Rock and Roll Stories #36 - The death of squatting and the death of Rock and Roll in London

 I recently had cause to drive down Shirland Road in Maida Vale, just off Elgin Avenue. I pointed our a luxury mansion to my family and told them, to their total incredulity that it was the site of the first ever False Dots gig. I didn't record the date of the gig and never really considered it a proper gig at the time, because the venue was not a 'recognised venue'. The event was "Shawn's party". Shawn was a mate of our then bassplayer Paul Hircombe. 

Pic courtesy of Socialist Worker

Shawn squatted in one of the mansions with several mates. He decided to have a birthday party and Paul suggested that it would be a laugh to do a gig for him. To the best of my knowledge, there are no pictures of it and no real record, other than my memories, but I suspect it was late 1980. I know this as Criag Withecombe was in the band, along with Paul. The event was pretty ramshackle. We moved a few tatty sofas around, set up and started playing. We brought about ten mates with us and played our set, as it was back then. There were probably 50 people watching. The place was full of tatty furniture and people sitting around drinking and smoking pot. I recall that Shawn and his mates loved our track "Not all She Seems", it was the stand out song from that period and we still play it. 

After the set, people drifted in and out. A big jam session ensued. A bloke who claimed he'd squatted with Paul Simenon offered to get us a record deal with an anarchist label. We sat around doing what teenagers used to do in such circumstances. At about two in the morning, I picked up my guitar and started trying to play Heartbeat by Wire. Paul joined in on bass, and whoever was drumming started tapping along. I think Craig had gone home by then. At that moment, a rather animated, dreadlocked chap walked in. He said "that's a great riff, can I toast along wid you". We said yes. He picked up the mic and started to rap ( I think it was still called toasting by Jamaicans back then) "Last night I found a bag of weed, It was lyin there in the streets, Oh it smelled so sweet, I know that Jesus he loves me". Variations on this theme continued for twenty minutes. It turned out, the story was true. He'd witness a police stop and search and noticed that a bag had been thrown into a hedge, that the police had missed. He'd waited until the fun finished, collected it and came round to the party. 

The band were all still at school then, it was one of our real exposures to squat culture. I was fascinated by it. The idea that you could just live in a mansion, rent free. I didn't really give it any thought at the time. It was how things were. For a while, we'd often nip up to see Shawn. The Shirland Road/Elgin Avenue area was a hotbed for squatting. All manner of interesting people were hanging around. The only real problem for us was that it was a schlep from Mill Hill to get there, so we only really went if we could get a mate with a car to take us, but it made a huge impression. 

What became instantly obvious was that there was a big artistic community based around the squats. It was a community in the true sense of the word. The squatters all stood up for each other and all of them worked to ensure people were safe. Of course there were drugs around, but this was not compulsory. Most people just needed cheap accommodation. We got to know several bands through the squats, and that resulted in some very decent gigs for the False Dots. The rule was that you met a band, you watched their gig, they watched yours and then you got together and played together on a bill somewhere. All sorts of interesting musicians passed through. 

Back in the last decade, the Tories finally made squatting in residential buildings illegal. There are now around 36,000 long term empty properties in London, whilst many people are sleeping in the street. One aspect of the squatters communities that is not mentioned is that many squats provided safe and anonymous accommodation for women fleeing domestic violence. It gave such people a chance to disappear. The song Not all she seems was written about a transgender sex worker, I met at a punk gig and got friendly with. She was living in a squat, hiding from people who were exploiting her. When we talk about sex workers, often we forget that they are people. She liked punk rock and would spend what money she could put aside from her sex work and her unhealthy habits on going to gigs. She was well known at such gigs for a while. Then she disappeared. We were never really sure if she was still alive. Someone told us "She met someone that she used to know and packed her bags and legged it".

Such people were the lifeblood of the rock and roll subculture of London. The Clash had well documented links with squatting, but the whole punk culture was firmly based in the squats of London. Sadly, the UK has decided that subversive subcultures are not how art is done these days. Art has to be nice and clean and shiny. Rock and Roll songs are simply the backing music for adverts for companies who want to be a bit edgy. The death of Londons squatting culture has coincided (or maybe its not a coincidence) with the decline of London as a Rock and Roll powerhouse. It is impossible to write a song like Not All She Seems if you don't know transgender sex workers with dodgy connections. There is no inspiration. Shawn is the only person I know who had his own mansion in Maida Vale. He never paid a penny in rent or mortgage and lived there for years. The powers that be hate his sort of people, and are too myopic to see the good that came out of that scene. 

Anyway, here's Not all she seems. An anthem to a world that no longer exists. People don't write songs about such things anymore. How could they unless they are old gits like me.