SECURITY by THE SAINTS. Story by Robert Lastdrager.
I realised the lounge room had become quiet, like a courtroom waiting for a verdict. As the questions continued the crowd in the room began to swell.
I realised the lounge room had become quiet, like a courtroom waiting for a verdict. As the questions continued the crowd in the room began to swell.
It was a time of riding on a barrel of a song and being saved by a fisherman called Friedrich Nietzsche and his novel Thus Spoke Zarathustra.
Mary Pomfret writes a lyrical response to the song Fairytale Of New York in the wake of the death of Shane McGowan.
It was one of the few gigs I have ever played where all the bands on the bill supported each other with real verve during each of the performances.
As the night wore on, we took turns sharing our dreams of a world free from authority and limitations.
My initial impression of meeting Pete: older than me by a few years, he had a lean and hungry look and the physique of a whippet. His hair was cropped to a quarter of an inch, opposing the excessive locks of my brother and I, and, most dramatically, he wore an oversized metal safety pin through his ear.
My muso son Dan texted me. He said that a friend of a friend of a friend is a daughter of a TISM band member.
Punkās rising tide lifted a lot of boats, not all of them worthy but once all the Pistols marketing hoo-ha had drained back out we were, as I now heard, left with some gems. XTC, The Jam, Elvis Costello and The Clash were all great but no one, as I discovered, was quite like Ian Drury.
...We werenāt ones for clichĆ©/Unless performed ironically./Weeks drift by,/The comfort of familiar phrases,/Of gestures and faces...
Itās a classic punk song; raw, revelatory and raging. The Guardian claims itās āone of the best singles ever made by anyone, anywhere, anytimeā.