Heart of a Punk Soul of a Rasta

Gig-less in the POOL of LIFE.
AKA: This is not TRIP ADVISOR.

Going about my normal line of business does take me into the POOL of LIFE occasionally, and usually very quickly out again, stopping only briefly to look at the inside of a venue. Only very rarely do I go to Liverpool gig-less. But unlike anywhere else on this sceptred isle going gig-less to Liverpool doesn't mean that you're about to spend a handful of days somewhere bereft of music. Music walks with you every step of the way in Liverpool; and if you look carefully, it's not all FAB FOUR.

The last time I came to Liverpool gig-less was back in 2003 when I went and sat on the end of John Lennon's bed at 251 Menlove Avenue. The National Trust had just completed their preservation in aspic treatment of Aunt Mimi's house (where John Winston O'Boogie Lennon the Middle Class Hero was brought up). It was a bizarre pilgrimage. Being bused in from the Tudor pile that is Speke Hall where everything is black and white timbers and ruff collars didn't help. One minute I was at Speke looking for Edmund Blackadder amongst the topiary; whilst planes buzzed over head en-route to John Lennon Airport. The next moment I was in fifties suburbia at Menlove Avenue in a house unnervingly similar to the one I was brought up in. Otherworldly doesn't quite do it. Oh yeah, nearly forgot, later we went to bloody Paul's house - more of later.

With the Mendips & Forthlin Road boxes already ticked, this time round I decided we'd take in the newly enhanced, digitally re-mastered, and slightly expanded Beatles Story. Look "at home I feel like a tourist" so I might as well actually be a tourist here.

Making our way to the new-ish bit of The B Story situated in the incongruously majestic Pier Building (the most expensive ticket office in the Western World weighing in at 10 and a half million quid) I came across this Superlambanana. Something musical and not Beatle.

I don't know what the artist Taro Chiezo was on when he came up with these Superlambanana fellows, who are scattered all around the city, but I'm betting it was round the magic mushroom picking time. This one has a clutch of Liverpool bands on it: The Real Thing, China Crisis, Flock of Seagulls etc. And yep that is The La's on the backside of this one. Is it a tribute? Err? Perhaps not.

I guess if Lee Mavers and John Power had known back in '89 they'd eventually end up having their faces plastered across the arsehole of a "Superlambanana" they'd have sworn they'd never make another album ever again. Oh right they must have known. Lee Rude & Superlambananas has a ring to it. Better than Lee Rude and the Velcro Underpants?

Inside the newly expanded Beatles Story itself there was another mountain of bizarreness waiting for us. Firstly "White Feather: The Spirit of John Lennon" exhibition, formulated by Cynthia & Julian Lennon. After going round it, looking at the pics and ephemera I was none the wiser what the exhibition was actually about. There were screens showing Cynthia & Julian giving interviews somewhere extremely exotic and opulent (not Toxteth), and they were both talking in a very serious worthy fashion - but what they were saying I've no idea.

Then there was FAB 4D. An animation not in 3D; because let's face it 3D is so last year. This was animation in 4D, and it seemed to make more sense than the "White Feather" exhibition - I guess I'm just a kid who still likes stuff chucked in his face.

Trying to escape from all things FAB means I eventually end up in Bold Street. "People" describe Bold Street as Bohemian; but don't let that put you off. Right at the top of the hill is the partially derelict St Luke's Church - it was bombed by them GERMANS in the WAR! They were aiming for one of our Chip Shops but hit St Luke's instead - thanks Adolf, & Stan.

There's invariably music blaring out of St Luke's - some kind of youth pro-ject lives there - the day I visited was no exception we were treated to "War ina Babylon" by Max Romeo & the Upsetters, E A S Y.

Before I had time to realise it I'd arrived at "Hairy Records". "Hairy Records" isn't Bohemian, it's a record shop. Remember them? (Go to LAST RECORD SHOPS OF ENGLAND to read more).

Predominately a vinyl vault at Hairy there's no pissing about, no arty farty wank bollocks. The records are simply shoved neatly in racks, labelled and listed, and as they should be. You rummage about for an inordinate amount letting time look after itself and existing in the moment. Then you hand over your KA$H, trying to avoid looking too longingly at The La's gold disks hanging tough behind the counter. And then you clear off realising the best part of an hour has passed by. What could be better?

A few doors down from Hairy is the co-op book shop "News From Nowhere". They describe themselves as a radical bookshop, but to me it's just like bookshops used to be "When England was the whore of the world and Margaret was her madam. And the future looked as bright and as clear as the black tarmacadam". It's the sort of gaff where if "Spare Rib" and the "Morning Star" were still in circulation you'd be able to pick up a copy of both no problem. Oh right, apparently The Morning Star is still going - tee he.

At News from Nowhere I picked up a copy of the Liverpool's Punk Alternative 'Zine "EVERYTHING YOU HATE!" I love Fanzines. I don't know why, I just do. I reckon I won't be thanked for saying this but EYH! must be the most charming PUNK 'ZINE in the world - No flowery blurb, no inflammatory bollocks, no half baked hyperbole penned by chin scratching wet willies. EYH! it's a breath of fresh. It tells it like it is with all the bollo removed. See pic with POLY on the front at the top of the page. SEARCH IT OUT.

After Bold Street the place I usually find myself at is St James's Cemetery or St James's Gardens; it's a place were you can escape from everything, apart from the eternal question of where do we go that is.

Described nowadays as a urban park St James's is really a great big cavernous bleedin hole dripping with Gothic Death Victoriana set beneath the towering sandstone of Liverpool's Anglican Cathedral. The pit of despair was created by quarrying on a massive scale which ended in the mid 1800's - I'd like to work something in here about the Quarrymen but it can't be done.

Anyway after many years of digging stone out, they decided it was a good place to bury people in. In out, in out, cadavers all about, when will these people ever rest?

The cemetery finally came to an end when it reached 58 thousand stiffs on the stiff-ometer. The fair folk of POOL then decided enough was enough and looked for somewhere else to bury their dead. The shoe horning over, the cemetery and its headstones and tombs, catacombs and caves were left in peace to decay and despoil.
Today St James's is one of the only quiet places in the city centre. A place where you can take your iPOD and listen to "Cemetery Gates" by The Smiths or "The Eternal" by Joy Division and really cheer yourself up. I love this place. But then I was painting my bedroom black long before Bella got reawakening by Bauhaus, and way before The Sisters of Mercy and the Mission got their hair straighteners and hairspray out. I was also miserable and having black morbid thoughts long before Moz murmured his first epistle. So with its headstones stretching out as far as the eye can see. And with it's graves both grand and wee St James's is a home from home for me.

There's nothing more life affirming than standing on a small patch of grass with 58,000 other souls. It's like going to a festival but without anyone there to piss you off. So remember next time your passing by Liverpool go to St James's gardens. There's 58,000 people there just waiting for you to spend some time with them. So touch their cold dead head stones and step lightly across their graves. You'll be rewarded with their eternal gratitude.

As I've already said, in Liverpool music walks with you every step of the way. From bill posters for Echo & the Bunnymen's new offering to the buskers that are "here there and everywhere". (Not as many buskers as there are seagulls mind you, but then Liverpool is the Seagull shitting capital of the world - TIP: if you've got hair wear a hat - if you're folically bereft take a wet wipe).

There are buskers about in the centre night & day. And all kinds. From young whippersnappers playing the White Stripes to old geezers taking you down to Strawberry Fields. There was even a guy playing the bagpipes the one night - he wasn't any cop - but then as we southern non cross dressers know, the bagpipe can't really be classed as music.

And in Liverpool politics walks every step of the way with you too. There was a WAST demo on whilst I was there. The pictures can't relate how wonderfully these women were singing - in a Zimbabwe style.

Music and politics together are a mighty powerful force. But women being led by a copper with a massive great big bleeding stick? I hope he's proud of himself. Brandishing that 4ft thing at women and children in this wonderful democracy of ours.

As it states on the banner Peace & Freedom. Yeah Peace and Freedom fine words, but be warned chant too loud and you're going to get wacked. Charming! Rule Britainia. I feel a Crass song coming on. GO HERE to find out what's going on.

Staying with music & politics for a mo. For me the great sadness about John Lennon being killed in 1980 wasn't just his loss as a musician. With his green card secured Lennon could now leave NYC come to Britain and return unfettered. Yeah he was an asylum seeker. He was about to return to the UK when he was murdered. He wanted to return by ship. I've always thought that on returning to the UK Lennon would have started looking for a fight, and arriving back in Grande Britannia in 1981 I think he would have taken an instant dislike to THATCHER.

Lennon versus Thatcher would have been a wonderful running battle to behold - Some clever bastard should write it down as historical fact - Perhaps I'll do an un-clever version myself one day, perhaps not.

Finally, and in an attempt not to do anything too touristy (not many), I went to gawp at the original site of the Cavern and the original site of Eric's in Mathew Street. But of course it's no longer where Eric's was, it's now where Eric's is! Because Eric's is back; the ancient habitat of all things punk, post punk and new wave is about to re-open. Believe! I'm as itchy as an itchy thing wanting to get back inside there. GO HERE to go THERE yourself.

I then went and stared at THE WALL. The WALL made of bricks embossed with band names; not just from Liverpool. It took me some time, but finally I found one of our lot residing in among the many. The good ole Strangleroes on the wall of fame amongst a load of other Heroes - nice touch.

And that was about it really. Except. I nearly forgot to mention I saw Miles Kane walking past Probe Records at 12.00pm on Friday 29th July. Where he was going I've no idea. But the last time I saw him he was playing The Beatles "Hey Bulldog" in support of Beady Eye. As he walked past me a busker was playing Oasis's "Don't Look Back in Anger". The synchronicity was there, he looked dapper, I looked like a tramp, I blinked, he was gone.

Eventually "I found myself down at the dockside. Thinking of the old days of Liverpool and Rotherhithe. The transparent people who live on the other side. Living a life that is almost like suicide." Thanks Declan.

Somehow I'd survived being barged out the way by a troupe of suited middle aged East Europeans bent on taking digital photo's of every photo of The Beatles in The Beatles Story. I'd survived being shat on by gulls and being wacked over the head by a rozzer with oversized baton. I'd survived a FAB overload and having to say eh eh calm down, calm down. And somehow I'd survived being gig-less in the POOL of LIFE. Must do it again sometime.....but in the meantime just remember folks all you need is KA$H.