It was Christmas 1982 - a year when Scotland had made it to the World Cup and Kenny Dalglish was probably forced into retirement. We were holding onto Orange Juice while they were feeling it was probably time to move on. Deadbeat were 3 years younger than Orange Juice and would feel the same way in 1985/6 but in December 1982 it was just starting to get interesting. There's no doubt I was getting pissed off about the Sun and the oncoming jingoism of the Flaklands, oops, strike that, no Flak in Flakland, only in Falkland. Valium for money was something we couldn't afford but we would try.
looking back its the X-word that still gets me. Did anyone do them as Keith really enjoyed producing them!
The best shop in Dundee was the Tayside Bars it sold fantastic products - Guinness, Tennents Lager, green rizla and when you had a whim for something continental pernod. After the TSB, Groucho was a great shop. The happiest man in the world sold our Deadbeats and Tapes. He even sold 4 of the Deadbeatsingles, even though they weren't quite the same value as the tapes. 1 band 3 songs for a £1 or £2 for 6 bands 3 songs, its no contest.
Issue 8 - 1983
Our best cover was Issue 9, the drawing was superb and the lumberjack shirt that Ian McCulloch was wearing set off the whole ensemble. We were running out of the white letraset letters but had enough to complete the bottom section highlighting interviews with the Farmers Boys, David Weddell from the Happy Family, Ralph Smith from Europeans in Tropic and Brian Sinclair of the Tayside Bar.The Farmers Boys seemed to pick up where Orange Juice left off, leaving the crowds very happy and finding that good songs and good vocals are all you ever need. In the interview Roy Terre got the low down on moving from the Higsons label to EMI, the usual comparisons with other bands but finding common delight in the Monochrome Set. Finally Baz gave us his address so you could all write to him in Halesworth. To put it in context they were signed at the same time as Kajagoogoo a band that rarely got a mention in Deadbeat. The interview with Davie Weddell confirmed it was the end of the Happy Family as sadly a lot of broken promises and a general apathy had left the band with no gigs and no appetite. This issue also had a review of the Plastic Flies a poor punk band who were encouraged to split up, quick as well as confirming that Edinburgh was duller than Glasgow, or as Ian McCulloch put it during the gig at the Playhouse, "Glasgow was much more fun". The Happy Hints page had the legendary Cocktail Cat sketch, which I'm sure Auntie Lynne and Auntie Kath wrote long before its subsequent use. They had fine inventive minds and produced three ways to make trousers longer which proved very useful when drainpipes and white socks drifted out. Sew on extensions included Arabian curtain fringes, Russian mink fur fabric and technicolour ethnic beads. There was a lot of news for February not least in Dundee where the Dance Factory had 3 gigs including Eurythmics at the mighty price of £2.50. Song singer called Madonna had her debut single released by Sire, a self penned song called "Everybody" as we wrote back then, oh and Keith also said "Madonna is an accomplished ballet dancer and actress who turned to music in the late 70's learning to play drums and keyboards." Next thing you'll be telling me she can sing too.
There's a review of the St Andrews Festival '83 - Bayneys quasi nightclub - well - for 4 days the local community centre was turned into a venue - it seems they had a Dundee night on Wed 9th feb with Swing Club, AAGA and Scott Gowans, followed by Saturday 12th with So you think you're a cowboy and The Frontiers, Wed 16th it was St Andrews finest with Kix and the Rhyme Tray (Paul Milner & Derek Anderson) and finally Saturday 19th saw APB with Stereo Exit supporting. At £1.50 a ticket you had be wealthy in this part of the country, it was 50p a pint in the bars remember!
China Crisis get a page dedicated to their 12" EP with most emphasis on Greenacre Bay, which I can still sing to myself as I type.
Keith went through to Glasgow to meet Stephen Pastel from The Pastels and interview the rest of the band as well. Pop Wallpaper sent us their tape while Orange Juice sent Rip it Up. That's what I call timing and it sure was bad for Pop Wallpaper as I couldn't see past Rip it Up, I still cant. Everyone has their favourite songs from their favourite postcard bands, some will be the same but everyone has their own opinion and for what its worth the Aztec's 'We could send letters' and Rip it Up by Orange Juice are mine. I'm glad Pop Wallpaper didn't hold it against us and an interview or two later came the flexi disc and fame.
This issue also saw the start of the Deadbeats, Hilary's carton strip where the hero Raymond (thumbs) plays bass in a belting rock'n'roll band. The Happy Hints page suggested that the readers "Adopta Bee in 1983" and if it wasn't obvious they went on to explain that bees were 'cleaner than dogs, cheaper to feed......and ward of intruders......and each comes complete with a dinky black and yellow jumper....
The Bluebells in Dundee and Tell me a Colour and Higsons Edinburgh gigs are all reviewed, but the amusing thing looking back now is the type face. There is clear evidence that my 21st birthday had passed and my Mum and Dad bought me half an Amstrad. I looked at them and said half (?). Yes we'll have it the rest of the time so it stays in Edinburgh when you go back to St Andrews....
The walk to the third tee was a long and winding trail through golfball gathering gorse which with auto suggestion, our gormless goaders tried to introduce JJ to his familiar foe. It was only two holes but already the gloves were off and the old yarns were being re-written.
, it was all going so well until you opened those curtains, chirped Vinny. Paris
” JJ smiled, as his fag lit the hazy memories and romantic tales, suppressing the unflattering truth. Paris
in 83, just before our third year started. We ate badly, but then we ordered badly as well. It’s one way to learn the language when you receive a plate of raw steak mince shaped like a hamburger topped off with half a raw egg, or do I mean a raw egg in half it’s shell. Paris
On this occasion I realised that “un ouef est un oeuf”. We would have to buy a phrase book or get an education and stop JJ thinking he had any value in assuring us he had an A level in the language. We tried to explain he wasn’t speaking French to the Enlish anymore, these people used this language regulary, they positively owned the phrases that we were farcically covered in a smattering of “je pense, je vais voudrais…quelquechose…. si vous plait”.
We slept rough, well JJ did. For such a slim guy he failed to take advantage on the stairs of our lodgings every night. As TC wedged himself between the stairs on floors 4 & 5, he always got the pushing role, whilst I vaulted past and got to the door with the key. The key to the room, “Un chambre, trois personnes, deux nuits”, which had sounded like “deux lits”. Apparently the floor did have a bit of give in it, but neither TC nor myself were particularly interested in finding out.
Sleeping on creaking floorboard had few benefits and JJ rose early to peel the shutters and present himself to the greying morning, as well as the St Lazare postal workers. It was hardly and he had hardly the figure to match. He scratched his lingering body hair, reaching down below in the traditional male pose to check there had been no burglars in the night, all the time struggling to adjust his pernod stained eyes to the early autumn sunshine.
For the workers it didn’t matter. With café in hand they gathered for their traditional stare at the tourists in room ‘cinq-deux-cinq’. The clothes Americans wear in
is always tartan, in Scotland it would appear that Scots wear nothing. That at least is what the ‘travaillers de la Poste, St Lazare’, believe, although I’m sure they were looking at the hairy guy next to JJ in cinq-deux-six. France
We stumbled out after our first night, into a glorious Parisian morning. Drizzly rain bizarrely bouncing up off the filthy streets. JJ paraphrased freshening to the day ahead, “Never wear a kilt in
or you’ll have to clean yer balls when it rains”. This was the Bohemian quarter we would be thinking. Much rather have a quarter of Morrocan or Lebanese would be the musing reply. Thankfully we mused it to ourselves. Paris
“Two legs or four?” I asked.
JJ stirred it with his cowboy heels,
“Definitely two, you can see they had corn on the cob last night”.
The Graffitti naturally dragging us to Jim Morrison’s alleged grave. We’d done our duty and could now go to the Pub.
|Someone seems to have started early, ...time for the pub then....|
We arrived at the third tee and JJ had the honour, while Vinny took relief from the last piece of Gorse.
“Did they not have toilets in
then? asked AK Paris
“The toilets were superb,” Vinny said sarcastically over his shoulder,
“When we got to the pub we duly ordered and TC took respite in the Crapper. Unfortunately by the look on his face when he returned, this particular toillette was not designed by Thomas Crapper but one of his drunken cousins. Presumably one who had no legs or very strong arms. Our first experience of a crapper in
and we find out that,” Paris
“they use showers to shit in! Shorry” TC said, “slipped into my Sean Connery there, sit in.”
|Someone seems to have started early, ...time for the pub then....|
JJ sniggered as he put his ball and peg into the ground but the distractive banter continued.
“We duly took turns to inspect and then use the famous shower, then left,” continued Vinny.
“Turning left we found a shop that sold the Vin. We bought a bottle and checked our budget. TC was loitering around the cheese counter. He watched patiently as customer after customer asked if he wanted served first, then moved in front of him as he gestured ‘Apres Vous’. We moved closer to check it out until eventually he moved and picked out his words with calm alacrity. “La meme s’il vous plait”. A Camembert duly arrived and we all found out what Camembert was in French.”
“I’d already told the daft bugger but he hadn’t listened” said JJ as he measured the distance off his front foot and started the swishing that would see his ball acquire the look of a baby springbok as it fell into the bunker 100 yards up the 3rd on the right hand side. This was a bunker well worth avoiding. It usually took him 3 to get out and he rarely got it out with his club.
“Sod it” he said, before returning to the theme. “The metro was something else, although we weren’t too good at it.”
“Aye” said Vinny, “With such an efficient and cheap transport system we ignored the metro. We chose meandering through the boulevards, past the Brothels instead as we plotted our way back to the centre.”
“We made good time ‘a pied’, especially if quizzed over “Sir, looking for a lady, Sir looking for a lady?” How that phrase put a gallop in our wee steps. It also encouraged us into the supermarket.”
“Time to spend some of that money on liquid, we thought”, said TC as he rammed his peg in the ground and prepared his ball for a bashing.
of course you get wines of all sorts and ours seemed to travel quite well. In fact it travelled very well indeed and duly arrived in the shadow of the Tour Eiffel. Whilst enjoying the journey it didn’t seem to enjoy arriving.” TC continued whilst hitting the ball down the centre of the fairway some 250 yards. France
“Cracking drive Cy” said Vinny as he stuck his ball on the peg that he thrust in the ground while taking the swing that would topple the ball down. It duly arrived in the middle without flying more than two feet in the air. An ugly looking shot but it had rolled a reasonable length.
“A bit quick as ever Vince, but it’ll do you,” said TC as he continued his yarn.
“We chose our site in the park opposite the Tower by a bench and a tree while Vince performed the christening of the bench. Unfortunately the bench had never been christened before and leapt up as TC sat down, duly smashing its fore arm into the bottle.
“Over-rated little vintage.” Vince sighed
“I always was a bit forceful opening bottles.” Said TC
“Oh well, I said,” muttered JJ, “pass me a piece of La meme please!”
“It was a cracking Camembert though” said Cy, “I remember spending the next three days trying to find the same one but I couldn’t find it anywhere.”
It was time to adjourn to the louvre. Well it was but the bar beckoned. It was Cy’s round so they went to the
Champs Elysees. £3 had got 9 pints on the boat but at the George V it only got one half of a pint and there were three of them. £9 later they moved through the shadowy streets towards the Pompidou so JJ & Vin got their rounds in....