| THUNDERS AND LIGHTNING Barry Cain gets struck down by the crazy past and present of the MIST, Moor mist, mire mist, molten mist, Scotch mist obscures the three slashing figures to the point where they bear a brief similarity to victims on an over - enthusiastic dissector's chopping block. The treble fountain sound of water colliding with damp grass becomes the only confirmation of their presence as the mist masses. In the background a sheep moos? In the coach Siouxsie giggles. In the sepulchral distance a car stirs. In the sky a bird spews. In the engine there's a phantom 55 mph knock. In Gayle's head is an image of an empty Edinburgh record shop. In the earth a worm smirks. In Alan's stomach a demon hugging burp is conceived and born. In the morning. In the meantime the three figures, shakity shake shake, return coughing windbreakers out of every oritice. Surfbreakers on the shore, Heartbreakers on the moor. An unlikely setting for an alfresco slash, J. Carroll Nash, hit and a miss, cat and a fiddle, gypsy's kiss, Jimmy Riddle, lag, taking a leak, watering the horse, wringing the flannel. Even more unlikely when you consider the slashers are celebrated Noo Yawk mavericks Billy Rath, Walter Lure and little Johnny Thunders. But strange things happen when a band like The Heartbreakers take to the highways and byways of Great, well, Britain. It's difficult to wrtte about the disparate albeit intrinsic airy elements that make up The Heartbreakers. Insular and closed shop are words that immediately spring to mind. They don't go out of their way to be inaccessible - it's just that the sprawling urban conurbations of London and New York spawn opposites and it's difficult to fInd any common ground to take off on. Friction, whether it's the supercilious kind or firmly embedded in some crazy past, is always apparent within the band. This has led to the departure of drummer Jerry Nolan although for this tour anyway he's been retained as a hired musician. Difficult to know if they're ever serious about their anger. Maybe it's just because they're Yanks. Maybe it's just because they're a rock band. Maybe it's just to relieve the black cloud of boredom travelling from gig to gig. A few months back they were all homesick. When they were told to get out of the country by the Home Office they returned to New York and got sick of it. The visa problems solved, they couldn't wait to come back. Well, music is what it's all about. You don't get no politico palpitations from The Hearttbreakers. So we're on this coach along with Siouxsie And The Banshees and The Models somewhere in the Scottish Highlands. The coach has a car engine and it's spluttering. On schedule it ain't. The trip is three - time tiresome 'and it's pause for dozing. Half sleep produces the grandest illusions. First the immediate milieu is intensified, the whizzzpast scenery no longer holds any interest and dim mind scenes unravel a tangibility. At Middlesbrough Town Hall a spastic weaves in and out of the crowd, laughing to himself and spilling beer from the glass in his intermittently shaking hand. He stops to gurgle at various individuals that attract him, creases up and runs back into the audience. What's that copy of Teenage Romance doing ripped up on the floor? "Got a cigarette, Johnny? Say, those curtains are gold. "Marco from The Models reads a book. He looks bored. There's spit in the air, spit in the hair, spit in the lair of The Heartbreakers. Then there's this sound of sirens growing louder, LOUDER. Police car sirens first, then air raid sirens, then the sound of marching feet, then a heavy metal German voice. DER FUEHRER! His hard shifting tones incite the windswept German youth. And then the band are the 'Chatterbox'. " HEY!" "What?" "Wake up and look at the cows. " Sure enough the coach has been detained yet again by a bunch of cosy cows. They've just been milked and are obviously happy at the prospect of a dry day in the fields. Middlesbrough. Oh yeah. Yeah. Back. 'Pirates Love'. The kids are standing on chairs, tables, one another to catch a glimpse of Thunders' snake mouth, of Lure's acid-gone eyes. In some Heartbreaker Hotel outside Middlesbrough Johnny pouts that mouth in a look of incredulity. "Naw, I ain't all that happy at the moment. Christ, I'm looking for a drummer. " Back at the gig Johnny is telling the kids it ain't cool to spit before heading for the hills on 'Let's Go'. A white splat on his jacket as he sings. . . . "See," he pours another brandy from the miniature. "Rat Scabies didn't really fit in when he came to audition. Sure, he's a good drummer, a good ROCK drummer, but he can't play rock 'n' roll. He broke into 'Toad' halfway through one of our numbers. " The hotel porter is getting an ever - increasing needle. It's late, he wants to go to bed. What with this load of jerks and the whore in the foyer having an easy time with a drunken salesman. "Why didn't I become a night watchman?" Walter steps up to the mike for 'All By Myself' and carries on with the new single 'One Track Mind'. The bouncers straighten their bow ties and dive into the crowds, slapping and warning. Middlesbrough kids got no fun. Walter and Billy join Johnny at the table. They define the difference between psychedelic bands and rock bands. "Acid man, acid." There's the tale of the straight sound mixer with Grateful Dead who never tampered with drugs despite the perpetual eigth heaven of the rest of the crew. So the band coated all the knobs and switche on the mixing desk with a layer of fine acid. Every time he touched something the acid seeped into his skin, up his nose, in his ears. He never got out alive ... "You asked for it." Johnny ruffles his barnet and it's encore time. "You broke my heart 'cos I couldn't dance, but now I'm back to let you know I can really shake it downnnn. . . DO YOU LOVE ME?" "I reckon The Depressions are one of the best British rock 'n' roll bands I've seen," drools Johnny over yet another brandy. If ever a guy should have taken Robert de Niro's part in 'New York New York' it's him. A method rocker, peachy Italiano kid with a suitable line in facial nuances. Especially that bit at the beginning with de Niro in the wild Haitian shirt creaming Liza Minelli's module with his dreamy modus operandi. The gig's finished. The crowd demand more. They don't get none. He talks about boring (musically, that is) New York, makes wide - eyed inquiries about the scene while he's been away, has a few misgivings about the new album 'L. A. M. F. ' and holds back the morning. "Hey you guys, wake up. We're in Edinburgh. " Edinburgh Schmedinburgh. After seven hours in a coach on a simple 150-mile trip San Francisco wouldn't hold any interest. Walter stands up impatiently. He's looking freaakier than ever, like a character out of a Satanic silent movie, all pyramid eyebrows, ruffled hair and leather on an ever diminishing dance of death. But he's cute with it. Billy, on the other hand, simply looks like a hit man with all the confidence of a cat. Tonight they're playing Clouds where no alcohol is served, where plastic planes adorn the ceilings with faces of Prince Charles instead of propellers and where punches are hard. In the dressing room before the gig a guy's telling Jerry (you remember him?) that his friend's main aim in life is to assist The Heartbreakers in any idiosyncraatic indulgences they may want to pursue. In short, whatever they want he'll supply. Jerry - "Oh, really?" And then we're into another Heartbreakers show. And show is the operative word. The band plays rock and roll like guns fire bullets, like steamrollers flatten tarmac, like thunder rolls, like trees fall, like, hell, like you've never heard before. It's unfortunate in a way that their name has been linked with the London bands that have sprung up in the past year because their brand of music is as timeless as it is iridescent. They've managed to forge a unique combination of indifferrence and burnt - ass fortitude which, when rubbed together, sure makes big sparks. It's the same show as Middlesbrough, only mighty meatier. They always manage to play like there's no tomorrow. It's probably to compensate for their off - stage opaqueness. An opiate for the gathered hordes. The show merely confirms that you should get hold of their debut album - I'll repeat myself 'L. A. M. F.' - at the earliest opportunity, even though there's one member of the band who don't like it. Jerry Nolan has been keeping a distinctly low profile throughout the past two days. He refuses to pose for pictures and wanders around in a light blue coat with an air of dextrous frigidity. We're in the hotel after the gig. Jerry licks his lips. "I quit the band mainly because of the album. I should have expected how it would turn out. I only wish we'd produced it ourselves. It was the same with The Dolls. Outsiders just don't know how to handle us on record. "But there's another reason. There's one guy in this band I don't like. I've discovered he's a coward and I can't work with cowards. He's done things behind my back, he gave in to allow the album to be released, he's only interested in reading- about himself in the papers. I can't live with that. "There's also another guy in The Heartbreakers' set-up who acts more like a middle man in a drug deal rather than concentrating on what he should be doing. The whole thing is a joke and I want out. "One thing might tempt me back into this band. It's a long shot and I don't know whether it's gonna work. We'll just have to see. " He smokes a cigarette and I go to bed. Like I said before, there ain't a past around that's as crazy as a crazy Heartbreakers' past., THE END (This interview was first published in RECORD MIRROR October 25th 1977 - Reproduced from the DC Archives) |
 |
 |
|
|
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |