The Comedy of Errors: Drunken Master - 24-7 (19 June 1992)

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Taking his name from an early Jackie Chan film, Drunken Master was a one-off alias for Andre M Williams, better known as MC Dashy D whose collaboration with DJ Cue Tips on the 1988 track, Control remains a fondly spoken highpoint of early UK hip-hop.

For the present, Drunken Master hooked up with Kaos to produce The Drunken EP.  24-7 allows Kold Sweat to top up James Brown’s pension fund; this being around the time that The Hardest Working Man in Showbusiness was well on his way to becoming The Most Sampled Artist in Dance Music.  24-7 features an unmistakable Brown holler, a guitar part and most prominent of all, what appears to be the horn break from Out of Sight. Over all of this, Drunken Master raps a familiar tale of his own brilliance and the good time he can offer to the object of his affections, before signing off with a shout to all the collaborators who came in to help him from “the North, South, East and West”.  Compass points were also cut into the run-out groove of the record.

After playing this track, Peel admitted that it wasn’t the one he had programmed to play.  The alternatives were the Tubular Bells sampling Devil in Disguise or Guillotine.







Videos courtesy of DJPilatus and OGDonNinja.

The Comedy of Errors: Dangerous Birds - Smile on Your Face (19 June 1992)

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Peel’s show on 19/6/92 featured a repeat of a session by Come, originally broadcast on 18 April 1992.  He played the session in one chunk.  The first track was called William and Peel dedicated it to his oldest son who, like me, was taking his GCSEs around the time this show was broadcast, “...so has been in a foul mood as you can imagine.”

As a little aperitif to the session, he played Smile on Your Face, one side of a 1982 single by Dangerous Birds, which were one of the earliest bands to feature Come’s vocalist and leader, Thalia Zedek.  Dangerous Birds were an all female four piece hailing from Boston, Massachusetts.  One enterprising soul has put their entire recorded output up on YouTube.  What’s striking when listening to them is how they encapsulate an orthodoxy that I’ve put forward in the past about how as music progressed over the period 1978-1982, it did so while often referencing no further back than the couple of years proceeding it any particular time.  Smile on Your Face features Zedek giving a full-throated punk roar at 1:02 in contrast to her studied Joe Strummer-sneer through the rest of the song. Despite its seemingly sweet, romantic title, the lyrics are paranoid and aggressive.  The smile in question provoking angst for Zedek about whatever perceived hold the smiler has over her.  The “invisible leash” mentioned in the track’s opening lines suggest that Zedek has been trying to get away from a dangerous, potentially criminal situation, which can pull her back in at any time:
“You’ve got something on me, obviously/Just the voices talking over my head again /I’ve got something for you/Despite those bright lights, take you back again.”  The feeling that the song is dealing with danger and illegality is further enhanced by the “Everything I do is wrong” refrain at the end.

There are Post-punk touches throughout as well with surprising key changes and drummer Karen Gickas doing her bit to ensure that the claves reclaim their place in the pantheon of great rock ‘n’ roll instruments.  Having tipped their hats to 1976-77 and also to 1978-80, the band tie the package up with melodic, folk rock guitars and compelling backing vocals that are pure 1981-82 New Pop under Martin Swope’s assured production.

They had the musical chops, confidence, plenty of ideas, the looks, plus an ability to switch between accessible pop (especially in the Blondie-like Alpha Romeo, the track which was paired with Smile on Your Face) and grittier material. With the right push, Dangerous Birds could very well have become mainstream stars, but it seems that disagreement over which artistic direction to take ultimately killed the band before they could be launched to wider attention.  Despite writing 3 of the 4 Dangerous Birds tracks which ultimately saw the light on records and compilations, Zedek decided that she needed new musical surroundings in order to pursue the harder edged sounds she wanted.  This saw her work through the mid and late 1980s with bands such as Uzi and the final iteration of Live Skull before forming Come in 1990.

While prepping this blogpost, I found an extraordinary essay by AJ Morocco from 2016 about an aborted attempt to track down and interview the members of Dangerous Birds and how it allowed them to debunk an urban myth cooked up by the PR department at Come’s record label, Matador as to why the other members of Dangerous Birds: Lori Green (guitar/keyboards/vocals), Margery Meadow (bass/vocals) and Karen Gickas (drums/vocals) had never released any music since the band’s demise.

The complete Dangerous Birds discography 1) Alpha Romeo (written and sung by Lori Green), 2) Smile on Your Face (still as excellent as above) 3) Emergency 4) Catholic Boy - This is all we have and we’re grateful, but if only there could have been more of it...



Videos courtesy of teejay69 and ajmorocco

All lyrics are copyright of Thalia Zedek.

The Comedy of Errors: John Peel Show - BBC Radio 1 (Saturday 13 June 1992)

When I reviewed Peel’s show from the previous evening, I raved about what a joyous broadcast it had been.  Curiously, Peel opened this evening’s programme with an apology for how he had come across on 12/6/92, “I had rather over-estimated my capacity for self-repair...and I wasn’t my usual fascinating self”. To me, he had sounded in fine form with the adrenalin from his week at the Isle of Man TT Races carrying him through the show and further invigorated by a new Fall single.  By contrast, the comedown seemed to hit him tonight with regular slips of the tongue and word mashing.  He also felt moved to comment that he felt that Datblygu’s session had dragged on rather un-necessarily in places.  One legacy from the TT Races was that Peel had managed to snaffle a leaf from the winner’s victory garland, claimed in 1992 by Steve Hislop.  As far as Peel was concerned, this was a prized possession on a par with the pen he had lent to Diblo Dibala when they had met up, a week earlier so that the great man could sign autographs.

The mailbag brought a letter from Reggie in Mainz, Germany, who wanted to thank whichever technician had omitted to switch off the medium wave transmitter a few weeks previously, meaning that Reggie had been able to hear a whole 3 hour Peel show for a change.  Peel quickly checked the status of the MW transmitter, but unfortunately it had been turned off, meaning that Reggie wouldn’t have heard his letter being read out and leaving Peel to ponder the sense of having done so.

He was concerned to hear about reports of English football hooliganism in Malmo, especially as he   was due to go out to Sweden to see the Euro ‘92 final, with a competition winner.  “It’s pathetic.The Scots grew out of it years ago.  People just look at you and go, ‘Oh dear, oh dear.’” Anyone not heading to Sweden with Radio 1 that summer could have been going to either Barbados or Corsica as a result of competitions being run by Simon Bates and Simon Mayo.  However, you needed to buy a copy of the Radio Times in order to have the keywords required to enter.  It was still another world, even in 1992. Radio 1 was also holding an American music festival on July 2 at the Hanover Grand at  which Mercury Rev would be headlining.

The news contained updates about Tyler Davidson, who had been born the previous day and was officially recognised as the world’s smallest ever baby, measuring a mere 6 inches.  Happily, he had made it through his first night and his condition was improving.

The selections from this programme came from a full 3 hour show. The only track I wanted to include, but couldn’t remained Don’t Slip Away by The Werefrogs, which in chronological terms, I’d been left wishing for a month earlier.

Anyone reading this blog in the last month or so will have seen that several selections were posted here almost begrudgingly by me because they lacked a Wow! factor, but scraped in on the grounds of them having a brief moment/sound which justified their inclusion.  So it’s with a slightly heavy heart that I present for your derision the only initial selection I made from this programme, which ultimately didn’t make the cut.  All I can say is, it could have been part of a much longer list:

M’bilia Bel, Tabu Ley Rocherau and L’Afrisa International - Ba Jeu De Coin - taken from the 1984 album Ba Gerants Ya Mabala this slice of horn-led Afro beat could have made it on to the mixtape in most circumstances.  What cost it a place though was that I really didn’t like M’Bilia Bel’s vocals compared to other female African singers that Peel had played in recent shows such as M’Pongo Love.  Neither did the arrangement and playing elevate the track as was the case with Vonga Aye the previous night.  Also, while listening to Peel’s shows over late 1992 and early 1993, I’ve been exposed to some sparkling examples of African music through the likes of Wawali Bonane, The Bhundu Boys and Pierre Moutouari that made this track seem rather pedestrian in comparison.

The full list of gems, gritty wheat and chaff

The Comedy of Errors: Jules Verne - Misadventure [Peel Session] (13 June 1992)

Jules Verne were a Liverpool-based band whose claim to musical fame is that they were the vehicle through which Daniel Hunt made his first recordings prior to founding Ladytron at the end of the 90s.
Their Discogs page shows one self-released 7-inch single and an appearance on the North-West bands compilation album, The Dark Side of the Pool.  Between these recordings, the band recorded a Peel Session on 17 May 1992, which was broadcast on this programme.

I found the session a curious beast, the best description I have for it is electro-shoegaze with C-86 vocals.  Some tracks sounded absolutely colossal, especially session opener, Awake - Celebrity Twister.  The band were musically tight and sounded as though they had been playing for years, belying their young ages (Hunt was 17 when the session was recorded).  Their tunes were full of ideas and they worked in spoken word samples for added atmosphere.  They were much further ahead of me at my advanced age of 43.  I could see the brilliance and inventiveness in what they did, but it overwhelmed and occasionally bored me to a point where I was metaphorically waving a white flag to signal my surrender in the hope that, having made their point,  they would go away.  I consider this an admirable quality of Jules Verne, but if I’d been making a mix tape back then it would have only been the session closer, Misadventure, that I would have been keen to hear again.  One other session track, Hollow Tomorrow, was in contention, but was let down by poor vocals.

In contrast to this programme’s other session guests, Luna, Misadventure catches Jules Verne in the very act of making all the mistakes that Luna’s songs looked back on with the benefit of hindsight and experience.  In place of Luna’s resolve,  Misadventure finds its protagonist tearing his hair out with frustration about the unpredictable behaviour of his other half.  “What have I done, what have I said/To make you feel worthless once again?”  But the distance between Luna and Jules Verne isn’t so far apart and the refrain of “I shouldn’t suffer/for the sake of another.” suggests that his patience is running short and freedom is looking appealing.  The only question is will he claim freedom by shutting the door or by guiding his lover to a more permanent form of parting?



Videos courtesy of goodmood3 and Fruitierthanthou.
All lyrics are copyright of their authors.

The Comedy of Errors: Urban Hype - A Trip to Trumpton (13 June 1992)

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It’s curious isn’t it?  When you’re a child, you long to do many of the things that adults can do and to be a grown up.  Yet as adulthood approaches, the urge to look back and remember childhood starts to make itself felt.  Forgive the generalisation, I’ve met a number of people whose cultural antennae are tuned exclusively to the here and now, they’ve no interest in looking back, but in the 90s, it felt that they were the exception rather than the rule.  At some point from the autumn of 1992 onwards, certainly once I left school and went to college, it felt like I was discussing old television programmes from the late 70s/early 80s in the pub with friends,  every other week.  In a way, such conversations all fed into a nostalgia zeitgeist that grew to enormous proportions during the course of the 1990s and which the Internet was the perfect home for as the Millennium approached.

That’s not to say that cultural nostalgia was exclusively a 90s concept.  Revivalist music scenes were a part of previous decades such as the Rock ‘n’Roll revival of the early 1970s or the Mod revival of the late 70s, which saw Peel’s playlists stuffed with bands for whom The Who’s I’m the Face was a sacred text. The 80s saw the rise of club nights dedicated to nostalgic playlists where the music choices didn’t date past 1968 or 1973 depending on where you went.  The 90s went further though, the use of sampling from the mid 80s up to the early 90s providing a long lead-in to a period where DJs were eventually able to build up the courage that they didn’t necessarily need to prove their hip credentials by building tracks around samples of Charlie Mingus Jr. or horn riffs from obscure Stax Records b-sides.  Instead, they ingratiated themselves with listeners not by concentrating solely on record collections but by incorporating other musical cues from more recognisable sources such as children’s television programme theme tunes.  In this way, artist and listener were bonded by a shared experience, which maybe would not have been achievable had the DJs been constantly dipping into the far reaches of their record box and putting in samples requiring a verbal disclaimer at the start of the tune, “You, dear listener, won’t have heard of the source that I’m building this tune around, but trust me, you’re going to love it..and if you don’t, well that’s your philistinism coming through isn’t it?”
This sense of cultural bonding was far more possible back then, given that artists and audience had grown up during an age of three channel hegemony, and if the acid house explosion of the late 80s really was the new psychedelia from a drug ‘n’ vibes perspective, then it was natural that the music would eventually look at things from the child’s eye view.  The difference being that whereas the likes of Syd Barrett had to climb into the depths of their subconscious in order to create child-eye
centred music, artists of the 90s had only to access their memories of sitting in front of the television
from 10-15 years previous.  And it all kicked off through Toytown techno.

Over a period of around 2 years, four records hit the UK single charts which owed considerable debts to children’s television themes/concepts by building them into their musical structure.  First, and best
given the fabulously loose and funky grooves that made up the majority of it was Summers Magic by Mark Summers which opened by going even further back into nostalgia by sampling 40s radio comedy, It’s That Man Again, but pulled most of its audience in by building itself around the theme tune of The Magic Roundabout (see also Magic Style by The Badman).  As is the way, pioneers break new ground and others profit.  Summers Magic crept in the Top 30, but deserved to go higher.

By August 1991, The Prodigy used similar childhood memories to announce their arrival to world.  In their case, it was through the animated Public Information Films series, Charley Says. Synthesisers on early Prodigy tracks always sounded like they were being turned inside out to reveal their secrets and in Charly, it sounded as though Liam Howlett really did have a cat secreted inside his Korg and Roland. It delivered a Top 3 hit single.  How ironic that the creators of Firestarter made their first bow by celebrating a character who emphasised the importance of not abusing matches.

On June 29 1992 though, the stage was set for a Toytown techno duel. Two records were released on that day which used children’s TV show theme tunes as their principal melodic hook.  In the red corner, Sesame’s Treet by Smart E’s and in the blue corner, our present selection, A Trip to Trumpton by Urban Hype.  From the available information on the John Peel wiki, Peel doesn’t appear to have played the Smart E’s record. I can’t be certain about that given that the tracklistings for his June 1992 programmes are not fully complete. If this was the case, then more power to him as I really don’t like it either, but this is probably because even as a child I found the Sesame Street theme tune a terribly
anodyne piece of music introducing a frankly disturbing programme with its overtones of addiction and simmering domestic violence.  How could it hope to compete with the beautiful, ornate intricacy of Freddie Phillips’s classical guitar work for Trumpton?  Although the initial switch from drum ‘n’ bass to Phillips’s score for the Trumpton fire brigade may seem a little jarring, it all blends perfectly from the moment that Brian Cant says “Suddenly” at which point the fire bell brings the clubbers to the floor and amid all the Italian piano samples and beats, the refrain of “Pugh, Pugh, Barney McGrew, Cuthbert, Dibble, Grubb” alongside sundry other interjections from a Trumpton episode sounds like DJ-hyping at its finest. I think Summers Magic is the best of the Toytown techno records, but A Trip to Trumpton is the one which most makes me want to get up and dance.  Peel played the record several times over the course of the month and after playing it on this show, he wondered whether he should have followed it up by playing The Trumpton Riots by Half Man Half Biscuit but he sourly passed up the chance.  “I don’t go in for that kind of cheap, crowd pleasing stuff...”

In the final analysis, the British public sided with Big Bird and Co. rather than the residents of Trumpton.  Sesame’s Treet peaked at Number 2 on the UK singles chart, with a Trip to Trumpton stalling four places lower.
The Trumptonshire Universe would experience a second coming on Radio 1 later in the decade when Kevin Greening used the song, Ting-a-Ling-a-Ling from Trumpton as a theme tune for his Mr. Whippy quiz in which listeners had to identify chart hits being played on ice cream van chimes.  I loved that piece of music so much and was delighted to discover that my girlfriend at the time had the original album.  One of the nicest Sunday afternoons, I can remember was spent sitting with her in the lounge and listening to that album.  Freddie Philips And Trumpton was made for Sunday afternoons, but Urban Hype showed it could also be made for Saturday nights.

Video courtesy of Choose the OldSchool Direction

The Comedy of Errors: Luna [Peel Session] (13 June 1992)

The news that Genesis are reforming after a gap of 13 years to go out on tour made me think of Peel when it came to considering this session from Luna, who at the time they recorded it were presenting it as one of their first offerings since their founder, Dean Wareham had left his previous band, Galaxie 500, one of the most fondly regarded American bands of the late 1980s.  The comparison is tenuous, but just as Peel had little regard for Genesis while simultaneously giving supportive exposure and airplay to Genesis side-projects such as Brand X, so I find myself wholeheartedly embracing Wareham’s “new” band Luna as a trade-up on Galaxie 500 whose music I found, with the odd exception, to be monumentally dreary.

That’s not to say that Luna represented a complete reinvention for Wareham.  In fact, I’d almost classify Luna’s sound as being Galaxie 500 with attitude, but just as vulnerability was at the core of Galaxie 500, so the confidence on display in tracks such as session opener Crazy People, which allows Wareham to walk away from a relationship which isn’t providing any mutual satisfaction seems to be built not on deep rooted, unshakeable belief but on a series of affirmations drummed into him by regular appointments with a counsellor.  That sense of self-repair and self-love continues in the second and standout track, Slide, in which Wareham reflects on the need to be open about what he wants and the damage that can be done by keeping things bottled up.  The superb guitar solo sounds like a primal release of energy and emotion allowing a damaged man to take steps towards a better future.  The closing track, I Can’t Wait allows for one further reflection on past mistakes and behaviours, but ends with a final determination not to let those ghosts keep him a prisoner.  The jumping, bubbly mood of the backing reflects a real seize the day urgency.
The third track in this session is a cover of That’s What You Always Say by The Dream Syndicate, another paean to the problems of failing to communicate. Luna’s version lacks the teetering insanity of the original but they take it at a more appealing tempo and come very close to making it their own.  It’s certainly an inspired choice when considering the vibe of the session as a whole.

Video courtesy of Vibracobra23ennui and it covers the songs as they were broadcast on Peel’s show on 24 April 1992 and I’ve covered them in the order that they were broadcast on that video.  The session was repeated on this 13/6/92 show and was broadcast in the following order:
I Can’t Wait
Slide
That’s What You Always Say
Crazy People

The Comedy of Errors: The Fall - The Knight, The Devil and Death (13 June 1992)

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This was due to miss the cut here but while I was having a shower earlier today, I found certain elements of it running through my mind and felt that had to count for something.

The title of the song is nothing to do with The Seventh Seal but rather an early 16th Century engraving by Albrecht Durer, a German artist.  A variation of this imagery made up the cover art of the Ed’s Babe EP on which the track was taken from.

If I wanted to be a contrarian, I'd be tempted to call it one of my favourite Fall tracks because it doesn’t feature Mark E. Smith at all.  Indeed, Steve Hanley attributes authorship of the song to Craig Scanlon, just as has been done with Ed’s Babe.  Perhaps Smith’s attention was elsewhere considering that he had just recently remarried, thus leaving an opening for other members of the band to dictate things for a release.
The Knight, the Devil and Death is a typically bizarre conjoining of formal pop music structures with crazed classical dissonance.  This occurs throughout the track. From the start, the soothing guitar strum quickly finds itself battling against another guitar which sounds recently plugged into its amp and attacked by a player who seems to be accusing the instrument of burning their house down - such is the fervour with which it is attacked. And the trick is repeated again at the 45 second mark as a string section come in together in oppressive, but striking harmony. But within 10 seconds, one of the string players goes rogue and starts playing as if possessed by the Devil.  Perhaps, Satan was playing that furious guitar earlier too, while the courtly Knight displays musical virtuosity with the perfectly strummed guitar and the disciplined, almost to the point of repression, string section.
The battle between harmony and chaos even extends to the performance of the track’s narrator, Texan-born singer, Cassell Webb, who was the partner of the record’s producer, Craig Leon.  For the most part, she speaks the standard Fall gibberish in a most beguiling manner, coming across as elegantly world weary. But in the last 20 seconds of the track, she becomes progressively more unhinged, her vocal distantly shouting like Kathy from the top of the moors.  And by the end of the track, it feels as though the forces of the Devil are in the ascendant as the fuming guitar and skittish violin overwhelm everything before handing on to Death, who ultimately claims everything.

Parts of the sound of The Knight, The Devil and Death made me think of the tone that PJ Harvey later achieved on her To Bring You My Love album.  There’s something dusty, hot and slightly Mediterranean about this track and I hear elements of Harvey’s subsequent work on things like Send His Love To Me.  So it was another artist’s pick-up that led me back to this track, but I’m glad that it did, because it gave me a chance to re-evaluate a dark, sexy, taut piece of music that I had originally dismissed as a forgettable throwaway.

The Annotated Fall provides a little more breakdown.

Video courtesy of Kevin Kriel

The Comedy of Errors: Frankie Paul - Pon di Scene (13 June 1992)

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NOTE - The video contains both the vocal and instrumental versions of Pon di Scene. The switch between the versions comes at 3:32.

This track is, I think, the culmination of a run of selections which I’ve included here but could easily have passed on if I had been in a different mood.  And at least two* tracks which made my original lists and which would have been blogged about before this one have fallen from favour over the last few days.  They will be revealed in a few posts time when we cover the general notes for the 13/6/92 Peel Show.
 So, it’s been a bit of a slog for me over the last 10 days or so, because  Pon di Scene like Submersion by Morgan Wild Project** and Circuits Overload by Spasms is not a great piece when considered as a total experience, but like both of them it has one essential element which clinches its place on the metaphorical mix-tape.  In the case of Pon di Scene, it’s the fact that the track is performed by Frankie Paul, my favourite dancehall singer.

Where the track fails to entirely convince is hearing the honey-voiced purveyor of Beautifulla passing himself off as a big shot with his “pocket full of green” and his hot girlfriend, Maxine (though there are suggestions that she’s a bought woman) and proving himself to be the scourge of cheeky Rude boys everywhere.  So much so that “di scene” in question is one which Frankie and Maxine exit after apparently laying waste to the Rudies before the police arrive.  Frankie had come a long way from Tell Them Fe Cool and I don’t entirely buy it, but his wonderful, silky sing-me-the-phone-book vocal does just enough to dispels the doubts.

*Now just one.
** When I was reading earlier this evening, the main keyboard figure from this track sprang into my mind unbidden, so it must be doing something right.

Video courtesy of thinmaninphilly

The Comedy of Errors: Morgan Wild Project - Submersion (13 June 1992)

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Once a year, between 1992 and 1995, New Zealander Dan Morgan and American Damon Wild would release a 12-inch under the monicker, Morgan Wild Project.  Submersion was their first release and saw the pair introduce themselves with something decidedly minimalist and, given the sounds of
trickling water that introduce the track, ambient.  So much so, that it wears its European influences openly and proudly.  It may also have been due to their releases being handled by the Belgian label, Buzz.
Like Spasms, it could have missed out on inclusion if it had stayed on the ambient trail, but what swings its place here is the keyboard work of Ariel Space which comes in for the first time at 1:11 and provides a shot of energy which helps lift the track out of becoming too stodgily minimal.

I have just started listening to Peel shows for 1993 and wait with bated breath to see whether he played Morgan Wild’s offering for that year.

Video courtesy of firework 303

The Comedy of Errors: Bikini Kill - Suck My Left One (13 June 1992)

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I look back on my teenage years with affection, regret, annoyance, humour and embarrassment - just like you’re ideally supposed to.  Some of the embarrassment centres around times when I was desperately looking for guidance on things that mattered to me and realising that the guidance I was reading was written for people older and less naive than me.  Most of all, I hate to retrospectively remember how much things mattered to me when I was a teenager and feeling a sense of isolation and confusion towards these things that didn’t really matter.
In 1993, I was almost touchingly desperate to expand my horizons when it came to pop music.  I’d fallen in love with 1960s music over the previous two years and over the course of the first half of ‘93 I’d listened attentively to the charts and found them....lacking.  I wanted to feel culturally engaged with the times I lived in and one way in which I wanted to do that was to immerse myself in the popular music of the age.  I had just turned 17 and I was impatient to hear music that defined my age.  I should have waited given that the window in which music defines your youth is that one between 16 and 25 years old.  But I couldn’t get behind and celebrate the likes of 2 Unlimited, Shaggy or Ace of Base, so I found myself, circa May 1993 reading an issue of Melody Maker for guidance on groups and releases that I wasn’t aware of because I wasn’t listening to night-time Radio 1.
You may laugh, but it was terrifying and baffling to me.  An onslaught of names, long hair, swearing and blurry gig photos.  Some bands were rhapsodised over, others were dismissed out of hand in viciously curt terms.  I had no frame of reference and while I was gratified to see that the few bands I knew and liked that inherited this inky, alternative world (Saint Etienne, Therapy? and would you believe it, World Party) were generally regarded as a good thing, I was floundering in the face of the likes of Porno for Pyros and as for this thing called Riot grrrl that was popping up in connection to several female-fronted bands in the issue, all I could tell, without hearing any of the music was that it had nothing but contempt for weaklings like me.  I sloped away uniformed, uninspired and depressed for reasons that seem horrendously facile to me now, but which genuinely mattered to me then.  I felt like an outsider in my own time looking for something trivial but essential, which is what pop music basically is after all.  It wouldn’t be until a year later that I would find the scene I was looking for in Britpop and then older, wiser and a little more sure of how I fitted into the times I lived in, I opened doors to bands and music which had terrified me when reading about it on the page a year earlier.

It’s often said that written horror fiction is scarier than visual horror movies because the imagination
runs more wildly without visual or aural stimulus.  This was definitely the case for me when I read
that Melody Maker issue in 1993.  Porno for Pyros turned up on Later....with Jools Holland in the summer of 1993 and were beguilingly strange, but not in the least bit scary.  I find myself wincing with embarrassment at my callow behaviour though when considering that if I had been listening to John Peel on 13/6/92, then Riot grrrl would have held no fears for me at all upon hearing the music connected with it.  At the time it was either seen as grunge music for female-led bands or a politically charged feminist musical movement.  Fun, frolics and love didn’t appear to be on the agenda for most Riot grrrl bands.  Indeed, John Peel was moved to comment, “Uncompromising would appear to sum
up Bikini Kill” after playing Suck My Left One on this evening’s show.  This may very well be the first Riot grrrl scene track that I’ve heard him play and if I had heard it on that June night, 28 years ago, I may very well have nailed my colours to the Riot grrrl mast even while being aware of how ridiculous I would have looked.
Sonically, there was nothing new in Riot grrrl or in what what Bikini Kill were doing.  Peel may very well have played similarly cut music on Radio 1 out of US girl groups in the late 1970s.  But what Bikini Kill did, they did very well and the subject content cuts very close to the bone, closer even than their influences may have been permitted to get away with 15 years earlier..  The theme of the song is a classic power-struggle with an authority figure in the home, in this case, daughter/father battles.  However, the track contains disturbing overtones, in the second verse that the relationship between Daddy and his daughters is an incestuous one, and it’s not altogether clear in the final verse whether the mother of the house is complicit in what’s going on or not.  Certainly the monotone repetition of the word “fine” in response to the apparent threat of “Wait until your father gets home” suggests that the subject of the song has been here many times before.  Furthermore the barked response of the title line suggests a determination to take control of this horrific situation and not be merely a passive submissive to the abuse.  Singer, Kathleen Hanna may have drawn on her own difficult relationship with her father and experiences working at a domestic violence shelter.  Her extraordinary vocal performance sees her swing between sounding like an off key pre-possession Regan MacNeil through most of the song only to give it her best Pazuzu on the chorus lines.

“We wanted women to say, ‘That sounds like a real woman’s voice.’  It’s not covered in reverb, I don’t sound like some far away thing.  I sound like a real woman who is pissed off one second, and then maybe a little girly the next. Those two things can be right next to one another.  That’s one thing I learned; you have to keep the pimples in.” Kathleen Hanna in a 2012 interview with AV Club

Peel played Suck My Left One from a four track EP featuring 3 other bands called There’s a Dyke in the Pit released by Outpunk Records.  It was the opening track and is by far the best thing on it.  The video above features the complete EP.  The other tracks are Manipulate by Tribe 8, Soiled Princess by. Lucy Stoners, which is very good and Dead Men Don’t Rape by 7 Year Bitch.

Video courtesy of Ivy Ros.



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