Sex and Sedition.

 

A few readers have said how much they enjoy the little historical references I throw in from time to time. Cut out the philosophy Dick, they say, and give us more stuff about Swinging London and life in the olden days. Some readers are even more blunt. Dick, they say, why don’t you act normal? Stop trying to be funny and write a proper blog.

OK then, if that’s the way you feel, I’ll try. But I’m not making any promises. And for the sake of my own mental equilibrium I will try to keep it in some kind of chronological order.

Let’s see here...late sixties, early seventies...it all gets a bit muddled. I could tell you about having it off with Princess Margaret. 'Ah, Headley, we’d like you to sign this form.' Never happened.

I was living in Chelsea, on the King’s Road. I kept noticing this shop...the name seemed to change every month or so. First time I noticed it the name was ‘Let It Rock’. After that it was something like ‘Too Fast To Live Too Young To Die’. About a year later it just said ‘SEX’ in big letters. That got my attention. For some reason that got changed to ‘SEDITIONARIES’ and I think it ended up as ‘World's End’ or something.

SEX! Naturally I went in for a look around. It was clothes mostly. Ripped t-shirts with slogans scrawled across them, boots, studded jackets. There was some bondage clothing too made of leather, chains, and rubber. It was unusual stuff at the time. The clothes had what we know today as attitude. The owners were Malcolm and Vivian.

Malcolm was an art student so you could say he was challenging the academic separation of "art" from "life". Basically I think he was trying to annoy people. Push the envelope as they say these days. Viv looked after the clothes. She was always coming up with new ideas...the more outrageous the better.

I don't know how Malcom and Viv made any money. They certainly attracted some odd characters to their shop. Most of the customers were always nicking stuff. One time I was in there and this bloke was trying to stick a safety pin through his nose. ‘What you fink Dick? Like me new look? Alright is it?’ 

Those early piercers were a tough bunch. People had to do their own piercing in those days of course. You couldn’t just pop down to the 7/11 if you needed a new nose-ring. Back then you did it yourself, at home, in front of the mirror. You could get a friend to help but mostly it was trial and error. And maybe a dab of Dettol if you were lucky.

Good musicians though some of them. I remember an article in "Sniffin' Glue". It showed a diagram of the three finger positions on a guitar..."Here's one chord, here's two more; now form your own band.”

So I hung around and got to know a few of them, one thing lead to another and next thing I know I’m managing a punk rock band.

I expect lots of people remember the Nipple Erectors and the Snivelling Shits but how many remember the Fab Fukkers? Not many eh? That’s what I thought. How about Scum? No? The Stench? That was me. Got a write-up in Trouser Press? Never mind. Anyway I was the one who took them over to the States. Organized a concert tour for them. America was crawling with British punk groups in those days. Like a swarm of spiky leather locusts. The trick was to do a few live concerts in the Bible Belt, start a riot or two and get the radio stations interested. Maybe get on TV. Then hopefully they’d push your single so you could sell a million copies. Then you’d sign a record deal and do a bunk.

Public relations was important and I was always very strict with the lads. Hotel rooms had to be smashed up before they got any drugs. Sometimes after a busy day the lads were tired and didn’t want to know…
“Right you lot. Look lively. I want these rooms trashed before you get any kip.”
“Aw Dick...”
“Don’t ‘Aw Dick’ me. Can’t keep the reporters waiting. Let’s have those TV’s out the window!”

Then came the big lawsuit.