In recent weeks, in spite of all the many real problems facing the World right now, the chatter among colleagues at work has increasingly revolved around our respective, uniquely out of control hairstyles. Grey roots, floppy fringes and impromptu mullets have all gradually become the norm, along with several quite alarming self-inflicted haircuts that initially appear reasonably acceptable when the person concerned is walking towards you, but reveal themselves to be somewhat, erm, inconsistent as they walk away.
I myself have involuntarily cultivated something of a retired 1970s footballer look. More precisely, that of Pat Jennings, a man whose own hairstyle has remained virtually unchanged for over 40 years. With local hairdressers gradually reopening, I'm now debating whether or not to continue letting my hair grow or return to a clipped, spiky normality.
While I consider my options, here's a brief proggy interlude from 1970, a time when both Pat and I gloried in locks that were lush, dark and long.
While under the clippers for a pre-birthday trim last week, I heard my hairdresser, who knows my bonce like the back of her hand, muttering something to herself. 'What is it?' I asked. 'Nothing really,' she said, 'I just noticed that your hairline is.....changing', she added delicately. 'Changing?'. I was confused. '....er, yes, changing', she confirmed sheepishly. I caught her reflection in the mirror - she was looking down at my widow's peak. The penny dropped. 'Are you telling me it's receding?', I blurted in exaggerated mock-horror. She briefly looked a little crestfallen at having even mentioned the subject, until I laughed, diffusing the moment. My once dark locks have long since turned silver, but still seem to grow quickly and relatively densely. The barnet may be thinning slightly on top, but my hairdresser is assured of my continuing custom for a good while yet.
I walked the short distance home whistling 'Take Care (To Comb Your Long Hair)' from Ty Segall's latest, self-titled LP (available here). Ty's catalogue is sprawling and increases in size on an almost monthly basis, but this one is right out of his top drawer.
One evening, when I was 12, I persuaded
Mum to put my long, thick, straight hair in curlers.
I've always hated my shapeless hair and, for
a couple of hours at least, it was fun to see
it tumbling in Bolanesque corkscrews. The
following morning, of course, it had dropped back to boring, straight normality. It's hard to believe that
Dad didn't grab his camera and record the
event.
Much as I disliked my boring Barnet, having
it cut was the worst. Dad first took me to
the local barber's shop when I was four. I was
plonked on a plank resting across the arms of
the chair and told to sit dead still while
the barber clipped and buzzed around my
bonce. It was easier said than done. I
twitched and I squirmed, particularly when he
got anywhere my right ear, which for some
reason set off a convulsion down my spine,
leading to stern looks from the barber and a
stern word from Dad. My left ear was fine,
but that right ear always seemed ultra-sensitive to the slightest noise and it was
only years later that I learned to control my
involuntary reaction.
When the family relocated to Ipswich in 1975,
I cast around my new classmates for a
recommended local barber. 'Go and see Kenny,'
someone suggested, 'Kenny Cuff the dancing
barber'. It sounded unlikely, but was
actually true. Instead of ambling around the chair while he snipped and trimmed,
like your average barber does, Kenny
performed a continuous soft shoe shuffle as
he worked and was something of a local
legend. His salon was a meeting place for a
handful of old retired Suffolk gents, who rarely
seemed to get their hair cut, but treated the
place as a hang-out, smoking cigarettes and drinking endless cups of tea all day. They all thought my
London accent was a hoot and good-naturedly
sent me up something rotten throughout every
visit, especially whenever I twitched as Kenny
clicked his scissors close to my right ear.
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Here's the late great Mikey Dread with what's
probably his best known tune, 1977's 'Barber
Saloon'. The uploader has also kindly included the
dub version, 'Lagga the Barber', featuring
King Tubby at the controls.
