passing fascination with
the eccentric. Having spent years trying to make tone-deaf A&R men sit up and listen to their acts, Robinson and Riviera’s combined hatred of the cartels of major labels was the driving
force behind the label, which harboured a distinctly malevolent, anti-establishment streak behind its carefree exterior. ‘Jake and I had the same kind of attitude,’ says Robinson.
‘We thought if you had a good songwriter and he or she could sing their own songs, you were ahead of the game. We saw the record company as a partner to the artist, rather than an
employer.’
Although it has been posthumously reclaimed as a punk label, the Stiff house style was all over the place, but was primarily spawned in the melting pot of pub – rather than punk –
rock. It was a style built up by Robinson booking literally hundreds of bands into pubs over a long period, focusing on musicians who could play their instruments and who knew their way around a
decent song. And The Damned.
During the initial, frenetic twelve months of its existence in particular, Stiff was propelled forwards by bright, passionate, slightly out-of-control people who ripped up the rule book and did
more or less what they wanted. It was all topped off with an unprecedented zeal for clever marketing strategies and a healthy degree of unhinged madness. Stiff may have been a miss at least as
often as it was a hit, but from their tiny offices in London’s Alexander Street, the likes of Ian Dury, Nick Lowe and Wreckless Eric all made their haphazard assaults on the music world.
In late July 1976, the label was readying itself for combat with its debut single, Nick Lowe’s ‘So It Goes’, due for release on 13 August. Around the same time, Declan handed
in his demo tape at Stiff’s offices.
There has always been something slightly convenient about the legend of how D.P. Costello became a Stiff artist. The official party line runs thus: Declan had read aboutStiff being open for business in
Melody Maker
and promptly took a ‘sickie’ from work to hand his demo in to the secretary. On the way home, he coincidentally
bumped into Nick Lowe at Royal Oak tube station, and told him he’d just been up to Stiff to buy a copy of ‘So It Goes’ and to leave his demo tape with Jake. The two shook hands,
Lowe wished Declan luck and then went up to Alexander Street, where he found an excited Jake Riviera raving about Declan’s tape.
Jake’s immediate impulse was to sign Declan as a writer, because he felt ‘Mystery Dance’ would be a perfect song for Dave Edmunds. However, because Declan’s was the first
demo tape the label had received, Riviera decided to wait until some other examples arrived so he could make a meaningful comparison. When a ‘load of real dross’ subsequently dropped
through the Alexander Street letterbox, Jake offered Declan a deal on the spot, as a performer rather than merely a writer.
While this may indeed have been the genuine sequence of events, in the small world of the London pub-rock scene it would have taken a frankly astonishing series of coincidences for Declan to
arrive on Stiff’s doorstep as a completely unknown quantity. Nick Lowe, of course, knew him well from his regular appearances at Brinsley Schwarz gigs. Robinson’s connection was
stronger. He had booked Flip City at the Hope and Anchor on several occasions, had also recorded them, and indeed had planned to release a single of ‘Third Rate Romance’ the previous
year, largely on the strength of Declan’s distinctive voice. He had also recorded D.P. Costello earlier in the year, and frequently used Charlie Gillett as a sounding board. How could Stiff
not have known about Declan MacManus?
Robinson states today that he had Declan in his sights long before the demo tape arrived at Stiff’s offices, but had struggled to convince Jake. ‘I knew quite a bit about Declan and
put him on my list. Jake was difficult though, because he wanted to
the eccentric. Having spent years trying to make tone-deaf A&R men sit up and listen to their acts, Robinson and Riviera’s combined hatred of the cartels of major labels was the driving
force behind the label, which harboured a distinctly malevolent, anti-establishment streak behind its carefree exterior. ‘Jake and I had the same kind of attitude,’ says Robinson.
‘We thought if you had a good songwriter and he or she could sing their own songs, you were ahead of the game. We saw the record company as a partner to the artist, rather than an
employer.’
Although it has been posthumously reclaimed as a punk label, the Stiff house style was all over the place, but was primarily spawned in the melting pot of pub – rather than punk –
rock. It was a style built up by Robinson booking literally hundreds of bands into pubs over a long period, focusing on musicians who could play their instruments and who knew their way around a
decent song. And The Damned.
During the initial, frenetic twelve months of its existence in particular, Stiff was propelled forwards by bright, passionate, slightly out-of-control people who ripped up the rule book and did
more or less what they wanted. It was all topped off with an unprecedented zeal for clever marketing strategies and a healthy degree of unhinged madness. Stiff may have been a miss at least as
often as it was a hit, but from their tiny offices in London’s Alexander Street, the likes of Ian Dury, Nick Lowe and Wreckless Eric all made their haphazard assaults on the music world.
In late July 1976, the label was readying itself for combat with its debut single, Nick Lowe’s ‘So It Goes’, due for release on 13 August. Around the same time, Declan handed
in his demo tape at Stiff’s offices.
There has always been something slightly convenient about the legend of how D.P. Costello became a Stiff artist. The official party line runs thus: Declan had read aboutStiff being open for business in
Melody Maker
and promptly took a ‘sickie’ from work to hand his demo in to the secretary. On the way home, he coincidentally
bumped into Nick Lowe at Royal Oak tube station, and told him he’d just been up to Stiff to buy a copy of ‘So It Goes’ and to leave his demo tape with Jake. The two shook hands,
Lowe wished Declan luck and then went up to Alexander Street, where he found an excited Jake Riviera raving about Declan’s tape.
Jake’s immediate impulse was to sign Declan as a writer, because he felt ‘Mystery Dance’ would be a perfect song for Dave Edmunds. However, because Declan’s was the first
demo tape the label had received, Riviera decided to wait until some other examples arrived so he could make a meaningful comparison. When a ‘load of real dross’ subsequently dropped
through the Alexander Street letterbox, Jake offered Declan a deal on the spot, as a performer rather than merely a writer.
While this may indeed have been the genuine sequence of events, in the small world of the London pub-rock scene it would have taken a frankly astonishing series of coincidences for Declan to
arrive on Stiff’s doorstep as a completely unknown quantity. Nick Lowe, of course, knew him well from his regular appearances at Brinsley Schwarz gigs. Robinson’s connection was
stronger. He had booked Flip City at the Hope and Anchor on several occasions, had also recorded them, and indeed had planned to release a single of ‘Third Rate Romance’ the previous
year, largely on the strength of Declan’s distinctive voice. He had also recorded D.P. Costello earlier in the year, and frequently used Charlie Gillett as a sounding board. How could Stiff
not have known about Declan MacManus?
Robinson states today that he had Declan in his sights long before the demo tape arrived at Stiff’s offices, but had struggled to convince Jake. ‘I knew quite a bit about Declan and
put him on my list. Jake was difficult though, because he wanted to
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