Band
of legend, Bad Tune Men, are increasingly evident as a major influence
of important recording artists of today & the day after tomorrow.
Nodgy Stoat of grudge-hack-hop-mojo rooster band The Oozing
Sores is just one of a bucket full of one-hit wonders from the Noughties
to claim that they have never even heard of Bad Tune Men,
despite the fact that most of Stoat's outfit's latest grooveless
album release "And Then The Goose Said 'Yes No I Think We're
Halfway to Cockfosters'" sounds distinctly like utter rubbish
being recyled through a bat-chamber soaked in pig urine, an unmistakeable
nod in the direction of the acerbic musical fission which was Bad
Tune Men. Formed in a second-hand septic tank in South London
during the squelching season of 1983, BTM were plagued by a number
of plagues before launching two Minis & a requisitioned ex-GPO
Morris Minor van onto the hot tarmac of London's vibrating gigging
scene circuit thing, with an emetic cacophany of pure juice
pouring relentlessly until it relented onto a hapless and bewildered
audience who had only come out in the hope of finding their haps
anyway. So began this great story. Peruse on perfunctorily
perhaps at your personal peril !! Anyone questioning the exact
historical accuracy of this account is probably either an agent
of the devil
or ginger-haired (as if those were mutually exclusive
alternatives).
"Never
mind about the music. They've sent me this rather interesting photograph.
I
wish I could show it to you. One of them appears to be wearing some sort
of veil and one of them has one of the most serious cases of ears that
I've ever come across." [(John
Peel, Radio 1, 1985]
but Bad Tune Men were more than just a photograph. They
were in fact 3 or 4 photographs. And there was some music too sometimes,
but that was mostly loud, discordant, rhythmic and horrible and we don't like
that sort of thing, do we, Uncle Mary?. After a few years of gigging acrimoniously
around London and the South East of England in the early-mid 1980s, the band
had built up a faithful following. His name was Paul Hope. Hi Paul!
How are you? Long time no see. Anyway Twizzle came along too
sometimes. And so did Pam & Emma. Lynne was there, and sometimes
Alison too. And Creepy's friend Mark Thurlow and that disgusting fat guy
Eddy too, but fortunately he didn't come along very often. Oh and we mustn't
forget Glynn, Sussex journalist and friendly Radio Sussex "Turn it up"
megastar.
Bad Tune Men made 2 vinyl records. The first was a double
A sided 7 inch featuring "Do the swamp" and "Dark ages".
Perhaps it was due to the length of each of the songs (both about 6 minutes
in length) that the finished product was overcompressed and lacking the dynamic
bang bang wallop wallop yah etc which the band conjured up (and down) in their
live performances. 1986 saw the release of the glorious 12" single
"Jail Head Rack", opening with "Krog", widely reckoned to
be the No1 Bad Tune, followed by "The Lines are Down", "4C",
"The Cage" and "Ignore Them (A Trap)".
(from left: The
one in the veil, The one with serious ears, The one wearing a top hat, The one
on the right)
Bad Tune Men gigs tended to be spectacular
events. The dismembered limbs of toy dolls dangled menacingly
from netting draped across the ceiling in front of the band's eponymous mask
backdrop and supplementary hand crafted mask sculptures, with band members leaping
around frantically as if their underwear was infested with interminably interested
insects. At times band
members' on-stage interaction with each other escalated from verbal friction towards outright
civil war. Mr Creepy, doubling as special effects technician, assembled
an arsenal of pyrotechnics which would have graced the artillery capabilities
of many small countries and indeed, United Nations observers sometimes questioned
why the rocket-like explosions always seemed to be aimed at Ratty, while Mr
Creepy chucklingly referred to them as SRMs (surface-to-Ratty missiles). On
other occasions, Blob persuaded other band members to cover their faces with
fluorescent paint to wear under the band's ultra-violent lights, later claiming
that although the paint was actually carcinogenic, he had not realised this
at the time he had ordered it from the "101 Ways to Kill Your Friends"
catalogue.
FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS
ABOUT BAD TUNE MEN
Who were the mysterious and wonderful people who made
up this mysterious and wonderful band? Mr Creepy - guitar, backing vocals, strange clothing,
wacky humour, horse racing, political incorrectness
Ratty - bass guitar, backing grunts, cool hairstyles,
serious ears, political correctness, vegetarianism, Crawley social life, all
round decent guy
Blob - drums, violin, ginger quiff, ponderous silences,
backing grunts, occasional 'k' noises, sex symbol, punk fashion icon
Ed - jumping up and down, keyboards, lead vocals, song-writing,
lack of social skills, arrogance
Where are they all now? Somewhere else. They never used to speak to each other
if they could help it and now there really is no need to do so at all. Sometimes
they phone each other up and say nothing just as a reminder that they are still ignoring
each other.
What was the band's favourite colour? Actually this is not a frequently asked question.
Does Blob have his own fan club? I'm not telling you. This isn't his site. It's mine.
Please could you list the titles of all the band's songs.
It would mean the world to me. Reflections
Express
Is it true that the band were formed
through adverts in Melody Maker and Sounds? Yes - in 1983-4.
Is it true that the band were formed
through adverts in Melody Maker and Sounds? You just asked that question a second ago. Pay attention.
Is it still possible to get hold of
a copy of the legendary mini-album "Jail Head Rack"? Yes.
How? I'm not telling you.
Why not? Why should I?
Would you at least show me what the
cover of Jail Head Rack looks like? OK. Here it is.
Isn't there a bit missing? Yes.
Am
I right in thinking that, despite its superficial banal urbanity, the band's
name,
'Bad Tune Men', is in fact a Pali/Sanskrit-derived non-palindromic metaphor encapsulating
not only esoteric aspects of personal metamorphosis but also a juxtaposition
of pre-colonial radicalisation allegories with post-modern societal & mass-economic
conspiracy theory? No.
What
is love, Aunty Ethel? I
think you're on the wrong page.
What
did the Bad Tune Men do after Bad Tune Men? After a short spell with Purgatory & the Laxatives,
guitarist Mr Creepy went on to record the memorable ballad "Hoof" in
tribute to Shergar under the name of The Currency
Exchange Training Course Supervisors. He now lives in a recently vacated
hole in the ground near Tikrit as he plans his next bid for world domination
under the banner of History
of Fashion.
Almost elected MP for Crawley in the 1993 UK general
election, Ratty's more local bid for power was foiled only by the fact
that nobody actually voted for him, not even he himself, as he had misunderstood
the ballot paper and accidentally voted for the Capitalist Carnivores for Totalitarianism
& Fox Hunting party. He now plays 2nd lead turnip plucker with Gumpf.
Drummer Blob went on to co-found the sinister neo-archaeic
druid cult band who, claiming their songs were inspired by the screams of male
children being cut into pieces during human sacrifice, named themselves Boy Division. After certain
band members' imprisonment &/or involvement in a number of civil wars
forced the band's premature demise, Blob always strenuously denied the rumours
linking him with REM Spunkwagon and there is no clear evidence to suggest that
he played on that band's hit album "We've got a ginger haired tub-thumper
who says 'kuh' a lot". Current rumours link him with Enya-revivalist
fishmongers assistant combo, Deep Fur (no relation).
Fortunately, nothing is known about what happened to
the 4th member of Bad Tune Men, Id, after the band split up.
Are there
any videos of Bad Tune Men playing 'Your Life' and heckling the crowd at the
Zap Club in Brighton? Your
request is highly specific and it's unlikely that such footage even exists,
let alone being accessible on the internet. On the other hand, you could
try clicking here.
Are there
any videos of Bad Tune Men playing 'Krog' and advertising their delightful record
'Jail Head Rack' at the Zap Club in Brighton? Hmmm.
What
do you think?
BAD
TUNE MEN POPULARITY POLL
Which one of Bad Tune Men do you like
best?
Cast your vote by clicking
on the name or the image
Everyone's talking about ego-centrism - their favourite subject.
I
do, I say, I want, I know I think I'll tell you about me. I'll
tell you my life story. It will only take a week or two.
ME! - let me tell you my problems. ME!
- I'll tell you my achievements. ME! - let's talk about me. ME!
ME! ME! - love me!
Each spoilt self-conscious man with his Oedipus complex looks
for a wife to be his surrogate mother. And each neurotic woman
talks on but skirts the subject - trained in self-denial, self-effacement,
self-destruction
ME! - let me tell you my problems. ME!
- I'll tell you my achievements. ME! - let's talk about me. ME!
ME! ME! - love me!
Trapped here. Dark. Cold. Could be worse I suppose.
Don't forget to smile.
Young's slits. Zebras and tigers. Worry won't worry the
bars.
Don't forget to smile and I'll try to smile for you.
Out!
Another cage. A different shape. Made to measure perhaps?
A microcosm of our lives. All the world's a cage but it's
our home too.
I'll smile for you so don't forget to smile for me.
Between the bars the warm sun shines in and floral scents
waft through. The bars can't separate me from you. It seems
there has to be a cage - for now at least.
A land of kings and queens. Rule by divine appointment. A
church of righteousness but all is not well. A time of threat
to our morals. Let us pray for a return to the light in these
dark ages.
A God-forsaken world. We are surrounded by Heathen Sinners! Oh
Lord most high we beseech Thee in Thy mercy expurgate this
stain!
Behold - the non-believer! Our creed is based on fact. Historically
proven. No argument can change that! To even doubt is sacrilege. This
is your conscience speaking. Dark ages!
Educated from an early age. Lessons learned for a lifetime. I'm
just a simple man but I know what is right in the eyes of God! Hallelujah!
A vision of heaven that I've never seen.... but Faith is my
trusty sword - and I believe.
Waking up, feeling like blotting paper Living in a swamp. Swamp
creatures wallow in it all around.
Don't want to know. Want to know something. Look for others
who feel the same. Maybe we'll look together.
The Alternative Seekers! - blinkered
anyway. What pretensions! - little boys at play.
So lethargic. Many little things to be done. Leave me alone!
I watch the stars but I don't know what they mean. Join
the others in their pre-occupations. I have to eat too.
And you say "look on the bright
side"? Do you think I choose to be this way (yeah
yeah yeah) Do the Swamp. (yeah yeah yeah) Do the Swamp. (yeah
yeah yeah) She loves you. (yeah yeah yeah)
Initial encounter. First impressions frequently mislead. Totally
ignorant of character. Regardless drawn in by a vortex to your
face. Insomnia tonight. An independence struggle. I sing
the old song of lust at first sight.
Guilt-ridden voyeurism. Logic is absent, but is logic my desire? Hypothalamic-induced
beauty. Fantasising now - two bodies intertwined. I'm out
of my control. Insomnia tonight. Forces from within. Lust
at first sight.
Insomnia tonight. Haunted by your face, your face, your face and
your contours. Over and over and over. Insomnia.
The pleasure and the pain. Redeeming saviour pride. Gravitational
pull. Two different worlds collide. Incompatible. I'm out
of my control. A hopeless case of lust at first sight.
School - you used to smile at me across the room. We helped
each other with a homework or two and after that we sat together.
Let's go to dances and to the pictures. Have you ever had
a Chinese meal? Let's go on holiday together - well, if our
mums and dads agree.
Happy life. Happy life.
Strange how all the years go racing past. Shame our honeymoon
week couldn't last. I wanted it to last forever.
We've got a quiet suburban house. We will work hard to pay
the mortage off. And maybe we can have a couple of kids and
watch them growing up.
Happy life. Isn't it a happy life?
This is everything that we could wish for - to spend this
happy life together - me and you.
And when the kids have flown the nest we'll have each other
to ourselves again. And with a little we've put aside we'll
thank the Lord for our contented minds.
Happy life - wasn't it?. Oh I'm your
husband and you're my best friend. Happy life. Wasn't
it a happy life?
Always been alone. Always thought for yourself. Always
tried to work out what is true. You're set in your beliefs because
you know you're right. No-one can talk to you so you stay alone.
I believe we can all believe what we
want to believe is true. Get away from self-centredness and
see the other person's view.
Never been alone. Never thought for yourself. Easily attached
to everybody else's ideas. You're set in their beliefs. You
follow like a sheep. They know you're thick, but you're tough so
you're still one of the gang.
I believe we can all believe what we
want to believe is true. Get away from self-centredness and
see the other person's view.
But being open-minded is so confusing Being open-minded is
so confusing.
Sometimes up. Sometimes not. From apathy to heaven and
back.
Somebody is living in the cage that is my head. He is my best
friend most of the time. Sometimes he is not at home, a cause
for some concern. Maybe he is best left alone.
I fluctuate.
When the mist lifts from the morning's stream the afternoon
is like a river stagnant or swiftly flowing into the ocean of
the evening. Come alive and die! (or 'Come sailing
with me')
Each downhill exhilaration means one more hill to climb. It's
simple harmonic emotion. The sacred sine-waves integrate themselves
to synthesise the vague meanderings of my freewill.
I fluctuate.
I remember Summer warmth - for you but Autumn tears fell like
leaves from our tree. Winter closed in. I thought I'd never
love again - but here comes the Spring.
So cool you turn to ice. So enigmatic - huh?! So hip you
can't walk straight. So what?
Dogmatic egotist. Cynical, self-righteous snob. Each finger
you point points three at you. You don't see them - but we do.
What are you trying to prove? Who
are you trying to impress?
Dimension tally: one. Cloistered, compressed and cold. Cardboard
cut-outs have more fun. Unfold!
Look up and see the light at the end of your tunnel vision. The
only one you've deceived, and that you've been hiding from is
yourself.
What are you trying to prove? Look
up and see the light!
Blind archer, fire! Fire away! Why don't your friends
tell you your score? Perhaps they were all slain by your arrows so
even if you hit the target, you'd never know.
Straitjacket creed fettering what you could be. Padded-cell
street-god, you have the key!
You have the key! Look up and see the
light! You have the key!
We have to tell the truth. You're much too clever to be fooled. You
have our figures with the errors of the past corrected. See!
Your lives are better! Yes!
Look to the East - covered by our glorious press. The error
of Red ways is there exposed in black and white. Do you envy
them? No!
Friends! Your memories can play you tricks. Nostalgia's
an illusion. The improvement is obvious for all to see. We
all agree. and if your memory's defective then you must be ill so
we'll care for you in a hospital by the sea.
And you appreciate, we find we must protect our state from
those who would wreck your prize corrupted by the Eastern lies. These
Commies stop at nothing!
We all must sacrifice certain things close to our hearts -
to keep your freedom - so justice will win through in the end.
Wracked with despair - nowhere to turn - searching for years
- wracked with despair
I met a man one day. He said "come this way". He
explained to me how my life could be.
I just want to be happy.
Wracked with despair - nowhere to turn - searching for years
- wracked with despair
They all took my hand. My hand! and they smiled. "There
is work to do." "Why don't you come too?"
I just want to be like them.
My family have said "it's not right". I wish they
understood I've found my place. How I was before was just a shell. Now
I'm complete, fulfilled, at one with the world and myself.
I'm not versed in Marx. I've not ploughed through the works
of Lenin. I've not read Mein Kampf nor the Tory manifesto.
But
I've read the Sun and the Daily "Win a Million" Express -
these platforms for indoctrination. "We the British public
will not be fooled." Oh yeah??
Staining your fingers and your mind but you don't see it happening. Afterwards
you wash your fingers......
I don't believe what the newspapers tell
me. I don't believe Britain's a democracy. I don't believe
the British public have brains. I don't believe it's essential
that you believe me.
The East and the West: I sometimes think they've a secret
agreement for keeping us down (diversionary tactics). Mutual
distrust creates equilibrium.
That's how the cookie crumbles but look whose plates are underneath. I
suppose I can't really blame them. I'd screw you too if I had
power - trying to keep it that way. I mean, no-one wants to
take a step down, for all their concern.
And so when no-one's looking you may just push further up
the queue. "Well everyone does it so it's OK." but
you know that's not true!
I don't believe that the Russians are
coming. I don't believe the Conservatives. I don't believe
the Trade Unions. I don't believe in true R.O.M.A.N.C.E.
The man on the soapbox seems sincere. The woodworm doesn't
seem to matter. Far be it from me to preach.... - well,
actually...
I don't believe in soapboxes. I don't
believe that I always tell the truth. I don't believe that
Man.United are the greatest. I don't believe that Jesus died
for me. I don't believe in woodworm. I don't believe in
life after alcohol. I don't believe that I'm Elvis Presley. I
don't believe in organised endings. I don't b
Oceans of zilcho lifestyle. This alien drowns in disgust. Girl
of this chlorine climate. Her attraction I can live without.
Tongue-tied by candy-culture crap. A nation swallows and sings
along. Foot and mouth - toes begin to tap. Helpless I watch
her put her dancing shoes on.
Space - all around you. It's inside
you. It's inside you. Space - who do you think you
are?
I'm so spaced out I don't know if I'm here or there I'm probaby
both. Don't beat about the bush. Instead hack through the
undergrowth of clichéd think-speak.
Choose which fence you're going to sit on. I'll bang my head
against the wall. The boot is on the other foot playing a completely
different ball game.
Space - between theory and practice. Space
- in which to breathe. Space - who do we think we are
You caught my eye as you were swept along by the current, rushing
by gushing "bye bye".
For our kind eyes at the front. View determined by head
position. Head position determined by the view. How we see
and how we are seen have these limitations. Vainly I hope to
view the whole.
Wouldn't it be nice to think we're in control of who we are? But
there are elements within us that we cannot understand that we
can't suppress, let alone control. We ignore them but they're
still there!
Your head must be in the wrong direction. I can see what I
can see and I am right and you are wrong and I can't see why
you don't understand.
I see the traps but still fall in. Must try harder.
