Rock and Roll Stories #71 - Dave the roadie, we salute you!

On the latest album by The False Dots, we have a track called Dave the Roadie, celebrating all of the people who came on this mad journey with us, but were not musicians. They drove, lugged gear, hung around. Some weren't even especially keen on our music, but just loved the crack of being part of a band.  The song is a mash up of about five people we knew, who played the role at some point. However there is one main character who inspired the song. I won't name him as he's still got a job and I don't want to embarrass him, as he's a changed man! Back in the day, he'd hanga around with us, he learned to drive at an early age and had access to a van. It is almost impossible to describe what being part of the False Dots was like in the very early years. There were always all manner of illicit substances being passed around. I was far more of a drinker than anyone else in the band and our entourage. We'll call our Roadie Dave so you know who I am talking about. Dave wasn't into boozing at all. He liked to smoke a joint. He was the only person I knew who could roll a joint whilst drviing. I don't mean with skunk weed either, a proper one, where you heated resin and mixed it with tobacco. We didn't encourage this, as we didn't really want to die. He had a large ghetto blaster cassette player,  which he called Desmond. He'd put it on the back seat. He'd change cassettes whilst driving, completely ignoring the road. In hindsight, it was a miracle no one was mown down.

I knew Dave initially from being an Alter Server at the Catholic Church. Unlike me, he was a very good footballer. I suspect that if he hadn't me me and got involved with the band, he'd have been a pretty good semi pro. He played for Graham Park FC when they won the Hendon & District Sunday league cup at Hendon Town FC. When we were about 16, I told him he needed to get into rock and roll. I dragged him down to see The Dickies at The Marquee. Up until that moment, he dressed as a Chelsea casual. He went an overnight transformation. I had some electric clippers and cropped his hair at both sides, in a haircut I christened the "Turkos Tharg". He bought a pair of white striped trousers and a Dickies T-Shirt with the sleeves cut off. Dave was about 6'2 and a handsome bugger. Gorgeous girls would throw themselves at him and he was seemingly uninterested. To my surprise, at a Vibrators gig, an absolutely stunning girl tried to chat him up. He was far more intersted in her friend, who was far less exotic. I questioned him, he said "She had something to say, the other one was dull". 

After rehearsals and gigs, we'd assemble back in Bunns Lane. Dave lived in the caretakers cottage at the yard, where our studios are. We'd drink tea into the early hours and consume illicit copious amounts of things that are not entirely legal. Then at 1 or 2 am, we'd have a five a side kickabout. This would last an hour. We'd then drink more tea etc. We'd play on the asphalt roadway. if you fell over it was a scuffed knee. Sometimes, the Police would turn up. They believed us all to be raving junkies, but when we played five a side, we played hard. They would observe and be confused. 

During the tea drinking sessions, we would indulge in all manner of strange games. There was the barrel of doom. It was a card game where the loser would have to immerse themselve in an oil drum full of rain water, When we tipped it out, we found a load of dead rats at the bottom of it. Perhaps the most bizarre game was the "Pia Zadora challenge". This started when I made a throwaway comment about having an erotic dream about actress Pia Zadora. In the dream, she said she would do rude things to me, if I could balance upside down on a rotating chair, placed on a table and rotate myself through 360 degrees, using my feet on the ceiling. She held the chair whilst I attempted it. 

When I recounted this, Dave stated "lets see if we can do it". I am clumsy and hopeless at such things. However Dave managed it. Sadly Pia was not around to give him the prize. At gigs, he'd often drive us there and return to collect us, missing the set. One time, he forgot about us, only remembering at 3am, picking us up from outside a long closed pub in the rain. He made it clear that he didn't need to apologise, as he was doing us the favour driving. 

As so often happens, he eventually got a girlfriend and became less interested in hanging around with us lot, engaging in shenanigans. When he got a proper flat with her, it was more or less the end of the golden age of False Dots insanity. Several things persisted. Our five a side team, Goatybeard United lasted into the 1990's. He learned the saxophone and joined a pretty decent band. I have tried to get him to play with us on a couple of occasions, but as he's not in London, it is not really practical.

But the truth of it is that without Dave and his ilk, there would've been no rock and roll bands. He encouraged me to seek out far flung gigs as he enjoyed driving the van. Looking back there are many things I recall. Perhaps (for me) one of the funniest was after a gig at Tower Bridge. He'd borrowed a Mk 1 VW camper van off a mate called Emil. We took all the gear, the band and a few mates with us. On the way back, we acquired about five more mates to bring back. It seemed like every cubic inch of the van was taken, highly illegal. As we returned, we passed through Kilburn, I said "Dave, I need a pee, can you find somewhere quiet to stop". He turned off the Edgware Road and pulled into a leafy road. He stopped in a dark spot under a tree. I jumped out and started to pee into hedge. Then every door of the van opened, and all 17 people emerged and proceeded to pee in the front garden of the house we stopped outside of. A bloke in the bedroom heard the furore, put on the light and opened the curtains. He then opened the window and started shouting. To his amazement (I assume), we all disappeared into the van and drove off. 

At the time, the high spot of our set was a cover of Space Cowboy, by the Steve Miller Band. Dave and another mate, would guest as exotic dancers during the number. If ever I hear the song, I think of Dave.

He's a very respectable character now. At a friends funeral. we put up a selection of pictures from those mad times. Dave's son saw them and I heard him exclaim "Dad, you hypocrite!". He isn't though, sadly, like all of us, he just grew up! You can see the band at The Dublin Castle on Sunday 23rd August at The Dublin Castle CLICK HERE FOR CHEAP TICKETS

Have a listen. 

Rock and Roll Stories #70 - Sometimes recording sessions can be fun!

 For many bands, the most stressful experience of all is making recordings. There are reasons for this. It is expensive. You have to spend extended periods of time in the company of people and you get to see a different side of them. If you are serious, you have strong opinions. Often you get tired and hungry. Sometimes, drink and/or drugs cloud your judgement. Often musicians are more concerned that their virtuoso playing is showcased, rather than a brilliant end product is produced (some people only think it is brilliant if all you can hear is them noodling). I was chatting with our vocal coach, Josh Alumu yesterday. He's just back from working on a recording with two megastars. Mark Ronson was producing. I really rate Mark Ronson as a producer. If I had an unlimited budget and a new artist, I'd get Mark to produce it. I asked Josh what he's like. He said "He's a nice guy, really calm". This made me think. Being calm in the studio is something that is a massive asset. 

I have produced a fair number of artists over the years. Most of them have been new and up and coming artists, with little or no studio experience. Getting a performance from someone who is absolutely terrified in an alien environment is never easy. I only work with people I think have something. Often, they are so scared of making mistakes and embarrassing themselves, that they do not produce a performance. Having worked with a few vocal coaches in the studio, there are tricks that you learn to get people to produce a better performance, but ultimately if you are going to get a proper performance, you have to challenge people and push them to their limits and sometimes beyond. This has to be done in a sensitive and calm way. Once you an artist gets over their fear, often they start to have fun. A great artist will know their own talent better than anyone, and when they realise what they can do, all of a sudden you find that they have more to contribute than you dreamed.  When you are working with a solo artist, this is easy. When it is a band, it can cause problems. When bands first start recording, they all want to be involved. The drummer gets a very raw deal. They record first and then they are done. They have to hang around for hours/days/weeks, just watching everyone else do their bit. The same is pretty much true for the bass player. With the rythm section, when it is done, it is pretty much done (unless they do backing vocals). 

Guitarists, keyboards, brass are then done. Finally the vocals. Most producers etc do far more work on vocals, as this is what sells records. Often other members get frustrated that the vocalist gets so much attention. I had a mate who worked for a major record label. His job? To take the rest of the band to the pub and buy them beers, whilst the vocalist did their takes (and often whilst session musicians came in to replace their dodgy takes!).  I read an interview with one band, who complained that they didn't realise that the band were actually paying for this, as it got deducted from their royalty cheque. If you don't know the industry, it may sound shocking but if you do, you get it.

These days, I am lucky. I have my own studio and when I do work in it, it's free. That is one stress removed. Another stress removed is that we have all been around the block and know what we are doing. We focus on getting a great end product. But we also have fun. I think this shows in our music. It doesn't sound sterile and bland. We have a craic in the studio. Whereas when we first started, we used to get really stressed about playing the perfect performance, now we get that getting the right feel is more important. We get a kick out of coming up with ideas that sound great.

I've learned that the less stress you have in the studio, the better the result. My band, The False Dots has evolved into a very low stress organisation. We do our thing and we have fun. When we were recording our new album, We don't live in America, Tom the Trumpet suggested that we get a crew of friends in to do some chanting on the title track. We turned it into a party. Given the title, we suggested everyone brought their favourite beer from around the world (so long as it wasn't American, cos their beer is wee wee). We then went around and made a clip of everyone telling us what the beer was. We provided Pizza's as well. It was a good fun experience. 

It turned into a bit of a party and we had a blast. It was very different to our first recording, with Alan Warner back in 1980. We rehearsed solidly for a week and were all as uptight as it is possible to be. Alan did a great job, but we could hardly play and none of us wanted to be the one to let the band down. It actually turned out OK, but it was anything but fun. Growing up does have its benefits!

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Rock and Roll Stories #69 - Saucy Sally from SW3 and near death experiences

 When you've been in the False Dots for 47 years, you've met a few characters along the way. People discover the band, become fans and then disappear. As we are a grassroots band, it has always been part of our manifesto to love and value our fans. We always try and chat to them before and after gigs and make them feel part of the False Dots family. Our gigs have always been as much about people meeting up with friends and having a good time together as it has been about wtching a band play a few numbers. Over the last few years, when our profile has been higher than ever a few people who saw us in the very early days have turned up at gigs, mostly out of curiosity. I think most have been shocked, both at how much and how little we've changed. Ithink most expect some sort of bunch of geriatrics playing turgid blues rather badly. Not that we ever did that, but many of our contempories have moved into doing covers and being a bit staid. I don't think that can be levelled at us. That the feedback we've had though.

Perhaps even more interesting is when occasionally I meet someone from the very early days, who I'd completely forgotten about. Most are doing good things now. Occasionally, I will learn that a mutual friend from those days has passed away. Once in a while, there is a story that is so strange and bizarre that it leaves me speechless. The story of Saucy Sally from SW3 is one such person. One of the first False Dots gigs, I didn't recall it as it wasn't deemed 'an official gig', was at a mate called Sean's party at his squat Elgin Avenue in Maida Vale. The property is now a multi million pound house. At the time, Elgin Avenue was full of such buildings that were derelict squats. Sean worked at the Tyre shop at Fiveways Corner, with our bassplayer Paul Hircombe's brother. Paul was doing some work there and got friendly with Sean. Sean was havinga  birthday party at his squat in Maida Vale and invited us to play. We were delighted to.

Sean invited the residents of many of the local squats, a fascinating bunch. The Dots did our set. We were nothing like the band we are now, far more punky and still really finding our feet. But we had written our first classic song, Not all She seems. A cautionary tale about exploitation of sex workers. Hank Marvin donated the guitar lick to us, when his son Paul was in the band. After we had played the set, a very attractive young lady, who I thought was about 21 started talking to me. She was clearly ons omething stronger than tea. She had listened intently to the band and asked about Not all she seems. I was quite shocked when she said "I really get that, you have no idea what pigs powerful men are". We had a pleasant chat and I was quite keen on her. She went off to do something and one of the other squatters said "watch her, she's trouble, don't get involved". I was about 17 at the time. When we played at the Moonlight club a year or so later, she turned up. She looked terrible. She was with a rather dodgy bloke, but said she desperately wanted to see us again. We had a chat after we played, she wanted to come back to our after show party, but the bloke wanted something else. I never saw her again.

Well not until 2014. I used to voulunteer at a homeless daycentre. One day, a new volunteer turned up. She seemed nice enough. Rather posh and well spoken. She had been doing some volunteering at Centrepoint. We started chatting and I mentioned I was in a band. She was really interested and asked the name. When I told her, she seemed completely startled. She asked how long we'd been going. When I told her, she asked if we'd ever played at a squat in Maida Vale. I said yes, and mentioned our friend Sean. To my amazement, she then revealed that she had seen us there and remembere me. Not only that, she remembered the song "Not all she seems". She then said about seeing us at the Moonlight Club. I twigged who she was. She told me she'd been going through a bad time. The bloke was in effect a pimp and also a bit of a dealer and a nasty piece of work. Someone we knew owed him some money.

I said "You were looking ill then, what happened?". She had spent several years strung out on drugs, in and out of rehab, paid for by her parents. The last time, she OD'd and nearly died. She then said "I had a near death experience. Jesus came to me and said he'd give me another chance, but I had to stop taking drugs and right all of the wrongs I'd done". She said she immediately gave up drugs. Oddly, she said that she had no real cold turkey, something that she'd had before when she'd tried to clean up. She cut all ties with her old associates and moved away. She then asked if I knew any of the old squatter tribe. I said that when Paul Hircombe died, I lost touch with Sean. What really shocked me was that she was my age. I had assumed she was a good few years older. She said that the drugs had taken a real toll on her, but clean living and yoga had got her back on track. She then asked if we still performed Not all she seems. I told her that it wasn't in the set at that time, but we may bring it back sometime. 

What she told me next broke my heart. She said that she was not going to volunteer at Centre anymore. She said that she had to keep well away from all of her old contacts. I was really sad. I said "I don't see them", but she said "I have to stay away from that world completely". She told me that she no longer dated men, she had a real trust issue and lived with another woman. I was quite upset in truth. I was delighted that she was where she wanted to be, but felt she was associating me with a world that I was only on the very margins of. She said "You really should bring "Not all she seems back", you know sometimes when people are at the gates of hell, music can be a liferaft". True to her word, she never came back as a helper. 

When Allen Ashley left the band in 2020, we brought Not all she seems back and recorded it on our last album. Recently, I was thinking about it. What happened to the person in the song? I have always assumed tragedy (in real life that was the case), but what if things had turned out different and they'd got their shit together?  I used the conversation as the model. There is some artistic license in there but as happens in many False Dots songs, various people and various stories get aggregated. So I wrote Saucy Sally From SW3. The band rehearsed it last week for the first time and I did an unplugged version on the recent Tales of The Dublin Castle podcast. So in case you are wondering. she not called Sally, she's not Saucy anymore and she ain't from SW3, but the rest of it is all pretty accurate. I have no idea whether she'll ever read this or hear the song. If she ever gets in touch, I'll give her a credit. I hope she'd like it.  You've got to respect people though and if she lives in a different world now and is happy, that is good enugh for me.

You can hear it if you listen to this!

Rock and Roll Stories #68 - The changing face of getting people to come to gigs

 As a band with a four decade legacy of geting people to come and watch us, I was thinking about the way grassroots bands interact with their audiences and get them to come to gigs has changed over the years. Ever since The False Dots first started, the basic proposition has been the same. Come and see us and you'll have a great evening. Perhaps our biggest strength is also our biggest weakness. We are a great live band, we have always got a good audience engagement. But our secret weapon has pretty much been that as a lot of people who come know each other, it is also a chance to catch up. But people only come to gigs if they know about it. You could put The Rolling Stones on at the Dublin Castle, but if no one knew, then no one would go. You have to get the message out and create a buzz.

When The False Dots started, this was easy. I was still at school, as was the rest of the band. We simply told all our mates at school and they came. For the first coiuple of years of the band, this ensured we'd have a decent audience. By the time we got to 1983, most of our friends were at Uni or we were not in contact. however, we'd built up a bit of a reputation and a following. People would see our name on a listing in the NME or Melody Maker and just show up. I'd also ring up all of my mates. Most people who liked music, read the music press and gig listings. Promoters knew we'd pull a few people in and they'd put us on with decent bands. Getting gigs was not a problem. 

By 1987, things had changed. Our music was out of vogue, our mates who had been music nuts were doing other things and the younger generation were not interested in our style of music and stupidity. Promoters were not interested unless we paid to play. We'd still get a few people along, but the days of 100 fans turning up were gone. I'd ring my mates, they'd promise to come and then not bother. In 1990, I was fed up with it all and we stopped playing until 2002. 

In 2002, we restarted. It was meant to be a one off gig, to raise money for the family of my former business partner, Ernie Ferebee, who had passed away. Facebook wasn't really on the scene, but as it was for Ernie, we did a big ring around. The gig at the Red Lion was packed and loads of people we'd nots een for years came. Rick Collins, who promoted it, put ads in the Music press. It seemed nothing had changed, but we were on the cusp of the digital age. The band was not particularly busy, we did 1-2 gigs a year, mostly to mates. 

By 2007, many people were signed up to platforms like Facebook. I failed to spot the potential initially for band marketing. However, in 2008, when I started this blog, I had my own platform. The music press and its role promoting music was diminishing. By 2018, the NME stopped printing. Whereas previously its gig listings were the bble for muso's, it became irrelevant. Facebook changed and evolved. There are all manner of special interest groups, these are well suited to music fans. If you like Ska music, you join groups that focus on that genre of music etc. Bands post links etc. 

I can't recall the last time I rang up a mate to come to a  gig. We do engage with the printed press. We have a good relationship with The Camden New Journal, who have kindly supported the band. However, the main way of engagement is by posting in online groups. We also get a lot of support from radio. We do a lot of work on On Line Stations, such as Rock Radio UK, and also get plugs on BBC Radio London. My view of such things has always been fairly promiscuous. We try everything to get gigs mentioned. It works. People we've lost touch with turn up and re-engage, but it requires a fair bit of work. 

I am amazed at how lazy many bands are at self promotion. Many seem to think that people will magically turn up to see them, They won't. People only come if they know about it and are given a good reason to part company with their hard earned cash. But that only goes so far. Once they are at the gig, you hve to ensure they have a good time and want to come back. There are two elements to this. The first is that you have to be entertaining, but the second is, you need to find an audience that likes what you do. The best live band I've seen is The Ramones, but at their peak, they supported a well known heavy rock band on a tour. They went down like a lead ballon (not a Led Zepplin BTW!).They were simply playing to the wrong audience. Do your homework!

What is undoubtedly true today though, is that when you play a gig and ask people along, there is much more competition for peoples attention. When we started playing gigs, people would come along because it was relatively cheap and there was not much else on. We figured out eaarly on, that if people had a good night, they'd come back and often bring a friend or two. We also learned that if we had a bad gig, all the good work could instantly be undone. Our first truly terrible gig was on the 18th August 1980. We had been promoting gigs at the Harwood Hall in Mill Hill, this was the third. It was so awful that we never did another one there. We also changed our line up and made sure that we were ready for anything. We did a few duds, but it wasn't because we weren't prepared. At Tumba Gymansium Stockholm in January 1982  , the PA blew up. At the Prowlers Rally in October 1984, it was a bike rally in a Marquee and the temperature was freezing, it was too cold to play guitars and they kept going out of tune. Those sort of things you can't control. What you can control is knowing the songs well enough to deliver them in an entertaining way. I think we've never missed the mark again. 

There are a few basic rules to try and follow. Don't over gig. People will get bored if you gig all of the time. We try and ensure that we only gig four times a year at any venue and if we have a friendly promoter in an area, we only gig for them. We try and build up a degree of trust. We also find that some people will only come to certain venues. 

But if you really want to develop, there is a secret. Network with other bands. Make alliances. The False Dots have several mates that we've done lots of gigs with over the years. We've introduced our fans to them and a few of their fans now come and see us. This has always been our ethos. When we first started, we used to invite a band from Edgware called The Vektors to play with us. They had a really solid fan base and we became mates. You can see one of their early performances supporting us  at The Harwood Hall here. 

We also were mates with a band called "NO Biscuits" and did a few gigs with them. They headlined at The Bald Faced Stag in Burnt Oak for a CND Benefit gig. Here is The False Dots peforming at the same gig. You'll notice a healthy audience at both gigs.

Rock and Roll Stories #66 - Life begins at 60!

 My Mum used to say "Youth is wasted on the young". I never really understood what she meant. In 2022 I turned 60 years old. It never occurred to me that I'd live that long. It was a strange period of my life. The country was emerging from lockdown. The band had gone through a massive change. In January 2021, our drummer Graham's son had taken his own life. The country was in lockdown. Our singer was not prepared to rehearse, for reasons related to the pandemic. I knew it was vital to get Graham out and playing. The band had a set full of songs written for our former singer, which were not in a range or style that suited me. But needs must. We started rehearsing as a three piece with me singing. I started frantically writing new songs, that I could perform properly. The last thing on my mind was gigging and recording. It was just about playing together as a band and supporting Graham.

The songs came together pretty well and in December 2021, we released a video of Sunday in the 70's, one of the new numbers. I managed to get some footage of a commercial I appeared in, back in 1968. I spliced it in, which got some interest.

It got a great reception and gave us some encouragement. By June 2022, a couple of months before my 60th, we had a set that we felt we could play publicly, without embarrassing ourselves. We did a short set at the Mill Hill Music Festival, premiereing the new set. It was really well received. I booked a party at the Bohemia in Finchley, for my 60th in August. The band played and again we got a great reception. It hadn't really occurred to me that we'd get such a good response to the new set. A couple of weeks later, Tony from The Dublin Castle got in touch. He'd had a blow out from some bands he'd booked. Did I know anyone who might want to do a Wednesday night gig in September. I said Yes, Me!". I hurriedly hacked a video together for The Burnt Oak Boogie, to help us promote the gig. 

I expected ten people to come. It was really well attended. The video went viral and got 5,000 views. Tony asked us to do another gig. More gigs at the Dublin Castle and other London venues followed. We went to Portugal and recorded an album "A finger in the Sun" with Boz Boorer. It was a real blast. 

In September 2023, I asked Tom Hammond, who I knew from Hadley FC to add some trumpet to a few tracks. He came down and the whole thing just really came together and went up a notch. More gigs followed. This year, the highlight, so far, has been playing the London International Ska Festival at the 100 club. I turn 64 this year. I am having more fun playing now than I ever have. Age has mellowed me. Our band is a complete blast to play in. We have built up a bit of a following and people are asking us to play. 

When we first started rehearsing again in 2022, I had no idea that it would lead to any of this. When I was a teenager and the band really were working hard to make it, I never particularly had fun. I was far too serious. I am still serious about our music, but it is a blast. The only problem is that after I play, I am completely zonked, as I put everything into the shows. Mum was right! "Youth really is wasted on the young". It seems that life really does begin at 60. I always thought that the story of how The False Dots got together leading up to our first gig would make a  great film. I am starting to think that the Phoenix like rise of us since Covid would make an even better one.

While you can still boogie, never give up!

Rock and Roll Stories #65 - The joy of writing a new song

I once heard an interview with Paul McCartney where he said he didn't write songs, they always existed in the ether and he just tuned into the vibrations and wrote them down. He also said that the best songs are ones that it only took him five minutes to write. He said when he had to agonise over them, they always ended up as album tracks, B sides or just discarded. Another interesting thing about the Beatles is that when McCartney and Lennon first got together as The Quarrymen, they wrote and performed dozens of songs, none of which made it into the Beatles reportoire. I'm not  Beatles fan, but I recognise McCartney as possibly the greatest pop songwriter of all. There are plenty of other great songwriters who could take the crown, Burt Bacharach, Don Black and Ailee Willis would make a good shout, but for me, McCartney has such a range and body of material that he would take the crown.

Whenever I advise a young artist on how to write and structure songs and melodies, I start with the work of McCartney. The man wrote Helter Skelter, Live and Let Die, Hey Jude and Let it Be. You can probably learn everything you need to know about writing modern pop songs from those four. That doesn't mean I think they are the greatest song ever written. Depending on my mood that would be 5446 is my number by Toots and The Maytells, Wichita Lineman by Glen Campbell (written by Jimmy Webb), London Caalling by The Clash or I'm stuck in a pagoda with Trisha Toyota by The Dickies. But Macca has such a body of work that you can't argue with him. His songs are covered by all manner of artists, who often bring a whole new slant to the songs, which to me, is the sign of a good song. 

Now I can only aspire to write a song that would be compared to the list above. Whilst I think McCartney is the best, I would say that my favourite is Ian Dury. Dury is a huge influence on my music, it is no secret. Unlike the work of McCartney, the work of Ian Dury is hard to cover, as it is so personalised. Dury writes about the world around him and the experiences he's seen. He is naughty, vulgar and rude at times, in a way no one else can really get away with. But he is also sweet tender and funny. I met the great man, once, in a cafe in  Camden in 1977-8 ( I don't  recall the date). He was spikey and difficult when I approached him for some advice on getting a band together. Just as I was about to leave, with a flea in my ear, he relented and was kind and gave me some sound advice. He said "If you can sing like Marvin Gaye, you can do anything you like. If you sing like me, you have to be the biggest version of yourself you can be and not worry about it".

I didn't understand what Ian meant when I started writing songs. I wrote songs that were highly political, written by someone with no life experience. When that didn't work, I wrote songs that I tried to make dark and meaningful.. That didn't work either. Then the penny dropped. When I wrote songs that documented what I saw in the streets, pubs, football stadiums and at family gatherings, it clicked. When I started presenting songs to the band and they all smiled, laughed and fed off the energy, I realised that this was what was needed. Over the years, my musical ability, understanding of melody and structure has improved and i can do more technically intersting things than I could when we started. In 1985, I did a songwriting course, that was priceless, it still took a while for the penny to fully drop but, the quality of my writing has continually improvred ever since. 

So how do I write songs? When I started, I'd find a chord structure that worked and come up with a load of lyrics to fit over the top. We'd then thrash it out at rehearsal. We got a few songs that were Ok and a couple that were pretty good, but that was about it. Now, I do it in a completely different way. I often do this walking to work. I come up with an idea, a catchy phrase, and just dictate these into my mobile phone. I then whistle the melody, trumpet line, and any other relevent info is captured. When I have a free minute, I listen and play around with the ideas. I then try and get a chord structure that fits the song and reflects the lyrics. This tends to mean that the music style fits the lyrics far better than trying to bolt lyrics onto a riff. I then present the basic idea to the band.

My latest song was written last week. It is called Naughty Naughty and is very much in the Ian Dury line of songwriting. It has a quirky chord structure, a catchy trumpet line and a chorus that is extremely catchy. AS often happens, when the songs is first presented, it gets radically changed when the band get involved. I had intended myself to sing it, but it actually worked better with me singing the verses, Tom singing the choruses and all of us joining in for the last line of the chorus. 

One of the things I learned from Ian Dury's is that you have to make even the most irredeemable characters sympathetic and human. It is interesting because when I wrote the song initially, I realised that I hadn't done this. I thought about the character and realised that there was an aspect that I hadn't fully appreciated, and that became a constituent of the chorus. The song is largely about inappropriate behaviour, but I've learned over the last few years that many people see huge changes in their personality as a result of prescription drugs. A friend of mine had a parent locked up for their own good, after they had a sudden, inexplicable personality change about fifteen years ago. I knew the person and it was shocking and difficult. Last year, I read that some prescription drugs can cause such behaviour, in people who had previously been pillars of the parish. I think it is important to use any platform we have to get such messages out, but it has to be done subtly in a non preachy way.

To me, writing a song is like baking a cake. You take many ingredients, but they have to be in balance. All of the songs I've mentioned above have all the ingredients. Good lyrics, great structure, strong melodies, catchy hook lines and they all take you somewhere else. If I listen to Wichita Lineman, I am up a telegraph pole on the plains of the USA, daydreaming of cute lady with pale blue eyes. If I hear London Calling, I am having a bacon sarnie in a dodgy cafe in Hammersmith in 1979 in the pouring rain.  Will Naughty Naughty do that when we record it? Will it transport the listener back to 1976 and doing a paper round in the rain? Only time will tell. It is probably the most controversial song I've written, but as it's a boppy ska song, that may be missed. We shall see. All I can say at the moment is that I am delighted with it and I look forward to performing it on Friday at Nambucca, Please come along. Tickets can be procured here - https://www.skiddle.com/whats-on/London/Nambucca/The-Silencerz-vs-The-False-Dots--DJ-Rebska/42323301

Rock and Roll Stories #64 - I don't get why some musicans are such miserable gits!

 Throughout the entire 47 years history of The False Dots, there has been one constant. We have had an absolute blast. It has been fun. Since our earliest gigs, we broke rules, did silly things and got up to shenanigans. We've done so many silly things, that I've probably forgotten half of them. It hasn't stopped. Recently we distributed footballs at a gig, during Saturday, pir football song, at The Dublin Castle, we distrbuted football to the audience, with disasterous consequences. Balls kicked, beers flying. Glass everywhere. It was hilarious, but our residency nearly came to an end! Luckily we've been forgiven. It's not just at gigs. Rehearsals, recording sessions and even trips to the cafe and pub have been a blast.

It has always been important for me for us to be a band. More than a bunch of musicians who just play together. The band is like a symbiotic organism, with all of the members at any time being important and having a role to play. But one question has always troubled me. Why are so many other bands such miserable gits. So many seem to hate each other, have rivalries and disputes. They turn up for gigs and are back out the door almost when the gig finishes. We always hang around, talk to fans, watch other bands, and have a blast. We are as serious as anyone about our music, but it is done in a context of fun. 

I think so many bands miss a trick. One of the secrets of our success is that we've always built alliances and made friends. Our next gig at Nambucca is on Friday week (15th May). Click here for tickets. It is with our mates The Silencerz. We love playing gigs with mates. Come down it will be fun

Anyway, we've found a new way to have a laugh. We used AI to generate a video which transformed our 2022 hut video, The Burnt Oak Boogie into an episode of Top Cat, set in Burnt Oak, with references from the old video for comparisson. We think its a hoot! CHeck it out

Rock and Roll Stories #63 - There is no such thing as no such thing

"Jesus, remember me, when you come into your kingdom" Probably not how you expect a Rock and Roll story to start. Don't worry, this isn't a religious takeover of our punk rock stories. So why did I start a story with it? Let me explain, as my first experiences of being involved in music were at our local church. It was the 1960's and there wasn't much on telly then. We didn't have smartphones to entertain us. 

When I was a small child, the Hymns we sung were all Victorian tub thumpers, such as "O Praise Ye the Lord". Proper decent tunes, with good choruses, written by proper musicians, who understood that music should be enjoyed and belted out and accompanied by an organ. Then they decided to have folk masses. Hairy Hippy's would strum guitars and shriek out songs like "Shine Jesus Shine". I hated these. It seemed to me that whilst the Victorians wrote hymns like Amazing Grace, which had proper lyrics and helped fools like me understand spirituality, the new generation wrote crass, hagiographical dirges that to me would only appeal to God if God has a personality like Donald Trump, which I  cannot believe would be the case for an omnipotent entity that embodies all of the wisdom of the Multiverse. I think music should always have a degree of spirituality and should help us make the journey through life. It should either be uplifting, give solace, make us smile or call out injustice.

The Victorian hymn writers understood this. The hairy hippies singing badly whilst strumming out of tune guitars didn't. My first efforts to sing were in Church. I was told I was tone deaf and couldn't sing and so I couldn't join the Childrens Choir. They only wanted little darlings with angelic voices. I felt that my carreer as a musician was over aged 7, so I became an alter server. I had been told I had no musical aptitude at all. I believed the Choirmistress. And then in 1976/7 The Sex Pistols erupted upon the scene. 1977, the year when two sevens clash, blew my mind wide open. Mark Perry stuck three chords on the cover of his "Sniffin Glue" fanzine and said "now go and form a band". So we did. We were were excitedly discussing this in the alter servers room. We had no instruments, no cash and couldn't play. But we could dream. It took nearly two years for us even to get a full band rehearsal together. But the idea was hatched in the Alter Servers room at The Sacred Heart Church. 

There was a hairy hippy with a guitar who used to run a youth club at the church. His name was Phil. He had a guitar and had put a little folk band together. As he could play guitar, it seemed like he may be an ally. So we approached him. We made a simple request "We are going to get a band together, could you show us how to play the guitar". His response was even more dismissive than the choir mistress. "When you learn to play, come back and maybe if you are any good, you can play at mass with us". It was the best thing he could have said. We were enraged. I was falling out of love with the Catholic Church and we agreed that the bloke was part of the problem, not the solution. We realised we had no allies. If we were going to do anything, we'd have to do it ourselves. 

When I discovered the Ramones, in June 1977, the best thing was their mininalist lyrics. This is where the line at the top comes in. This is a style of religious music called a Taize chant. The idea is that you just chant one line  repeatedly and go into state of serenity and calm. It is probably my least favourite style of music. Some of my more religiously minded musician friends get very excited about it, but it has all the elements of music that I don't like, slow, boring and repetetive. 

I'd not heard of Taize chants at the time, but the Ramones took simple slogans and chants and made them dynamic and exciting. As the Fun Boy Three's song says "It ain't what you do, its the way that you do it". As I learned more about music, I learned that hit songs have a hook, some sort of earworm that gets in your head and makes you remember the song. When I first started discussing starting a band, it was 1977, I was 14 and still an alter server at The Sacred Heart. It took two years to even get going, by which time I was a different person.

When we first got the band together, we were sitting in my front room, playing a cassette of our music, celebrating how good we were (we weren't) and my Dad walked in. He wryly commented "Have you considered writing songs with a tune". During that period, the songs were very much just long political diatribes sung over thrashing distorted guitars. Although we dismissed my Dad's comment, we actually took it on board. If the diatribe had a tune, it would be even better. We worked really hard and started to refine what we were doing. 

 It took another year for us to actually have a band that did anything other than rehease and dream.By 1980, we had recorded a demo at a professional studio and played it to all of our mates. It sounded like a record (albiet not the best record you ever heard). People knew we had a band.We were up at the Three Hammers having a beer, it was probably August 1980. We were having a beer and a band meeting to plan what we were doing with the band. The Hairy Hippy who had dismissed us came over. He said "I hear you boys have got a band together, what songs are you playing?". I always try and be polite, so I said "We've written our own". He then said "You do realise that punk rock is not proper music, you should listen to the Beatles". I responded "Have you ever listened to Crass?" (a bunch of anarchists who were very anti religion). He replied "No, I've never heard of them". I replied "Phil, you are a teacher, aren't you. Yet hear you are telling me that something is better than something you've never even listened to". He said "I don't need to listen to punk bands to know they are rubbish". I replied "Let me give you some advice. Get a new job, if you are peddling opinions that are ignorant and ill informed, then you are failing the young people you are teaching, now f*** o**". 

The said individual was a mate of one of my cousins. The next time I saw my cousin, he said "I heard you threatened Phil up at the Hammers last week". I asked what he said happened He said "He saw you with a bunch of dodgy looking punks, he was worried about you, so decided to see if you were alright, but you told him to f*** o**. He is very upset". I told my cousin what actually happened. He said "That sounds like Phil, he can be a pompous pr*ck". 

I was reminded of this when I was sorting out my lyrics and music files. About 15 years ago, a religious friend introduced me to the concept of Taize chants. Although I was most unimpressed with the particular ones that we had to listen to, they did nothing to me, I started to wonder whether you could mix the concept with an ambient track. I came up with the line "There's no such thing as no such thing". It was intriguingly ambigous, and we were working with Connie Abbe, who was a brilliant vocalist. I started charting it out, but didn't develop it. It was a bit of a response to all of the people who have ever disparaged me at anything I've done. In my life, everything I've achieved has been met with doubt. When I started the band, people like Phil disparaged us. When we started the studios, the bank wouldn't lend us money to fit it out. When I enrolled on a TOPS course to get a job in IT, as I had debts, some of my peers told me I was too thick to get such a job. When I was at FCHS, the headmaster told me I was a loser and I'd never get a 'decent wife or a decent job'. When I wanted to join the choir, I was told I was "tone deaf and didn't have a musical bone in my body". When I started this blog, I was told that "no one was interested in the blatherings of an illiterate idiot". People ask me if I've done all of the things to prove them wrong. The answer is no. I couldn't give a stuff what the people who disparage me think. The reason I've done all of the things and done them successfully, is because I wanted to do them and I wanted to do them well. I wanted to do them for me. If I do something, I believe I have to work ten times harder than everyone else, just to be keep level. It is a philospohy which has served me well. If I drop dead today, I've had a better life than I could have dreamed of when the choir refused me. 

But it isn't over. I am looking forward. The best days are still to come. My band, The False Dots are central to everything. They've given me the confidence. Our next public gig is at Nabucca in Islington on Friday 15th May. We played at the London International Ska Festival at the start of the month and got a brilliant review in the Camden New Journal. Never let anyone tell you that something is impossible. 

There is no such thing as no such thing. 

Rock and Roll Stories #62 - The changing face of musical inspiration

 The best stories are journeys. So hopefully this installment will be a good one! It is the journey of what inspired me to put pen to paper and write the songs that The False Dots perform. I've touched on this several times but never properly charted the journey. So take yourself back to early 1978 if you can remember it, and if you can't, let your imagination do the work. The False Dots, as a band were still a year away from our first formation. I was a snotty nosed 15 year old at Finchley Catholic High School. I had discovered Punk rock the previous year and was lapping it up. I had a mate at School, Pete Conway, who was like minded and we decided that we needed to form a band. We couldn't play, we had no instruments and we had no idea where to start. At the time, our big influence was The Clash and their first album. We had some vague idea that we should play Garageland as we wanted to be a Garage band. The aim was to sound a bit like The Clash. Pete came up with a brilliant idea. Rather than try and copy songs, we'd write our own. As we were both completely lacking in any clue as to how music is put together, this was not the best way to 'learn the ropes'. I had a book by Bert Weedon called Play in a day, which my brother, a decent guitarist, bequeathed to me. It had songs like "When the Saints go marching in" and "The Old Folks at Home" in. Pete observed that we just had to jumble the chords up and play them quicker. It seemed like a plan. To my horror, playing the guitar was much harder than I thought and I had no aptitude for it at first. 

In May, Pete took a radical deicision. He quit school and got a job at Dewhursts as a butcher. This would pay for a bass and a bass amp. When I was sixteen, I was coming into a bit of cash from my child modelling career. To my mums horror, I bought a Hofner Galaxy and a Selmer guitar amp. By January 1979, we were making a right old racket in my bedroom every night. We'd written a bunch of songs, more or less randomly picking chords out and hollering slogans over the top. By this time, the Pete and I had discovered Crass. It is fair to say they were a massive influence. They were far less musical than The Clash and far more political. There was one thing though, that they bequeathed that was a massive positive. Crass were amazing at coming up with catchy slogans "fight war, not wars", "Do they owe us a living, of course they do" were just a couple of examples. Our best song of this era was definitely "Wrong" which we are reprising on our new album. It is 45 seconds of sheer punkyness. 

By September 1979, my obsession with Crass and the first iteration of the False Dots was done. I had discovered The Specials, Two Tone and Ska. This was what I wanted to do, but we didn't know any brass players. It was also more tuneful and required a much better drummer than we had access to. Pete wrote a Reggae song called "Kingston Rock", which in truth was not very good. He was more into Dub reggae. It was neither. 

We did however get a brilliant drummer in 1980. Mr Dav Davies. Sadly, he came in to a set full of punky songs. The time was febrile, huge amounts of musical energby flowed through London. We experimented. We tried our luck with electronic music, influenced by Gary Numan and also started to lean sound wise towards the more tuneful end of The Velvet Underground catalogue. Pete was keen that we be shocking and cover subjects that sane bands of the day would avoid like the plague. I loved the way The Velvet Underground put sugary melody on bitter lyrics. Songs like Not all She Seems from our last album date from then, deals with the issue of the social exclusion of gender fluid sex workers. Not all of these numbers have aged as well. 

When Pete left in September 1980, I found myself writing songs on my own. I also had freedom to arrange songs as I saw fit. Craig Withecombe, an excellent guitarist joined and we started gigging. With competent musicians, the songs sounded pretty good and I was inspired to write more, but I struggled to be inspired in the way Crass had originally inspired us. I made the biggest mistake that a songwriter can make. I thought if I made the songs complicated, they would be better, they weren't. Oddly, I wrote a couple of great songs by accident. The best, also on our last album, was Action Shock. This was inspired by the protest songs of Country Joe McDonald. It was my attempt to recreate a punk version of the classic anti war song "I feel like I'm Fixing to Die" around the Falklands War. It worked because it was simple. Dav departed and Mark Barnett joined. He was less capable technically, but he kept the show on the road. We experimented with a reggae song, christened "FalseDub" by a Rasta mate. 

By 1985, I realised I needed to up my game. I enrolled in a songwriting course. I believe if I'd done this in 1978, we'd have had hits! It was brilliant, I learned how to structure music properly, but also the importance of what you put together being functional. I also came to understand that song lyrics work better with trigger words and reinforcement of concepts, so that the lyrics can be layered over the music to paint patterns. I also realised the power of what Crass had taught us. Strong lyrics that you remember.

I had long been a fan of Ian Dury, but it never occurred to me that The False Dots could borrow from him lyrically or from the Blockheads muscially. By the late 1980's I had gotten more into groovy and funky vibes. I loved the Run DMC Walk this Way cover. It seemed to me to be the way to go. When Tony Robotham, a very talented singer joined the band, I thought we could nail it, but the industry had changed and it was almost impossible for us to even get gigs, with the feel we had. It was a real shame. 

Dispirited I stopped playing. In around 2000, I decided to get a band together to record a few of the old numbers, now I had a recording studio, purely for my own pleasure. I found I enjoyed playing, but did not consider writing any new material. Out of nowehere in 2006, I got the urge to write again. The inspiration was quite odd. I was watching the classic TV cop series "Life on Mars" when a few sentences spoken by a character triggered me. I wrote a song called "I'm the man" AKA "Pusherman". I just wanted to write a sort Stooges style punk song, written from the viewpoint of a psychopathic drug dealer. I hasten to add I am not one, but I enjoy constructing storyboards for songs and videos in my head when I am inspired. It worked. In some ways it was a bit of an evolutionary blind alley. In 2009. Connie Abbe joned the band. Connie is a brilliant Sudanese singer and rapper. 

All of a sudden, I had the band I wanted. We could rock, skank, rap and groove. To get my head around what Connie wanted, I immersed myself in Rap music and found it really inspiring. We wrote tracks like "Put me in the Spotlight" which I think was a masterpiece and is the most listened to False Dots track ever. It was used for the Goal of the Month show on the Man City website and had over 47 million plays! Sadly we got almost nothing, but it was a kick.

Sadly Connie went to pastures new. As part of the Library campaign I was involved in, The False Dots got asked to play at Friern Barnet Library, to celebrate the saving of the library. I got the 1985 line up of the band together, with Poet Allen Ashley on vocals. It seemed fitting as Allen is a poet and author. As often happens when you collaborate, your influences are suppressed. I enjoyed the line up, Allen is a great lyricist, but it wasn't particularly the direction I wanted to go in. 

When the band emerged from Covid, Allen was not available. I am mates with Lee Thompson of Madness and wrote a song called "Longshot didn't die" with the idea of him performing it with us. I played a rough version to Lee. He said "It sounds great, why not sing it yourself". It was the kick I needed. In short, it worked. I had worked on the song with Allen, with him contributing lyrics, but it was very much the start of the new Dots era. I realised that I'd spent 40 years skirting around the fact that what I really wanted to do was a mash up of The Specials and Ian Dury. I love Dury's narrative style and I love everything about The Specials, but not least the fact that their views align with me. 

So I started writing songs for me, to be sung by me and in an manner that is both witty and to the point. Then Tom Hammond joined in trumpet. The missing piece of the jigsaw. Now we were able to bring the ideas to life. Tom can also sing, so it has given us the option to do material that would simply not work with me singing. I revisted a couple of old songs. As mentioned earlier, we reprised Wrong as a nod to our roots. Another highlight is Electric Ballroom, as song originally called Reality Ballroom. I completely rewrote the lyrics when Pete Conway left the band. We now give it a semi psyche rock makeover. It sounds great. And then there is the silliness. Songs like Big Hairy Spider, our recent single. Musically, it is somewhere between The Clash and The Specials. Lyrically, it is actually inspired by horror comics of the 1960's. It has been a long journey, but there are elements of every stage on our forthcoming album. 

What I've learned is that you don't need to search for inspiration, open your eyes and ears and it will hit you over the head. Keep it as simple as you can put put twists and turns on the road in your songs. Big Hairy Spider has a middle 8 that is pure Benny Hill. I like it. Have a listen, and we hope to see you at The 100 Club on Good Friday.

Rock and Roll Stories #61 - Why I never wanted to be a rock lead guitarist

I have a confession to make. It is one that may sound strange, given that I've played guitar in Rock and Roll band for 47 years. I hate guitar solo's. Now for those of you who are not familiar with guitar playing, I don't mean riffs (repeated passages of sometimes intricate playing). I don't mind a little bit of noodling at the start of a song. But I find actual solo's mindnumbingly boring. I can tolerate four bars of soloing, but when it goes on for five minutes, it really bores me to distraction. I think that is why bands like The Ramones and Wire appealed to me. It also explains why I like Ska music. It is all meat and no gunge on the side. I appreciate well arranged songs, with catchy guitar lines, but when I get to the solo, forgive me if I switch off. I always felt embarrassed to admit this. If you are a guitarist, you are meant to get aroused over ten minutes of shredding by Yngwe Malmstein and his ten minutes with a million notes. Sorry, give me Pinhead by The Ramones anyday. 

I must admit that despite all of this, it took me nearly 40 years to have the strength to actually admit this in public. Now oddly, I don't mind proper instrumentals, if they have a theme and structure. I loved The Shadows early recordings and not just because Hank B. Marvin's son was in the band and invented the riff for The False Dots song "Not All She Seems". I have a similar aversion to all soloing. If you can't say something cool in four bars, don't bother.

Now the trouble was, that I have had some great guitarists in the band. Craig Withecombe, Bill Pithers and Fil Ross to name three. All of whom contributed massively to the band. All of whom played great solo's. I don't actually mind jamming along when they are doing it. But if I was a punter it would leave me cold. I believe every second of song should justify its existence. I just don't think solo's do. Captain Ubungus, an ex guitarist, loved solo's. He would spend hours explaining why the solo in Hotel California was the best solo ever, with it's 7 modal changes. I liked the song, but for me, my brain switches off after the fourth bar of the solo. Now this is not to say there are not great songs with solo's in. But personally, I always wish the solo was much shorter. 

An unfortunate by-product of this is that I've never bothered to learn to solo properly. This means that I would never get a job as a lead guitarist in a covers band. It is lucky that I don't want that gig. Anyway, this series is called Rock and Roll Stories. This may be the longest preamble to a story ever.

Back in the early days of the False Dots, in our very first iteration, we were all barely able to play. Pete Conway had the idea of getting in a lead guitarist who could actually play to augment the line up. It was agreed that I would play rythme and he would play lead. The guy was a Canadian called Wayne Kerr, would you believe. He claimed he was in the Sex Pistols film "The Great Rock and Roll Swindle" playing an American roadie. We were 16, he was about 24 and turned up in full rock and roll attire. I took an instant dislike to him. He was arrogant, patronising and a complete W anchor". We played him 2 or 3 of our songs. He hated them. He then said "I will play you a proper song". He told us the chords and proceeded to play something with the chords of  "Ca plane por moi" with trite words about how the system screws you up. It was bad punk rock by numbers. The guys style was more Iron Maiden than Johnny Thunders, although he claimed to have jammed with the Heartbreakers. He was very keen to impress us, with tales of drugs and groupies. The more he went on, the more I disliked him. He pulled out a bag of cocaine and said "This will make us all play better". Before I could say anything, he said "Not you, you are no good, you are not in the band".

He had walked in, talked B@ll@cks for ten minutes, slagged off our songs and sacked me from my own band. Back in those days, I hadn't dealt with my anger management issues. I simply took off my guitar and hit him on the head with it, knocking him out. Pete Conway simply stood and stared, then said "That was proper punk rock Rog". The guy staggered to his feet and said "You are an animal, you just assaulted me, I'm going to call the Police". I replied "Yeah and tell them that you offered us all a line of coke, now F@ck off" which he did immediately. About 20 minutes later, there was a knock on the door. He was back. He was raging. He'd left his bag of cocaine behind. I told him to "f@ck off" again. He said "You took me by surprise, come outside and we can sort it out properly". I replied "Ok" to my huge surprise, he then ran away at top speed. I couldn't be bothered to chase him. 

Pete was embarrassed. The guy was unquestionably a W anchor in every way. We actually did a version of his song with new lyrics "When Wayne Kerr came from Canada, He didn't know a F@ck, About British punk Rock, His Brain was truly stuck". In my mind, he was the exemplification of everything I hated about musicians before I discovered punk rock. But most of all, I hated the way that he thought that playing long boring solo's made him interesting. When I saw the Rock and Roll Swindle, I was not even sure if the annoying roadie was actually him. 

A couple of days after the 'incident', Wayne rang Pete. He told him that he was mates with Hells Angels and they were coming to murder me. Now normally, such a threat might be alarming, but Wayne was such a W Anchor that Pete just laughed and he put the phone down. Needless to say, I am still alive.

I'd like to think I've got better since then. A year after this incident Craig Withecombe joined the band. Craig was our age and a far better guitarist. Although Craig could be rather annoying at times, I never even remotely felt like thumping him or any of the other musicians who followed him. A few friends were present and witnessed the sorry incident. Word went around. Pete Conway would wind other guitarists up by saying to them "Rog is a $h1t guitarist, but if he thinks you can play better than him he'll clobber you". It took me a while to realise why most other guitarists I knew avoided me.

Now I am a grown up, I am not particularly proud of my behaviour and it could have caused a serious injury. No amount of such behaviour justifies violence. I was recounting the story to someone, and I said this. They said "If he walked in now, would you apologise?". I could give five reasons to say, no I wouldn't, but in truth I would. Violence is never the answer. 

On  that note, if you haven't, please have a look at our new video.

Rock and Roll Stories #60 - "Never point a gun at a mans head, blow his balls off, then people will know what happens when they cross you"

One of the dark secrets of the music business is that there are some very dodgy people on the fringes, who are not necessarily in the business for the love of art! I've come across one or two on my journey. For a short period of time, a band was rehearsing at my studios and being managed by Charlie Kray. One of my friends was the drummer. Charlie was well connected within the business. The lead singer of the band had allegedly 'done time' with him. The band dissolved when the singer robbed an off licence in Edgware, supposedly getting beers for the band. He made the mistake of taking off his mask as he left the off licence and looking directly at the CCTV camera. By all accounts, Charlie was none to pleased. Before the incident, he had reached out to me and offered to 'put some money into the studios'. He was keen into get back into the music business, and told me that with some 'investment' we could do 'great things'. For me, it was a dilemma. I was assured it was all honest and legal. On the face of it, it looked like a good move, as he did have great contacts, but I wasn't really sure I wanted the studio to go in that direction. When the band ended, the interest ended as well. I was actually rather relieved as I couldn't think of a polite way to refuse, without rubbing him up the wrong way. We had a beer at the Three Hammers to discuss it, and he seemed like a nice bloke, full of stories about shenanigans in the music industry. He'd actually managed Deep Purple in the 1970's and so knew a hell of a lot about the industry. It was quite funny, because there were a few local villains at the pub, who recognised him and became a tad uneasy. One came down to 'have a word" a couple of days later. I explained that we were just having a beer as a band he was managing were using the studio. He seemed quite relieved. 

There was another figure, who we'll call "Dave" who came actually managed The False Dots for a short while. He was pretty well known locally. He had a reputation as a man not to mess with. He'd survived being both stabbed and shot, and allegedly taken a terrible revenge. He'd worked for my Dad for a while when he was in his 20's as a panel beater at MacMetals, but had moved on to greater things. He sort of appointed himself as the manager of the band at one stage. He promised gigs, fame and money. As I recall, he got us one gig at Edgware Services club, playing with a girl from Hills Angels (Benny Hills dancers). It wasn't really my thing and that iteration of the band was not one I have fond memories of. Fortunately, him and the singer had insisted on a new name, so it is expunged from the history of The False Dots. His cunning plan was for us to play covers and gig every night. I was having a beer with him after one gig and he pulled out a gun and put it on the table. He explained that this was his insurance policy. He added "Never point a gun at a man's head. That will just kill him and six months later everyone will have forgotten all about them. Shoot their balls off, they will spend the next twenty years telling everyone what happens when they cross you. And the police won't do you for murder, as you can say it went off by accident and you were pointing it down". One of my band mates suggested that it was a replica and it was all bravado. They didn't really know him, I didn't learn guitar and join a band to play with guns. Like many such characters, you see the everywhere, then they disappear. Dave passed away about 25 years ago. He would often appear at the studio with "his new band", they'd have a few rehearsals, do a few gigs then disappear forever. 

Another character we came across was a small time cocaine dealer, who ran a music venue in South London. He rather liked our band. He'd pay us well over the top and the gigs were always busy. He offered to manage us back in 1982. We were quite young and naïve and were impressed by the fact that we got good money, free beers and food. He organised a proper photo shoot of the band and many promises were made. Then we heard nothing. I went down to the pub, where he had been putting the nights on, they said he'd been arrested for dealing. I realised that the club was a front for his business and he was laundering his proceeds through the business. We turned up and did what we were paid to do, and entertained a packed pub. 

One other very iffy character I recall used to frequent our gigs. He'd insist on buying the band drinks and tell us he was "working on something and it was going to be really good". Then he disappeared. About six months later, I got a telephone call from the Police. Who was I and how did I know the said individual. I explained that he'd hang about at the gigs and was always promising great things that never materialised. The Copper said "You were lucky mate", he then gave me his number and said "If he turns up, give me a bell. If you know where he is and you don't tell me, you will be in serious trouble". I asked what he'd done and was told that I didn't need to know. I never found out.

All of these characters were hanging around in our bands first incarnation, between 1979 and 1990. We were young and oblivious. Such characters turn up at the studio now, often on the coat tails of young artists. They are not so interested in The False Dots and our geriatric mates. What I now realise is that few of them really understand how the music industry works. Perhaps the funniest thing is that of all of these characters I met, the only one who really had a clue was Charlie Kray. He knew people and had managed proper acts. He told me that when he managed Deep Purple, for once his name worked against him. People were terrified to book the band. I always feel a little bit sorry for bands that are young and put their faith in dodgy chancers, who waste their time. I always advise bands that someone who knows what they are doing, will make sure the band has great demos and good pictures as a first step. In truth, if you've not got a good musical product, then you won't get anywhere, and if you have, it will become pretty clear, pretty quickly whether someone really does 'have the right connections'.

I am quite pleased that we are at a stage in our career, where we can put our own music out and are not too worried about 'making it'. Doing fun gigs and recording music we like is as good as life gets in my opinion.  The False Dots next gig is on Sunday at The Dublin Castle (Click here for full details) from 1.30pm, see you there. Here is our trailer! 

Rock and Roll Stories #59 - 47 years ago today, my life changed forever

Is there a pivotal moment in your life, when things changed forever. When the old you faded and the new you, the real you was born? The birth of the new me was a long pregnancy. The eggs were fertilised on the 6th June 1977, when I saw The Ramones, The Talking Heads and The Saints at The Roundhouse. I discovered music. It was a radical change in my life, I found a new group of friends, new interests. But most of all, I wanted to be in a band. There were four problems. The first was that I couldn't play, the second was I didn't have an instrument, the third was I had no mates who could play and the fourth was, we had nowhere to rehearse. 

The first thing was to get a guitar and start learning to play. That was pretty easy. My sister had a black Columbus Les Paul copy. It looked great, but was almost unplayable and didn't stay in tune. But it was a guitar and so I started trying to learn chords. After seeeing The Ramones, I was chatting with a mate of mine (we were both alter servers at The Sacred Heart Church) and he told me he'd got into punk music. We had been mate since we were four and had even written songs together, sending them to glam rock mega stars Sparks, suggesting they needed a few decent songs, when we were 11 or 12. Needless to say, they weren't interested. But we agreed we'd learn to play. Pete didn't have any money or an instrument, but we decided he'd play bass. When he turned 16 in May 1978, he left school and got a job as a butcher at Dewhursts in Mill Hill. The aim was to get the money to buy a bass. Pete was an extremely bright guy and his Dad was horrified. But he was nothing of not strong minded. After a couple of months, Pete bought a bass and started learning it. We would sit in my bedroom every night, practising, writing songs, listening to punk rock and discussing politics. The Labour government of Jim Callaghan was falling apart. 

I was kicked out of Finchley Catholic High School in May after a disagreement with the hedmaster Nick Kelly, flunking my O Levels, as a result of spending every night doing the above. Unlike Pete, I decided that I needed to get some O levels. In Augsut 1978, I turned 16. This meant I had access to my bank account. My Mum had set up an account for me. In the 1960's I'd been a child actor/model and earned a decent amount of money from TV commercials I'd appeared in. On the day I turned 16, I went down to Don Mackrills Music shop in Edgware and bought a Hofner Galaxy guitar and a Fal 50 watt amp. My parents were horrified, but they could do nothing. They concluded it was proof I was an idiot. My parents tried to persuade me to hand over the cash to them 'for safekeeping'. I politely declined. I had a plan! They then informed me that they needed the cash as they were planning to buy Bunns Lane Works, where my Dad had his car repair business. If they didn't raise the cash, someone else could buy the site, as the Landlord was selling and had given Dad first refusal. I reluctantly handed over the cash (and never saw it again! I have no regrets though). I informed my parents I would only do it, if I was given a share of the yard and my mum drew up an agreement, that stated that I had to be consulted on all decisions and had a share. I signed and I never saw that again. Apparently it was lodged with her solicitors, but hey ho. 

In September 1978, I joined Orange Hill School to resit them. It was a pivotal moment. I met Boz Boorer, who was in The Polecats. They were a real band. It made me realise that being in a band wasn't a pie in the sky pipedream. If Boz could do it, so could we. There were two other bands at the school. My mate Joe Malone had a band with a guy called Steve Kutner, who would go on to be a football agent, managing Frank Lampard. Steve's uncle was Lord Levy, who owned Magnet Records. Steve got a job there, and signed Bad Manners and The Damned to the label! But when I joined he was the guitarist. Also in the band was Russell Smith, who was the younger brother of Graham Smith, Editor of The Face magazine. I can't recall what they were called, we always called them The Moje's. There was bad blood between Pete Conway and Joe Malone. Both were hot headed mavericks from solid Irish stock. They had a massive punch up, over who had been the first punk to wear bondage trousers in Mill Hill! I never really got the animosity, but they hated each other. The other band were The Rapids. A rythm and bliues band in the Doctor Feelgood mold. 

By January 1979, my Dad had tired of Pete and me making a racket in my bedroom. He made an offer I couldn't refuse. When he bought the yard, there was a derelict caretakers cottage, I could rent it from him for £2 a week, to rehearse in. I did some maths, If I rented it, I could charge the Mojes and the Rapids £2 each to rehearse every week and make a profit! The only problem was that we only had my amp. Discussions were had. It was agreed that we'd form a collective, all pool our gear and they could rehearse once a week for £2. 

In December 1978, we'd met a couple called Dave and Mandy at The Fall. Dave expressed an interest in drumming and Mandy in singing. Having sorted out the rehearsal space, we decided that we would have the first rehearsal and an opening party. We invited Dave and Mandy down to join the band, We also invited other friends, who had a band. We chose Valentines night, party because there was a girl I liked at school and thought it might lead to a romantic liaison. The only trouble was, we had an audience and had never actually played the songs. The other band came down and played a bunch of songs pretty well. We were absolute chaos. I don't think Dave had actually drummed before. He had two beats, Dave beat 1 and Dave beat 2. He told us that those were the only beats he knew, so Pete simply said "Start playing Dave beat one, and we'd join in. I had made a fuzz box from a design my former physics teacher John Shuttler at FCHS had given me. He'd given me a few bits. to get going. I couldn't afford the volume or attenuation pots, etc. So it was just on or off. It sounded like the devil, but suited the songs. 

Although we were complete rubbish, it was probably the most true punk rock gig ever. No one really knew what to make of it. Pete decided that we'd spend the whole rehearsal with the lights off and standing on chairs. We drank copious tins of beer. It was gloriously bad, everything we did was awful, but somehow, it felt amazing. I realised that if we could be that bad and still be good, there was something there. Dave was highly embarrassed about the whole thing, and insisted we rehearse properly before we let people watch us again. I am not really saw what Pete thought, he was clever enough to maintain the pretence that it was brilliant. I am not sure I ever had that feeling since, but we knew we had to be a million times better before we could gig. But we had done it. Both Mill HilL Music Complex and The False Dots were born today. Both are still going. I am not sure if I'd even be here if that hadn't happened. 

Here is the story of 1979 as I wrote it in my Scrapbook at the time

Today, I am going to Portugal to mix and master our new album. It will be called We don't live in America and will feature a song called Wrong, which was the first song we played at our first rehearsal, albiet a slightly different arrangement. 

Is there a pivotal moment in your life, when things changed forever. When the old you faded and the new you, the real you was born? The birth of the new me was a long pregnancy. The eggs were fertilised on the 6th June 1977, when I saw The Ramones, The Talking Heads and The Saints at The Roundhouse. I discovered music. It was a radical change in my life, I found a new group of friends, new interests. But most of all, I wanted to be in a band. There were four problems. The first was that I couldn't play, the second was I didn't have an instrument, the third was I had no mates who could play and the fourth was, we had nowhere to rehearse. 

The first thing was to get a guitar and start learning to play. That was pretty easy. My sister had a black Columbus Les Paul copy. It looked great, but was almost unplayable and didn't stay in tune. But it was a guitar and so I started trying to learn chords. After seeeing The Ramones, I was chatting with a mate of mine (we were both alter servers at The Sacred Heart Church) and he told me he'd got into punk music. We had been mate since we were four and had even written songs together, sending them to glam rock mega stars Sparks, suggesting they needed a few decent songs, when we were 11 or 12. Needless to say, they weren't interested. But we agreed we'd learn to play. Pete didn't have any money or an instrument, but we decided he'd play bass. When he turned 16 in May 1978, he left school and got a job as a butcher at Dewhursts in Mill Hill. The aim was to get the money to buy a bass. Pete was an extremely bright guy and his Dad was horrified. But he was nothing of not strong minded. After a couple of months, Pete bought a bass and started learning it. We would sit in my bedroom every night, practising, writing songs, listening to punk rock and discussing politics. The Labour government of Jim Callaghan was falling apart. 

I was kicked out of Finchley Catholic High School in May after a disagreement with the hedmaster Nick Kelly, flunking my O Levels, as a result of spending every night doing the above. Unlike Pete, I decided that I needed to get some O levels. In Augsut 1978, I turned 16. This meant I had access to my bank account. My Mum had set up an account for me. In the 1960's I'd been a child actor/model and earned a decent amount of money from TV commercials I'd appeared in. On the day I turned 16, I went down to Don Mackrills Music shop in Edgware and bought a Hofner Galaxy guitar and a Fal 50 watt amp. My parents were horrified, but they could do nothing. They concluded it was proof I was an idiot. My parents tried to persuade me to hand over the cash to them 'for safekeeping'. I politely declined. I had a plan! They then informed me that they needed the cash as they were planning to buy Bunns Lane Works, where my Dad had his car repair business. If they didn't raise the cash, someone else could buy the site, as the Landlord was selling and had given Dad first refusal. I reluctantly handed over the cash (and never saw it again! I have no regrets though). I informed my parents I would only do it, if I was given a share of the yard and my mum drew up an agreement, that stated that I had to be consulted on all decisions and had a share. I signed and I never saw that again. Apparently it was lodged with her solicitors, but hey ho. 

In September 1978, I joined Orange Hill School to resit them. It was a pivotal moment. I met Boz Boorer, who was in The Polecats. They were a real band. It made me realise that being in a band wasn't a pie in the sky pipedream. If Boz could do it, so could we. There were two other bands at the school. My mate Joe Malone had a band with a guy called Steve Kutner, who would go on to be a football agent, managing Frank Lampard. Steve's uncle was Lord Levy, who owned Magnet Records. Steve got a job there, and signed Bad Manners and The Damned to the label! But when I joined he was the guitarist. Also in the band was Russell Smith, who was the younger brother of Graham Smith, Editor of The Face magazine. I can't recall what they were called, we always called them The Moje's. There was bad blood between Pete Conway and Joe Malone. Both were hot headed mavericks from solid Irish stock. They had a massive punch up, over who had been the first punk to wear bondage trousers in Mill Hill! I never really got the animosity, but they hated each other. The other band were The Rapids. A rythm and bliues band in the Doctor Feelgood mold. 

By January 1979, my Dad had tired of Pete and me making a racket in my bedroom. He made an offer I couldn't refuse. When he bought the yard, there was a derelict caretakers cottage, I could rent it from him for £2 a week, to rehearse in. I did some maths, If I rented it, I could charge the Mojes and the Rapids £2 each to rehearse every week and make a profit! The only problem was that we only had my amp. Discussions were had. It was agreed that we'd form a collective, all pool our gear and they could rehearse once a week for £2. 

In December 1978, we'd met a couple called Dave and Mandy at The Fall. Dave expressed an interest in drumming and Mandy in singing. Having sorted out the rehearsal space, we decided that we would have the first rehearsal and an opening party. We invited Dave and Mandy down to join the band, We also invited other friends, who had a band. We chose Valentines night, party because there was a girl I liked at school and thought it might lead to a romantic liaison. The only trouble was, we had an audience and had never actually played the songs. The other band came down and played a bunch of songs pretty well. We were absolute chaos. I don't think Dave had actually drummed before. He had two beats, Dave beat 1 and Dave beat 2. He told us that those were the only beats he knew, so Pete simply said "Start playing Dave beat one, and we'd join in. I had made a fuzz box from a design my former physics teacher John Shuttler at FCHS had given me. He'd given me a few bits. to get going. I couldn't afford the volume or attenuation pots, etc. So it was just on or off. It sounded like the devil, but suited the songs. 

Although we were complete rubbish, it was probably the most true punk rock gig ever. No one really knew what to make of it. Pete decided that we'd spend the whole rehearsal with the lights off and standing on chairs. We drank copious tins of beer. It was gloriously bad, everything we did was awful, but somehow, it felt amazing. I realised that if we could be that bad and still be good, there was something there. Dave was highly embarrassed about the whole thing, and insisted we rehearse properly before we let people watch us again. I am not really saw what Pete thought, he was clever enough to maintain the pretence that it was brilliant. I am not sure I ever had that feeling since, but we knew we had to be a million times better before we could gig. But we had done it. Both Mill HilL Music Complex and The False Dots were born today. Both are still going. I am not sure if I'd even be here if that hadn't happened. 

Here is the story of 1979 as I wrote it in my Scrapbook at the time

Today, I am going to Portugal to mix and master our new album. It will be called We don't live in America and will feature a song called Wrong, which was the first song we played at our first rehearsal, albiet a slightly different arrangement. 

Is there a pivotal moment in your life, when things changed forever. When the old you faded and the new you, the real you was born? The birth of the new me was a long pregnancy. The eggs were fertilised on the 6th June 1977, when I saw The Ramones, The Talking Heads and The Saints at The Roundhouse. I discovered music. It was a radical change in my life, I found a new group of friends, new interests. But most of all, I wanted to be in a band. There were four problems. The first was that I couldn't play, the second was I didn't have an instrument, the third was I had no mates who could play and the fourth was, we had nowhere to rehearse. 

The first thing was to get a guitar and start learning to play. That was pretty easy. My sister had a black Columbus Les Paul copy. It looked great, but was almost unplayable and didn't stay in tune. But it was a guitar and so I started trying to learn chords. After seeeing The Ramones, I was chatting with a mate of mine (we were both alter servers at The Sacred Heart Church) and he told me he'd got into punk music. We had been mate since we were four and had even written songs together, sending them to glam rock mega stars Sparks, suggesting they needed a few decent songs, when we were 11 or 12. Needless to say, they weren't interested. But we agreed we'd learn to play. Pete didn't have any money or an instrument, but we decided he'd play bass. When he turned 16 in May 1978, he left school and got a job as a butcher at Dewhursts in Mill Hill. The aim was to get the money to buy a bass. Pete was an extremely bright guy and his Dad was horrified. But he was nothing of not strong minded. After a couple of months, Pete bought a bass and started learning it. We would sit in my bedroom every night, practising, writing songs, listening to punk rock and discussing politics. The Labour government of Jim Callaghan was falling apart. 

I was kicked out of Finchley Catholic High School in May after a disagreement with the hedmaster Nick Kelly, flunking my O Levels, as a result of spending every night doing the above. Unlike Pete, I decided that I needed to get some O levels. In Augsut 1978, I turned 16. This meant I had access to my bank account. My Mum had set up an account for me. In the 1960's I'd been a child actor/model and earned a decent amount of money from TV commercials I'd appeared in. On the day I turned 16, I went down to Don Mackrills Music shop in Edgware and bought a Hofner Galaxy guitar and a Fal 50 watt amp. My parents were horrified, but they could do nothing. They concluded it was proof I was an idiot. My parents tried to persuade me to hand over the cash to them 'for safekeeping'. I politely declined. I had a plan! They then informed me that they needed the cash as they were planning to buy Bunns Lane Works, where my Dad had his car repair business. If they didn't raise the cash, someone else could buy the site, as the Landlord was selling and had given Dad first refusal. I reluctantly handed over the cash (and never saw it again! I have no regrets though). I informed my parents I would only do it, if I was given a share of the yard and my mum drew up an agreement, that stated that I had to be consulted on all decisions and had a share. I signed and I never saw that again. Apparently it was lodged with her solicitors, but hey ho. 

In September 1978, I joined Orange Hill School to resit them. It was a pivotal moment. I met Boz Boorer, who was in The Polecats. They were a real band. It made me realise that being in a band wasn't a pie in the sky pipedream. If Boz could do it, so could we. There were two other bands at the school. My mate Joe Malone had a band with a guy called Steve Kutner, who would go on to be a football agent, managing Frank Lampard. Steve's uncle was Lord Levy, who owned Magnet Records. Steve got a job there, and signed Bad Manners and The Damned to the label! But when I joined he was the guitarist. Also in the band was Russell Smith, who was the younger brother of Graham Smith, Editor of The Face magazine. I can't recall what they were called, we always called them The Moje's. There was bad blood between Pete Conway and Joe Malone. Both were hot headed mavericks from solid Irish stock. They had a massive punch up, over who had been the first punk to wear bondage trousers in Mill Hill! I never really got the animosity, but they hated each other. The other band were The Rapids. A rythm and bliues band in the Doctor Feelgood mold. 

By January 1979, my Dad had tired of Pete and me making a racket in my bedroom. He made an offer I couldn't refuse. When he bought the yard, there was a derelict caretakers cottage, I could rent it from him for £2 a week, to rehearse in. I did some maths, If I rented it, I could charge the Mojes and the Rapids £2 each to rehearse every week and make a profit! The only problem was that we only had my amp. Discussions were had. It was agreed that we'd form a collective, all pool our gear and they could rehearse once a week for £2. 

In December 1978, we'd met a couple called Dave and Mandy at The Fall. Dave expressed an interest in drumming and Mandy in singing. Having sorted out the rehearsal space, we decided that we would have the first rehearsal and an opening party. We invited Dave and Mandy down to join the band, We also invited other friends, who had a band. We chose Valentines night, party because there was a girl I liked at school and thought it might lead to a romantic liaison. The only trouble was, we had an audience and had never actually played the songs. The other band came down and played a bunch of songs pretty well. We were absolute chaos. I don't think Dave had actually drummed before. He had two beats, Dave beat 1 and Dave beat 2. He told us that those were the only beats he knew, so Pete simply said "Start playing Dave beat one, and we'd join in. I had made a fuzz box from a design my former physics teacher John Shuttler at FCHS had given me. He'd given me a few bits. to get going. I couldn't afford the volume or attenuation pots, etc. So it was just on or off. It sounded like the devil, but suited the songs. 

Although we were complete rubbish, it was probably the most true punk rock gig ever. No one really knew what to make of it. Pete decided that we'd spend the whole rehearsal with the lights off and standing on chairs. We drank copious tins of beer. It was gloriously bad, everything we did was awful, but somehow, it felt amazing. I realised that if we could be that bad and still be good, there was something there. Dave was highly embarrassed about the whole thing, and insisted we rehearse properly before we let people watch us again. I am not really saw what Pete thought, he was clever enough to maintain the pretence that it was brilliant. I am not sure I ever had that feeling since, but we knew we had to be a million times better before we could gig. But we had done it. Both Mill HilL Music Complex and The False Dots were born today. Both are still going. I am not sure if I'd even be here if that hadn't happened. 

Here is the story of 1979 as I wrote it in my Scrapbook at the time

Today, I am going to Portugal to mix and master our new album. It will be called We don't live in America and will feature a song called Wrong, which was the first song we played at our first rehearsal, albiet a slightly different arrangement. 

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