Suitcase Man

In September, it'll be 45 years since I started at 'Big' school. It was 1971, I was 11 years old and up to that point had only ever worn shorts and casual shirts to school - now all that was about to change. I was expected to arrive at 'Big' school kitted out in full uniform (including long trousers!) and carrying a briefcase - very grown up. As ever, Mum was ready with a camera to capture the moment as I left the house on my first morning. In the resulting photo I look apprehensive about the day ahead and slightly ill at ease in such formal clothing. At school, 95% of the other boys carried traditional leather Gladstone-style briefcases, but having already shelled out for a uniform that I would quickly outgrow, my parents were having none of that. Instead, I inherited a solid, square-cornered attache case that Dad had already used at work for a few years, which only served to make me stick out like a sore thumb in the classroom. Because it looked so different from the norm, I soon acquired the nickname of 'Suitcase Man' from the other kids. It could've been worse I suppose. That's the case in question, perched on the ground next to me in the photo. As it transpired, I actually only had it on loan. After I left school and no longer needed it, Dad reclaimed the attache case and carried it to and from work until his retirement in 1995. Even then he continued to use it at home to store his cheque book, bank statements, outstanding bills and various other bits of household paperwork, right up until his death in 2007.

In 1977, I plucked this little gem from the punk box of the record shop in which I would eventually work. Stanley Frank wasn't a punk and 'S'cool Days' wasn't a punk song, though John Peel played it a few times and it possessed a certain spiky edge that wouldn't have felt out of place on an early Stiff single. It wasn't released on Stiff though. Instead it remains one of only two records I've ever owned on Power Exchange Records (a label usually better known for a strictly middle of the road roster of artists), the other being '(I'm) Stranded' by The Saints.

Version City #42 - A South Korean Kindergarten Class sings The Ramones

If your day needs a bit of a lift, here's something that will surely help.....

.......and if your faith in the future of the human race is running on empty, this'll work wonders.

55 From 55 - 1975

55 songs in 55 days - one for every year of my life...so far. 

We moved from Walthamstow to Ipswich on May 3rd 1975. It was a brave move on the part of my parents, Dad had no new job to go to and I had to settle into a new school just 12 months shy of my O-Levels. I quickly gravitated towards the fellow music lovers in my class. One of those I met during my first day at the school and would go on to share many musical adventures with, is still my best mate today. I'm also Godfather to one of his children.

Exploring the wide open spaces of Ipswich in 1975.

Ipswich was on the national gig circuit, with a major live venue little more than a mile from my house. Before long I joined my new pal in checking out virtually any touring band that came to town. We saw a lot of shows, not all good, though I soon realised how fundamental live music was going to become for me in the future.

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Those of a similar vintage to me will no doubt remember the Sounds weekly music paper and may even recall its 'rock' corespondent Geoff Barton. Barton was almost single-handedly responsible for pushing the awful American band Kiss onto an unsuspecting UK public, thanks to his incessant promotion of the risible double LP, 'Kiss Alive'. 'Greatest album of all time' my arse! He also shares the blame for the rise of the appalling NWOBHM. It's not all bad news though. In 1975 Geoff Barton introduced me to Mr Big's debut LP, 'Sweet Silence'. (No, not that Mr Big!) It's a real mixed bag, where metal meets cockney knees-up and glam meets noodley prog. It doesn't all stand the test of time, but when it's good, it's very good indeed.

55 From 55 - 1974

55 songs in 55 days - one for every year of my life...so far. 

By 1974 we'd all enjoyed singles by Dave and Ansel Collins, The Pioneers, Bob and Marcia, Greyhound, Dandy Livingstone and several other reggae performers. I'm pretty sure that no-one in my circle of friends had heard anything quite like 'Ire Feelings' though. The song literally reverberated around the school playground, everyone was talking about it or singing along to it.

Suddenly shooting up again in 1974.

Producer Rupie Edwards used the rhythm and some vocal elements from Johnny Clarke's 'Everyday Wondering' to create a remarkable dubwise mash-up, with an unforgettable refrain. You'll be singing this for the rest of the day.

55 From 55 - 1973

55 songs in 55 days - one for every year of my life...so far. 

At school, we'd all got to that stage of personalisng our exercise books, in my case with T.Rex song lyrics. One afternoon in geography our teacher, the wonderfully named Mr Milton-Polly, holding a pile of marked homework, was shouting out names and passing comments on the quality of each individual student's work as we trundled to the front of the class to collect it. He got to my exercise book, called out my name and while I walked down between the desks with all eyes on me, Mr Milton-Polly looked at the cover and sighed heavily. He'd spotted the lyrics to the current T.Rex single scrawled boldly in felt tip pen by yours truly. As he handed the exercise book back to me he boomed, 'I don't care if you are a Groover honey, please don't...........' I didn't catch the rest of his sentence to be honest, drowned out as it was by the gales of laughter from my classmates. It was a very long walk back to my seat.

In 1973, Walthamstow had a selection of record shops in which to hang out, good, bad and indifferent, but invariably independent. Right at the very top of the market though, in Hoe Street, was a modest sized HMV. Back then HMV wasn't the massive corporation it would become, but it was noticeably more formal (and organised I suppose) than its indie counterparts. One thing HMV did have over its rivals was space for window displays. One Saturday, I summoned up the courage and asked if I could have a poster from the current window display when they had finished with it. The sales assistant told me to come back the following week and he'd see what he could do. So it was that seven days later, I walked the mile from HMV to my house with a 3½ft tall cardboard centrepiece of Marc Bolan, astride a tiger, tucked under my arm. And, 42 years later, I still have it.

My musical horizons were expanding rapidly throughout 1973. I remember buying Led Zeppelin's 'Houses of the Holy' on the Saturday after its release, The Stooges' 'Raw Power' too. Tangerine Dream's 'Atem' was a blissed out favourite as was Fripp & Eno's 'No Pussyfooting'. And the wait between Emerson Lake & Palmer's 'Trilogy' in 1972 and 1973's 'Brain Salad Surgery' felt like an eternity. One Saturday afternoon, I was round at my mate John's house, admiring a new poster on his wall. It was a photo of a group of pyramids. I asked him where he got it and he explained that it had come free with a new LP, which he then dug out and played for me. That was the first time I heard 'Dark Side of the Moon'.

'Frankenstein', a single by The Edgar Winter Group, was a big favourite with me and my pals.

A later appearance by the band on the Old Grey Whistle Test, found me crouched in front of the telly, microphone in hand, desperately shushing my parents, as I recorded the frankly astounding performance on Dad's reel to reel tape recorder. Even Whispering Bob was quite excited by the end of it.

55 From 55 - 1971

55 songs in 55 days - one for every year of my life...so far.

Our story actually begins a few days before the start of 1971, on Christmas Day 1970, when I received this from my Parents!

No other single present in my whole life had the same seismic effect as that one. Freedom. The freedom to listen to what I wanted, when I wanted. To begin with, I spirited away some of Dad's records to play in my room, along with the small handful I'd been given as presents here and there. But I soon became anxious for more.

Filling out. All dressed up for 'Big School'. 1971

Do you remember the days when all kinds of different places sold records? In Walthamstow High Street everyone was at it. Market stalls, clothes shops, newsagents, junk stores - look in the corner, there'd be a rack of LP's or a cardboard box full of singles. And that's not even counting the half dozen legitimate record shops within walking distance of home. I started at 'Big' School' in 1971 and opposite the school gate was a little parade of shops comprising a newsagent, a hairdressers, a chippy (very popular at lunchtimes) and an electrical shop*. Looking through the window of the electrical shop one day, I spotted a box of singles on the counter and ten minutes later, after a quick rummage and at the cost of just a few pence, I walked out clutching this.

* Remarkably, the electrical shop is still there. I'm sure the business must have changed hands at some point over the past 44 years, but looking at the exterior on a photo I found online, it appears that the decor is frozen in time (see here).  I wonder if there's still a box of singles on the counter?