THE DAMNED

A HISTORY OF THE BANDS FIRST YEAR

2009 PERSONS UNKNOWN ;-)

SOUNDS - JULY 1976 - The Dammed, London YEAH, YOU know - the Damned. Like in burning in the fires of eternal torment, cursed from on high, hateful, execrable. All that guff. The right kind of name for a Blank Generation band. This was the Damned's third gig. It took 20 seconds for the Nashville's audience to polarise. On the one hand the laid back lot who like their sounds blues based, who hated it: on the other a small coterie including Hot Rods doyen Ed Mollis and Howard Thompson, Rock On's Ted Carroll and yours truly, all appreciative of an event when it happened. Describing the Damned is pretty hard. You remember (he end of a Stooges gig, where they just turned everything up full and walked off, leaving the guitars on The amps In loop out in ultimate white heat feedback? Well, the Damned come on about that strong. They're beyond being good or bad, beyond comparisons, beyond even being ultimately offensive . . . The Damned just arc, and if you don't like it, piss off-Leading the pack is singer Dave Vanium, a charming little number in matt black from head to foot. In left field Ray Burns sings out on bass. Drummer Rat Scabies one pop star who won't be showing too many press clippings to his mum sounds like Ringo on a terminal speed rush. Brian James, another wearer of black, has one of the more unique guitar styles; half the time he was getting off by merely slapping fingers against Fretboard and humping the guitar into the speakers made for several inspiring feedback endings. I assume that with one exception the songs were original. This was because the stun setting of the music made the lyrics inaudible they were into the chorus before it was obvious they were radically redefining the Beatles' 'Help!'. Whatever. Vanium poses well, beginning strong by standing dead still for three or four of the explosions that pass as songs, then opening into a stalk straight from the Alice Cooper school. Just what Bums was doing wasn't too obvious, either, because Scabies and James insisted on behaving like twin H-bombs. Scabies is a contender for the 'Wild Man of Pop' belt, gnashing at the audience and demolishing his kit into the audience for a climax. James can guitar-pose with the best, too. What really made it unique, though, was their concept of timing. God knows who was making the mistakes, but not once did they make tempo changes in unison. Since all this took place at about Mach 5, the resulting melange sounded positively avant-garde. In fact, the Damned's troubles start when they learn how to play. JOHN INGHAM.

N.M.E. - OCTOBER 1976 The Damned, 100 Club THE DAMNED were into another one of their three-minute barnstormers when the manager of the 100 jumped up onto the stage and grabbed the microphone. "We got three people outside waiting for an ambulance," he shouted furiously as the music ground to a halt. "If there's any more trouble I'll clear the club!" Then he was gone. Rat Scabies started laying into his drums mercilessly again, his eyes bulging maniacally, the sweat pouring off his bare chest and splashing over his kit, the lead and bass players, identical in black shades, Levi's, teeshirts and heavy leather jackets with the collars carefully turned up at the back despite the furnace heat of the West End basement club, picked up on it with a machine-gun burst of staccato power chords; the singer reclaimed the mike, touched his slicked back hair into place, and The Damned were back into the song again where they had left off as if nothing had happened. Such is punk-rock. Earlier one of The Damned's friends in the audience had his face cut up pretty bad with what looked like a broken glass and the band screamed for the psycho who did it to come on stage so they could deal with him. Nobody showed, but all through their set they were under a constant stream of verbal abuse from a large section of the crowd who, spurred on by the taunts and put-downs coming from the stage, seemed as though they genuinely hated The Damned's guts. But through it all, together with PA hassles and broken strings, The Damned played on, true rockers to the end, and overcame all the aggravation to put in a set of fast, diamond-hard rock 'n' roll high energy music and you couldn't help but admire their moxie. The Damned's music carries real frustration, violence and anger and so the reality of the cut face in the crowd was hardly surprising. It was like watching rock music from the North Bank when the Hammers are playing Chelsea. There was that kind of nervous excitement who's gonna get it next? Woodstock it certainly weren't, but if you want to see a band who play with the committed manicexcitement that some bands lose and most bands never have then go to see The Damned. They rock you real good. Tony Victor Parsons. SOUNDS - OCTOBER 1976 The Damned, High Wycombe THE DAMNED's first headlining gig was a strange affair, but one well in keeping with their already exotic tradition. The Damned never do something simply if it can be accomplished with a grand gesture. They don't ask for a beer, they scream for a blankety-blank beer. They don't

tell the beard 'n' denim set they're antiquated or silly looking, they scream the most abusive sewage they can dredge up. All of which is okay, but at the Nag's Head last Thursday they continued on long after they had driven the objects of their contempt from the room, and as one of the 30 or so people left enjoying the music, the invective got a bit tiring. No fan likes to be told he's a stupid shit for liking the band, and the Damned do have their fans, complete with personalised t-shirts and jackets. If they carry on like this when they support Graham Parker at the New Victoria next week it won't even be amusing, it will just look stupid. Musically, though, there's no stopping them. Starting where 'Search and Destroy' leaves off, they smashed and stormed through an inferno of blazing numbers. 'Neat Neat Neat'. 'Born To Kill'. 'So Messed Up', 'Fish' the energy level was phenomenal. How Rat Scabies keeps it up so long I don't know, but his machine gun drumming was evenly matched by Ray Burns' road paving bass and Bryan James' stratosphere guitar. Dave Vanium is learning much more about stage craft, too, and if he evokes Iggy, well, when did you last see Iggy? JONH INGHAM. SOUNDS - OCTOBER 1976 Damn The Damned PUNK ROCK (huh!). After reading your write-up on punk rock (Sex Pistols etc.), I went to see 'The Damned' at the Royal Hotel in Luton on October 8. I can honestly say I have never seen or heard such a load of shit in my life. The band came on, did four (pathetic) numbers, then one of the amps went up the shoot. About half hour later they performed (each!) the same four numbers all over again followed by two more crap pieces and that was it. It wasn't so much they kept being repetitive, the lead singer could hardly be heard, they were out of tune, and the vocalist Dave Vanium was jumping up in the air like a cretin. Pity he didn't hit his head on the ceiling. Ray Burns dedicated "this gig" to ' Johnny Kid, if he had of heard it he would have turned in his grave. Anyway, on to more important matters. I recently flipped through some old editions and found John Peel's write up on the Reading Festivals. Skipping through it I saw his comments on Camel (Hiss!! Fume!!). I have seen Camel twice, their set is simple but amazingly effective. 'The Snow Goose' is out of this world. John Peel should be staked out in the beer tent at the next Reading Festival and be made to listen to the Bay City Rollers (ugh! What have I said) for the duration, and drowned in

the beer slops, then towed away to be hung, drawn and knotted. Steve The White Rider', Stopsley, Luton. SOUNDS - OCTOBER 1976 THE DAMMED beat the Sex Pistols to the punch when they release their debut single this week on Stiff Records (see review on page 36). Title of the single is New Rose' written by lead guitarist Bryan James and it's backed by Lennon and McCartney's 'Help'. As reported in last week's SOUNDS, the Sex Pistols were the first of the new wave' bands to get a record contract when they signed to EMI but their debut single is not expected for several weeks. The first two thousand copies of the Damned's single will have an illustrated sleeve and all copies ordered from Stiff Records (32 Alexander Street, London W2, price 70p) will be supplied with a free poster. The Damned will also be the first new wave band to play a major London venue when they support Graham Parker and The Rumour, together with Sean Tyler, at Victoria Palace on October 26. The group are currently revamping their stage act and will be including a new song entitled 'Anarchy Courtesy Of EMI'. MELODY MAKER - OCTOBER 1976 MARC BOLAN, slimmish in a three-piece suit and tie, sits happily quaffing rose wine. He's survived an ego-testing low ebb two years of nearobscurity after a run of twenty hit singles. But changing fortunes, rather than making him cynical about Rock 'n' Roll, have endowed him with a benign professorial charm. Far from giving the three aspiring young stars before him a hard time, he is contemplating them with mild but generous curiosity and his amiably camp chat is laced with the kind of technical information about the music business which ' green' musicians find invaluable. The Damned for whom Bolan is THE pop star, sit silently as he appraises their debut single, the ardent love song "New Rose" (Stiff). "The energy level is DYNAMITE" says Marc (sighs and grins all round). "The attitude is positive rather than moodypositive. It has the same feel as the Stones' 'I Wanna Be Your Man'.. (1964) and that made a great impression on me. The sound of the band comes over 100%. You have to sit up and take notice of it and that's what rock 'n' roll's all about." Yes, Dave Vanium (vocals), Brian James (guitar), Ray Burns (bass) and Rat Scabies (drums) have, after three months together, crystallised Stage 1 of their musical

identity. It's their own, but deathly shades of Iggy and Black Sabbath whirl overhead The single, with a raging version of "Help" on the 'B' side, was recorded on an eight-track (like Bolan's "I Love To Boogie") three weeks ago. Producer Nick Lowe, who tends not to wear his favourite t-shirts when Rat The Ripper is around, has managed to discipline the band's madness while drawing the best out of them. No mean feat. A hit.

SOUNDS - NOVEMBER 1976

N.M.E. - NOVEMBER 1976 The Damned Do A Deal The Damned have arranged a distribution deal with United Artists for their first single "New Rose" / "Help." They say this makes them the first punk rock band to be available on record nationally "at every damned record shop in the country." And as a secondary outlet, copies of the single are still obtainable by mail order from Stiff Records, 32 Alexander Street, London W.2.

SOUNDS - NOVEMBER 1976

1. Point Of Information THIS ISN'T, as one might have been lead to expect from the blurb in last week's paper, an 'In The Road' feature. Nor is it even an On The Road feature. All it really is, is an 'Over The Road' feature. And I forget the name of the pub. 2. False Start WELL THEN, so you're a PUNK ROCK group are you? Whoops, silly me. I seem to have fallen off my chair and spilt four pints of beer on me. Oh well, 3. Real Start CONTRARY to what Stiff's Press Officer had suggested Pathway Studios was a bugger of a walk from the nearest station. Also there was a major cock-up in the A-Z, resulting in plenty of wrong turnings. Finally the panting Reporter arrives at the gate and has to climb across the roof of the transit that fills the entrance. He says hello to Rat Scabies and Ray Burns. Nick 'Bunger' Lowe appears; smiling. In the toilet-sized control room a couple of freshly-recorded Damned tracks, complete except for vocals and a smidgeon of guitar, are aired. They sound excellent, particularly the one with the skittering drums at the end. Through the glass one can see that the remaining group members have arrived. Ray 'Captain Sensible' Burns is poking his tongue out in greeting. Singer Dave Vanian is sans make-up.' clad head to toe in his customary black. 4. The Pub Over The Road Is over the road. You can't miss it, you just turn left and ... A lager and a lager and a lager and two Guinness and ciders please barman. 5. Just One Reason Why This Isn't An 'On The Road' BECAUSE the Damned are no longer touring with the Flamin' Groovies. Two gigs and it was all over. Could it really have been because the Damned are the worst band the Groovies have ever played with, as they say? "We blew 'em out, didn't we?" comes Ray's reply. "Really. The first gig we played all the kids had come to see us and no-one had ever heard of the Flamin' Groovies. Ray continues: "The gig was supposed to start at seven and at half past seven they still hadn't opened the doors or even miked us up. We said 'Are we gonna be miked up?" And the guy says I dunno and according to the contract we were supposed to use their PA. And to get onstage we had to walk through what they were using for dressing rooms so I've gone to walk through and they've locked it. There's no need for that."

"And one of 'em's bald as well," says Ray in his inimitably sardonic way. 6. Er, How's The Album? FINI SHED almost. Took between six to eight hours to record the Damned's entire set bar the New York Dolls number they do. Including Scabies' 'Stab Your Back'. "Fifty-seven seconds of sheer beauty," says the drummer. Yeah, 'Bunger' is good to work with. "Really easy." according to Brian. "He's like one of the band." "He's firm though," adds Rat. "he gets it all done. But then again he's still sort of a mate." "And I think he's quite into our music." "Which helps no end." 7. Another Classic Quote From The Captain WHEN you ask the Damned if the reason they're so much better now than three months back is due to lots of rehearsal (they've still only played some twenty gigs) this is what they say back: Dave: "I think the last one was before 'New Rose'." Rat: "The day before the single. And we did do an hour before we went into the studio the first time last week. So that's about two or three rehearsals over the past month." Capt. S.: "It's the gigging that does it, just getting used to it." Brian: "And it comes down to PA and those sort of things. If you've got a good PA then you hear things and you can make it tight and keep it good." Rat: "And if you haven t got a good PA then you have to try even harder. But its amazing... the first time you hear it back all those little things you used to do you thought were great just don t fit, just don't work out. I think I've found that more than anybody." Capt.S: "SHURRUP ROUSSOS!" . L1 N.B. Captain Sensible is far from insane. He is merely reacting as would any civilise* human who's just had his ears assaulted by the stuck Pig whine of the Fat Greek Person emanating from the juke-box over there. Mind you, maybe he is just a little bit barmy. A few minutes later he'll suddenly cry, "YERHUR! YERHUR!!" for no apparent reason. "Another classic quite there from the Captain", says Rat. 8. 90% Insane RAY says before the Damned he was in a band called Johnny Moped. Says they used to play in his brother's bedroom in Croydon and that Jimmy is a living legend already. "I'm thinking of putting out a bootleg tape of him." "We'll send you a copy," Rat promises. "He makes the Pistols sound like Yes. A real punk." "He's got a card saying he's insane or something, enny?" asks Dave.

"Yeah. You know when you sign on and you're disabled. Well, because he's so out of his box this guy, he's got to go to the disablement section. And he's ninety per cent disabled." "Ninety per cent insane", says Captain Sensible. "And he need never get a job 'cause he's always disabled. It's fantastic. And all he does now is sit in cafes all day." C.S. says he used to play a bit of drums and a bit of guitar with Johnny Moped. Only they used a suit-case for a drum-kit. Also they played Ludo. How much of this is true only Johnny Moped himself knows or cares for sure. If he exists, that is. 9. And Dave? AND DAVE well, that story about Rat 'discovering' Dave at the Nashville isn't strictly true either. Maybe the two met through Pistols manager Malcolm McClaren. Or not. "The way we really met Dave was me mother-in-law had died along with me wife at the same time when she had a miscarriage. And they dropped the baby when they were showing it to me. "And I was just going to the three funerals with Brian and there he was sitting on a tombstone with a shovel over his shoulder. And he had the baby it was in this shoe box and he was throwing it in the air and going "WE-HEY!! {guess who said that). "And singing 'I Feel Alright'," says Brian. But Dave really did work in a cemetery by choice too. "I had to have five goes before they'd take me on. They kept saying 'Who's this little puny geezer, he's not gonna be able to do it.' And I kept saying 'I'm alright, I'll do it' until I got the job. "But I used to annoy people 'cause I'd be digging a grave and singing at the top of me voice Alice Cooper songs like 'I Love The Dead' and 'Dead Babies'." Dave finally hung up his shovel for the last time a few weeks ago. "He was the best gravedigger they ever had," says Rat. "They kept asking him back to do other jobs." "I've always been the same," says Dave of his obvious kinship with the macabre, "ever since I was a kid." Hence the slicked black hair as in Udo Keir, who plays the title roles in Paul Morrisey's 'Flesh For Frankenstein' and 'Blood For Dracula', the latter of which a regretful Dave is still trying to catch up with. "A lot of people don't realise that." says Rat. "They think it's just a pose. But you wanna try getting on a bus in Kilburn looking like that." 10. The Ability Chestnut SORRY about this one, but both the Damned and yours truly have gotten thoroughly nauseated by the kind of berk who gets his name in print by slagging the Damned Pistols/Clash/Tricycle Turds etc.. etc.. because they

'can't play'. Piffle of course. But there's always an answer when it comes to questions of technique or antisame. "It's all got so stylised." says Brian (whom I defy anybody to accuse of lack of fretboard dexterity). Rat: "Unless you play like John McLaughlin or Billy Cobham you don't stand a chance 'cause they're 'good' musicians." "But," says Brian, "they couldn't do what we do and we couldn't do what they do." Rat differs. "Dunno about that, I don't think it's that difficult to play like McLaughlin or Cobham. I could play like Billy Cobham if I practised ten hours a day." Brian expounds. "You get a guy who's got a certain technique and they do that and it's their own thing and it's good say like Clapton did it years ago. But then you get all these other geezers trying to copy it and you end up with fifty guitarists who sound like Clapton." Scabies can't understand why Robin Trower's such a hero (makes two of us), "he just hasn't got the feeling of Hendrix. I think they've just been filling a gap really. They're not doing anything new musically . .." Not like you, eh? "Well," says Brian, "maybe it's not actually new musically but, like with the Pistols, the attitude comes over in the music and that makes it new musk." "Music's a very logical thing anyway," adds Rat, "like maths or English or anything. But the reason music's been so boring in the last five years is people have been doing the same old thing, using the same old chords over and over again." What characterises the Damned's music, says Brian, halfapologetically for his reliance on the word, is its intensity. "It comes out like being angry but from my point of view it comes out of trying to get as much as you can out of what you're doing." Rat: "It's amazing. I used to play quietly and do lots of flash "little bits in the last band I was in but in this band I can't play quietly, I've got to thrash and crash. And I don't consider myself being tense, angry or anything else. I'm more of a performer than anything I'm not trying to be a messiah or trying to get a message over to anyone. If I leap around the stage or throw beer over the kit it's just because I think it'll look good and entertain people. I think in that respect I'm more of a madman than anything. Like Moon does. You see Moon and he's not doing anything to the audience or at the audience, he's doing something unusual, which is what I do. Got a lot of similarities, me and old Moony." Same thing with live audiences according to Brian. "Like, you're playing and you get no applause and then you go

off and five minutes later they're going berserk. It's like a stunned reaction." "We get a stunned reaction, right!" says the Captain savouring the phrase. "We've got to stamp out boredom." "So many boring bands around," says Rat kicking off a litany. "Yes, Genesis, Emerson, Lake and Palmer . . ." "Queen . . . er . . . Rolling Stones." "The Who are boring now." says Rat at the precise moment when "I'm A Boy' blasts from the juke-box "They've lost touch with the kids. You don't see Moon waiting at a 37 bus stop." What all this boils down to in the end we discover, is a bitter feeling of having been betrayed by yesterday's rock 'n' roll heroes, today's Old Farts. It's those people who should be doing things to change society, according to the Damned. "They've got the power and the money to do it. Why doesn't Jagger build a venue in London where we can play? Why aren't you doing anything, Townshend?" The names roll on . . . because that really is the question. 11. Finally The OFs Arrive BUT before they do, a few more words re. intensity. "I think the ideal mood for us is to feel like you've just been sawn through we go up there and we play and that's when it starts. We just keep going until it hurts and then it's finished. I think that's the way it comes across I dunno, I know it hurts a lot of people," says Rat from the folds of his vast Crombie." It only hurts, sez I, if you fight it, like any music can. "Well, music's emotion anyway," says the Captain. "And an emotion can be either good or bad. Like we get people at gigs and they'll come up and say 'It's great, it really moved me!' and other people say 'I hated that, it was terrible,' But it's still an emotion. "And they go home and they remember the gig, they never forget us." "Whereas if people were going away and saying it was quite nice, it was alright' I'd hate that," says Brian. "Like if we had our single on the jukebox people would notice it, it wouldn't be just background noise. They'd either say 'Yeah, whassat?' or they'd think 'Fuck me, get it off!" "With 'New Rose'," says Rat, "a lot of people have said they didn't like it at first but it grew on them." 12. So What? BUT WHO ever really cared about the future of rock 'n' roll anyway what does it matter if the Damned or Pistols or Clash last five years or ten years or fifty years (another commonplace question in our letter columns)? It's not important; what matters is NOW. And in

the winter of '76 in Britain there's fewer rock 'n' roll presents more stimulating than the one being served up by this particular four piece. Because there's no such thing as the future. And the past is twice as dead.

N.M.E. - NOVEMBER 1976 All you need is love, 400 and "Working with the kind of limited finance we have at our disposal, it can often prove to be frustrating when you know for a fact that with a band like Roogalator we can easily sell 5,000 EPs in advance, yet only have sufficient funds to place an initial pressing order of 2,000. For instance, we got 6,000 advance orders on the

Pink Fairies single and 2,000 for an unknown new band like The Damned

DECEMBER 1976 Superstar Jam Session

MEANWHILE, at the other end of the spectrum, Eddie And The Hot Rods are joined on stage by members of the Damned the very lovely Rat Scabies and Captain Sensible. Note: this caption has been compiled without use of the word p**k. DECEMBER 1976 Junkyard Charts 1) THE DAMNED: New Rose (Stiff) 2) EDDIE & THE HOT RODS: Teenage Depression (Island) 3) THE COUNT BISHOPS: Train, Train (Chiswick) 4) FRANKIE FORD: Sea Cruise (Ace) 5) JERRY BYRNE: Lights Out (Speciality) 6) HANK C. BURNETTE: Spinning Rock Boogie (Sonet) 7) LAVERNE BAKER: Jim Dandy (Atlantic) 8) ROCKY SHARPE & THE RAZORS: EP (Chiswick) 9) SHADOWS OF KNIGHT. Gloria (Atlantic) 10) DR. FEELGOOD: Roxette (UA) 11) THE BEATLES: Sgt Pepper EP (Spanish Parlophone) 12) ROOGALATOR: All Aboard EP (Stiff) 13) COUNT BISHOPS: Speedball EP. (Chiswick) 14) THE VIBRATORS: We Vibrate (RAK) 15) BUDDY HOLLY: Rock Around With Ollie Vee EP (MCA) Chart supplied by Rock On Records, 3 Kentish Town Road, London N.W.1. DECEMBER 1976 Aren't grown-ups helpful sometimes? London punk band, The Damned, ran into onetime singing idol Marc Bolan last week. After chatting to The Chubby One they told him that they were in the sad plight of lacking guitar strings for that night's Red Cow gig. Kind Marc in a fatherly gesture sent his chauffeur round to the gig with a set of strings...

DECEMBER 1976 The Damned, Liverpool WELL, WE'VE all read Giovanni Dadomo's highly ecstatic reviews of the Damned, and we all know how good they are, don't we? But I think it's about time the truth were known i.e. the Damned reek!!! Eric's that veritable CBGB's of Liverpool, run by Ken Testy & Roger Eagle, has done much to give Liverpool a taste of bands we wouldn't normally get to see and for this they deserve the highest commendation. In this case, however, they need not have bothered. An adjective that can be applied to the Damned is "frantic". They present paroxysms of madness and excitement in a loud monotonous onslaught of thrashing guitars, exploding drumkits and deadpan vocals. The only time they venture beyond the barriers of boredom is when they do "2970" by "Iggy Pop, 'ave yer 'eard of 'im" yes, we have, and he could teach you a thing or two. Vocalist Dave Vanium is a poseur of the highest or lowest order, and, let's face it, he hasn't a clue. He could probably bluff his way out if be could sing, but that's rather beyond his ken. Guitarist Brian James has a passing rudimentary knowledge of barre chords but has the volume on full in the hope that the punters don't notice. Now, Rat Scabies (oh yeah?) b bullet material the kind of guy you'd like to garotte. Really bile producing. The Damned are a bunch of nobodies. They make a loud noise and expect us to pay our quids to watch them produce said dm. If they weren't such out and out fakes, I wouldn't mind so much, but they are, so I do. Songs (pardon the Joke) like "Fed the Pain', 'Born to Kill', 'So Messed Up' and 'Stab Your Back' are all designed for the scrap-heap and I reckon the Damned should Join them. Masochists will love 'em, but if this is 'Punk Rock', then I'm gonna bum all my Iggy and MC5 records. Okay, so the attitude's the thing, but there's no disguising rubbish. Think about M. RALPH WHALEY DECEMBER 1976 The Damned & Eater, London

"WE'VE JUST been fired from the tour" The tour, of course, is the now infamous 'Anarchy In The UK' roadshow which has shed bands and venues in its wake

like dead flies. And the quote was from Dave Vanium, Damned vocalist onstage at the Hope and Anchor authentic North London dive. With a fresh red aerosol graffiti backdrop proclaiming 'DAMNED UNTO DEATH' the band played a relentless set albeit rather short illuminated by the powerhouse drumming of the delightful Rat Scabies. Guitarist Bryan James bent his digits round some mean chords throughout and excelled himself on their two trademarks "Help the B side of the single and 'New Rose' the A side. The miming antics of the band to "Rose' for a promotional film being made proved highly embarrassing and only when they waded into the number for real did they cancel the almost comic atmosphere. The whole sweaty evening was opened by Teeny-punks, Eater. Tiny 14 year old drummer Dee Generate proved to be so miniature that he was almost totally invisible. But his rhythms were tasty. Eater's melodies are, not surprisingly, minimal but all the attack and aggression was definitely frontline. SP. JANUARY 1977 N.M.E. Eater, The Damned The Roxy, Covent Garden THE NICE THING about punk rock gigs is that the mezzanine boasts more stars than the stage. In the Thursday night audience at the Roxy were Starchild, Rat Scabies' beautiful girlfriend Simone (in white PVC and high boots) and assorted alumni from the pages of Anarchy In The UK (20p buy it) including a Siouxsie look-a-like in black lipgloss, red tights and little else. The barboys at the Roxy can't mix screwdrivers, but apart from that it ain't too rough. Not the kind of place you'd take your mother, but easily -as good as the Hope cellar on a polite night. At least it doesn't have a Watch Committee, and kids can play without running the gauntlet. The Damned are playing before Eater tonight, but there's no way they're supporting them. Everyone came to see The Damned: Captain Sensible wearing a short blue nurse's dress (great legs) complete with a crisp, white, starched (starched!!!) apron, Brian James and Rat Scabies looking suitably psycho-next-door, Dave Vanium wearing a flowing black cloak over a black suit and for the first time I was struck by the full horror of him. I got a glimpse of him onstage at the Hope one night, but I've never really watched him perform before. He terrified me. I took several steps back when he started to sing, and it wasn't because of the volume. He's simply very frightening. "This is for Johnny Thunders, who's been busted!" After some problems with the sound, The Damned tore into their

set. Dave Vanium tackles the songs as though he hates them and is attempting to disembowel them on his tonsils. The Damned are the antithesis of any concept of harmony. And, of course, it suits them. They didn't make me shake like the Hot Rods do, but they make me feel uncomfortable, they made me feel threatened, and that's what rock and roll needs. It's also what people can't accept, which is why The Damned, Clash, Pistols, et al won't reach the mainstream of kids like the Hot Rods do. People, especially young people, are insecure enough as it is without any additional menace. And The Damned are certainly menacing. Or maybe it's all in the mind. The kids at the Roxy loved them. Subterranean boys made good, The Damned had come back from the overworld down to this dark cellar to show just what colour their roots are (maybe they can't get any other gigs Ed.). Dave Vanium bellowed like the prodigal returning to Hades as he assassinated "Born To Kill", "Fish", "Help" and the incredible "New Rose", jumping off the stage for a soupcon of performer participation as he pogoed wildly with all the young punks. The Damned left me feeling like a speed come-down, like the feeling you get watching day break after three nights awake. After they left the stage, I noticed a sweet young thing hovering nearby. I took it to be a particularly hip midget, but my escort scoffed at my naivet and told me it was none other than Dee Generate, Eater drummer, all 14 years of him. Just as susceptible to jailbait as lesser mortals, I peered eagerly through the gloom at young Mr. Generate. He's almost as cute as Joan Jett. But oh my, Eater ain't no Runaways. Ian Woodcock (the wrong side of 17) especially ain't no Lita Ford. After a while I noticed that Dee Generate and bassist Ian seemed to be playing ping-pong with the beat. The boy I was with told me this was because they were tired. I could sympathise with them. They fold, mutilate and spindle classics by David Bowie ("Queen Bitch"), Alice Cooper ("I'm Eighteen", which has become "I'm Fifteen" for the benefit of vocalist Andy Blade good name) and worst of all, Lou Reed's "Sweet Jane". There's a few crimes which should be punished by death to my mind, and treating "Sweet Jane" like just another disposable bin liner is one of them. .The punks also were pretty hostile; "Pass!" a clever bilingual punk. Less sophisticated punks suggested that Eater remove themselves in plain Anglo-Saxon. But Brian Chevette plays the guitar okay. To my mind the real stars of the evening were several young things (well, maybe they were pushing 19) who were pogoing for all they were worth in front of me. If you

were under the misapprehension that pogoing consisted solely of jumping on the spot, shame on you. These young people were covering the floor in bounds that would make a wallaby long-jump champion feel redundant. Made me feel real old. Rat Scabies is a better drummer than Ringo, anyhow. -Julie Burchill. JANUARY 1977 - ROCK STAR D is for Damned The Damned were the first band to appear on the scene after the Pistols. Line-up Brian James (guitar), Rat Scabies (drums), Captain Sensible (bass) and Dave Vanian (vocals), they are the looniest and most enjoyable punk band who play at ear shattering volume and would bang their heads against a wall for fun. James and Scabies are both former members of the London S.S. and with Sensible played in the Subterraneans. Vanian, who was a grave digger, looks the spitting image of Dracula and was discovered by the band at a gig. They asked him to join them although he'd never sung a note in his life, simply because he looked the part. Apart from the normal punk influences of the Stooges and the New York Dolls, Scabies admits that his biggest inspiration was Dave Dee and Captain Sensible is an admirer of T. Rex. Their set includes "Feel The Pain" "Alone", "See Her Tonight" and "So Messed Up", all written by James, dealing with more conventional teen themes than other punk bands, mostly moody, introspective songs about love. Because they are unconcerned with politics and only interested in having a good time and entertaining their fans rather than attempting to change their views, The Damned are gradually drifting apart from the new wave bands and have come in for a lot of criticism. FEBRUARY 1977 - N.M.E. Damned, Damned, Damned, review IT'S TIME to pay off. No more time for talking about the old farts in The Rock Establishment, no more time for talking about Princess Margaret and backstage cocktails with the Stones, no more time for talking about Townshend singing that he hopes he dies before he reaches 40 ... No more time for talking at all. The recording contracts, the studio time and all the rest are here at long last and it's time for every New Wave band to put up or shut up. We should be on by now. The Damned have delivered the goods. Stiff Records has been a guarantee of quality 45s with Lew Lewis, Nick Lowe, and Richard Hell. The Damned and more and it looks as though, if "Damned. Damned, Damned" is indicative of future product, there will be no lowering of

standards as the label moves via its licensing deal with Island into the big league of albums. Right! Nick Lowe's superb production has harnessed the essential good-time raw power that The Damned are all about and why they are less than popular with the more politically minded New Wave combos and channelled it into the twelve songs that make up the album, most of . them performed better than I've ever heard them before, convincing me that The Damned will (with Lowe producing) have no trouble retaining the excitement of their live act on cold black vinyl in much the same way that their last Roundhouse gig proved to me that they could transcend the small club circuit into the larger halls without, losing their guts, their spirit, and, yeah, their energy. That's very important; there's no point having the energy of a dexie addict who has been listening to far too many Stooges, Dolls and MC5 albums only to be at a loose end what to do with said energy. On this album The Damned show that they know exactly what to do with it. They don't spill a drop. "Neat, Neat, Neat" is the opening cut, a wise choice for the new single, another Brian James song (he will collect songwriting cheques for 10 out of the 12 tracks on the album). The song falls somewhere between the cacophonic teenage wasteland noise of two New York Dolls songs (James' debt to that band as both a songwriter and guitar player is enormous), namely "Pills" and "Trash", and the chanted hookline psychosis of the Stooges' "Now I Wanna Be Your Dog". Musicianship on this cut and throughout the album is superb: James' guitar playing a healthy blend of incessant Keef-riffs and screeching solos, Rat Scabies thrashing hell out of his kit in the donner and blitzen style that has endeared him to such luminaries as Phil Lynott and Robert Plant, and Captain Sensible's bass line proving that he's really not as dumb as he looks. (Anyway, nobody could be that dumb). Dave 'Tombstone Eyes' Vanium's vocal is his usual distinct deadpan, but it's a drag that the lyrics will be mostly unintelligible to those not cognisant with the band's repertoire because it's one of the best songs James has written . . . The second cut, however, is the best song penned by The Damned. It's called "Fan Club" and is one of the most perceptive songs written this decade about the dressing - room camp -follower - females that another generation knew as groupies . . .

You can hear all the words on this one, great lyrics that will prevent it ever being played on Radio One. All about waiting in the pouring rain, just another one night stand, and feeling sad as hell because you can't figure out who's using who. My praise for that track brings me to my main criticism of "Damned, Damned, Damned." Brian James can write brilliant songs that would have been worthy of any of his heroes, but, as he carries such a heavy songwriting burden in The Damned his material is sometimes erratic songs like the first two on the album plus the frantic "Fish", the Ramones-like "Messed Up" or the first single "New Rose" are simply in a different class from weaker numbers like the downered "Feel The Pain" or the undistinguished I Fall", the only two cuts on the album that I felt like skipping over. "Born To Kill" is the malevolent vehicle for Vanium to work out his Hammer Horror persona, one of their best live numbers, and "Stab Yor Back" is the extremely short Rat Scabies-penned song, or rather chant, that could well turn into a North Bank favourite as huge as Rod Stewart always hoped "Sailing" would be. That Rat Scabies should develop as a songwriter is necessary, in fact imperative to the future of The Damned. The reason why The Clash write better songs than anyone else in the New Wave is because they have both Mick Jones and Joe Strummer writing as though '70s London life is suffocating them and they've got to write to unload their heads while always having the other to bounce ideas off If Rat can turn into a songwriter of the same quality as Brian undoubtedly is, then The Damned will be more than a fine rock'n'roll band they'll be world-beaters. "See Her Tonite" is an Urban love song, although West Side Story was never like this, and "One Of The Two" should be taken as a pointer for future directions because it sees James interplaying the basic chord structures of his songs with some guitar runs that burn through your brain the way an acetylene torch slices the top off a parking meter . . . The last track of the album is without doubt the finest, a superlative, relentless interpretation of the Stooges' "I Feel Alright". Iggy never had a finer tribute to him than this. If you buy this album your parents will undoubtedly tell you to turn it down because "we're trying to watch the telly down here". That's because The Damned's music is as provocative as the cover that depicts them smeared with cream, jam, baked beans and other nameless gunge all over their faces.

You are forced into either taking them to your heart or turning away repulsed. The choice is yours. I've made mine. - Tony Parsons.

FEBRUARY 1977 - MELODY MAKER Damned With Faint Praise THE DAMNED: (Stiff SEEZ 1). Brian James (lead guitar). Ray Burns (bass). Rat Scabies (drums), Dave Vanian (lead vocals). Produced by Nick Lowe. ANTS! Bloody ants everywhere. Kill them, crush them with one prod of the forefinger. Mash the insect world and show 'em who is the overlord of all God's species. It so happens that, just as I sit down to ponder over this new album, my desk, typewriter, hands, hair and face are suddenly covered in ants. A great plague of them marches through the MM reviewing cells, and, such is their insidious effect, we bipeds are filled with instinctive loathing, hatred and blind incoherent rage.

So the music of the Damned sounds a sweet symphony of power and superiority to my ears. As they bellow, stamp and shout, I echo their clarion call for violence. "Stab your back!" fumes lead singer David Vanian, and to that I would add: "Put down poison!" The new wave of groups are impatient, filled with energy and perhaps would like to sweep all before them; rather like the man in Jean-Paul Sartre's "Roads To Freedom", who chuckles from his apartment window and whispers encouragement to the Nazis hordes as they invade his country. If the Damned can help free us of ants (which I suspect are even now penetrating my shirt), then bonne chance and Sieg Heil.' Actually, I don't believe all this fascist stuff, but we do need the occasional stentorian bellow, the coarse cry of the free thinker that cuts across the cucumbered politeness of the drawing room of rhythm. The Damned are hard at work making positive noises in an antheap that at times threatens to engulf us. They have courage and power and such a combination is always attractive. The imp of perversity resides in us all, and I remember the occasion when I interviewed a singularly gifted classical violinist who claimed that he had studied for some 14 years and that his violin was a priceless example of the craftsmanship of Grabbinni. "Oh yes?" I rejoined shortly. "What of it?" Admittedly not such a hammer blow against convention as evinced by the punk rock bands, but it was my small contribution. I have heard it said (once or twice) that punk rock bands cannot play. Rot. These boys have got all the residual skills needed for the actual performance of exhausting modern music. It's not easy hammering the drums at 16 beats to the bar, but old Rat Scabies brings instant percussive violence to such driving items as "Neat, Neat, Neat" Listen to the howling guitars and blazing vehemence of "Fan Club" which follows with equal ferocity. And I haven't heard such effective powerhouse guitar (from Brian James) since Pete Townshend first thrust his guitar through the roof of the jive cellar, Shepherds Bush. This is actually a highly professional production and is much more convincing than some other new wave bands I've heard on record. "I Fall" roars ahead with irresistible exuberance and screeches to a halt only to make way for the even more exciting "Born To Kill." The bass drum pounds with anklebreaking force and Rat must have walked about with the aid of crutches after this session. Vanian's vocals almost lose significance over the attack generated by the drums, Ray Burns' bass guitar and Brian's lead. He mutters as if at some distance from pro-

ceedings, chanting "Born to kill" like a compere encouraging a band about to explode with their own pain. The swoop around the drums which introduces "Stab Your Back", a brief vignette of Lord Sutchian violence, is most dramatic. The mad pace continues well into the second side after a brief respite with "Feel The Pain" which, maybe, isn't quite as painful as Frank Zappa's "The Torture Never Stops." "New Rose," "Fish" the battering attack never lets up, and the wreckage piles up in the studio as tea ladies are dragged around by the hair, engineers are spattered with eggs and passers-by dodge speaker cabinets hurled out of the window. During "See Her Tonite," incendiary devices and detonators' explode in the gents and "So Messed Up and I Feel Alright" conclude a dynamic clatter that will encourage even the casual listener to minor acts of demolition. Bravo! C.W.

FEBRUARY 1977 - N.M.E. Damned on Rex Tour THE DAMNED have now been confirmed as the support act for the British tour next month by Marc Bolan and his newlook T. Rex, as forecast by NME three weeks ago. It will be the biggest break yet for the new-wave band, and they will be featuring material from their newly-released Stiff album "Damned, Damned, Damned". The Rex-Damned tour opens on March 10, and three further dates have been added to the itinerary at Hanley Victoria Hall (March 13), Cromer West Runton Pavilion (19) and Portsmouth Locarno (20). FEBRUARY 1977 A Bunch of Fives Damned, Damned, Damned, review Ladles and Gentlemen welcome to the world's first 78 rpm album. At last, a recording that gives creedence to the claim that punk does have a place in the hierarchical structure of contemporary music at the top. Sorry, change that to hieranarchical. The Damned are guitarist Brian James, drummer Rat Scabies, bassist Captain Sensible and singer Dave Vanian. The victory goes that Dave, a retired gravedigger, was spotted In a Sex Pistols audience by the rest of the band and asked to join because he "looked like a singer". He wasn't but it didn't seem to matter. The stuff that legends are made of. Superlatives are superfluous. Suffice it to say that 'Damned, Damned, Damned' lifts punk out of the dole queue (an unfortunate misnomer) and gives it a position in the logical progression of rock. Just listen to 'Feel The Pain' and then try and tell me The Damned and their ilk are purveyors of frantic, hollow fabrications. Just listen to 'New Rose' (clap, clap) and try and tell me punk lacks humour, Just listen to '1 Of The 2' and try and tell me this music ain't got guts. Like the guy says "I was born to kill". They're dancing on the grave of the seventies. Stiff are going places. + + + + + Barry Cain.

FEBRUARY 1977

The Damned, one of the hottest new-wave bands in Britain, tour here next month as the support group to Marc Bolan and T-Rex. The tour starts at Newcastle City Hall on March 10 and three more concerts t STOKE Victoria Hall (March 13), WEST RUNTON Pavilion (19) and PORTSMOUTH Locarno (20) have been added to the schedule. The Damned's first album, simply called "Damned" has just been released on the Stiff label. FEBRUARY 1977 Playful Punks in Pic Pact Word from the Rods: "Take me home I'm so bored!" This is the back cover of the Damned's 'Damned, Damned, Damned' LP featuring . . . Eddie and the Hot Rods? A small red sticker explains everything: "Due to Record Company error, a picture of Island recording artists Eddie and the Hot Rods has been printed instead of the Damned. We apologise for any inconvenience caused and the correct picture will be substituted on future copies. "Hmm, sounds more like another cheap publicity stunt from Stiff to us. The story goes that the first 2,000 copies of the album will go out with the Rods' pic, after which a shot of the real Damned will be substituted. Move fast collectors item freaks. . .

FEBRUARY 1977 Island Boost for New Wave Bands STIFF RECORDS have signed North America. The agreement single by The Damned, both released later this month. Stiff, the London-based label launched last September, have been operating mainly on a mailorder basis. Under the new deal, they will benefit from Island's comprehensive distribution and promotion, while still maintaining their own identity and continuing to operate their mail-order network. All eight previous Stiff singles are now being deleted. ,. The Damned's debut album is also Stiff's first LP. Titled "Damned, Damned, Damned", it is issued on February 18 to retail at 3.49. Their single "Neat, Neat, Neat" follows on February 25 and is marketed in a picture sleeve. A licensing deal with Island covering all world territories except runs for two years, and the initial outcome is a new album and leased later this month. Among other acts with Stiff are Nick Lowe, the Tyla Gang and Elvis Costello. Jake Riviera, co-founder of Stiff, announced this week that the label has also signed Roogalator, Pink Fairies, the Lew Lewis Band and Magic Michael. The Damned's fortunes have also been boosted, following their ill-fated outing on the Sex Pistols' pre-Christmas tour, by signing a new representation deal with the powerful Derek Block Agency. They are now working regularly again, and details of their latest one-nighter bookings are listed below.

FEBRUARY 1977 Damned Support T-Rex THE DAMNED are to support Marc Bolan and T-Rex on their forthcoming British dates. Three more dates have now been confirmed for the tour: Stoke Victoria Hall March 13, West Runton Pavilion 19 and Portsmouth Locarno 30. FEBRUARY 1977

A get-together to mark the new Island-Stiff deal. Front row: Damned bassist CAPTAIN SENSIBLE and Island managing director TIM CLARK. Back row (left to right): Island general manager FRED CANTRELL, Stiff managing director JAKE RIVIERA, Island A&R man CHUCK MINIM, Stiff director DAVID ROBINSON, and the other three Damned members drummer RAT SCABIES, guitarist BRIAN JAMES and singer DAVE VANIUM. FEBRUARY 1977 SOUNDS Fast, Crazy, Dangerous & Damned Damned, Damned, Damned, review TELL THE absolute truth: even the few of us who'd have admitted to liking the Damned five or six months ago would, if placed on the rack and given a little stretch, have admitted what a pleasant and total surprise it was to hear them turn out so strong on vinyl when it came to the release of their 'New Rose' '45. And so it is with 'Damned, Damned, 'Damned'. Because, liking the band as much as individuals or for the sheer brio of their live shows, I have to own I had sheer doubts as to whether the group and producer Nick Lowe's combined efforts could actually eke out sufficient attention-grabbing material for a whole twelve-incher. Sure, there'd been plenty of evidence of talent

forthcoming from the guitar of Brian James and the drums of Rat Scabies but as for the other two, it's always been hard to separate Dave Vanian's hyper-active stage presence from whatever vocal style he possesses while bassman Ray 'Captain Sensible' Burns is such an allpurpose loony that it always seems something of a miracle that he actually remembers to wear his guitar facing outwards. Then, of course, there's the problem of the band's repetoire consisting almost entirely of songs delivered at the tempo of a well-oiled express train. Would the Damned end up producing the half hour of relentless sound-a-likes that enemies of the fabulous Ramones had accused the New Yorkers of? But no, 'Damned, Damned, Damned' stands sturdily on its eight cleft feet with precious few regrets and a great deal of very splendid rock 'n' roll brimstone. The opening 'Neat, Neat, Neat' (pronounced 'NiNiNi!' as in the Knights that go 'Ni!') stands out as a highlight straight off, close to 'New Rose' and very Stooges but with superb guitar and drum blitzes that are typically and uniquely Damned. Slow down just a notch for 'Fan Club' and you can actually understand Dave's vocals as he plays the arrogant superstar who despises his followers for 'Standing in the pissing rain' only he's screwed up too 'You send me pretty flowers while I'm slashing my wrists'. And you go 'Hey, but the Damned can write good songs too!', something they're only too happy to prove again with 'I Fall', another hefty hook delivered with enough muscle to intimidate a dozen sets of Kray twins. 'Born To Kill' is tuff enuff too, as is Rat Scabies' lightning 'Stab Your Back'. Quietest of all is 'Feel The Pain', this one giving Dave ample space to indulge in his more ghoulish fantasies as unspeakable practices and unnatural acts take place in some chill, razor-blade scattered bedroom on the wrong side of midnight. The second half opens with 'New Rose', indisputably one of the finest sides of vinyl cut in Britain in AD 1976; 'Fish', even more desperate and with an instrumental break that's pretty damn close to a new 'The Ox'; 'See Her Tonight', more speedmania, self-destructing as fast as your ears can carry you. It goes on like that through '1 of the 2', 'So Messed Up' and the Stooges' own 'Feel Alright', each in its way capturing the feel of life on the line (thin and white) like it's lived: fast, dangerous, and all but totally crazed. Come 1983 of course all this could sound very silly indeed. Fortunately it's still today and the Damned (with

a lot of help from 'Bunger' Lowe) are right on the button. White light lives. - GIOVANNI DADOMO. ROCK STAR - MARCH 1977 The Damned, Bristol Uni WITH ALMOST every venue in town having long put up their shutters, it's taken a good time for the new wave to arrive in Bristol. But The Damned, in a set that bore a closer resemblance to a holocaust than anything else, have now made the standards for others to follow. Despite the tatty sound mix that predominated almost throughout, often destroying the vocals, they were still most impressive, largely on account of their strong visual impact. And it wasn't hard to see why the Pistols were reluctant, and possibly afraid, to have them on the tour last year. Vocalist Dave Vanian, oil greased back hair, heavy eye shadow, and black skin-hugging clothes, was both menacing yet disturbingly compelling in the controlled aggression of his performance. Brian James, Captain Sensible and Rat Scabies although less exaggerated, seemed suitably deranged. Support act, the Dragons, who with their warm blend of harmonised rock, were the complete antithesis of The Damned, have improved out of all recognition since I last saw them, and should prove to be well worth further investigation - John Powell.

MARCH 1977 - N.M.E. The Damned, Leeds Uni RAT SCABIES swats venomously over his kit, like a man trying to pin down a ground sheet in a hurricane. Grimacing sometimes, sometimes grinning. Captain Sensible isn't sensible at all, he's wearing a yellow plastic hard-hat with an amber flashing light on top. He stomps back and forth, stopping to sing back-up vocals, close to the mike, even with the mike in his mouth occasionally. He plays his bass brute-like and loud. Brian James is probably the most ominously aggressive personality on stage. He doesn't seem to have the inbuilt safety valve of self-depressive humour that the others have; almost as though he takes himself seriously. His guitar playing is a continuous trebly buzz, a merciless powerslide of gilt-edged riffs and half formed solos. Hunched into what appears to be a mal-fitting donkey jacket is Dave Vanian. All glossed back hair, pit shaft eyes and skinny leg jeans, looking for all the world like a sexless spectre from an Isher-wood nightmare who's fallen on hard times in pre-war Berlin. He slinky-creeps round the stage, very fast, staring into the audience, occasionally swinging on the hangman's noose that dangles above Rat's drums. Oh yeah, and he sings also. He sings, or rather vocalises, in a toneless, bottomless monotone, seemingly oblivious to all the recognised niceties and subtleties adopted by the more main stream rock vocalists. Over the last few years I've witnessed more gigs than I can remember, some good and some bad, but not once have I seen a band that turned my head around so abruptly; they wiped me out; did me in and converted- a cynic. Actually, I was a little nervous about making an appearance at the gig. I've read the articles, the reviews and those stories ... Fascists, rampant anarchists, bitten off ear lobes, chicks blinded, vicious thugs lusting for blood, plastic trousers. Badness incarnate. Sweet Jesus, what the hell's happening to this country? Only it wasn't like that. There was definitely a spectacular amount of overdress present, fashion wise, but everybody was real friendly and I felt absolutely at ease. Good fun - John Hamblett. MARCH 1977 - N.M.E.

VELDA ALWAYS believed that beautiful Brian James, lead guitarist with that delightful punk band The Damned (they're so elemental my dears) was a bit of a hard nut. My illusions were shattered this week when I discovered that his cute Brian James 24-year-old Canadian girlfriend calls him by the pet-name of Boo Boo. Our cuddly Canuck a rock photographer by trade also refers to him in public as her husband (they are, of course, not married). I cant disclose the lady's pet-name for an anonymous NME staffer who was a one-time escort.

MARCH 1977 - N.M.E. THE DAMNED: Neat Neat Neat (Stiff). This band is really kicking on every detail of its presentation. "Damned Damned Damned" is too monochrome for me, but this demented Chuck Berry-goes-hooligan on a "Summertime" riff makes an explosive two and a half minutes. Brilliant Nick Lowe production, more accessible than "New Rose".

MARCH 1977 SOUNDS Rendezvous at the Loo OK SO I know you are all sick to the back-teeth with letters on punk (except G. Dadomo good chap) but I fed I have something important to say. I went to see the Damned the other night, not knowing quite what to expect. The only 'punks' dressed as punks were the Damned themselves, and I must admit they looked menacing. On answering the proverbial call of nature I found myself confronted by Rat Scabies and Capt Sensible in the boys. I felt a little scared after bearing all this talk of violence. I had a Thin Lizzy badge on and surprisingly they thought it was great. They were very friendly and whilst conversing they did not swear once, or spit or vomit. They reckoned the Pistols are crapping up the punk scene and getting other bands as well as themselves banned from gigs. They like the Hot Rods, Ramones and TRex. They don't like the Pistols. They seemed quite bashful when I probed them with questions (I'm not violent or seven feet tall!). They gave me and my mate Damned badges (the only two they had). Their set was bloody amazing, bow two guitars can thrash out so much noise and power defies me. There were no fights, no vomiting on stage, just raw energy. If this is what punk rock is then long may it

live. So come all you Zep, Purple, Stones fanes (I'm one), broaden your minds after all rock music is THE music whoever plays it - S. WALTON, Plymouth.

MARCH 1977 SOUNDS Damned Fine WELL DONE Marc Bolan for recognising the genius of the Damned and taking them on tour with him. It's about time some decent music was heard at the Apollo in Glasgow and we hope it won't be the last time punk rock comes to Glasgow. By the way, we would all like to thank you for the best music rag, it's way above the rest. Yours repulsively, Billy Bastard, Johnny Vomit, Dave the Rave, Mac the Gripper and all the rest of the Glasgow punk people. MARCH 1977 - RECORD MIRROR Marc Bolan, The Damned, Newcastle City Hall LOVE HIM or hate him, you've got to admit Marc Bolan has staying power. It's been two years since his last tour, but the opening night at the City Hall was a sell out with scenes of hysteria rivalling the Rollers. They stamped and pleaded for more and Marc and T. Rex gave it to them. The new improved, slim line Bolan Marc Two pirouetted around the stage, dressed in tight shiny trousers and short jacket. With his corkscrew hair grown back it was like watching him in his early days. 'Jeepster' burst from the speakers, the new band tight and anchor firm. The new members had a harder feel particularly 'New York City'. It was powered along by Herbie Flowers looking like an ageing skinhead on bass. On to 'Deborah', played faster than a bullet and then 'I Love To Boogie' Marc looked relieved that the reaction was so good, and launched into a great guitar solo as in the days of yore. At the end of the set the band were left to their own devices, Tony Newman flogging himself to death on drums before Marc waltzed back on stage. If the reaction at Newcastle was anything to go by, it looks like punk is taking off nationwide. There were a number of spiky haircuts and pierced ears in evidence. The Damned produced their usual tedious brand of badly played, over -loud songs. Granted, punk has a basic, raw, exciting energy but after more than five minutes it gets

very wearing. Still the Damned seem to root so who am I to argue? - ROBIN SMITH MELODY MAKER - MARCH 1977 I HAD last seen Marc Bolan at the Lyceum in London. Almost a year ago I think it was, when he was appearing to promote his new album, "Futuristic Dragon ". It really was a sad and desperate performance, his glory in rips and ruins by the end of that concert. He was a mere counterfeit of his old flamboyant image, mincing about the stage like an overweight tart looking for action, inspiration and a little adulation. I remember viewing the concert's disasters as conclusive evidence of Bolan's dazzling fall from popular grace into insignificance after the years of commercial domination. That night he seemed like a man trying to hold it all together despite the whispers of premature obscurity, in an attempt to convince himself of his own musical and commercial potency; a last vain glorious gesture to his own past. He struck me as a pathetic caricature of the former Bolan. He even forgot the lyric of "Deborah." Bolan, however, is nothing if not resilient; and a year later, his ego still monstrously intact, he's laying H all down on stage at Newcastle's City Hall. He's revamped his visuals lost enough weight to squeeze himself into e pair of lurid leather pants (a point he demonstrates by poking his arse at the audience for their inspection), and he's got a new T. Rex line-up to dominate. More significantly, much of the old zip and rush has beep restored, and is further encouraged by the enthusiastic support of the faithful who have congregated here this Thursday night to pay homage to one of the real Leper Messiahs of the early Seventies. Marc never really had much to say, but a lot of folk nevertheless still seem to want to listen. He was an undeniable master of the instantly disposable, releasing an incessant flow of trivial teenage anthems that possessed no virtues other than their danceable rhythms and quirky individuality. Bolan would, I'm sure, claim much more: the shadow of profundity has always lurked behind his public pronouncements; he's often sought to speak for rather than to his audience. This ridiculous possibility I found endearing. Bolan was a wizard of supercharged ephemerality. Just like the Damned, actually. Yeah, Marc, in a display of exaggerated sympathy and allegiance with the emerging "new wave," has signed the Damned as his supporting attraction on this current tour. Shrewd.

In one swift stroke he's possibly enhanced his credibility with the new wave audience and acquired as support band a group drawing national attention. Marc may be assured of a staunch core of supporters, but it's arguable that without The Damned he'd be pulling no new faces to his concerts. Also, it's unsurprising that Bolan's audience (on the evidence of the Newcastle gig, at least) so relishes the Damned. Rat Scabies and the boys are similarly dedicated to the immediate thrill, the instant reaction to their showbiz punk stance. They are closer to Alice Cooper than, say, Iggy (though they have the blurred attack of the Stooges measured to an adequate degree of malevolence). Refer to "Feel The Pain," from their debut album, and the resemblance will be distinct, I assure you. Likewise, "Stab Your Back," the Rat Scabies opus from their current repertoire, is pure burlesque menace. Still, in performance they communicate a sense of humour and fun, though none of it should be taken at all seriously. It's all riotous and forgettable stuff, but performed with leering arrogance and panache. Scabies turns out to be a most spirited and accurate drummer with immense personality, and Captain Sensible, despite a certain lack of technique on bass, is wonderfully lunatic, pumping out identical riffs while jogging on the spot, high-Kicking like a depraved Tiller Girl, or merely laying flat -on his back with his legs in the air. Dave Vanian, their vocalist, tries very hard to look creepy, and expends considerable energy by racing sideways across the boards at every conceivable opportunity and executing impressive aerial contortions. His voice is regulation deadpan monotone, and be deserves some kind of award for managing to cram every last sulphate syllable of " Help" into the band's coarse and frenetic arrangement. Brian James, the combo's guitarist and principal songwriter, is the most reserved. He has this guitar hero-asthe-crazed-rocker persona beautifully tied up, and his playing is effortlessly abrasive. It's all hit and run: mangled and ruptured guitar runs careering across a surface of pneumatic rhythms, with Vanian offering a vocal commentary that's as animated as the confession of a catatonic. The climax to their set involves Scabies in pyro-maniac mood, setting fire to his cymbals while furiously lashing his kit. And he never skips a beat. Wonderful! The Damned, I suspect, will achieve real success in the forthcoming year. They appear to be more organised in their outrage than the Pistols, say, and less potentially dangerous: one can feel them already slipping into the

embrace of the rockbiz, their smiles well-practised, their anarchy carefully channelled. The new wave is the old wave with acne. Good luck to them. AND welcome, now, to ol' Bolan, his freak flag still flying and that impish, psychedelic air intact. His audience, still loyal to his satin pop/rock boogie, receive him with fervour. It's impossible to resist a wry smile at their antics: rushing to the stage in their determination to show Bolan their adoration, dressed in the remnants of their early Seventies uniforms and T. Rex paraphernalia. Hardly the "children of the revolution" that Marc eulogised in one of his rock and roll anthems, but off they get to the opening strains of "Jeepster" Hell, it still sounds great even to these jaded ears. Bolan's entire attitude is more decisive than it was at that last Lyceum catastrophe. He's no longer like a man grappling with the vertical hold on a television to hold together the desired image. Even if he cannot rally persuade his critic of his regeneration as an artist, he has at least convinced himself. Let's hear it for the band, too. Tony Newman is back in action on the tubs after the recent Boxer debacle, and reunited with Herbie Flowers on bass (the rhythm section that accompanied David Bowie on the gruelling "Diamond Dogs" tour of America, you may recall). Miller Anderson is on guitar and supporting vocals. Keyboard forays are marshalled by Dino Dines. These musicians may not be challenged by the simplistic imperatives of Bolan's compositions, but they are committed professionals, and ruthlessly exact. There's no lack of conviction in their playing nor excitement in their performance. Newman, especially, seems well into it, particularly the adulation: "Haven't seen anything like it since I toured with Gerry & the Pacemakers in 1964," he says later. "I fuckin love it when they start wetting themselves. Yes, girls, you made an old man happy last Thursday in Newcastle. Bolan, it transpires, has not been unaware of recent developments in rock and roll (his awareness of fashion has always been strong), but I'm intrigued by slight innovations in his music. He'd probably argue that he was a direct predecessor of the current punk stance of cheek 'n' arrogance (he'd probably argue that he was a predecessor of just about anything come to think of it, from Chuck Berry to Dylan), and he may have a point. But what's this? I swear Marc's been delving into the Stooges' repertoire for some of his current licks. And

that voice; that phrasing! God almighty it could be the impression of an overworked imagination, but he's midway through something called " Visions Of Domino," and he's beginning to sound like, uh, Patti Smith! I didn't believe it, either. He's still bleating like a sheep with hiccoughs (that's the connection, of course), but there's something about his phrasing that does bear a stylistic resemblance to Patti. Anyway, this is a minor digression. The majority of the show is pure Bolan hyperbole. A smattering of golden groovers the great " Telegram Sam," "New York City," and a dynamic reworking of "Deborah" with Newman thwacking hellfire out of the traps interspersed with a couple new ditties from the forthcoming album, "Dandy In The Underworld" (the title track of said platter is a real winner). The set concludes with a euphoric rendition of the vintage "Hot Love," which has the droogs in the front rows swaying ecstatically and is crowned with a beezer" Get It On," which features a fierce instrumental coda that sets the old foot twitching in complimentary fashion. Yeah, I enjoyed it, even though I had anticipated disaster. Bolan seems quite relieved in the aftermatch. Perhaps he, too, could sense catastrophe in the air beforehand. But one has to congratulate the old campaigner for coming through. By the tour's end he may even have revived popular interest in his music. He even remembered the words to "Deborah." Things must be looking up. MARCH 1977 SOUNDS KID STRANGE and Dave Vanian caught swapping After Eights at a Chinese eaterie last week following Doctors Of Madness' triumphant return to the Marquee. The Damneds lead singer was in attendance in a purely audience capacity until he joined Strange onstage for his traditional 'I'm Waiting For My Man' encore. The couple claim to have met in a shoe store some time ago.

MARCH 1977

The story so far: Barry Cain and The Damned have journeyed to New York in pursuit of the evil CBGB... FORTY-TWO FLOORS above the yellow cab chaos of Manhattan, Captain Sensible is in serious trouble! He's cornered in one of those scrape - your -stomach off - the - ceiling elevators and there's no possible way out! And if you ain't clued in already, the Captain is WORRIED! "Well, this must be it! Who on earth would have thought I'd end up hurtling to my doom into the bowels of the Empire State Building!? But how the hell did I get here?" Cue the proverbial life flashing before eyes in a moment scene. And FLASHBACK! Springtime in England. The Captain, alias Ray Burns; is sipping tea in the garden of his baronial home. Enter Jake Rivera from STIFF - The Society of Thinking Insurrectionists and Ferocious Ferrets. "Captain, we need your help. Its. . ." "Come on man, out with it. You know I don't scare easy.'' Alright. It's CBGB!" "Oh my god! I'm scared. You mean me, us. The Fantastic Four?" "Yes. We want you to go over and rip it apart! Here, read these instructions and then destroy them!" And with that Jake left, taking the scenic route through the Captain's game forest Sensible summoned his Butler

Dave Vanian, alias the Human Torch, it's come. The one we've always dreaded." "Not "Yes. CBGB! Quick - get the Ratmoblle." Rat Scabies, the chauffeur, was giving the engine a quick tinkle when a breathless Dave came running up. Brian James! "You see - thru clod'. I bet Batman never had this trouble.''

"You can't have your cape and eat it," said Brian. Rat bleeped the horn and all three ran out to join him. On the way to the airport the Captain (who had never flown before - and indeed had never been further than a day trip to Boulogne with his school) drank a bottle of vodka to steady his nerves. OFF into the wild blue yonder . . . next stop Kennedy Airport. Meanwhile in Greenwich Village CBGB - the Corrupt Blitzkrieg Guerilla Bonanza has heard of the Four's impending arrival and has prepared a special welcome. But more of that later. . . The plane touched down at 4.20pm. The Captain touched down half an hour later - that vodka had quite a kick. Our heroes, after one or two difficulties at customs with their superhuman costumes, made straight for their hotel in the Village Itself. There was just one night to kill so they looked Into Max's Kansas City, the famed New York punk venue. Very plush, very hip and very empty. Max's has bombed. "Damn," said Dave. "Another victim of CBGB. Where will it all end?" "Easy, Torch," said Brian. "That's what we're here for. Save your Darning temper for tomorrow...!"

The taking of CBGB's Day One AND THIS is what they had prepared. A long narrow hall on the worst side of town - corner of Bleeker Street and The Bowery -where only drunks dare wander at night. Inside. A calculated shabbiness. Dim. Slightly Incredulous. And get this. You've got to book tables. The old New York kitsch night club syndrome spills onto the drunken Bowery. Where there's tables; there's sedation. The audience is polite. Ripples of dainty applause after each number. The whole set - up reeks of a late Sixties London folk club. On stage; The Dead Boys. First impressions - lead singer Stiv Baton a Johnny Rotten rip -off. Innocuous songs, indifferent musicians - Cheetah Chrome and Jimmy Zero on guitars and Johnny Blitz on drums. Get the picture? "God" said Rat as the Four walked in. "Just what we feared - only worse! This looks like a job for. . . The Thing!" A waitress keels in horror. "Oh no! It's hideous! I've heard of The Thing, but I never dreamed it could look THIS terrible!" "Easy honey," said Rat. "I haven't even changed yet." "FLAME ON" WHOOOSHH Straight into 'Feel Alright', the old Stooges number. Sensible sucks the mike, burns up the stage and . . . falls over. Never mind, he's up and yea here it comes, the arm begins to streeeetch right to the very end of the club and grabs the poseurs' attentions. But it's all not quite there. Sensibles plug keeps falling out His elongated arm la twisted with cramp. There are pauses between each number. That ain't the Damned. The second set is an improvement but Is only pulled out of mediocrity, when Torch Jumps Into the audience and drags a fat blonde onto the stage where he nearly gets his wicked way with her. "Would you have done it with him?" someone asks the blonde later. "Gee, I felt like it but I don't know. After all, I am a virgin." That's CBGB's. Oh, and there were a few pies thrown around courtesy of The Rolling Stones who sent them specially for the occasion. Afterwards. Brian makes himself Invisible and Rat, who still hasn't reverted to his orange akin powerhouse guise, complains bitterly about the CBGB people.

The taking off CBGB's Day Two HEY, The Dead Boys are getting better. Each number is gradually taking on an identity of its own. "Playing with The Damned was the best thing that ever happened to us," says Cheetah. The Damned flopped. The Captain took the brunt of the blame. He just forgets sometimes that he's got a guitar in his hand and the cord tends to get tangled around his rubbery legs. Then he falls over and tips the cord out of the amp. Silence. It kept on happening until he busted the guitar. They played on in treble splendour then broke for 10 minutes to patch things up. But all impetus was lost and the final 'New Rose", 'Stab Tour Back' and 'So Messed Up onslaught verged on the pathetic. Again the second set was an improvement. Anything would've been, but it was still plagued by technical problems that even Sensibles nurses uniform couldn't prevent. HOLD IT. The Four are going nowhere fast. It's time for action if they're ever gonna break the evil foe that has so far stopped them In their tracks. That terrible green devil The Big Apple is the reason for the Four's lethargy. And they know it. The question Is Where Is He? It's 3 am and The Torch can't sleep. He gets out of bed to hunt for a cigarette. Then suddenly . . . that laugh! That awful screeching laugh that pierces right to the very core of the soul The Big Apple! Dave catches a hint of green outside his window. "FLAME ONI" Meanwhile, the other three have also heard that supernatural scream and rush into the room. '' He went that away!'' says Dave, and the four are off out of the window. Dave first. A red flash and he's hot on the trail! Then the Captain's arms reaching out of the window and up, up onto the roof! Rat, his whole body the colour of his red hair six foot wide with cracks, sweeps Brian off his feet and crashes up the stairs onto the roof! The chase is on!

The Big Apple, with 20 - foot -high leaves, bounces across the rooftops cackling! The reflection of one million city lights hits his shiny skin as he heads for the Chrysler building 800 feet above the street! WHOOSH! The Torch hurls a thunderbolt of fire. No effect! "This is gonna be tougher than I thought," he thinks, ducking as a giant black pip zooms over the top of his head! "It's clobberin" time," yells The Thing as he drops Invisible Man and smashes into the mighty Apple! He takes a bite but it ain't enough a pip crashes into Rat's crazy paving chest! "Ya rotten apple," he cries as he plummets to the ground! The Apple bounces from the Pan Am building onto the Empire State, where it looks like King Kong with gangrene. Meanwhile, the Captain has taken to the ground. . . he spots The Apple. He runs inside, jumps into an elevator and heads for the stars. But the Apple has seen him and Oh No! shoots a well aimed pip at the lift cable. SNAP! Is it curtains for the Captain? Is this the end of The Damned? Is this the final encore? Is this where we came in? Right. So, The Thing (who you may remember fell off the roof) saw the Captain's dilemma and simply cushioned the elevator's fall. The rest is history. In case you forgot. The Inevitable Man saved the day when he sneaked up on The Apple and peeled it. Their troubles over the Four returned to their hotel and continued with

The taking off CBGB's - Day Three I'm convinced the Dead Boys are one of the best new bands on the New York scene. Bators looks ill enough to be a star wafer -thin face, cloak and dagger smile, shades. A wasted Graham Parker. "The rest of the band are . . . ("ere, yer s'posed to be writin' about us ain't ya," Rat). Anyway, The Damned are cooking tonight Scabies Is In fine Insulting form coercing the audience into some kind of response, however minimal. Someone throws a bottle. That's something. "Awright, we're fed up wiv all you poseurs. We're English and where we come from everyone MOVES. Git up." A handful of takers. Some people actually think he's menacing! Damned gullible, these yanks. The band play the same set every night but this is the first time they've hit it on the head. Everything's working. The Captain Is more restrained he only falls over once, relaxed is the word. "You guys are so terrible I luv ya," yells an ageing hippy at the back. America isn't ready for The Damned. There are one or two clued - In punters amongst the hairy audience and they appreciate just how good they are. The rest. . . . ? ''This has been the most exciting period of my life," says The Captain in the cupboard sized dressing room. Well, it is a bit different from Boulogne. At the beginning of the Dead Boys second set The Damned join them on stage for an Impromptu version of 'Anarchy In The UK' a big favourite with the CBGB gang who revel In the thought that this great country of ours may be on the verge of cracking up. Scabies, in his gruffest anarchical tones, harmonises(?) with Bators and they all had them a real good time.

The taking off CBGB's - Day Four Right. This Is It. The big one. Well stab your back and feel the pain they've never played better. From Feel Alright' through 'See Her Tonite' via 'Help' and 'Neat Neat Neat to 'So Messed Up' non-stop. English audiences have come to expect that. The Yanks aren't expecting it the show knocks them out. The Brian James songbook is bound in gold tonight. Collar turned up, clenched eyed satisfaction across his face, guitar held Just the right distance from his lean body, Brian is the archetypal teen - dream. Tonight the predominantly Patti Smith audience (she's appearing after the band) are converted. But when it comes to our homespun delights, they've still got a lot to learn. Come to that, there's a few people on this side of the pond in the same boat. Well, that's it. Mission accomplished. Or is it? The Damned have had the first bite of the Big Apple with mixed success. As a reconnaissance expedition The Damned have started to blaze the trail west. Now we need a full scale invasion. MARCH 1977 - N.M.E. T-Rex & The Damned, Newcastle AS THESE performances by Marc Bolan and The Damned at Newcastle City Hall last Thursday proved, it's all to wheel out that old clich a matter of mind and not age whether you can rock 'n' roll or not. Granted you have to be this side of middle age to rock with conviction, but Bolan, a product of the late '60s rock revolution, is no spring chicken anymore. Moreover, he's received a unanimous critical thumbs down (not quite unanimous! Bolan Head Ed) for so long now, one wondered if it wouldn't be best for all of us if he didn't throw in the towel. But on Thursday, the opening night of Bolan's first tour in over a year, he was back on form with a clean, well tailored set of old and new material, looking thinner and fitter than he has for ages, and backed by an excellent band of mature and highly skilled rock musicians. But first The Damned, who're the first new-wave band to actually get an album out and get themselves on a major tour. No two ways about it. The Damned are a rush. They look great, play well (especially Rat Scabies, who looks all set to join the ranks of the truly great British rock drummers with his brilliantly crazed playing, which reeks of panache) and can actually write good rock 'n' roll songs. The Damned also possess character, and one which, with Scabies' madcap rake personality and singer Dave Vanian's

bizarre, though not threatening Hammer horror-fetish (rather eccentric), is overtly British. The music they play might well be derived from Detroit and New York bands, but the slant they give it is distinctly east of the Atlantic. Apart from Vanian, whose vocals don't match up to his persona, The Damned come across better onstage than on record, where their exhilarating energy isn't so potent. Marc, cute in his canary yellow bum freezer and purple drainies, unlike The Damned, doesn't give it to the audience all on a plate right from the start, but gradually builds his set so that by the closing lengthy "Get It On" the audience is totally infected. The place isn't quite full, and the front of the hall is taken up with Marc's committed fans, banners and all. Bolan treats his audience with affection, sings well and plays fine guitar. His solos are well constructed and relatively clich free.

MARCH 1977 SOUNDS IS THIS a Jamboree Bag I see before me? Sure is, right there next to the row of Smarties tubes, the neat lines of Mars bars and a dozen or so other icky sticky things wrapped in vivid oranges, blues and reds, every single one of them with some tyke's oral cavity and points below for a target. Location of this vivid-hued parcel of saccharine geometry? Atop this little desk in the foyer of Newcastle's City Hall. A similar desk a few yards to our right deals in items of a somewhat less transitory nature, viz. various scarves, t-shirts and badges emblazoned with the legend T.REX. You remember T. REX, I presume. But of course you do, how foolish of me to suggest otherwise. Dunno though, only three months ago I seem to recall seeing someone wearing a T. Rex t-shirt like the ones being sold here (a bassist, no less, his maniac presence in the here and now to be manifested in all its proud kookery a mere few moments hence) and it somehow seemed a very nostalgic little artifact, as locked in its own time as Marilyn Monroe's famous Warhol grin, that other favourite of singlet stampers. Sure enough, time ticks no faster than in the rock 'n' roll world. But you know about that already. Like those posters saying 'Whatever Happened To Slade?' I keep seeing, wondering all the while how much I really care about the answer. Wondering too how many.kids walk past the same hoardings who don't even know who or what Slade. was. Same kids probably have vague blurs in their heads marked' Beatles' that are no clearer than 'Robin Hood' or 'Henry VIII', just history, whatever that is. Which is why, when I first heard about the upcoming T. Rex tour a few weeks back, I really did stop for a second to muse on the kind of reception the erstwhile Bopping Elf had waiting for him. Or not what if you gave a tour and nobody came? How I heard about this thing about to be launched in Newcastle's City Hall was, in fact, via the quartet of young gents known collectively as The Damned. Seemed the fearful foursome had landed the supporting role on what would be boogie Bolan's first national outing in almost two years. And, yes, I have to confess that my first thought was that the boys' appearance on said tour was Marc's way of keeping up with the times, ensuring full houses by adding a dash of good ole 'controversial' punkery to whatever circus he was heading. And my second thought was that the boys in black would blow the 28 year-old Bolan clean off the stage. Third and final cogitation comin' up what if (2) came to pass? Would The Damned find themselves slung off yet

another tour? And, knowing that at least two members of the group retained a fair measure of admiration for MB, how would they feel if this actually came to pass? Mind you, it'd be crazy to dismiss the Small One quite that lightly after all, he's been in the bear-pit for near a decade, hardly the kind of background to make a first round wipe-out an inevitability. Whatever, there's no denying the ingredients were all set for at least one stimulating evening's fun. Let's just hang loose and see what happens, shall we? So forget the Jamboree Bag and let's get ourselves in there I know that fracas booming from behind the double doors, and it sure as hell ain't a Local Ratepayer's Assn. meeting. NO SIRRAH, The Damned are on and blasting away for all they're worth, sic'ing the locals with most, if not all, of 'Damned, Damned, Damned' with nary a pause to blink. Rat Scabies is up back, of course, whacking at his kit so hard you just know what he's aiming at is some invisible point three or four feet beyond the drums, deep into the structure of the stage itself. To the right is Brian James, sharp in a black and silver shirt, doing his best to tie knots in the neck of his guitar. And stage left is Captain Sensible, face and body contorting as he flails at his silver-faced violin bass, alive once more and out from the cardboard box it travels in. Vocalist Dave Vanian, he's left... no centre . . . er, make that . . . make that just about everywhere he can be in the narrow confines left him by two lots of equipment, hollering the lyrics to 'Help' (78 rpm version, natch), 'Neat, Neat Neat', and so on. Coupla newies in there too 'StretcherCase' and 'Sick Of Being Sick', both of which sound rather splendid on this first hearing. Oh sure, there's a few cock-ups, times when the shared vocals on one of the new songs don't quite come together, when Dave gets so carried away that the mike leaves his mouth before the end of a line does, little things like that. Big deal, the thing of it is, the fire is there. And there's plenty of really fine moments, not the least of which is the way 'New Rose' rockets its way into 'Stab Your Back', a real breath-stealer. Tasty little bit of mini-theatricals in the finale too, Rat's cymbals bursting into flames so real that even vintage Belgian rocker Rene Magritte would be up and clapping for more were he with us tonight. Applause? Riotous almost, went down better than well and called back for an encore which time unfortunately won't

allow for. All the same, The Damned have made more than a few new friends on Tyneside tonight. WHO THESE friends will be exactly is another matter. The lights go on to reveal a truly motley crew. Like, there's the little chickies upfront in the home-made fathead top hats like on 'The Slider' cover with probably little more than thirty years between the three of them. Also lots of young couples, mid teens and all dressed up for an evening out, a few early twenties, scattered denim soldiers, even a sprinkling of crop-haired, monochrome New Wavers, some fifteen hundred souls maybe, filling out the stalls and with a little surplus scampering for front row balcony seating. Heading for the stage door I suddenly find myself face to face with someone who absolutely begs to be described as a fully fledged son of Woodstock Nation, he with the hair curling over his shoulders and (oh, what? as they used to say when everyone looked or wanted to look like this) a head-band tied around his cranium. But hey, I know that face. Why, it's only Phil Sutcliffe, 'SOUNDS' man on the banks of the Tyne his-self. Heloo there, Jimmy. Turns out Phil is here to tape an interview for the local radio station. Asks if I'd lend a hand, seeing as The Damned aren't quite his particular cup of meat. Needn't have even bothered to ask really, should know me well enough by now to realise I never refuse the chance of a little extra exposure. Unhappily the citizens of Newcastle and environs won't have the indescribably moving thrill of clasping your reporter's dulcet tones to their bosoms or wherever else they keep their trannies this time around on account of Phil managed quite capably on his tod. Wouldn't go so far as to call the ensuing chat amicable ("Why you wear that headband?" sez Cap. "To keep the hair out of my eyes .. .") but it should make quite interesting radio. Phil stood his ground regarding what was, to him, a very repetitive performance and the boys did their best to explain that there were at least a couple of slow numbers in there too. In the end things had to be terminated because of the sound of T. Rex taking the stage. "It was alright," Brian said as he left. "Better than people saying you're great all the time." Phil was off to catch up on some local talent, maybe eventually to also listen to the Damned's album a few times too. Before Phil split though I did find out that his appearance still drew a lot of abuse from his fellow locals while down South it was his opposites who were getting aggro for their lack of hair. Pish, human beanz is just too silly for words.

SO NOW it's the Elemental Child's turn and here he is folks, the little bopper himself, half canary (the jacket), half plum (the tight, gleaming pants), topped off with the original corkscrew hair. And guess what? There really is no Moment Of Truth at all. Because it's only two minutes in and the hall's going crazy and I'd bet my last florin it was like this even before he hit the stage. C-R-A-Z-Y, there really is no other word for it this place is undoubtedly bopping. No denying it, the kid looks great. So what if he's twenty-eight, take a computer a hell of a long time to hit all the sixteen year-old males who'd give everything to look half as good. As for the current T. Rex true that they leave the visual part of the show almost entirely to Marc but as far as playing's concerned they're probably the sharpest bunch of musos he's ever worked with. Miller Anderson on guitar, bass c/o Herbie Flowers, Tony Newman on drums and Dino Dines on ze keyboards all adds up to a very solid band. Bolan plays lead guitar too, of course, and though he's no virtuoso it must be said that he has a very distinctive tone still. The contents are a deft blend of old and new, chartbusters like 'Telegram Sam', 'Jeepster' and even a spiffingly executed 'Debora' swim alongside the new album's 'Visions Of Domino', 'I Love To Boogie' and 'Groove A Little', all fused into a homogenous whole by the catchy simplicity of it all and the very definitely recharged batteries of the show's frontispiece. And the kids love every second of it, every bump and bounce of the main protagonist, every little electric thrill. And yeah, I like it too. Not that I've been a particularly constant fan over the last couple of years and know every song or anything or that I've ever been wholly reconciled to Bolan's wholesale plundering of standard blues and boogie but there's no denying there's a very happy, innocent and joyful vibe going down here. If there's anything at all I'd fault it's the extended soloing during the encore's 'Get It On' during which MB goes well over the top of his guitar 'prowess'. But I'll forget about that one because it does give the band a chance to ease out a little and because by now the kids are in such a frenzy that they can actually benefit from a little looseness. So there you go; in Newcastle at least Bolan's star shines on, with nary a few knickers dampened and everyone leaving looking flushed and happy. But the real evidence of what's been going down here is yet to come. TWENTY MINUTES later the hall's empty and we're all let in to the star dressing room. I finally get to meet Marc, noting that even in close up he looks amazingly healthy

and well preserved. Meanwhile there's a rumbling at the curtained windows and a hubbub of young voices. Suddenly a hand appears and draws back a foot or so of curtain and H becomes obvious there's a fair-sized crowd gathered outside, all of them with one thing in mind. It's about five feet tall, has dark, curly hair... Bolan's entourage have seen it all before of course, and pretty soon the thirty or so people in the party mass together for a quick rush to the coach positioned a couple of yards from the backstage door. This we do, the idea being to confuse the kids into thinking they've missed their prey. In fact Bolan leaves the building last, running the gauntlet of the distracted crowd and boaring the bus from the rear. He's spotted, of course, but by then it's too late a little heave and he's in and we're off. I've never been in this particular situation before and it's not a little disturbing. If you saw 'Stardust' you'll know what I mean those last few seconds before the vehicle moves off when all you can hear is the fierce drumming of countless fists on the outside. Adulation, right? Gives you the shivers all the same, knowing that the mob outside would probably tear Marc Bolan into several small pieces in the space of about thirty seconds if they could only get hold of him. Bolan's been through it all too many times before to look anything but slightly amused by it all. Just the same he must be getting a little buzz of satisfaction at knowing for sure now that he's still needed so badly by his fans, having gone so far as to admit he'd not been totally sure about how much enthusiasm he could conjure still. It's there alright. There about a mile down the road when a pause at a traffic light finds more fans squaling at the window, there when we stop outside the band's hotel for a few minutes only to find another gaggle of the faithful pressing against the windows for fleshless kisses, and even at the distant Holiday Inn where four girls wait patiently for the opportunity of being photographed next to their dream merchant. The reason we're gathered here is for a celebratory bash thrown by EMI plenty of food and drink for the bands and their crews plus the handful of press who've come up to cover the start of the tour. Me and Marc miss out on most of that though as there's an interview planned. I'd looked forward to interviewing Marc Bolan for quite a while but I don't, in retrospect, think the twenty minutes we managed to get on tape are really worth bothering with. For a start, we were both ridiculously over-tired, Bolan's problem being somewhat more serious than my own as he was in danger of blowing out his voice and had a show to do the following night. It was rushed

and shapeless and there were dumb questions and dare I say it dumb answers aplenty. Okay, if I wanted to make Bolan look silly it'd be easy to take out things at random and do just that. But then one can do that with practically any interviewee and it's a practice I don't care for one little bit. Worst of all, it'd be totally dishonest unless I also admitted I'd made quite a few boobs myself. But all it was really was preamble, the requisite amount of probing one would normally engage in before the dialogue proper began. Only this is where it ended. As h was we blew h and we both knew it. We agreed to meet over breakfast next morning to pick it up from there but that proved impossible. After Marc left I was pretty angry and was all set to write a piece that compared Marc Bolan to Farley's Rusks in short a product which would always be in demand but never by the same people for very long. Only next day I realised that I still get the occasional hankering for a Farley's. And anyway, a baby's breakfast never made me laugh. What follows intentionally or not did just that; it's Marc's preface to one of the songs on his 'Dandy In The Underworld' LP: 'A fool's lament is a wise man's milkshake.' It's the way he tells 'em. MARCH 1977 - RECORD MIRROR Deathlines DAVE VANIAN Favourite food: Steaks Favourite drink: Bloody Mary Favourite girls: Slim vampires Favourite singer: Skip it Favourite record: Ours Favourite clothes: Black Favourite car: Hearse How old: 18 How tall: 5 8 standing up Favourite animal: Bat Hobbies: Grave digging Favourite colour: Deep black Favourite filmstar: Udo Kier Favourite TV snow: Munsters Favourite Group: Damned Favourite drug: Rhesus Positive Favourite sex act: Love bites RAT SCABIES Favourite food: Snakes Favourite drink: The blood of Bernie in Clash Favourite girls: Quiet ones Favourite singer: Me Favourite record: Mine

Favourite clothes: Ones I wear Favourite car: My dad's old Ford Popular How old: Not telling (hes 19) How tall: Ever so big Favourite animal: Johnny Moped Hobbies: Hanging dogs upside down and whipping them with chains Favourite colour: White Favourite filmstar: Jean-Paul Belmondo Favourite TV snow: Gardener's World Favourite Group: Assault & Battery Favourite drug: Phensedyl Favourite sex act: Hanging upside down in wardrobes CAPTAIN SENSIBLE Favourite food: Toad In the hole Favourite drink: ESB Favourite girls: School Girls with navy blur knickers Favourite singer: Marc Bolan and Gary Glitter Favourite record: Ballroom Blitz Favourite clothes: Rags Favourite car: Beaten up wrecks How old: 20 How tall: 6 Favourite animal: Anteater Hobbies: Ruining other groups stage act Favourite colour: Black Favourite filmstar: Arthur Mullard Favourite TV snow: Crossroads Favourite Group: Sweet Favourite drug: ESB Favourite sex act: Flagellation Brian James Favourite food: Pot, Lancashire hot Favourite drink: Vodka Favourite girls: Little blondes with long hair and short skirts Favourite singer: Iggy and Twiggy Favourite record: New Rose Favourite clothes: Black Favourite car: Big old ones How old: 22 How tall: 6 Favourite animal: Leopard Hobbies: Drinking and beating up roadies Favourite colour: Blood red Favourite filmstar: James Cagney Favourite TV snow: Batman Favourite Group: None Favourite drug: Vodka Favourite sex act: No.43

MARCH 1977 I KNEW IT. This beaten-up Ford Popular was bound to break down sooner or later. Miles away from anywhere. A northwind blew cold that black, hungry night as he left the car and ventured on the long trek to the nearest town. It seemed like he had walked for miles. Then he spotted an isolated light flickering through the petrified branches of a wood that skirted the road. Perhaps they'll have a phone. . . The pale green light came from a large, crumbling house. Its walls were covered in the moss of centuries. Suddenly a piercing scream stabbed the silence. Undaunted he walked down the winding path that led to the porch . . . and nearly tripped over the carcass of what looked like an Alsatian. Strange. The front door was open and he entered. A smell of rancid toad in-the-hole filled the air. Then a wrinkled hand appeared and beckoned him in. "Good evening. We are the children of The Damned hahahahaha-haha. His shrill laughter crackled like unharnessed electricity. He was six foot, blonde with cheap shades. "I'm the Captain. This is Brian." Another guy, Dave, sitting in the corner taking periodic swigs from a bottle of vodka, nodded. Wonder what he did before discovering Smirnoff? A Twiggy album twinkled in the background. Say, ain't you the band that's just released the album 'Damned, Damned, Damned'? "S'right," said the Captain, fingering his rags. "We recorded it in under 30 hours including the mixing. It was taken live and we had some real fun doing it.'' ' 'We were slightly apprehensive about it at first," said Brian, "But the record gave us the chance of really listening to our work and we realised that some of the things we play on stage are all wrong. The album has certainly tightened up our whole approach." Excitement. But haven't you lost some of the tremendous Damned excitement on wax? "Na," said the Captain. "You might as well say that about any band even Yes. Recording the whole thing live' in the studio maintained the spontanaiety. " An ant-eater came bounding into the room, sniffed around and left. We've been very surprised at the reaction the album has received," said Brian. "Did you see us on 'Supersonic'? Cliff Richard was also on the show but he refused to introduce us. And the 'press reviews amazing. Would you like to meet our drummer Rat? " Er. . .

Right. He's just finished whipping the dogs and should be hanging around somewhere. Follow me." They wandered down a long, tattered hallway covered in Arthur Mullard posters with the odd schoolgirl pin-up providing light relief. Then into a huge bedroom. Brian knocked on the wardrobe door and a voice said, "Come in". The door swung open to reveal Rat suspended upside down by a rope tucking into a large plateful of snake and chips. Pasty faced and ginger. "Hi. Have the boys been telling you about the band? I always knew we would be big. I could feel it. And did you know we're about to embark on a tour with Marc Bolan?" But won t the bigger venues minimise the intensity you create in a club0 "Well have more room to move. I judge each gig as I come to it. OK, so a lot of the punters do leap up on stage in clubs, but that can cause a lot of technical problems. 'It'll be like moving out of a council house into a mansion. ' "I've always been a great fan of Bolan," said the Captain, "but I'm a much better performer than he is. We do things that will entertain," interrupted Rat wiping his lips. "We want people to enjoy our gigs otherwise you might as well play behind closed curtains. "At a concert in Leeds recently we invited everyone in the front four rows backstage after. In Birmingham we got mobbed but we still asked em back. We want to show that we are part of the crowd. The audiences are much better up north when they like you they really like you. "In London you get too many poseurs. The Roxy is an awful place to play. "And we ain't the coolest band in town either. Robert Plant checked us out at The Roxy the other

night. He's a good geezer well, I'd buy him a pint. His long hair and the different culture don't matter." Ambitions 'I hate the word punk'." said Brian. "It conjures up visions of safety pins and dumb kids. The definition should be someone who plays on stage and really gets off" "Look, no matter what a lot of people may think The Damned ain't out to change the world. Some of the other bands, like the Cash and Pistols, might have such ambitions. That don't mean we come from different backgrounds to them. We're all working class and have been on the dole but now the money's coming and we're just about breaking even." "What got me really annoyed about the pistols was the recent Anarchy In The UK tour. The Pistols were staying in the flash Holiday Inn hotels while we checked into two quid a night rooms," said Rat. "They also wanted to charge us 1,000 to stick all our gear on their special coach. And there was loads of room on it. " Where's your singer, Dave? "Oh right. You haven't met him yet, have you? I think it's time to wake him now anyway. Come this way." The four left the bedroom, walked back down the hall and through a doorway. They climbed down an endless succession of stairs spiralling to the very bowels of the earth. Down and down they went, carefully avoiding the dead rats that lay on the cold stone. Light was provided by Rat who had very kindly set his hair on fire as he led the way. Finally they reached the bottom. But that was only the beginning of their journey. On and on through a labyrinth of tunnels that twisted and turned like a sleepy python. They came to a cave guarded by a multitude of bats. Inside an ancient hearse stood alone. It bore a coffin. "Quick," said the Captain," give me a steak." Porterhouse Brian handed him a large porterhouse. "Ah, his favourite." He walked over to the coffin and lifted the lid. He then gave Dave an almighty whack across the heart with it. Dave immediately opened his eyes. "I must have overslept. Pass me a Bloody Mary." As he sipped the red marks on his neck were visible in the light of Rat's hair. "Have you compared us to other bands yet? Have you slagged off our musical prowess?" said Dave, black lips and slicked back black hair. No.

People that do are very naive. Listen to the way Status Quo, Pink Floyd & Black Sabbath play. We're as good as that. "But we've got more to prove and that's healthy. We get as frenzied as the audience at our gigs. I get carried away sheer enjoyment "He lit a Manikin. "There's no violence though, and if there is a fight it's never started by punks usually hippies who don't understand." "Everything happens in a seven year cycle," said Rat, the ashes of his hair rolling down his face. "Music progresses but attitudes remain the same. "There was Liszt. Then this geezer Wagner bowls up with something heavy and he gets slagged off. I just hope we can do something constructive for the kids seven years from now. "I'd like to open a club and put on the kind of music that won't be acceptable then, like punk once was. That's something bands like the Stones and Who have never done with their millions. "I like to think we give people their money's worth. The fans know they can come and see us and do what they like. We treat it all like a party. We don't wanna influence just make people a bit freer. "But it's difficult for us when Johnny Rotten says he don't like long hair and hippies. Still, we're having a damned good time. " His hair went out. Crushing blackness. Alone beneath the earth with The Damned. Then that terrible touch. Teeth against the neck. And Oh my god whips across the back. Neat neat neat.

MARCH 1977 N.M.E.

By day he turns into the raving, inhuman baby-eating CAPTAIN SENSIBLE!!! THE KID IN THE PUB doesn't believe I'm me. "You a roadie?" "I'm a writer." "Yeah?" He's already dubious. "Who do you write for then?" NME He's even more dubious. "What's your name then?" "Mick Farren." "Bollocks." I try to reason with him. I'm friendly, smiling, even gentle, that's because I'm tired. It's beem a long day already and it's only 6 pm. Eventually I cut the argument short, showing him the cute little plastic card that carries my name and picture. The only thing that allows us access to the IPC monolith. He still doesn't seem convinced, but at least he leaves me alone. He turns his attention to The Damned. He's not impressed by The Damned. He's never seen them, he's never heard their records, but he's still not impressed. This kid is definitely Old Wave. He's come out tonight to see T. Rex. He's twenty, a brickie by trade. His hair's long and curly a bit like Bolan's in fact. His complexion is sallow and his eyes have a permanently suspicious look. He's obviously put on his best Levi jacket and flared jeans. The ensemble is completed by a T. Rex scarf and purple nail varnish. The scarf is the synthetic silk football club kind. The ones burly hustlers sell by the million, outside stadiums and concert halls. The kid's scarf looks like it was bought three tours ago. and carefully preserved ever since Brian James comes into the pub. The kid refuses to believe that he's one of The Damned. Brian James doesn't have a plastic card to prove who he is. It doesn't matter too much, though the kid's no longer slagging off the New Wave. Now he's waving a heavilytattooed arm to prove another point. He apparently plays guitar in an amateur band. He's aggresively hopeless about his music. No matter how well he's able to play, he's absolutely certain he'll never get anywhere. It's odd that despite their arrogant negativity, the blank generation do, at least, hold out some kind of hope. This far more conventional kid seems whipped before he's even begun.

THE NEIGHBOURHOOD around the Manchester Apollo couldn't provide a better backdrop for a Late Seventies cultural confrontation. The Apollo is a medium-sized Thirties picture palace converted for rock and roll. It and the adjoining pub stand rather forlornly in the middle of a vast tract of bleak scorched earth. The bulldozers have been and taken out the acres of back to back. Coronation Street terraces. Here and there half a terrace still stands in surreal isolation, like dazed survivors of a massacre. In the distance the alien, Clockwork Orange high-rise towers are waiting with their final solution to the people problem. In a landscape like this, it's all too logical for kids to turn to nihilist, Weimar Republic self-destruction to assert their own individuality. On stage, the Weimer nostalgia boom is in full swing. It comes in (he person of singer Dave Vanian. Dave Vanian could have been designed by Fritz Lang. Off-stage, he looks fragile and tired. In the spotlight he's a frail bundle of sinister energy, an amalgam of Nosferatu, Bela Lugosi and the toast of an SS gala night. Although it's the band's first major tour, he works a big stage as though he has been on one all his life. His violent, spasmodic movements are a perfect complement to the unrelenting energy that pours out of the band behind him. He leans from the catwalk across the pit until he's within inches of the- out-stretched fingers of the front row. It's a ploy worthy of Jagger at his peak. Vanian isnt exactly Jagger however. He's simultanously ten years on and forty years back. As he presses himself against the PA, and violently lurks in the dark spaces of the stage, he begins to look like something that slipped out of the cabinet of Doctor Caligari while no-one was looking. If the rest of The Damned were another three Vanians, the atmosphere of night and fog would be all too intense. Instead, the other three almost complete a full spectrum of rock personae that gives the band a variety of interest that makes for total viability. There's enough going on in The Damned to guarantee their staying power. Brian James is almost traditional. He's the macho guitar player. Friday night finds him in a black and gold shirt, collar turned up in back, that could have belonged to Elvis Presley. His movements are kind of familiar he twists, struts and grimaces at his guitar. It's a piece of rock and roll body language that goes back through Keith Richard and Beck, all the way to Eddie Cochran. It's familiar and in its familiarity it provides a perfect foil for the slightly nightmarish Vanian.

Rat Scabies also has a tradition going for him. Already his spike-haired extrovert energy has made him a punk personality. Once behind his drums, however, all becomes clear. There's no mistaking that he comes from that long and noble line of maniac British drummers, a line that includes Keith Moon, Viv Prince, Twink and Bonham. Scabies isn't the stone-faced rhythm machine who, once hunched over his drums, never emerges until the end of the set. Scabies is a fuel-injected flailer of the best kind. He explodes with energy. When it starts lo peak it brings him off his stool, standing beside his kit, laying into it as though it is some wild dangerous thing that has to be pounded into submission. And then there's Captain Sensible. The Captain is unique. People like him show up about once in a generation. Depending on the social climate, they have been treated in a multitude of different ways. Had he lived in another century he might have been burned at the stake, locked up in an institution or revered as being closer to God than the average mortal. It looks as though the last quarter of the Twentieth century might just possibly make him into a rock and roll star. It helps that, in addition, he is a reliable, rock solid bass player. A disintegrating guitar slightly marred the Manchester show, but what was lost in sound was more than made up for in spectacle. Captain Sensible is virtually a show on his own. The origins of his stage presence have no roots in fashion, rock n roll, or anything else you can easily put your finger on. No Third Reich images for the Captain. At Manchester, he walks on stage in a crumpled nurse's uniform, a dog collar, black monkey boots and thick green woolly sock%. THIS IS basically the first venture on the part of punk rock into the sink or swim world of mainstream rock and roll lours. The Damned are a long way from their own turf. It's the moment when a band are confronted by the necessity to get across on the strength of their music, and not from any notoriety or novelty value. The audience could be worse. There's a solid sprinkling of leftover little girls from the days when Marc Bolan was born to boogie. They have blank eyes, loud voices and are decked out in as many Bolan souvenirs as they can manage to attach to their clothes and bodies. As far as they are concerned. The Damned could play like gods and they wouldn't want to know. They've come to see

Marc, and that's it. Anything that gets in the way is simply part of a dirty conspiracy. On the other extreme there's a small contingent who have tarted themselves up from S & M Supplies' (confidential) rubberwear catalogue. For them. The Damned can do no wrong. It's The Damned, the whole Damned and nothing but The Damned. They pose sullenly in the almost empty bar while Bolan is playing In between these two extremes are the uncommitted. These are the ones who really count. They are also the ones who can set a band on the path to US tours and monumental lax problems. Within the space of the first song, it becomes abundantly clear that they aren't going to have too much problem with the impartial majority. Behind the shocks, horrors, scandals and hysterical newspaper headlines The Damned are first and foremost, a laugh, raunchy rock and roll band. The publicity and punk panoply are very much an adjunct rock and roll is the real core of what the band is all about. It's not only on the stage that The Damned exhibit a very basic strength and resilience. Any new movement in rock and roll, like the punks, or the hippies before them, is bound to create resistance among the old guard of professional rockers. A new wave is frequently forced to create its own scenes, its own venues and its own terms of reference. At the same time it usually also creates its own excesses. Without making any behavioural value judgements, it can be hard for a new wave to assimilate into the mechanism of the old one. The one-act farce starring the Pistols and the board of EMI is exactly such a case of organic rejection. Reports of the "Anarchy In The UK" tour indicated the punks werent exactly settling into the routine of being on the road without teething troubles. There didn't seem lo be too many problems on this tour bus. There were certain irritations, of course. There always are when two otherwise unconnected bands are thrown together for interminable hours on the same bus. The level of star fantasy in the Bolan camp seemed to be a trifle high, and the differences between the living conditions of the headliner and the support are bound at times to become abrasive. The Damned are very solidly on square one. They have yet to pass Go on the great Monopoly board of rock and roll. Bolan may stay in Post Houses and Holiday Inns, but for The Damned it's Mrs. Bun's guest house, up by 9.30 or miss your share of greasy fried eggs and canned tomatoes, sharing room* and wondering whether lo buy a meal on the motorway or save the money to get drunk later.

THE BAND seem to have taken to life on the road like rats to the proverbial drain. Of course, they haven't been at it long enough to become neurotic. There's still a certain novelty in the contrast between the shon bursts of intense energy on stage and the long hours of boredom, punctuated by bad food, highspeed ingestion of stimulants, uncomfortable dressing rooms and far from adequate sleep. All bands develop games that pass the time and provide safety valves when tensions build up. Each generation of musicians have different games. The Bolan band play poker, strum guitars and talk quietly about old times. The Damned are most boisterous. Memories are racked for the names of obscure groups and absurd singles. The idea is to get the maximum response when each one is yelled out. Rat and the Captain tend to break into sporadic attacks of hitting, kicking and spitting on each other. Although they seem to take a delight in freaking the citizens at motorway stops, there's no overbearing punk-manship on the coach. They may get rowdy at times, but when you get down to basics they're a rock and roll band doing a job of work. They're living in the same world as The Beatles, the Stones, or even Gene Vincent and The Blue Caps when they were at the same stage of the game. The one thing it really wasn't possible to do on the tour bus was to conduct a full-scale formal interview. The coach driver seemed to be conducting a one man war with his gearbox and conversations had to be carried on at a discreet bellow. Tape recorders and note pads were out of the question. It was simply a matter of listening, watching and letting the conversation go where it would to find out what went on inside The Damned. James and Vanian were the most forthcoming. The main thing that emerged was that the band have no pretensions about being political world changers. It should be a medium for having a good time. It may not be deep, but at least it's honest. But hang on a minute. What about all their punk regalia? What about the Captain's nurse's outfit? What about Dave Vanian getting himself decked out as a look-alike for Helmut Berger in the movie of the same name? What about the discreet SS badge on the lapel of his tuxedo'' "It's part of a show. Anything you can use to jolt people, to get them going, has to be worth it." So the major enemy is apathy? "Yeah." But surely there's a less than pleasant side to the New Wave? Some of the self-mutilation games have gone a bit far.

"We don't like everything that goes on, say, at The Roxy. Some of the kids go over the top but that happens in any scene where things are going on." Later in the conversation we seem to reach an agreement. The most sinister figures in the New Wave are probably the small group of older hustlers who have moved into the scene and like to give the impression that they're in control. THERE'S ONE final question. Isn't there a time when a rock and roll band has to take some kind of responsibility for what happens in the audience? What happens if something they use to get things cooking goes wrong on them, like for instance The Damned's Weimar pose? "Are you asking if a band should be responsible for what the audience does?" Yeah. "No. That's their responsibility." The final scene is in a Manchester late night bar. The place is filled with the kind of people who feel a need to drink at 3.30 in the morning. There's TV actor Patrick Allen. There are the usual offduty hookers, croupiers, travelling salesmen and local hoods. Sam Apple Pie are gathered in one corner. Theyre getting drunk before they go and sleep in the truck. Captain Sensible is still in his nurse's uniform. He's three parts drunk and mumbling at Sam Apple Pie. He fits in perfectly with this assortment of night people. Assimilation isn't as difficult as it might seem.

APRIL 1977 THE DAMNED played their set at the Marquee on Monday night under impossible conditions - the surprising thing was that they only walked offstage once, and that was because the monitors packed up, not because of the shower of gob and glasses that came from the crowd. Not that the crowd were true punk fans anyway. A large proportion were American tourists (wearing their gold rim John Lennon spex and Berkeley sweat shirts) and another contingent looked like after 5 pm punks the type that puts safety plus through the jacket they've been wearing to the insurance office all day. And then there were the yobs. The mob that threw beer glasses at the band (who presumably they wanted to see) and tried their damndest to kill or maim someone. And the stage must have been like a nauseous ice rink with the amount of spit that covered it. The band opened with 'I Feel Alright', but didnt seem able to loosen up right away. I'm not sure at which point the monitors packed up, but It was obvious there was something wrong with the sound. Brian James' guitar wasn't coming through and after 'Neat Neat Neat', Rat Scabies heaved one of his drums at the roadies. Rat's performance was hampered all the way through and it's clear he can be superb when conditions are better. The whole band marched offstage after 15 minutes and the roadies tried to re - assemble the equipment, working under a barrage of abuse and glass. When the Damned reappeared, they asked the audience to quieten down (as far as violence was concerned) and announced that they would play on, even though they couldnt hear anything. The whole affair must have put Rat Scabies right off his stroke, because his short drum solo just didn't cut H especially when he had to stop In the middle of it, lean over the kit and have words with someone who was making a nuisance of himself at the front of the stage. Brian James was none too pleased when someone else threw a shirt over the neck of the guitar during a tricky run. I think it says a lot for them out they came back to do an encore, but It's a shame that their anniversary gigs (they've been together a year) should have been marred by a bunch of hooligans. APRIL 1977 - N.M.E. The Damned CBGBs EARS BLEEDING, minds boggled, and dumb struck, the crowds filed" out of CBGB's after witnessing The Damned's Easter weekend carnage. Having banged out their first ever set in the US, the band were collapsed in a heap of chains, leather, knives and mascara in a dressing-room the size of Jimmy Page's stage monitor. The impression they'd made on the predominantly white and uptight throng was almost

unforgettable, and not unlike getting run over by herd of yaks. Earlier the good Captain Sensible had annihilated his bass guitar and microphone in one fell swoop, smashing said equipment into walls and people, causing the set to be halted to give the roadies time to repair the damage. The Damned's brand of ear acupuncture and Dr. Calagariesque visuals courtesy of Mr. Vanian, combined with mid-air collision course energy, was completely unexpected by the hip New York posers gathered there at four bucks a throw. Twice nightly, for four days, The Damned played to packed houses, and in the estimation of most of the people I spoke to, they never stunk the joint out and got an average eight on a scale of ten. John Rockwell of the New York Times, on the other hand, wasn't convinced. He saw fit to describe The Damned as an "outre avant garde experience", but allowed that it had its "definite charms". The Damned figured to lose about 500 nicker on this venture, what with CBGB's being the only gig on the "tour" when they started out. Now a couple of dates in Boston have been added, and the Whiskey in L.A. have them with Television. The labels were out in full force, with CBS and Sire showing almost as much interest-as the groupies. Joe Stevens. APRIL 1977 - N.M.E. The Damned, Edinburgh THIS IS WHAT all the fuss is about? Amazed, I flick through back issues of NME with increasing incredulity. AH these good reviews for this load of pin-head appeal garbage? Even Steve Clarke too can't trust anybody these days! Pardon me for being so naive, but I always thought an element of skill was a prerequisite for a band. The vinyl artefacts are quite enjoyable but any fool knows what a multitude of sins you can cover in a studio. What we have here is one gigantic bluff, which no one seems brave or foolish enough to challenge, scared perhaps of being dismissed as old by those who wave the power chord like some kind of virility symbol. What exactly did the punters get for their money? A total of 35 minutes encore included of ultrafast, jerry built, power chord numbers, each very similar to the last, delivered at breakneck pace to a bemused crowd consisting mainly of the curious. Most seemed appalled by what they found, and a steady exodus began during the third number. They had a certain rough charm up to a point (the third number) and had I been zonked I could conceivably have got off on the energy level. But good musicians? How can

anyone tell at that speed? A go faster stripe is all they deserve. And four letter words how trendy. And setting cymbals on fire too! How terribly, terribly original. Must be all of seven years since Hendrix did that. Was that the youth in revolt bit? And the violence sure they didn't actually incite the righting that broke out, but neither did they make any attempt to stop it, apparently preferring to, er, feed off the energy. Just wait till we get the first punk band Casualty and then we'll see what's what in the violence stakes (Ah, where's your cynicism, Ian? Like Gen X's bottled bassist, they'll just be "martyrs" at the hands of "hippies" Ed). Punk bashing? You'd like to think so perhaps. But no it's just the cold light of day. I'll give them time to grow, sure, and I'll be watching. But let's not make great claims for this sheep in wolf's clothing. I really fail to see why punks should have a different set of rules or criteria from everybody else. As if dazzled by energy, the critical faculties seem to get suspended. Any group, it appears, can form in London, have energy if minimal talent, call itself new wave, and secure a rave review and a recording deal in next to no time. But meanwhile outside London, working groups making good music have to scrape by on a fraction of what this lot got for 35 minutes for their own hour plus sets. Something very wrong there. New Wave? New wave of what? The Sex Pistols look to be the most manipulated group since The Monkees. Or rather, The Rollers substitute Malcolm MacLaren for Tarn Paton and safety pins for tartan and where's the real difference? Rough side, smooth side - the coin comes down in the businessman's hand just the same. Meanwhile, I'll take my Alice Cooper unrecycled, thank you. Now I think all this energy is really fine. New groups, magazines great. A self-made movement (like the Mods back in prehistory) with clothes, etc, that aren't too dependent on business exploitation for identity excellent. A do-it-yourself movement. And that's what punk rock is do-it-yourself rock. And pretty terrible it is too. A rush of energy may be fun, but it sure ain't the whole story. And if the Damned are the best, what, dear God, are the worst like? APRIL 1977 - THE DAMNED FILE EVOLUTION : Brian James played in a rehearsal band called the London S.S. and they needed a drummer. They auditioned for two months and eventually Rat came along.

The other fellows didn't like him, but Brian did, so they formed their own band, christening it the Damned, in June 1976. Rat knew and recommended Captain Sensible and Dave was spotted in the audience at the Nashville in Kensington and the boys thought he looked like a singer and found he was pretty good at it when they tried him out. They rehearsed for a month and made their debut in July 1976. There have been no personnel changes. ORIGIN OF NAME : A sudden inspiration by Brian James when the boys had gathered at his flat to pick a title. Has no idea what made him think of it. FIRST PUBLIC APPEARANCE : 100 Club, July 1976. FIRST RADIO : John Peel Show, BBC, November 1976. FIRST TELEVISION : Supersonic, LWT, Febuary 1977 RECORDING COMPANY : Stiff Records, 32 Alexander Street, London, W12 (01-229-1147). Records distributed by Island. RECORD PRODUCER : Nick Lowe. MANAGEMENT : Jake Riviera and Dave Robinson, Advancedale, same address as Stiff Records. AGENT : Nick Leigh, Dave Block Agency, 16 Oxford Circus Avenue, 231 Oxford Street, London, W1, (01-439-9881). MUSIC PUBLISHING : Rock Music, 69 New Bond Street, London, W1, (01-408-1788). Contact : Peter Barnes. PUBLICIST : Suzanne Spiro at Stiff Records. FAN CLUB : Janet Robinson, whose address is c/o Stiff Records and whose home telephone number is 0293-20849. BRITISH TOURS : 11 days in February with T-Rex. Will be starting their own tour in mid-April 1977 and going to France in May. AMERICAN TOURS : 10 days during April 1977. TRANSPORT : Musicians use a hired Minibus and gear goes in a hired truck. ROAD MANAGER : Simon, who never reveals his surname and prefers to be known as The Professor. SINGLES : "New Rose" c/w "Help!" (Stiff, November 1976) and "Neat, Neat, Neat" c/w "Stab Your Back" and "Singalonga Scabies" (Stiff, February 1977). ALBUM : "Damned, Damned, Damned" (Stiff, February 1977). P.A. : At present they hire their P.A. from Limewire and it varies according to the requirements of each gig.

DAVE VANIAN : Lead Singer. BORN : Newcastle, 12/10/58. EDUCATED : Bourne Valley Secondary Modern School, Hemel Hempstead. MUSICAL TRAINING : None. Doesn't play an instrument and has no vocal tuition. MUSICAL CAREER : The Damned is his first job in the music business arising out of meeting the other boys socially. OTHER OCCUPATIONS : Gravedigger. COMPOSITIONS : None. MUSICAL INFLUENCE : Rock 'n' Roll. FAVOURITE SINGLE : No choice. FAVOURITE ALBUM : "The End", Nico. FAVOURITE MUSICIAN : Iggy Pop. FAVOURITE SONGWRITER : Brian James. FAVOURITE SINGER : Richard O'Brien. STATUS : Single. RESIDENCE : Lives with his parents in Hemel Hempstead. ATTIRE : An all-black everyday outfit inspired by his days as a gravedigger and consisting of undertaker's coat, ladies hat and dark glasses with silver bat necklace and silver skeleton hanging from one ear. With white face mask and black-rimmed eyes, it gives him the appearance of a ghoul.

BRIAN JAMES : Guitar. BORN : Hammersmith, 18/2/55. EDUCATED : Hazlewick School, Crawley, Sussex. MUSICAL TRAINING : Self-taught. MUSICAL CAREER : Was with a band called Bastard for six months, gigging between Crawley and London, before he joined the Damned. OTHER OCCUPATIONS : Warehouseman and sweeper-up at Gatwick Airport. COMPOSITIONS : Writes most of the bands numbers and these have included "New Rose", "Neat, Neat, Neat", "Born To Kill" and "I Fall". MUSICAL INFLUENCE : James Williamson, Syd Barrett, John Coltrane and Cecil Taylor. FAVOURITE SINGLE : "Ballroom Blitz", Sweet.

FAVOURITE ALBUM : "Raw Power", Stooges. FAVOURITE MUSICIANS : Wayne Kramer and all those listed under Musical Influence. FAVOURITE SONGWRITER : Iggy Pop and Jim Morrison. FAVOURITE SINGERS : Iggy Pop and Dave Vanian. STATUS : Single. RESIDENCE : Has a flat in South Kensington which he shares with a cat called Tuppence and a crash pad in Notting Hill. INSTRUMENTS : An old Gibson SG standard guitar, with Hiwatt 100-watt amplifier and two custom-made 4x12 speakers.

CAPTAIN SENSIBLE : Bass guitar. BORN : Balham, 24/4/1956. EDUCATED : Whitehorse School, Croydon, Surrey. MUSICAL TRAINING : Self-taught. MUSICAL CAREER : Spent 18 months with Johnny Moped and the Morons. They did one talent contest and one free festival. Has been with the Damned from the start. OTHER OCCUPATIONS : Was on the dole for two years but did work for a time with Rat as a toilet cleaner. COMPOSITIONS : Have included "I Don't Like Watching The Television" and "Every Second My Brain Gets Larger". MUSICAL INFLUENCE : Marc Bolan. FAVOURITE SINGLE : "Don't Laugh At Me Cos I'm A Fool", Norman Wisdom. FAVOURITE ALBUM : "Belour", Brian Auger and the Trinity. FAVOURITE MUSICIAN : Elton Dean FAVOURITE SONGWRITER : Iggy Pop and Jim Morrison. FAVOURITE SINGERS : Anna from ABBA and Gary Glitter. STATUS : Single. RESIDENCE : Flat in Croydon with his pet rabbit, Tom. INSTRUMENTS : Anotoris bass which is a copy of a Hofner Violin Bass. Buys copies because he keeps breaking guitars through being so clumsy. Uses a Hi-Watt 100-Watt bass amp and two 4x12 speakers.

RAT SCABIES : Drums. BORN : Kingston-upon-Thames, 30/7/57 EDUCATED : Elliot Comprehensive School, Putney. MUSICAL TRAINING : Self-taught. MUSICAL CAREER : His first band was called Rat and he spent about four months with it playing around Redhill until he joined the Damned. OTHER OCCUPATIONS : Has had 37 in all, including toilet cleaner, insurance salesman and warehouseman. COMPOSITIONS : Several including "Stab Your Back" and the words for "Stretcher Case". MUSICAL INFLUENCE : Has never listened to anyone. FAVOURITE SINGLE : "I Can Do It", Rubettes. FAVOURITE ALBUM : "Gods II", Gods. FAVOURITE MUSICIANS : The Tartan Horde. FAVOURITE SONGWRITER : Brian James. FAVOURITE SINGER : Keith Moon. STATUS : Single. RESIDENCE : Has no fixed abode - just stays with friends. INSTRUMENTS : Pearl drum kit with 22" bass drum, 14x5" snare drum and 12x9, 13x10, 16x16 tom toms. One Paiste Dixieland cymbal, a Zyn 18" crash-rise, a Paiste 15" hihat bottom cymbal that he uses for crashing, together with other Paistes. Sticks are made to his own specification and called Rat. APRIL 1977 - MELODY MAKER THE DAMNED become the first British New-Wave band to tour America when they fly to New York next Wednesday. The next day they open a four-night stint at CBGB's. Further gigs in Philadelphia, Long Island and Cleveland are awaiting confirmation. Although the group has no record label in the States, "Damned, Damned, Damned" is among the fastest selling import albums. They return for a headlining gig at London Roundhouse April 24, then leave for a tour of France. DAMNED: London Rainbow, Saturday, April 8. Support bands: Prof & the Profettes, Johnny Moped, Soft Boys. Doors open 7.30. Ticket prices S2.25, 1.75. An historic occasion. The Damned were one of the first of the new bands to

emerge and are now one of the .first to dissolve. Still, the various parts will doubtless reappear in different guises: Dave Vanian has already joined the Doctors Of Madness. Don't miss the supports: the all girl-Profs, the lunatic Johnny Moped, and the Cambridge outfit, the Soft Boys.

APRIL 1977 SOUNDS The Damned, Roundhouse I FIRST saw the Damned at the Roundhouse last November. Shortly after the release of 'New Rose. Although the 45 had been successful the set wasn't too hot fresh from the dubs, the band couldn't fill the half-empty hall with their presence. The playing was ragged and the images of the four seemed to be pulling in different directions I thought they were on the verge of splitting. Oh well, times change. The Damned were almost unrecognisable as the same band last night. New Wave is becoming big business and is drawing bigger audiences tonight the Roundhouse is jam-packed. The Damned are emerging from the pack as a fine performing pop band; great they've never got their motives confused. Still, most of the menace they had when they were desperate has gone: instead, with the success of the album and the T. Rex tour behind them, they've gained confidence and

stature. No longer are they a part of the audience; tonight is a show. Anyway, we get hyped up for a sense of occasion. The Adverts play first although they arent used to a big stage and their playing hasn't (yet) caught up with their ambitions, there's something arresting about them: they niggle into your memory. The music is full of changes, threatening, with Patti traces and intriguing lyrics they have a fine sense of the dramatic. Two of the songs, at least, sound like classics in the making 'booking Through Gary Gilmore's Eyes' and 'Bombsite Boy'. It's down to intensity and commitment, I suppose. And they're getting better all the time. Motorhead are the last sour remnants of the hippy dream a three piece, they play (speeded up) Detroit-style Metal to a pitch at which it sounds like New Wave. Yeah, I know, once a punk, always a punk, bat these guys have little finesse and less restraint the set seems to go on forever, with simple numbers ('Leaving Here'/'The Train Kept-A-Rolling') stretched out by interminable guitar solos. Brain damage music. A good section of the audience loved it, I didn't feel too charitable. After Motorhead's brand of excess, The Damned's short, sharp attacks were welcome. Their entrance was well staged: the house lights dimmed, a banner (tax exiles return... Hurray For The Captain's Birthday!) unfurled lights flash; the expectation is intense. Good lads, but Stars. Johnny Moped introduces the band file on. It's the Captain's night: he comes on in a ballerina outfit (Yes Gang!) and begins his party by volleying a brace of cream cakes at the audience and the singer. Rightaway, they're in command. It's impressive they've merged into a powerful and coherent force which can now accommodate such antics as these were tonight without too much loss of power or sound. The material is familiar: the album plus 'Help'. The two new tracks 'Sick Of Being Sick' and 'You're A Stretcher Case, Baby' don't sound too special yet. It's the show that's the thing the Captain pirouettes on the slippery stage, raising smiles, Vanian just rushes; Brian James, all shoulders and knees knocked together, and Rat, hidden behind an enormous drum -kit, hold everything together. Naturally, everyone loves it a good third of the Roundhouse floor is awash with pogoers. Flash, flash, flash the pace doesn't let up. They get called back for two encores for the first, 'Fish', the Captain, having already shed his ballerina outfit (which is torn to shreds by the mob), yanks down his leotard. Called back again, they rope in Gaye Advert for a zippy 'Neat, Neat, Neat'. So they were great at what they did. They've reached the crest of their first wave they now have to

tackle the second. The paucity of good new material suggests that mightn't be too easy. JON SAVAGE.

APRIL 1977 MELODY MAKER DAVE VANIAN sits in the buzzing dressing room, his black trousers slipping down his hips, revealing a well-formed torso of clammy white skin. His right ear is pierced with a silver dagger and his black eye make-up is smudged and running. But it's not in Vanian's character, whatever the circumstances, to look less than neat. Even though he has

just treated a sell-out audience to one of the most dynamic sets the Damned have ever played in London, he still manages to look as cool and distinguished as a European Count at Sunday Mass. The show was something of a local-lads-return-triumphant affair. The Damned are the first band to show America the stuff of which the UK new wave is made. They played two sets for four nights at CBGBs, New York, two nights in Boston, two in Los Angeles and a final bash in San Francisco. By all accounts, audiences lapped up their bizarre concoction of intense, no-messin' rock laced with all the slap-stick vulgarity of seedy vaudeville. Serious critics, however, were nonplussed. "Avant garde" was one of the more polite comments. Back at London's Roundhouse, in front of a prophetic backdrop exclaiming "Tax Exiles Return," the Damned hit the stage to a roar of approval. Brian James lets loose a heart-stabbing guitar riff, and as the band purge through the Stooges' "I Feel Alright" the whole audience erupts into a seething, pogoing frenzy Birthday boy Ray Burns (Captain Sensible) is attired like a Pavlovian Dying Swan; Rat Scabies proves he is the drumming dynamo of the decade. Girls faint and are dragged out of the melee by bouncers and, without let-up, the band storm through favourites like Fan Club," " Neat, Neat, Neat," " Feel The Pain " and "Help." The excitement and energy build steadily, as the band, never tighter, work for an explosive climax. Fish " is it and the audience demand more. They get it Its amazing, really amazing," says Vanian, when he has recovered his breath. Its happened so quickly. In the past, bands have taken years to get anywhere. For us everything's been so fast. But I love it because the pressure is on and I work much better like that. It's better to have it rush at you like this. We've just been pushed into it." Was there a point when he felt that it was going to happen? Well, we did a gig in Birmingham a few months back and we got our first fan hysteria thing. We were jumped and things, and mobbed. It was then I realised that something special was happening but I always had a great respect for the other members in the band so I wasnt too surprised. On a musical level, what has helped us most was the Bolan tour. We got across to so many people. It wasn't so isolated, not so much a cult audience. But we've kept our hard core followers as well." Is he beginning to feel on top of the way he sings and moves on stage?

Oh no, not yet I'm still trying to improve all the time and I'm still looking forward to doing better things. I was really, worried for a time, especially doing two gigs a night, that my voice wouldn't take it. But the work has been really good for it. It's a lot stronger. When I first started, it was so easy not to gauge the vocals to the p.a. and I'd just go over the top. But you get used to it. Get to know your own vocal limitations. I feel looser on stage now too. I feel I'm moving better and it's all such a great feeling.

I really love it, because I've finally got what I always wanted. I feel as if I'm doing something I would never change. And I can see it going on for some time. I even enjoy reading our bad reviews! " How did he like America? I loved it. It was great. No, I wasn't afraid about how we'd be received. I was just hoping we were going to be good. I just wanted to deliver and give them all that we've got. The kids really liked us. And I really liked CBGB's. At first it seemed to be a bit of a posey ' in ' joint. But later on I realised that some of the kids had been going there for years and they'd seen a lot of bands. "I think we really surprised them. I don't think the realised there was quite so much energy in our music. Watching their bands . . . well, when you're in England you think New York must be really jumping But when you're there it's not. "The bands are much more laidback than you'd imagine. At first our audiences weren't sure what was happening, but then " and he looks around the dressing room " it was like this. Everybody started gathering around congratulating us all the time.

And that was great because it made us want to give it some more the next day. They didn't want us to leave. There was graffiti and stuff on the walls in CBGB's. And that can't be bad." The Damned were booked to play on the same bill in L.A. as Tom Verlaine and Television. But they didn't. What happened? I don't think too much of Tom Verlaine. He just decided he didn't want us on the gig with him. He must have heard how we went down in New York and I expect he couldn't stand the idea of our high energy. It would have been such a comedown seeing Television after us. He'd have got a lot of heckling. I saw them twice and the second time they were very boring. They did a dreadful version of ' Satisfaction '." Having flown to L.A., only to find they had nowhere to play, meant that the Damned were broke. "Rodney Bingenheimer, and two great guys called Tomato and Gear, put us up in their home. They've got Sid Vicious hair and the glasses and everything and they were so easy to be with. It was like living in your own home. We did Rodney's radio show Harvey Wallbanger I call him and it was lunacy. You're not allowed to say fuck on American radio but it was live and the Captain kept saying things and they kept cutting us off. And people phoned up saying, ' America is going to get you if you're not careful. All that sort of thing. Then Dave, our manager, booked us two nights topping the bill at the Starwood Club. Which was even better than playing with Television. We had screaming kids in front of the stage. "I think America is really ready for the other new U.K. bands. There's such an interest. They really want to see more. I was very surprised. Especially, in places like L.A. I didn't expect to find a punk scene in that kind of atmosphere. They're just waiting for something to copy something to excite them. They kept asking me who was coming over and obviously they're interested in the Pistols. But they've heard of Clash, too. I think they're ready for something like this. They want something new. They've exhausted their Kiss or whatever else." Dave apologises for not being more coherent. He is jetlagged, but the band's gruelling 1977 schedule has only just begun. How is he bearing up to all the gigging? Im very tired and very fit. I find that I can work really hard and enjoy myself, too. Don't worry! 1 just know when to crash."

At the moment the band are doing a short European tour. Then they return to the U.K. to record a new single. Probably one of their new numbers, like Stretcher Case" There is a major British tour of around 20 dates in June and then, says Dave gaily: "I expect we'll have enough material for another album." MAY 1977 N.M.E. The Damned, Hope & Anchor "HELLO, welcome back with something old, new, borrowed and a load of old shit!" announced Captain Sensible to the tightly - packed horde cramming London's premier sweat den. In his surprisingly south of the river bourgeois tones, the would be ballet dancer sized up the situation superbly. I hadn't seen them since the eventful Mont de Marsan festival, but it was obvious that without Brian James reswelling the ranks of this now we're The Doomed, now - The Damned outfit, they've got problems material wise. But then when you're having fun reliving an inglorious past, what the heck? The new group features ex - Saints Alistair Ward on bass and opened with 'Jet Boy. Jet Girl', the English version of that Plastic Bertrand song recorded by Captain Sensible's Softies From then on it was a headlong, hell for leather, dive into all the old faves, 'Stretcher Case Baby', 'Problem Child', 'Fan Club' etc, etc. In the "borrowed" section they murdered Lennon McCartney's 'Help!' and even plundered Deep Purple's 'Black Night'. Elsewhere and closer to the bone they nicked The Pistols' 'Pretty Vacant' with drummer Chris Miller (or is it now Rat Scabies again?) shooting out the opening guitar riff, and horror of horrors, see how the mighty are parodied etc. 'Public Image'. When they played their own 'Stab Your Back', it reminded me of the first time I heard that particular sang: in a tiny Manchester club waiting for the then unknown Buzzcocks to take the stage. Funny how times change isn't it? While the Buzzcocks now have a string of hit singles. The Damned are back to square one. But that's rock 'n' roll, which was then exuberantly expressed by the band's rousing rendition of 'New Rose', with Dracula clone Dave Vanian leading an emotional pogo romp on this first - ever punk single. Like I said, it was fun. - MIKE NICHOLLS.

May 1977 N.M.E. THE DAMNED fresh from their triumphs in America, where they became the first British new-wave outfit to register effectively on the U.S. scene are now starting their own extensive British tour, taking in almost 30 dates including a major London concert on June 20. Provincial dates are Southampton University (tomorrow, Friday), Hastings Pier Pavilion (Saturday), Sheffield University (May 25), Newcastle-under-Lyme Tiffany's (26), Cambridge Corn Exchange (27), Liverpool Eric's (28), Canterbury Kent University (June 2), Cromer West Renton Pavilion (3), St Albans City Hal (4), Lincoln Drill Hal (7), Cleethorpes Winter Gardens (9), Birmingham Barbarella's (10 and 11), Barrow Maxim's (12), Doncaster Outlook (13), Brighton Polytechnic (15), Cheltenham Town Hal (16), Swindon Brand Rooms (17), Plymouth Woods Centre (22), Penzance The Garden (23), Exeter University (24), Wigan Casino (25), Manchester Electric Circus (26), Lancaster University (27) and Bradford St George's Had (28).

MAY 1977 THE DAMNED play four nights at LONDON Marquee Club next month and they will be giving away 5,000 copies of a new single to celebrate the band's first anniversary. The shows, from July 3 to 6, come a year after the Damned made their stage debut as support group to the Sex Pistols at London's 100 Club. Drummer Rat Scabies commented: "We will play the same set at the Marquee as we did when we started a year ago." The single, featuring " Sick Of Being Sick " and " Stretcher Case Baby," will not go on general release although copies will be given away free to the Marquee audiences over the four nights. Tickets cost 1.25 (1 for club members) and the boxoffice opens on June 13. The band, meanwhile, appear at LONDON Dingwalls on June 6 when, to tie in with the Silver Jubilee, admission prices will be based around the number 25. Thus the first 25 people will be admitted free, the next 25 will pay, 25p, the following 25 people 50p until the ceiling price of 3.50 has been reached The show comes as part of the band's British tour which also features concerts at: CLEETHORPES Winter Gardens (June 9), BIRMINGHAM Barbarella's (10, 11), BARROW-INFURNESS Maxim's (12), DONCASTER Outlook (13), LINCOLN Drill Hall (14), BRIGHTON Polytechnic 15), PLYMOUTH Woods Centre (22). PENZANCE Garden (23), EXETER University (24), WIGAN Casino (25), MANCHESTER Electric Circus (26). LANCASTER University (27), BRADFORD St George's Hall (28), DUNSTABLE California Ballroom (29).

MAY 1977 TO CELEBRATE a year of performances The Damned are to play four nights at London's Marquee Club from July 3 to 6. An exclusive Damned single, 'Sick Of Being' Sick' / 'Stretcher Case Baby' will be given away to Marquee patrons on these nights. 5,000 copies will be printed and it will not be on sale in record shops. Their present tour has had several cancellations including West Runton Pavilion, June 3, Lincoln Drill hall changed from June 7 to 14, Cheltenham Town Hall 16th cancelled, and Southend Kursaal Ballroom on the 18th is presently being rearranged for an alternate venue. One addition is Dunstable California Ballroom on June 29. The Damned's official new single is out in early July.

JUNE 1977 THE DAMNED climax their current bill-topping British tour by playing a four-night season at London's Marquee Club from Sunday, July 3, to Wednesday, July 6. The final night marks the first anniversary of their live debut, when they supported the Sex Pistols at London 100 Club. And to celebrate the occasion, they will play the same set as on that opening gig. During the four-night stint 5000 copies of an exclusive Damned single will be given away to Marquee patrons. It will not go on general release, and the titles are "Sick Of Being Sick" and "Stretcher Case Baby". Tickets, available from June 13. are 1 (members) and 1.25 (nonmembers). Prior to this. The Damned play a special Jubilee show at London Camden Dingwalls this Bank Holiday Monday (6) when food and drinks will be served until 2 am. A feature of this gig is that admission will steadily increase from nothing to 3.50! The first 25 people gain free admission, the next 25 each pay 25p, the following 25 pay 50p and so on, in step-by-step increases. Jake Riviera of Stiff Records commented: "This has been designed so that the real Damned fans can get in cheaply, while the

liggers who arrive after the Ramones gig at the Roundhouse will have to pay more." Riviera also announced that Stiff have terminated their distribution deal with island Records, and will in future revert to an independent operation. JUNE 1977 THE DAMNED have run into all manner of problems on their current four with the Adverts, with gigs cancelled and others switched at short notice to alternative venues. Perhaps the biggest joke is the scrapping of their projected concert this Saturday (4) at St. Alban's City Hall, because the Hertfordshire police refused to attend the gig has now been switched to Dunstable California. Trouble started on May 16 when their gig at Stafford Top Of The World was called off at four hours' notice, and was hurriedly switched to North Staffs Polytechnic. Four nights later, porters and bar staff at Southampton University refused to work in protest against the booking, leaving the capacity crowd high and dry. And Newcastle-under-Lyme Tiffany's scrapped the May 26 show on orders from the Mecca Organisation. Tomorrow (Friday), the scheduled gig at Cromer West Runton Pavilion has been cancelled with no reason given. Also off is Cheltenham Town Hall on June 16, by ruling of the local council. And as with The Clash and the Stranglers, Southend Kiirsaal has nixed The Damned although another venue, either Southend Queen's Hotel or Canvey Island Bardot's Club is being arranged for the same night (June 18). The rest of The Damned dates (and there are still a few left) were, at presstime, still going ahead!

JUNE 1977 Punk Divs II & III latest scores but with all these '60s names suddenly cropping up, we're wondering who will be THE BRIAN POOLE OF PUNK! JUNE 1977 The Damned & The Adverts, Southampton HAVING BEEN suffering from severe holes in the soul of late, I've been prevented from making it previously to any out of town New Wave (sic) gigs. I am, therefore, operating under the nonsensical misconception that I'll be able to sit on the floor of the Students' Union at Southampton University and take notes. During the first couple of numbers by the supporting Adverts many rugby players disguised as hippies pogo all over me. Suffering from multiple culture shock I slink off to a corner to study the rest of the gig. This is only the seventeenth time The Adverts have played together onstage. Another dozen or so dates should dissipate the erraticism and finally bind their act together. Matters are vastly different from the quite depressing blow I witnessed the band having in a rehearsal studio near me three months or so ago. Now they teeter on the edge of A Great Leap Forward. Gaye Advert a far more appealing punkette than any of The Slits provides Point of Visual Attention (A). Oh, to be gazed upon by those sultry, tempting eyes which Gaye fixes on the audience at least two or three times during every number. No more than two or three times, mind you, because Gaye likes to look at her bass very hard. Gaye likes to look at her bass very hard because she doesn't know how to play it very well yet, and so it helps if she watches where she puts her fingers. Her playing is just about okay. Point of Visual Attention (B) is occupied by vocalist (and Gaye's paramour) TV Smith. TV Smith spends much of his time onstage squirming around the front of the stage like a method actor playing Hamlet in the graveyard scene. There is much open-palmed "Alas, Poor Yorick"esque haranguing of the audience. Maybe The Adverts could do a concept album of The Tempest. Guitarist Howard Pickup is the statutary Keef look-a-like. His playing is quite adequate. As is that of drummer Laurie Driver, who, as you can see, has the added benefit of a great name. The Adverts also have, in addition to their badly recorded Stiff single "One Chord Wonders" (during which Mr Scabies joins in on drums), three or four other pretty strong songs (with appropriately thoughtful lyrics from TV). "Bombsite Boy" has a staccato, jarring unpleasant pace to it an unsettling tempo and dynamics is a prime feature of the good Adverts numbers which, driven on by Gaye's

and Howard's sneering chorus lines, leaves a particularly dirty taste in the mouth. Yes, it's good paranoid stuff, as are "Gary Gilmore's Eyes" and "New Church". NOTE THE iconoclastic manner in which Damned vocalist Dave Vanian and drummer Rat Scabies link as a rhythm section counter-pointed against the lead section of bassist Captain Sensible and guitarist Brian James. Note how these roles are interchangeable. Note that when this duly jotted down assessment is suggested to Rat he looks at me as though I require a lobotomy. He points out that as he is generally unable to hear what is going on onstage for much of the time this assessment is a little inaccurate. Which perhaps makes it even more commendable that I'm completely stunned thrilled, just about by the sheer overwhelming might of the band. Even though one realises that within the terms of the punk/New Wave thing The Damned are strictly showbiz though showbiz in the most edifying Polanski-oid Dark Meaning of the word. And as epitomised by and you've heard it all before the densely imaged Dave Vanian persona. Certainly the most impressive and energising onstage performer I've seen since last time I saw Mick Jagger move about a stage. Of course, the whole Damned scheme of things is underwritten by an admirable sense of the Absurd, which injects a warmth into the proceedings that most New Wave bands either don't have or simply reject. When Rat, for example, leaves his drum-kit to come down to the audience to demand the head of the young fellow whose wine bottle just missed the Scabies skull one senses that a good seventy-five per cent of the visible uprightness is merely theatre. So too, of course, is the blazing drum-kit during "New Rose", the final number of the set proper. The blazing drum kit is quite a good joke. During "New Rose" I am able to see Captain Sensible clearly for the first time during the set. I note that he is wearing a pink ballerina's costume. This is quite a good joke, too. For the encore The Damned have to fill out the set to thirty-five minutes somehow, and they've played most of the album Gaye Advert, also wearing a pink ballerina's costume, reappears to swap vocals with Vanian as he does his glazed out-of-it Caligula prowl, black satin shirt open and most falling off, during "Neat Neat Neat". They share the same mike. I hope they're using Amplex. Is this the Sonny and Cher of Punk?

JUNE 1977 The Damned & The Adverts, Brighton DESPITE A minor fracas with the Captain and Rat before the show began, I couldn't help enjoying the gig. For a start it's ages since I saw the Adverts well before the release of their amazing 'One Chord Wonders' single and the subsequent tour with the Damned and they're inevitably tighter. Bat what happened to all those great numbers like 'Great British Disaster', 'New Boys', 'Bombsite Boy', 'Bored Teenager', 'We Who Wait', 'Quickstep' . . . ? Have they been changed drastically, or am I extremely stupid: i.e. didn't I recognise them? The sound was pretty bad and the vocals very distorted. I've never reviewed a band through video before but as the Damned are essentially a visual band, and because the crowd, squashed together as they were, proved taller than me, it seemed the sensible thing to do. Usual chaos on stage, with bottles being hurled by those in the audience who think it's hip to throw bottles. In between the gobbing (another hip thing to do) and the flying glass the band played all their best numbers, 'Neat, Neat, Neat', 'Fan Club', 'Help', 'So Messed Up', 'New Rose' and Rat's great contribution to rock n roll, 'Stab Your Back'. Plus some new numbers 'You Take My Money', 'Politics' and the next single 'Stretcher Case Baby' [and not, 'Stretch A Case, Baby' as I thought it was called]. 'Born To Kill', turned out to be a very apt name for a song, because immediately after the band played it, there was some (more) aggro, which ended up with a fuming Captain menacingly swinging his bass round in circles above his head ready to 'sort out the bovva'. It's safer through the video, Captain. ANGELA RIPPER.

JUNE 1977 - N.M.E. DAMNED RETURNING to their almost second home. Birmingham Barbarella's last week, the Damned once again proved be yond doubt that they are one of the classiest rock bands in the universe as we knew it. With stylish ease they turned in yet another breath takingly varied set a line balance of complex, subtle instrumental onuses and gossamer-fine sensitive bastards. From the opening I Feel Alright" to the closing encore of the second performance of "Neat Neat Neat" ("The one you didn't buy") it was relentless, high-energy. low-hitting new wave rock; no punches pulled no mercy given, as Dave Vanian wearing streaks of gob like campaign medals, hurtled across the stage, lashing out the vocals the primal scream with a three-piece backing. Disregarding Vanian who seems to resist change, the rest of the Damned are definitely opening up their musical stop-valves and showing that there're a tot of surprises held in reserve for the passing of the current trends. It's especially true of Brian James, who was certainly stretching out in directions I would never have suspected him of the last time I saw them. For example, he tastefully doubled the playing time of New Rose and on the first time round for "Neat Neat Neat" he put me very much in mind of Dave Edmunds' days with Love Sculpture. Given scope and opportunity, he's going to pin back a lot of ears with shock; a guitar hero waiting for the right field of battle. Then there's Rat Scabies. Now I admit to not having taken Mr Rat too seriously, on any level, but I repent of my dumb assed ways: Scabies isn't a drummer, he's a DRUMMER. So what about Captain Sensible? Yeah, he's surety a lot more than an image with a bass guitar, he knows what it's all about, making a fine complement to James and Scabies, and maybe, just maybe, he's a little tired of the whole punk syndrome, or was there really no sarcasm in his farewell to the screaming mob, " Thank you, all you lovely people spitting, thats really nice"? Right now I'd no more think of playing a Damned record for pleasure than I would of nailing my head to the Boor at least not In any sane or sober state but I do enjoy watching them; judging from the way things are shaping up' I could be listening to them quite a lot in a couple of albums' time. The Adverts were the support band. Unfortunately I arrived in time to catch all of their set. Then were a couple of inspired moments. MIKE DAVIES.

JUNE 1977 - N.M.E. Deface The Damned For Phun & Phrofit (sic) ITS OWT FER NOWT TIME AGAIN well almost!! To celebrate their first anniversary as undesirables, The Damned are playing four nights at the London Marquee July 3 to 6. Each evening, those extremely nice people at Stiff Records will be giving away copies of "Stretcher Case Baby' / "Sick Of Being Sick a brand new Damned single (complete with picture sleeve) which will never be available at you local record store. A one-off collectors' item that money can't buy. Now, were quite aware that a lotta you young proles living way outta London won V be able to shuffle along to the Marquee. With this in mind, we've done a bit o 'arm twistin', hinted at blackmail and even gone so far to infer that we'll never ever write about 'em again unless ... such nice understanding lads The Damned turned out to be! Would you believe they've been so generous as to send over 250 copies of their single, 250 badges and 25 copies of their debut album with their fondest regards. We've decided not to put 'em up for auction in the small ads, but instead put 'em up for grabs. Now all that you've gotta do is graffiti the virgin white T'shirts being so tastefully modelled by young Brian, The Captain, Dave and scurrilous Monsieur Scabies with appropriate slogans and smart-ass oneliners. The most imaginative 25 entries will each receive a copy of "Stretcher Case Baby" / "Sick Of Being Sick" plus an album, plus a badge. The next best 225 runners-up will each receive a copy of the single and a badge. All entries will be judged by some stiff from Stiff, anyone caught skiving around the NME offices, and all the members of The Damned. So out with your ball-points and the felt-tips, switch your brain to "Inspiration and start scrawling. All entries must be accompanied by your full name and address and posted to; "I'll Be Damned" NME Competition, 55 Ewer Street, London SE99 6YP... ... and be received by no later than July 8, 1977. (Remember: entries from members of The Damned, employees of Stiff Records, their families, friends of Hideous Bill Gangrene, or the employees of IPC magazines are NOT eligible.) P.S. Try and keep 'em reasonably clean 'cos we'd like to print the best!

JULY 1977 - N.M.E. THE DAMNED were forced to cancel a gig at Wigan last Saturday due to a dislocated shoulder sustained by Dave Vanian two nights earlier, following a date at Penzance Garden. Vanian was injured during a scuffle in the dressing-room. Reports of the incident are vague, but it seems a bunch of heavies broke into the room while The Damned was relaxing after the gig. The band say they will reschedule their Wigan appearance as soon as possible. This attack was the culmination of a series of incidents during The Damned's UK tour with The Adverts. On June 14 when they played Lincoln Drill Hall, there were reports of widespread fighting before the gig between punks and boot boys. During the gig a 30 to 40-strong gang attempted to storm the hall armed with pieces of wood and bricks. Frustrated in their efforts to get into the main hall locked from inside after an initial disturbance the gang apparently smashed up the windows and toilets in the lobby until police arrived and chased them off. After the gig, however, several fans were severely beaten up as they made their way home. The following week's gig at Lancaster University saw a re-run of the Lincoln incident. During The Damned's set a roadie, Philip Lloyd, was dragged offstage while replacing a mike stand and kicked and beaten by four men thought to be part of a gang who had travelled by coach from Blackpool. Rat Scabies wasn't prepared to offer a detailed account of any of the incidents but told NME: "The only reason

it's happening is because the Daily Mirror are putting it on their front page. It horrifies me. It happens all the time to us. But we'd rather not try to get any publicity out of it."

JULY 1977 The Damned, Hastings WIPE THAT pier from your eyes. It was only The Damned's last show in their massive nationwide tour. And what a finale. The pier pavilion, Hastings, usually associated with fading TV personalities serenading balding, demented souls in beige jackets and sunglasses and you should see their husbands! Skrewdriver first. Missed them. Small crowd. Then Auntie Pus. Auntie Pus is straight out of Tom Brown's Schooldays with side-burns. Red school blazer, white trousers, hangdog expression, he saunters on with a guitar, sits down, and proceeds to sing a handful of songs, subject matter

ranging from marmalade to Venezuela. He's known Rat Scabies for years. It shows. After 12 encores The Damned. Clearly pleased at the prospect of a long holiday they look relaxed, out for a good time. The usual songs plus two new ones 'Take My Money' and 'Politics'. The latter is more or less a kick in the teeth for The Pistols and Clash. Mmmmm. Difficult to make out the words. Better luck next time. And what's this ... a drum solo? Yep, after covering his kit in talcum powder and getting lost in the fog, Rat falls into a solo using just his hands and head. Countless encores, culminating in Scabies throwing the mike stand 15 feet into the air and poking a hole through the polystyrene ceiling. The sea gushed in and washed them away . . . BARRY CAIN

JULY 1977 The Damned / Johnny Moped / Rings, Marquee TO CELEBRATE the anniversary of their first gig, the Damned were scheduled to play four nights at the Marquee, with a different support act each night. Yeah, as I said, that was the original plan. But like most good ideas it didn't quite work out that way. In fact it barely worked out at all. After Monday night their second gig the next two performances were blown out Various versions went round as to what really happened (one of which will probably appear in News Of The World trader the headline 'The Truth Behind The Damned' or something like that) but the only certain thing is that lake Riviera of Stiff and the Marquee Management had an argument And the cancellations were not a band decision. On Sunday night the Rings were supporting. First I've beard of them except for their amazing single on Chiswick 'I Wanna Be Free' c/w 'Automobile'. Really strong material altogether a fine band. Except for the singer. His name (or what he likes to be known as) is Twink. When it was fashionable be used to play with the Pretties, the Pretty Things, Tomorrow and the Pink Fairies. Now he's joined a punk band. Most of the set he spent at the back of the stage trying to evade the gobbing. Okay, I

wouldn't dig being gobbed at incessantly, especially by people I didn't know or even like, but I don't sing. Surely within reason one should take it? Anyway he didn't I think he would have been better off staying with the Sixties. And then on Monday night the legendary Johnny Moped. Legendary, because I've heard so much about this guy but gave up all hope of ever seeing hint because of his tendency to vanish. A pleasant surprise when I saw him frankly I didn't expect very much. The single's okay, the 'b' side 'Incendiary Device' is better than the 'a' side. But Johnny Moped is much better live, even unique: a blend of r'n'b and punk. Sounds awful but in fact it comes off quite well. The Damned played in very difficult conditions. Dave Vanian had a dislocated shoulder, yet he managed very well moving almost as usual, but a sorry sight off stage. Beer cans, glasses and stuff were thrown on stage till it reached ridiculous proportions. Had the fans come to see the band, did they like 'em, or were they trying something along the lines of a darts match? And on Monday there were dreadful sound problems. Forgetting the sound and dislocated shoulders for a moment are the more popular punk bands going to be able to still play small venues, or are they going to be forced out by the fans themselves? It's up to them. But they're creating a barrier between the bands and themselves that is totally unnecessary. ANGELA RIPPER.

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