Club17: Stu Gibson
Well, this scruffy so and so needs little, if any introduction. Stu's been an integral member of the Jive Cotillion since the beginning, and we'd be much worse for wear without his witty, pithy, well-informed points of view on all things rock and raggedy. Mr. G is also the axeman for Manchester's (England, not New Hampshire!) reigning country bumpkin drunk n' roll band, the Medicine Bow. And, as you'll see here, he's been a rocker since forever, baby. _________________________________________________________________________________________________
Stu- Hull, 1993. He'll tell you it's not, but that sure looks like a tie-dye shirt to me.	Stu- 1993. He's shining his cool pointy boots in the background here as this chick prepares for the Alien Sex Fiend show. Or something.	Stu- (right) and the boys in the 'Bow, circa now, somewhere in Manchester.
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Stu's Club 17 Pick: THE DOGS D'AMOUR - More Unchartered Heights of Disgrace (China 1993) While all Dogs albums can be sat up there as my all-time faves as one entity, this monster was unleashed just after my 17th, around May '93, and at the time quickly superseded the superglue grip of Dynamite Jet Saloon and The (Un)Authorised Bootleg Album, which in turn had taken control of the fort from Appetite, Electric and Let There Be Rock, who in turn had....(anyway, let's just say Springsteen made a triumphant return to the fold a few years after this). It was pretty subtle 'cos for a good while after "Dynamite..." came out I still preferred the heavier GN'R stuff, not for long tho, cos in quick rapid fire succession out lurched "A Graveyard of Empty Bottles" and then "Satellite Kid" (with another completely cool, endearingly shambolic vid - see below). Over the years all The Dogs stuff is pretty much interchangeable in greatness, but Dynamite nowadays wins hands down for it kick-started a whole way of life.... ...Y'see, folks, t'was The Dogs that galvanised my young 12 year old stonewashed be-jeaned and denim shirted self with the electric shock freshness (stale old riffs they were accused of. Baaah, play it against the tripe of the day...Kerrrblammmm! Play it even now...glorious) of I Don't Want You To Go into realising "That's what I wanna do...& fuck it, that's what I AM gonna do". Instant reaction. Time froze. Kinda like when Keef and all them say about the first time they heard Elvis. Bloody 'ell, the ITV Chart Show served a purpose of a Saturday morning way back when....I watched that video, and the next when they aired "How Come It Never Rains", with Tyla in a fucking awesome 17th C pirate coat...At the time, truth be told, I probably dug even the brown suede boots, but I still love Gretsches (no shit). The Dogs just clawed their way effortlessly into your heart and sat there never to go away... ...But of course they did (go away, not from this old heart else I'd be writing a different piece) immediately after Straight. 3 long, long, years till a small article in the news bit in Kerrang! revealed they had a new album due out. I can still remember me and my mate Max going kinda mad about it (similar to that felt when I heard Miss Maria McKee had a new album coming out this April - had to get that in). And what a fucking treat. It came wrapped in a deluxe - well, plastic - ltd ed box with video (still a treat to watch, the interviewer asking Steve what they did with all the money and getting a straight to the point "Spent it. Spent it awl", and Steve again coming down the stairs with his "Oh you barstad, oh it ain't recording the red lights not on." Yes it was) and I can plainly recall wandering out of the shop (Andy's Records in Hull) oblivious to everything, reading it all and imagining what it was gonna sound like. We'd read Tyla saying it was influenced by shit living in LA the last 3 years and it had a harder sound...and I can't remember if the All or Nothing single came before or after the album. Piffle, anyway, I endured the blazing sun coming thru the bus front window on the way home to little Cottingham, sacked off college and hit the button..... And then we come full circle to review it cos I'm badger buggered if I know what my exact, or near exact, reactions to it were at the time. Needless to say I adored it, else we wouldn't be here. From Tyla's demented a go go goblin shriek kickstarting the searing social consciousness for the dispossessed, discarded and disowned of What's Happening Here (tho, of course of course he still manages to slip in a nice piece of classic T self-mythologizing with the "swinging off the curtains and shutting out the lights - baby, we're the demons on alcohol") to the resigned fuck it all send off of the Ian Hunter-esque "See ya later" it seemed that after a 2 or so year lay off the best band to ever stumble across this whole wasted world were back spitting and snarling for good, an illusion sorely shattered a little over a year later with a bizarre gig in shitty Bradford (Rio's) where they played about 3 songs, Tyla did some acoustic stuff (saying that they'll never split up despite the rumours...) and Steve and Bam had a band consisting of them and the support act Bedlam Shake. As I said earlier it's probably not the best Dogs album but they did come back from the appalling pauper's burial that China records gave them in '91 with the Dogs Hits fiasco full of bark and bite. More focused, serious and driven songs like the harrow-hearted Cath ripped out like their lives depended on it, the hard dog attitude in full flow determined to show they mean business or in hindsight let's at least deliver one fucker of a swansong. The whole thing just motors along on a momentum of pure enthusiasm and passion and as ever imbued with an almost impossible romance. Mr. Darrel Bath brought a harder, muscular edge with him too which fitted this new mood especially when in conjunction with Cap'n Tyla's cheeky ragged scumbag street urchin charm of, say, Heartbreak, replaced with scabrous looks at lowlife living, cynical and perhaps just a bit bitter. "Scared of Dying"'s looking out of the abyss at years of regret and neglect Gram 'n' Emmy, Steve 'n' Stacey Earle country heartbreaker style, the title track's taste of T's solo career that remains a pinnacle of his (and most anyone else's) redemptive balladry; Mr. Barfly's ode to Bukowski had added resonance for Dog lovers with it bearing just a drop of a relation to the writer's own situation, the wondrously jubilant and celebratory sardonicness of Johnny Silvers - obviously about a coitain Mr. Thunders but could be about any of em, the names may change but the story's the same and all that. (saw T in Wolves change it to Stivney but then also to Richey Manic, which didn't sit too well with us at all). Playing it even now it makes me feel powerful, hopeful, and still reminds me of the long hot summer of '94 when it acted as some kinda talismanic charm for me and the aforementioned Max. We couldn't score for shit the 3 or so times we forgot it in the car screeching around the lovely streets of Hull cards stacked against us....everywhere went dry as the proverbial as soon as the "SHIT, where's The Dogs tape....". It's like you got the world at your heel dragging feet strutting around your gaffe in mad spasmodic imitations of T flinging a White Falcon about with the sheer wild exuberant passion of playing/hearing the best goddamn searing blast of Rock'n'Soul ever. Also essential listening to get in stride for the good ol' geed up gig day spirit, which sometimes just so happens to completely overflow exuberantly to literally staggering effects...But so what, to hell with it, ya gotta suck real bad at least once a year...and you can't get all moral majority on their asses and blame em for your personal vagaries, vagrancies and general idiocies. I raise my glass once more....
- the gloriously debauched Stu Gibson, king o' the thieves