Livin' in the City: THE BOYS |
A couple of summers ago, while working as a music journalist for a small weekly London rag, I pulled out some '77 new wave singles I had recently scored. The editor, usually a quiet, reserved editor-type, looked over my shoulder and mentioned how his "small band" had played with some of the bands whose singles I was holding. After some coaxing, his modest veneer thawed and he bashfully admitted to being Matt Dangerfield, lead lickmeister and songwriter for the Boys. |
Before we went to down some pints at the pub and pow-wow over his tight-pants-era antics, I realized that relatively little is known about The Boys. They obviously had hardy funny bones, from their ribald lyrics to their imaginary rock star/action hero names: Honest John Plain, Kid Reid, Casino Steel, Jack Black, and Matt Dangerfield. They also claimed that a certain Alf Tupper (a fictional British character who was a poor little boy that went on to become a super-athlete) was their manager. "He was our mentor," says Dangerfield. |
From the few clippings I had seen, they were lager-guzzlin' lads who routinely got beaten up and who were fawned over by adoring females. Elfin Kid Reid got a lot of press after being whupped by thirty bottle-totin' Edwardians, but he also had something going with Marianne Faithfull (who once joined them onstage to sing "Sick On You", to unanimous critical odium). |
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| Casino: | The song "Cop Cars" was written about one night when I was walking home from the pub. Saw the way I looked and - WHAAAAAM! Kicked me straight in the balls. |
| NME: | Did he give a reason? |
| Casino: | Oh, sure.
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| NME: | What was it? |
| Casino: | He said, "I can't stand your kind."
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| NME: | Oh. |
However, in Casino's native Norway, the band was treated differently. They were served peeled grapes and Cambazola by giant-leaf-wielding Amazons in underground steam-houses between sold-out Oslo gigs. Compound that with Matt Dangerfield's lengthy affair with Jane Hargrove, 1977 Penthouse Pet, and it becomes clear that The Boys were playaz. |
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| They had everything going for them: a major label deal; membership in an elite anti-establishment youth culture movement; impish charm/boyish good looks; chicks galore; 'powerful' nicknames; great songs with much hype... how did they blow it? |
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| "I Don't Care", their debut single, was recorded before "New Rose" or "Anarchy In The UK" ever saw the light of day, but label delays kept it on ice until early 1977. Following in its footsteps, "First Time", which had all the makings of a chart-busting tamale, didn't do nearly as well as expected. Struggling to maintain their momentum, The Boys released a fantastic debut long-player which got sidelined due to distribution mishaps. Although it pierced the Top 50, and was hailed as one of the year's best albums, sales floundered. Optimistic reviewers kept the faith: "It won't be long before they get the top five smash they should have had with 'First Time'," falsely prophesied one writer. A fistful of other albums and singles followed, but they never managed to cash in on the early hoopla. Despite later, weak attempts at Norwegian synth-pop and other pub-rockin' ensembles, fickle fortune had flitted away and was sprinkling fairy dust all over 'the next big things,' whoever they were (possibly Frankie Goes To Hollywood). | |
"The first time I'd heard The Velvet Underground," reminisces Matt Dangerfield, "I was 'round at a dinner party. You know, some girls invited me and my mate around. I was looking through their albums, and found this Velvet Underground record and said 'Oh what's this? This looks interesting.' And they said 'Oh, that's terrible. It's really bad.' I said 'What do you mean?' And they go 'we just put it on when we want people to leave at the end of the evening. To get rid of 'em, you put this album on, you know?' I said 'let me hear that!' And I loved it. I thought it was brilliant." |
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The oft-quoted Eno aphorism regarding the Velvets' knack for combining dismal sales with widespread influence certainly rings true in the Boys' case. Lou Reed's penchant for enlisting daydreamin' street tuffs to the rock n' roll trenches with his narcoleptic leather fixations and dawn-comedown threnodies made Dangerfield an easy target. "I'd heard The Velvet Underground, which I really liked, but there were very few other albums -that I'd heard anyway -that interested me." |
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| Ugly Things: | How did The Boys get started?
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| Matt Dangerfield: | I was in my early 20s when The Boys started. I had a little recording studio at the time. Like just a home recording studio, and I just met a lot of people through that. So I got together a little band with Mick Jones and Tony James which we called The London SS. It was like a provisional name. There was another band on the scene called The Hollywood Brats who had put out an album the year before which I'd heard. It was about the same time as The New York Dolls, and they were very New York Dolls-y, but better. |
| Ugly Things: | Was this '74?
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| Matt Dangerfield: | Must've been '75. Yeah. In fact, "Sick On You" comes from The Hollywood Brats. The two main guys were this Canadian guy called Andrew Matheson who acted like a big star. Always. Even though no one had heard of him. He was also a very talented lyricist. And there was another guy, a keyboard player, named Cas (Casino Steele), who he wrote the songs with.
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| Ugly Things: | So they ended up playing with you in The Boys? |
| Matt Dangerfield: | Well, they came along to sort of rehearse with me, Mick and Tony. And after the session, they said they didn't want Tony or Mick, but they wanted me to start a band with them. And, yeah, I thought about it and thought "at least they've made a record." And it was a record I admired. So that's how the Boys started, in fact. I discovered there were very, very few people who were interested in that sort of music, and we were all kinda like musicians trying to get into bands. You know, I never actually went to an audition in my life. Mick Jones did. He'd have joined anybody. He was a prostitute, really. But we were all a bunch of people who really couldn't... I mean we weren't good enough to get in other bands, and it had gone very prog rock by then. |
After recruiting Honest John Plain (rhythm guitar), Kid Reid (bass), and drummer Jack Black (who worked together in a T-shirt factory), the line-up solidified. |
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"We started off as The London Boys," explains Dangerfield, "which was an old Bowie, no, no a Marc Bolan song (It's a Bowie song - MS). And then we just decided on The Boys, because no matter how old you are...You know, Frank Sinatra could be a boy. You can be a boy at any age. You know, 'one of the boys.'" |
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Reid took over crooning duties after Matheson "went back to Canada for Christmas and never came back." (Matheson apparently enjoyed some short-lived pro-soccer glory before returning to showbiz with a dismal singer-songwriter effort entitled Monterey Shoes.) The lads started honing their knuckledustin' take on raw beat music, playing Booker T songs during rehearsals and dressing in vintage threads. "We got all our clothes from Oxfam shops, which were second hand stores. Everybody was wearing clothes sort of 20 years out of date," recalls Dangerfield. |
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Forget bondage, The Boys took musical and stylistic cues from mop-topped popsters more than most other supposed 'punks' did. Atypically for a 1977 band, their sound featured an organ. As well, Kid Reid played a Selmer Violin bass. Their set list included tracks like "When You Walk In The Room" (Searchers), "Take A Heart" (The Sorrows), "You're My World" (Cilla Black) and, of course, "Boys" (Shirelles). An early review made the distinction between "The Boys' ravaged brand of Sixties Merseybeat" and the "napalm thrashings of the Pistols/Clash/Damned and company." Other hyperbole thrown around in this vein include "perhaps The Boys will be the Seventies' Kinks" and "The Boys could prove to be as influential as the beat-era ghosts that they resemble." Wearing skinny ties and tight pants, they weren't no punks, chester, they was modernist rock n' rollers. 'Mockers', as Ringo would have put it. |
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"In England," says Dangerfield, "rock'n'roll is working class. It's like almost 99.9% working class. It's a last, desperate attempt to get out of your roots. Alright, you can go to university or you can be a sportsman, but it's all just another root. 99.9% of people in rock & roll are from a working class background. I mean, we weren't trying to make evident our working class roots. That didn't even enter our heads. We just wanted to make music. Get up and play to people." Which doesn't mean that they were unaware of the musical hubbub taking place around them. |
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| Matt Dangerfield: | We knew of The Sex Pistols, 'cause, in fact, The Hollywood Brats had gone to see Malcolm McLaren cause he'd been involved with The New York Dolls, managing them... And The Brats were like an English or more international New York Dolls who could actually write songs, which The New York Dolls couldn't, really.
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| Ugly Things: | And did Malcolm get involved at all with The Hollywood Brats?
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| Matt Dangerfield: | No. No, cause he already had The Pistols then. But we knew of the Pistols even though they'd never done a gig. We just knew there was this band. |
| Ugly Things: | So there was this buzz in the air, and everybody wanted to get in on it?
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| Matt Dangerfield: | Oh yeah. Nobody'd done any gigs yet. The Damned were sort of forming, and they were on the same sort of wavelength. There was The Boys sort of getting together, and this London SS, and not much else.
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| Ugly Things: | So just to get an idea about your thinking at the time, did you consider yourselves punks?
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| Matt Dangerfield: | Not really, no. That word came later. But the press quickly gives it a title, and that was the nearest thing to equate it to, you know. In a way it was taken from New York. Cause if you read the music press every week, sometimes you'd have little snippets from New York, so you'd hear things about people like The Ramones and Blondie. Anyway, you'd hear about this New York punk scene and Richard Hell and all that. Yeah, whatever music we could get to hear, we'd quite like and we were sort of picking up on all that. American punk music probably had more of an impact over here in Britain than it had in America.
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| Ugly Things: | How did you get signed?
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| Matt Dangerfield: | It actually happened quickly. Too quickly, if anything. We'd only played about six gigs, and we were quickly running out of places to play, because everywhere we'd play, they'd say: "You're the worst band we've ever had darken our stage, and you'll never play here again." So we were doing the pub circuit in London, which is where most bands start, burning our bridges as we went. They just did not want us back. We played one gig at Dingwall's, which was a support gig, to Babe Ruth, as I remember. They were on the wane. Anyway, we were supporting them, and at Dingwalls, it's quite a late start so we'd been in the club for a while. We were a bit pissed off that we didn't have any more gigs, really. By the time we got on the stage at around 12 o'clock, we were a bit pissed and we didn't give a shit any more, so we just did our set. We got a rave review in the NME and we got signed up the same evening. But we played really badly. We didn't give a shit, we were just kind of laughing and joking and having a chat with a few mates in the front. And I think that kinda couldn't-care-less attitude came over well.
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Their slapdash signing led to them getting thrown into the studio immediately, where they set to work recording their fist-pumpin' anthems. | |
| Matt Dangerfield: | Because I'd had a studio, I was quite clued up on recording, in a simple way. So it wasn't a big shock to me. Basically, we would record pretty much the whole band, playing at once, live, and then overdub a few guitars and vocals. At the outset, it was a bit difficult, cause they gave us a producer and put us in a good studio. But the producer, I've forgotten his name. He just didn't... Cause what we wanted was a really raw sound, we didn't want it polished up at all, and it was very hard for the people in the recording studios, the engineers, to understand that. They wanted to make it sound polished, and we wanted it to sound rough, so there was a bit of a conflict there. Later on, it was easy, cause they understood. They had something to compare it with, but in the early days that was very difficult. In fact, we sacked the producer, and finished off the first album ourselves. Produced it ourselves. |
From the Warholesque neon high-rises on the cover to the 'thematic concerns' (intentional projectile regurgitation aimed at other persons; the nervous pleas of a soon-to-be deflowered virgin; Every-Brothers-inspired girls picking their nose, etc), The Boys' self-titled debut album is the sound of juvenile reprobates out for sloppy kicks in the city of eternal night. Not only were the songs tougher than leather, but they were total teenage pocket symphonies. |
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Unfortunately, their label (NEMS) signed a distribution deal with RCA - who ended up having their hands full with ten Elvis albums in the Top 50 when The Boys was released. "RCA were too busy pushing Elvis records to deal with anything else," acknowledges Dangerfield. However, one can easily see how signing to a label that was even remotely connected to '60s beatdom (such as NEMS, a cog in Brian Epstein's crumbling empire) would have been enticing to a bunch of shaggy-haired mockers like Dangerfield and co. |
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| Matt Dangerfield: | The North End Musical Stores (NEMS) was the shop Brian Epstein used to have in Liverpool where somebody came in asking for a Beatles record they had made in Hamburg, which made him interested in finding out who the Beatles were. So he had a NEMS company, and it had long since passed into lesser hands, if you like. Although they were a shit record company, they were a very good live gig agency, and we thought "at least we'll get gigs, you know?" So they came to see us that night. We didn't know, otherwise, we might've stayed sober, but anyway, they loved it, and they wanted to sign us.
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| Ugly Things: | Were they looking for one sort of band to sign from the 'punk movement'?
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| Matt Dangerfield: | There was no punk movement then. It was far too early. In fact, in the next few months after that, we had all the majors coming up to us after gigs, saying, "We want to sign you guys." We said "Sorry, we're already signed." |
| Ugly Things: | Did you feel like you should've waited?
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| Matt Dangerfield: | Oh yeah, yeah. Very much so. I remember one night when this guy came up and said "Ahh, we saw you guys tonight. We just signed The Jam yesterday and I wish we had seen you first." That was Pye. You know, cause suddenly everybody went "Oh, we gotta have a punk band." Panic time. "We gotta have a punk band on our books."
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The Boys channeled much of their early chutzpah into a yuletide side project called The Yobs. With names like Noddy Oldfield, Ebenezer Polak, HJ Bedwetter, Kid Various (the production credit went to Daft Fader), and songs like Doggy and May The Good Lord Bless And Keep You, they maintained a maximal hyuck-level. A sticker on the sleeve of their sole full-length proclaimed that "This LP is disgustingly cheap: only £1.99 max retail price." In hindsight, it seems like The Yobs exorcised their raunchier demons (many stores refused to stock the album due to the "unsuitable" lyrical content), whereas The Boys became more of an attempt for popular acceptance, as their follow-up LP, Alternative Chartbusters, suggests. | |
| Matt Dangerfield: | In the end, NEMS were a dodgy company, who wouldn't pay their bills. For instance, we would go into a rehearsal studio, and next time we'd turn up, they'd say, "You can't come in, because your record company hasn't paid for the last lot you did." Same with recording studios. In fact, we bootlegged ourselves. We put out Christmas records under the name The Yobs. The Yobs came from booking rehearsal time which we couldn't book under the name The Boys. I remember the guy saying, "Weren't you in The Boys?" And I said "Nah, I left them." |
| Ugly Things: | Was the Yobs solely a recording outfit? |
| Matt Dangerfield: | Yeah, just Christmas songs. With the Yobs, we played only one show, in 1978, which ended in chaos. It cost us a lot of money, because the stage was invaded by the crowd. It was filmed by an Italian film crew, but I've never seen it. It was just ridiculous. The PA got wrecked; we had tubular bells... Every piece of equipment was wrecked, so we thought it was a good idea for the Yobs not to play again. We couldn't afford it. |
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| Ugly Things: | Did NEMS help The Boys at all?
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| Matt Dangerfield: | Pretty early on, like I said, we were desperate to play, so we'd play anywhere. We did join one tour, with John Cale, which was quite successful for us 'cause I think we were one of the first punk groups to get out in the sticks. And after that, gigs kind of tended to help themselves. We played Holland quite early, France quite early; 'cause there was interest in those places. |
| Ugly Things: | How was that?
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| Matt Dangerfield: | For us it was very good. We were amazed that we got these amazing articles written about us, and about how different it was. Yeah, for us playing abroad was more enjoyable than playing England. Cause once you've played Birmingham two or three times it loses its charm, y'know? |
| Ugly Things: | What were the crowds like?
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| Matt Dangerfield: | Holland was pretty wild. France is a bit strange in that the French kind of sit on their hands, and then, just when you've finished your set, then they go apeshit. We were booked to play five nights at the Gibus club, which holds about 250 people, 300 maybe. Yeah, foreign excursion, brilliant. The first night, we were a bit disappointed, cause there was about 30 people. The next night, there was about 60-70. And the next night about 150, then the next night about 200, and the night after that, our last night, was just packed to the rafters. It was just great. |
| Ugly Things: | Were you exposed to the gobbing phenomenon?
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| Matt Dangerfield: | For me, it started with The Vibrators, and the drummer is responsible. Perhaps indirectly. He had a habit of spitting, while he was drumming, and it wasn't particularly spitting at the crowd, but he had an amazing kind of projectile gob that could, you know, splat all over. He used to drum away and spit to the side of the stage. I think he had this problem where he had to get rid of this excess saliva. But some of the punks picked up on this, I think, and started spitting at him, which was a mistake, really, cause he could pick somebody out at 30 paces and get them between the eyes. So their pathetic little dribbles were nothing. So there was a bit of that, but not much. Then I think, some writer in the NME wrote about the spitting as if it were the thing for punk bands to do. So a lot of people read it and believed it. I remember there was one series of gigs we were doing, and we just walked on stage, immediately after this NME prat had written this story, we were just greeted by a barrage of gob. And there's not much you could do about it. |
| Ugly Things: | Yeah, how do you react to that?
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| Matt Dangerfield: | You got really angry, but it's pointless spitting back cause you're outnumbered. But basically you gotta carry on, and eventually they dry up anyway. I mean, people can't keep spitting forever. |
| Ugly Things: | Beyond the gobbing, did the shows ever get out of hand?
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| Matt Dangerfield: | I think a lot of it was the media, because the people looked frightening. The thing about the way punks looked at the time is that they were actually pretty ugly people. Girls for instance, punk girls. I think it was a way of getting noticed for ugly girls, 'cause the standard of girls that were punks were pretty bad. |
| Ugly Things: | I don't think that's changed too much today.
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| Matt Dangerfield: | Actually, later on, you started getting pretty punks, when it became more fashionable, but in the early days, the hardcore punks were pretty damn ugly, and so were the guys as well. An ugly looking sight, I can imagine.
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Honest John Plain put it succinctly in an early fanzine: "I'm sick and tired of waking up next to birds who've got safety pins in their noses." While gnashing anarchy-spewing postcard punks multiplied like mutating larvae, the Roxy club was where the scene would congregate and huff inhalants and fall around and plot revolutions (or whatever it was that punks did). |
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| Matt Dangerfield: | It only lasted about 100 days or something, but while the Roxy was there, it was the place you would hang out, you didn't care what band was on particularly, you'd just hang out there. And buy Don Letts' 50p spliffs.
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| Ugly Things: | Was reggae happening? |
| Matt Dangerfield: | Yeah, if there was one sort of music that was accepted by punks outside the punk genre, it was reggae. Don Letts was the DJ, so later on in the evening, he'd whack on reggae. But it was weird times, anything could happen. I remember we were playing at the Roxy once, and Led Zeppelin came down. We didn't know, but there was this fat, roadie-type person, with long hair, who was badgering our drummer saying, "Let me have a blow, man. Let me have a blow." And, after the gig, you know our drummer was complaining that "This twat was annoying me." It turned out that it was John Bonham. You know, all these boring old farts were coming along to check out this new thing. |
| Ugly Things: | How do you feel about those years now? |
| Matt Dangerfield: | I'm really proud of it, actually, not just for my band, but for the whole scene, because it was the one point, definitely, ever, when the bands and the musicians got the better of the record companies. Cause the industry did not know how to deal with us. The bands were in control of the music business. It just put a panic through the whole music business, which was quickly harnessed, and eventually everyone became a part of the music establishment. But in those early days, it was really exciting, cause the music business was being fucked, and they couldn't do anything about it. |
Ah, but the biz wised up. When they realized that their share of 'commercially viable youth rebellion' hadn't sold in the millions, NEMS became even more haphazard in their handling of The Boys. They bid each other adieu, and The Boys went on to the greener pastures of Safari records where they released two more albums and five singles to lukewarm reception, despite scoring the opening slot on The Ramones' End Of The Century tour. When Casino got into some sort of predicament in Norway, they played a final fund-raising show for him and eventually disbanded circa 1981, having spent over five years chasing elusive hopes of success. They went their own way musically (Honest John Plain and Jack Black joined up with a couple of Lurkers and Style Council members; Kid Reid continued to rock out in other unknown musical combos; Steel and Dangerfield had the synth-pop thing going with the Namedrops) and were never really heard of again. |
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Thankfully, before imploding, The Boys left a couple of toenail-curling, pure adolescent rock n' roll chestnuts behind, testament to the fact that, at one point in time, they probably were "the best band in the world." Too bad they evaporated into adulthood. o |
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