I was born in Manchester, England on January 5th 1958. I am a twin. From being a young child, I have always been interested in music, especially instrumental music. At home, we had a blue 'Dansette Bermuda' monophonic record player, on which we would play stacks of popular 7inch singles. One of my earliest favourites was the brilliant instrumental track "Telstar" by the Tornados, as well as The Shadows, The Love Sculpture or TV theme music like "Stingray, Thunderbirds", "The Avengers" or "The Man From UNCLE", but I liked some vocal music too, I was also a fan of The Beatles and later Jimi Hendrix. I was introduced to classical music at junior school and I briefly learnt to play the violin, until we moved to another area and I had to stop.
My musical tastes were also heavily influenced by an elder cousin, who was (thankfully) into more 'progressive rock' music than pop and he brain-washed me with music by bands like Pink Floyd, King Crimson, Led Zeppelin, Deep Purple or The Doors. He also had a fascinating new audio development at home - a stereogramme! (which was actually a huge bulky sideboard-cabinet affair, made from thick solid wood, with speakers at each end and a drinks cabinet in the middle, right next to the record player! a really stupid conception which would make the glasses rattle if the bass became to loud).
Practically every weekend he would take me to his favourite record shop in Manchester (Rare Records in John Dalton Street) and I would be placed in what resembled a glass telephone box in the basement where they kept their rock records and subjected to a varied mix of the latest progressive rock sounds. It was around this time (1968) that I secretly bought a copy of Jimi Hendrix's Electric Ladyland (in retrospect, I think I probably only bought this album really because it had nude women on the cover). I saved up many many months to buy this "deluxe" double album with the highly controversial cover and then, out of fear it would be confiscated if discovered, I hid it in a box under my bed for many years, so my parents (nor anyone else) could see it. Actually, this 'rude' record sleeve was eventually withdrawn after much protest, and the album was divided into two LPs and the cover replaced by some stupid boring psychedelic-ish hippie artwork. Up until the small Virgin Record shop opened in Manchester, Rare Records was my musical Mecca and years later, I was to meet Ian Curtis in this shop, where he briefly worked.
I wasn't only interested in music as a child though. I was (still am) a big fan of Gerry Anderson's TV series, James bond, The Saint, The Prisoner and The Man From UNCLE, The Outer Limits, The Invaders, the Munsters and I am fascinated by aeroplanes and I made many model aircraft. This obsession eventually had me joining the Air Training Corps, where I flew in gliders and became a rifle marksman and aircraft recognition 'specialist'.
After leaving school, I studied advertising graphic design and while at college, my passion for music became my main focus again and I became the Social Secretary arranging disco-events for the students and running the record library. I briefly worked in the advertising industry (it was literally all rub-down letraset and cut-&-paste back then).
Bored, I left advertising to go and work in Virgin's first Manchester record shop in Lever Street (a small hippie record shop that smelled of incense, where I had already spent much of my time and most of my money as a teenager) to further feed my addiction to music. By the late 70's, as the punk movement developed, our branch of Virgin was the only shop selling this new style of music in the area, as everwhere else banned it. Here I befriended many of the punk era's Manchester legends (Buzzcocks, John The Postman, V2, Rob Gretton, Tony Wilson or Mark Farrow). Through this job, I also had access to many different kinds of music too not only punk, and I also became infected by rare German imports (mainly of the early electronic music by pioneers such as Klaus Schultz, Giorgio Moroeder, Kraftwerk or Tangerine Dream) and without question, after my first trip to Germany, I had already decided that I wanted to explore that country and its musik, more.
Meanwhile, I was bitten by the excitement of punk. In 1977, together with Mick Hucknall and Neil "Moey" Moss, we formed "The Frantic Elevators". I played bass (for a term) and we supported some popular punk bands at that time, such as Sham 69 in the notorious Rafters club.
In early summer 1978, I eventually left Britain and I moved to Germany, where I first lived for a short while in Pullach, near Munich. After a few months, I moved to Berlin, where I was 'designated' Factory Records German "representative" by Rob Gretton.
I was fascinated by Berlin, with its cold war atmosphere and the parallel political regimes living side by side. The atmosphere was utterly unique. East Berlin became my Disneyland. After I had been in Berlin for only a few weeks, I travelled to Prague, something I had always wanted to do since being a child. Everything about the journey was incredible. The many pass- controls, the great escape atmosphere. Upon arrival, I noticed there were no westerners to be seen, anywhere. I was alone! I became hooked on experiencing the other communist countries and I travelled extensively throughout the "Ostblok", first travelling clandestinely all around Czechoslovakia, then Hungary and Romania, in an attempt to discover their forbidden underground music scenes and watch the "birds".
... once in late 1979, on the train returning from a trip to prague, i met a girl from the romanian capital of bucharest.
she was delighted to be able to speak english with a real englishman.
she told me with great excitement how how happy she was to meet someone from the west as it was impossible in romania, and obviously she felt very comfortable at being able to speak freely about the heavy restrictions of freedom in her own country.
she tried her best to describe what her life was like in romania. it sounded like an orwellian nightmare and so unbelievebale she could have been making it up, but i knew she wasnt.
as we entered east berlins city limits, she kindly invited me to her home, saying if i was ever in bucharest, i should get in touch, although i am certain it was only out of politeness and she never expected to ever see me again. it was a bit off putting when she emphasised that it was very very risky for her to have any contact with westerners, as it was strictly forbidden and it would have horrendous consequences for her and her family if she was caught, so we would have to be very very discreet.
needless to say, i was fascinated by her story and so a few months later, i was on a train to romania, via czechoslovakia and stopping off for a few days in budapest.
before leaving hungary, i had a good meal, complete with gypsy fiddler's and then caught the overnight train from budapest.
the train slugged alway from the station and i settled down for a long journey.
when the train eventually got to the hungarian/romanian border, it stopped in front of what looked like a small wooden shed and a large group of border guards got on.
i offered my passport to the guard and he looked at it briefly.
he shouted something to a colleague down the carriage.
a suspicious security agent in a shabby suit swiftly entered into my compartment. he took my passport and carefully eyed me up with my picture. then he passed it over his shoulder to another guard, who went off with it to a little wooden hut at the side of the tracks.
the agent spoke very good english.
"why do you visit romania?" he quizzed, during which, he glanced at my bag and tossed a few items disinterestedly about and then, he grabbed at a book i had been reading and turned it upside down and shook it "do you have drugs?" he nonchalantly asked.
naturally i said "no".
he stared directly at me, his creepy gaze penetrating deep into my eyes and then he asked me the same question again.
again i said, no. he wasn't satisfied, he started to thoroughly search my bags, each item was overturned and scrutinised, he checked every scrap of paper, every bookmark, every scrawl i had written (luckily, i had the foresight to hide the address of my romanian friend very well).
while occasionally engaging me in brief snippets of stupid conversation, he would suddenly divert and deflect and ask me if i smoked marijuana, or took lsd.
he obviously didn't believe me. i was actually expecting him to search me fully and was feeling a little apprehensive at this prospect, for one reason or another.
it was a very hot summer evening and the atmosphere of crickets singing and insects buzzing around the light fittings clashed with the apprehensive fear that rippled through the train with each "buna seara, controlul romanese passoaporte!" and the scary muffled sounds of distant shouting, the clanking of metal, dogs and guards running up an down outside the train made the tension worse (i thought, what are they looking for? surely not some poor east german lunatic trying to escape TO romania?)
the train stood for ages at the border, stinking and steaming.
i heard a new locomotive being shunted towards the train.
eventually after what seemed like an eternity, my passport was eventually returned to me. i imagined it had probably been thoroughly photographed and examined.
i was cautioned that i had to officially exchange per day money once in the city, as the bank at the border was closed.
like in all commie countries you were obliged to exchange your hard currency for their "monopoly" money, at the official exchange rate of 25DM per day (the black market rate was usually ten times whatever the official rate was).
relieved as the train pulled slowly away, i finally fell asleep.
at about 6am, i was brutally awoken by a toothless unshaven ticket collector.
he had about three days growth on his face and wore a very dirty (ex-)white collar on his uniform shirt. he was smiling as he looked at me and made a gesture of someone shaving. when i realised what it was he wanted, i showed him that i only had a gillette safety razor and he rubbed his fingers together to enquire how much it cost, i wrote him the price and he made a long calculation in his mind. suddenly he gasped and burst out laughing – he gestured he could buy 60 bottles of beer for that.
we were entering the carpathian mountains. before us unfolded incredibly beautiful scenery, the pointed mountains soared up, looking like dragons teeth against the azure blue sky.
the train passed through villages that looked like something from the late 19th century, even the people standing around looked as if time had stood still for them.
completing my monumental fourteen hour overnight train journey from budapest, i was really ready for something decent to eat.
yet after the sheer luxury of hungary, romania was like going onto the set of a bizzare startrek episode - only without food or electricity.
ceaucescu's romania was not exactly a gourmets paradise either. infact, food of any kind was pretty scarce anywehere.
upon arriving in bucharest, i decided to visit the only place where i believed i was almost guaranteed to get a decent spot of lunch, in the cafe of the intercontinental hotel. the place was bustling. the unmistakable stench of kent cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air, creating a thin grey mist.
unfortunately, i had just missed lunch - someone else had eaten it - so i decided upon worst case of coffee and cake, as an alternative.
upon ordering coffee, the waiter looked at me with a bewildered blank expression on his face, then he proudly boasted "we have pepsi today sir!". well great, that was fine by me i thought, i dodnt drink pepsi or cola of any kind, and besides, i wanted coffee and cake. so i politely said „no thanks, i will have coffee“
questioning my judgement (or my sanity), he insisted again, "... but we have PEPSI".
no thanks, i said smiling, i would really like a cup of coffee.
off he went. then i heard howls of laughter from behind the bar, a few moments later, a small group of giggling kitchen hands appeared from behind the swinging doors, to look at the idiot who had just ordered the cup of coffee.
i was begining to feel like i perhaps might have made a grave mistake.
i looked around. every waiter in the place was serving pepsi like it was going out of fashion. i was flowing like wine.
indeed, everyone in the place was drinking it!
i watched curiously as one waiter manoeuvred through the tables to deliver his precious pepsi. he showed the bottle to a large spreading iranian businessman with no neck, as if it was the finest champagne known to man, the man nodded his approval and the waiter poured the pepsi into a glass with his little finger raised in excellence.
it must have tasted magnificent.
i was trying to contain my laughter as my waiter appeared with my coffee and cake.
ahh finally, breakfast. i took a gulp. yuk! the coffee was stone cold and whatever it was, it tasted nothing like coffee. i knew then i should have gone for pepsi. sadly the waiter told me, they were apparently out of milk today too and so i suffered to drink it black. it was truly disgusting and tasted nothing like coffee but more like mouldy old nustshells. well, at least i had a piece of sweet cake to curb my hunger.
this particular piece of cake looked exactly like you see in old 1930's magazines. a paper-thin biscuit base, that in this case actually tasted like paper, crowned with a thick white and wobbly foamy bit in the middle and what looked like a thin strip of bile-green transparent jelly on top. it tasted of nothing, only sickly sweet, very sweet. i felt the enamel on my teeth dissolving with each bite.
maybe i would have better luck elsewhere?
what wishful thinking one has when starving hungry.
after a short stroll down the main boulevard, i eventually sat at a small open air cafe which was serving ices and i ordered a mr whippy machine ice cream.
i was served a bowl of slushy vanilla ice with a paper wafer.
as i was eating it, i soaked in the city's unique atmosphere. literally.
bucharest was radically different from anywhere i had previously been.
i watched two moustachioed policemen sauntering nearby with large gruesome machine guns hanging off their shoulders. one of them kicked a very dead rat into the gutter. i shuddered. their shabby ill fitting blue uniforms had me wondering if anyone actually had clothes that fit in romania.
hoards of hungry looking peasant people scurried about their daily business (looking for food maybe?).
a loud and grimy gas propelled trollybus passed by, crammed completely full with people. if i didn't know better, i would have thought they were desperately fleeing from something.
the smell of two stroke contaminated the air. that was a sure sign you were in a socialist country, as that was the smell of communism. although their cars looked slightly more like actual vehicles, than the pathetic little trabants of east germany. their version of a car was the romanian dacia. it was a complete rip-off of a renault, only it was also made from hardboard.
returning to my rapidly melting ice, i noticed a sprinkling of tiny black speckles now covering it, which i hadn't seen before.
what is that? i pondered. i scrutinised the particles.
it was soot!
i glanced skyward and watched gob-smacked as this filth finely floated down from the heavens like snowflakes.
and it was everywhere...
i made a decision to call the romanian girl i had met on the train and took her addres out from its special secret hiding place. we arranged to meet that evening at a small open air wine bar in the main park.
she had told her parents she was bringing a englishman over and although they were very anxious, they were very hospitable. on our way to her flat, she explained that once there, we would have to be careful and very quiet to make sure no one saw me.
her awareness hightened my excitement. we slowly made our way over town on foot and as we did so she gave me a run-down on bucharests recent history, how the earthquake in the mid 70s had killed her gradfathers goldfish and ruined his home and that nicolai ceaucescu had decided to build his grand „peoples“ palace on the only part of town unaffected by the quake.
in almost total darkness we arrived upon rows upon rows of grim looking appartment blocks, glinting in the moonlight. these shoddy and sad flats looked like they were in the process of being built (with any old materials and slapped together with cheap concrete). she lived in apt 68, house 172 in bloc 16, scara C, sektor 5 of the city. naturally, the lift didnt work and by the smell it looked like it was currently being used as a toilet.
we silently tip-toed up the hundreds of stairs and into the flat.
the parents gestulating their happy welcome with mute open mouths, as if struck dumb.
in hushed tones, she told me that we would have to be careful and as only three people lived there, and that would mean that one person would have to be sitting down at all times, just incase the neighbours became aware that there were footsteps of more than three people in the rooms above. it seemed a very bizarre situation.
as i made my way back to my hotel i reflected on the topsy turvy world they lived in comparison to mine. the parents told me that as academics they had a very hard life. her father was a doctor and her mother a techer and their pay was very low compared to miners or steel workers.
after exploring the city for a few days, i decided to take a trip to constanza (to watch the warsaw pact fleet on manoevers on the black sea).
after my experiences in bucharest, the thought of catching the overnight train to constanza on the black sea coast, was very exciting.
the difficulty in actually getting a train ticket for it however, was not.
i had to go to the station information to find out the time of the train and where to get my ticket. before me was a large uncontrolled crowd of people all fighting to get travel details from a very very big and proud looking woman, wearing a 60's fashionable beehive hairstyle and dangly gold earrings. she was perched on a small wooden chair on top of a table, dishing out one syllable answers to frustrated passanger‘s questions.
this was the passanger "information". she reminded me of a roman emperor.
i had no option but to join the massess. eventually, i found myself standing before this huge mountain of a woman. she looked at me and curtly blared "da!?" at me.
sheepishly and perhaps a little too optimistically, i enquired if she spoke english.
for a brief moment, she stared at me shocked, then as if i was a figment of her imagination, she closed her eyes and moved her gaze away to ask the next person standing beside me for his question. i was see-through.
i was going to go nowhere like this.
behind me was a scruffy looking man with shattered hair and three day growth and dressed in a spoilt off-white suit. he tapped me on the shoulder and questioned "iiinglish?" i eagerly said yes! and he assuredly gestured that he would ask her for me. in very broken english he asked what did i want to know? i thankfully told him and he pushed himself past me up to the front of the queue and confronted the woman. a brief exchange of nods and words and then off he moved over, as fast as possible - away from me.
uncertain of what to do next, i just stood there. she took pity and after a lots of sign language and bits of paper, i was basically told that the main ticket office didn't supply tickets for domestic trains and that i would have to go to the domestic ticket counter for my ticket to constanza. she waved her hand in a "over there" direction and off i went.
the domestic ticket office was concealed somewhere deep within bucharest central station.
to get to it, i had to step over dozens of reeking peasants all lying on the floor of the colossal main waiting room, as all the chairs were taken up with either fat gypsy looking women in layers of dresses, gold teeth and head scarf's, clutching onto grimy sleeping babies, or occupied by close to death old men in ill-fitting suits that looked like they dated back to the first world war.
the glare of uncomfortably bright neon lights guided me to the ticket office.
the place was packed with scores of bored and frustrated people sitting and standing around. all looked as if they had been there for days. the heat and smell of sweat was unbearable.
in one corner, a group of very tall, drunk romanian sailors slugged on cheap vodka while harassing the people standing nearby with their knives.
i watched them fascinated for a brief moment, then avoided my gaze.
i walked up to the counter and was fascinated to see behind the glass counter-partition, a pretty waif of a girl in a blue nylon overall, sitting counting piles of grubby romanian lei. her long fingers caressed each delicate banknote.
after flattening the creases out of a note that looked a thousand years old, she aligned each corner and laid her lei one on top of the other. she patiently did this until she had a large wad, then carefully tied a rubber band around it. not wanting to kill the job, she opened a drawer and lifted out another big pile. only 200 000 000 lei to go. this was going to take all night.
standing stoic right at the front of the queue, was a middle aged man dressed in what had once been a white suit. he balanced a big heavy ghetto-blaster on his shoulder. the cheap, loud tinny sound of disco classics (like ring my bell and ymca) echoed through the ticket room, providing the only entertainment for the waiting passengers. he had obviously been there since the dawn of time, waiting to buy his ticket to constanza, just like everyone else.
i turned and looked behind me. everyone seemed to be staring at me, but being romanian and totally superstitious, the minute i looked back, they all avoided my gaze. getting the hint, i silently returned to my place at the back of the queue to observe the scene before me.
at that moment, it was the worst place to wait in the world. there were no seats, no refreshments and no prediction of when the tickets would go on sale. i waited. to entertain myself i moved the weight from one foot to the other in time with the cheap sounding d.i.s.c.o music. the rest of the crowd just stood and stared oblivious and unaware to the sexy sounds of western night-club life.
suddenly, there was a nervous stir as the girl got up.
this is it! finally the ticket counter was open?
no. she only went to get another supply of elastic bands.
everyone was awake now though and talking.
one of the drunken sailors, pushed himself brutally through the crowd, by some auto-pilot he was directed straight towards me. as he came over, i knew escape was impossible, as behind me had accumulated a huge heaving crowd. he stopped before me and silently thrust his bottle of vodka in my face. i looked at it and then him. he was a very big lad with the IQ of a goldfish. "trink" he said smiling. i had no option. i decided capitulation was the best policy and drank a mouthful of this so-called vodka.
it tasted totally revolting, like paint remover. he laughed, happily patted me on the shoulder and then staggered off to the toilet, never to return.
we all waited and waited. i amused myself further by counting the dead flies and moths caught behind the neon lampshades. how did they manage to get in there? a group of suicide-moths hovered and intermingled with some flies, around the light, all jostling for the best incendiary death.
it was getting very hot and i was getting very thirsty. yet i knew i couldnt leave my slot and go and buy a drink otherwise i would be relagated to the back of the que.
eons passed.
the ticket girl slowly got up again, but this time no one moved.
she sauntered over to the far right corner counter and with precision timing, instantly whipped open the window and shouted in a high pitched squeely voice - "constanzaaaa!"
everyone seemed to move in one colossal mass. the poor guy who had been standing there forever with his ghetto-blaster had it removed from his clasping hands. as it moved over our heads and out the door, the man frantically tried his best to get it back, fighting and grabbing, but he was forced to make the decision of either getting a ticket for the train or going after his blaster and he wanted both. poor man.
as his blaster disappeared from view, i was manhandled, shoved and pushed and then suddenly, i found myself standing in front of this very pretty ticket girl. she smiled, gave me my ticket and fighting my way out, i made my way to the platform. i breathed a sigh of victorious relief. it now seemed to have all been worth it.
the train apparently began it's journey to constanza at bucharest central station and so i was certain i would get a seat and i was quite looking forward to a comfortable journey to the coast, but when the dirty, steaming train pulled in, i discovered it was already packed! packed with more drunken seamen.
i wandered down the train optimistically looking for a free seat. each compartment was full of drunk, stinking sailors, until i eventually came upon a darkened empty looking compartment.
i couldnt believe it.
what was the catch?
i walked in. i switched on the light. two, obviously very gay men, sat there looking uncomfortable. being gay was a criminal offence in ceaucescu's romania and i was quite surprised that they had managed to survive alone in the compartment for so long.
i was soon to discover why.
i had the pleasure of sitting next to what would normally have been considered the toilet, in a compartment with the windows nailed shut and the heater full-on (in the summer!).
as there was not enough time to shop, i still had taken nothing to drink with me, and there was nothing to buy at bucharest central anyway except for a sweet radioactive piss coloured drink (with a yellow taste) and as i dont drink such "lemonade" type beverages, i foolishly thought i would probably get at least a bottle of water on the train.
guess what, there were no catering services on the train.
so i thirsted throughout the entire trip. at one point, delirious with dehydration and boiling to death after being squashed against the heater, i lept up in a nightmare panic and frantically tried to force open the nailed-shut windows.
complete mental breakdown.
during the whole journey the train rocked and rolled. a delicate mixture of vomit and piss trickled in little wavettes to and fro past the door, as streams of staggering, pissed-up sailors attempted to navigate it and slide by to gain access to the disgusting vomit and shit-splattered toilet.
it was a gruelling five hour journey. i was very glad to get off that train.
after a short brisk walk to the coast, i found myself standing with a fabulous view of the black sea fleet, silhouetted against the spectacular morning sunrise. the fresh sea air purged my nostrils of the smells of the train.
it was magical.
i could see the ships going out to sea. i got out my camera and set it up to take an automated pic of me with the spectacular backdrop. then as i was eagerly taking a few 'holiday' pictures (as you do) suddenly, up from nowhere shot this very young romanian soldier with a fucking huge rifle with a glinting fixed bayonet!
i was so surprised to see him, i nearly shat myself!
he just appeared from nowhere, running, screaming and shouting at me with flame in his eyes. frozen, i stood still while he screamed and pointed to a small crappy little sign with a badly drawn picture of a camera with a red line through it. i scrutinised the enemy. this poor squaddie, had a dirty neck and a much used hand-me-down uniform. i stared at his primitive shaven cranium with its well worn grubby glen-garry cap perched on top, while watching his joined black bushy eyebrows dancing up and down, i thought to myself, christ, how do i get out of this? as he looked like a raving-neanderthal and he certainly wasn't going to understand me, whatever i said.
i made an attempt to explain to him, while making shaky hand-sign-language, that i had not actually taken any pictures yet (honest guv) and told him i wanted to take pictures ONLY of the beautiful sunrise and definitely not the ships (ships? what ships?).
he looked at me, curious and contemplating... tilting his head, like dogs do. i thought he's probably going to take my camera now too.
his decision seemed to take forever. i was getting very worried. i literally had visions of being carted off to siberia.
luckily for me, he was either very nice or incredibly dim or both, as the stupid sod let me go (his opportunity of being promoted to a 5 star general evaporated with his frustrated hand-gesture for me to fuck off)
not waiting a moment, i ran off sharpish up the road and jumped on to the next bus i saw coming, to get as far away from the scene as possible.
foolishly, i had no bus ticket.
about two stops down the road, the ticket controllers got on. one, a dead thin bloke dressed in a shabby and yet immensely popular ill fitting john-travolta (Ã la saturday night fever) suit and a small fat woman in a grey bogart-raincoat, who's appearance looked like a sack of potatoes tied in the middle. also an obvious fashion victim, she too wore a huge towering beehive hairstyle and bright red lipstick that went up in caricature geisha style 'humps' under her nose.
well, although i thought her appearance was funny, she was really not amused at my pathetic pleas of having no ticket.
my day was gradually getting worse.
i actually had about the equivalent of 50 euro-cents in romanian lei in my pocket, a return train ticket back to bucharest and over 1000 undeclared deutschmarks secretly hidden in my belt (it looked like a normal belt, but it had a special concealed compartment area for hiding - money).
she was obviously telling me that i had to pay 300 000 lei fine (about 30dm) or go to prison.
i tried to explain i didnt actually have it. emphasising to her by gesturing with bird-like hand movements, that i was actually leaving romania right at that very moment and flying back to england! - as i had spent, all my money!
she was having none of it.
she made everyone get off the bus, except me, a bloke who obviously had no life, let alone no money and two schoolgirls, who sat there crying their eyes out.
as the gas-driven bus slowly wound itself around the bumpy streets, she stared at me solid and unremitting, constantly repeating 300 000 lei! 300 00 lei! while making gestures resembling being handcuffed.
my mind was racing, we were getting nearer the police station by the minute, the girls were screaming, the peasant sleeping. i was thinking of the horrors of being buggered by burly, sweating unshaven romanian policemen with gold teeth and bad breath, after they just discovered the 2000 dm hidden in my belt.
then a wave of the dread at the thought of the more serious consequences of some bright spark posing the question, what is a brit doing in constanza at 7am anyway? - especially on the day of these important military manoeuvres?
i thought i was doomed to my teeth falling out in a squalid romanian prison. oh fuck!
as the bus finally pulled up in front of the police station, the woman looked at me square in the eye.
by now i was resigned to my fate.
i guess that probably saved me.
control-woman cocked her head in a 'ok, get off' movement.
i couldnt believe it. i was free to go, free!! free!!! free!!!!!
i couldn't belive my luck. i gave her a big hug and jumped off the bus. leaving the screaming schoolgirls and the poor peasant to their fate.
then i ran across the road and jumped on to the next bus coming in the opposite direction. yep! i still had no ticket. but i thought, if the controllers are on THE bus that i have just got off, then they are hardly likely to be getting on this one...
i got off the bus at the next stop and went in search of breakfast ...
After the devastating death of Ian Curtis, I was very upset and actually felt a bit isolated, being so far away in Germany and quite uncertain as to the future of Factory and Joy Division. Around this time, I started to become interested in live sound engineering and other aspects of the music industry. When Rob told me that the band had finally chosen a new name, "New Order", it was more like an influx of new life. Although, after the release of 'Ceremony' and 'Movement', I believed it was really time for the band to take their album title literally. So, I started to send "inspirational" cassette-tapes to Bernard, featuring the kind of music that I was listening to at that time, in the secret hope of inspiring him with other kinds of music - new, electronically driven dance-club music, as I already knew he was an electronic music fan, Bernard even built his own synthesiser, which he played on Warsaw's and Joy Divisions earliest recordings (and which I actually still have). I sent him mix-tapes featuring obscure film music by people like Ennio Morricone and new electronic underground disco, by producers like Patrick Cowley or Giorgio Moroeder and with the release of 'Everything's Gone Green' and 'Mesh', I could see that my subliminal influence was finally beginning to work. Years later, I was to discover that I had greatly influenced the composition of 'Blue Monday' too, after Bernard 'confessed' this fact to John Savage for the liner notes to a New Order CD box set.
Meanwhile, I had become quite involved in the (West)Berlin new wave punk scene too, and became friends with Gudrun Gut, Beate Bartel and Bettina Koester of the impressive Mania-D, or Michael Schaeumer and Alexander Hacke (Borsig) of P1/E, drummer Thomas Wydler or Elisabeth Recker of Monogam Records. Eventually on 31st December 1980 I was asked to play a spontaneous gig together with Thomas Wydler and Human League's Adrian Wright, who was spending new year in Berlin, at the last night of the legendary Exxcess punk rock club (we played a mix of James Bond themes and swearing).
It mustn't have been all that bad though, for a few months later, I was again asked to perform at the SO36 for "The Concert for the re-unification of Germany" on 17th June 1981. I called my ex-pat friend Alistair Gray and asked him if he could sing (his crooned reply was a brief bathtub rendition of "strangers in the night") I said "yeah, that's great, we have a gig next week!" We wrote three tunes in my little flat on my acoustic guitar (while Alistair had to learn to play bass at the same time) and on the afternoon of the gig, we wrote the song lyrics in the pub across the road from the club, while we were waiting for our soundcheck. I had borrowed a lo-tech MFB drum-machine for the rhythm/percussion and when we finally hit the stage, the lights went up and my guitar immediately went out of tune and blinded, I accidentally turned on the wrong drum pattern for our first song "Radio War". Alistair was also having trouble. Not recognising the drum sequence, he also had no idea where we were in the song. Also as the lyrics had been written on both sides of the piece of paper in pencil and therefore due to the brightness of the intense stage lights, the reverse of the page could also be seen, causing him even more confusion. He couldn't read anything! and had to stoop to read his text, which resulted in sounding like the first word of each line was missed off. For us the gig was a complete shambles. However, this unique accidental rendition of "radio war" can be heard on the infamous album "Berlin 17 Juni 1981". Local journalist Andre Schwerdt was nonetheless impressed with our "avant-garde" set and gave us a favourable review and as he didn't know our names, he simply called us 'the two unknown Englishmen'. the name stuck and from then on, we were known as "Die Unbekannten" (The Unknown) http://www.myspace.com/dieunbekannten. The name stuck and from then on, we were known as "Die Unbekannten" (The Unknown)
As "Die Unbekannten" we performed all around Europe, mostly together with Gudrun and Bettina's newly formed all-girl five piece "Malaria!" (as I had become their sound engineer and "co-manager" together with Jochen Hulder).
Through my many previous trips to Prague, I had meanwhile befriended some heavy political dissidents (David Koplelent, Jachym Topol and Sasha Vondra) and so "Die Unbekannten" were invited to play at a very very secret gig, deep in communist Czechoslovakia, at a hidden location in Lukov near Zlany. It was very exciting. The venue looked more like The Alamo, complete with a cannon! We all got very very drunk and biscuitized on my "Reeder's Digestive's". Sometime later, I arranged a gig in the Karl-Marx University, in Budapest together with "Die Toten Hosen" to a crazy crowd of craving commie kids. Personally, these 'eastie' gigs were some of the most memorable (well, what I can actually remember of them) and were an enlightening and satisfying experience.
Once, during a tour of Benelux with Malaria!, Die Haut and The Birthday Party, I managed to convince Nick Cave that it would be a great idea for him to come and live in Berlin for a while. I thought he would like it. If nothing else, you could buy cheap duty-free booze and cigarettes from the east German run "Intershop" (which was a specially created duty free shop, situated on the platform of the main U and S-Bahn intersections to west Berlin, at friedrichstrasse station in east Berlin - it basically incited westerners to smuggle cigs and alc) and I'm sure this appeared a highly attractive prospect to Nick at that time - it certainly wasn't his only reason to live in Berlin though!). Well, Nick actually decided he'd do it too, and one day, he arrived on my doorstep and stayed in my pokey little flat in Kreuzberg for quite a while, until his girlfriend Anita Lane eventually turned up and then my place became too crowded for the three of us, and so he moved out to go and live in the larger Dresdener Strasse with Die Haut's bass guitarist, Christoph Dreyer.
On our "Unbekannten" records, my friend Thomas Wydler also joined us on drums and percussion and on the odd occasion for a few live performances too, but mainly for live gigs and records, we used a drum machine.
As a member of the popular synthi-pop band, The Human League, my friend Adrian Wright had been given a prototype Roland 606 drum computer to test, which he then gave it to us to try out for him. We had it only a few days then immediately went into the studio to record "Don't tell me stories" and "Perfect love" for Elisabeth Recker's Monogam record Label.
Also being friends with "Die Toten Hosen" (I mixed many of their concerts and was their tour sound engineer together with Faust and Elmar up until 1987). I also arranged with my East German punk friends, a very secret gig in the Erloeserkirche in Rummelsburg, a suburb of East Berlin. This Toten Hosen gig was disguised as a religious service (a so-called "blues-mass" which could be classed as something vaguely similar to a black spiritual church service, where they have rock music, prayers and singing). Only this was the disguise for a forbidden punk concert.
I must add, in communist East Germany, it was virtually impossible to get electric instruments, you had to pass a special test to obtain the permit to even own an electric guitar, and then pass another test to see if you were musically proficient and then apply for a further permit to be able to play it in public! It was not easy to find all the equipment we needed.
Alistair and I successfully managed to "smuggle" the band over the heavily patrolled border into East Berlin in groups of three, so as not to attract attention and using the borrowed instruments, "Die Hosen" performed their exclusive gig, to a hundred hand-picked friends. It was a very emotional experience for everyone and a momentous coup for us. We had all beaten the grim Stalinist system with our music! We had brought a bit of western freedom over to the East. It was apparently the first ever punk gig in East Berlin, with a band from the West. Years later in 1988, we were to repeat the feat again, also in a churchyard in the Pankow district, the gig this time, was disguised as a concert for the starving kids of Romania. Again, we invited a hundred people to this "secret" gig but as "Die Hosen" were by now much more popular, over two thousand kids turned up! (as well as the Stasi - the East German secret Police).
Around this time, I had decided to stop being Factory's Rep, as I was travelling with "Malaria!" and playing with "Die Unbekannten" and had other commitments and (ad)ventures I wanted to pursue.
During the 1980's one of Britains most popular and influential TV shows was "The Tube" hosted by Muriel Grey, Paula Yates and Jules Holland. Here many famous bands made their debut appearances, such as Frankie Goes To Hollywood and the likes.
The Tube planned to come to Berlin to make a "special" and being an Englishman and former Factory Records Rep with dubious contacts and an active participant in the Berlin music scene, I was asked to be their "Mr Fix-it" for the show.
The special was originally going to be co-hosted by Muriel Grey and mild-mannered NME writer, Chris Bohn and before we got started, Chris and I discussed what kind of portrayal of Berlin's current music scene we would like to show on this important programme, and we were very pleased to be able to convince The Tube that no traditionally commercial pop-artists would be featured (except to take the piss out of).
Although I played in "Die Unbekannten", I purposely opted to not include us in the programme, as I didn't think that would be right somehow.
Finding the talent, equipment and filming permits in West Berlin wasn't really such a hassle for me to organise (the East was another matter entirely). Contrary to popular opinion about the punk and new wave scene, everyone involved was very co-operative. I even approached my friends at the US and British military and the appropriate passes were granted for us to film at such impressive locations as on the Glienicke Bruecke (where they would occasionally exchange spies) and at dodgy places around the wall (of course, they would also provide us with "protection").
The day before the Tube crew came over, I was told that Chris Bohn sadly couldn't appear in the programme after all, as he had to go to China(!) and Chris had suggested that I could do the co-hosting instead (thanks Chris!). I was shocked! I thought I had enough to do already without having now to appear on the bloody programme.
Not wanting to disappoint everyone and flake out on this important job (especially after all the hard work I had put in) I decided I would do it, and not knowing what this all really meant, I jumped in and stood like wood, babbling in front of the camera, completely stoned after a long party night in Risiko and other trendy bars, the night before.
As Alistair and I became more proficient, our musical style was also changing too. Spending almost every weekend in "The Metropol" disco at Nollerndorfplatz, we were influenced greatly by the emerging "gay-disco" sound (later to become known as Hi-NRG) and always being fans of electronic 'disco' music, "Die Unbekannten" were moving more in that direction. To reinvent ourselves, we eventually decided we had to reform and regroup.
We gained two new members, Leo Walter on drums and percussion and Helmut Wittler on bass and synths (formally from "Soif de la vie") and for a European tour with New Order in 1984, we decided to change our band name to "Shark Vegas".
The tour was very successful for us. After our Munich gig, we went back to the Intercontinental Hotel and discovered there was a private Nena/Udo Lindenburg party in full swing in the swimming pool area. By chance, Nena's keyboarder Uwe Fahrenkorg-Petersen met us in the lift and after a few brief introductions, kindly invited us to their pool-party. How nice.
A huge, colourful buffet was on display and all the new wavey dressed music biz guests were obviously enjoying themselves, chatting and drinking. Stiff looking waiters served chilled beer, wine and sekt and as we drank, we sauntered aimlessly around looking for cute girls to chat-up.
After a while, the party was beginning to get a bit boring. Even though we are all in the collective music industry, the guests seemed to us like an alien life form, at least we all felt we were definitely from another musical universe.
So as to liven things up a little, as per usual while on tour with these lads, it was (N/O's manager) Rob Gretton's custom to bet someone to undertake some form of "dare" for a substantial sum of cash.
In this particular instance, Rob randomly selected a well dressed business-suited victim, then casually said to Andy (the lighting engineer) that he would give him 100 pounds if he pushed "that bloke" into the swimming pool. We were giggling. Hooky was edging Andy on. Andy thought for a brief moment, quizzed Rob with a curt "hundred quid?", winked, then strolled over and in an instant, shoved the poor man into the swimming pool!
Oh no! We had a sinister foreboding that this could end in disaster, or worse if Andy undertook his mission and dry comments were made about sleeping on the street if Andy was actually successful.
As the poor man crashed into the pool, a huge cheer went up, there was a brief scuffle, a few punches, more shouts and then someone else was propelled into the waters. However, in his attempt to halt his fall this other man snatched at the corner of a tablecloth and part of the buffet went in the pool with him. More cheers, more people and more of the buffet ended up in the pool. People were screaming and jumping in. Bits of the buffet were bobbing about the pool and utilising the total confusion as cover, Andy hurried over to Rob and sharply demanded "give me my fuckin' hundred quid, quick!"
At this point, not wanting to face the consequences of collaboration, we all decided it might be better for us to leave. We scampered as fast as possible for our rooms.
Much later that night, we were woken by a rhythmic thudding on the wall. We heard Andy (who's room was next to ours) heavily shagging his hundred quids worth (as he himself put it) she was like "a hodd-carrier with tits"
The next day at breakfast, Andy appeared with a broad smile and a 'mornin' (with his freshly showered hair tied back in disguise).
We all sat around stunned when the waiter (an obvious N/O fan) engaging in polite conversation said to us "ahh you should have been at the Nena party last night - someone threw the hotel manager into the swimming pool!"
Under Shark Vegas, we released one single "You Hurt Me" on Totenkopf Records and simultaneously a different version on Factory (FAC111). This single was produced by Bernard Sumner and Donald Johnson (the gory details of this session I've put on the Shark Vegas myspace page http://www.myspace/sharkvegas). We also had one track featured on the Factory U.S. compilation "Young Popular & Sexy" (FAC US 17) for our first (and last) U.S appearance in the "Danceteria" in 1985. It was also during this tour of NYC that we had the pleasure of going to the legendary Paradise Garage club, to hear Larry Levan's amazing djing. That evening undoubtedly changed my life.
Shortly after that, we won the Berlin Senats Rock Competition and our future looked promising.
However, after a series of unfortunate events, Alistair decided to return to the UK and I carried on working alone with Leo, under our new project name of "Alien Nation". We released 3 singles under this name.
Then, in 1989, I was asked by East Berlin 'indie' band "Die Vision" if I would produce their album in the state-owned AMIGA recording studios in the Brunnenstrasse, in East Berlin. I have discovered in the meantime, that I am the only Englishman to have ever had this special privilege.
I started recording with "Die Vision" in the summer of '89 and was told the recording would take about six weeks, but as the studio engineers worked in commie-style shifts, the recording actually took months and we eventually stopped recording the album (which we named "Torture") on November 2nd 1989, after which, I then embarked on a well earned holiday, together with my English friends Dave Rimmer, Trevor Wilson and John Stokes, on a trip eastwards to Ceaucescus Romania, to visit "Dracula's Castle" in Brasov, via Poland, Czechoslovakia and Hungary.
We left Berlin in the gloomy night of the 8th November. Unknown to us, the Berlin Wall was to come down the following night of the 9th November and for most of our trip, we had absolutely no idea this world shattering event had even happened, as no one told us! Dave Rimmer wrote about our exploits on this crazy trip, in his book "Once Upon A Time In The East".
After experiencing the collapse of communism literally first hand, we found upon our return to Berlin, that the city had completely changed. It was no longer the same. There was an incredible energy and excitement. A new found enthusiasm.
Everywhere new party locations were springing up in derelict buildings. Although it had been around for a few years, it seemed that Techno was finally born!
Throughout 1990, using my contacts at the now ex-AMIGA, I tried my best to convince their head of A&R that this was their chance to make real credible club-music (techno music) with fresh and enthusiastic eastie kids, but they hadn't a clue what even a 12inch single was (the only 12" available was actually the Soviet National Anthem! and no one wanted that in their house) and so they really had no idea what I was talking about.
Meanwhile, I had also taken on another commitment. I was asked to "star" in Joerg Buttgereits (highly controversial) film "Nekromantik 2"...
In November 1990, the ex-AMIGA (now renamed "ZONG") suggested that as I knew more about clubbing, I should start my own record label and offered me the use of all their facilities. My label was officially founded in December 1990 and I called it, "MFS (Masterminded For Success)" using the initials of the hated Stasi - East German secret police - to install a new kind of fear and intrigue.
As for the musical style of my label, I wanted to make a more hypnotic, melodious and trance-inducing form of techno music, as a counter balance to the cold, discordant sound of techno (or as it was known here in Germany as tekno, tekkno and tekkkno, the amount of k's determining the hardness of the sound) and so I first experimented with "Alien Nation" and a selection of early MFS artists, such as Gabi Delgado's & Saba Komossa's "Two German Latinos" or Paul browse and Johnny Klimek's project "Effective Force".
My idea of creating "hypno-trance" manifested itself further with the addition of "Neutron 9000" and Mijk van Dijk's "Microglobe" and "Mindgear" projects to the label and their more melodic hypnotic techno sound was begining to be simply known as "trance".
Frontpage magazine editor Juergen Laarman also informed me that our mutual friend, Cosmic Baby had told him that he was also looking for a new label too and after a brief meeting with Cosmic and a pleasant discussion about musical direction, he also joined MFS in 1991 and I released these first MFS singles under the banner "MFS Trance Dance".
Although Cosmic was a very proficient musician, he needed a helping hand to make truly dj compatible tracks. After performing at a Dubmission party, he was impressed by a young unknown dj who played before him. He told me that he thought he had found someone who might be right. So I invited and met this young dj the following Monday. That young dj was Paul van Dyk.
Paul seemed pleasant enough and I told Cosmic to simply give it a shot. The result was the first "The Visions of Shiva" single - Perfect Day.
As the label started to gain its own "trance" profile, more and more artists such as Humate were added to the label. Once I had enough trance releases, I asked Cosmic Baby and Mijk van Dijk if they would like to remix each track to make a trance compilation album that would be the first and set a standard for all others to follow. This album became the now legendary "Tranceformed from Beyond", it was the first real trance compilation album.
After the release of their second and final "The Visions of Shiva single" Paul and Cosmic decided to go their own separate ways. Cosmic released his brilliant debut album "Stellar Supreme" and a series of superb singles for MFS and Paul concentrated on remix work and his first mix compilation for MFS "X-Mix 1 - The MFS Trip".The MFS Trip".
Paul wanted this mix album to be his best work to date. He borrowed a 4 track reel-to-reel tape deck and spent the whole day recording the mix and making over-dubs, effects etc. The Master-Tape was due to be delivered at 10pm that night for use on the x-mix 1 video soundtrack. I arrived at Paul's flat, just as he was mixing in the last track. He was very excited and really happy with his work. Once the outro was completed, Paul hit the rewind button so that I could hear the entire piece and we sat down to relax. The tape deck smoothly started to gain speed and rewind the tape, building up to a whirlwind speed. Then after about a minute, there was a malfunction and the tape deck suddenly started spinning out of control, it spewed the tape out, stretching it and mashing it all up, as the tape wound itself around the reels, eventually snapping it, all before Paul managed to leap up and stop the machine in a panic! He was devastated. I was stunned. For a moment that seemed like an age, we stood in silence not knowing what to do next. The tape was ruined and obviously beyond repair. Paul only had about an hour to go before the courier arrived to collect the master.
So without a moment to lose, I encouraged him to start again on the mix. I salvaged what I could of the reel and he set to work basically trying to reconstruct his mix from memory. He had to start from the beginning. I helped him with some of the effects and track selection and the results can be heard on the album "X-Mix 1 - The MFS Trip". This mix is therefore absolutely live, with no overdubs or edits, as he finished it only moments before the courier arrived to collect it.
After almost 8 dedicated years of loyal hard work, belief, love and investment in getting Paul to a point whereby he was ready to finally be able to fulfil his dream and break it big-time, and after all the hard work, the sleepless nights, the many gigs and tours together with Paul, he suddenly left MFS. No thanks, nothing. He has meanwhile gone on to become the superstar dj I had always believed he could and would become.
Most people are totally unaware that on MFS I also released many incredible (and meanwhile equally legendary) singles and albums, such as Denki Groove's "Niji", Humate's "Love Stimulation", Secret Knowledge "Sugar Daddy" or the excellent albums by Mijk van Dijk "Afeuropamericiasiaustralica" or Dr Motte's timeless 030 "Ki" album, Marco Zaffarano's Minimalism album, as well as the "European" compilation and "Assorted" series.
In 1999, I decided to form a new record label, "FLESH" together with my friend, Hungarian dj/producer, Corvin Dalek.
After ten years of Trance, I felt I needed a change of sound. We wanted to create a new identity especially for our own distinct techno derivative of saucy sounding club music, that we had decided to call "Wet&Hard". This amusing and controversial name describes the sound of music perfectly. The idea was to create a musical style that could be developed in any way we chose, one with no-holes-barred and one that would hopefully take us beyond the remnants of tedious TV Trance and traditional Techno. We also wanted to bring back some fun and sexuality into dance music too, as we found the music of the late 90s, was starting to be too much of the same, bland and b
