Book of Shame 2019

I have known Peter Boyd Maclean since he was a lad in the late 70s, at that time living in the same Essex village (Wivenhoe) as The Lines’ official photographer Martin Mossop. Then he popped up in London in the mid 80s as part of the Duvet Brothers, the ground-breaking video production team that made the Torch Song Don’t Look Now video.

Around 2010 he made the hilarious and criminally overlooked film Lummox, in which he gradually intrudes on his own reality show about somebody else’s life. It’s a little hard to describe but if you get a chance to see it you definitely should.

Six years ago he came down to the final incarnation of the Guerilla Studio in Islington, ostensibly to film my drum robot, but he also had a song in his head, a tune in his heart. He strapped on a guitar and within about half an hour laid down a bunch of parts for the song Killing Pickle.

After that he began to take this music thing seriously, and he recruited crack musician (and Stoke Newington’s leading violin repair man) Gary Bridgewood. Gary’s wife Jo added her excellent vocal arrangements. They started sending me songs, which I would arrange and mix. Ultimately they got confident enough to do the whole thing themselves. When they added veteran percussionist Fergus Gerrand they became, to all intents and purposes, a pretty serious band.

Their finished album has been getting quite a lot of positive attention and you should check it out. It won’t be to everyone’s taste but Peter most definitely has a knack for matching clever lyrics with a catchy tune.

Got a beatin’ heart…a heart that’s beatin’ me in…

The Lines “Hot Club of London” 1980

In my early teens I inherited a Grundig tape recorder from my grandfather Walter Conning. I already owned a small japanese recorder; now with two, a new world of possibilities opened up. Every book available on tape recording techniques and musique concrète was checked out of Macclesfield Town Library and avidly pored over. In fact I think there was only one book, but it was a good one.

I began two projects, recording my own tape experiments at home and recording songs via tape bouncing techniques with a school friend named Tim Shearer, who currently runs the excellent Confingo literary magazine. When I was around 15 I sent a tape of my experiments to John Peel, and he graciously admitted to being impressed by the sounds I had conjured out of bits of tubing, a trombone mouthpiece and some squeaking toys borrowed from my infant sister. But he was careful to say that there probably wasn’t much of a career in it.

These more abstract sound outings continued in London with The Lines, and in the summer of 1980 a cassette only compilation was released, sold by mail order via a flyer that was inserted in the first edition of the Cool Snap EP. It wasn’t credited to The Lines at the time, but it was us, together with Martin Mossop and other friends. It wasn’t really until the Therapy album that these more abstract sounds became a part of our main repertoire.

A remaster of this has long been on my list of things to do. There are some exerpts on the Acute Records Memory Span page: select SOUND and then Rituals of the House.


The Lines “Don’t Need Surgery” 1980

The Alaska demo having been absorbed, it was decided to put out our 5 best tracks on a 12″ EP. We booked Pathway Studios in Highbury with engineer Nick Godwin at the controls.

I have criticized the Cool Snap EP in the past for being under-produced, which is a bit daft really, because stark and minimal was what we wanted to do at the time. However, I think we did overdo (or underdo) it. The John Peel session versions of two of these songs are an indication that a bit more of that ol’ fairy dust might have been a good thing, and I personally prefer those versions. This particular song can be heard, along with other rare snippets, on the Memory Span page at the Acute Records website.

This rather upbeat EP (with an excellent cover image by Martin Mossop) was released into a UK indie scene that was reeling from the death of my former schoolmate. It was mercilessly savaged by all, except for the estimable Kris Needs at Zigzag, who always gave us a fair hearing. Paul Morley at the NME really stuck the boot in, compared us to other people, and said we were “off course”. Well…not really, we were very much on our own little course, but it was true that we had begun to feel a little behind where we wanted to be, and impatient to get to the next stage we had planned.

The opening song Don’t Need Surgery was our gig opener and clarion call…for a time. Another song that was formerly slower and heavier, this version wants to hold off the encroaching Thatcherites, in a vague sort of way.

The Lines “On The Air” 1979

When you’re in your early 20s, eighteen months is a helluva long time, but that’s how long it took us to come up with a follow-up for White Night. Of course, there are all kinds of reasons, but mainly, Pete and Hywel having drifted away, me and Jo felt like checking out of the musical monastery and just living for a while. We both went off traveling with our girlfriends, he to Turkey, me to California, and absorbed many influences that were to surface in our subsequent work.

When we reconvened in the Spring of ’79, in a newly Tory-fied Britain, some momentum had built up around White Night. It had been re-released on Illegal Records, a sister label of Step Forward and Deptford Fun City, which were run by Miles Copeland III with Mark Perry and others (and would ultimately conglomerate as I.R.S Records). It had a very nice picture sleeve, the first to feature an image by our good friend and co-conspirator, artist/ photographer Martin Mossop.

Jo and I started playing again and were soon joined by one Nicholas Cash on drums. A St Martin’s graduate and a gifted visual artist, Nick’s first love has always been pounding the skins (or electronic pads), for as many people as he could possibly make time for. At the time he joined us he was also a member of the excellent Prag Vec and was starting to play with a mate of his named Frank Tovey. Nick had attended our first gig in Highbury in 1977, and we had been friends since, so we were more than happy that he wanted to join us.

During my travels I had kept a guitar nearby and spent some time working on new material, and honing down old stuff. The first three songs that were prepared for recording were rather in the honed category: On The Air contained elements of early Lines songs Clone Zone and Howard Hughes (His Body Betrayed Him). Lyrically it’s probably one of my best songs, a description of a “series of dreams”. The arrangement still contained many elements of White Night and Barbican: guitars playing on the eighth note, a melody floating over zigzag chords…no guitar solo though. And there was a whole new energy level, which had a lot to do with Mr Cash.

There was a character working at Step Forward by the name of Steve Brown. I was immediately impressed to hear that he was a roadie for Throbbing Gristle; at their rare performances he would help set up the gear and also intercept the bottles and stuff hurled at the band by an inevitably outraged and repulsed audience. He was a Randy California fanatic, I think we may be detecting a pattern here. He left Step Forward and started his own label called Red Records, and asked us to join him.

So it was as a three-piece that we recorded On The Air in September 1979 in Camden. I thought it was pretty damn good, but the reviews were mixed. Sounds was nasty as ever. The chap in Melody Maker perceptively pointed out that we were using guitars to play electronic music arrangements. Charles Shaar Murray at the NME called it “a daffy and charming intervention from the neo-psychedelic wing of Modern Chaps United”.

The most treasured reaction though was from legendary broadcaster John Peel, who played it on his show and remarked “…it was a long wait, but it was worth it!”