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Quireboys - A Bit of What You Fancy |
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| The QB's started life some time around the mid-80's, I believe, as The Queerboys, surely a name to garner themselves some initial attention. It was changed, possibly, when it started acting to their detriment, not least with the infamous piss-throwing hordes of the Reading Festival, and possibly one too many advances from old gents in Soho clubs. Our dusty troubadours worked their way around the toilets and motorways of the UK in typical band fashion. Getting ripped off and un(der)paid, holding down odd jobs, both Spike and Guy Bailey worked as builders, where Spike didst gather his name. For his hair, like. |
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This all changed when a small UK indie
label, Survival (which is, by all accounts, still going. Don't know how as they
never seem to release anything, but they appear to employ A&R folks.
Odd.), put out two singles, in 1987. The first, "Mayfair" is one of the
greatest Rock'n'Roll records, ever, and you should not trust anyone who
tells you otherwise, for wisdom and judgment are painfully thus not in
their grasp. An urgent, joyful blast of barroom boogie with a bacon
sizzling guitar solo, a neat little drop-down bridge where Spike gets all
sad for all of 4 bars, long enough for Guy to finish his smoke before the
chorus wheezes in with a line for all the fellas to copy, Spike strangely
coming over all Noo Yoik - "What's da matter wittt ya wooah-maaarrrnnn."
The second single, "There She Goes Again" (1988), in a surely accidental, almost Replacements-like display of idiosyncratic contrariness is, unfortunately, amongst the worst. It's also far too slow, and despite a faster version on the album, and a remixed single, it's still shit. Both records famously feature Ginger, who left soon after. I've never learnt the full reasons why, and truth be told, I really don't care. It just seems obvious to me that Ginger wanted to do his own thing, which worked well for the first two Wildhearts EP's, and the first album. And then didn't. But some things just pan out that way. Lots of people would disagree with me. More fool them. |
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The Quireboys had an ace in their pack tho too, so Ginger wasn't missed terribly. Why, after a few bottles of dog, they forgot all about him, leaving him to his masterplan of joining The Throbs. Again, sort of. This was a chap called Chris Johnstone, who played the ol joanna. And very well did his nimble fingers carry out this feat, too. Indeed, this geez was used to herald the onset of the whole album, his wild west brothel piano tinklings kick-started the classic "7 O'Clock", one of the most gloriously inane songs in the world ("It was 7 0'Clock when she let me in/She said gimme some but you're kinda thin/I go woo-hoo-hoo....), introducing us as well to recycled Keef riffs - the kind that Keef used about once on "Rocks Off" but the twin Guys (for Ginger was replaced by another Guy, this time of the Griffin variety. |
| See, I was always bemused by this, in the strange ideas that pop in your head whilst you're walking around town idling about. Guy ain't a very common name at all, it's almost the name equivalent of double bassists, and they had two of them) had bother not including them, even on "Whipping Boy", Spike's inability to not finish a line with "Wooaahhh, yeah yeah", indeed often using that as a whole line in itself, and daft cheeky-chappy nudge nudge wink wink Sid James Carry On lines like "Love me once and she loved me twice/She got a hold of my dirty device", which, erm, comes up again in "Long Time Comin", later on. It also sets out the boys stall as a good time Rock'n'Roll band. It's 7 0'Clock - time for a party! Great going out tune/album. Especially when you combine it for a tasty double header with following "Man on the Loose", another wild west-ish one, with the nice line, "I said the guy wants a round, girl". I hope that's the right line, anyway. Cos if it ain't, it should be. | |
| At some point in all this, you have to bow to the pressures of cliche's and mention The Faces, right? Well, yes, of course, Spike was rather heavily, erm, obsessed by old Rod, and blessed with a strangely similar voice, which would have drawn all those comparisons anyway,without going so far as to cop his moves and shout "Geddout" at every goddamn opportunity. But Spike could get away with it. Maybe it was cos I was 12, or maybe it was just a patently true and obvious fact, that by and large, Spike and Guy Bailey simply wrote better songs than The Faces. "Mayfair", for one, (see above if you're just skimming this, caught ya!) is just sublime, better even than "That's All You Need", the best Faces song. As greatness goes it's up there with "Ooh La La." (A'right, so that's the best one). Okay, so they blatantly nicked one of em |
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wholesale
("Had Me A Real Good Time" for "Misled"...just in case),
but play old Faces stuff, and they're largely coked-up,
brandy-fuelled jams with a smattering of genuine genius, which then
makes the whole album worthwhile. Invariably, seein' as Rod used
his best songs on his (first 2) solo records, they were largely Ronnie
Lane's songs. And taking their cues and tipping Mr. Guy Bailey's
rather large hat his way, the best songs on "A Bit Of What You Fancy"
are the delicate and delectable Ronnie Lane-ness of "Roses and
Rings" and "Sweet Mary Anne", which ol' Spike, bless
him, just can't resist turning into a
right old knees-up...coming to think of it, he probably struggled with his
inner demons to stop turning "I Don't Love You Anymore" into a right old
knees-up. As it is on this track, Spike's effortless commanding soulfullness comes to it's aid much like
The Depp rescuing cute English
damsel in "Pirates of the Carribean" (check, too, the picture on the cover
of the single. The Depp may have modeled the character on Keef, but the
look is pure Spike, such is The Depp's genius. But he was un-piratically-like
thwarted in this, as the marketing department thought Spike too obscure, so
they just went with the Keef angle. Insider knowledge, chums, it's a must) from
being rather too close to Michael Bolton or Wet Wet Wet's overblown drivel
for comfort. As it is, the boys pulled a good one on this tear-jerking
track for the lasses - I can imagine Sharon Osbourne screaming at
Spike
down the phone, "Write me a ballad you godforsaken man with granny pants
wrapped around your head" - to counter the head in hands at the bar whisky
dribbling repartee of the rest of the album. Indeed the album closes, with
some respite after the aforementioned banality of "There She Goes Again"
(which I'll probably start liking after I've dispatched this to Sleaze
HQ), with the god blessed awesomeness of "Take Me Home", kinda like the
twin of "...Anymore". Possibly one of the saddest, yet liveliest songs
ever written this side of Tyla's scribblings down the years. ______________________________________________________________________________________ |
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An aside: See, for you younger viewers, you
must be aware when conducting your research that in these bygone glory
days of yore your valiant flash metaller
followed the rule that one must have a song for the ladies on your album.
It usually came at the end of side one, unless you were real rebels like
Poison who, for the sake of their art, y'know, put "Every Rose
Has It's Thorn" mid-way thru side 2. Such radical-ness surely had dire
effects on their careers in the long run. And listening to this album again for this piece, even "Hey You", QB's own "Song for the Ladies", isn't as irritating as it once was. Maybe it was cos it was such a big hit single over here, perhaps cos it's just plain daft, and now endearing rather than annoying - surely deserving of some novelty dance routine if ever some sleaze track needed one - maybe cos all the lasses loved it, even all the townies with their fringes the size of tower blocks, or maybe just cos I think The Who largely suck cocker spaniel nuts (being a nick off "Can't Explain", - not a bad track in the grand scheme of things really - not just a random attack on the band) - but good for the 'Boys, as they were on Top of the Pops about 3 times with it, featuring a legendary (well, in MY world anyhoo) pissed up performance, falling all over each other, being rather brilliant. |
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________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ I was listening to this for the first time in a long while just before I said I'd do this write-up, and in my disastrously desperate state, I was struck by the greatness of this record all over again. Hey, I'm all sober now, and it still seems like bumping into an old friend, where everything's like anew, nothing's changed, and it's still fresh and airy (the record, not the old friend). Despite the '80's drums, it's a fucking little beauty of a record, and it made me all wistful for ignoring them all this time, for not going to see them when they played the other year, and for missing out on Spike's impossible to find solo stuff, but also glad that I've at least got Spike and Tyla's Hot Knives, which deserves any rocker's attention. When that little beaut fell into my stereo, it was great hearing his voice again. And, like with Tyla, the kinda bands they were/are means recognition for that voice will probably never come the way of Spike. Why? Cos he sounds like Rod. "Bollocks", says I, he sounds far better than Rod, loads more soul and depth. Spike, tho I may not be wearing one on account of ma pompadour, I tip my hat to you, old son. Gawd Bless, Amen, and a Hallehfuckinglujah. |
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-Stu Gibson |
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Quireboys, eh? All the way from the gnarled black and white "Mayfair"
video on Raw Power, (or was it Power Hour then? I think it still was), to
the terrible wishy-washy live album about 18 months later, they enjoyed a
glorious year or so at the shirt-tail ends of rag tag sleazeglamscuzz,
leaving a loose trail of 2 classic singles, an album of at least 3/4 pure
brilliance, and lots of drunken "woah woah woah-ings" in pubs and parks all
over Britain. Sort of. They were, thinking about it, victims of an almost
identical treadmill to the chew 'em up, spit 'em out boy-band scenario, which
I don't think for a minute was their doing. the Quireboys were just another bunch
fucked over by the big money demands, with Sharon Osbourne pulling
the strings, and turning them into an airbrushed bedraggled raggle of
Woodies & Keefites, as opposed to the Dogs D'
Amour's rampant unpredictability and wobbly charm. But apart from spare part sesh guy
Rudy Richman, what a great
image! A sanitized sleaze fest. As soon as they hit the stage, a slick
veneer took over, whereas the Dogs hit the stage and whatever the fuck
they'd just been ingesting usually took over....at some point or other.
Dangerous it may have been, disappointing it could also be, too. In these
terms they really were "The Boys to Entertain You", as their intro tape
from "It Ain't Half Hot Mum" went. Quireboys gigs
were good-natured
affairs, with a beautiful atmosphere of easy bonhomie. You knew none of em'd fall over, forget what song they were playing, disappear, or not turn
up. In real terms, vfm. (Tho' aside from the 6 months or so when I
thought so they were never as good as the Dogs for some of these
exact reasons. Terribly hard to make your mind up in this game at times,
what what?)