[ January 1, 1995 ]
Vox: Radio One Foot In The Grave
Vox
Radio One Foot In The Grave
January 1995
By Mike Pattenden
Courtesy of G. Dipper
They've got their retirement home brochures. They've got their dials set to Radio 2. But when there's a 1FM Roadshow to do and a greatest-hits album to plug, The Beautiful South will always be there. Even if the kids prefer PJ and Duncan ...
"Coming to you. Today. Live. Fffrrommmmmm Newcastle..." Mark Goodier's introduction for the 1FM Roadshow drifts across the city's Town Moor from a large, blue tent and is instantly smothered by wild screams. Whipping up the crowd further, he reels off a list of outlying areas: "Why don't you come down and join the thousands here from Wallsend, Whitley Bay, Gateshead...."
Each mention is greeted with more euphoric wails. Across the road, parents deposit groups of children, who make their way hastily towards the tent where the ecstatic thousands are supposedly gathered. No one seems to notice the arrival of The Beautiful South's Paul Heaton, Dave Rotheray, Dave Hemingway and Jacqueline Abbott as they sweep through the gates in a blue Ford Mondeo.
"We don't get mobbed any more," Heaton admits, as they saunter towards the tent, "because people think we're too old to be in a band".
Parents countrywide can relax; the South like to party, but no one need lock up their daughters when they are around. It's just as well for Radio 1, anxious to demonstrate that it is still the country's national pop-music station, despite listening figures that have fallen to 11.2 million (down five million in the year since Matthew Bannister took over as controller).
But could the roadshow prove too much for Newcastle, a city buzzing at the exploits of Kevin Keegan's heroes, and still quivering with excitement from the previous day's visit by local lad Mark Knopfler to open the new Centre For Popular Music at Newcastle College?
A walk across the field reveals Goodier's thousands to number no more than several hundred. In front of the marquee, the 1FM Goodie Mobile - which hopes to sell umbrellas, mugs, T-shirts, stickers and tax discs to fans - is doing as much business as an ice-cream van at the North Pole.
A more bizarre sight greets the eye inside, where a couple of hundred teenage girls kneel before Mark Goodier's broadcasting altar. They have not prostrated themselves before him in reverence, but have been asked to kneel so that those at the back can see. Somehow, it looks as if they are being punished. The view is of two white panels, the cropped head of Goodier bobbing around and a makeshift stage ready to bear the weight of some of the week's hotter chart properties: CJ Lewis, Freak Power, locals PJ And Duncan and trusty stalwarts: The Beautiful South.
Don't touch that dial.
Round the back, a queue of autograph hunters talk excitedly over the hum of a generator and few security men keep order. The station's press officer strides across to open a barrier when we attract his attention. "Don't say anything about this that might put the kibosh on us doing stuff with you in the future", he smiles, welcomingly. One-derful. The backstage area is inhabited by a couple of cars, a generator and a Winnebago that serves as a toilet and shelter from the elements.
Things start to go awry when funky seven-piece Freak Power prepare to mime to their single "Turn On, Tune In, Cop Out". The instruments that Radio 1 has promised to provide for them turn out to be one bass and one guitar (without straps) and a keyboard (with no stand). However, there are no tantrums and, with makeshift pieces of cord around their instruments, the band pause for a traffic bulletin and one more record and then take to the stage. The PA is greeted with tempered squeals and the band run gamely through the single, headman Norman Cook giving a passable impression of a man enjoying a third stab at stardom following The Housemartins and Beats International.
Backstage, the rest of The Beautiful South have arrived and are milling about. Guitarist Rotheray looks pained in the chill air. "It's the lowest of the low, this, isn't it? he offers, shooting a shamed look at manager Paul "Bambi" Thompson. "It'd be worth employing doubles to do these things for us, because we're completely unsuited to them".
Undeterred, Heaton is playing the game. Dressed in a blue windcheater, fur hat and shades, he strides across the muddy grass to a waiting group of girls, signs autographs and chats. When Freak Power hurry off, he breaks away with a wave to greet old mucker, Cook. The two have known each other since they were 16, when Heaton moved to Redhill, Surrey for a year with his family, and have remained friends since the break-up of The Housemartins. Cook did some production work for The Beautiful South's latest album Miaow and DJ'd at an after-gig party for the band in Sheffield during the summer.
A conversation about obscure old House singles ensues, along with an invitation for Heaton to visit Brighton. Cornered afterwards, Cook confesses: "We still meet up, but I can't keep up with his drinking any more". Talking of their respective careers, Cook suggests: "Paul likes dance music, but he's not into making it. He never had the confidence to make black music because he's white, whereas I did".
Our conversation is brought to a halt by hysterical cries as PJ And Duncan scurry in and dive straight inside the Winnebago. They stay hidden away with CJ Lewis, no doubt attempting to rhumble with the leggy backing singers he's brought with him. Radio 1's spivvy PR tells a sceptical Heaton that PJ And Duncan are fans of the South - "they're really excited". So Heaton offers to act as intermediary between the Geordie duo and their waiting fans, bringing scraps of paper into the Winnebago to be signed, and relaying messages. "Carrie says: "Was Declan at the HMV signing?" Heaton asks, dutifully.
Meanwhile, Freak Power have dispersed and The Beautiful South are making ready, showing soldierly professionalism. Bassist Sean Welch has refused to attend and the rest are busy arguing which instrument to "play". Drummer Steady is ousted from the chair by Rotheray, while Abbott takes on Shaun's bass mantle. She cradles it like a lump of four-by-two. Heaton looks on in mock exasperation. "You're not giving this the respect it deserves", he admonishes.
Two songs and a time-check later, they take the stage to some appreciatively piercing screams. The audience raise their arms and sway along as the band meander through "One Last Love Song", the new single from the band's bumper greatest-hits collection Carry On Up The Charts. A few fans sing along, one or two dance at the back and one hand can even be seen holding up a recording Walkman, though its owner has a picture of PJ And Duncan taped to the barrier. Three minutes and 32 seconds later The Beautiful South fade out with Mark Goodier announcing the title and everyone to "rush out and buy it now!".
"Thank you, sausages!" shouts Heaton and, with a quick wave, the band hurry off.
There is no loitering backstage, just a smart exit. Hemingway and Steady drive straight home, while Rotheray, Heaton and Abbott head to the nearest hostelry to rendezvous with some friends.
Inside, Rotheray and Heaton reflect on the experience, while Abbott buys drinks for a handful of fans who have followed them. Why, it has to be asked, did they bother?
"I suppose if we're demanding that the people who work our records do everything possible, we have to show willing ourselves. Anyway it's a fun day out for all the family, really", explains Rotheray.
Heaton isn't sure about its effectiveness. "I don't know, to be honest. The idea is that the people who put our records on radio say: "Well the band are doing this for you, can you do this for the band?" and get us put on the A-list or whatever. So you have both parties working together to have a hit. It sounds very old-fashioned, and I don't know whether it works or how popular Radio 1 roadshows are any more".
Indeed, Heaton is another lapsed Radio 1 listener. He's more likely to tune into Radio 2 these days. It looks, perversely, as if he's trying to consolidate the band's burgeoning pipe-and-slippers image. "Actually, I've gone off Radio 2 recently", says Heaton, toying with his glass, "but I used to listen to Wogan and Jimmy Young a fair bit. A Little Time was played loads on Radio 2 and Everybody's Talkin went straight on to their playlist. Not that we don't get on quite well with Radio 1. They always play us".
Heaton has never subscribed to indie snobbery, nor is he interested in the vagaries of being hip. He's also had his share of teen adulation.
"When I was in the Housemartins, we'd get absolutely mobbed when we did something like that. The teen thing has gone on for four decades now, and it's always been like this. What has changed is the tempo of capitalism in the music industry, where the CJs and the PJs have become even more transient. Teen idols used to be around for a couple of years, now it's getting down to months. Take That are maybe an exception; they've got a pretty old-fashioned Bay City Roller/Bros-type fan base, but the industry is increasingly less patient with failures. If a single flops, then that's it".
Age, nevertheless, is a subject that is beginning to cause the duo, both in their early-30s, some concern. "I'm twice PJ and Duncan's age, and I look it. But then again it's the same when you compare knob size...." explains Heaton, modestly. "The basis of what Dave and I have done is longevity-songwriting. I mean can you be in a band at the age of 40? Is it preferable to die a dignified death?"
The sensation is exacerbated for the two of them by touring. "Me and Dave felt like we were getting too old to do it", grumbles Heaton, doing a passable imitation of one of the Old Gits. "I find it increasingly perverse that people keep cheering us on stage. I start to feel more detached from it. I start to question what people see in us. I think: Why are you cheering that? It's like following your dad into the kitchen and applauding him for making cheese on toast".
Such mid-term blues ignore the fact that the band have just had a highly successful year, a gold album, four hit singles and a sell-out tour, topped off by news of an REM support slot at one of next summer's gigs, and the release of their genuine, no short-changing, greatest-hits package. Compilations often act as a punctuation mark in any band's career, but all this talk makes Carry On seem more a full stop than an exclamation mark. "That was one argument against doing it. It looks like an epitaph", says Heaton, examining his improbably long nails. "But it's not; it's just the end of a year. Anyway, I've started to write the lyrics for the new album".
It was his concern over the ageing process that led to suggestions earlier this year that he might withdraw from the limelight and simply write.
"I felt I was getting too old for it. The idea of me taking a back seat was based on Dave and Jacquie taking a step forward, but it's difficult, because Dave doesn't feel confident on stage and Jacqui's only just joined. I've realised it's not possible".
There's no rest for the wicked. Heaton and The Beautiful South will just have to gather up their aching bones and creaking limbs and struggle on with the hit albums, teen adulation and sell-out tours. What a life.
Delores / Link to Here
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