be an enjoyable concert experience, but it was. It was the creepiest thing, her
and her harmonium for an hour and a half, groaning away slightly out of tune, which made it even better, because you could feel the angst in her. The tragedy in the voice was just overwhelmingly
powerful for me. I’ve learned a lot from them very early years of going to concerts, that it really isn’t about perfect pitch, it’s about the emotion.
I’m not one to sit cross-legged for more than three minutes, and I’m quite happy to dance to ‘Janitor Of Lunacy’, I don’t care who’s
looking. I loved dancing. Loved it, loved it, loved it. There I was – me long hair, Hawkwind embroidered on the back of my jacket, and Teddy boy shoes, because I found them the most
comfortable to dance in. I wouldn’t wear flares. Any gig, anywhere, any time – get up and dance! But by God, the best guy for that in them days was Jesus.
Jesus was a guy who hung out with the two girls who used to dance for Hawkwind. Sasha and Stacia were their names, I think. He’d strip naked, he had the smallest willy in the world, and he
didn’t give a toss who looked. I loved him for that. I thought, ‘He doesn’t care, and look, he’s completely happy. He’s got bongos which he doesn’t know how to
play, no sense of rhythm – none! – but a total sense of joy!’ He certainly wasn’t what my mum and dad had in mind as Jesus.
But his message was good and, years later, when punk started and the Pistols were gigging – I think it was at the Marquee, when we were supporting Eddie and the Hot Rods – he was
there! He looked completely different, he had a suit on, but he still had the same ludicrous hairdo, which was a very deep fringe and a long mullet at the back, and deathly blond, a natural
blond.
It was very hard to bring Wobble into these kinds of situations. He was hateful of the Roundhouse, straight away. ‘I hate these people!’ He’d think everybody at the Roundhouse
was a love-’n’-peace fool, but that’s his lack of insight. What he didn’t realize was the building was full of really oddball characters and that he was one of those oddball
characters by the fact that he was there – although it was just the once. That’s all it took, I knew not to bring him out any more. Wobble’s angle would’ve been soul clubs
– that would be his thing.
Around that time, though, I’d been going out to Ilford in Essex to soul nights at a club called the Lacy Lady. I wouldn’t be alone; there’d be a mob of us – the Johns.
Sid would be there, John Gray, a couple of others. Proper mob-handed, in fact.
The other clientele out there was very interesting. There was the semi-gangster-ish local toughies. They’d look at you threateningly, there’d be no two ways
about that. But we were a pretty mad bunch ourselves. That’s where pogoing really came from. That’s how we used to dance, jumping up and down. We didn’t know the moves, so we
invented our own, and good times were had by all. As a result, you weren’t then perceived as a threat, because you were up to your own universe and enjoying yourself in your own way and not
there to nick the birds – although, girls love ‘different’. Did they want to mother us? No, but that’s good too! I was young for the age I was, there was never a chance of
‘Come back to my place.’ I tried hard, though. Anyway, you couldn’t do anything; you couldn’t go off on your own, because you had the responsibility of the collective.
What they’d play there was a good root course in where soul music in America was going. It was beginning to split into different angles, after Tamla Motown. There were more interesting and
exciting varieties coming out, it wasn’t all so orchestrated out of Detroit. They played kind of West Coast funk which was really interesting, a lot of Philly and Chicago stuff that later
turned into all kinds of different things.
It was early disco, really, and I
and her harmonium for an hour and a half, groaning away slightly out of tune, which made it even better, because you could feel the angst in her. The tragedy in the voice was just overwhelmingly
powerful for me. I’ve learned a lot from them very early years of going to concerts, that it really isn’t about perfect pitch, it’s about the emotion.
I’m not one to sit cross-legged for more than three minutes, and I’m quite happy to dance to ‘Janitor Of Lunacy’, I don’t care who’s
looking. I loved dancing. Loved it, loved it, loved it. There I was – me long hair, Hawkwind embroidered on the back of my jacket, and Teddy boy shoes, because I found them the most
comfortable to dance in. I wouldn’t wear flares. Any gig, anywhere, any time – get up and dance! But by God, the best guy for that in them days was Jesus.
Jesus was a guy who hung out with the two girls who used to dance for Hawkwind. Sasha and Stacia were their names, I think. He’d strip naked, he had the smallest willy in the world, and he
didn’t give a toss who looked. I loved him for that. I thought, ‘He doesn’t care, and look, he’s completely happy. He’s got bongos which he doesn’t know how to
play, no sense of rhythm – none! – but a total sense of joy!’ He certainly wasn’t what my mum and dad had in mind as Jesus.
But his message was good and, years later, when punk started and the Pistols were gigging – I think it was at the Marquee, when we were supporting Eddie and the Hot Rods – he was
there! He looked completely different, he had a suit on, but he still had the same ludicrous hairdo, which was a very deep fringe and a long mullet at the back, and deathly blond, a natural
blond.
It was very hard to bring Wobble into these kinds of situations. He was hateful of the Roundhouse, straight away. ‘I hate these people!’ He’d think everybody at the Roundhouse
was a love-’n’-peace fool, but that’s his lack of insight. What he didn’t realize was the building was full of really oddball characters and that he was one of those oddball
characters by the fact that he was there – although it was just the once. That’s all it took, I knew not to bring him out any more. Wobble’s angle would’ve been soul clubs
– that would be his thing.
Around that time, though, I’d been going out to Ilford in Essex to soul nights at a club called the Lacy Lady. I wouldn’t be alone; there’d be a mob of us – the Johns.
Sid would be there, John Gray, a couple of others. Proper mob-handed, in fact.
The other clientele out there was very interesting. There was the semi-gangster-ish local toughies. They’d look at you threateningly, there’d be no two ways
about that. But we were a pretty mad bunch ourselves. That’s where pogoing really came from. That’s how we used to dance, jumping up and down. We didn’t know the moves, so we
invented our own, and good times were had by all. As a result, you weren’t then perceived as a threat, because you were up to your own universe and enjoying yourself in your own way and not
there to nick the birds – although, girls love ‘different’. Did they want to mother us? No, but that’s good too! I was young for the age I was, there was never a chance of
‘Come back to my place.’ I tried hard, though. Anyway, you couldn’t do anything; you couldn’t go off on your own, because you had the responsibility of the collective.
What they’d play there was a good root course in where soul music in America was going. It was beginning to split into different angles, after Tamla Motown. There were more interesting and
exciting varieties coming out, it wasn’t all so orchestrated out of Detroit. They played kind of West Coast funk which was really interesting, a lot of Philly and Chicago stuff that later
turned into all kinds of different things.
It was early disco, really, and I
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