I'm happiest when cutting and pasting, whether it be making a poster or a t-shirt. This is about writing about the things that I love and what inspires me, from music to TV, from football to film. Oh, but it's mainly about the band I was in – Valerie – and how we cut things up and made them our own.
These are scary ass times, we’ve just finished our first week of self isolation, and in the words of Whitney Houston I’ve been getting so ‘emotional baby’.
Mainly at the unwavering kindness of the people around us, as well as the fear of the unknown of what the coming weeks will bring.
The first time the tears came was when one of our neighbours and her daughters waved at us from across the road, the smallest but biggest gesture when you’ve not had any direct contact with anyone outside your house for 3 days. That was a good wave!
The second was finding out my best friend in Cornwall wouldn’t be able to deliver her art projects to LGBTQ students because of social isolation. Many of these kids aren’t supported at home, so this was one of their only safe spaces.
And the third, dang near broke me. Our neighbours, who moved in two weeks ago left a little hedgehog planter on our door step with some lucky shamrock seeds in for our four year old to plant. A lovely unexpected activity to help mix up our day.
There’s been so much of this community kindness, the art teacher from across the road posting homemade colouring-in posters through the letter box to keep the street’s kids entertained, rainbow painting, neighbours and friends dropping off prescriptions, and more importantly chocolate for Finn!
We’ve spent as much time as possible in the garden, and have been amazed by our little boy’s resilience, positivity and ability to create new games at the drop of a hat: button jump and cage ball to name but a few.
I’m beside myself at the thought of not seeing my parents for possibly months. But for now, Happy Mother’s Day and in the words of Daniel Beddingfield we’ve ‘gotta get thru this’.
I first came across Sleater-Kinney about 20 years ago in either Vox, Select or Q getting a 4 or 5 star review for Dig Me Out.
I went out and bought it the very next day, and didn’t look back. Their punk riot urgency, their call and response, their personal politics, was the perfect sound track to my twenty something self righteous angst, all playing out on my tinny headphones on the 204.
They were the band I made firm friends over, the band we then formed a band because of, and when we got to support them it pretty much made our lives (at that point).
After another 4 amazingly intense and esoteric albums they went on hiatus, and then came back in 2015 with No CitiesTo Love, to remind us what we had been missing. It sounded vital, packed with tunes, it was good to have them back and the live shows were amazing.
It was the soundtrack to my pregnancy, and it felt good introducing the Kinney to the future fan in my tummy.
Then they announced a new record – The Centre Won’t Hold, and then Janet (Weiss) left and it felt strangely personal. And it seemed like the Kinney wouldn’t hold.
Much has been made of St Vincent’s production of this album, the preference of electronica, and the subdued drums, but it’s worth noting that Weiss pushed for St Vincent’s involvement.
From the off I was unusually underwhelmed by the promotional tracks, really didn’t like the artwork and wasn’t particularly looking forward to hearing the whole record. On the first few listens my initial reaction seems right, but I’m not going to reject it and it’s pretty good in places.
The Centre Won’t Hold – not the most ear-catching opener, and only gets really good right at the end when Corin comes in.
Hurry on Home – much better than I remember on Jimmy Fallon. Probably the best thing on here because you can hear all three of them in union. Feels like a natural starting point after no cities No Cities to Love.
Reach out – Has it got a Depeche Mode vibe because of the ‘Reach Out’ refrain? Pretty good. Some good soaring angular guitars going on and lots of Corin.
Can I Go On – the verses are a bit hammy. But the chorus has a nice laidback vibe. Carrie at one point sings ‘Everyone I know is funny but jokes don’t make you money’, so maybe Portlandia doesn’t pay the bills. But this is inventive, jaunty and ends up being pretty contagious. Think it nods to the Knife, Chicks on Speed and even Artic Monkey’s for its inspirations.
Restless – is a bit of Brucey Springsteen Bonus. A road trip ballad where Carrie soulfully sings ‘I’ve learned to love the ugliest things’, ‘I know I meant to stick around / my heart is a restless thing.” For me this is the song that defines the album, it will forever be tinged with ugliness as it’s the album that broke Janet, but it’s also the album of change, new beginnings and possibilities.
Ruins – Arch, industrial, and a bit too dirgey for me. Production wise it is reminiscent of later Yeah Yeah Yeahs, and going further back in time Garbage. But it’s all subjective and The Times thinks it’s great.
Love – Wouldn’t be out of place on a Go Go’s album. ‘Call the Doctor / take me out of this Mess’ is a lyrical nod to the past. And I wonder what John Goodmanson would do with it? But they are a long way from the primal lofi screeching of 1996. And this a pretty perfectly sanitised pop song. Kinda love it.
Bad Dance – Is a bit of a theatrical stomp and ‘let’s dance the bad dance’ is textbook Marilyn Manson camp. I does get better though.
The Future Is Here – opens and I think it’s going to be the peak, ‘Never have I felt so god damn lost and alone’ cries Corin, desperately trying to break through screens and feel some physical connection. I’ll come over to your house for a cuppa love, despite the na, na, na chorus.
The Dog / The Body – I like it when the Kinney look to nature. At first I thought we could file this alongside The Fox or Wilderness, but then it goes and turns into an 80’s power anthem. But at least it means Janet gets some big drum rolls, and there’s some massive grumbling nineties guitars.
Broken – Corin has all the feels on this. Broken is very serious and I’m sure it’s not supposed to, but all this isolated piano and balladeering is reminding me of Beverley Craven.
St Vincent’s production is divisive, she’s made a solid album, innovative and interesting, but in changing their sound so much we’ve lost something (not just Janet). The Centre Won’t Hold is ultimately patchy and disjointed; and at no point is there the feeling of the three of them interchanging, rising, falling, then coming together again, as there is on a song like Jumpers. There you got the sense that if they didn’t get the words and guitar (and drums) out, they would explode.
They are so respected these days, that it’s hard to criticise, but there are times here where the band who used to practice in a room on the intersection of Sleater and Kinney in Olympia, sound like they’re in different states.
On Hurry on Home, they sing ‘you got me used to loving you’. And they have, I was preparing to fall out of love with this ‘new’ Sleater-Kinney. But I can’t, they’ve drawn me back in, and I’m walking to work thinking of the shapes I’d throw to these tunes if I ever graced a dance floor again.
It’s not bad, it’s just not the same, and that’s the point. They don’t want to be.
To go forward with this story I need to go back. Like all good rock and roll tales some details get lost in the mix as the booze flows, the gigs collide into each other and the hangovers outstay their welcome.
And so it was way before London Ladyfest that I got the call from Paul Smith at Mute, offering Valerie punk rock stardom whilst seeking out an underwired bra in M&S. I now know this as we’ve rescued my diaries from the loft, but maybe I shouldn’t let details get in the way of the legend?
If I take myself back to that call in June not August, I didn’t really know who on earth Paul Smith was, but I’d heard of Mute and knew they were a cool record label. I knew that he’d just asked us to go down and meet him at the Meltdown Festival in London on the South Bank, curated by David Bowie, yes that David Bowie and where our favourite band the Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs were playing. Not only were they playing, but he wanted us to meet them, and another band – Liars – who he was in the midst of signing. I couldn’t believe all the words that were coming out of my crappy phone, it was like it was on drugs and only letting magical calls through with wild and wonderful possibilities.
Valerie were broke, so I was dispatched to meet Paul on my own as I was going down to Brighton to see Kate that weekend, so I could squeeze in Meltdown at no extra cost. Me being the sole representative to sell Valerie to Mute was pretty dangerous. It could go one of two ways; either I’d get really drunk and say all wrong things or I’d be stone cold sober and say nothing, and I couldn’t see Mute actually wanting to sign a real life mute.
I arrived in London and headed to the Royal Festival Hall. It was the swankiest place I’d ever been in. I had to meet Paul in one of the upstairs bars, when I entered you could see London and the Thames illuminated and magnified through the giant windows.
Although I was missing my wing girls, I got my dander up, headed for the bar and for Paul. After exchanging hellos, he introduced me to the group he was with which was his lovely wife Susan, Liars, Daniel Miller and Sean McClusky.
I’d read about Liars in NME – part of the group of US bands who were invading the UK after the success of The Strokes. Daniel was introduced as the founder of Mute, but I didn’t realise until watching Synth Britannia about 10 years later that he was the guy behind Warm Leatherette, and McClusky was a permanent fixture in the NME with his Future Rock & Roll nights and Sonic Mook label and seemed to be totally in cahoots with Paul.
It was at the bar that I bonded with Aaron out of Liars and stayed under his wing for the rest of the night; such a lovely, unassuming guy, who lapped up my stories of Vix and Elv and confided in me that Paul had been bigging Valerie up.
But less talking and more dancing was required as Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs took to the stage. It was one of their first UK shows and I was more excited about seeing them, than our imminent signing. They were amazing and later that night I got to meet Karen O, who was in the bar with her boyfriend and Aaron’s bandmate – Angus. I managed to keep control of my palpatations and we had a very intellectual conversation about Converse trainers.
Our Kaz circa 2002
I was about to make like Cinderella and turn into a pumpkin, so I bid farewell to Susan, Paul and Sean – who said they’d get us down to London for a gig soon. And I swapped addresses and emails with Aaron, who wanted to hear some Valerie stuff. Giddily, I set off for Victoria and my bed for the night – the station floor – until the first train to Brighton.
We were down in London again about two weeks later visiting Linno and Wes and to see Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs at The Garage, we managed to get into the After Show which was notable for two things; Karen O remembered me and proclaimed ‘Alright bitch’ almost like it was a line out of Art Star. And finally, Elvis got to meet Paul, Sean and the Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs and turn on that legendary blag.
Within three weeks, and good to their word Paul and Sean got us a gig in London, playing at On the Rocks in Shoreditch. It was going to be some sort of showcase for the girl bands Sonic Mook and Mute were interested in. A truck load of people came down from Manchester to support us; Darren from Polythene and The Snakes, Jo Jo from Jackie O and assorted members of the Straps Ons. Carl and Pete from The Libertines were in the audience getting cursory glances from the Manc boys, there was a rumour that Courtney Love was going to pop down – you know as she did to most of our gigs! And there was bitching in the audience that Valerie should be headlining not Joan of Arc – we were just amazed that anyone knew who we were.
Valerie late 2002 supporting Erase Errata at Retro Bar by Victoria Yeulet
The stage was set, there was a real buzz and I even had a t-shirt specially made with the Sonic Mook motto on ‘So Now it Hurts’. Boy, would I live to regret that. It really did hurt – especially sonically for the audience. In sound check we were fine, but when it came to the gig it was bad. We’d always prided ourselves on our DIY aesthetic, but it was as if we’d never seen instruments before, let alone picked them up. Every time I approached the mic I got a wall of feedback shouting back at me, other times the mic just wouldn’t be on. It was the same for Vix and Elv, drums and guitars silent one minute deafening the next. The three of us battled on in true Valerie style hoping our ramshackle charm would pull us through.
In trying to get just one song right, we went on for ages. Paul gave us a very sage piece of advice that night ‘always leave them wanting more (not less)’ and from that point on we would.
The sound woman was in tears, probably from the daggers we were giving her. We managed to put on a brave face and Paul and Sean laughed it off and told us to put it down to experience. Our friends were ever supportive, despite witnessing an extraordinarily bad performance. Vix even had business cards made up at the Motorway Services with Valerie: worste band in the world (sic) next to a blue teddy bear and our email address, which we would proudly give out at future shows.
The night ended with us cheering ourselves up by playing drunken pranks on each other, which culminated in Kate stealing my trousers and knickers as I went for an illegal wee in a Hoxton alleyway. I looked up to see our transit speeding away. I had to jump A Team style into the back of the van, bare arsed for all of Manchester’s rock & roll fraternity to see.
Things took a turn for the better when we played with the The Blue Minkies, Lesbo Pig and Flamingo 50 at Munkyfest in Frodsham. It was a mini festival and it was basically like going camping with the greatest people in the world. Irene from Lesbo Pig was sick in a bin bag, we stayed up late round the campfire, no one got any sleep because Elvis kept playing the various samples on her toy saxophone all night long and she also hollered the immortal line,‘When the van’s a rocking, don’t come a knocking’, when she spied one of her band mates having some afternoon delight in the Salford Van Hire van.
Aaron and I had been sending tapes and CDs to one another – he loved Valerie and told me that Karen O listened to us in the shower. Screw that record deal. That’s all we need! He wanted Valerie to support Liars when they came back to the UK on tour, so there was a possible way back into the Mute fold after our On The Rocks blip.
We ended up opening for them in Leicester at The Charlotte in August. The gig went really well, and it was great to come off stage and see Liars ripping through They Threw Us All In A Trench and Stuck A Monument On Top. Backstage, Aaron and the rest of the band gave us the thumbs up and let us raid their merchandise for free. We also got to meet their amazing dreadlocked roadie Roger – who took a particular shine to Elv.
Liars
It was mainly thanks to Mia’s review of us in Careless Talk Costs Livesand Electrelane’s patronage in general that Paul and Mute became aware of us in the first place. And it looked like the magazine was about to throw Valerie another bone.
We were down in Brighton one Friday night, playing one of our favourite venues The Freebutt with The Fairy Traders and The Stuck Ups; with no pressure our set was great. Everett True – Careless Talk editor, former Melody Maker writer and widely known as the man who introduced Kurt to Courtney, was in the audience and interviewed us the next day.
That night we went out dancing triumphantly with The Minkies and the day after we hit the beach. Kate, Elvis and I (Vix had to hot foot it back to Manchester after the gig) stumbled over a beautiful brown 70s sofa that someone had just dumped on the beach. We all plonked ourselves down on it, it was a truly beautiful day; blue skies, scorching sun and seagulls singing. We sat looking out to sea, not saying very much, but knowing that we’d just had pretty much the perfect weekend and that our dreams of being pop stars were still alive – just.
Next time: Erase Errata, Careless Talk, The Gossip, Goodbye Manchester, Snot Rock Bollocks, Irrk Records
Three years in and the alcohol fuelled nights, gigs and years tended to blend into each other. So I’m ashamed to say that I can’t quite pinpoint Nick’s last gig with Valerie, just like I never could quite locate the drum machine programme for Olympian Cool or Tokyo Girls without great difficulty from that point forward.
Although we had an absolute blast in our formative years, like any other band we had boozy crossed words and unspoken internal politics and at some point very late in 2001 or very early in 2002 our charismatic bass player and founder member left.
Valerie was Nick’s band in every sense of the word. It was his and Vix’s idea and he and Elvis definitely moulded our politics. There was never any debate that we wouldn’t carry on without him. We’d miss him for sure. But he was and is what a feminist looks like, and he left behind a band with three women who had found their voices, their sound and their beat.
At our first practice, I was so shy that I sent the rest of the band into another room before I’d sing, now I was asking my Mum if she knew who I was. Elvis was fast becoming an underground legend and Vix, well Vix was Vix, and had always been an unassuming one off. We were the thrill seeking ladies that Valerie Solanas spoke of, and that wouldn’t have happened without Nick.
His broken wrist after a fight at Poptastic, meant playing as an all girl three piece wasn’t totally alien to us. And that Bette Davis gig stood us in good stead for our first official gig without Nick, which was in a disused swimming pool in Sheffield. It did sound kind of sparse without his rasping bass lines and high-pitched raps and we’d have to fill that vacuum of sound soon, as Switchflicker were about to release our first EP and we had a mini tour organised to support it.
But first, the ever supportive Electrelane asked us to open for them in Liverpool. It was at the students union which was a massive old hall and was only about a quarter full. We were getting used to being a three piece and the gig was more intimate than the venue would suggest. Surprisingly, the crowd asked for more, so as you do we launched into a cover version of Hotel California. It lasted about three lines before we realised we didn’t know any more words and tottered off stage. Julian from Invicta Hifi was in the audience and had always showed a bit of interest in us, we loved his band Ladytron and I secretly hankered after him signing us, but it wasn’t to be.
Mia from Electrelane wrote a review of our set for Careless Talk Costs Lives – Everett True’s new magazine – which was the most credible press coverage we’d got at that point, other than our spread in Diva and The Big Issue.
It was also at that gig, that Mia sidled over and told me that Kate was back from her travels in Australia and our erstwhile romance was about to be rekindled.
Away from the music, one of the greatest things about being in Valerie was our creative get togethers, our cut and paste sessions produced posters, t-shirts, badges and art work. There was a rumour that we were named after Valerie Singleton, and perhaps we were all repressed punk rock Blue Peter presenters at heart. We’d get together with a few bottles of wine and a DYMO and see what happened. It did get out of hand once when Vix made a range of Valerie knickers.
From one of those sessions came the genesis for the artwork and fanzine for our first EP. I wince when I read it now, but at the time it was totally us; cheeky and pushing our luck, but still thanking everyone who had spurred us on.
The record had been sent off to the Czech Republic to print, and when the beautiful transparent 7 inch vinyl landed back in our hands – the blagging and self promotion started.
I remember being sprawled in my bedroom, lovingly packaging the records up and hand writing letters to John Peel, Steve Lamacq, Jo Whiley, and oddly the guitarist out of Idlewild (because I’d seen him wearing a Sleater-Kinney top), hoping for some airplay or a support slot.
But, more excitingly, we were off on our first tour. Well, it was more of a mini tour really. But we grandly christened it the Last of the Summer Swine Tour calling in at Liverpool, Nottingham, London and Brighton.
The one we were looking forward to the most was playing with Le Tigre at Nottingham Social. Kathleen Hanna, was the queen of our world, and we were going to be playing with her and her new band. She was like the Madonna of riot grrrl; reinventing herself from the raw noise of Bikini Kill, to the cultured electro rallying calls of Le Tigre, not to mention Julie Ruin’s original DIY crush songs.
We arrived at the venue, caught a glimpse of Hanna, Johanna Fateman and JD Sampson, went weak at the knees and retreated star-struck to a pub across the road with wallpaper that doubled as books.
We stormed the gig, everything clicked and the Nottingham audience were great. We fed off them, and after some soap banter the girls on the front row were shouting Zoe Tate, Zoe Tate makes me want to masterbate. Stef Mainey had made the trip, Noisy Shit popped down, as did the loyal Grilly (aka DJ Gallowslut) and Phil and Jo from the Liverpool crew were there.
For the very first time after All My Heroes, we could show off and say that’s off our new single. By the end of the set we were bopping and rolling around the stage. We sold some 7’s and were floating on cloud 9, basically I was getting all geared up for Kathleen to christen me the new queen of riot grrrl.
Le Tigre stormed through most of their debut record and Feminist Sweepstakes. They were amazing.
After they had gone off stage. I was having a post gig analysis with someone when I noticed Kathleen Hanna approaching. Time seemed to stand still as she glided over. Was she walking towards me? She was. Oh my god, she’s coming over to say how much she likes the band, that we must come over to America so she can produce our first album.
She opened her mouth and the immortal words is this your cardigan? Someone left it on stage, came out. They weren’t the words of encouragement I was hoping for, and alas it wasn’t my cardigan.
So Le Tigre weren’t going to take us on world tour with them, but we were playing with The Blue Minkies and Lesbo Pig at The Bull & Gate Jubilee All Dayer in Kentish Town, so that kept us going.
It was more of a big reunion than a gig. The beers flowed as the day went on. Our set seemed pretty low key after highs of the Le Tigre support. We wore aprons and I think did one of our horrendous cover versions. We would attempt these now again and they usually ended in disaster – as per Hotel California. We also covered Girls & Boys, Rebel Girland I Wanna Be Sedatedin our time. At a gig at The Night & Day, Elvis forgot the drum intro to Rebel Girl, so we just drummed I Am The Resurrection by The Stone Roses instead and we got away with it. Another time, I invented a new word wheelport and substituted it for airport when we covered The Ramones.
Supporting Le Tigre
I was overcome with excitement because I thought Sarah Smart (aka Virginia Braithwaite) was in the audience, and Betty Minkie stole the show when she closed the huge wooden doors that separated the bar from the stage, shouting ‘contain the noise’ when Gertrude were playing. Our tour van had a busy day too. That morning Laney from The Strap Ons – who had come down with us to see The Parkinsons at the ICA and our gig – had spent the night in the van and got locked in. She summonsed a very groggy Valerie to release her. We asked a passing Postman to help us get her out. He only succeeded in snapping the van’s handle off, while Laney remained inside. That meant we had no chance of getting our deposit back from Salford Van Hire, but eventually we did manage to rescue her and she was later seen folding Valerie fanzines with Lou out of Neighbour’s wife.
Kate had arranged a gig for us in Palmers Bar where she worked in Brighton, a basement drinking den just near the ice rink. Lianne Hall dj-ed and I think she played too. We were back on form, but I remember being very drunk and confrontational, and pissed off the landlord when I reprimanded him for missing our set. Despite being so different from industrial Manchester, we were slowly forming lots of connections with Brighton, and alongside London and Glasgow we would gig there the most outside our home town.
It wasn’t long before we were back in London and the disappointment of missing out on Glasgow Ladyfest was slightly erased as we were on the bill for Ladyfest London alongside: Electrelane, Chicks On Speed, Kiki & Herb, Mirah, The Haggard, The Blue Minkies, Hooker, Kaito and Hello Cuca.
The opening night was really special, because Holly and Seleena, who were now the Northern Radical Cheerleaders kicked things off with their radical cheers and pom poms – squad set you bet. I stole their set list and they would end up cheering with Electrelane a few days later.
A lot of people remembered us from the year before, and when our enthusiasm got the better of us when we saw Ladyfest alumni Sarah Dougher, she brought us down a peg or two by saying that she didn’t respond to ‘toots in the park’. She also told Elv that she looked like a lesbian golfer.
We were playing on the Friday at Upstairs at The Garage in Islington. We had been there loads to watch gigs. I’d seen Sleater-Kinney and Linoleum there, and unbeknownst to us, Kate and I had both been in the audience when Electrelane supported Le Tigre there.
The most memorable time we’d been was one New Year’s Eve for Club V. We’d been drinking in a pub round the corner and me and McCaffrey had left to get something to eat. We ended up in a café with loads of rowdy Cockney girls, when Elvis entered fresh from the pub bedecked in Christmas decorations and shouted Alright you slags in a Cockney accent. The Cockney rowdies thought this was aimed at them and it all spilled out on to the street. One of the girls was in a wheelchair and one of us brushed against it. They went wild accusing us of attacking her. The girl then started repeatedly ramming us with her wheelchair. We were stunned. This prompted McCaffrey to break down in tears proclaiming Why can’t we just get along? We wrote a song about it called Happy New Year which Vicky loathed.
Stainless steel fighting machine Burning that rubber Next time Scope come a calling I’ll think of you nasty mother
We were excited to be playing a venue we’d visited so many times. Me and Elvis had gone down earlier than Vix, she was travelling on the day of the gig. A couple of hours before we were due to play, she called us to say she was on the train but she’d forgotten her guitar. We were like…Vix, you’re the guitarist. How could you forget your guitar? This sparked a mad panic, but Jimmy Minkie came to the rescue and leant us his. This led to the comical spectical of tiny Vix playing Jimmy’s massive guitar. It was in tune too, so we sounded unusually harmonious.
Vix by John Stuart
That night, Unskinny Bop took over Sahara Hotnights and everyone partied hard, especially Stef and Betty Minkie who did an amazing rendition of Ice, Ice, Baby, despite having to play the next day.
London was inspiring, and it was great to play, dance, drink and meet up with friends. We’d hired a room (or should I say cell) at The Generator Hostel in Kings Cross, and by the end of the weekend I think everyone at Ladyfest had stayed a night.
Like when we came back from Glasgow, we were in a post Ladyfest lull. But soon after, I was innocently meandering around the underwear department in Marks & Spencer, looking for a bra when my phone went. It was someone called Paul Smith from Mute Records. He’d heard about us and wanted to meet. Bloody hell! The big time beckoned. I better make this bra a good one.
We started 2001 on a high. We’d been offered our first London gig, at the Oval in Kennington by Gertrude – an all-girl post punk band from the big smoke. I’m still not sure how they heard of us, but by that point we’d done so many queer and Ladyfest benefit nights, we’d probably earned our spurs.
We were super excited, one, because it was in London and two, because Electrelane were also on the bill.
Like our friends The Blue Minkies they were from Brighton. We had their singles, Film Music, Le Song, Blue Straggler and Gabriel. These early tracks were mainly dreamy but abrupt instrumentals, and way more sophisticated than anything we were doing.
When we arrived for sound check it was hard not to be daunted, the venue was way bigger than the cosy corners and dive bars that we were used to playing. We worried that our sparse punk noise would get lost in this space that seemed more in keeping with an aircraft hangar or TV studio than a venue.
One thing that we did have in our favour was that our song writing was flourishing, once we struggled to fill 15 minutes on stage, now we were cranking them out. Favourites included: Mariella (our ode to Mariella Frostrup), All My Heroes Hate Me, Everything Happens When I’m Not There, Olympian Cool, Five Finger Discount, Music for Townies, Tank Top Girl, Virginia, and our one and only ballad I Karumba.
With your husky voice
And your agility
I’ve seen you rock climbing
On GMTV
You’re the voice over queen
New media supreme
Your fingers on the pulse of every scene
Mariella – Ma – Mariella
The gig went well. And weirdly, Electrelane seemed to be as chuffed at playing with us, as we were with them. My brother flew down to London to see us. The cavernous room was packed. I wore a North West Co-op t-shirt that Nick had given me to stay true to our roots. Loads of people we knew were there. I’d love to say they were all in attendance for us, but mainly they were lured by the sight and sounds of Electrelane. But it didn’t matter, we’d got London under our belts, we felt like pop stars, and it would be the first of many shows with Electrelane.
We kept on gigging, with our prime objective being to play Ladyfest Glasgow that August. Ladyfest was a thing of legend in our world. It started in Olympia in 2000, with the likes of Sleater-Kinney, The Gossip, Bratmobile and Sarah Dougher coming together for a female led political, musical, cultural and artistic happening. Lee Beattie, a young Glaswegian witnessed it all, and inspired, vowed to bring Ladyfest to Glasgow.
Lots of people who we played with were already confirmed to play: Hooker, Flamingo 50, Angelica, Gertrude, and our friends The Blue Minkies and Electrelane – although to be fair, we were still more Electrelane groupies than friends at this point. Beattie had managed to get a whole host of bonafide riot grrrl heroes to come over from the US to play, including: The Gossip, Bratmobile and Katastrophe Wife . Bis and Kirby provided the local talent.
We just didn’t get our act together. I think we sent a demo but knowing us probably after the submissions deadline. I think we were waiting to be asked. If it had been in Manchester, no doubt we would have been chewing Lee Beattie’s ear off, begging for a slot. But while we were good at bigging ourselves up in our home city, we’d have to work on promoting ourselves elsewhere. We ended up going to Ladyfest, but only as observers.
We were massively disappointed and feeling very hard done to, but soon got over it as we boarded the train to Glasgow for four days of drink, dancing and music with all the people we had met over the last two and a half years.
Nick couldn’t come, so me, Elvis, Vix and McCaffrey headed up. We were staying in the Eurohostel on Clyde Street and were all gobsmacked when we saw Kat Bjelland roaming the lobby with the rest of Katastrophe Wife. Our unofficial headquarters that weekend was The 13th Note, it was there that we met up with Holly and Seleena, Ruth Bop, Irene and Ros from Lesbo Pig and IRRK records, the Minkies and Electrelane.
There were lots of great performances, but the Minkies stands out as one of the best. They were playing in the tiny basement of the 13th Note. It was August and sweltering. Every time they played a note all their equipment seemed to move. Our fringes were spammed to our heads and the walls were dripping with sweat as the crowd jumped to the Minkies perfect pound shop pop.
The Blue Minkies
Afterwards, we all headed to a whisky bar off Clyde Street, a proper dog rough place, with hardy old drinkers propping up the bar. God only knows what they must have made of us; me and Elvis in our leather jackets looking like the lesbian Velvet Underground, and Betty and Steph Minkie in their Scholl orthopaedic shoes.
Whatever they thought ten tunes on the juke box later and five whiskys down the line, we were getting on with these old timers like a house on fire. I remember one of them dancing with us and twirling his pullover above his head. It knocked a big clump of archaic dust off the fan above which plopped right into his pint. Without batting an eyelid, he downed it in one. Maybe we created a new kind of boilermaker that day.
The camaraderie continued, with one of the old guys treating us to drinks with the multitude of coppers he had lined out on the table. With the stale sweat lingering in the air, we left. A few years later when Kate and I were living in Glasgow, we tried to find the whisky bar, but it had gone and left me wondering if I’d dreamt it all.
As per usual, Elv got where a draft wouldn’t, and was invited on stage with Electrelane to do a version of Hound Dog. So at least there was some Valerie presence at Ladyfest Glasgow.
The Gossip – who Elvis also nearly ended up singing with, only she couldn’t find a satisfactory outfit – brought Ladyfest to a memorable end, and inspired an after show conga through the Barfly led by a scantily clad Beth Ditto.
It was hard to bring ourselves back to normality with all this girls to the front ethos and Ladyfest utopia ringing in our ears. But we had an EP to record, so it was back to business.
Jane Compton, who ran Manchester’s DIY avant-garde club night – Club Brenda – had just started a record label called Switchflicker and had asked us to record something for her. She’d released 7 inches by performance poets Chloe Poems (Gerry Potter) and Rosie Lugosi. Elvis and I would often spot Potter and fellow Club Brenda alumni The Divine David (David Hoyle) on Canal St and feel a bit star struck.
We never dreamed of recording anything, such were our legendary ramshackle live performances, so we jumped at the chance of getting a 7 inch out, especially for a label whose last released was The Queen Sucks Nazi Cock.
We decamped to Inch Studios off Rochdale Rd to be taken through our paces by Keir Stewart, who was lovely, very patient and had been in the Duritti Column.
We were excited, but recording was totally alien to us. We were famed for our DIY ethos, now we were being asked to play in time, in the right chord and at the right level. We recorded All My Heroes Hate Me, Everything Happens When I’m Not There, Olympian Cool and I Karumba.
I saw you looking at her through your bunsen burner
Looking like a teenage Tina Turner
Don’t give a shit what your parents say
Got to make your move before she gets away
And I went I, I , I karumba – just look at me
And I went I, I , I karumba – no virginity
And I went I, I, I Karumba – you made a man out of me
The highlight was recording outside to capture the unseasonal August rain for the intro to I Karumba (that made us feel like The Smiths), and hearing All My Heroes played back for the first time. Having played it so many times live, it sounded weird to hear it presented back to us sounding all professional. The recording definitely did iron out our rawness, and made us sound much softer than our live shows. But we had four songs that would end up on a 7 inch, that would end up in someone’s house, that would end up on the radio. We could hold onto that 7 and say ‘we made this’.
In the same month, we played for Steve Manford again to celebrate 25 years since the Sex Pistols played at the Free Trade Hall. Manchester’s finest all lined up at Big Hands to pay homage to their punk predecessors. Jackie O, Moco, Hooker, Politburo, Red Vinyl Fur, Desolation Angels, Los Nachos and Gabrielle’s Wish all played. I remember it being most notable for Nick out of The Obsession painting his body with black stars, adding a bit of Iggy Pop glamour to a wet Sunday on Oxford Road.
The bill was almost as cram packed as the venue that day, and everyone was only allowed 15 minutes to play. Our set was high speed and we got dressed up for the occasion, sporting shirts, ties and shades. Elvis even conjured up an umbrella at one point and went a bit Mary Poppins on us.
Next up was Leeds Festival and Elvis and I went to see Electrelane play, we turned up with miniature golf clubs for them to keep them amused on tour. They must have thought we were insane. It was there that they told us that one of their friends – Kate – was moving to Manchester and that we’d have to keep an eye on her.
We were playing at The Night and Day the month after and Kate came along. I didn’t realise it until about 5 months later, but she would become the most important person in my life.
We brought the year to an end with a bang. We were playing Roadmovie 2 at The Retro Bar with our good friends Jackie O, Moco and hot new Portuguese band The Parkinsons – who were being really talked up by the NME. It was the definition of an old school, rock and roll night. First on, we set the tone. Nick looking clinical in his doctors scrubs, Elvis resplendent in her tank top, me in leather jacket and ski mask, Vix surveying the crowd – we meant business. We banged out Virginia and a new song Pop Star, took a telephone call and tried to set fire to someone’s trousers. Mad Gary took over from Elv on the drums for a bit while she drank her 2-for-1 Becks.
Jackie O took it up a notch and then The Parkinsons entered the scene in their boxers, by this point tables are broken, there’s glass, beer and leads all over the floor. This was messy even for Retro Bar. Headliners Moco still somehow managed to steal the show and at one point tiny Elv had their strapping front man – Jonesy – on her shoulders. Everyone was euphoric, apart from the staff. It was a health and safety nightmare and the management eventually pulled the plug.
I suppose that gig was just our punk rock office Christmas party, and it would be a happy new year too, as Valerie were unexpectedly tipped for the top in a Manchester Evening News article called Today Manchester, Tomorrow the World. Remember kids, don’t believe everything you read.
The nights are drawing in, fireworks are in the shops, and there’s loads of good stuff on TV. Here’s what I’ve been watching with no big spoilers.
Top of the Lake
Ok, this was on BBC2 last year, but I’ve only just watched on Netflix, if you’ve not seen it download it on Netflix immediately or get to Fopp where the box set is £7. Gerard Lee’s and Jane Campion’s tale about Laketop, a small community in New Zealand is brutal, beautiful and utterly compelling. Elizabeth Moss (Mad Men, The West Wing) carries the action as Robin, a successful and seemingly sorted cop who comes back to her home town to visit her sick mum, but ends up leading an investigation into the disappearance of a pregnant 12 year old and confronting the horrors of her past.
While Robin unravels (see Episode 3 where Robin cracks), Campion and Lee serve up some great supporting characters, most notably they team up again with Holly Hunter (The Piano), who plays the androgynous GJ – a mystical and otherworldly creature who has helped set up a women’s refuge near to Laketop in Paradise; most of the characters will pass through the refuge at some point – men and women alike – and get a pearl of wisdom from GJ’s little book of calm. They should also seek wardrobe advice while they are there, how she manages to get such a starched, straight look in the middle of the outback with no iron is a mystery. Her wardrobe will only be rivalled by Transparent’s Carrie Brownstein in this blog.
Newcomer Jacqueline Joe plays Tui Mitcham the 12 year old who goes missing; her gun toting performance as she protects her new born baby is nothing short of feral. While Peter Mullan (My Name is Joe) serves up a psychoanalysts dream performance as the menacing and self-flagellating overlord of Laketop, Matt Mitchum. Luke Buchanan also deserves a special mention as Tui’s protective friend Jamie.
Widely lorded, Top of the Lake was criticised for not fully exploring its 11th hour plot twist involving Head of Police Al (David Wenham) and leaving many unresolved questions.
For me, great drama is one you talk and debate about afterwards, not one that neatly answers all your questions. Top of the Lake is definitely the former and for anyone who can’t wait for Twin Peaks 2016, you should take a look at this. There is something eerily inbred about the world of Laketop and its curious characters. Everything from the odd thrift store painting opening credits to the ethereal soundtrack – including a beautiful cover of Bjork’s Joga – sets the pace and tone throughout.
Transparent
Transparent is one of Amazon’s first shows and they’ve set the bar incredibly high.
At the centre of Jill Soloway’s story is Mort’s transition to Maura and the families’ reaction to it, but equally as important are the other characters transitions through life. Maura’s kids; Sarah (Amy Landecker) leaves her husband to get back with Tammy her lesbian lover from College, Ali (Gaby Hoffman) flirts with the unknown in a bid to find herself; this sees her attempt to get roasted by her boyfriend and his room-mate in a drug fuelled high, and ends with a dildo on a toilet floor as her chance to get it on with a trans man (Ian Harvey) literally slips through their fingers. Josh (Jay Duplass) starts the series as a womaniser and successful record producer and by the end of it he’s jobless, emotionally broke and in love with a Rabbi.
People will call the Pfefferman’s: dysfunctional, selfish and self-obsessed and they’d be right, but above all they love each other. And this is what makes Transparent so real, above all, these characters are human, they transcend labels.
For all Ali’s flakiness, her concern about her sick step father Ed is palpable and it is she who christens Maura – Moppa, Sarah and Tammy’s utter acceptance of Maura is refreshing and you even get the sense that Josh will turn the corner.
Maura never feels like the butt of the joke, even when her kids crack up at her performance at Trans Got Talent, and when an old acquaintance can’t hold in his juvenile giggles, the jokes on them.
Some of the funniest moments are the lightest – the baby seats on the ground by the side of the car to make room for Tammy and Sarah’s back seat action, Sarah’s husband Len mistaking Sarah’s sex surge for spilt Capri Sun, Ali and best friend Syd (Carrie Brownstein) laughing at the rapey exclamation mark in gender studies, and Maura’s coming out to a tripping Ali.
I’ve not even mentioned Judith Light as Ma Pfeffereman, excellent as the Jewish matriarch, whose loving and complex relationship with Maura is brought to the fore when her second husband gets sick.
The performances are bold and everyone raises the bar. Perhaps best known for Arrested Development, Tambor took a risk as a cis male in taking this role as many would have preferred it to be played by an actor from the trans community. However, Tambor’s Maura is dignified and brave, but flawed, just like everyone else. Hoffman brings to Ali a kind of wide eyed innocence, although she still seems destined to press self destruct at every available opportunity. She is without vanity, and if John Waters was casting a movie, after Transparent and her stint in GIRLS I’d really hope she would be his go to leading lady.
I can’t write about Transparent without mentioning Carrie Brownstein. First she was Sleater-Kinney’s guitar She-Ra, then she became a comedy genius via Portlandia, and now she cuts her serious acting chops in Transparent. She also sports an amazing wardrobe and the best funeral outfit I have ever seen. If I haven’t convinced you to watch it, please do, just for tips on dressing comfortably to awkward occasions.
The flash back scenes are handled well, even if Light and Tambor pretty much look the same, the three child actors who play the young Pfefferman’s are excellent. The stand out scene is when Mort and his friend Mark go to Camp Camellia, dressed as Maura and Marcy and they phone their families back home. The juxtaposition of Mark being dressed as Marcy and telling his son to man up, is an interesting one, and if there is an award for body language, then Bradley Whitford should win it.
This is a tender, honest and understated show, about a subject which could have been sensationalised. Hats off to the cast and crew; your second series is richly deserved.
The Fosters
Back in the day when I used to try and fool folk that I was just into Jodie Foster’s leading men, I came upon a terrible TV adaptation of Phantom of the Opera starring a young Teri Polo as Christine. I was smitten. Fast forward 24 years and I’m reading After Ellen’s Hot 100 and there is Teri Polo. She is playing a lesbian mum on ABC Family’sThe Fosters. This is cause for celebration and investigation.
Polo plays cop Stef Foster who is married to Lena Adams (Sherri Saum), who’s a teacher. They are a bit like the public sector Bette and Tina. Stef has a son Brandon with her ex-husband Mike (Danny Nucci), and two adopted kids with Lena – Jesus and Mariana. But then troubled teen Callie and her little brother Jude (aka Judicorn) are thrust into their world, and this first season is about how they and the family respond to new rules, new people and new challenges.
And the title, see what they did there? Stef’s called Foster and they foster kids. Subtle!
After the first two episodes I wanted to reject it as too schmaltzy, too after school special, as forcing social messages in a similar way to the otherwise pretty decent Dawson’s Creek and underratedPopular. But I also had to admit, I was hooked.
I’m not sure if it is the sensitive portrayal of two women in a relationship with each other, trying their best to bring up their multi-ethnic family in the face of: homophobic yet loving dads, interfering but sympathetic alcoholic ex-husbands, drug addled biological mums and lustful and damaged teenagers. But it is key, and like Transparent, there is so much love in the Foster-Adams household, it is again what holds this drama together, makes it believable and raises it above a teary wallow fest.
Lots of the characters here have been abandoned or feel like they don’t quite fit in. Callie has been in juvie and like Jude; bumped from foster home, to group home to foster home. Their mother is dead and their father in prison. Mariana is uncomfortable in her own Latino skin and just wants to blend in, and Lena confides that growing up, being bi-racial left her confused about what community she belonged too. And when Stef and Lena consider having a biological baby, it takes its toll on their other children’s identities and security.
Polo and Saum hold it all together, but the kids are alright too. Maia Mitchell is brilliant as Callie – a kind of bad ass Joey Potter – who is at the centre of a big forbidden love triangle. There is an obvious attraction between her and her muso foster brother Brandon (David Lambert), but if they are in a relationship she can’t get fostered, so they stop making out and Callie turns her attentions to the lovely Wyatt (Alex Saxon), a long haired, sensitive mess in plaid. Jesus (Jake T Austin) brings the Beverly Hills 90210 swoon-some eye candy for the kids. And Hayden Bryerly’s touching portrayal of 13 year old Jude trying to understand his burgeoning sexuality, nail varnish and all is a joy to behold.
ABC Family deserve major plaudits for putting a high profile drama about an alternative family at the heart of their scheduling. Some hate groups have said the show is anti-family. Well they can suck my left one, anyone, LGBT or straight, considering starting a family in any way, shape or form should check out The Foster’s – it only comes from a good place.
What else do I need to be watching? Leave a comment or tweet me @JosieDenton
At the same time as we were getting all these slots supporting our heroes at The Roadhouse, we were also getting our formal induction to the Manchester music scene.
But we weren’t the only ones – Stephen Nancy, Hooker, Desolation Angels and Liverpool’s Flamingo 50 – all of whom had a queer core or following, rubbed shoulders on the same bills as Polythene, Jackie O, The Strap Ons, Tsuji Giri, Sonar Yen, The Obsession, The Snakes, Double (John) Grey, Moco, Stazi and the like, bands that had already established themselves or were about to.
Our first flirtation with this scene was at the NoFi festival at the Star & Garter. Polythene’s drummer Kate Themen invited us to play. We all wore t-shirts, shorts and sweatbands. We did our Valerie are SCUM mantra which was becoming a mainstay of our set, and then went into an acapella version of Take That’s Back for Good. With our limited musical capacity we knew we had to make every gig different, so we relied heavily on banter and cover versions.
It was at this gig that McCaffrey’s legendary magic bag first appeared. Its secret moonshine contents (knock off whisky from Gorton), helped to keep Valerie inebriated for the rest of the day and half of the rest of the bill too. I credit that bag with getting us loads more gigs and cementing our friendship with Jo Jo from Jackie O.
Jackie O at Retro Bar
The Star & Garter that day was a bit of a who’s who of that scene. We were very much the newcomers, and the lovely B Fab UK, Polythene, Space Kittens and Red Monkey all played. Polythene were the leaders of the pack, they’d had a Single of the Week in the NME and Kate had drummed for The Fall. So we were humbled to be welcomed into the fold.
If we weren’t playing with these bands or watching them support someone else, we’d be out drinking and dancing with them, or in our case rolling and piling on. Tiger Lounge, The Star & Garter and Retro Bar were our favourite haunts, and many a happy hour would be spent getting drunk with The Strap Ons and Jackie O, and we’d inevitably end up dancing to the Bugsy Malone soundtrack and singing to Grease.
It was about this time that me and Elvis started DJ-ing Get a Grip at The Roadhouse, once again Kate Mountain gave in to our pleas, and we had license to play anything we wanted. It was there that we got to see irate musos combust as we played U.G.L.Y by Daphne & Celeste for Holly and Seleena, beam when our new found friends flooded the dance floor for Teenage Riot and scream when we needed to fill the silence between records.
Always one for sniffing out the most interesting people in the room, it was there that Nick bounded up to Lindsey Bull and Wesley Jones – who would become our lifelong friends – and it wouldn’t be long before Wes would be joining us on the decks. We also met Pavement fanatic Zoe Gregson there, who would become another future partner in crime. It was exciting to see all these disparate people come together over music – it really felt like something was happening.
Polythene mosh pit with Ed, Jazz & Gary at The Roadhouse.
No one was a household name, but some of the characters we were meeting would have felt right at home in Warhol’s Factory. None more so than Steve Manford – Manchester’s answer to Kim Fowley.
He took a shine to Valerie and would give us lots of gigs over the years, but the first one was probably the most important – supporting Bette Davis and the Balconettes. John Peel once described their vocalist Sam as sounding like Edith Massey, but where Edith was sweet, Sam sounded like she was having a malevolent meltdown, backed with Brian’s wonky yet somehow sexy keyboard and Tracey’s rumbling bass, it all made for punk heaven.
People still debate about Manchester’s best lyricist: Morrissey? Shaun Ryder? The Stone Roses? The collective efforts of The Balconettes win hands down. Highlights from Shopping on the Internet include… Chicken curry pastie / Mother fucking tasty, Pret a Porter / What the fuck was that transvestite story? And Some fucker with no life / Stole my one and only Apollo mountain bike.
I’d been enamoured by them ever since they’d done a gig at The Night & Day that you had to pay to get out of. I had that flyer on my bedroom wall for years. So supporting our local heroes was right up there with supporting these bands we’d been opening for from the other side of the pond.
The gig was upstairs at The Britons Protection, a tiny room with no stage; it probably had a capacity of about 50.
Nick had broken his arm in a fight at Poptastic. So we performed for the first time as a three piece. Unsure of our abilities, supporting our heroes and a man down, we were wracked with nerves, so decided just to have a good time. By this point we’d added some new songs to our repertoire, Virginia and Fuck the Loo / Break the Cistern – which was pretty apt for the BP as their plumbing was as Dickensian as the décor.
The Balconettes made Fall gigs look like tea parties. People were jumping up and down on the brown leather benches to Surf, Surf, Kill, Kill, Shopping on the Internet and Shergar. For that last song Elvis appeared as if by magic from backstage with a toy horse. She’d found Shergar the wonder horse and was now riding the mosh pit with it.
But the gig soon turned from horse racing to boxing as it descended in to a full on fight where Sam and one of the audience had to be prised apart. The Balconettes split soon after, but at least we got the chance to play with them and pen our ode to their bassist Tracey.
Trashcunt 99
Trashcunt, Trashcunt I wish you were mine
Together, Paul Kennedy and Jo Kimber put on Sukifun at the Night & Day. An all dayer which brought all the Manchester scene together along with a few out of towners. Most notably Rosita – who totally lost our respect by shooing everyone out of the backstage area while they got in the ‘zone’. And most brilliantly The Blue Minkies from Brighton.
Vix and her girlfriend Ruth had already come across them in Sheffield and came home raving about them, and Nick had taken them out dancing at the Star & Garter. But it wasn’t until Sukifun that we all got to meet and play with them. All their songs were fast, furious and funny and we loved them. Just like us they idolised The Balconettes and loved banter, beer and bopping. It was a match made in heaven, they were our southern sister band and we would seek out every opportunity to play and hang out together.
The Minkies might have gone home but we were still keeping our spirits up. About a month after Sukifun, The Strokes and The Moldy Peaches landed at the university. Everyone who was in a band or interested in music in Manchester was there, hoping to get swept up in the New York scene that the NME had turned its attention to.
Somehow, Elvis and I managed to clamber on stage midway through The Strokes set and have a quick strut, before being catapulted off stage by security. Elv then promptly fell foul of Kimya Dawson from the Moldy Peaches, who chucked her out of the gig for our on stage antics.
But after the show, back at Big Hands, probably much to Kimya’s dismay, Elvis and Julian Casablancas were getting on like a house on fire and discussing possible names for their children – the front runner of which was Cheddar.
A few years later me and my girlfriend Kate would put on Kimya Dawson in Glasgow. When she came in our kitchen and saw a fairly big picture of Elv staring back at her. She looked as though she’d just seen the devil in all her glory.
Coming Soon: London calling, Ladyfest interrupted and our first EP.
High off our first gig, we knew we had to keep up the momentum. But we weren’t too sure how. So piecing together our knowledge of what other bands did from what we had read in NME, Select and Vox, we blundered into recording a demo and continued to roll around town bigging ourselves up.
The four of us decamped to Nick and Vix’s house in Levenshulme with a 4 track to record our demo. We only picked our instruments up after Dawson’s Creek had finished. If you’d have told us then that Joey Potter would marry Tom Cruise we’d have written a song about it.
We set up in their back room. Elvis had to put her drums up in the kitchen to give the rest of us a chance of being heard. We were always a rag tag and bob tail band, and I had the kind of microphone you get with a kids karaoke set. This recording session was going to be more Abattoir Road than Abbey Road. I remember Nick jumping over the mess of wires in the back room to switch the 4 track and the various channels on and off. And we’d all bark instructions to Elvis in the kitchen to be either louder or quieter, or faster or slower. And she’d bark back. We played Music for Townies and Five Finger Discount over and over. By the end of the day, with heat coming off the 4 track we had a demo.
Most bands would have probably seen that demo as a practice, thrown it in the dustbin and started over. But we were mesmerised by it. It was more evidence that we were a proper band. We’d recorded something and had to start getting it out there.
Nick and Vix had a friend called Zoe who was going out with Neil ‘Didi’ Davenport, who, at that point was the music correspondent for the Manchester Evening News. The demo promptly fell into his hands and before we knew it we were being interviewed, photographed and had a full page spread in the MEN.
Me & Elv with Sleater-Kinney running order
We were ridiculously provocative proclaiming that we were more punk than The Sex Pistols. We spoke about Valerie Solanas and our roots in the gay scene. Didi described the demo as sounding like it was recorded at the bottom of the Manchester Ship Canal.
He went on to say, can’t play, won’t play, but they are going to be massive anyway. Against his better judgement he seemed to like our rudimentary sounds and our bravado, and it probably made a change from interviewing a bunch of lads who sounded like Northern Uproar and wanted to be the next Oasis.
We were regulars at The Roadhouse, and every time we went to a gig there we’d tell Kate the manager and Siobhan the booker that we were in a band and that they should put us on. We gave them the demo. God knows if they listened to it or if they were worn down by our constant badgering, but they offered us a slot supporting Rosita, Angelica and Mika Bomb.
This was a totally different proposition to supporting Black Lace and we were giddy at the prospect of joining this mainly all grrrl line up. We worshipped Kenickie, so supporting Rosita was the next best thing. Laverne might have gone solo, but we still had Emmy Kate and Marie to impress.
The Roadhouse was a good place to be that night, with its red womb like glow and audience made up of a few close friends, but mainly people we didn’t know, but who we were about to. After our set, Nick ordered two girls to dance with him to Bikini Kill. They obliged, and Holly and Seleena became the first known Valerie fans. They were only fifteen at the time and started to write about us in their zines which made us feel like bonafide super stars.
Musical differences? The Roadhouse
We begged another support at The Roadhouse this time with The Donnas. They were on Lookout! Records home of Pansy Division and Nick and Vix were big fans. And it was at this sound check that we knew something was changing.
Hooker – another band from Manchester with queer and riotous tendencies were also supporting that night. We’d played with them a lot so they knew our shtick. We were sound checking with a new song 7 girls on 1 which was a little more than our usual smash and grab. It had a longer, edgy guitar intro, softer drums and by this point I had enough confidence to actually attempt to sing. You could tell by the look on their faces that they were genuinely shocked that we were playing something that resembled a proper song. They very sweetly gave us whoops and cheers at the end, which was a big compliment coming from them
They’re getting closer
They pounce and surround
It’s seven girls on one
She reaches for her gun
She gets it out
In a flash they’re all gone
I remember nothing about the gig. Other than we went down well again, we got to meet The Donnas, I was totally intimated by their bad ass bass player and they had an impressive finger buffet back stage. It’s funny what stays with you.
When it was announced that Sleater-Kinney were playing The Roadhouse, we knew that we had to get on the bill. They were one of the reasons we were together, we’d seen them all over the UK. Infact, our adventures at early S-K gigs probably warrant a post of their own. They’d mistaken me and Lisa for lost children at one of their gigs and I got a black eye at another. Nick and I wore our S-K cat t-shirts religiously, and I went through a phase of trying to channel Carrie Brownstein on the front of The Hot Rock, but only succeeded in splitting my grey skirt and having to pin it back together with cocktail sticks. We even had a song called AllMy Heroes Hate Me, which was inspired by Carrie telling me to quit living in the past when I shouted out for Dance Song 97 at one of their gigs.
Carrie you were my guitar She-Ra
Dancing through the gig like a shining star
When you barked quit living in the past
Wanted to stick a Rickenbacker up your fucking ass
It’s fair to say we were excited. But so were every other band in Manchester with an alternative bent. We thought we had no chance of a support slot given that we’d played there so much recently. But it didn’t stop us pecking Kate Mountain’s head about putting us on the bill at every available opportunity.
I was at my dad’s work one day wedge locking – which involves putting a tiny piece of yellow plastic into a hole in a screw (it’s about as far away from rock and roll debauchery as you can get) – when I got the call to say we’d got the gig.
We couldn’t quite believe we were going to open for our heroes. The gig came round quickly and when we emerged from sound check into the July sun there was already a queue forming outside the venue. We were so nervous even though the line was full of friendly faces. We headed to the Crown and Anchor (aka the Crab and Apple) to get some dutch courage and rattle off our set list. I spilt gin on my crotch which made it look like I was so nervous I’d peed myself.
The gig is a blur. I remember the nerves making us play faster and sing a few octaves higher. The crowd were lovely because they knew how much it meant to us. Corin Tucker taped some of our set (I like to think she needed the rest of the tape for the rest of the tour). We got away with playing All My Heroes Hate Me without any more chastising from Carrie and Nick got to bond with his heroes. The set was recorded, so I will verify that all this is true once I get the tape from Holly.
The Kinney’s set was amazing. Carrie and Corin exchanging vocals, one minute tender the next primal, angular guitars and Janet Weiss drumming her own furious beat. Guy Garvey – pre Elbow world domination – told us how much he liked our set. It felt like we were dreaming. There was only one thing to do…get wasted.
Me and Nick after the Sleater-Kinney gig
Coming soon: The other side of the tracks: Queercore meets the Manchester underground.
We were dedicated to music. Not making our own, but dancing to other peoples. A regular night out would involve starting off in The Subway just off Oxford Rd, where we would wet our appetites on 50p tequila shots.
Once we were full of that warm tequila goodness with the taste of salt and lemon on our lips, we’d make the short journey to Poptastic, by this time it had moved from Bloom Street to Club Alter Ego. We’d leave The Subway at about 10.30 and giddily make our way to Princess Street to make sure we’d be at the front of the queue for Pop opening at 11.
As soon as we were in, we’d head straight to the bar for £1 drinks (god I loved the nineties) and then we’d make a b-line to the DJ booth to badger the DJ.
We had to get our more obscure requests in now, because there was no way they would drop Sleater-Kinney’sI Wanna Be Your Joey Ramoneor Bikini Kill’sRebel Girl later, when the throngs would be baying for Republica or a Girls & Boys dance remix.
The first half hour was basically our chance to get everything we wanted played from Rude Club, to Linoleum to Huggy Bear. I would love to be a fly on Club Alter Ego’s sticky walls to see the moves we were throwing back then. These half hour dance offs were an art form. There would be pogoing, back to back air guitar action, forward and backward roles on the dance floor stained with beer and bodily fluids, and our signature band move the pile on (which later became a Valerie song).
Valerie’s first photo-shoot (by Paul Kennedy)
We were the filthiest band in Manchester and we didn’t keep it confined to Poptastic – although we did usually bring it back there. We’d go to Smile at the Star & Garter, Get a Grip at The Roadhouse and gigs all over the place. We’d generally end up back at Poptastic begging to come in for the last hour, with the stains of some other club on our pop cords, parkers and faces.
We had a love / hate relationship with DJ’s and bands all over town. As we were constantly telling them we were in the best band in the world and we could be pretty obnoxious music snobs too. Unless we were in charge of the tunes nothing was ever good enough. I was the worst offender and once berated the unsuspecting staff at Safad’s – a kebab and pizza place in the Village – for not understanding obscure music like I did. Although, in my defence I was traumatised after misplacing a signed Sleater-Kinney drum skin, and arguably, my mind.
All this pissed up rowdiness and riotous bravado meant we got noticed. And with our bad ass proclamations about how shit hot we were, we needed to put our money where our big collective mouth was and actually play a gig.
Our limited musical capacity meant that as well as being queer core, we were always going to be comedy core too, so it was pretty fitting that our first gig was 1) at Poptastic’s fourth birthday party (the very place that brought us together), and 2) supporting Black Lace – purveyors of novelty schlock pop Agadoo, Do the Conga and We’re Having a Gang Bang.
We knew in our heart of hearts that we’d never be able to play as good as our heroes, so we didn’t try. So playing with Black Lace made perfect sense. It was the most punk thing we could do. It was like The Slits opening for Steps. And it was all part of the ride.
We only had a handful of songs, which was fine as we only had about 5 minutes stage time. We’d been practicing in Elv’s flat and at Beehive Mill and had three songs: Five Finger Discount, Music for Townies and Olympian Cool.
I can’t remember much of the gig. But I do remember us all upstairs feverishly drinking at Prague 5 (now View) looking down at the stage on which we were about to play, wondering if it was too late to bolt. I remember making a home-made Pecker inspired t-shirt with Full of Grace written on it in purple sequins. I remember my first words ever to an audience were We’re Valerie. Go fuck yourselves. OK, so that wasn’t very graceful. I remember Elvis drumming standing up on Music for Townies and staying stood up for the rest of her Valerie days. When she crashed down on the cymbals after the verses she was immense. I remember me and Nick doing our best beastie boy beastie girl raps and Vix’s awesome opening riff on Olympian Cool. I remember half of the audience looking like they were into it and half of them looking horrified. I remember one of Black Lace coming to give Nick some pop star advice, as though our game plan was to emulate a band who had a song about gang bangs. And I want to say I remember Nick wearing a furry animal suit, but I think that was another gig and I’m just getting carried away with myself.
By the time our five minutes of fame were over and Black Lace were about to push their pineapples and shake their trees, something had changed. We were all drunk on the adrenaline and attention of being on stage, and we wanted more. We also knew that now we weren’t just saying that we were in the best band in the world, we were convinced that we actually were in the best band in the world.
Bubble jacket on the 192
Peddle pushers on the 204
Platform heels screeching war
Music for Townies / It’s music for you
Music for Townies / You’re Townie through and through
Music for Townies / Screw you
So, all we knew was that we were in the greatest band in the world. How could we not be given our diverse influences: Valerie Solanas, John Waters and the Dreamlanders, Kathleen Hanna and Bikini Kill, Hello Kitty, Woody Allen, Sleater-Kinney, Damon Albarn, Jean Genet, Morrissey, Bad Bats Maru and Thora Hird!
Looking back, some of those read like a rogue’s gallery, but I guess that was us – lovable rogues (or just rogues) who were sometimes guilty of contradicting ourselves, but we got so drunk we soon forgot.
There was never much debate about our name. We were always going to be Valerie. After Valerie Solanas: radical feminist, lesbian and author of the SCUM Manifesto, who gained notoriety for shooting Andy Warhol. Suzanne Moore probably described her best when she called her the ‘bag lady of feminism’. For a while we were all obsessed with Mary Harron’s I Shot Andy Warhol and Elv did have an uncanny resemblance to Lily Taylor’s Valerie.
I Shot Andy Warhol
Nick was well versed in the SCUM Manifesto and he was the real catalyst behind the name and the band at that time. I remember reading paragraphs about the X and the Y chromosomes at his and Vix’s house in Levenshulme.
Solanas was pre punk but I loved her punk sensibility calling men “walking dildos”, and saying that they’d “swim through a river of snot, wade nostril-deep through a mile of vomit, if he thinks there’ll be a friendly pussy awaiting him.”
“Life” in this “society” being, at best, an utter bore and no aspect of “society” being at all relevant to women, there remains to civic-minded, responsible, thrill-seeking females only to overthrow the government, eliminate the money system, institute complete automation and eliminate the male sex.” Valerie Solanas, SCUM Manifesto
While we didn’t want to eliminate men from society or cut them up – in fact we did and still do love most of the men we know. I think we all saw something attractive in Solanas’s ideas; we were outcasts in our own ways, we were punks, we were DIY, we were all ‘thrill seekers’, who wanted to challenge Manchester’s stodgy male dominated music scene, and most of all we wanted to have fun doing it.
Not a great deal of thought went into our respective roles.
Vix had a guitar and contrary to popular opinion knew a few chords, so she fell into being the guitarist. Elv had about three drums (to be honest that’s all we needed) and Nick owned a bass, so that was that sorted. All three of them sung and Elv was used to performing. She was a talented actress and was nearly in Rita, Sue and Bob Too. If the stars had aligned for her, we could have been turning on to Downton Abbey with Elv in it. Lady Mary’s loss was Valerie’s gain.
This all meant that there was only one option for me – lead singer, or in my case lead shouter. There were a number of problems with this. When I was throwing myself around at Poptastic to various Britpop hits, I was in my own world and miming. Getting on stage was going to be a very different proposition and I was chronically shy unless I had about 10 pints in me. Thoughts of Shane McGowan abounded.
The only experience of singing I had, was when I rather inadvisably used to go busking at the bus stop dressed as a cowboy when I was about 10. I would sing Oh my darling Clementine and made about 2p. Calamity Jane had a lot to answer for.
I also had the most epic failure of a RADA audition. After I’d fumbled through two audition scenes, rather than letting me go gently they asked me to sing a song. Totally unprepared I started singing Don McLean’s American Pie (pre Madonna) otherwise known as the longest song in history. I don’t know who needed to be put out of their misery more, me or the panel.
Other than that I was in the school choir – The Read Robins – where most of the time I would move my lips but there wasn’t much coming out. I was also encouraged by the same Mr Read to give up the keyboards. It didn’t look like a career in music beckoned.
But Nick, Vix and Elv had some misguided confidence in me.
We decamped to Elv’s flat in Lamport Court, in Chorlton-on-Medlock (also known as Rock N Roll Towers) for our first practice. Were we going to sink or swim?
Faked Five Finger Discount
Equipped with the essentials – lager and snacks; Elvis, Nick and Vix started to bang out a pretty passable noise. Then it was my turn. Nick had given me a piece of paper with some lyrics on. I tried to psyche myself up to join in. But I just couldn’t.
Eventually, they all went and sat in Elv’s bedroom while I got to grips with this song and tried to raise the volume from a pip squeak to a roar.
I didn’t quite manage a roar, and god only knows what the three of them must have thought with me chanting these lyrics over and over, trying to get used to this voice and these words, but the volume must have gone up enough for them to hear me next door.
Nick, Vix and Elv came through and gave me the thumbs up. The next thing they were playing guitar, bass and drums around this voice.
By the end of the first practice we had our first song – Five Finger Discount. Maybe it was Nick and Vix’s version of The Slits Shoplifting or The Smiths Shoplifters of the World Unite – it was an ode to teenagers with light fingers in the precincts of Cornwall.
You steal my friends / You break my toys Said you like girls / So stop stealing my boys
You’re my best friend / You’re my enemy Five Finger Discount / Come stealing with me
cut up culture 