Have you ever had to lie about liking a band to avoid getting beaten up? When I talked about this to a pal, he frowned and said ‘of course not.’ It was then that I realised that I went to rough school and grew up in a rough place, because to me, this was the stuff of everyday life. In fact, avoiding getting a kicking more generally was a daily achievement.
Yet, despite this, I opted to look like someone who was easy to pick on. Long hair, knackered jeans, rugby shirt and desert boots. Maybe an ex-army jacket. I’m sure you remember what it was like being a mid-70s kid. Basically, my aim was to look like a cross between Meddle period Dave Gilmour and Country Joe McDonald at Woodstock. Yeah, ‘What’s that spell?’
It was a fact of life at the time that looking like this could and sometimes would get you beaten up by smoothies in stack heels and star jumpers (remember them?) These wouldn’t be playful skirmishes, but put-you-in-hospital kickings. Remember when your parents said to stand up to bullies? Bad idea. One lad that did try to fight back was set on by half a dozen thugs and their elder brothers who put him in hospital with all sorts of broken things. You just didn’t mess with these people, we all knew it.
You might think being a ‘rock lad’ heavy riffs might protect you in some way, but no, it angered them more for reasons I never knew why, but clearly understood was the case. I think we were seen as soft or weak or something, which was not the case for many, though it was for me, whose principle defence mechanism was making a clown of myself and the ability to run very fast.
So, me and Russell were going about our business, probably discussing our favourite Mountain album, on Stockton High Street one morning in the summer holidays when we were approached by four potential assailants who didn’t appreciate Dave Gilmour or Country Joe, but did like Peter Frampton and Frampton Comes Alive. Now we thought it was all a bit too lacking in bludgeon riffola for us, though I did like the main bit of Do You Feel Like I Do? There was a Frampton special on TV and for some reason they were looking forward to this and possibly because we were two of ‘the rock lads’ they seemed to want confirmation of their taste by we experts. At least that’s what we told ourselves, so full of ourselves were we.
Now, I was a very good liar. An art form developed to have a sometimes illegal lifestyle. So naturally we confirmed how much we liked Frampton (especially on Rockin’ The Fillmore by Humble Pie - though we didn’t say that, knowledge was weakness to these types.) And they became weirdly human. Chatting away like non-psychotics.
Pleased with our mutual enthusiasm, they moved off and we got away without a kicking, which was surely coming our way otherwise. I always think about that day whenever I hear the record. But football-style tribalism was everywhere, and our allegiances were all too obvious, so we had to perfect lying to avoid violence all the time. By and large it worked, though once it didn’t and I was slapped around and had to deploy my high speed running to get away. (100m in 11 seconds when I was 15) Another reason to wear baseball boots.
The whole culture and environment seems a long time ago now. A different era. That period from 1976 to 1981 was full of such paranoia and conflict between cultural tribes but by 1983 seemed to have disappeared and I don’t think that was just my experience, it was widespread. By the time I was listening to ‘widdly widdly’ bands in my mid-20s and wearing an acid yellow and black wide shouldered jacket and very tight and very hot pleather pants, it definitely didn’t exist. But more of that embarrassing period on another day.
Have you ever had to lie about liking a band?
