Actually, to contradict meself, they weren't total strangers, as joining founder member Alan Clayton was ex-Ruts guitarist Paul Fox (means nothing to me, cept 'Babylon Burning' and the live cut on the CD bonus songs here of 'Something That I Said', really. tho' my chums El Dino and Mozz say I should stand corrected. Whatever...) and ex-Chuck Berry keys twinkler 'Scotty' Mulvey (no, I'd not heard of him either). These likely lads, then, got together sometime in '86 inbetween dodging the dole, backhanders and odd-jobs and the like over a love of old Rock'n'Roll, The Stones, R'n'B and, one assumes, the odd boozer and Lambert Superkings. The story goes that while doing some security work, Clayton manages to bump into a certain Keith Richards' bodyguard and using his considerable Dickensian street urchin Londoner big sell charm, somehow, convinces Keef that him and Ronnie should wander over and play on his little combo's debut record. It was probably a literal shot in the arm tho for Keef n' Ron, seen as Jagger was busy jumping about like a rabid kangaroo on Top of the Pops (remember that hilarious, well, it had to be hilarious it was so unreal, performance of Jumpin' Jag doing 'Let's Work' with all those kids like some Pied Piper?) and as stated on the Almafame website, twas also maybe a good job for Clayton and co to ensure they didn't get sued for plagiarism.
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And therein should lie a clue to what they delighted the dark streets of old London Town with in that bygone age, providing warmth and merriment to the citizens of that cess-pit city from Camden to Crouch End, with a heady brew of soulful old Rock'n'Roll that, in reality, Jagger couldn't have sued them for plagiarism, tho he'd have busted his scrawny ass in trying in bawling, foot stomping hissy fits cos 'his' guitarists were playing away (just like he doesn't like his daughter modeling as men'll be after her. Hmmmm. Tho he doesn't consider that the general populace don't like her modeling cos she looks bad enough in the paper, never mind on the side of a fucking bus. Yeah, good one), as while being every ounce the lean cut funky Stones of lore they are in fact much, much better, with or without Messrs Richards and Wood. No, not better than 'classic' Stones 'Let It Bleed' or whatever, but The Stones they most resemble is late 70's / '80's in form, but without the chaff. And, of course, there was lots of it. But it's got that sound and style, the sparse rhythm chops, Charlie drum fills. However, they were able to avoid a singer trying desperately to keep up with the latest fads while having an extended mid-life crisis. 'Thrill Of The Thrill', 'Wide Boys And Slim Pickings' are red-eyed, rambunctious rocka's fuelled on the spirit of what the more famous band used to start themselves up with but whereas The Stones ran out of steam and couldn't keep going we also have 'Little Miss Vanity' - 'She's So Cold' but humorous, intelligent and sassy - the amazingly vibrant and alive, high-kicking 'Here She Comes'; 'Hands Up' and the greatest song The Faces never spilt 'Bathing Belles' a nudge-nudge wink-wink lads on a day trip to the beach, kiss me quick hats and greasy, cold fish 'n' chips, the kinda shit day out that the English are famous for. Inane, intoxicating and inimitably brilliant, makes you think you've got sand in between your tootsies ('bring the beach home with you, don't you', 'Ooooh I know'). I remember having the video for this (suitably home video style) on an old 'Power Hour'/'Raw Power' show, it was out, I think, the same summer as The Dogs D'Amour's 'Satellite Kid', and tho' it's a Chuck Berry scorcher replete in Keith's bestest rag-tag riffs, kinda has the same sing-song summery vibe.

Indeed, the two Rollin' Strollers play like they've been dying for the chance, looking at each other like 'Aaaah yeah, I remember....'. Perhaps explaining why Keef almost slips into 'Can't You Hear Me Knocking' on the intro to the lightning quick snake-strike 'Oh Yeah!'. The gristle free, sinewy muscular riffs are pure Stones but here they're stretched tight n' taut as Iggy's torso, barbed, shriveled and stained like a strippers g-string after a busy night in Soho. Though they still add in the 'dannnaaannng' intro's on the guitar like they've only just realized the song's started, (or they're recording completely cold and off the cuff, improvising...with Clayton scrutinizing the clock working out how to ask Keef for some readies to put towards the recording cost), what should be made absolutely clear is that for the very obvious Stones comparisons these two chuckle brothers contribute as part of a band. It's not a vehicle for the stars, and as always it comes down to the songs, in which all credit goes to the Strangers, and Clayton. These are simply far better songs than 'Some Girls' and 'Emotional Rescue' etc era Stones. There's a real party atmosphere, all welcomed in by Clayton's effusive personality that leaps out at you like a Victorian vagabond, palm outstretched asking for change mister....but only in the nice safe way of an 'Oliver' film type situation! His voice has the yelp of a young Jagger, for sure, but also the weathered, expressiveness of Tyla, the Sarf London swagger of The Crybaby's, and the similarly London charm of Steve Marriott as he drawls out slices of life from the barstool before starting a party, which he crashes obliviously later on, still retaining far more soul than the frequently faux Jagger could ever pray for. Take, 'Didn't Want To Be An Angel', more Chilton, Alex blue-eyed soul as they say.

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