Guest Essay (Chairman Ralph): RIP: The Specials' Terry Hall, Appreciated (1959-2022)

 

<"Bernie Rhodes knows, don't AH-gue!"
Neville Staple and his prop machine gun,

seconds before kicking off "Gangsters"
on "Saturday Night Live," April 19, 1980:
YouTube screen capture>

<The Specials: "Saturday Night Live," April 19, 1980,

mine their signature groove during "Gangsters":

L-R: Roddy Radiation (nee Byers), 

Horace Panter, Neville Staple, Terry Hall, 

John Bradbury (on drum riser, obscured), 

Lynval Golding, Jerry Dammers (at keyboard, out of shot):
YouTube screen capture>

 "I grew up in an environment where you didn't really know where you were from. Coventry was built on immigrants because it was an industrial city looking for cheap labor. I don't think it's an accident that a group like the Specials came out of that." (Terry Hall, Dorset Echo, 12/11/15)

<i.>

How often do we witness a game-changing moment? For me, the Specials' performance on NBC-TV's "Saturday Night Live" (April 19, 1980) qualifies, because it marked my first real introduction to this ska-punk thing I'd been reading about in rags like CREEM, and Rolling Stone.

I was well into my deep dive through the worlds of punk, New Wave and garage, augmented by a healthy dose of dub, reggae, and whatever experimental sounds I could get my hands on. When I wasn't hitting the local record shops, I'd spend hours scouring the dollar eight track bins, looking for classics that I'd missed the first time around, or obscurities that seemed intriguing.

I'd stay up until one or two a.m. on Friday and Saturday nights, enduring the likes of Dr. Hook on "The Midnight Special," so I could catch the latest left field favorites that had struck my fancy. (They usually showed them last, or next to last, of course.)  As much as people dissed rock on TV back then, for me, it was a lifeline in an area where Foreigner and REO Speedwagon reigned supreme. 

With that feeling in mind, I eagerly awaited the Specials' American TV debut. Like millions of other American teenagers, what I knew about ska could fit on a postcard --  that it had preceded reggae in Jamaica, during the late '60s, and had a distinct socially conscious tinge, too. But what it sounded like, I had no clue, so I didn't know what to expect.

The mystery cleared up right away when co-vocalist Neville Staple stepped onstage shouting, "Bernie Rhodes knows, don't argue," the spoken intro that kicks off their classic debut single, "Gangsters" -- a backhanded tribute of sorts to the Clash's supremo, who'd briefly been their manager.

Then it was one, two, three, four, and bam! The screen exploded into a blur of arms, legs, and adrenaline, as the purple-suited lead singer, Terry Hall, bit down on lyrics that equated music biz skulduggery ("Why must you record my phone call? Are you planning a bootleg LP?") with society at large ("I dread to think, what the future'll be/When we're living in real gangster time!"). 

Seeing this seven-piece shimmying and sliding across SNL's postage-stamp sized stage, with barely a letup, nor any pause for breath, made for a riveting spectacle, to put it mildly. The sight repeated itself for the second song, "Too Much Too Young," a dour sideswipe at marriage and family life ("Ain't he cute? No he ain't/He's just another burden of the welfare state"). 

When the smoke cleared from my ears, and my brain, I had no doubt that I'd witnessed something special. Ah, so that's what they mean by this thing called ska, I thought. More, please! More, more, more of this short sharp shock! 

My father, with whom I'd been watching the show in the den, offered a characteristically different take. He looked up long enough from his evening paper, to declare, "They all jump around like wire dolls!"

That sealed the deal for me! I promptly went out and bought the classic debut album The Specials, recorded and released a scant six months before their TV appearance, in October 1979. It didn't leave my turntable for the next six months, I'm sure of that.

<Front Cover Art
Bootleg tape I bought in the UK:
Specials, The Lyceum, London, 12/2/79>

<ii.>

It's always tough when we lose the iconic favorites we've grown up with, but 2022 has felt harder than most. The past couple months alone have seen the passing of Jet Black (12/6), Tyrone Downie (11/5), Martin Duffy (12/18), Wilko Johnson (11/21), Keith Levene (11/11), Kim Simmonds (12/13), Nik Turner (11/10) -- names I'd long ago gotten used to seeing, on album and CD credits -- and now, Terry Hall,  who died at 63, on December 18, after a brief battle with pancreatic cancer.

Still, his passing felt especially shocking, as the reunited band -- now functioning as a quorum of Hall, Golding, and Panter -- were preparing to realize a long-held ambition of cutting a reggae-flavored album in the US. On the surface, anyway, nothing had seemed amiss. Yet behind the scenes, the singer's health was rapidly entering its final downward spiral, as Panter has since clarified, via a lengthy, emotional post on his Facebook timeline.

The moment feels eerily apropos, coming almost 20 years to the passing of the Clash's iconic frontman, Joe Strummer (12/21/02), who took the Specials out on tour with them after seeing one of their gigs, an act that cemented their status as a groundbreaking band.

Like Strummer, Hall essentially learned his trade in public, though getting there took some time, as he told The Big Issue in 2021. Having left school at 15, "I was just starting to get an angle on what I wanted to be and what I wanted to do," he said.

"There was a period where I was signing on and using my dole money to buy records. Young Americans by David Bowie was a defining record for me and I had the first inkling that maybe I wanted to be in a band. But I found it difficult to work out how you actually did it."

The "aha" moment, of course, came from catching the Clash and the Sex Pistols in action. After a brief stint with The Squad, Coventry's answer to punk rock's Year Zero, Hall joined The Specials. "They didn't seem like they could play very well either, so the thing was to form a band and work it out. That's what we did."

Above: The '79 bootleg cassette song list
Below: That iconic first LP back cover shot

                       

<iii.>

They certainly did. What hasn't already been said about The Specials, released only six months after Margaret Thatcher's election as Prime Minister? The All Music Guide states the case perfectly for me: "A perfect moment in time captured on vinyl forever." Then and now, few debut albums sound more fully realized. 

And few soundtracked the times to such chilling, yet ear-catching. effect. The mood shifts from defiant resolve ("It's Up To You": "Stand there like parked cars if you want to/We can't force you to enjoy this music/Take it or leave it, we'll carry on regardless"), to fear of confrontation (Byers' "Concrete Jungle": "I can't dress the way I want/I'm being chased by the National Front"), and pleas for tolerance ("Doesn't Make It All Right": "Just because you're a black boy/Just because you're a white/It doesn't mean you've got to hate him/It doesn't mean you've got to fight").

Humorous moments abound, too, particularly on the covers, like "Monkey Man," and originals like "Stupid Marriage," with Staple presiding as "Judge Roughneck" over a rude boy who's smashed up his ex-girlfriend's window. Now headed off to five months in prison, the jilted ex-boyfriend summarizes the anonymous couple's empty, pointless existence in one withering couplet:  "Naked woman, naked man, where did you get that nice suntan?" The song ends with a cymbal crash, as the good judge shouts: "TAKE HIM AWAY!" 

Yet beneath the good times, the whiffs of missed opportunities are never far away, as Hall laments in "Nite Klub" ("Is the place to be? What am I doing here, watching the girls go by, spending money on beer?"). Staple voices similar frustrations in "Dawning Of A New Era," after hitting it off with the girl from Area Three ("I climbed the stairs to the fourteenth floor/The key won't fit the door"), amid the threat of racially tinged violence that's never far ("Sticks and stones may break my bones/In Area Six, they threw bottles and bricks and kicks").

Throughout all these goings-on, Hall's voice serves as just much of an instrument as Dammers's bubbling organ, or the clipped, staccato bursts of guitar from Byers and Golding, or the sheer limber agility of the Bradbury-Panter rhythm section. One of my Facebook friends described him as "a singular singer," and that's definitely true here -- as his voice zigzags from outright contempt, to been-there, done-that indifference, to unbounded outrage at the turmoil of late '70s Britain that he and his bandmates were chronicling.

Though not a trained vocalist, Hall was already working out the signature persona that would define much of his career -- the weary observer who found the strength to endure, yet never stopped calling out the injustices around him. As Hall told The Big Issue: "Politics and music has always gone hand in hand with The Specials, especially on our first album [in 1979]. Even if we couldn’t change things, we could make people aware."

For me, seeing the band on "Saturday Night Live" was as close as I got to experiencing them live. Then again, I didn't feel put out, as The Specials offers more an apt snapshot of their unique onstage alchemy. As producer, Elvis Costello did a great job of capturing that vibe; even if you weren't there in person, you get the idea.

Though ska and reggae formed the bedrock of the band's sound, "if you listen to the first album, it's not all ska," as Panter himself pointed out, when I interviewed him in 1996. True enough. There's plenty of punk-infused energy to spare, of course, with subtle nods to funk, pop, soul, and even a gentle ballad ("You're Wondering Now," since retooled into an uptempo theme song for the Caribbean crime show, "Death In Paradise").  Whatever the band tried worked wonders, and really, who could resist such unbounded energy? The future seemed bright, indeed.

<Terry Hall and June Miles-Kingston, 

duetting on "Our Lips Are Sealed," 
The Regal Theater, Hitchin, 1983:
Terry Hall Fanpage (YouTube)>


"The Specials' ascendancy was swift. Two years, seven hit singles including two number ones, two hit albums, sell-out tours – the mass stage-invasions and audience energy only adding to the myth. They were everywhere; on Top of the Pops, Radio One, nightclubs and school discos. At the time, the nation could not have seemed more polarised: far right youth cults, violence on the streets, conservative government. Their demise, however, was rapid."
<thespecials.com>


<iv.>

If Terry Hall had never recorded anything else after The Specials, that album alone would have secured his legacy as a top level lyric writer and performer. As it turned out, his run was just beginning, after he, Lynval and Neville quit the Specials to form their next band, Fun Boy Three.

They left after scoring a #1 UK hit with the non-album single, "Ghost Town," a grim recounting of a nation literally coming apart at the seams ("This town is coming like a ghost town/Why must the youth fight against themselves? Government leaving the youth on the shelf"). As career cues go, Hall felt distinctly uncomfortable with the timing ("Why do we need that reward – to say, OK, the world’s shit, our country’s in a mess, do you like my gold record?")

The trio also felt unsatisfied with the second album, More Specials (1981). Having re-listened to it this week, I understand why, but that's another story for another time. Burned out from constant touring, Hall and his cohorts wanted to take the pedal off the metal, and strike out in a different direction.

They hit a home run on Waiting (1983), the second Fun Boy Three album, which is probably best known for the "other" version of the Go-Gos' breakthrough hit, "Our Lips Are Sealed. Guitarist Jane Wiiedlin co-wrote the track with Hall, with whom she shared a brief dalliance, during a seaside tour of Britain in 1980. I prefer the Fun Boy Three version, whose slower-burning, somber vibe brings out more of the song's emotional nuances, but to each their own.

But there's way more to the story. Waiting, Like The Specials, is a cross-section of social ills, only with glossier brush strokes. This is the decade, after all, where Thatcher infamously intoned, "There is no such thing as society." Taken on those terms, "The Things We Do" seems like the perfect soundtrack for Thatcher's endorsement of social ennui, as Hall croons over a cello- and piano-laden backdrop: "Do middle-aged women wear cameo brooches? Do young office lechers drive clapped out Porsches? Do salesgirls at Tescos wear boots number seven? Do you eat digestives at half past eleven?"

A verse later, he supplies the dispiriting punchline: "Is this what we are? Is there nothing inside? If you swallow your food, would you swallow your pride?" Not a pretty picture of humanity, is it? But the wealth of detail packed into each line makes the song feel believable, and we can all think of suitably American examples of the kind of people that Hall's describing. 

My other favorite tracks include "The More I See (The Less I Believe"), which shines a light on that complicated subject called Northern Ireland ("The barbed wire fences have replaced all the trees"), and "The Farm Yard Connection," a pointed, journalistic-style look at who really benefits from the drug trade ("And when the law squad come and took away our weed, bam goes another week's wages, bam goes our family's feed"), an issue lost to its clueless customers ("They talked about life but missed all the points, points, points, points, points, points, points").

You also get lighter moments, such as "We're Having All The Fun," a Ramones-style celebration of the ordinary, in which each vocalist takes a verse to describe what they like doing every day. It doesn't prepare you for "Well Fancy That," which closes the US version, and ranks among the most chilling songs about sex abuse ever written ("I feel asleep/Woke up with a shock/And your hands on me/I couldn't shout/I couldn't scream"), an experience that Hall endured at age 12, and one that prompted him to become an active mental health advocate later in life.

When the Specials reunited in 2008, the band set up stalls on behalf of Tonic For Mental Health, a charity that Hall actively aided and supported until his death. The results proved remarkable to see, as Tonic's founder and chief executive, Steph Langan, told The Daily Telegraph:

“At Specials gigs we would have older skinhead men crying and opening up, and that was quite incredible because we were able to reach people that we wouldn’t otherwise have been able to reach. A lot of fans of The Specials are men of a certain age who probably have never really opened up about their mental health before.”

<Terry Hall, The Colourfield:
Live On "The Tube,"
Newcastle, 3/3/84>

<v.>

In typical fashion, Hall didn't stay in one place too long. The Fun Boy Three officially closed up shop on July 7, 1983, after a show at the Ritz, in New York City. (Contrarians to the end, their setlist had expanded to include an unlikely take on the Doors' epic ode to patricide, "The End.") Hall's next band, The Colourfield, staked out a darker, more introspective, acoustic-based path, but his lyrical acuity remained sharp as ever.

For proof, look no further than "Pushing Up Daisies," a smack at the pop biz that he'd never felt fully comfortable inhabiting ("There's no business like show business, like no business I know/The curtain falls to no applause/When no one goes to sell out shows/You're pushing up the daisies"), or "Sorry," which recounts the sorrow of a relationship built on sand ("We're trying to turn the clocks back, to find the missing piece/But every time we smile, we smile through bridged teeth"). 

Even as longtime fans hoped for a Specials reunion, you had to respect Hall's determination not to retrace his steps, purely for profit -- unlike many of his peers from the era that produced him.

The next couple of decades yielded two '90s-era solo albums (Home, Laugh), and a dizzying series of collaborations (Dub Pistols; D12; Gorillaz; Hall and Mushtaq; Terry, Blair & Anouchka; Vegas, a duo with the Eurythmics' Dave Stewart). I'm not familiar with most of these, honestly, so we'll have to leave it there for now (but it'll be worth another essay, once I rectify that omission).

Inevitably, though, perhaps, the Specials resurrected themselves -- alongside many of their fellow 2-Tone alumni, including the English Beat, Madness, and The Selecter -- and seemingly picked up where they left off. Two new albums quickly followed, including Encore (2019) -- the first new material to feature Hall, since 1981 -- and the self-explanatorily-titled Protest Songs 1924-2012 (2021).

Both peaked at #1 and #2 UK, respectively, showing the band as to be prescient and relevant as it had ever been. "When we made the first Specials record, there was a woman prime minister -- a Tory -- and today, there is a woman prime minister Tory [Theresa May," as Hall wryly observed, at the time of Encore's release. "But it just feels exactly the same... It's actually got a lot worse."

<ITV News Interview, 2/1/19:

"Nothing's changed in massively divided Britain...">

<Coda>

So what do we make, exactly, of this combustive cocktail of art and activism? Well, there's no question that, as sad as his death feels, Terry Hall made the most of the time that he had. He made every word count, which gave his lyrics that much greater weight. No matter what he endured, he fought through those experiences, and persevered, which is all you can ask from any artist.

For me, his influence was massive, like the others that won over my interest -- Joe Strummer and Paul Weller, Billy Bragg and Steve Ignorant, Dick Lucas and Vi Subversa, Viv Albertine and Poly Styrene...the list is endless, and I could go on forever. Like all of those that I've just mentioned, he showed that you could sing about big topics and big ideas without falling into the classic traps of simple sloganeering, or self-mythologizing, or being purely self-serving.

Most importantly of all, he didn't just talk the talk. The Specials' multiracial lineup, in and of itself, provided ample evidence of that ideal in action. So did the other mixed and all-female bands that followed them, and the explosion of ska scenes all around the world. So did his mental health activism, which I've mentioned.

So did the band's formation of its own label (2-Tone), that gave birth to a look, a sound, and a mission statement -- the push for a society that serves everyone's needs, not just those of a fortunate few -- that should provide plenty of inspiration for another generation to create its own soundtrack, in politics and in life.

Hall recognized as much, which framed what he'd tell his younger self, as he outlined in his Big Issue interview: "He paid his way. He didn't tread on anybody getting there. And he did it on his own terms but with respect for others. What more can you want, really? What more is there?"

So there you go. Indeed, he is missed, but in another way, he's still with us, through his words and music. What we do about that? Like the song says: it's up to us. --Chairman Ralph

Links To Go (Tip Your Hat, Take It All In,

And Think About The Possibilities...)

Chairmanralph.com: "Bernie Rhodes Knows, Don't Argue":
https://www.chairmanralph.com/clashbookdispatches/entry?id=3;fa=1

The Big Issue: Terry Hall:
"The Specials Have Always Been About Protest":
https://www.bigissue.com/culture/music/terry-hall-the-specials-have-always-been-about-protest/

The Daily Telegraph:
Plenty Of Other Rock Stars Open Up
About Mental Health -- But Terry Hall Made Skinheads Cry:
https://www.telegraph.co.uk/music/artists/plenty-rock-stars-open-mental-health-terry-hall-made-skinheads/

The Guardian: Terry Hall: Specials Frontman
Died Of Pancreatic Cancer...
https://www.theguardian.com/music/2022/dec/21/terry-hall-specials-frontman-died-of-pancreatic-cancer-says-bandmate

The Specials: The Band (Official Website):
https://www.thespecials.com/the-band

Yahoo Entertainment:
Ska Legends The Specials
On Why Their Brexit-Era Comeback Album

Has Connected "At A Very Unfortunate Time":
https://www.yahoo.com/entertainment/ska-legends-the-specials-on-why-their-brexitera-comeback-album-has-connected-a-very-unfortunate-time-211118672.html

The Specials' Ska And New Wave Pioneer

Terry Hall Dead At 63:
https://www.yahoo.com/entertainment/the-specials-ska-and-new-wave-pioneer-terry-hall-dead-at-63-011116952.html

Video Links
BBC: 

2-Tone: The Sound Of Coventry:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qM1sv_gQGxw

BBC Archive ("Arena," 3/12/80):
The Specials, Selecter & 2-Tone:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XSK73D4p04o

Channel Four:
2-Tone Britain:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LjY7bSnnpQQ

Fun Boy Three: 

Live At The Regal Theater, 1983:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HXQpuN45xTA

Fun Boy Three:
Live In Germany: May 11, 1983:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fyc5jq5a2PE

Guest Essay (Chairman Ralph); UP AGAINST THE WALL?: THE REST OF THE STORY (RISING FREE, TRB TWO, SECTOR 27)

<Tom Robinson Band: 

Ticket, Reunion Show, 

Kentish Town & Country, 11//6/89

Author's Archive>

<i. TRB: The Reunion, Take One>

The teenage boy, now a twentysomething man, presses himself against the darkened wall, awaiting his cue. Nervously, he checks his leather jacket one last time. The recorder seems well placed inside his chest pocket. Good.

Hopefully, he'll take home a souvenir of an likely night that he wouldn't have missed for anything, now that he's finally made it over to Britain. After 10 years of dormancy, the Tom Robinson Band is treading the boards for a series of reunion shows across the UK.

Tonight's gig at the Kentish Town & Country features three of the four original members in Mark Ambler (keyboards), Danny Kustow (guitar), and Tom Robinson (bass, vocals). Original drummer Brian "Dolphin" Taylor is playing with Stiff Little Fingers, who reformed themselves only two years ago. Enter Steve Creese, who's ably deputizing for him.

The air is brimming with promise, all right. Depending on which article you read, the band will either record a couple of new tracks for a compilation, or even attempt a new album, who knows?

The band bounds onstage, dressed in black, to a thunderous roar. The young man flicks his recorder to life. Tom seems in a jocular mood, at one point stopping to ask, "How many of you saw TRB the first time round?" 

The crowd shouts back in affirmation. "How many are seeing us for the first time?" Now, it's the other half's turn to answer. "Well, hello to you, from all the rest of us!" Tom says, as his face breaks into a broad grin.

Tonight's set firmly focuses on Power In The Darkness, including "Glad To Be Gay," "Too Good To Be True," "2-4-6-8 Motorway," "You Gotta Survive," and the title track. No real surprises there, since many TRB fans regard it as Tom's most enduring work. 

There's nothing from TRB TWO, the troubled follow-up album. No surprises there, either, although there's more to that story, as we'll see. To round out the set, Tom throws in some of his solo standbys ("Atmospherics," "War Baby"), and a couple new songs. "Number One Protection" is the standout,a catchy story-song about a gangster who comes to a bad end ("Get some protection/Too bad he never had protection/Get some protection/You never get ahead without protection"). 

The other new standout, "We Didn't Know What Was Going On," ends up on a live album, The Winter Of '89, and rings equally true today, for its unsparing more-things-change-the-more-they-stay-the-same theme ("The times may be a-changing, but the story's still the same/'Cause the radio and the papers say the same thing every day/The government is wonderful/The country's doing great").

The night proves thrilling indeed. There's nothing like hearing an old favorite deliver what it does best -- in this case, protest rock that still packs a wallop. Like everyone else here tonight, the young man heads home, well satisfied.

The recording doesn't turn out, however. For the most part, all the young man hears is the sonic equivalent of shredded wheat -- a wall of over-amped guitars, with the odd keyboard or drum squiggle poking its head out amid the chaos. He vows to do better next time. He'll get that chance sooner than he thinks.

<ii.: Exit Danny Kustow>

<1955 - 2019>>

Danny Kustow died at 63 on March 11, at Royal United Hospital, Bath. His passing consigned him forever to my memories of those reunion gigs that bookended my six-month tenure as a clerk at the University of London. Danny's death offered yet another reminder about the fragility of life, as if I needed one. Like it or not, as your idols age, you're aging right along with them.

Danny's death proved bittersweet in another way, however, since we'd exchanged emails roughly a decade ago, when I first hit on the idea of writing a celebration of Power In The Darkness, the album that thrilled me so long ago. I wanted to get comments from everyone involved in making it, including its producer (Chris Thomas) and his sterling engineers (Jerry Green, Bill Price). 

Who'd ever publish such a thing? I honestly didn't have a clue, other than a vague notion of doing it online somehow, possibly as an e-book -- this was long before technology made such an idea more realistic.

Naturally, I initially approached Tom, who suggested rounding up his former colleagues first. He then gave me Danny's e-mail, and I duly fired off my proposal to him. He wrote back, saying that he was glad to see someone thought so highly of him, and hoped to still find a major rock band that could use his services.

I had no idea that, by this point, Danny had long retired from the game after The Winter Of '89 emerged as a major bone of contention (essentially, being repackaged and released numerous times, without the band's consent, and needless to say, not a penny for any of those endeavors). Full of excitement, I emailed Danny back, but never heard from him again.

Similar inquiries to Mark Ambler and Dolphin Taylor also ran aground. Nor did I have any luck with bassist Steve Witter, who spent six weeks rehearsing with the band, as part of a short-lived plan for Tom to focus solely on the lead singer duties. 

However, nothing came of the idea, once TRB's members decided their rapport had gotten so tight, there wasn't room for anyone else (or so Tom stated for Pete Frame's classic family tree chart, "2-4-6-8 Tom Robinson Bands").

I didn't take these developments personally. Getting people to talk about their past is often problematic, depending on the degree of trauma involved, and it's fair to say that TRB's biography fits that description. As I documented in my original post here last fall ("UP AGAINST THE WALL?"), TRB experienced an adrenaline rush of major success, only to implode after the troubled recording -- and mixed response -- to its second album.

That policy holds firm in the official punk narratives, which essentially write TRB out of the script, just like the music weeklies did during most of the band's final year of life. Nor did the infighting cease during the 1989 reunion, which splintered after about a year of steady touring, including sellouts at the Marquee.

Tom has since re-floated the TRB brand without any other original members, citing his '79 and '89-'90 experiences as ample reason to steer clear of such an idea, however much fans wanted to see it.

I can't vouch for any of these facts, not knowing the principals personally, but the lack of response convinced me to abandon the project. Given my own punk rock ideals, I had no desire to water down my original goals of getting everyone involved (and hopefully, a little enthusiastic, God forbid). I'd seen plenty of compromised history, and I wasn't keen on adding to it.

In any event, as friends, family and musical colleagues gather for tonight's affair, "A Night With Danny Kustow," now seems like a good time to look at the remaining works that his roaring guitar played such a key role in creating. We've already covered Power In The Darkness, but if you need catching up, here you go, then:


https://ramennoodlenation.blogspot.com/2018/10/guest-essay-chairman-ralph-up-vs-wall.html

And now...on with the rest of our show. Take a moment to find the relevant platters (or discs), if you must. Stack them up. Fire up your favorite drink of choice, sit back, and cue the first track. We're going to kick up our feet for awhile, and get our brains back in gear, so there's no need to rush it. If you've just dropped by the neighborhood, sit back and relax. You're going to be here for awhile.

<Original UK EP Cover>

<iii.: TRB: Related Works>

<Rising Free>>

<Rising Free>, in a sense, is the record that made the rest of TRB possible -- as a band, and as a concept. Released in November 1977, on the heels of the band's first single ("2-4-6-8 Motorway"/"I Shall Be Released"), the EP showcased four hot live tracks captured at High Wycombe Town Hall (Sussex), and London's Lyceum Theatre, which became a go-to spot for many, outfits during the '60s, '70s and '80s. (To name just one example, Bob Marley & The Wailers recorded  their '75 breakout release, Live, there.)


In any event, Rising Free captures the band at its frenetic early peak -- we'll get to that momentarily. Many outfits during this era chose the live EP/LP route, either as a quick, cost-efficient way of plugging gaps between albums, or to showcase a grittier-sounding side that didn't always surface in the studio.


<"Don't Take No For An Answer"> kicks off the proceedings in fine style, with a quick blast from Danny, which Mark Ambler immediately answers with a fast, crisp roll across his organ, and Dolphin Taylor's drumming kicks the track into overdrive. As an intro, it stands among TRB's finest moments, one that still gives me goosebumps -- whether I play it for myself, or anyone else. 


The song works on two levels, being written as a sarcastic kiss off to the Kinks' Ray Davies, who still owned Tom's publishing at the time, something that didn't sit terribly well with him ("I signed on the line/I signed for a long time/Now you won't let me leave"). 

But even if you knew nothing about that situation, you could hear the song as a fist-waving dismissal of the bully boys in power, particularly in the chorus ("You don't take no for an answer/When you've nothing to lose"). Either way, "Don't Take No For An Answer" rattles and clatters with undeniable power and menace, as Ambler weaves his way in and out of the proceedings, that peak with a strangled, shuddering solo from Danny, that seemingly threatens to come apart at the seams -- only to fall back to earth, and kick the track back into gear.


<"Martin"> is the cooling off-point, which is presumably which it's positioned after such a hot opener. It's a complete contrast, coming across as a clever blend of Tom's Kinks-ish influences, and music hall whimsy, especially on the chorus, which the audience shouts with gusto ("It was worth it with a brother like Martin/It was worth it with a brother like him"). This is another of Tom's storytelling songs, and works well on that level, one that allowed him to temporarily park the bass, and focus on relating it to the audience. So how do you follow that particular act? 


<"Glad To Be Gay"> Simple: with the song that became one of Tom's best-known anthems, if not the best-known of them. Another midtempo number, dominated by Ambler's electric piano, it's smartly placed in the middle, and gives the listener a few more minutes to cool off. Or does it? 


"Glad To Be Gay," like many songs in a writer's arsenal, had a fairly involved back story, as it was originally written in 1975 (as "Good To Be Gay"), for The Campaign For Homosexual Equality. The song made it to a demo in 1976, during Tom's Cafe Society days, but ran aground when his colleagues wouldn't record it.


And there the song sat until the punk era, which now allowed for the expression of all sorts of previously taboo topics. "Glad To Be Gay" opens with an ironic observation ("The British police are the best in the world, I don't believe one of these stories I've heard"), then segues into a scathing blast of the LGBTQ population's treatment in the hands of Britain's finest ("Picking out people and knocking them down/Resisting arrest as they're kicked on the ground/Searching their houses and calling them queer/I don't believe that sort of thing happens here").


In songwriting, we call that technique the setup, as those opening lines are meant to take you somewhere else. In this case, that broadens to a wider critique of hypocritical attitudes ("Molesters of children, corruptors of youth/If it's there in the paper, it must be the truth"), anti-gay violence ("You don't have to mince or make bitchy remarks/To get beaten unconscious and left in the dark"), and the bitter resolution at the end ("Gay Lib's ridiculous, join their laughter/The buggers are legal now, what more are after they after?").


Difficult stuff, indeed, which makes for a marked contrast to the chorus, but one that ensures its mood all the stronger ("Sing if you're glad to be gay/Sing if you're happy that way, hey"). But, as Tom once stated, "you either live in a free and fair society or you don't, and clearly we didn't." This is the kind of track that you'll either accept, or not, so proceed accordingly -- if you saw him as a purely political artist, this is the track that likely helped in cementing that impression.

<"Right On Sister"> Now we go back to full-on rock 'n' roll again, with Danny Kustow's full throttle guitar leading the charge. This song essentially tips its hat to the promise and power of feminism, in just 16 lines, making it a true snapshot of punk minimalism, by TRB standards.


Lyrically, I find this song the weakest of the pack. At the time, it came across to me as sketchy, particularly the title ("We don't say 'right on' anymore," I thought, "or we haven't since the '60s, anyway"). The best lines come near the beginning ("She needs you and me, man, like a fish needs a bike"); maybe a few couplets like that one would have helped. Then again, when you hear Danny blast away with the abandon that marked his style, you probably won't trouble yourself with so many of those particular fine points. As a teenage boy, I know I didn't. End of story.


But that's not where the story ends, exactly. Rising Free peaked at #18 UK, a performance that reaffirmed the band's rousing power as a live attraction, while assuring EMI that its investment had to begun to pay off -- hence, its inclusion as bonus disc with the original American release of Power In The Darkness.

So, not only did you get the original four live tracks, you also got the single that started it all. "2-4-6-8 Motorway," which peaked at #5 UK, has always struck me as the British answer to "Road Runner." They're both anchored that classic topic of "another night out on the road," with lyrics to match ("2-4-6-8 motorway/Me and my radio truckin' on thru the night/3-5-7-9, on a double white line/Motorway sun coming up with the morning light"). 

Both songs are also built around a simple, infectious riff -- in this case, it's the holy trinity of E, D and A, which gives plenty of breathing space for the band's main soloists, Danny and Mark, though they're a bit more restrained here, while the rhythmic Robinson-Taylor engine room keeps the beat moving at a brisk pace.


But it's not hard to see why this song scored so well at the time; once you hear it, you won't forget it, and you'll find it hard to resist. Every band needs a calling card, one that encourages the listener to explore a bit further. This song hits that mark, and then some. 


<"I Shall Be Released"> "2-4-6-8 Motorway"'s B-side once again plays the contrast card, as I like to call it, that marks so many moments in the world of TRB. Of all the versions that people have done of this Bob Dylan song, this one ranks near the top -- especially for the addition of a daring bridge that Tom added in support of George Ince, who'd been wrongfully imprisoned on faulty identification evidence ("They say there'll be a new inquiry/They say there's been a slight mistake/But while they write reports, we've heard it all before/Let's get him out before it's all too late"), but eventually won his release. (He's not to be confused with George Davis, another well-known inmate referenced in songs by Sham 69, Patrik Fitzgerald, and -- wait for it -- Duran Duran.) 


The bridge lifts the song to another level altogether, as the guitar kicks in, and Danny reels off a piercing, shuddering solo that ranks among his finest moments, plain and simple. To my mind, it's another example that raised TRB above the pack, since most punks at the time wouldn't have admitted to liking Dylan, let alone showing interest in his work -- yet for non-punks, "I Shall Be Released" offered another calling card to explore the band's work in more detail, while providing a tantalizing hint of the future to come.


<"I'm Alright Jack"> Closing out the original double LP, this song is nearly a cousin for "You Gotta Survive," only written from the viewpoint of the idle rich stockpiling for the apocalypse that they're sure is lurking around the corner ("Half a dozen shotguns in the Land Rover/Ready for the call to arms"). Not to worry, though, as the narrator briskly reassures us, with Tom adopting a suitably mock posh accent to match: "All good men at Number Ten/Everything's understood/Don't you worry, I'm alright, Jack/We've never had it so good!" 


All in all, it's a fitting closer, taken at a suitably breakneck pace that, again, opens an ample opportunity for Danny to do what he does best -- romp across the fretboard, with lots of screaming high end licks to match the mood here. (Shouldn't this song provide the real soundtrack for all those "doomsday prep" reality shows? Ponder that one, if you will, for a moment.)


TRB had plenty of celebrate as the calendar wound down on 1978. You had a reborn singer-songwriter, with a knack for lyrics and hooks that captured the moment; a powerhouse guitar player whose own sense of invention seemed boundless; and a keyboardist and drummer with distinct styles of their own, who always knew what worked best for each song, which also benefited from their input. 


They'd done a landmark debut album, and while a lot of work loomed, in terms of crafting a suitable followup, nothing suggested that they couldn't pull it off. What could go wrong? 

<iv.: TRB: Related Works>

<TRB Two/Sector 27>

<Front Cover Art:

Author's Archive>

Our story now takes something of a left turn. Released in March 1979, TRB TWO coincided with a decided shift in the band's fortunes, starting with the arrival of a new keyboardist, Ian Parker -- who turns in a nifty vocal on "Law & Order," another ironic, music hall-style song with echoes of "Martin," only this time, with the cops as the target("Got a Stetson hat and a big cigar/And I clean up trouble with my little tin star"). He provides discreet, sturdy support, though not as distinctively as Ambler, who'd quit after finishing Power In The Darkness.

There's also a new drummer, Preston Heyman, who stepped into the breach after Dolphin Taylor quit the band -- ironically, after agreeing to let producer Todd Rundgren rule on which songs would make the cut. This move proved necessary after months of struggling to create a followup to Power In The Darkness, including an aborted effort with its producer, Chris Thomas. 

When Rundgren chose a couple tracks that Taylor particularly disliked, he took it as a Sign From Above to quit, fracturing the tightly bonded identity that had distinguished the original group. By this point, the good reviews were no longer coming so regularly, as the British music press had begun deciding that Tom and his merry men were now yesterday's men.

In some respects, TRB TWO exemplifies Elvis Costello's famous maxim that bands have 20 years to make their first album, and six months to make their second. That being said, I think there's half a great album on display here -- call it a great double EP struggling to get out, if you like. But I no longer agree with my own observations on the AllMusic Guide website ("One of rock's great letdowns"), an experience that made me decide not to become a full-time reviewer of any kind.

In any event, the highlights here include "All Night, All Right," which opens matters on a rousing note ("Debt collection, high connection/Gonna get some insurrection"), and is one that track that successfully mirrors the older sound (even if half the band isn't around to provide it at this point, and bolts of synth emerge as a predominant musical counterpoint). 

<"Why Should I Mind"> provides an apt snapshot of the resignation creeping in, on the eve of Margaret Thatcher coming in as Prime Minister, only a month after this album's release ("Debt collectors on the railway stealing me blind/Why should I mind/It's nothing but a sign of the times"). Slinky and slow-burning, it provides a glimpse of what a more mature-sounding TRB might have accomplished, had the band survived into the '80s.


<"Blue Murder"> This song could also have fit comfortably on the first album, in its subject matter and musical approach. Listening to it now, it's the obvious pick of the litter, focusing on the death of Liddle Towers, an amateur boxing trainer who died of injuries sustained in police custody. The band dedicated the album to his mother, Mary, for that reason.

The track's laidback funk approach makes for a truly chilling contrast with its stark description of Towers' status ("He wasn't a loony with a sawn-off gun/A dangerous terrorist on the run"), his eventual run-in with the police ("Well, they kicked him far and they kicked him wide"), and the final coverup ("It was eight to one and the one man died/But the coroner said he was satisfied"), a point driven home by its seemingly singsong chorus, until you listen a bit more closely ("Lie lie lie diddley lie/Die die die Liddley die"). 

Again, this is another example of what a more mature, mainstream TRB might have done, had they weathered the pressures tearing at them left and right in the turnover from '78 to '79. Here in America, where we're experiencing case after case after case of police brutality at its most lethal -- such as the Eric Garner chokehold case, the one that Donald Trump's Justice Department declined to prosecute -- only makes "Blue Murder" all the more saddening and disturbing. 

<"Bully For You"> This song marks the first of Tom's many outside collaborations that he began to pursue, as the old gang feel began to dissipate, and TRB seemed more and more to be living on borrowed time. An apparent dig at Taylor for his decision to bolt the ranks, "Bully For You" throws in some snappy lyrics to make its case ("I hear the sound of dogs in the rain/I know you won't be back again"), over a smart funk-rock melody. That blueprint, of course, emerged on Power In The Darkness's title track, on which TRB TWO manages to expand in a convincing manner.

<"Days Of Rage"> This is another hidden gem, one that only became apparent after repeated listens. It's another track that would have felt right at home on the first album, as it's one of the only full-throttle moments -- and few showcases where Danny Kustow's guitar lets fly, while the organ chases every lick he plays. Musically, it's a close cousin to "Up Against The Wall," even as the lyrics offer an unsettling statement of intent ("Coming of age I'm feeling the rage/That I never had the bottle to show"). The title seems to reference the Weathermen's property smashing actions of 1969, though this could be a red herring, perhaps. In any event, it's a fine moment.

Honorable Mentions go to "Let My People Be," which references Latin American repression a full two years before the Clash did likewise, on Sandinista! ("Set my people free/Hounded down in towns across the nation/How long will it take/How long do we wait?"), and "Getting Tighter," the B-side of the last TRB single, which -- most unusually -- is a cover version, but builds adeptly from a muted piano riff, to a more loping, introspective solo from Danny Kustow, but no less biting than much of his TRB work overall, and makes a fitting backdrop for the subject matter of the social repression endured by its nameless narrator ("Jocks from Jersey passing by/Threw a rock, I don't know why/I got stoned but I lost my high/Just could not be free"). If you've spent any time battling the straights in your territory, you'll relate to this one right away.

<Front Cover Art:

Author's Archive>

And that's largely where our story ends. Just four months after TRB TWO's release, the band were no more, after doing a handful of summer festivals to begin the onerous task of promoting it -- though the original gang was long gone now, consisting of the duo who'd started it (Danny Kustow, Tom Robinson), rounded out by sidemen hired as circumstances and convenience dictated. 

Still, for me, the next turn in Tom's musical journey is worth our attention here, even if it's a naturally different beast. Sector 27 (1980), the lone self-titled offering from his new band, ditches the wall of sound for a decidedly more stripped-down, pop-rock approach, which offers mixed reassurances for the likes of me.

As a guitar player inspired and fired up by the likes of The Clash, The Creation and The Yardbirds, to name three of my top favorites...I don't want a nice clean sound on anything, whether it comes from my amplifier, or CD player, or my turntable. 

The production (by Steve Lillywhite) strikes me as murky and watery, at times, an impression furthered by Jo Burt's guitar playing, which dishes out lots of that scratchy metallic sound so vogue in the time, yet hasn't aged particularly well, unless your name's Keith Levene.

That being said, again, there's another good double EP struggling to get out. My top picks include "Looking At You," another fine story song about the seemingly endless gulf between punter and pop star ("They're looking at you, but what can you do?"), and "Take Or Leave It," a sarcastic blast against a business that, then and now, treats its proteges as property, at best, and product, at worst ("Do as we say the alternative way, remember who's running the show"). "Not Ready" and "Bitterly Disappointed" convincingly revisit the struggle of coming out, while "Where Can We Go Tonight" sums up Anykid's life in Anytown, as in...hey, man, what's going on, 'cause it sure as hell isn't happening here. "Invitation" also makes  a fine opening statement of intent ("What have we got to lose if we try it on?/None of them bastards notice when we're gone"), buffeted along by some crisp, heavy guitar, and shows a determination not to give ground on the ideals that inspired the likes of a TRB...even as pressure continued to do the opposite.

<TRB Fan Flyer/Mailer,

March 1979, The Long View:

Author's Archive>

<Pages 1+2, In Closeup>

<v. TRB: The Reunion: Take Two>

The young man shifts from foot to foot, as he leans against the wall. It's been a couple of hours, it seems, and there's no sign of the band yet. For this reason, he's not terribly fond of nightclub gigs, where time and tide seemingly grind on forever, with no regard for no man (especially if it's about selling drinks, right?).

The Subterania, as this venue is called, is well-named, effectively tucked away inside a basement -- and only a stone's throw from a housing estate, deep in the heart of Ladbroke Grove. But the young man figures it's worth a shot, because the sound here at previous gigs has been great, a definite notch above what he typically experiences.

He checks the inside of his leather jacket one more time. His mike peeks out, just over the top, as it should. Check. He's got fresh batteries in the recorder. Double-check. He covertly hits the Record button, making sure the red light comes on. Triple-check.

Tonight's gig (4/25/90) marks one of the last he'll catch here for awhile, because in four days, he's headed back to the States. His own band here has fallen apart, so there's little reason to stick it out, on that account -- now that his work permit is running out. But he's joining another one back home, so all is not lost.

Now the Stone Roses are blaring on the PA, a song they've been playing over and over, like a nagging itch: "Have you seen, or have you heard, the way she plays, there are no words, to describe the way they feel..."

Suddenly, the song cuts off. Finally! The young man hurries closer to the middle of the venue, where he expects to capture the best sound, and hugs the wall, stage left. This is it, he tells himself. Hopefully, you'll get it this time.

There they come now, bounding across the stage -- the three originals, Tom, Danny and Mark, with their latest drummer close behind them - and take their places.

The set follows the same blueprint from the previous autumn, with key selections from Power In The Darkness standing front and center, rounded out by a smattering of new material ("Number One Protection," "Driving Through The Desert"), and a solo track or two from Tom's solo career ("Atmospherics," "War Baby"). Once again, nothing from TRB TWO gets an airing.

They keep chugging away through it all, as the crowd sings en masse through a highly charged second half, where "2-4-6-8 Motorway" yields to a feverish "Up Against The Wall." The encore ("Power In The Darkness," "Don't Take No For An Answer," and the Rolling Stones's "Satisfaction") sends everyone across the finish line home with a smile, as it should.

The young man climbs into a black taxi with a couple women with whom he's been chatting for part of the night. He readily agrees to split the fare cost with them, as it's a long way back to his Central London digs, and it helps to squeeze out every little pound or two in savings.

He pulls the tape recorder out of his pocket, rewinds to the beginning of side A, turns the volume way down, and presses it up right next to his ear. Naturally, his seatmates wonder what the hell he's about to do, but the young man doesn't pause to explain.

He simply needs a quick confirmation, which comes makes him feel better immediately: "Get some -- protection! You'll never get ahead without protection!" He follows up at random intervals, here or there ("And I said, look out, listen, can you hear it/Up against the wall/They got us up against the wall!"), but the evidence seems reassuring enough.

All right! This time, I got it! He smiles, and slides the recorder back in his jacket. How long that cassette will last, God only knows, but the young man's not worried about that point now.

Time will tell if anyone trades for it, but he's not concerned about that, either. He made this tape for himself, plain and simple, which will make the flight back to America go a little bit faster.

He knows two things already. First, he'll treasure that night, and that music forever -- because, second, without it, life would have made less sense, and run just a little bit harder.

<A Night
For Danny Kustow

Press Release>

"Danny Kustow - whose guitar playing was a key ingredient of the Tom Robinson Band hits Up Against The Wall, Don't Take No For an Answer and 2-4-6-8 Motorway - died unexpectedly at the age of 63 this year at the Royal United Hospitals in Bath after a short illness.

"Danny's friends, family and former bandmates have organised a concert in his memory to take place at The Scala in London. 

"'A Night For Danny Kustow'" featuring the Tom Robinson Band plus special guests will take place on Monday July 29th. The lineup will include members of both the original and current TRB lineups, plus video footage of Danny playing on stage at his incendiary best.

"Danny was one of the most gifted British guitarists of the entire punk generation. Four decades after the early TRB records he made with Mark Ambler, Dolphin Taylor and myself, his legacy is still remembered with warmth and wonder by fans around the world. 

"This concert will be a chance for all of us to remember that legacy with huge affection and deep appreciation. His death has been devastating loss for everyone who knew him."

<Tom Robinson>

<Links To Go>
How We Made:
Tom Robinson & Nick Mobbs
On Glad To Be Gay:
https://www.theguardian.com/music/2013/jul/01/how-we-made-glad-gay

TRB History:
http://www.tomrobinson.co.uk/records/trb/trbhist1.htm

TRB Lyrics Page:

http://www.tomrobinson.co.uk/trb/songs.htm#nop

Tom Robinson: Unmask Us
<A Few Quotes About The Songs, Basically>:
https://www.unmask.us/songwriters-q-s/tom-robinson/