This week in words - (RIP Bryn Merrick)

Busy week in the world of how we rock and how we roll… and by the end of it I felt about ten years older, deafer, and slightly more confused about how any of us manage to function in this so-called “scene.”

Most of the week was spent wrestling with the finishing touches of the new link2wales compilation, This Patch Of Land. Seventeen bands. Seventeen different levels of disorganisation. Trying to get them all to send artwork, approve tracks, or even reply to a message felt like trying to herd drunk cats across a minefield. I swear, if there’s a purgatory reserved for music people, it’s project managing a compilation album.

Saturday (Sept 5th) brought Spam Javelin’s fifth gig at The Dirty Weekend, now relocated to Chester Lakes after Rhyl’s venues finally out-shitted themselves into irrelevance. We were on at 3pm in a tent, which was fine, except we nearly didn’t get there thanks to a tyre blowing out so badly it was down to the bare thread. There’s nothing quite like changing a tyre with a knackered back while all your amps sit in the boot smirking at you.

We made it, played hard, and even enjoyed it—though the main-stage band had overrun their slot, meaning half the potential crowd didn’t even know we existed. Then, as if things weren’t irritating enough, I later found out the drunk drummer from Vitriolic Response had been wandering around telling people we were sexist homophobes. A bold accusation from someone whose band name sounds like a medical condition. What a fucking wanker.

Sunday was a different story entirely. I took my two-year-old along and we soaked up the vibe properly—lentil curry, sunshine, wandering about, the whole deal. Emissaries of Syn tore through a blistering set at 1pm, despite the suburban local Nazis complaining about the noise from inside their beige living rooms. I picked up a pile of vinyl, books and zines, then went home and updated my very, very anal Bands Seen List—which now sits at a mighty 2031. My ears ring constantly and, being in a hardcore band, I’ve fully accepted that I’m fucked.

Music-wise, I’d been listening to an advance stream of the debut St Pierre Snake Invasion album. Proper good stuff. The only downside is modern technology itself—no CD, no vinyl, just a link. Everything’s a bloody link.

Tuesday was a proper high point. Took my daughter Marni to Manchester Academy to witness the phenomenon that is Future Islands. They were fucking ace. Saw them last year, before they blew up, when you could still feel like you were in on the secret. Not quite the same intimacy this time—no one shouting “C’mon Gwaenysgor! Let's make some fucking noise!”—but still small enough to make eye contact with the band. Support came from Du Blonde (solid) and Dope Body, who were disjointedly brilliant. I even haggled two albums off them for a tenner each, proving I can still barter like a dad at a car boot sale.

Thursday (10th) brought another Spam Javelin show, this time at The Skerries in Bangor. Good crowd, good energy. Addicted To Fish were their usual amiable selves. Bad Excuses didn’t show up—possibly because I’d mentioned the number of covers they play and their bassist got a bit feisty about it. Probably for the best; could’ve been an “interesting” evening. Daf Jones opened on acoustic, but I was so wrecked I slept in my car instead. That’s rock'n'roll life for you—sometimes you miss the opener because unconsciousness wins.

And then today (Saturday) hit hard. Bryn Merrick—ex-The Damned—passed away from cancer. Proper gut punch. He was always the friendly face during that mid-’80s Damned era. Once, after a gig, he even let me autograph his arm. A sweet, solid bloke. Another good one gone.

GIG 0015: The Damned 10th Anniversary at Finsbury Park, London

 

Me looking pretty fucked after travelling to London

There was no live music scene to write home about in Colwyn Bay during those times unless you liked boring bland blues bands and that awful new wave of spandex metal rubbish. So entertainment was garnered from further afield. We went to Finsbury Park in London to see The Damned celebrate their tenth anniversary. Our quest to get there started around midnight on the day of July 26th 1986 when the National Coach driver refused to let us on because we were punks; even though we’d booked tickets. This is how the story unfolded…

My sister Emma, Ade Brunskill, Helen The Hair, Wayne The Bastard, Edi Filmstar and myself stood there, open beer cans in our hands, in our punk attire as the coach pulled up, the doors swung open and the driver took one look at us and flatly refused to let us on the coach!

’But we’ve got tickets!’ – he wouldn’t be budged, we weren’t getting on his coach and that was final. They call it judging a book by its cover, and we were the pages he didn’t want to read. There wasn’t much we could do, violence would’ve proved this bigot’s presumption right and landed us in the cells and not in London, so we sloped back to the flat and regrouped.

Thankfully, Helen had a credit card and she forked out for train tickets; we would successfully fight National Express for our money back later, but first we had a gig to get to. I think it was only Helen who managed to get any sleep on the journey down, the rest of us were pretty much cream crackered by the time we emerged into the London sunshine. Today was all about The Damned, a band I loved so much, enough to have their name tattooed onto my wrist next to a flaming love heart! [I’ve since had it lasered off, but my love has not diminished; although it has been tested with the latest album!]. The Damned were all things to me through my teenage years, my mates were not into them in school, preferring Sham 69, or Crass, or the Oi! Scene – I too went along with all that, but it was Vanian/Sensible/Scabies/Ward who always topped my charts. Dave Vanian’s guile, Captain Sensible’s exquisite guitar playing, Rat Scabies is still the best drummer I’ve ever seen, and Algy Ward is the best of a long succession of bassists the band has been through since.

This Finsbury Park gig was over two days and rumours were rife that the two years departed Captain Sensible would be making a guest appearance. He did, but we got the wrong day, and despite the hopes of 20,000 people chanting the old chestnut, ‘Sensible’s a wanker’ he didn’t show up on our day. We were however treated to a superb opening, Plan 9 Channel 7 was orchestrated before blasting into the full song and we all went bananas! Lot’s of ‘newer’ stuff was played, Eloise, Street Of Dreams, Is It A Dream, plus new tracks off the forthcoming disappointing ‘Anything’ album. I remember Limit Club (love that song), Stranger On The Town, then the finale of LA Woman, Smash It Up (the whole tent erupted) and Love Song. The encore, I think, was Dr Jekyll & Mr Hyde, followed by New Rose and ending with Lust For Life.

The opening band were Electric Bluebirds, I don’t recall much of these, although The Proclaimers seem to spring to mind, followed by the rockabilly Restless. Wayne’s interest in psychobilly bands would drag us to many gigs and to many albums, with the likes of King Kurt and Guana Batz being favourites, but Restless were pretty mediocre.

Dr And The Medics however, were far from mediocre. The drummer got up on stage and started with a great beat, soon followed by the guitarist and bassist as they formed an ace riff, then The Anadin Brothers (two girls) alighted the stage with their unique dance moves, before The Doctor himself (or Clive Jackson as he was called in school) appeared and had everyone in the audience in the palm of his hand. The attention he commanded was immense, the perfect MC, the ultimate band leader, the conductor, The Doctor!

We had their Happy But Twisted EP in our collection and would soon be buying their Laughing At The Pieces debut album, from which most of their set was made up. I do recall a rubbish version of Paranoid, and then an apology for making it to No.1 with Spirit in The Sky – The Doctor then announced that

‘This is the way it should’ve been played’ and they launched into a much better sped up version that kept the majority of punks happy in pogoville. Hard to imagine at the time that forty years from now The Damned would still be in existence and celebrating their 50th anniversary.

GIG 0013 - The Damned / Third Light at Manchester International

 

There’s something special about seeing a band at the height of their powers in a venue that feels like it’s barely holding them in. Following the polished grandeur of the Apollo back in June, The Damned’s return to Manchester at the International 1 felt less like a tour stop and more like a victory lap with old friends. Although tbh, they were probably fulfilling contractual obligations having booked this gig in advance of their new found stardom!

The night was a masterclass in the band’s mid-80s evolution. As the opening chords of "Street of Dreams" filled the room, it was clear that the transition into a more atmospheric, gothic rock sound hadn't cost them any of their edge. Dave Vanian was every bit the spectral frontman, commanding the stage with a theatricality that felt perfectly suited to the intimate, smoky confines of the club.

But the true magic of the International has always been the lack of a barrier between the stage and the street. Once the feedback faded, the band didn't vanish into a dressing room. Instead, they did something few bands of their status would dream of: they walked right back out into the crowd. Well, all but the elusively shy Mr Vanian.

The scene at the bar reminded me of when I first saw them some four years ago in Colwyn Bay; Rat Scabies, was stood next to me with a "Come on, will someone get me a fucking pint!"

Nearby, the late, great Bryn Merrick was showing exactly why he was the heart of that lineup. Amidst a sea of fans asking for signatures, I decided to turn the tables, leaning in to autograph Bryn’s own arm instead of the other way around. It was a moment that could have gone sideways, but Bryn took it with a massive grin and a laugh—a testament to the genuine, ego-free person he was.

Third Light were from Chester I think and were just starting out - they played kind of post-punk melodic indie stuff. Didn't hear much of them since; or remember anymore from the gig.

GIG 0012 - The Damned / Fuzztones @ Northgate Arena, Chester

 

I saw that The Damned were playing at the Northgate Arena in Chester, I didn’t have any money so I took my beloved ghetto blaster to a pawn shop. The owner could see I really didn’t want to part with it so he gave me £35 and said he’d hold it back for a fortnight and I could buy it back at the same price. It’s July 6th 1985. I got on a train to Chester and met up with other punks who were milling around outside the venue on this sunny afternoon. I hooked up with a girl called Seraphina who I knew from Denbigh. She was like the rebel at the all-girl private school in the town, all dressed in black and fishnets and back-combed hair. We and others drank cider and discussed Rudimentary Peni lyrics on account of my ‘Stone the crows and fuck the pigs’ t-shirt. Seraphina then squirted hairspray down my ear ‘for a laugh’ - I didn’t see the funny side and lost her in the crowd.

The Fuzztones opened the show, they reminded me of The Cramps and I had heard their single Bad News Travels Fast on Peel’s show. My sister Jane tapped me on the shoulder, she was there with her mate Ali Craig, I’d not seen her for a while. The Damned were making a real go of the charts with their new gothic image and Shadow Of Love was in the Top 30 and the album Phantasmagoria was imminent, so it was surprising this venue was only about three quarters full. They opened with the epic Curtain Call and I made sure I was right down the front. It was a good gig, lots of new stuff and they encored with Lust For Life and did a second encore with Rat Scabies on guitar playing Pretty Vacant.

Link2wales gig review