Sunday, September 26, 2004


Last week, I travelled over to Stoke Newington to meet John Eden. Was a most unholy night, the black sky streaked with spectres (or possibly rogue Tesco bags). After knocking back a few sigils, we ended up querying why people treat Wire as some dead intellectual 'punk' band when their lyrics aren't particularly more intelligent than, say , Sham 69's or Slaughter and the Dogs'. It's a mystery how drivel like "No bush but trees thicken /which now, rooster or chicken" and "Now you ain't got a number / you just want to rhumba / and there ain't no way / you're gonna go under" is held up as 'challenging' and arty when it's patently just culled from the 'stick anything in as long as it rhymes' sixth form canteen of lyricism.

It's certainly not a patch on THIN LIZZY's lyrics. Sadly, Phil Lynott's post-corpse cred seems to have stalled at merely being the son-in-law of Leslie Crowther who did a groovy version of Whiskey In The Jar and that old chestnut The Boys Are BAck in Town. However, Lynott, a monster-cocked, underclass mongrel, harder than a bulldozer driven by a Pit Bull with a hornet up its arse, came up with some lyrical belters that'd send those smug, sneering Wire dolts back to art school with their bushy tails between their legs. Check this shit out

"Down at the juke joint, me and the boys were stompin'
Bippin' and boppin' and telling a dirty joke or two
In walks this chick and I knew she was up to somethin'
So I kissed her right there, out of the blue
I said, hey babe, meet me, I'm a tough guy
Got my cycle (NB - pronounced 'sickel') outside, wanna ride?
She just looked at me and rolled her big eyes
And said, 'Ooh, I'd do anything for you
Cos you're a rocker!'
That's right! I'm a rocker!"

Apart from actually sounding like he'd had sex with someone - a factor, er, missing from Wire's corny Chairs Missing - Lynott was preaching Dublin-style black militancy as far back as in 1972. On the incendiary Black Boys On The Corner , he was declaring "I'm a little black boy, and I don't know my proper place / I'm a little black boy, I'll take on anybody, any race". And while Wire and their ilk were using rhyming dictionaries to cook up their codswallop, they never scaled the heights of Lynott's completely unselfconscious jive, which threw up such improbable classics as

"I like to play at poker - joker
I like to back a race - ace! "

Also worth a spin is the '76 anthem Jailbreak, which concludes

"Searchlight on my trail
Tonight's the night all systems fail
Hey you! Good looking female
.....C'mere! "

Anyway, I can't reveal anything else me and John talked about, as it's secret. So, instead, why not check out Kid Shirt where's there some great recollections of Yeovil's old acid house / new beat scenes, including a hilarious bit about a self-destructing flat party.

(NOTE - I've since changed my mind, and think 'Chairs Missing' is 'alright')
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