Tootal Blog

  • The Sharpest Word: Tootal Blog Talks Modzines With Eddie Piller and Steve Rowland

    This February sees the welcome publication of ‘Modzines’, which is - as the cover explains - a look back at “fanzine culture from the Mod revival”. Tootal blog caught up with the books authors, Eddie Piller and Steve Rowland.

    What was the inspiration for your ‘Modzines’ book?

    Steve: I’m a graphic designer, I’ve always loved subcultures and ’79 was my ‘coming of age’, if you like. The big thing at the time was the Mod revival; it was ours, as in my age group. All the older lads and big brothers had The Jam but we had the Mod revival.

    Growing up, drawing logos at school and eventually making a living as a designer, I’ve always had that interest. And when the digital and online thing came along, fanzines and that whole art form kind of got lost. So, it was a time to record it, and to put something out there.

    How did you go about assembling your list of featured titles?

    48 Thrills, Issue 2, 1976. Direction, Reaction, Creation, Issue 7, 1980.
    Jamming, Issue 8, 1979. Maximum Speed, Issue 8, 1979.

    Steve: When I first got the idea for the book I sent it to Ed straight away, because I knew he had to be involved at some level. And going back to the internet there’s people like Neil Allen, who has a Facebook group for Mod fanzines, and is an avid collector. He’s a contributor to the book and was a great help.

    Eddie: Neil bought most of my collection. My Mod fanzine Extraordinary Sensations started in 1980 and ran until about 1985, and because it was so successful other editors sent me their fanzines for review. I amassed a collection of at least a thousand but sold it about six or seven years before Steve first approached me, so we were working from memory. And basically, with Mod fanzines … it’s like a pyramid. You have Maximum Speed at the top, then you have Direction Reaction Creation, Shake and, dare I say it, Extraordinary Sensations, and so on. But we managed to find fanzines that were literally just circulating in a Derbyshire pit village amongst fifteen friends, you know?

    Fanzines were ubiquitous in the Mod scene because it was the perfect storm of accessibility, desire and the market. Accessibility, as in anyone could make a fanzine – you needed a pen and a photocopier. People weren’t writing about Mod bands in the mainstream music press, and if they were they were disparaging. So, kids in south Wales, Huddersfield, Essex, wherever, they weren’t reading about their bands. So, there was a desire to tell people about your local bands, and that created the market. There were more Mod fanzines than any other genre ever. I’d say probably two or three thousand different titles since 1978. We were only able to scratch the surface.

    Were there many titles that you couldn’t track down?

    Eddie: Some of the editors had passed away, or moved to Jamaica or just felt that they were no longer interested in it. From my perspective, we wrote about most of the fanzines we wanted to feature. There were some that I wish had spoken to us, and some I wish I’d found; Roadrunner and Patriotic didn’t feel they had time. Shake, the guy had moved to Jamaica to be a Dancehall MC in 1984 - DJ Dominic, “The Cheeky Cockney”. But, in principle, we got what we wanted to get. This book could have been ten times longer, and it would have taken ten times longer to write.

    Steve: Ironically, the one cover we wanted to feature and couldn’t get was Issue 1 of Extraordinary Sensations. No one can find it and people did scour their collections.

    Eddie: Yes, the Holy Grail for fanzine collectors. I originally sold it at The Bridge House Hotel in Canning Town, right towards the end of 'Mod Monday'. We’d gone to see the Leyton Mod band Beggar. I made twenty copies of Extraordinary Sensations and sold them all in twenty minutes for 10p each. Twenty-four hours later they were probably all in someone’s bin but that’s what fanzines were supposed to be, disposable. I never kept a copy; I never even thought I’d do a Volume Two, let alone be talking about it forty years later. I found one original typed page in my archive, but the rest of the fanzine… I’ve never seen it since that day. There might be one in existence but I doubt it.

    Generally it sounds as though the response from other editors was good?

    Steve: I think early on it went over peoples heads a little but as we got closer to finishing it, that’s when people realised it was actually happening and then they were like, “I want to be in it”. There was a lot of good will, people wanted to get involved… globally, as well.

    Eddie: Goffa Gladding from Maximum Speed was very forthcoming, gave me a lot of time and advice, just as he did in 1979 when I was a fifteen year old Mod. I looked up to these people, the fanzine editors, and when I became one myself it was like joining a private club. Other fanzine editors suddenly treated you in a different way. People like Ray Patriotic and Steve Roadrunner became some of my best friends. Mind you, no one ever called me Eddie Extraordinary Sensations – too much of a mouthful.

    From a design point of view, did you look at any of the fanzines and think, ‘There’s something a bit special there’?

    Roadrunner, Issue 5, 1981. Extraordinary Sensations, Issue 4, 1981. The Café Society, Issue 1, 1983. Beyond All Limits, Issue 5, 1985.

    Steve: There’s a thing now about getting your hands dirty, using pencils and paint and only scanning it after, and that’s what you want to do as a designer, not just staring at a screen. And that’s the beauty of doing this book; we could have done a blog but…

    Eddie: When we started this book we both assumed the world of Mod fanzines has been replaced by blogs and by websites but there are some fabulous magazines now like Heavy Soul and Icon. They don’t sell in huge quantities but obviously there’s not millions of Mods around the world.

    We do a whole section on design and how it grew from literally being a typewriter, a pair of scissors and a PritStick, up to when the first printers got involved. It was either a kid cutting it out, sticking it down and photocopying it or someone approaching it as a magazine, and you find a lot of the people in that second category became journalists. People like Chris Hunt, who wrote Shadows & Reflections fanzine and became editor of Shoot! Magazine; Steve Detra, the editor of Shake & Shout in Australia, he became a successful journalist, Tony Fletcher at Jammin’, that became a full-on magazine and he became an author…

    Steve: A lot of the fanzines were hand written, hand drawn and photo-copied, just to get it done, but the part where they really start to come alive and that I really love is when they discovered Letraset, that took it to a different level. Seeing which fonts they pick out and use, that gave me a bit of inspiration for the book as well - a lot of inspiration, in fact.

    Is there any international element to the book?

    Eddie: We had a fantastic response from all round the world. A guy in Argentina called Kevin Fingier, who is in a band called Los Aggrotones on Acid Jazz, he heard that we were doing the book and asked, “Is my fanzine in it?” I had to phone up Steve and say, ‘Have we finished the book, because I’ve just had some Mod fanzines in from Argentina, can you squeeze them in?’ This was right at the last minute.

    Steve: I was on the Modcast boat when one of the regulars, Jason, said, ‘I’m gutted my fanzine’s not in it’. He grew up in eastern Canada, where he produced the only Mod fanzine. I said, ‘Can you get it to me? There’s an off chance…’ So he got in touch with his Mum, who found the fanzine, scanned it, sent the images to me and it got in at the very last minute.

    Eddie: We also got an all girl Mod fanzine collective from Sweden, very Socialist. What were they called?

    Steve: Gloria International. Beautiful covers, one of my favourites.

    Did the fanzines have a broad agenda or was it limited to reviews of the same old bands?

    Eddie: We came across a guy from Birmingham who ran a fanzine called Hey Sah-Lo-Ney, after the Mickey Lee Lane / The Action song. He got bored doing a fanzine so he did a Mod comic book, called Lumbaba after the African politician. He drew every cell by hand but it would take two weeks to do a couple of pages. It was much easier to cut out ‘Batman’ and fill in the speech bubbles with your own writing. There’s so much of that in Mod fanzines. There’s a whole section on appropriation and copyright in the book – at the time we didn’t know it was illegal. We thought it was Roy Lichenstein style ‘Pop Art’.

    Do you think Mod fanzines left a lasting legacy?

    In The Crowd, Issue 14, 1985. The Catch!, Issue 1, 1985. The Hipster, Issue 3, 1986. Gloria International, Issue 2, 1990.

    Steve: Ironically I think there is, if only because of the internet. There’s fanzine Facebook groups, there’s collectors sharing images of their collections. The book is really the story behind it, going from those earliest titles that Eddie mentioned. We’re just telling the story of where it came from. It’s almost like finding the source of the river. Hopefully we provide some background, some interesting facts, the story of why it happened and the knock on effects… shining a light in forgotten corners, and on fanzines as an art form. It was unique; it’s interesting that none of the fanzines have resurfaced as blogs.

    Eddie: It was a very, very special thing but they all came to an end for one reason – time. The real world catches up. It’s a hobby.

    I think it summed up a time and a place, and an attitude you could do anything. Don’t forget, the reason that Modzines became so popular is Mod was an underground, working class movement, ignored by the mainstream press after 1979. By 1980 it was a dirty word, so we had to do it ourselves. Roger Allan, who wrote Can’t Explain fanzine, told us the early Punk scene was everything he could have wanted; you could make your own fanzine, make your own record, put your own gig on but gradually the powers that be, the establishment, the music papers, the record labels, they created this stereotype of the turgid, depressive, downer taking, motorcycle jacket and Mohican wearing ‘Sid Vicious’ style moron - and that wasn’t for us. Punk had lost it’s ‘do anything you wanna do’ attitude, as Eddie & The Hot Rods said. We looked at those people on the Kings Road and thought ‘Mug’. We took over the attitude and we carried on doing it, against contemporary music media dictats.

    A box set edition of ‘Modzines’, limited to 750 copies includes a 7” single ‘If I Was You’/’That’s What I Want’ by Long Tall Shorty (originally issued as a free flexidisc with the Direction Reaction Creation fanzine), a reproduction of issue one of Maximum Speed and a certificate of authenticity. It is available now from Acid Jazz for £51.99.

    The paperback version is published on 7 February 2019 and available from Amazon for £11.89.

  • Putting The Record Straight: Mark Kermode talks to Tootal Blog

    There are seemingly two loves in your life, music and film, in which case is this book a chance to talk about the one for which you are less well known?

    Yes but I’ve always done both of them, I’ve always played in bands. And I write in the book that one of the most important moments for me was seeing Slade In Flame - a film about Pop music; the two things bought perfectly together. I’ve played in bands my whole life and there is actually a certain section of people who only know me for the music. There is a kind of Dodge Brothers music fan who is not interested at all in the film stuff.

    I have been trying to persuade someone to let me write a book about my music stuff for quite a long time, so, yes, it is a chance to write about the thing that I really wanted to.

    You’ve named your book after the 1975 Slade single ‘How Does It Feel’. Are there many points where your passion for music and film meet?

    Perhaps the best example is our band The Dodge Brothers accompanying silent films, because on one hand, I’ve always played with bands, making music and records and stuff, and on the other hand I am a film critic. I’ve written about Pop music and about movies, and in fact I’m working on a book about the history of Pop music in movies, and how the two things kind of inter twine. We started accompanying silent movies with Neil Brand, who is a brilliant pianist, composer and arranger, who accompanies silent films just improvising, watching the screen and playing along. He said, ‘Look, I’d like to do this with a pick-up band, because that’s how they used to do it’. I said, ‘How’s that going to work? I can’t read music’. And he said, ‘No, we don’t read music, we improvise.’ To which I said, ‘But there’s a whole band! You can’t all just improvise’. So he said, ‘Actually, there are ways of doing it. You have certain key themes…’

    As a result of that conversation we ended up playing at Glastonbury, accompanying a silent film – I think we were the first band to do ever that. And we played in Tromsø, up in the Arctic Circle, where we accompanied the 1928 silent movie Beggars of Life. So, having long been interested in the way Pop music and movies work together, and loving the two things separately, they have now become welded together - they have literally become the same thing.

    You’ve been in a few groups across the years – is there a ‘Rock Family Tree’ to explain them all?     

    The younger Kermode (left) with Manchester Skiffle outfit The Railtown Bottlers.

    If someone did a Rock Family Tree of all the bands that didn’t make it in Manchester in the 1980s, it would go on for absolute miles. One of the weird things about period was, particularly in Hulme where I lived, everyone was in a band; most people were in two or three at the same time. It was all incredibly internecine. I remember being in a friend’s flat in Charles Barry Crescent, and A Guy Called Gerald was down one way, and Russians Eat Bambi were down that way, and Jamie who ran The Kitchen recording studio was upstairs – it was more like a crèche for musicians than it was a housing estate at that point. So, yes, it would make a brilliant Family Tree but it would be so hard to unravel.

    There is something of a “what’s the worst that can happen” theme in your book. Should it be filed under ‘Self Improvement’?

    I don’t know if it’s ‘improvement’. If there’s an underlying philosophy it’s “How hard can it be?’ I keep saying, I would love to be a musician but I’m really not; I’m really genuinely not. I have managed to surround myself with other people who are, and through sheer force of will I’ve managed to bluff myself into some fairly decent gigs. If there is a message then it is “What’s the worst that can happen?’ The worst that can happen is you will make a fool of yourself in public, and as I discovered when I tried the (stand-up comedian) Henry One Hundred thing, once you’ve been canned off stage in Hull, you’re kind of indestructible. Everyone’s going to laugh at you? Fine, I’ve had that – wasn’t that bad… though they were quite aggressive.

    Was there a lot of music in your house as a child?

    There was. My Dad was a huge Jelly Roll Morton fan. He really loved what now gets called Trad Jazz, very old Jazz, old Blues. So, I grew up with his record collection, and it was on all the time. He had a “hi-fi”, as they were called in those days. He had a record deck with an SME arm and a Shure cartridge - serious stuff. So, we weren’t allowed to touch it, and that meant the only music that got played was “Dad’s music”. It wasn’t until some time later when I got a little Dansette to play singles on that I was actually able to choose for myself. The first ten years of my life I was entirely marinated in my Dad’s record collection.

    Can you remember the first record you bought and where you bought it?

    Mark Kermode's Record Collection: The Early Years

    If you don’t count my Mum buying me ‘Dougal & The Blue Cat’, the first record I bought was ‘Jealous Mind’ by Alvin Stardust, and the second was ‘Sugar Baby Love’ by The Rubettes. And, yes, I remember where I bought it from – it was the newsagent in Finchley. They had this thing with ex-jukebox singles; 45-RPM singles and they sold for 45p. And they came with the holes punched out in the middle, and without the adaptors, so you had to have one of your own. What I remember really clearly was, you had to really look at the record to see what condition it was in because jukeboxes destroyed records. ‘Jealous Mind’ I bought because it was in really good condition; ‘Sugar Baby Love’, there were a couple of copies of it, and I found a clean one that wasn’t totally scratched to pieces, so those were the first two.

    Photos in your book suggest the Mark Kermode of 2018 doesn’t look dissimilar to, say, the 1980 model. Can we assume you’ve found a style you’re comfortable with?

    That is true. There’s that saying “once an old Ted, always an old Ted”. I was talking to Tim Polecat about this. I said, ‘Why do you think it is that people who are into Rockabilly and Rock ‘n’ Roll, they stick with it?”

    Because I’m in my mid to late fifties now, and I’ll quite often walk down the street and see someone slightly portly, balding, Harrington and the remains of a quiff, and you kind of nod at each other. And Tim said, “Yes, it is remarkable, isn’t it? It’s because once you’ve gone down that route - once you’ve gone “Rockin’” - it just sticks. It’s not something that you grow into and grow out of”. Partly, I think, because it would be considered an act of betrayal. I remember when I was first doing telly, and people would say, “Why has he got that stupid haircut?” And I knew there were other people who were literally going, “Good for him”. So, I thought “Keeping that; not changing that”.

    Do you remember the first time you could buy your own clothes?

    Mark Kermode, Isle of Man c. 1975. Under the influence of The Rubettes.

    The first time I was allowed to buy my own clothes was when I worked in a jeans shop in North Finchley called Jean Genie – I’m sure there was a copyright issue there. I worked there on a Saturday from 8 o’clock in the morning, until 5 o’clock. And for that you got ten pounds, plus you could buy the clothes at wholesale price; and they sold Levi’s, Levi’s t-shirts and Levi’s jackets, so the first time I was able to buy my own stuff was working there, doing fairly menial stuff but at the end of it you could buy a pair of Levi’s for ten quid, though this was the 1970s. I can remember buying a Levi’s jacket, that I had to work for a few weeks to save up for, but I was really, really proud of it. And then, I think we used to buy Harrington’s from Carnaby Street. Baracuta weren’t really around then…

    In 1993 you were part of the House Band for Danny Baker’s chat show After All, and got the chance to work with some great talent. So, what’s the biggest thrill you’ve got from meeting a musical hero?

    Suggs was just brilliant, not least because he came in at the last minute when we had a sort of “falling out” with somebody else. And he’s very funny, very dry but so understated. He said, ‘Who dropped out?’ and when I told him and he laughed for about five minutes. He was so cool; he had this brilliant suit – it was light blue but it looked like it was beige - and these glasses with a leopard print frame, and that great haircut. I just remember playing with him and thinking you are The Coolest Man – the way he behaved, the way he spoke, everything about him I remember thinking was absolutely brilliant.

    Since then I’ve met Jonny Greenwood from Radiohead, who I’m a huge fan of, Stephen Fellows from The Comsat Angels, who I absolutely idolised, and Henry Priestman, who was in Yachts and The Christians and It’s Immaterial. I played on his record, he played on our record and I’ve still never met him, we did it all by remote control. Henry and I are going to meet for the first time ever onstage in Camden, when he’s doing a gig and I’m going to play bass on a couple of songs. But I just remember being completely starstruck by Suggs, because he was so effortlessly cool.

    Your band, The Dodge Brothers, have a new album ‘Drive Train’ out in September. Do you have a music masterplan?

    Bangin' and twangin' and... whatever it is that washboards do. The Dodge Brothers onstage.

    The masterplan is literally nothing other than to keep going. I mean, when we recorded ‘The Sun Set’ album at Sun Studios, and that was a really big deal because going abroad to record an album is one thing but going abroad to record an album in Memphis, at Sun… I thought it would never happen, I thought it was some crazy pipe dream, but it did and the results were brilliant.

    We basically write old-fashioned songs; we always have done so we’re not going to suddenly turn in a Prog album or an experimental album. We’re probably going to go further and further back in time but our main plan is to just keep going, because we really love doing it, and I’m really proud of it, as well, so we’ll just keep going until we drop of our perches.

    When Mike (Hammond) our guitarist and I started the band, we were in a social club somewhere and there were these two old guys, they must have been in their ‘80s, and they both played Blues guitar, and they must have known each other since they were… forever! And they were sitting there, playing the Blues, and I remember Mike and I looking at them and saying, ‘That’s going to be us. That’s what we’re going to be doing when we’re in our ‘80s’.

    Believe me, I am immensely grateful for having lived a charmed life, and the key to it is although I’m not a very good musician I surrounded myself with other people who are, and I landed on my feet.

    Ending on a positive note, it’s the end of the world and you can only take your three favourite films or your three favourite records on The Ark – what’s it going to be?

    The records. Am I allowed box sets? Okay then, the box set of Washboard Sam, which I think is seven volumes but that’s the total Washboard Sam recordings, absolute genius. Probably ‘Sleep No More’ by The Comsat Angels, because I have always, always loved that record, I just think it’s wonderful. And a collection of Jelly Roll Morton because it reminds me of what I grew up on.




    How Does It Feel? A Life of Musical Misadventures by Mark Kermode is published by Weidenfeld & Nicolson and is available now in all good bookshops.





    The Dodge Brothers new album, ‘Drive Train’, is out now on Weeping Angel Records and available at

  • Something I Want To Tell You: Kenney Jones talks to Tootal Blog.

    When you have been drummer for the Small Faces, The Faces and The Who – three of the greatest bands this country has ever produced - kept the beat behind Paul McCartney, Paul Rodgers, Chuck Berry and Jerry Lee Lewis (and played on Art Garfunkel’s ‘Bright Eyes’), had number 1 singles on both sides of the Atlantic, beaten cancer twice and survived to tell the tale then it’s undoubtedly a tale worth telling.

    Tootal Blog caught up with Kenney Jones ahead of the publication of his autobiography.

    Was there much music in your home when you were growing up?

    No. What we did have was a radio, the old sort that you had to tune in so the choice was whatever they were playing. My Dad’s favourite singer was Michael Holliday, who sang “Some day I’m going to write the story of my life…” That’s kind of appropriate, isn’t it? TV wise we had Edmundo Ross and his Orchestra, Sunday Night At The Palladium, Billy Cotton and his Band, all that kind of stuff.

    So where did the urge to become a drummer stem from?

    Without me realising it, drumming must have been in my blood. My uncle was a mace thrower, he couldn’t play any instrument whatsoever but he got the big pole, and the big hat with the feathers on it, and he was the one that lead the band round the east London processions and I used to follow them. They had a row of side-drummers at the front, and I was mesmerised by them. I used to rush back after the procession had finished, into my Dad’s shed – he was a bit of a part-time carpenter – and I used to empty all of the nails out of this round biscuit tin, turn it upside down, and play with two bits of wood. And it sounded like a snare drum, and it sounded like the band I’d just been listening to.

    How do you get to practice drums when you’re growing up on a terraced street in Stepney?

    Kenney circa 1966. Handsome fellow, dapper chap.

    In the front room of our house. Neighbours either side, neighbours opposite, but in those days every street was like a village, and we knew all the neighbours. Didn’t stop them saying, ‘Shut up, Kenney’… There were lots of young kids, the same age as me, growing up on our street, so all the mothers and fathers were friendly, so when my success happened within eighteen months, I reckon, they were so proud of me and it switched from ‘Shut up, Kenney’ to ‘Give us a tune, Kenney’. Though they might have just been pleased that I wasn’t playing the drums at home anymore; they all got a bit of peace and quiet when I left.

    I’ve read that you only started playing drums because you missed out on buying a banjo.

    Me and my mate were cleaning cars, for half a crown - a bit of pocket money on a Friday night. And he threw the sponge at me, just to get my attention, and he said, ‘I think we should form a skiffle group’. So, I threw the sponge back at him and said, ‘What’s a skiffle group?’ And he said a skiffle group is when you get a tea chest, and you get a broom handle stick it in one corner, tie a bit of string to the top and stick the end of it in the other corner, and that makes the sound of a bass. So, I said, ‘Yeah…’ Then he said, ‘You get your mum’s washboard and your nan’s thimbles, stick ‘em on your fingers, and you play with your fingers running them up and down the washboard.’ By this time I thought he was nuts but there was a TV programme, it might have been Six-Five Special, and Lonnie Donegan came on, singing the theme tune, and he did ‘My Old Man’s A Dustman’ after that, and I fell in love with him playing the banjo, I loved that sound.

    I’d seen a banjo in the Pawn Shop next to Bethnal Green station, the three gold balls outside, and it had been there for months, so the next day I said to my mate, ‘Let’s go and get that’. So we went up there to buy it, no money in our pockets, just keen. But we got there and there’s no banjo – it had been there months. So, I said to the guy, ‘Where is it?’ And he said, ‘The guy’s paid for it; this is a Pawn Shop. He’s paid the money back, and it’s gone’. So, we left that shop, and I was kind of down a little bit, walking back home, and my mate said to me, ‘You’re really upset, aren’t you? A mate of mine’s got a drum kit, shall I get him to bring it round this afternoon?’

    Small Faces, Sydney Airport, 1968, with Immediate Records boss Andrew Loog Oldham (Photo: Sydney Morning Herald)

    Sure enough he bought the drum kit round, and it turned out to be one bass drum, a floor tom-tom and two sticks, one of which was broken in half. We spent ages trying to glue this one stick back together but gave up on that and I started playing with one-and-a-half sticks, God knows what I sounded like. My Mum worked in a glass factory, just off Cable Street, and she’d walk home underneath the railway arches. We lived halfway down the road, and she saw that all the neighbours were out, and she wondered what the commotion was. And as she got closer and closer she realised it was coming from her house, she came in the door and started screaming at me, ‘What’s happening here, what’s all this?’

    Then someone told me about a music shop in Green Lane, Manor Park, called J60. And in the shop was this one white drum kit, a cheap one called an Olympia. So the guy said, ‘It’s Sixty Four Pounds, Five Shillings and Tuppence. Have you got it on you then? And I said, no, I haven’t got it on me. So, he said, ‘How are you going to pay for it then?’ I said, ‘Well… I dunno.’ He said, ‘You’re going to have to put it on H.P. but your Mum and Dad are going to have to sign the forms.”

    I didn’t know what H.P. was, I thought it was brown sauce. Then he said, ‘You also need a deposit, ten pounds, have you got that on you?’ ‘No’, I said, ‘I’ll get it though’. So I got back on the bus, went back to my house and no one was in, just my Mum’s purse on the mantelpiece. And I looked at it for ages and ages, and there was exactly ten pounds in there. So, back on the bus, gave the guy the deposit, and he said, ‘Right, what’s your address? I’ll deliver them tonight, about half past five’.

    Now, when my Dad finished work, after about five o’clock, no one knocked on our door, so when this guy delivered the drums, bang, bang, bang on the knocker it was, ‘Who’s that?’ So, my Dad opened the door and this guy walked straight past him with a great big bass drum and said, ‘Where do you want this then?” By this time my Mum and Dad are giving me evil looks, ‘What have you got up to now?’ This guy said, ‘Right, I’ll just play something; can you play drums?’ I said, ‘No, I want to learn how to play, that’s why I’ve got them’. He said, ‘Look, I’ll show you something’, and he got brushes out instead of sticks. I’d never seen brushes before, so I thought, ‘What do I do now?’ He sat behind it and he played a Jazz shuffle with the brushes. Then I sat behind the drum kit. I looked at my Mum and Dad, and I looked at this guy and I looked at the brushes, I closed my eyes and I started playing… and I kept my eyes shut but I could hear the same sound as this bloke had been playing. And I opened my eyes and my Mum and Dad said we’ve never seen you smile so much, so they decided to sign the H.P. They didn’t know about the ten pounds at this point, that came out later, when I had to pay them back. More than ten quid; best investment they ever made.

    Legend has it that the Small Faces had accounts with all the Carnaby Street clothes shops in the mid-Sixties.

    Ronnie, Kenney and Mac, buying up Carnaby Street, 1965 (Photo: Pictorial Press)

    In those days there were only about three shops down there; Lord John, John Stevens and Topper’s. Other ones came after that, they were always going in and out of business but there weren’t that many. We went on TV wearing outfits that we’d pulled together, then the shops made up what we were wearing and put them on sale. We put Carnaby Street on the map, that’s where our management offices were and where there’s a commemorative plaque now.

    We didn’t know what ‘style’ was; we had to be on TV so we were like, ‘What can we wear?’ The white Levis, I got those – no one wanted to buy the white ones but I loved them; I used to roll them up so you could see my bright socks underneath. We’d go out to find a jacket to wear, ‘Yeah, that will go with that, wear that with the white Levis, Hush Puppies and stuff like that’. Topper’s was really good at the time, I got really friendly with the guy who owned it; I love shoes. I bought these multi-coloured basket weave shoes, all sorts of stuff.

    For many years the Immediate Records (the Small Faces label) business affairs were in a mess and it seemed you were single handedly fighting to sort it out.

    I still am, I’m not giving up. Whoever bought the label owes us the money, they’re all living in denial. We had our own publishing company, and the receiver should have declared that but didn’t, slipped it under the covers. The receiver went off to Spain and retired a wealthy man, and there we were struggling; Ronnie Lane died with no money in his pocket, Mac was very similar… We must have had ‘Mug’ or ‘Screw us’ tattooed on our foreheads.

    One thing I did learn is there’s a thing called sleeping on your rights. As long as you keep asking and sending letters, and poking about, otherwise when it does come up a judge will say you’ve known about this all along, why didn’t you do anything about it? So, they can’t accuse us ever of sleeping on our rights because I keep on digging, and I can prove it.

    Both the Small Faces and The Faces had a reputation for knowing how to enjoy themselves.

    The Faces circa 1975 (L. to R. Tetsu Yamauchi, Ronnie Wood, Rod Stewart, Kenney Jones, Ian McLagan)

    The Small Faces were never into drinking. More into smoking a bit of pot, and I was into the same thing as Mooney, we called them Blues. They were only to keep us awake, because Don Arden was booking us three gigs a day, one in Birmingham, one in Manchester and one in wherever, and you would find yourself falling asleep. In those days, gigs weren’t that long, you only had to play for about twenty minutes. You couldn’t play for longer anyway, because the screaming kids would drive you nuts; you couldn’t hear yourself at all. Amplifiers weren’t big or loud enough to drown out the sound of the girls.

    We were drinking by the time of The Faces, quite a lot actually. Brandy and coke or brandy and ginger was our drink. When we got to America it was Lancers wine, and – I hate to say it – Liebfraumilch, which is awful. That’s all we could afford in those days, we used to buy some bottles and throw them out to the audience so they could have a drink with us… Then we discovered better drinks.

    For the 1973 ‘live’ album Coast to Coast: Overtures & Beginners you were billed as Rod Stewart & The Faces. Did it concern you that you were seen as Rod’s backing band?

    No, we didn’t realise it when we were signing to Warner Brothers – it only came out that day - that Rod had already signed a solo deal with Mercury Records, so he could have the money to buy a Marcos sports car. It just so happened, the boss at Warner Brothers, Joe Smith, and the boss at Mercury were great friends, so they worked out a deal where Rod could sing with us as the Faces, providing we gave Mercury one ‘live’ album, which was ‘Overtures & Beginners’, so that’s how that came out, no one was doing the dirty.

    You had recorded with The Who as early as the Tommy soundtrack in 1975 but it still can’t have been easy to step into Keith Moon’s shoes when you joined The Who in 1979?

    The Who at Live Aid, 13 July 1985 (Photo: Dave Hogan)

    I was forming a band with Glyn Johns, a half American, half English transatlantic thing. A great sound, great songwriting, everyone was excited about it. We rented a house over there and we were going to rehearse and record there, when I got a call from (The Who manager) Bill Curbishley to say, ‘The Who have had a meeting, they want you to join the band and they’re not going to consider anyone else’. So I said, ‘I’m terribly sorry, Bill, but I can’t. I’m forming a band, we’re just about to sign with Atlantic Records and they’re giving us loads of money’. He said, ‘Well, Pete’s coming in the office this afternoon, come and have a word with Pete’. So we talked for about two hours, the three of us, laughing and joking about all the things we’d got up to when Pete just stopped in his tracks and said, ‘You’ve got to join the band, you’re one of us; you’re a Mod’. It kind of struck a chord…

    Then it started to get serious. He said, ‘Look, in many ways Keith was holding us back a little because basically he played in his own way, and we were playing to it, but now we have a chance to do something completely different’. I said, ‘Okay, I’ll join but I’m not taking Keith Moon’s place. No one can copy Keith, I’m not even going to attempt it, he had a unique style. And not only that he was far more of a showman than I was… than anyone was. And I can’t imagine breaking up my drums, or anything like that’.

    Polo doesn’t seem an obvious pastime for a drummer from east London. How did that come about?

    Strike A Pose: Kenny at Hurtwood Park Polo Club, August 2014 (Photo: Mike Lawn)

    I blame it on Steve Marriott. We were rehearsing in the East End, Jimmy Winston’s mum and dad has this pub, The Ruskin Arms, with a small ballroom at the back, and it was a hot summer’s day. Steve arrived and said it’s far too hot to rehearse, a friend of mine’s got a stable yard in Epping, so I’ve fixed us up riding horses, get out of the place for the day. So, we went, yeah, and I thought, I’ve never been on a horse, lovely, great. So, we got out there, got on these horses and had a good laugh, and I loved it. They fell off and I fell on. And I went back the next day, and the next, and the minute we had some money in our pocket I ended up buying a horse called Pedro, a Welsh stallion, and a saddle, and stuff like that, and that was the first thing I bought with my money.

    Once I discovered Polo, I got hooked. I tried to learn to play at the Ham Polo Club in 1969, when (Cream drummer) Ginger Baker had just taken it up; he couldn’t ride at all. At least I could ride; every time I looked round Ginger was off his horse. He was wearing his suede jacket with all the tassels on the sleeve, running after his horse, polo stick in his hand; it made me laugh.

    What are you going to do between now and the next volume of your autobiography?

    When I was in my early thirties and I did interviews, people would say to me, so much has happened to you so quickly, you should write a book and I thought, yeah. So, I started but stopped almost straight away. I thought, this doesn’t feel right, I can’t write an autobiography; I’m not old enough. So I parked it until now, I had to live some life. It’s only when I got cancer for the second time that I thought I better sit down and do something about it. So here it is… and it’s nice that this book is coming out in my 70th year.






               Let The Good Times Roll by Kenney Jones is out 31st May RRP £20 (Blink Publishing)

  • Sweet Harmony: Tootal Blog Talks to Music For Robots

    Jan Kincaid, the former drummer, songwriter, producer, and founder of the Brand New Heavies met Dawn Joseph, the vocalist and multi-instrumentalist, when she started singing for the Heavies in 2013. The pair instantly clicked, and within their first week of working together, they were writing songs. Now they’ve formed their own band, Music For Robots (or MF Robots, for short) – their name, a subtle dig at how generic today’s music climate has become.

    Tootal Blog talked to Jan Kincaid about their new soul vision.

    By way of introduction what does it say on the Music For Robots business card?

    It would have “ironic” in brackets, that’d be the first thing. And then it would just be “music to make you feel good”. Obviously we live in strange times, and there’s a lot of music that reflects that but there’s a lot of things to be happy about still. And we’re very enthused by music, particularly the celebratory side of it. Whenever we play live, it’s a very dynamic and exciting show; that’s what we like from music, which seems to be what we do naturally, so we try and project that. Being introspective is okay but it’s also quite a selfish viewpoint. Sometimes you need to engage with everyone else, rather than just “woe is me” all the time.

    How did Music For Robots come about?

    Really, for the want of something new and exciting to do. I started Brand New Heavies back in the day with Andrew and Simon, and Dawn came on board in 2011. Straightaway we hit it off and started writing a together, just me and her. I was kind of the main writer in the band and used to working on my own but with Dawn I found a songwriting ally. She has an almost telepathic ability; she just knows the same stuff, the same points of reference, and the things I was into. I didn’t have to describe anything; she already knew what we were trying to do. And she’s incredibly open-minded; she doesn’t have a lot of musical boundaries. I know from experience when you get into writing sessions people can be really precious, especially if you’re in a big group of people. I found that quite frustrating sometimes, because everyone wanted to have an input, and sometimes if you know what you’re doing it’s nice to just run with it. And with Dawn, I’ve never had that problem, so before we knew it we pretty much wrote the last Heavies record together (‘Sweet Freaks’, 2014). There’s advantages to being in a band for a long time, in that you establish a sound and you have a way of working, or a framework, but you can only bend and move that a certain amount before people start getting uneasy.

    So this is a response to your personal situation, and to something bigger?

    MF Robots Dawn Joseph and Jan Kincaid.

    Definitely, it’s like a joyous release. I just wanted a totally new thing, and not having to think about expectations. And that celebratory side of the album also comes from the release of a lot of frustration, certainly in my part. It’s like being in a marriage for a long time, that’s plodding along and you’re not really expressing yourself in the way you want to. So, I had my massive mid-life crisis, I broke out, bought myself a sports car, and all is good! [Laughs]. I’m on that highway, going into the sunset, Tootal scarf blowing in the wind.

    Are there individual messages and themes that your songs explore?

    There are a lot of themes in there, for example a few of the tracks go into not being afraid. For me, I’ve been in a situation for a long time, twenty-five plus years, so there’s a part of you that’s always saying, “Do you know what you’re doing? Be careful” but a lot of the songs reflect that feeling, of taking that next step. Having enough self-belief and faith in the music, faith in what we were doing, to think actually, no, I’m going to do this. But I’m so much happier, and I’ve never regretted it for a minute. ‘Scary Monsters’ is about that. There’s actually no scary monsters there at all, only the ones you have in yourself, that little voice that’s always telling you to stop. Unless you take that step you’re never going to go anywhere, are you?

    Is Brand New Heavies a closed book now?

    MF Robots take to the stage.

    For me, definitely. It’s no longer a reflection of where my head is at in any way, shape or form. It’s become a bit of a heritage thing really, and it went as far as I could see it going. When you’re playing the same songs for twenty plus years, without really adding anything new it just gets a bit boring. I’m more interested in what we’re doing tomorrow than what we did ten years ago.

    The new album has a very full and rich sound; can it be recreated live?

    We’re taking the best elements, the effervescence and the joyous, celebratory, party side of it and we’re taking that out live. It’s quite raucous, and Dawn’s an amazing performer; she really does know how to engage with a crowd. The thing is, we’re quite a new band, so some of the gigs we’ve done, particularly the bigger festivals, there’s a large part of the audience that have never heard us; we’re very aware of that, but halfway through the set, they’re all over it. They have a really good time, and that’s the best we could ever wish for. It’s not about having to recreate the record, note for note, because it’s quite a big sound but we’re still going out with a horn section, guitar, bass, drums, there’s eight of us on stage, so it’s not a small band but for what we’re doing it’s right, and it sounds great.

    Fourteen unfamiliar songs is asking a lot of your audience. If you had to throw in a cover version...?

    We actually do two quite different cover versions. We do ‘Finder’s Keepers’ by Chairman of the Board, and we do ‘Keep That Same Old Feeling’ by The Crusaders. ‘Finder’s Keepers’ is our encore, it’s a bit raucous, it really gets people going, it’s the kind of song that just keeps going up and up. We’re thinking of adding a Dolly Parton song but we’re approaching it from an entirely different direction; it’s going to be interesting.

    ‘Finder’s Keepers’ is forty-five years old. Why is it that Soul and Funk particularly still sound so fresh and vibrant?

    It has all of those things we’re striving for, it’s celebratory, it’s joyous, it’s that gritty, real feeling, it’s passionate, it projects outward… all of those things, and Soul music is a true expression of spirit. In a musical climate where everything is generic, and boring, and very samey… most of the records you hear seem to be produced by the same producers, and even if they’re not they sound pretty similar. When you have twenty writers writing one record, which seems to be the norm just now, to me that’s just insane. If I’m trying to write something that’s honest and sincere, how can you tell a story that’s written by twenty people? It doesn’t make sense, it doesn’t sound honest. It sounds like a business transaction. It’s more like a manufacturing process, rather than a creative process. And that’s where the name Music For Robots comes from, because we’re kind of cocking a snook at that whole vibe. I think that’s why reissues and re-releases are such a booming business for record companies, because it’s music was made with a purity of heart, and I think that’s lacking in a lot of music right now. I think that people want to hear that kind of honesty and that straight forwardness again.

    Did music play a big part in the home when you were growing up?

    MF Robots Dawn Joseph and Jan Kincaid.

    Massively, yeah. It was in the home, it was on TV, so many theme tunes, film soundtracks, adverts, all kind going around, as well as Pop music, so I picked up on a lot of stuff. When I was about nine, maybe ten, I got really into Rock ‘n’ Roll, and early R&B. I think primarily it was probably because of Grease, if I’m completely honest. Then I heard ‘Blueberry Hill’, and stuff like that, and I got more into New Orleans R&B, artists like Clarence ‘Frogman’ Henry, that kind of vibe. And when I went to high school I really got into Soul music, then Jazz, Latin music, Hip-Hop and everything else in-between. Now my tastes are really eclectic, as they are when you get older. I was a massive purist when I was younger but now there’s so many things I’m hearing that I love.

    Let’s go back to the first to the first record you bought…

    It was probably a cheap Top of the Pops album, if I’m honest. No idea which one it was, or what year it was – a Seventies one. And it might have been bought for me. I bought a few records when I was ten, eleven, something like that, a few singles probably. And then when I went to high school, I really started buying singles properly, and I haven’t stopped since. Buying records has always been a passion for me.

    When you’re making an album do you think of it in terms of “track one, side one”, etc.?

    Because we weren’t rushing and we started this project before it even became an album, we kind of did it track by track and then suddenly we had six tracks, then twelve, and it was like, “ooh, this has become something special now”. And when we started to apply the polish and to hone it, we were sequencing it from a vinyl point of view, and actually we are doing double vinyl, so I did it as Side A, Side B, Side C, Side D. That’s how the album runs, that was very specifically thought out.

    We wanted to make it a really attractive package because I collect vinyl, so that’s what I look for as well. If you’re going to buy the vinyl, you want to have that full-on aesthetic joy whenever you pick it. And something that I can always go back to and think, “I love this cover” because that’s one thing that frustrates the shit out of me with Spotify, even though I totally get the ease of use, I want to find out who some of the players are sometimes, where it was recorded… all of that kind of thing.

    What about the first time you bought your own clothes?

    MF Robots Jan Kincaid and Dawn Joseph.

    From a very young age I was always the kid that was like, “No, I don’t want those, I want those” but I didn’t always have that choice; my mum was still getting my jeans from Tesco, and more frustratingly my brother is six years older than me but we were still wearing the same outfits, the same cardigans… there’s loads of 1970s photos where we’re wearing the same clothes.

    For me it was a youth culture thing, and the first time I got into something that had a strong identity it was Rock ‘n’ Roll, so I went out and I bought a shoestring tie and some luminous socks – there was a little shop in Ealing that had all that stuff - I started to roll up my jeans, even though I still had Tesco ones. I never had a drape coat or anything like that. Some sides of that fashion I was a bit uneasy with, because I thought it looked a bit silly. I did buy some Brylcreem but I had such fine hair it didn’t work, it kind of half flopped down. I’ve got these photos of my mate and me at eleven years old, looking more Flock of Seagulls than Bill Haley.

    When I got into high school everyone was either a Soul Boy, a Mod or into 2-Tone, maybe the odd Skinhead kicking around. I was very firmly a Soul Boy, so I was into Farah’s and the casual thing, even though I couldn’t really afford it. Everyone had burgundy cardigans and waffle shoes. Soul belts, Hawaiian shirts, and the G.I. thing, I went through all that. When I was fifteen it was putting the seam down the front of your trousers, with a Gabicci shirt, something like that. Slazenger jumpers, Lyle & Scott… I never had a Lyle & Scott, Slazenger was the cheaper alternative.

    Do music and style still go hand in hand for you now?

    Oh, massively. And I really like fashion for its own sake; I’m very much into the thing of where youth culture and fashion meets. There’s an amazing book that’s just come out, ‘Rebel Threads’ by Roger Burton, that book is incredible, because when you see a lot of those histories it is mainly American stuff, so it’s really nice to see all those shots from the Fifties and Sixties and it’s all British style. I really like those little books like ‘The Ivy Look’, and there’s another one called ‘Icons of Men’s Style’, I love all of that stuff.

    Being on the warehouse scene, that’s where I started to see people dressing up, and I used to look up to some of those people like the Duffer’s and that kind of crowd, and I started hanging out with those cats and that was a real exciting time. There’s no tribalism in music any more, and that is really sad, I think. People don’t have that band they can look up to and say, right, I want to be like them. That was everywhere - Punks, Rockers, Skins, Teddy Boys, Soul Boys, Mods, all of that, and now you don’t have anything, and that’s quite sad. I definitely benefited from and enjoyed that tribalism, and it reflects on everything I do, whether it is conscious or not.

    Previously the name Brand New Heavies would have been enough to sell a few albums or tickets. It must be a challenge to start building a new audience from scratch?

    MF Robots debut album 'Music For Robots' is released on 4th May 2018.

    We’ve done quite well on social media so far, building it up kind of organically. We definitely want to get out to America and do some business there because I think potentially that’s a really big audience for us. I don’t think we fit into traditional radio so much, it’s so targeted at specific audiences, and I think that’s its downfall in a way. For me those little online stations are the ones that we were searching for back in the day, and while they come and go there’s some great podcasts as well. It’s a really exciting time in music, but there’s just so much out there – everyone can do something and promote it now. You get a much bigger range to choose from which means some things never get heard. And you have to be a marketeer to a certain extent, and you have to be a salesman and all of these things as well as being a musician, and if you’re from a younger generation that’s all you know

    Going forward, is there a Music For Robots master plan?

    Yes, to carry on doing what we’re doing, and try to do it as organically as we can. We want to do a lot more shows, play to a lot more people, and wake them up to what we’re doing, that’s the plan. And, of course, get the album out there because we’re really excited for people to hear it, because we put a lot of work into it. So far people have been really encouraging but you never really know – you just do something to the best of your ability, you never know whether people are going to accept it. People think, oh, yeah, it’s going to be just like the Heavies but actually, once you hear the album, there’s a lot more going on than that, and that’s the thing I think we will gradually get across. It’s a lot fresher than the last couple of Heavies albums, but it wasn’t a conscious thing, it was a case of the gloves are off and we have that freedom.


    ‘Music For Robots’ by MF Robots is out now on Membran Records, on CD, double vinyl and available to download and stream.

    Find them on Twitter @musicforrobots on Facebook @mfrobots and on Instagram @MFRobots

  • Satisfaction Guaranteed: Tootal Blog talks to Steve Ellis

    Steve Ellis was one third of the holy trinity of ‘Steve’s’- the other two being Marriott and Winwood – who emerged out of the mid-1960s UK rhythm & blues scene and became three of the best blue-eyed soul vocalists of that decade.

    Fifty years after Love Affair’s ‘Everlasting Love’ made No. 1 Steve releases ‘Boom! Bang! Twang!’ an expertly crafted mix of new songs and heartfelt covers with guests and long-time friends Paul Weller, COW, Manfred Mann’s Mike D’Abo, Kev Wallbank, Andy Crofts and Ben Gordelier (The Moons) all along for the ride.

    How did the new album ‘Boom! Bang! Twang! come about?

    Steve Ellis 2018 (Photo by Christopher Bissell)

    I live in Brighton, and one day I was in town, just having a bit of a walkabout and there was this guy starring at me. I walked down the road to where a friend of mine’s got a shop, and the same guy was in there, him and his wife. I said, ‘Haven’t I just seen you?’ So, this was Mark and Maxine from the band COW and we got talking for about an hour, and to cut a long story short we ended up doing this split A-Side single.

    You recorded the album at Paul Weller’s Black Barn studio in Surrey.

    When we were doing the single I said to Mark what studio are we going to use, and he said Black Barn. So, we were doing the backing track and Paul said why don’t you do an album here? And he’d already offered several times in the past twenty or so years that I’ve known him. Paul said he’d get in Andy Crofts, who I’d met before. We were doing one particular song, and I’d been thinking about a drummer, so I said to Ben Gordelier, “I’ll give you a quid if you play on my record”. So he said, “Alright”. Charles (Rees) is a great engineer, and… um… that’s how it happened.

    The album is a mix of new songs and covers. How did the selection come about?

    It was all a bit organic. It came together very easily. I already had stuff in mind that I wanted to record. ‘Don’t Let The Sun Catch You Crying’ and ‘I Forgot To Be Your Lover’, both of which I’d played on tour, then I found a Mike D’Abo number that I really liked, ‘Glory Bound’.

    That William Bell track is a story in itself. A pal of mine owns a record shop in Brighton, Across The Tracks, and I walked in there on a Saturday morning to have a bit of a nose about. So, my mate Dave… shop full of people and he announces, “This record should be played at least once a day”, and he put on ‘I Forgot To Be Your Lover’. It blew me away! We did it on tour for a couple of years, and it always went down well. The album’s got a nice feel about it, it all just glues together.

    There’s a wealth of talent and experience on the album. Were you running the show or did you just “let it happen”?

    The thing is, when you work with a bunch of like-minded people, there’s a bit of larking about in between but Paul’s like a machine. He’s driven – music, music, music. The first time I recorded with him, I’d started this song in London, but when they transferred the files to me in Brighton, the guitars were missing, they lost some of the keyboards… anyway, I mentioned it in conversation with Paul and he said I’ll come down tomorrow. He turned up in a bloody great Dodge van, six guitars in the back, nothing else – I wet myself. He knew what he was doing, so there was no need for me to interfere. I trust him 100%.

    How did you first meet Paul?

    Love Affair circa 1968, with Steve Ellis second left.

    I first met Paul in the early 80s when he had formed The Style Council. We’ve been mates since then. Dean Powell, the boxing promoter, and me we started the Steve Marriott Memorial Concert at the Ruskin Arms in East Ham, mid nineties. It morphed into a convention, though that had nothing to do with me. It culminated in me getting phone calls, asking would I do a tribute gig at the Astoria? I think this was about 2001, probably on Steve Marriott’s birthday, and I said, yeah, ‘course I’ll do it. So, Paul was on that bill, with Kenney and Mac, bless him, Noel Gallagher and Gem, who was in Oasis at that time. And my mate Jerry Shirley from Humble Pie, Peter Frampton came over, blah-di-blah… and we all ended up onstage doing ‘Tin Soldier’ together. So, that’s the common ground, it’s always been the music.

    You’ve stayed true to your R&B and Soul roots. What is it about that music that it stills sounds so fresh and vibrant?

    It’s because it’s got soul, because it’s got feeling, because it’s got passion. And because they’re good songs – that’s the most important thing. I cut my teeth on them, that’s what I grew up singing. Sunday night we’d go in the posh front room, and we’d watch Sunday Night at the London Palladium. That’s where I first saw Ray Charles. My Mum, bless her, used to buy me Ray Charles records from the Co-op with her Green Shield Stamps. Things like ‘Hit The Road, Jack’, Georgia On My Mind’, ‘What’d I Say’, ‘Drown In My Own Tears’. And then I was in a sort of gang where I grew up in north London, about eight of us, and we were all into Tamla Motown, Stax, Sue, and all that Mod stuff.

    Can you remember the first record you bought and where you bought it?

    I think my first record would have been ‘My Generation’, around 1965, with loads of covers on it, like James Brown ‘Please Please Please’, stuff like that. There were two local record shops, one was in the arcade in north Finchley, and one was over the other side of town. Richard Desmond, who used to own the Daily Express, he worked in there.

    Before that I used to listen to what my elder sister bought. She worked in the same building where they used to record Ready Steady Go, and she’d tell me all these stories. “I saw the Rolling Stones in the lift today”. “The Pretty Things, what a dirty bunch, looked like they’ve never washed in their lives”. You’d get a running report every week.

    What about the first time you were able to buy your own clothes?

    Steve Ellis now and then.

    We all used to go up to this shop in Finchley, and buy button-downs or tab collars. That’s what you wore at school to be a rebel. That was about ’64, then in ’65 I started buying Levi’s 501s - still wear them - Desert Boots from Wood Green, where my Nan used to live. Real thick soles, used to make your feet go blue when it rained. Terrible. Then we got into army surplus, monkey jackets, Harrington jackets… we were pretty much what they called ‘peanuts’. We were school kids; we couldn’t afford tailor made suits until much later.

    My mate and me got into tie-dying Levi 501s, much to my mum’s dismay. She’s say “Stephen” – and whenever she said “Stephen” I knew I was in trouble – where have my bottles of bleach gone?” We had them in the bathroom, we’d put the jeans in the bath, two bottles of bleach in… then we’d get big cherry-red boots, braces, button-down shirts… and this is 1964. But we got fed up with it after about six-months, and moved on.

    So you grew up in Finchley, not too far from The Kinks then?

    The Kinks were up the road in Muswell Hill. Our little gang, we were fourteen or fifteen years old, we’d play football, games lasting half a day. Then one night Tony Martin said, “Let’s go Kinks spotting”. So, we all walked up to Muswell Hill, eight or ten of us … and we found Dave Davies getting into his car. We all went ‘W’hay!’ and ran at him. He thought we were going to assault him or something.

    You started your recording career at CBS Records, now Sony. How does it feel to be back there all these years later?

    Black Barn Studio, November 2017. (Left to Right) Ben Gordelier, 'Big' Kev Wallbank, Steve Ellis, Paul Weller. (Photo by Andy Crofts)

    Good, they treat me well. When I finished this album, I said ‘I don’t care how long it takes, I will get this album placed with a decent label’. Now, that’s not to be dismissive of independents or anything but I pitched it to one, they kept me waiting two months, came back to me and said, “Oh, we love the album but we’re really busy”. And I thought if you love it that much… so I had a bit of a re-think, and decided the perfect place for this is Sony / CBS. They’ve always looked after the back catalogue. I’m going to have a word about perhaps assigning a couple of the solo albums that we did over the last four or five years, to see if they want to take them on as well, it will all be under one roof then.

    Are there any plans for live shows to launch 'Boom! Bang! Twang!'?

    The record label said to me Roy Orbison is doing a hologram tour. What do you think about doing the support slot on that? And I said, I’ll have to get me head around this one. So, I phoned back and I said due to the fact that the album’s coming out, I’ll take it. And then they said they want it acoustic. And I say, it won’t work acoustic, mate. All the people that are waiting to see Roy Orbison’s hologram are not going to suffer two people playing acoustic. So, I said forget it. If it was the full band we’d go out there and smash it, do the album, some of the hits, otherwise we’ll be like lambs to the slaughter, people would be talking all the way through. Whoever is doing the support for that I wish ‘em good luck. It’s not for me.

    Is that not a little frustrating?

    I had an accident in ’93, took me out of the game for a while, and when I got over that I went out on tour for the next ten years, non-stop. All I wanted to do is get out there and play. Get people up, dancing, singing, whatever they want to do. We went out and we played everywhere. We played scooter rallies, you name it we did it. In the last four years, I’ve done four massive tours and I was doing everything, all the hotels, and all the bookings… because I’ve had managers and I don’t trust them. So, to answer your question, I’m having a break from touring.

    Beyond this project, what’s the masterplan?

    Rave Magazine, December 1968. Left to right: Andy Fairweather Low (Amen Corner), Peter Frampton (The Herd), Francis Rossi (Status Quo) and Steve Ellis (Love Affair).

    I’m doing a P.J. Proby farewell tour with Gerry Marsden and The Searchers, end of this year, which is quite hard work, to say the very least. I remember seeing Gerry on the telly when I was a kid. People should have more respect for musicians from that era because without them there wouldn’t be a record industry. P. J. is a mate of mine, he’s mad as a box of frogs but he’s still got a full set of pipes. He can hit any note he wants and he’s a total pro. So, that’ll do me and between now and then I might start getting tunes together for the next album. I might even start recording some bits and pieces because we finished ‘Boom! Bang! Twang!’ Christmas before last.

    ‘Everlasting Love’ is fifty years old this year. Do you still enjoy performing the Love Affair songs?

    When I do all the Love Affair stuff, I always do it properly, not like a jukebox act. I hate jukebox Sixties bands. I just think its bollocks; you might as well put the record on, probably sound better as well. I love doing a good Sixties tours because all the people that come want to have a good time, and there’s a really big cross-section as well. It’s not just the old and infirm, you’ve got sixteen year-olds, forty year olds, all the way up. There was even a ninety year old sat in the centre, in front of me – I can’t remember where we were – but I looked down, and I said excuse me for asking but how old are you? She said I’m ninety, and the whole place erupted.

    I hope I’m still going to gigs when I’m ninety. That’s what it’s all about. Music makes people happy; it’s a universal language.


    'Boom! Bang! Twang!' is out now on CD and Vinyl from all good music outlets. Also available for download and streaming.

    With thanks to Steve Ellis, Stuart Kirkham, Andy Crofts and Allan, Olivia and Phil at Sony Music.



  • Dig The New Breed: DJs Emma Noble and Sophie Heath Spread The Gospel To A New Generation

    By way of introduction, what does it say on the Noble & Heath business card?

    Emma: “Noble & Heath - Double-decking Vinyl DJ Duo: Playing Soul, Northern, Crossover & Disco”. That’s what we usually tell people. In a nutshell.

    Sophie: Some people have suggested “Noble & Heath Sound Machine” too. We play soul 45’s at club nights, festivals and also have our own online radio show at Mi-Soul Connoisseurs.

    “Soul, Northern, Crossover and Disco DJ” is not a job that we’ve ever seen advertised – how did all this come about?

    Emma: It just accidentally happened.

    Sophie: It was our friend’s birthday, and Emma and I played a few records while people were arriving. We absolutely loved it.

    Making A New Impression: Emma Noble (left) and Sophie Heath behind the decks.

    Emma: People seemed to be responding well to it so we ended up playing quite a while in the end. Then at the end of the night, our good friend Dean Chalkley was at the party and came up to us and said, “Don’t stop doing this” - that has really stuck in our minds since.
    Next thing we know, Dean invited us to do a set at ‘Soul Box’, which is a monthly night he and Eddie Piller do at Old Street Records. We were nervous but luckily another mate of ours also asked us to come and DJ at his pub, so we used that as a bit of a ‘trial run’, and after we said “Blimey, that was brilliant”.

    We then felt so much more confident we could do Soul Box; and it just escalated from there and it hasn’t stopped since. For every gig we did, we kept getting offered another one and so on.

    Sophie: We had no free weekends for ages. We were enjoying it all so much that we were saying “YES” to everything that came along, having a great time and then wondering why are were so tired on Monday mornings at work.

    If there is a stereotype Northern Soul DJ then you don’t fit the profile. Does that inform people’s attitude to you?

    Sophie: No I don’t think so, a lot of the people we’ve DJ-ed with tell us they’re very keen to get fresh blood into the Soul scene.

    Emma: We’ve been very lucky, we haven’t experienced any negativity yet. If anything, we’ve had a lot of people trying to help us and encourage us.

    Sophie: People have said to us that if our younger generation don’t take on this music then it could disappear - particularly the Northern Soul scene. We’ve met a lot of really good friends through it all too; we’ve got our own little group who are all into the Soul scene, which is really nice.

    Emma: Before we started DJ-ing, we were within the Soul scene anyway; going to club nights, and going dancing… so we knew a lot of people who have since been very supportive. They have seen what we are doing and said, “Come and do a slot at ours”.

    Did music play a big part in your younger years?

    Sophie: The only musical person in my family was my great-grandad, who used to play Jazz saxophone and piano. Apart from that, there wasn’t really much musical talent, I was more into my dancing until I turned 18 and I became aware of pubs and going out at the weekends! I guess I found the music I loved later on, particularly when I moved to London and became more aware of what is out there - this ‘Soul Scene’.

    Emma: Very different for me. All my brothers and sisters have music in the blood. I grew up on a farm, and Dad had a dedicated music room; he really encouraged us to try and play instruments. We’d sit around a campfire and have little jams. My Dad loved Trad Jazz, classic Rock ‘n’ Roll, The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, and he and my Mum also loved Motown, so subconsciously it was always there, going on in the background. My brothers also had large record collections so I would hear stuff from them too. That definitely had a big part to play for me.

    Emma Noble (left) and Sophie Heath at a recent instore event for stylish shoemakers G. H. Bass & Co.

    Have you always been cool and trendy or do you want to confess to some fashion faux pas?
    Sophie: I was a bit of a Tomboy growing up. I lived with my Dad, so he bought my clothes; military camouflage trousers, thick knit jumpers, baggy t-shirts and ‘sensible’ shoes, anything that was ‘sensible’ really. I used to go fishing with him every weekend or just hanging about in the garage messing with cars so didn’t really wear dresses and definitely nothing girly!

    Emma: Me too - I grew up with four older brothers, so all my “hand-me-downs” were boys clothes basically.

    Can you remember the first record you bought and where you bought it?

    Sophie: It was cassettes for us - I used to tape things from the radio and listen back to it, and I got really hooked on John Lee Hooker’s “Boom Boom”. But I didn’t record that song just once; I recorded it through the whole cassette, back and front. I used to put it on in my Mum’s car - constantly! Sadly my Mum’s car got broken into one day and it got stolen, but I think she was pleased when it was gone! My first 7-inch record I bought when we started DJ-ing was Willie Parker “I Live The Life I Love”.

    Emma: My first tape was “Wild Wild West” by Will Smith, which samples Stevie Wonder’s “I Wish”, so I must have been subconsciously attracted to Soul back then, even if I was unaware of it. And the first 7-inch I bought when we started DJ-ing was “Rap, Run It On Down” by Nate Turner and Vanetta Fields, which is a fast tempo Northern one.

    Sophie: Both great Northern Souls singles actually.

    Emma: We bought them online; we find it hard to make time to go looking through actual record stores these days, don’t we?

    Sophie: Yes, unfortunately! I’ve also found that you have to have a certain level of self-control. I don’t let myself root through that many records; otherwise I would just end up spending so much money.

    Emma: Yeah - It’s an expensive habit.

    Sophie: They’re not even expensive records we’re buying; it’s just the amount we’ve bought.

    Emma: I guess we pay for a single what other people would pay for an album. We’ve definitely not got to the stage where we will pay hundreds or thousands of pounds for a record.

    Sophie: We aren’t that type of record collector though. We buy it because we want to play it, not keep it polished and neatly filed away. It’s about whether it makes you dance. We will quite happily buy re-pressings as well. Some people are really stuffy towards that but to us – we’d rather play a repress then not play it at.

    When did you decide four hands were better than two?

    Learning from the best: Emma Noble (left) and Sophie Heath with Norman Jay MBE.

    Emma: We met at the interview day for our University, and we were the last two to be interviewed, so we were just left together… there would have been hundreds and hundreds of people that went through there that day, it was weird how fate decided that we were the last two left. We ended up getting on, and became best mates. We both liked going to the same clubs with old music, and then as time’s gone on, together we’ve found this passion for Soul music particularly. And it’s just grown and grown.

    Sophie: And also it’s more fun being together behind the decks. We can have a good dance and a laugh together. I think we have been a lot more proactive together too, we put a lot of effort into our record buying, prepping for our radio shows and even the artwork we do for events, so having the two of us makes it easier.

    Emma: It’s much more fun than being by yourself. And I think we both bring slightly different things to the table. We both like Soul music but one week Sophie might bring a record that I won’t, or she’ll find a new record that I wouldn’t necessarily buy.

    Sophie: Yes, we introduce each other to a lot of new music.

    Emma: It’s a nice combination. Sophie loves the slower groove stuff, whilst I’m more inclined to the fast tempo stuff.

    Never tempted to “cheat” and use CD or MP3?

    Sophie: No. I think it’s good that we’re restricted to a record box, we have to be more selective about what we take to gigs, what we buy and also it’s satisfying have something tangible. If you were playing MP3’s it would just be an endless choice of music.

    Emma: You consider a song a lot more when you are buying it on 7-inch vinyl for some reason.

    Who are your musical heroes?

    Emma: A lot of today’s music is lacking the Soul that music like Motown had. For us, when Amy Winehouse came along she had that modern flair, with a lovely old school sound. She introduced a new type of music to a lot of young people so we’ve always admired her. She was a huge character and she created a big stir.

    Sophie: I think it’s just that we can relate to her, because it is “now” or in our lifetime. We’ve got quite a soft spot for strong female vocalists, like Aretha Franklin, Ann Sexton, Margie Joseph – when we do our radio show we actually notice that it’s sometimes all female artists that we play.

    Does music and style go hand in hand?

    Emma: I guess we are part of a subculture of music and style. We’ve always thought that part really interesting. We’ve found each other and ourselves through a passion for decent music and lovely old stuff. We, and a lot of our friends, have a particular love for ‘60s, ‘70s vintage clothing.

    Sophie: And also with vintage clothing, even though there’s a lot of retro-style clothing being made now, it kind of gives you an individual look, as you won’t see anyone else wearing the same thing, which is quite nice; it sets you apart.

    Emma: If people are a part of something, they often use clothing to project that. “I’m into this, so I’m going to dress like this”

    How do you set about discovering new tunes to play?

    Putting on the style: Sophie and Emma, rocking the Tootal Paisley.

    Sophie: Now we’ve started doing our radio show, we listen to a lot of other online radio. Also when you’re hunting for music on YouTube, it often leads you on to finding something else. It’s an endless journey or bottomless pit of discovering new music! We’ve also found, particularly since we started doing the radio, that a lot of people that have approached us and said, “Oh, if you like this, you might like this”. I like that because it’s a lot more personal.

    Emma: Spotify gives you those Discover Weekly things and the Release Radars, and Recommended Artists which is a great way to discover new music. You can spend a day listening to an artist you haven’t heard before.
    And, of course, going to see our mates DJ. Like we were saying earlier, a lot of the older generation on the Soul scene have really helped us. They’ve got years more knowledge than us, so we’ll listen to what they play, and if we like a song we’ll go up and ask, “What’s this then?’

    Apart from your own events, some favourite club nights?

    Sophie: When we’re not DJ-ing, we go to a lot of Soul Weekenders or All Dayers, like the one at Blackpool Ballroom, the Brighton Mod Weekender and there’s a great one in Manchester. We don’t particularly go to any regular club nights though we used to love going to Gaz’s Rockin’ Blues when we were students, and Madame JoJo’s. Sadly Madame JoJo’s got shut down but Gaz’s is still going strong.

    Emma: Yeah ‘The Good Foot’ at Madame JoJo’s, it was a great night. That’s when we were students and we would go out and hit it hard, you know? We probably still do - a bit - but we are more likely to go to the pub or to see our mate’s DJ now. It’s actually on our “To Do” list for this year, to start going to more nights in London. We would also like to get our own resident night up and running this year.

    Apart from setting up your own club night, what else is in The Masterplan?

    Sophie Heath (left) and Emma Noble: Soul, Northern, Crossover, Disco... and Steps?

    Emma: By day we’re both graphic designers; with the whole Noble & Heath thing unexpectedly taking off, we’re actually finding it a little bit hard to balance our work life versus DJ life. So, our long-term plan is to start up the ‘Noble & Heath Studio’, which would give us the freedom and flexibility to do both.

    Sophie: And to combine our passions, to be a studio specialising in design for music - branding, album artwork, books, events, etc.

    Emma: We’ve both done some design for Acid Jazz releases and I’ve just finished branding a new music venue in Peckham, so for us that set up would work perfectly. We’ve been booked for quite a lot of European festivals this year so this would make balancing our time a lot easier!

    Sophie: The short term aim is to get that residency up and running. And just keep trying to educate ourselves – it’s a constant learning curve for us. We would love to do some big festivals this year too.

    And finally, what records do you always have to keep in your box?

    Emma: There are a couple of overlaps that both Sophie and I have and love and we generally start our sets with them…

    Sophie: Ann Sexton “You’ve Been Gone Too Long”.

    Emma: We always have a lot of Bettye Swann and Barbara Acklin.

    Sophie: We always have Margie Joseph…

    Emma: Alice Clark… those five, that handful…

    Sophie: Oh, and they’re all women!


    You can find Noble & Heath on Instagram, Facebook & Twitter at @nobleandheath

    The Noble & Heath Soul Show on Mixcloud is hosted by Mi-Soul Connoisseurs every other Monday. All their shows are also available on their mixcloud page:

  • Passion Play: Tootal Blog Talks To Carol Harrison 'As All Or Nothing – The Mod Musical' Prepares For A West End Run

    There are so many elements of the Small Faces story that cross over into your own life it’s difficult to know where to start. Shall we begin with your shared roots in the East End of London?

    Ronnie lived in Manor Park then Forest Gate, and Steve lived in Manor Park – he lived two streets away from my cousins. They hung out together; they were all Mods, one of my cousins was in a band with Steve, and he used to come round to our house in Upton Park as well. So, that’s how I first met him, that’s our mutual roots. I took myself off to Youth Theatre when I was eleven, and it was based in Monega Road School, which is the school Steve went to. It’s extraordinary the things I realised once I started researching the story, all these crazy coincidences.

    It wasn’t as if I had always intended to write this story. I wanted to write something about the Sixties that was authentic, compared to other things that I have seen. It was important to me to be a musical because it was all about the music, and style and the changes that went on. For me the epitome of that was the Mod movement, and the epitome of Mod was the Small Faces. Plus my connection with Steve – it was extraordinary how it all came together.

    So All Or Nothing is your story as well?

    It is; it’s nice of you to recognise that. Cause people think I’ve just taken the story of the Small Faces, but whilst I am telling their story for them so much of it is also about me.

    It didn’t start out being the story of the Small Faces but the more I learnt, the more I thought their story had everything; it’s a drama, a tragedy. It’s the classic Rock ‘n’ Roll tale, rising so quickly and then the self-destruction, the exploitation and the fall-outs. Ultimately two of them died quite tragically, far too young. So, it became the story of the Small Faces, and seeing the whole Mod movement and my 1960s through it. That’s the way it evolved.

    It seems Sixties music and fashion played a large role in your formative years?

    Very much so - and they still do. I love the whole Mod movement, and to me it was like a fresh beginning. The Fifties, and even the early Sixties were pretty grim. Going to school in the East End, we had these Smog Masks; it was so bad. I can remember this big snow that we had in ’63, we loved it and then this wonderful snow all turned black.

    All Too Beautiful: The cast of All Or Nothing: The Mod Musical

    The Sixties stuff that I’d seen – even the ones that weren’t particularly Mod – they’re all fluffy, and not reflective of the Sixties I remember. There have been a few attempts that didn’t really understand the movement; they just wanted to put the clothes on. I love Quadrophenia, obviously; it’s the only thing that’s really captured anything to do with Mod. I wanted to make something authentic, dynamic, exciting but also a real play, as well as a musical. Because a lot of musicals are just another excuse for a song, a very thin story. This isn’t a jukebox musical; it’s really not that. It transports you there, that’s what our audiences say. The clothes are authentic, the sounds are authentic, and it’s all played live. I don’t see any other way you can recapture the excitement. Do it with passion… and obviously it was a passion piece for me.

    Did music play a big part in the home when you were growing up?

    Oh, yeah, very much so. I was from a single parent family but my Mum loved music - things like Patsy Cline - and she was a good singer, as well. There was always a record player, though it was a wind-up one at the beginning. We’d go round to my Aunties’, and they’d be off talking somewhere else and I’d be with the gramophone, putting the Buddy Holly’s on, Elvis… all that stuff; knowing all the words. Then obviously The Beatles came along, and the whole Mod sound; Soul, Tamla – which I was really into – and then Ska was a very big part of when I was growing up. By the time I was fourteen I was an original Skinhead Girl. Not what most people now associate with being a Skinhead because it was just a continuation of Mod.

    Can you remember the first record you bought?

    The first record I bought with my own money… I think there were two; I bought “My Boy Lollipop”, and I bought The Yardbirds “For Your Love”. I’d regularly buy records, every Saturday. I used to have a Saturday job; I’d get 12/6 and then run to the tailors to pay off my mohair suit. Then across the road to the record shop, it was called something like Top Ten. It was small but it was great because they would import American R&B and Soul. You had to order stuff. You had to wait. That was the ritual; music was such a big part of my life.

    And then, from about 13 years on I was out dancing, youth clubs most nights. And although I shouldn’t have been, from when I was about 14 or 15 going to the Marquee, places like that. Getting in lots of trouble. But I’m so glad I did.

    What about the first time you were allowed to buy your own clothes?

    West End Girls: The Ladies of All Or Nothing: The Mod Musical

    I was lucky enough to have a Mum who was a tailor, so she made me a lot of my clothes because we didn’t have much money, but she was able to look at something and make it out of a remnant, which would cost next to nothing. I was very lucky that way, and I always looked great.

    There was this particular tailors, it was the place to go. My Mum wasn’t very happy because she could have made a mohair suit but it had to be from this place otherwise it wasn’t cool enough. Like we say in the show, “It’s all about the detail”. Another of the lines is “Just because we come from bombsites and no bathrooms, doesn’t mean we can’t have style and taste.” That’s how it was; it was very heavily bombed, we used to play on those bombsites. Between where Steve Marriott lived and my cousins in Manor Park was a bombsite we used to play on, and I'm convinced that’s 'Itchycoo Park'; we used to call it that, it had the stinging nettles that would get your ankles and stuff, when you were playing there.

    And Steve Marriott began his show business career as an actor. How did your own acting career begin?

    I always wanted to be an actress from six years old; I wouldn’t have anything else. There weren’t many options at Harold Road Secondary; when the “Careers Advisors”, as they were supposed to be, would come and say, “Hands up who is going to be a typist?” or “Who is going to work in a shop? and “Who is going to work in the Tate & Lyle factory?” And I’d say, “I’m going to be an actress. I’m going to drama school”. And they’d go, “Yeah, yeah, yeah…”. It’s like I was a compete fantasist. But that was me; determined. Nothing could get in my way.

    Always a fight, everything was a struggle but, you know, “All Or Nothing”. Why take less? Let’s try for the “All”.

    All Or Nothing started at a small London theatre, you’ve had three sell-out UK tours and now you are back in London for a West End theatre run.

    We started at a place underneath Waterloo Station called The Vaults, which was brilliant because it was like being in a Sixties club, the UFO, places like that. It was a riot. I don’t think the people at the theatre were ready for us; they had no idea that they would get hundreds of scooters turning up, people suited and booted – they’d never taken so much at their bar! It was wonderful; we were sold out all the time, we had to turn people away.

    And those scenes were repeated up and down the country. People would travel just to see us; they don’t just come once, they come three, four, five times. One guy come up to me after, and he said, “The government should give everyone over the age of 60 a pass to come and see this show, because you come out rejuvenated. They’d save a fortune on the NHS”. We actually wrote to Jeremy Hunt to tell him; didn’t get any reply, mind…

    And it’s bought new people into the theatre, people that don’t usually go, which is really important. Not just people of my age, the youngsters come as well. I call it a trans-generational musical, ‘cause it cuts through the ages. Seventeen to Seventy; in together, sharing the experience, which is great.

    Has it always been plain sailing?

    No, it’s been hell. Eight years trying to get it to the theatre. First of all, it’s not conventional; it’s not a typical musical, it’s not “jazz hands”, which is exactly what I didn’t want it to be. But for the theatre establishment that’s a “No”. “It needs to be more fluffy.” “It’s not the Sixties I remember.” “Who’d be interested in Mods?’ “Who’d be interested in Small Faces?” All those things; complete ignorance. “If you can get someone from The X Factor in it, if you’re lucky enough, then you might sell some tickets”. Obviously I said, “Over my dead body”.

    I knew there were people out there like me. I want to bring music and theatre together, and it can be a cool experience; it doesn’t have to be naff, it doesn’t have to be fluffy. The Sixties weren’t; they were revolution.

    The Darlings Of Wapping Wharf Laundrette: From All Or Nothing: The Mod Musical, September 2017

    I tried to explain to people that this is like a really well kept secret; there are people of a certain age who go out all the time. They don’t sit in front of the telly watching TV. They go out every weekend; they are out doing all-nighters. There’s a whole Mod movement that’s going on; it’s about dancing, and meeting with people. It’s out there, and they are all over the world.

    I put lots of my own time and money into it. Time when I could have been acting; doing the easy option. But I had to produce it myself, and direct it, make sure everything’s authentic, and oversee it all. I eventually found some investors who believed in me, and believed in what I was saying, and who loved it. For the budgets that other people have we’ve done it on virtually nothing. I’ve got sixteen cast and fourteen crew, to create that live experience. But I did it eventually, out of sheer tenacity, and to spite all those people saying, “It’s never going to work. You will never get it off the ground”. The more they said that, the more I thought, ”Fuck you”.

    Before you even started writing All Or Nothing did you spend a considerable amount of time in research?

    It wasn’t too long really. Obviously I had a personal involvement; a lot of the people who were around the band I knew anyway. I spent time with Kay, Stevie’s mum, and his sister, and with Stan Lane, who is Ronnie’s brother, and P.P. Arnold, who has become a great, great friend. So, it didn’t take that long to write the initial script. Once I’d decided how I could present it, how I could look at it in hindsight a little bit as well, then it kind of flowed and the actual writing of it was only about six months. Obviously it’s gone through lots of different draughts, even now I’ll make changes for the West End; polish it and polish it. I think I’m on Draught Sixteen now… Then it was more about getting the finance behind it, getting people to believe that it could be done.

    You have taken on the formidable task of writing, directing, producing and starring in All Or Nothing – that must be a challenge?

    I don’t know how I’ve done it. Tenacity and passion, I think. I wouldn’t say I’m the star, my two Steve Marriott’s are the stars, and the young band. I play Steve’s Mum, Kay, and some other parts in it as well but they’re kind of cameos, you know… I don’t know how I did it actually, and if I think about it, I wouldn’t do it again, I don’t think I’ve got enough years left.

    I’m still amazed that it’s in the West End, and I really want it to be a success. The Arts Theatre is a great venue for it, and we’ve got an option to come back here in the autumn, so fingers crossed we can do that. I just hope that the audience will keep supporting us, and someone will come up with some money… that would be helpful. And it should be there in the West End now; we’ve built up our audience, and people have seen it time and time and time again. There are lots of American musicals in the West End but this is home grown, this is our chance to reach people that don’t know about the Mod movement, or Britain in the Sixties.

    You’ve had support and involvement from Steve’s daughters – Mollie and Tonya – and from P.P. Arnold, who is, of course, a “character” in the play. Did that add any pressure or make it any easier?

    When you portray anyone who is real, the pressure is to do him or her justice. Luckily, well not just “luckily”, but by design I have done them justice. Most specifically for Ronnie, Steve and Mac who are no longer with us. All their families, other musicians that worked with them, they have loved what I’ve done for them, what we have done with their story. That’s why it is so important that it is authentic, that it is real. What is great is that it’s giving people their history back, like Mollie, Steve’s daughter, who is our vocal coach and who lost her Dad when she was six, and the Lane boys, who have lost their Dad. That’s something that I’m very proud of.

    Have you had to make many changes to the cast for this West End run?

    There are but, er, five Small Faces: Stefan Edwards (Kenney Jones), Stanton Wright (Ronnie Lane), Chris Simmons (older Steve Marriott), Carol Harrison (Kay Marriott), Sam Pope (younger Steve Marriott) and Alexander Gold (Ian McLagan)

    No, the band is the same. We’ve still got Chris Simmons, who plays the older Steve Marriott, and Russell Floyd who plays Don Arden, and who I was in EastEnders with. It’s mostly the same people; there are a few changes but they’re just minor.

    The band is really tight now, and Sam Pope, our young Steve Marriott, is unbelievable. He wasn’t at the beginning but I’ve kind of nurtured him, as has Pat Davey, our musical supervisor, who has made that band so amazing. It’s uncanny for me, because knowing Steve… sometimes it gives me goose bumps. I look at Sam and he is Steve, and other people have said that too.

    Does you ever look at the size of this show, or how far it has come and wonder “what have I created?”

    Yes, it is enormous. There have been times when we had to change some of the band because they started to think they were Rock Stars. So you have to deal with that. You have to deal with the fact that, at the beginning, people were suspicious; people who thought they were “The Guardians of Mod”, and then realised that I totally knew what I was talking about; much more about it than they did because I actually knew the band, the people involved, I was there at the time. We’ve had a few issues with people trying to screw money out of us, who have suddenly come out of the woodwork, when they didn’t want to know before we got some success.

    All Or Nothing has occupied the last seven or eight years of you life. Dare we ask “What’s next for you?”

    Carol Harrison: A rare picture of Carol when not writing, directing, producing or acting.

    Well, I’m talking about a film now; it won’t be based on the stage play... but I’m going to be writing that. I would like to think that one day the show can live a life without me, but because I’ve created it – and it is my baby – it’s still got so far to go. In some ways I’m scared to let it go. We still need to get established in the West End, and we still need to go out on tour around the world. There’s so much more… so much further that it can go. And I want to make sure for those people who believed in it, those people who have been there since the beginning, and the investors, that they get just rewards.

    There are other projects I want to do, as well. I did manage to do a couple of episodes of Doctors last year; I did a bit of acting, didn’t have to think about All Or Nothing for a couple of days. I’d like to do a great sitcom again. I had this great series I did with Ray Winstone, Get Back… I’d love to do something like that again but then I’m so much older. The passion’s still there, and the enthusiasm but I’m not sure I like how I see myself on the screen anymore.

    And there’s lots more writing for the stage and screen in me; people keep saying, “Why don’t you write The Jam musical?” but who knows what the future holds, I’m just taking each day as it comes.


    All Or Nothing – The Mod Musical opens at The Arts Theatre, Great Newport Street, London WC2H 7JB on Tuesday 6th February and runs to Sunday 11th March 2018. Details and tickets at

    Find out more at

    Twitter: @AONTheMusical

    Facebook: @AllOrNothingTheMusical

  • All The Pictures On The Wall: Acclaimed Photographer Tom Sheehan Talks To Tootal Blog

    Renowned music photographer Tom Sheehan was born in Camberwell, South London. After working in-house for CBS Records he turned freelance in 1978, becoming chief photographer on the Melody Maker where his work appeared for the next two decades during the height of its weekly circulation.

    His images have since featured in, amongst others, the NME, Q, The Sunday Times, The Guardian, The Observer and latterly Mojo magazine.

    No one starts out as a top-level photographer. What has your path been to get here?

    Mainly a love of photography, and certainly a love of music. As a kid I grew up in south East London, although we didn’t have electricity in York Close until 1957 or ’58. I’ve got a twin sister and two elder sisters, who were of an age when Rock ‘n’ Roll first hit. We had a wind-up gramophone and they’d take it down in the square on a summer’s eve. They’d be playing it and the Teds, or the kids who thought they were Teds, with the haircuts; boppin’ and all that, and me and my twin sister would be sitting on the stone steps watching them gyrate, “rang tang” around. Mum would give us a call and tell us it’s time for bed. And, you know, it’s, “Oh, Mum…” A summer’s evening at 7 or 8 o’clock, that’s no time for bed. Well, it is if you’re seven, I suppose.

    In the environment that I came from - my parents were Irish immigrants - the only path for me was going to be Electrician or a Priest. One of them meant dirtying your hands and the other one meant dirtying your soul, probably. I harboured ideas of being a painter but I was absolute rubbish, so I ended up being a photographic printer. Learning. Working in a few darkrooms. Assisting people.

    Music seems to have played a big role in your life when you were growing up?

    First Exposure: The young Tom Sheehan circa 1969 (Photo courtesy of Tom Sheehan).

    I just loved music. The bands that were coming through post-Beatles – The Who, The Yardbirds, The Kinks, The Stones, The Pretty Things and all those important UK bands - they were so relevant to me when I was fourteen. And all the time my love for music had this momentum; it was growing. You know what it’s like when you’re young; you’re insatiable and you’re hungry for new things. It only took a few years for me to realise that there was all this other stuff out there - Soul music, R&B Music. All that stuff was the foundation of a different kind of music. But what really got the better of me in the late Sixties was the music coming out of San Francisco; all the American stuff, I got into that big time. It was just a place that was so magical.

    Can you remember the first record you bought?

    I certainly can, it was “Baby, Please Don’t Go” with ‘Gloria” by Them, it was ’64 or ’65. In the house we got electricity about 8 years before; we had a Dansette and each week we’d buy a single. I did a morning and an evening paper round. My elder sister had moved out, and my other sister and my twin, we’d kind of pool our money. And I can remember going up to buy it in this electrical shop up by Loughborough Junction station. They had huge, great washing machines the size of a small prefab, vacuum cleaners about seven foot tall that didn’t pick up dust, and at the back they had a counter with a couple of racks and two of those funny little listening booths. That was the first single I bought; at the time albums were a bit out of reach, they were about 39 and 11, or two pounds or two guineas, or something. It was a long time until I bought an album, and I think price – or the lack of funds – put me off buying a lot of music.

    Can you remember the first time you were allowed to buy your own clothes?

    The Cure in 1990 (Photo © Tom Sheehan)

    We use to go over to Peckham, which is down the road from Camberwell. They had Raoul Shoes, which ended up being Ravel, and they had these wonderful shoes called Sportscasters. They had a moulded soul, and a line round them, and they did them in different colours. And in that same area there was a shop – and I can’t remember what it was called – and when the college boy scarf came in, they had them made up; not a real college one but a “looky-likey” one, and we bought those.

    And coming up from Camberwell to the West End, and Carnaby Street, and spending Christmas or birthday money; pocket money on a button-down; absolutely tremendous. We were well turned out, if not expensively turned out, because I was still a kid. You’d admire older kids who’d maybe started work, when you see them in their tonic suits, and that. My first suit, which was from Burton’s, was a mohair, my Mum and Dad paid for it; it was a two-piece, kind of sandy brown mohair suit; it was fuckin’ brilliant…

    Is that a wistful look in your eye?

    Well, yeah, I think the wistfulness comes from the fact that my folks didn’t have two ha’pence to rub together, and they bought me a suit. Jesus Christ! And I weren’t a moany kid neither, that’s me twin. But it’s that sort of thing, I suppose; my missus can’t believe that I don’t buy clothes now, right? All I buy is button-down shirts, a jumper if it’s winter, a pair of Baked Beans; boots; a zip-up jacket. And scarves. That’s all I’ve worn for years. I just saves fussing, you know?

    You’re a self-confessed fan of Tootal scarves. How did you first discover them?

    Well, I’ve got a few of them now. In about 1964, we were round at a friend of ours, Martin Ellison, who lived in the flats on Dog Kennel Hill, over in East Dulwich. We were “wannabe-Mods”, let’s say, or just smart people. Our parents, the only time you’d see them smart would be a wedding, a funeral or going to church. Nine times out of ten they worked in some kind of manufacturing job, so they wouldn’t be going to work in a suit. Martin’s dad, he’s half taking the mickey out of us, going, “Look at you lot, trying to be Mods, and all that”. He said, “When we were kids, we’d turn out on a Saturday night with our Whistles on, yeah, with the old Mutla on.” He’d say that with his South London accent; “Mutla”, and he’d do this little routine like he’s doing up the old Tootal scarf. And we adopted this name; it has stuck with my friends and me to this day. Our kids call it “Dad’s Mutla”.

    When you left school did you get an apprenticeship or was there a college course?

    Paul Weller: Shoot for Uncut Magazine, February 2006 (Photo © Tom Sheehan)

    Oh no, I never went to college. Because of the background you come from, you’re always told, “It’s never going to happen”. When your English teacher is saying, “Sheehan, you’ll amount to nothing…"

    I was a photographic printer, and there wasn’t even a goal at the end of it. A lot of it wasn’t even printing interesting pictures. Plans for buildings, commercial work… That was in The Times Drawing Office, in Pollen Street, London W1. My brother-in-law, he was a director there, so I kind of got in the back way but I was treated like anyone else. I was in the dark room, mixing developer and making tea, as anybody of my age in 1966 would have been.

    I think it was probably the love of music that spurred me on. When I’m listening to music, I’m enjoying the tunes and all that, but also I’m looking at the images. My heroes were these American photographers, and I thought, “Wouldn’t it be great if…” I hadn’t gone to college and got the qualifications you needed on the commercial side, but there was this other way of working within the music industry where it doesn’t have to be bolted down, you don’t have to be starched; you can just go and do it.

    Was it a natural progression from printing to actually taking the photos?

    My first camera was thirty-nine quid, I think my parents lent me the money and I bought it on Oxford Street. It was a Praktica Nova 1B, and it had a light meter in it. I just used to take my camera to gigs. Me and my mates, we heard on Radio Caroline there was going to be a free concert down at Bishopsbourne, near Canterbury, and a lot of people that were playing at the Isle of Wight festival were coming over. We went to see the Edgar Broughton Band; Rod and The Faces was there, a couple of other bands. We left before it ended because we had to get back but we were there for six, seven hours. So, I’d go down and take some pictures of that, and things like the Hyde Park Festivals then realise there’s 42 million people in front of me, so me and my mate 'No Neck would just go to the pub cause we didn’t want to sit through Roy Harper, or The Third Ear Band.

    What was your first big break?

    Manic Street Preachers, House In The Woods Studios, circa 1992 (Photo © Tom Sheehan)

    I got fed up of reading the music press, because I wasn’t interested in Bowie, I wasn’t interested in Sweet; Glam was builders in blouses, with make-up on. I started buying Zigzag magazine, which Pete Frame and John Tobler had set up. ‘Tobes’ was also Press Officer at CBS Records, and he said, “We’re starting up this photographic department, are you interested?” And I went, whoosh, straight into it. Worked there for three and a half years and it was fantastic; they signed The Clash, The Vibrators but they had a huge American roster too. I started in ’75, left half way through ’78, so there for about three and a half years but I’d always wanted to work for the music press, so I left to start an agency. In my first year, I’ve got stuff that I shot for Record Mirror, Sounds, NME and the Maker, being The Jam, being the Boomtown Rats, being… whatever, you know. And then I was doing The Chieftains at the Royal Albert Hall, with a guy called Harry Doherty (Deceased) from Melody Maker, and he said, “Tommy, do you want to go and do The Cars in Germany?” And that was it; I ended up with the Maker for about twenty-five years.

     Who were the photographers you admired?

    Henry Diltz, Joel Bernstein, a guy called Thomas Weir, he did that fantastic picture on the back of, I think it’s [Grateful Dead] Aoxomoxoa, a fish eye picture of all their family. It’s just the way it’s printed, the technique more than anything. If you like a group like The Dead, or whoever, you’ll see who did their pictures and you’ll be a fan of them too. That’s how it came about; seeing pictures of people like Neil Young, and it’s… wow, this is brilliant. And it wasn’t a brick wall in Camden; it was like a field, seashore or a forest. All the pictures seemed to have a tremendous relaxed element about them, and that’s what I’ve always tried to do. To get all the nuts and bolts done before anybody comes in and then give it the illusion that I’m working on the hoof.

    Is that your typical preparation process? Do you have to research your subject?

    Yes, nine times out of ten. It will be a cold day in hell when I don’t know whoever I’m photographing. And sometimes it’s good even if you don’t like them, or their music, let’s say. Sometimes you might personally like someone, like the cut of their jib or whatever, but not particularly groove with their music. But then ten years down the line, the penny drops, and you go, “What have I been missing all these years?” But that’s the great thing about music, isn’t it? Someone tells you something, and you just go, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, alright”. And then later on, you have some tune in your head, you re-investigate it and you go, “What have I been missing?”

    Paul Weller, 100 Club, February 2015 (Photo © Tom Sheehan)

    Do many musicians have a strong idea of how they want to be presented?

    Yeah, I think most people do, but certainly with bands like those I’ve done in my books, they do have a strong visual persona. It’s good to continue that, and I don’t think you can willingly try to change someone’s image. I don’t like to get bands to do something daft. I’ve done a few pictures I’m ashamed of because it just “isn’t them”, but if you’re on a brief for an idiot editor, and it’s for a cover, and you’ve got to swag them into doing it, it’s a bit… deceitful. I don’t work that way; I always work upfront and honest.

    Lee Brilleaux (L) of Dr Feelgood, backstage with Tom Sheehan, circa 1980 (Photo courtesy of Tom Sheehan)

    The band usually ends up wearing what they walked in with. They look good; they’re happy with it. There isn’t a lot of time for verbals. If you’re away with a band, you’re allotted ‘X’ amount of time. Even if you’re with a band and they’re mates, you wouldn’t want to photograph them when they’re not looking their best. I only did it once, when Ozzy Osbourne pissed on the Alamo. [Adopts American drawl] “When you piss on The Alamo, you piss on the State of Texas”. I’ve got no great agenda in turning the band into a picture just because it looks like one of my pictures; for me to say, “I did that”. We’re all pulling the same bit of rope; I wouldn’t want a dodgy picture to go out of a band, or a band to be upset with the picture. They can disagree with the fact that it’s not what they want, but it’s just down to trust.

    You’ve now had three collections of your photos published; The Cure, Manic Street Preachers and Paul Weller. How did that come about?

    This friend of mine, Chris Carr, a legendary PR guy, introduced me to Chris Marksberry who owns the Flood Gallery. He also publishes books and he suggested it. I thought, who could I do? And he said, “You could do a Weller one, couldn’t you?”

    Paul Weller, Black Barn Studios, Surrey. November 2009 (Photo © Tom Sheehan)

    It was coming up to Christmas, and I thought, ooh, Paul’s been away on tour, he’s probably going to go to family… I’ll ring him after Christmas. Christmas came and went, and I thought I’d ring him after New Year. So, it’s about a week and a half after New Year, and I texted him, and I goes, “Mature Lensman here. Want a word”. And within fifteen minutes, he goes, “What do you want, Tommy?” “I’m releasing my archive in book form, and you’re going to be me first victim, mate”. And he went, “I told you to do that last year”. And I said, “Oh, sorry, mate. I thought you were just talking about me doing a book of all my stuff”. And he goes, “No, no, no, no. I’ll do a forward for you”. I don’t like asking favours of anybody, so I said, I’ll get Simon Goddard (who has interviewed him) to come down, or get you on the blower. And he goes, “No. I’ll do it myself, Tommy, it will be my pleasure”. And you think, “What a fuckin’ bloke. What a bloody chap”. You know what I mean? Absolutely fantastic!

    Paul always knows what he’s doing. People, like me, that have been photographing him for years, he knows our background, he knows our endeavour, our musical tastes and he furrows his brow every time I mention the Grateful Dead. He’ll come round to it; give him time. He’s still a young ‘un… at 58.

    Tom Sheehan's three books are available from

    Aim High: Paul Weller In Photographs, 1978-2015

    In Between Days: The Cure In Photographs, 1982-2005

    You Love Us: Manic Street Preachers In Photographs, 1991-2001

    They are also available from Amazon, Waterstones and other good bookshops.

    Tom Sheehan’s newest collection, R.E.M. Athens, GA., 1984-2005, will be available from Flood Gallery Publications in Spring 2018.

    For more details of Tom’s work visit

  • A Very British Talent: Artist Pete McKee Talks To Tootal Blog

    Name ten great things about Sheffield, please? Arctic Monkeys?, Yes. Sheffield Steel? Yes. Henderson's Relish? The Crucible, The Full Monty? Parks, pubs, trees and beer? Yes, yes, yes.

    Okay, then. Now, you've all got Pete McKee on your list, haven't you? If not, stay behind and see me afterwards

    Hi Pete. For anyone not familiar with your art, how would you describe it?

    It’s a 60 / 40 mix of every day life, and my imagination. It’s my life story and growing up on a council estate in Sheffield but I’m telling stories about everybody’s lives. So there’s a lot of reference to people I know, people that I see in the street, places I walk past and shops that I used to visit. It’s every day vignettes of the world I see around me. It’s a little bit Pop Art but it’s also got a bit of a cartoon element. It’s working class art. Another key element is my passion for Music, and all the Youth Cultures I grew up with; things like Mod, then 2-Tone, the Indie scene and then Baggy.

    You didn’t become a successful artist overnight. How did you get to where you are now?

    Revolution From Your Bed by Pete McKee

    When I left school I was convinced I was going to be a Pop Star. I was waiting for the moment when I would be playing my keyboards on Top of the Pops. Unfortunately I was still waiting five years later so I switched to Plan B, which was my art. I had to hold down other jobs, so I worked on the post for a while, and then I was five years at Tesco, picking out the orders for Home Delivery. So, I started as a cartoonist and I did that for about thirteen years at the Sheffield Telegraph but the problem was you got paid once, and then you had to hope and wait for the next commission. With commercial art, if it’s good enough, you can sell it time and again. But all those years being a cartoonist, that helped me develop the distinctive style that I suppose I’m known for today. My first exhibition was in a pub. In fact, my first few exhibitions were in pubs or cafes, where you could reach ordinary people, where they would feel comfortable and where they’d have time to appreciate my work.

    Some artists could be described as quintessentially British, or English. Your work seems even more localised than that.

    Well, you take something like my Girl In The Red Coat series and it’s a flight of fancy, something conjured from my imagination, but you have to work with what you know. Even Salvador Dali, he might have had clocks and elephants in the foreground of his pictures but the background, the hills particularly, they are based on the landscape around his home in Catalonia.

    You once wrote, “You know you love a city when you never want to leave”. What it is that makes Sheffield so special for you?

    It’s hard for me to compare it to anywhere else but it’s definitely the people. They say Sheffield is the biggest small village in England. There are supposedly six degrees of separation from any other person in the world but in Sheffield it’s only two degrees. You start talking to anyone in a pub and you soon realise that you have someone or something in common. Particularly if you’re into Music, chances are that you go to the same two or three pubs so there’s a brilliant sense of community. Plus there are all the parks, and the thousands of trees; it has a certain beauty, and a certain pathos. And Sheffield is on seven hills, so you never get the same view twice. And we are on the edge of the Peak District, which Sheffield helps to manage.

    Is there such a thing as a “typical working day” for you?

    The very talented Pete McKee.

    If I’m preparing for an exhibition then that whole process starts about six months up front, thinking about what I want to show, how I’m going to arrange it, but I do spend a lot of time just looking around me and waiting for inspiration to strike.

    I’m working on a new exhibition for next year; I’m going to try to get a few other friends involved in it as well, to make the show lovely, and varied. It’s a celebration of the Working Class; I’m trying to put a bit of pride back into being Working Class. The media has lambasted it; we’re an underclass of people now and it shouldn’t be that way. There’s a lot of pressure on people to live a lifestyle that’s out of their reach, in some respects. People are encouraged to own a big flat screen TV and then they are criticised for owning one. You can’t have the best of both worlds. Obviously the concept of what it means to be Working Class is changing all the time; it’s evolving but we are the backbone of this society; without the Working Class no one gets anything done, nothing gets manufactured. We should be proud of where we come from, and of our upbringing. For some reason it’s getting a bit distorted at the moment, so I just wanted to have a celebration of what it is to be Working Class.

    Music plays a big part in your art. Was there a lot of music in the house when you were growing up?

    My dad was a steel worker, and used to play in the local pubs, but he had an accident at work and lost a finger, so when we moved house the piano got sold. He used to listen to bands like The Ink Spots, the old Doo Wop music. I have three siblings, all older than me, and I was influenced by the music they were playing. One was into stuff like Alice Cooper, Queen and Supertramp, my other brother was really into the Folk movement, whilst my sister was a fan of The Beatles and the Stones. There’s a Blood, Sweat & Tears album that I still play, and every time I hear it, it takes me back to a time and a place.

    Back when we grew up Social Media wasn’t invented; we just bought what was on Top Of The Pops, what you read about in the NME. Our house was basically on ‘Tick’ or what you could buy weekly from the Club catalogue books; that fashioned what your expectations were. Our TV, our hi-fi systems, our cocktail cabinet unit and bookshelves, everything we sat on was owned by somebody else, and we just paid every week for it. That’s how you did it.

    Can you remember the first record you bought?

    There are two records that I asked my brothers to get me when they were in town. One was Mott The Hoople “Roll Away The Stone” and the other was Sparks ‘This Town Ain’t Big Enough For The Both Of Us’. That got to Number Two in the chart. I was so disappointed because I thought just by dint of me buying a copy it would go to Number One. I love that song, though I could never understand the words.

    Your Great Labels In Popular Music suggests that you are a lover of vinyl?

    I am but I’m one of those people that had a moment when they had to sell their collection. I was probably behind with my Council Tax, or something. But recently I’ve been building it all back, bit-by-bit. I’ve got a small record deck and I’ve started replacing the old copies but it’s a lot more expensive this time round. I love that tactile experience that comes with going into a record shop, escaping into this unique environment. That’s one of the reasons why I like having my own gallery. And I like being able to pick up a record and look at the sleeve. I’ve even bought albums based on the artwork alone.

    Can you remember the first time you were allowed to buy your own clothes?

    Station To Station by Pete McKee. New for 2017.

    Because my Mum passed away when I was about six, my Dad bought me up, and when it came to clothes purchases I relied on him. When the Mod movement came along and everyone was walking around in military Parkas, I asked my Dad to get me a Parka, and he came back with one from C&A. I was already classed as a ‘Plastic Mod’ and no matter what genre you’re into, you don’t want the C&A version of something that everyone else is wearing.

    So, that was the first part of my upbringing, getting it slightly wrong cause I relied on my poor Dad to get me these things. Then eventually I saw this one jacket - it was like a stud button up, with the different coloured sleeves. The Jam were wearing something similar about this time, I think it’s round about when ‘Start’ came out. And I saw one in a shop window and I just begged my Dad, “Can I get this for my Christmas present?” I remember that as my first proper choice; it was an expensive item but it was the “one thing” that I want; that treasured thing. When you’re into a music culture, or into a fashion culture, you’ve got one of two options; you either buy one item that’s THE thing, and you wear that to death. Or you’re fortunate enough to have enough money to buy several. And I was definitely in the bracket that buys one; has one certain look, one uniform, and wears it to death because I’d got no option. I had one pair of jeans that I’d wear all week, this one jacket, and this one pair of shoes, and I wore to death because that’s all I could afford.

    Youth cults, or music movements figure large in your artwork. Why is that?

    What I loved about Music fashion growing up was the codes, the dress codes. Whether it was the Mod movement, the Skinhead movement, the Suedehead movement, anything, even the Metal Heads, walking around at school with Rainbow embroidered on the back of their jacket, they had to be the right denim jacket. It was either Wrangler, or Levis or Lee but if you got the wrong one you were a fake. So, I love dress codes.

    With the Music fashion thing, the Working Class aspiration is to pick the more expensive brands, to show they’re not poor; it’s a peacock thing, in a way. When the Teddy Boy movement came in, their Drape Coats were like military officers coats, and then the Mod movement was aspirational for an American look, things they’d seen in movies. Look at Hip Hop culture; it’s all linked to the high-end brand stuff. The Casual movement was knicking very expensive Tacchini tracksuit tops because they couldn’t afford them, but that’s the thing with expensive brands, that’s what they want to be associated with. Working Class fashion has always been aspirational but now it’s become a bit more sinister

    Do you have your own particular style now?

    A sort of Fifties look, in some respects. My hair’s been in kind of a quiff thing since I was twenty four, when I saw Edwyn Collins third album, and I thought, “That’s a smart move, that”. I’ve worn a quiff of some kind ever since really. I like that kind of style, an “American-esque” look. I like the Harrington style jackets but with a bit more of a shirt sort of collar.

    How did your fondness for Tootal come about?

    Pete McKee: Enjoying the spoils of his hard won success.

    I remember the famous ‘Mods’ book, the black and white one by Richard Barnes, we got that as kids, or one of us had it and the rest of us all kept looking at it. That was our dress code bible; what was acceptable to wear as Mods. I remember this one photo where some kids are dancing in a nightclub, and one kid has got a scarf tucked into his crew neck sweater. And I thought, wow, that’s a look; I’m going to look out for that. My brother-in-law used to be a Mod, and still had this Tootal from the Sixties in his wardrobe; I remember it cause he used to wear it to work. And he gave it to me; a Mustard Paisley Tootal. So I was the first kid, and only kid, to wear a Tootal scarf in our school. Since then I rarely had one off me neck. And that founded my desire, and love and passion for Tootal scarves.

    You have collaborated with Clark’s Shoes on Desert Boots, and projects with Paul Smith. Any plans for a range of scarves?

    Only if Tootal ask me. I’d love to do something for Tootal. I do love a good brand association, particularly brands with class and cache and coolness; I’d love to be able to work with Tootal at some point in my life.


    To see more of Pete’s wonderful art visit

    And if you’re lucky enough to find yourself in Sheffield (once voted Happiest City In The U.K.) Pete’s gallery, A Month Of Sundays, is at 365 Sharrow Vale Road, Sheffield, S11 8ZG.

    You can follow Pete on Twitter @PeteMcKee or on Facebook @PetemckeeArt

  • Mixing Pop and Politics: Author Daniel Rachel Talks To Tootal Blog

    For readers of a certain age there was a golden era for protest songs. A time before reality TV talent shows when passionate messages coupled with infectious melodies could regularly crack the Top 10. A period charted by musician turned author Daniel Rachel in his absorbing book Walls Come Tumbling Down, winner of the Penderyn Music Book Prize for 2017.

    We selected ten “angry anthems” and asked Daniel to share his thoughts on each of them.

    1.The Clash ‘Police And Thieves’ (1977)

    Written by Junior Murvin & Lee Perry. From the album The Clash. U.K. Album Chart #12

    The Clash, particularly Joe Strummer, had enquiring minds. Paul Simonon and Mick Jones grew up in South London, and were imbibed with Black Culture, which intensified when they moved to West London. It was natural that the sound they grew up with would infect their music.

    The Clash: Their 1977 debut album (CBS Records)

    I love the way you get the kind of On/Off Reggae beat of Joe Strummer and Mick Jones’ guitars. Then just before the guitar solo it breaks from the Reggae rhythm and gives way to more typical Clash sounding chugging guitars. Watch the footage of them doing this in Birmingham in 1978; I think it’s at Barbarella’s. There’s a vibrancy to that performance, not only in the close-up of the camera work, which is right on Strummer’s face, but when he moves out of shot the camera remains on the microphone and you’re left waiting for him to come back into shot.

    There’s also footage of a National Front rally outside Digbeth Civic Hall that same day, which turns into a confrontation between the Anti-Nazi League, Rock Against Racism and the police. There are two people that were in that melee; one is me, as a little boy who has inadvertently been driven into the melee by his parents. I thought it was very exciting and I was taken by the colours, and the look of the Skinheads. And the other person there was Ranking Roger.

    2. Tom Robinson Band ‘Glad To Be Gay’ (1978)

    Written by Tom Robinson. From the Rising Free E.P. U.K. Singles Chart #18

    TRB headlined the Rock Against Racism carnival in Victoria Park by dint of their hit ‘2-4-6-8 Motorway’, so they had a greater status than The Clash at that point. They are not really a Punk band, but Tom in his sort of school uniform, Roger Huddle’s Black Power fist logo behind them, plus Danny Kustow’s kind of Punk guitar, brings an importance to this song. It’s a hugely important and equally inflammatory song.

    In the introduction, Tom says the World Health Organisation have categorised being Gay as a disease, 302.0. He discovered that because of Paul Furness, who had set up Leeds Rock Against Racism and worked in the medical records department at Leeds Royal Infirmary. It was Paul’s job to get code numbers for the doctors, and he found the classification, and told Tom Robinson about 302.0. It’s printed on the EP sleeve, on the side. That was an astonishing political statement, 302.0 eventually was removed from the World Health Organisation directory in 1990.

    3. Steel Pulse ‘Ku Klux Klan’ (1978)

    Written by Steel Pulse. U.K. Singles Chart #41

    David Hinds of Steel Pulse heard that David Duke, the leader of the Ku Klux Klan, was going to make a visit to Britain. In the song David is imagining walking down the road, kicking a can, when somebody from the Klan jumps out in front of him. This song brings the politics of Birmingham, Alabama to Birmingham, West Midlands.

    Steel Pulse 'Ku Klux Klan' (Island Records). The first single from their debut album, 'Handsworth Revolution'.

    Steel Pulse went to the South (of the U.S.), and they played ‘Ku Klux Klan’; David told me the day after the band had left there was a lynching in the city where they had been performing. Because of the age he was he didn’t have any fear about performing ‘Ku Klux Klan’, in that kind of atmosphere and climate, nor the potential danger that the band where in. That’s quite extraordinary.

    David Hinds grew up listening to British White radio. He’s a fan of Pop music; the Stones, The Kinks and The Who, but also bands like the Average White Band. David used to make a 45-minute trip across town, from Handsworth to college in Bourneville. His bus journey charted the change of colour of the city, so when he arrives at college, he’s gone from the black world of Handsworth to the white world of Bourneville. All this influences the way he sees the world, the way he writes music, the way he sings and puts together Steel Pulse. They don’t follow the tropes of what you might associate with Jamaican Reggae. And that’s as valid that Steel Pulse should be playing with ‘White Man’s music’ as The Clash are playing with ‘Black Man’s music’.

    4. Linton Kwesi Johnson ‘Sonny’s Lettah (Anti-Sus Poem)’ (1979)

    Written by Linton Kwesi Johnson. From the album Forces Of Victory. U.K. Album Chart #66.

    The most intimidating man I met for Walls Come Tumbling Down but what a hugely eloquent and powerful poet he is. He may have been one of the first people ever to take Patois and put it into a written form; as Linton points out, Robbie Burns spoke in the dialect of his homeland, and so Linton had the right to do so too.

    I think that the impact of the records he made with Dennis Bovell is not dissimilar to how you might consider 16th Century broadsides. The news of the street and of the people being delivered as a bulletin; it was the news that was not being told by the British media.

    As with John Cooper Clarke poetry was beginning to be an accepted form of voicing opposition to the establishment. In the Eighties Seething Wells and Attila The Stockbroker supported The Jam at Hammersmith; then there’s Pop Art Poem on Sound Affects, and, of course, Paul Weller sets up Riot Stories, his own poetry imprint, so there’s a connection there. And a Number One artist has sanctioned it.

    5. Ruts ‘S.U.S.’ (1979)

    Written by Dave Ruffy, John ‘Segs’ Jennings, Malcolm Owen, Paul Fox & Richard Mannah.

    From the album The Crack. U.K. Album Chart #16.

    Ruts 'The Crack' (Virgin Records). Also includes 'Babylon's Burning' and 'Something That I Said'.

    How mad is it that a Reggae band - Misty In Roots - finance and put out a Punk band’s single on their own label (People Unite)? Misty and The Ruts formed an alliance, so when Dave Ruffy, on the drums, and Segs, on the bass, were trying to play the Reggae music they loved they were being tutored, literally, by Misty. But Misty themselves were British. And the interesting thing is that Malcolm Owen was married to a mixed race girl; Ruffy says in Walls Come Tumbling Down that Malcolm was getting hit by traffic both ways. It’s a stunning line. The Ruts also got quite an Asian following, by dint of their Southall connection. That wouldn’t have been easy, for a young Asian girl to be going to a Punk gig in ’78, ‘79.

    During the Southall riots of ’79, the People Unite offices were trashed by the Special Patrol Group. Misty’s manager, Clarence Baker, was clobbered over the head and rushed to Intensive Care, which becomes another Ruts song ‘Jah War’. So, The Ruts, and Misty, were important politically, and played some mean Reggae rhythms.

    6. Stiff Little Fingers ‘Alternative Ulster’ (1979)

    Written by Gordon Ogilvie & Jake Burns. Did not Chart.

    Not all but most of Stiff Little Fingers’ lyrics were written by their manager, Gordon Ogilvie, a journalist writing for the Daily Express in Northern Ireland. Ogilvie wrote the lyrics for this song and then gave them to Jake Burns, saying ‘would you write a song called ‘Alternative Ulster’? When Gordon saw the band at a rehearsal two weeks later Jake said, “I’ve finished it. Listen to this”. Before that SLF were just doing Jam covers, and hadn’t yet become the band that we know them as.

    In 1978 Stiff Little Fingers’ got in touch with Tom Robinson and landed a support tour with his band. SLF weren’t only talking about Northern Ireland; they were talking about the freedoms of youth. Gordon says in Walls Come Tumbling Down that if The Clash can talk about “Sten Guns In Knightsbridge” then there is a legitimate argument for Jake to be singing about the British military presence in Northern Ireland

    I love SLF’s first album; Jake’s voice is like listening to razor blades, really fantastic. As a kid I loved playing it because you knew it would cause maximum offence to anyone in adult hearing vicinity, which is always exciting.

    7. The Specials ‘Ghost Town’ (1981)

    Written by Jerry Dammers. U.K. Singles Chart #1

    On this record The Specials master Reggae. It’s interesting they return to Reggae because in ’78 as The Coventry Automatics, when they supported The Clash, they were trying Reggae with a Punk fusion, and they don’t really get back into that until this point.

    The Specials always sounded more early Reggae / Rocksteady to me than Ska. When you think of ‘Skinhead Symphony’ on the Too Much Too Young EP, those songs are all from ‘68/’69; that’s Reggae, isn’t it? But it is the greatest EP ever. Absolutely! Not even The Beatles can match it. So exciting.

    The Specials 'Ghost Town' (2 Tone Records). Three weeks at No. 1 in 1981.

    The week before this got to No. 1 The Specials played the last Rock Against Racism Carnival in Leeds. They were the headline act, with Misty In Roots and the Au Pairs. Jerry Dammers tells a great story that when they got to the trombone solo, Rico didn’t play. Jerry goes over and say’s, “Rico, Rico! Play now!” And Rico says to Jerry, “Me nah feel for play, Jerry”.

    As a young kid, it never dawned on me that 2 Tone music was political. I would just sing along to, “Just because you’re s a Black boy/ Just because you’re White/ Doesn’t mean you have to hate him/ Doesn’t mean you have to fight”, or when Ranking Roger toasting on ‘Doors Of Your Heart’; “Stick him in your living room and turn off the light / Bet you wouldn't know if he was black or white”. The politics only began to infiltrate my mind as I developed a social conscience. Until then they were just great pop songs, but sub-consciously they were educating me.

    8. Billy Bragg ‘Between The Wars’ (1985)

    Written by Billy Bragg. U.K. Chart #15.

    The EP was dedicated to the Miner’s Wives Support Group; unfortunately the record was released just as the Miner’s strike finished. It’s an incredible EP. The other songs are ‘Which Side Are You On?’ by Florence Reece, ‘World Turned Upside Down’ by Leon Rosselson and Billy’s ‘It Says Here’. The words to all four songs are imbedded in my mind

    ‘Between The Wars’ is a ‘them and us’ song, isn’t it? You have that; we have this. You say that; we say this; Billy was the one-man Clash. It’s folk-punk. I feel hugely connected to this record. I was at school and we had a production of Pride & Prejudice, and I was The Butler. We were due to perform on a Thursday night – Top of the Pops night - and I knew that Billy was going to be on; I was such a fan. I said to, my drama teacher, “I’ve got a little portable TV, can I bring it in, because I don’t want to miss it?” and she let me! Our ‘backstage’ area was the school gym; I took the TV in and I made everyone watch Billy doing ‘Between The Wars’. He sang it live. I was really excited because not many people were Billy Bragg fans. I thought, “Yes!”

    A couple of years later my best mate, Simon (of Ocean Colour Scene), who was working at the Birmingham Post got in contact with Billy’s press people and got tickets and a bumper press kit sent to him, for Billy’s show at The Alexandra Theatre; Michelle Shocked was supporting him. Simon didn’t like Billy much but afterwards he said, “God! It was like watching a stand up comedian”.

    9. The Housemartins ‘Flag Day’ (1985)

    Written by Paul Heaton and Stan Cullimore. Did not chart.

    Billy Bragg’s wife, Juliet, who had managed The Selecter and ran 2 Tone Records with Rick Rodgers, talks so passionately in the book about what Paul Heaton’s voice does to her and the tone in his voice, which cut through to the marrow. “Too many Florence Nightingales, not enough Robin Hoods…” What a strange choice for a single; it didn’t chart but it was followed by ‘Sheep’, which creeps in at the bottom end of the chart and then, ‘Happy Hour’, which was magnificent and went top ten.

    Paul told me at this time he hadn’t yet got his handle on political lyrics. The Housemartins had that lightness that a band like The Redskins didn’t. He said, “You just wanted to tickle them under the arm a little bit”. There are so many great political songs on the second Housemartins album. There’s some telling lines about Margaret Thatcher on ‘Five Get Over Excited’; ‘Feigning concern, a conservative pastime, Makes you feel doubtful right from the start / The expression she pulls is exactly like last time, You've got to conclude she just hasn't a heart’.

    The Housemartins 'Flag Day' (Go! Discs). Failed to make the singles chart but was No. 10 in John Peel's Festive 50 of 1985

    Like Elvis Costello, Paul resisted joining Red Wedge. Paul came down for a meeting in London; he went in and a 'Wedgee' was barefooted. Somebody was probably wearing loafers without any socks on. Paul said, ‘This isn’t my crowd’. Basically, he’d been spending his time on the frontline during the Miner’s strike, and he wasn’t really getting the “Southerners” thing, even though Billy Bragg, and Paul Weller, and The Communards and Junior were all at the meeting; Paul said it wasn’t his scene. He had a few demands of his own; the abolition of the monarchy, and nationalising the record industry. Red Wedge rejected his ideas.

    I told Paul how his lyrics fed into my life and what they meant to me and to my peers and he said, “It’s funny. You tell me my lyrics have influenced you but Paul Weller influenced me and Joe Strummer influenced him”.

    10. The Style Council ‘Walls Come Tumbling Down!’ (1985)

    Written by Paul Weller. U.K. Chart #6.

    In Birmingham, Style Council fans that I knew were people that looked like Casuals. They would wear espadrilles with no socks and jumpers tied across their shoulders. It’s the reason why I resisted The Style Council. I didn’t like the kind of people that liked them. And then, you watch their videos, and Paul’s rubbing Mick’s chest and they’re on boats together and that kind of nonsense. The thing about ‘Walls Come Tumbling Down’ is, it sounded more like The Jam.

    It is an incredibly didactic lyric, but it’s being delivered in a manner, and with a melody and a rhythm that’s really exciting and that’s the basis of any great protest song.

    Jerry Dammers talks about the reference to the walls of Jericho, and how it has been since discovered that the wall fell because it had been undermined. Jerry’s saying music alone isn’t enough to bring walls down; there’s got to be some form of collaboration. That is why Paul Weller decided, alongside Billy Bragg and Annajoy David, to do what nobody else had ever done in Rock ‘n’ Roll history and go to the corridors of power; and go to Parliament to effect change. To do the opposite of Punk, which was anti-establishment. They were encouraging people to register to vote and to get change from within. Gordon Brown vindicated Red Wedge’s goals in 1990, when he delivered a White Paper on the music industry, and then by Neil Kinnock, whose policy papers for the 1992 General Election had Red Wedge ideas within them.

    Red Wedge was hugely influential, particularly on a generation who would express themselves 10 years later in 1997, and equally in Labour Party policy. That’s an amazing achievement for Pop Stars. That’s the guy that’s on Top Of The Pops rubbing Mick Talbot’s chest; influencing Labour Party policy. It’s incredible.


    Walls Come Tumbling Down by Daniel Rachel was the winner of the Penderyn Music Book Prize for 2017. John Harris, writing in The Guardian, described the book as “a triumphant oral history”, whist Shaun Keaveny on BBC 6 Music called it “A colossal and brilliant book”.



    Walls Come Tumbling Down is published by Pan Macmillan and available in paperback here





    Daniel is also the author of Isle Of Noises: Conversations With Great British Songwriters (a Guardian and NME Book of the Year). For more details visit

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