promptly did the same for Madness. It was a hard three month stretch but it did have its beneficial sides. "It's exciting playing in front of people. It's a challenge — me pushing me further than is comfortable. I needed a vehicle to do that and I find it frightening because I don't know what's going to happen when we go on. I've done some pretty weird things which have surprised me." Give us an example. "At our last gig some really close friends started jumping up and down after just a couple of numbers. The rest of the audience didn't know what was going on and didn't seem to be enjoying it. My friends began to really annoy me and all of a sudden I freaked out. I didn't want to see them there and I told them all to get out — pretty bluntly ... Their faces looked really shocked. Things like that happen on stage." It beats Est anyday as a path to self-discovery. The "road" also gave him new vocal awareness. His singing — a kind of geezer-next-door, reedy spring — is undoubtedly one of the weakest points on his Splash album which was released last week. "Touring teaches you how to sing songs. You learn how to deal with them. Of course, my voice worries me when people remind me about it. It worried me on the Elvis tour because there was another voice there. On the Madness tour, it didn't matter that much because no-one else could sing that well — there it was just a matter of putting songs across. "I think playing live depends on confidence. If you get some sort of success or someone bucks you up, then you go on and you're really good. But if you go on and you've just had a bad review of the single for the second week running, it puts you off." Does the press affect you that much? "Sort of ... I try not to let it because with Deaf School we had so much bad press that everyone got hung up about it. But it does ... sometimes I can laugh it off ..." By the end of the interview, the wriggling ambiguity was on the way to being resolved. "I'm always interested in what people are really like. That's why the press don't bother me that much because they write about what things should be like rather than what they are like. And anyhow, simply joining F-Beat has put Langer instantly under a new and pretty bright spotlight. However much Riviera, Lowe, Costello and the crew try to demolish the elitist traditions of rock 'n' roll, especially in their attitude towards the press, their aggressive independence and "wacko" antics have the kind of style that attracts trilbies (and myth-makers) like flies. From another angle, it's called manipulation. Did Langer feel intimidated by the "stature" of his label mates? "I was sort of out of action for a year and I used to see Elvis and think, I could do that on stage. Then being there and doing it, I was just amazed at how great his talent was. So I suppose at times that was intimidating but I don't feel jealousy. Sometimes I feel depressed that I can't sing like that or write words like that. "Also, there's a certain sense of humour. Being on the road with it you catch it pretty fast. On the road, we're like the new boys but we still know what goes on. We do get treated like the ones who aren't stars!" Does that mean the Justina red is served in plastic cups rather than glasses? Or what? "In the dressing rooms, obviously, the support band gets a few cans of lager and the head band two bottles of vodka, four bottles of French wine and all that. But we go in and nick it. Sometimes we get into trouble if we nick too much. You do need to have a lot of order in an on-the-road situation." But isn't there a possible conflict between your personal aims and the F-Beat house style which is as powerfully evident in everything from the artwork (regenerated Woolworths tack from the Sixties) to the production techniques (variations on Basher's infamous "bash-it-down-and-tart-it-up" attack). "To a certain extent this is a period of sussing it out. I would have done things differently had I not been on F-Beat. But then there are certain things that I've always admired about it and those people anyway. It's been about six months now and we're beginning to find our place — when to argue or when to say okay. I suppose at the beginning I was just pleased to have a manager and there weren't any other managers that I wanted. Another possible source of conflict is between all the different roles Clive is attempting — as producer, songwriter and performer. He takes the point. "My songwriting definitely suffers because I don't have much time to write. Also being involved with music all the time means that they might become a bit boring compared to someone who's just sitting in his front room all day long. Plus I'm quite slow." He dislikes producing himself because the idea of a new perspective or a fresh outlook which could make all the difference in the world (and charts) becomes that more difficult. "You lack someone between the machinery and the band. I'm quite happy to have someone say, do this or do that, whereas doing it for someone else is easy. Hopefully, I'd be like a fan in the studio and make the sound how I'd like to hear it." Which is exactly what he did, first with the "Prince" single and then One Step Beyond. Interestingly, for the single, Madness got together £60 to pay for Pathway studios but the then drummer to whom the money had been entrusted absconded. So Langer went to Rob Dickins, vice-president of Warners music and a perennial champion of the Liverpool contingent especially, who lent him £200. They made the demos and you know what happened then. "I like pop records, production-wise. I try not to get too frightened about what's currently fashionable. Like with Madness, it was trying to catch them live and the humour and what was in the songs and then making them into pop songs as opposed to just leaving it as a 'recorded live sound.' The Kilburns' albums were always a disappointment to me because they didn't sound good enough on the record player and yet they were really good live." Langer often teams up with Alan Winstanley, a producer in his own right. They normally work well together because Alan's technical expertise and extraordinary ear offsets Clive's more intuitive approach. However, on Splash the alchemy hasn't gelled. The album was recorded — or rather slotted in during spare moments — over the last nine months, and had three different sets of producers. He wanted to re-record but the budget wouldn't let him. Still, the next one should be more under control. And the immediate future doesn't look too bad. Langer starts the second Madness album in a week or so while the Boxes should be playing behind — guess who? — Carlene Carter on some forthcoming gigs. He also hopes that in the autumn they can get together a "revue" of sorts with Bette Bright and a brass section. His outlook here is entirely realistic: not only would it be more fun to do it with friends but also no single act would be able to pull that many people. The family that plays together, stays solvent together.

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