Legless in Soho in the lounge of tewAmericans in n ks andBlaz x .( we picked P f j nuary in London common language. By j. Michael Kearsey I spent my musical adolescence weaning myself from the Kingston Trio/Dylan/ Lightfoot folk boom to learning every Beatles, Stones and Kinks song available. My adoration for the British invaders was never challenged until I heard Jimi Hendrix through a fragrant windowpane. And since Hendrix had skipped over to England to make waves, why not the Razorbacks? Thus with the ample assistance of Portland promoter Steve Hettum and London’s K.Khan Band, our trio (Chris Miller, Jeff Hudis and myself) performed twenty English dates and took in a full dose of culture shock. By its own admission, England is a land of ambiguities. It is a country where the famous British “ reserve” awakens to a voluptuous naked model on page three of the daily newspapers over breakfast tea. It is a nation that publicly disdains the “ grotesque gladiators” of American football, yet whose soccer fans actually kill each other in the stands—and where William“ The Refrigerator” Perry is better known than George Bush. The trappings of the British Empire still remain but just when you think you have an inkling of social insight, the frame changes and you’re left in the London fog. There were more than a few of us with that scratch- your-head look: in a city of nine million people, on any given day there are two million Americans mucking about. There are students, travellers, businesspeople, diplomats and, of course, musicians. All of us are unsure if a shilling is really 20 pence (everything has gone metric, you see), or if a pickle is a garnish, or why a wally is a nerd (a wally Zsboth a nerd and a pickled cucumber, but a pickle is really a garnish—and a shilling is gone from the monetary language but alive in the Cockney spirit).. The Who’s bassist John Entwhistle— whose new band features Ringo's son Zack Starkey on drums—called the Razorbacks “ the best American band on the Pub Circuit.” The Who played the same circuit, and as I wandered down Wardour Street I visualized that classic xsfS poster: THE WHO—MAXIMUM R&B AT THE MARQUEE CLUB. Soho’s Wardour Street runs from the clothing shops of Oxford Street to the theatre district and Leicester Square. Although it is barely viable for two English sized automobiles, it is still the hotbed of porn, poetry, booksellers and music. The Marquee Club is in the heart of Soho, just a stone’s throw from Carnaby Street. The cover charge is very dear (expensive), the beer is good and warm and the decor is reminiscent of Portland’s Satyricon: painted black, with a red door here and there. The n igh t Je ff and I hit the Marquee there was a standing room only crowd to welcome expatriate Rock singer John Waite. Waite, from Lancashire, was whisked away to Hollywood in his teens to record several albums on Chrysalis as part of a pop quartet called the Babys. “Ain’t Missing You At All” was his first solo hit last year. He embodies the British popstar dream in many ways because he was able to leave this over-taxed and underemployed country where musicians often fall prey to a registered heroin/ methadone program, a 35-year-old welfare state and a confused sense of initiative. John Waite rocked hard at the Marquee and left us with a surprise encore of Dylan’s “Mr. Tambourine Man.” The concert was about an hour and a half in length. American musicians who work the 9 to 2 club circuit would be surprised to know that most working pub bands in the U.K. play for that same hour and a half and know little more material. That the Razorbacks could play 6 sets without repeating a song was beyond belief of the English wanker on the street. The fact is that pubs must legally stop service at 11 p.<n. without a special license. There are certain after hours downtown—which we qu ck:lly discovered aftjer l4hhe Marquee ___ art—but generally the party’s over by midnight and London’s famousunder- drunk in ntury ground train system, the “Tube,” closes down at 12:30. The main problem of finding one’s way home drunk in London is that the street names usually change every two blocks—a throwback to the 13th century when the city was a cluster of separate villages. T ' ■ hese drinking hours were set up by ■ the Parliament during the Great War (1916) to curtail the habits of the industrial workers, eliminate tardiness at the munitions factories and do away with extended three pint lunches (pubs also close from 2:30 to 5:30 daily). The other cent of one's income—that keeps most of side of the pound,, however, is that the England’s "successfur musicians, like beer is delightfully more potent than our John Waite, away from home 11 months American brew and that Brits love to out of the year. - X ' drink. Thus the Tube stations at midnight f have a friend who works for the Tax are transformed into a menagerie of and Excise Dept, and is a musician as Cockney rowdies, skinheads, mohawked well. Keeping a day job, he has decided punks, wallies, rastafariansand “Sloane to maintain a more visible profile since' Rangers” (London Yuppies, who fre- his name has become a little more well quent Sloan Square). Most everyone is known in the last year. I met Raymond St. polite, pie-eyed and legless—that is, ex- John while bumming around the CaribtremeJy inebriated. I never could figure bean in the late ‘70s. I had a copy of the out who was benefitting from these alcoholic timetabled up their gover checks. going to work i ployment rate is tive to look for t fare State has ere many of the birds a never had a job and The Dole has beco parallel in England, noon the sedate nei fice is filled with a len same Tubular mena ht even be I The unem- and the incen- low. The Wel- iation where ikes we met had ing thirty. aline without Friday after- od Post Of- eue of th? hand to pic The amount of the Dole check varies from 40 to 160 pounds, depending on the individual’s family and work options. The pound is equivalent to $1.40, but varies up to 25 cents either way, depending on politics and the price of oil. Many musicians keep their gig money under the table, but realize the more notoriety a group obtains, the greater the risk of investigation by the tax bureau. Thus there is a fine line that a musician must cross, because after giving up a guaranteed government check, and after the Queen taxes those new found musical gains, very often the balance is no better, and less dependable than the Dole. It is this vicious tax system—that can take 90 per- “ Ijternational Ties” album by UPEPO, which I produced while I was a member of that Latin/rock sextet. Raymond was a galley cook on a British yacht who took the record back to London and formed a “ C ockney -d igs -La tin ” group ca lled PRIDE. Solo star Sade Adu, a former Ian of a 48 Clinton St. Quarterly
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