At the start of 2010 I was looking to find a home for a thousand word piece on Ronnie Lane I'd recently written. Record Collector had commissioned me three months earlier but in the interrvening period the magazine had had a shake up at the top and the new editor no longer wanted it. Bastards. I rang round other mags/periodicals but nobody was biting. Fuck it, I thought, I'll put it out myself. So after a couple of conversations with my good friend Mondo (you can still find him & Piley at Ship Full of Bombs with their splendid radio show/podcast Podrophenia), he persuaded me to become a blogger.
I tought myself basic html coding and designed a website/blog under the banner 'Even Monkeys Fall Out of Trees' and on 15 February I went live. With no preamble I dropped the Ronnie Lane article into a world where everyone, it seemed to me, was blogging. Sixteen years later and I'm still here. 'Even Monkeys...' begat 'Are We There Yet?' and before I knew it I'd made countless friends and contacts (virtual and F2F) and, I've got to say, I continue to find it both a thriving and all welcoming community. As you can probably tell, I still love writing my blog and reading others'. And I'll tell them that when I see many of them them In Leeds at BlogCon26 later in the year.
I think one of the most interesting periods of the Sweet's career, funnily enough, was when Brian Connolly had been handed his sandwiches in a road map. Did they miss their blonde bombshell singer? Of course. But did they miss his erratic drunken shenanigans - missed gigs, bum notes and generally a lush who became 110% unreliable? No, of course they didn't. They could all sing (who do you think had provided those drop dead harmonies over the years?) so in 1980 with the addition of Gary Moberley on keys they flew out to Toronto for three months, played a few gigs and recorded their second album without BC - Waters Edge. I loved it. But then I would, wouldn't I? It was a radio friendly album that didn't have any hits on it! But hey, who needs hits? Oh, yeah: the record company. The band were in trouble. If they were a ship they were definitely taking on water (quite ironic given the title of the new record); within a year they finally sank, but not before playing some memorable low key dates in the UK where they were plugging their final album Identity Crisis. I saw them at Nottingham's Rock City on that tour and, a number of years later, chatted to Andy Scott about it: he remembered it well - someone threw a pint pot at him on stage that night. Complete with beer. It drowned him.
★
I loved the 'futuristic' telly on the cover of Waters Edge with the band's logo as an aerial and the power trio all bubble-permed up. I saw a similar little TV (the JVC Video Sphere) in a retro shop in Stockport (top of page) between Christmas & New Year and was immediately reminded of Messrs. Priest, Scott & Tucker. I think The Swede would have approved.
I've told The Swede before, on numerous occasions, if he doesn't nail his ideas down, I'll nick 'em; I'm dodgy; I'm a geezer. And so on Monday he flagged up what would have been Brian Connolly's 80th birthday and at the same timetelling everyone how fab Healer by the Sweet was. I also recall Ernie saying in the comments section that someone in TS's catchment area has probably got at least 40 versions of this mid-70s solid slab of Sweetness. Not sure about that, but I have got a rather tasty nine minute version which I hope the TS digs as much as I do. I shan't map out my Sweet credentials here, though feel free to take a gleg at both the band and BC on my sidebar.
(On the back of my recent BlogCon25 Q&As, Alyson & C, between them, have been vox popping our fellow bloggers and have presented me with a number of their questions! (The tables are well and truly turned. I'm sure Robin Day never suffered such a fate). So, as Alyson said in her covering email, "this is a guest post from your blogging pals." Even the title of today's post is hers, nothing to do with me! - JM)
I think we can all agree that John is the least anonymous of any of us in our little corner of the blogosphere. Bit by bit, however, he has cleverly and sensitively drawn the rest of us out from the shadows, and what with the Swedey McSwedeface gallery, and the three meet-ups in the real world, many of us are now a lot less anonymous than we ever intended - but what a joy it has been, and for most of us a completely unexpected bonus from this hobby of ours. Covid got in the way for a couple of years but without John's persistence BlogCon22 would never have got off the ground and for that we thank him. BlogCon25 is not far off now - who would have thought ten years ago such an annual event would be on the calendar?
We've all been enjoying his recent Q&A series with BlogCon25 participants and affiliates. Now it's his turn to spill the beans, the questions coming from bloggers north, south, east and west. Over to you John.
From Charity Chic:
What would be your Desert Island Disc record and book?
As a devotee of BBC's DID I'm assuming CC is asking me which of my favourite eight discs I'd rush to save from the waves on my desolate island? Having a constant diet of just eight discs would be a kind of torture in itself, let alone just one. Therefore, as big a Beatles nut as I am I wouldn't feel the need to have any of their stuff with me as every note, every hook, every verse, chorus and melody are hardwired into my skull; I hear them even when they're not playing if that makes sense. So I'll go with something that won't grate every time I hear it (providing I get rescued before too long!). And that disc would have to be Blockbuster by the Sweet. My book? That's easy. The complete works of Magnus Mills. I can reread his novels and short stories and always find something new in there.
From Ernie:
You are commissioned to present a travel series called 'Medd on the Med'. Where do you head for first and why?
I'm reliably informed there are 33 cities on the Med. I'd like to spend a few days in each one and go round them all in alphabetical order (much to my producer's chagrin) - starting in Alanya in Turkey and winding up in Vlorë in Albania.
From C:
As you know, I do like your taste in shirts. Have you always been a fan of unusual and striking designs and are there any particular characters whose sartorial style has inspired your choices?
Why, thank you! Nope, I just buy shirts I like (and fit). Back in the day, I used to love Pop 84 and Disciple shirts; these days they can be from goth shops, charity shops, Ebay. I'm not proud! Many moons ago, whilst watching Have I Got News For You, I was chuffed/put out (in equal measure) when I saw Paul Merton wearing a shirt I'd recently bought in Madrid.
From Khayem:
What, when and where did you first perform as a musician to an audience, and why that particular song?
It was the early 90s and I was performing in a trio called The Three Daves (don't ask). We played a local beer festival in a big tent to a crowd who were nearly as drunk as we were. I was on vocals, guitar and percussion. We did a load of Beatles covers but for some reason I can only remember Across the Universe.
From The Swede:
The old time machine is on its way out I'm afraid. I've tried turning it off and on again to no avail, it's basically kaput. It has two seats, but only three still operating settings and just enough juice left for you to make use of one of them. Which do you choose?
(a) A journey back to 1972 to witness ELP play Trilogy in its entirety, exclusively for you and a guest, (b) A similar trip to 1974 to be in an audience of two while Sweet play Sweet Fanny Adams from start to finish, or (c) To 1978 where Generation X will bash through their debut LP for the delectation of you and your +1.
The supplementary question is of course, just who would be your +1?
Oof! This is tough. So when you say a performance just for me and my +1 you mean like a soundcheck? Sorry to be pedantic. Three very appealing scenarios but I think I'd have to plump for the Sweet; I never saw the original four piece with BC so, yeah, it'd have to be SFA. My +1? It would be my good friend Steve. Even now, rarely a week goes by where we don't talk about the Sweet. (FYI - if I'd have gone for Gen X my +1 would have been Riggsby. We did see them at West Runton Pavilion together in '78 when they essentially did the setlist you mention (it'd be great to relive it). And if I'd have set the coordinates for ELP then the Swede would have been riding shotgun with me.)
The Sweet - Blockbuster (1973)
From Alyson:
We all know you have a great love for photography and taking artistic shots. What was the first camera you bought with your own money and what did you first take pictures of?
As a teen I had an instamatic that I took everywhere, including Charlton in 1976 when I saw The Who. Then came a cheap and cheerful 110 film camera - quality was poor but I was only snapping cars and girlfriends so it didn't really matter!. It was only when I discovered 35mm SLR photography that I 'got serious': I bought a clunky East German Praktica MTL3 which was virtually indestructible. Not long after I also got my first Olympus XA2 (point and shoot) which meant candid photography became so much easier.
From Martin:
You write, you make music, you take photographs... if a Faustian pact was offered that promised widespread critical and commercial acclaim in one of those fields but at the expense of having to completely give up the other two, permanently, would you take it? And, if so, which field would you choose to be a star in, and why?
You flatter me, Martin! However, I only profess to be a jack of all trades. Neither my writing, my photography or my music, I feel, (with a couple of exceptions*) is good enough to warrant plaudits. I'm just happy that 1. I still enjoy doing all three and 2. (Sometimes) others seem to enjoy it too.
* That said, there are a couple songs of mine I would really like to see 'out there' i.e. with someone else singing them. Maybe one day...
From Rol:
Imagine the Beeb bought your script about Lennon & McCartney back in 2009, and as a result, Sir Thumbs Aloft himself invited you round for tea. What would you talk about? Would you be embarrassed to meet him? Would you try to think up some questions nobody had ever asked him? What would you wear?
Good question(s)! I'd try not to be a fanboy, but it'd be hard. I think I'd like to talk to him about John and Stuart Sutcliffe: the best Beatle stories, for me, are of those early days in Liverpool and Hamburg when they were being managed by Allan Williams. I'd probably wear my Monkees tee shirt.
From Swiss Adam:
My question is in honour of the Manchester's 90s dance music magazine Jockey Slut who used to close every Q and A with this question...
Have you ever ridden a horse?
Yes. And it didn't end well.
Thanks, John, for your entertaining series of Q&As and thanks also for taking the time to answer our questions above. I think we all knew the Sweet would put in an appearance.
*
(Thank you, Alyson. And to all my inquisitors! Just a quick footnote: remind me, TS, when we meet up, to give you a copy of the owners' manual for the time machine. It probably just needs its annual service - JM.)
It's common knowledge around these parts that I have a soft spot for the Sweet. Always have had. And although Brian, Mick and Steve are sadly no longer with us, it's somehow fallen on Andy Scott, last man standing, to continue the band's legacy. I'm not sure why, mind. Don't get me wrong, I'm a huge fan: I told him as much when I interviewed him back in the day. But he should let it go now. Andy and his cohorts came to my town in December for a show at Rock City and I didn't go. My bad. But the band of brothers he was so tightly intertwined with thru the whole of the 70s (and early 80s as a three piece) don't exist anymore. I want to remember them the way they were; only on record, in fans memories, and on those amazing YouTube clips does the glammest of all glam groups come close to recreating the excitement levels they generated back in 1973.
But fair play to Scott, he schleps around Europe with his touring band, year after year, like a travelling circus, trying to reignite the flame that once burned so bright. Ironically, the closest he got was a few years back with a cover version of an old George Benson number: clearly loaded with a reworked Love is Like Oxygen riff, they came as close as they ever had to replicating the sound that, for a period of close to ten straight years, guaranteed them VIPLane access direct to the higher reaches of the UK singles charts week after week. It's a blinder...
When Jeff Lynne wrote the rather catchy Do Ya for the Move they (unwisely, IMHO) stuck it on the B side of their 1972 single California Man. And there it would have stayed if it hadn't been for one Todd Rundgren. In 1975 Rundgren and his pick-up band Utopia were dropping it in their live set and everyone, seemingly, thought it was one of theirs. Well they would, wouldn't they? It sounds like a Todd Rundgren song.
The Move - Do Ya (1972)
So when the perma-shaded Lynne - by now fronting the Electric Light orchestra - got wind of this he must have said to himself 'Fuck that for a game of soldiers' and promptly rerecorded it for the next ELO album. A New World Record released in 1976 went on to shift five million copies in its first year of release alone; thanks, obviously, to the inclusion of Do Ya.
Todd Rundgren - Do Ya (1975)
And, yes, its striking resemblance to the Sweet's Fox on the Run hasn't gone unnoticed. The harmonies, in particular, have been lifted wholesale. I can only think that Jeff Lynne must have been feeling quite magnanimous about the whole thing and didn't bother filing a lawsuit; cushioned as he was, probably, by his millions in the bank.
I'm a sucker for the spoken word intro. Who can forget Ian Hunter's laconic "'ello" on OnceBitten, Twice Shy or Brian Connolly's now legendary " Are you ready, Steve?" heralding the Sweet's Ballroom Blitz? Not me, that's for sure.
I'll wager you'll have your favourites too tucked away in the recesses of your record collections. The Damned have got a couple that spring to mind. Can it really be 45 years since the Damned's Dave Vanian's uttered the immortal "Is she really going out with him?" before Rat Scabies fell into his drum kit marking the start of New Rose?
I said they'd got a couple; here's the other one.
The Damned - Love Song (1978)
And here's the source material. It comes from a series of music hall monologues recited by the actor Jack Howarth. Howarth, best known for playing the miserable Albert Tatlock in Coronation Street kicks off proceedings with a very dry "Ladies and gentlemen, 'ow do."
I'm trying not to dwell on the never ending torrent of bad news threatening to engulf every last one of us; though if I have a little weep later I'm hoping you'll cut me some slack.
Instead I want to share this little snippet with you: Suzie, my Brighton dwelling cousin, has a regular nighttime caller. And so tame is this beautiful creature that apparently he comes right up to her and gently rubs his nose up against her hand. As the Americans would say - pretty neat, huh?
I was certainly standing on the shoulders of giants when I commissioned myself to write this homage series; the idea that there are 10 objects I'd run into a burning building to rescue is really nothing more than me storing my thoughts in a safe place so that I can maybe look at them again when my memory maybe isn't as sharp as it is now. Which, in all honesty, is probably why, a decade after I started, I regularly update this journal, this web log. (Without getting too deep here, I'm not afraid of dying; but I am afraid of getting old; there, I've said it. When I look back at my life thus far I often think that much of it happened to somebody else, not me; a version of me, but not the me I recognise through the lens of 2020.)
But I digress. I said at the outset of this project that I would also mention the items that didn't make the cut. Of course I can't possibly list all the trinkets that have come into my possession over the last six decades. But here are a few that just missed the crucial cut off: my paperback copy of Magnus Mills' All Quiet on the Orient Express; my guitar; the bagatelle Santa put in my sack in 1966; a square of my Nanna's sewing; a set of Beatles autographs (fakes, but I don't care); one of my (many) watches; my mother's music box; the mixing bowl I use to make bread. All precious to me, but not as precious as this.
I've wanged on about this band quite a lot around here so, I won't bore you any further; suffice it to say this is my last item and these are the stats.
What's it called? Block Buster!
Who's it by? The Sweet
When and where purchased? January 1973/Grantham Market
How much? 25p
Number of plays? 17,550 in its first year alone*
Has there ever been a better single released since? Hell, no!
Will it be going in my coffin with me? Of course
* That's a very precise number, I hear you say. But I reckon I listened to it at least 50 times a day thru 1973 (less my two week holiday in Ireland). So, I make that (365 -14) x 50 = 17,550.
I've just re-read Block Buster! by Dave Thompson. As the title would indicate, it's the definitive biography of glam rockers the Sweet; nothing to do with the chain of video shops. Their rise to teenybopper stardom - and Top of the Pops ubiquity - followed later by (begrudging, often) critical acclaim was far from overnight; yet their demise was comparable with the speed with which Laurel and Hardy's piano came hurtling down those steps in the film 'Music Box'. Though, as you can imagine, not half as funny. And the reason why they fell from grace with such indecent haste? Two words: Brian Connolly. Sorry, make that three words: Brian Connolly's drinking. In 1974 after releasing Sweet Fanny Adams and being invited by Pete Townshend to support the Who at Charlton Athletic football ground and play in front of 60,000 fans, Connolly went on a bender. A proper bender. Not for the first time he then got into a fight and was badly beaten up, suffering critical bruising to his throat (they really did kick his head in). As a result the tour to support the album (the album that should have been flying off the shelves) was pulled, as was their chance to play in front of the biggest crowd of their career supporting their heroes. The rest of the band weren't happy; to say the least. They seriously considered playing Charlton as a three piece; they even considered getting a replacement for Connolly. But they gave their friend another chance.
Fast forward a couple of years and, after an 18 month lay off from touring, the band sought solace at the Château recording studio on the outskirts of Paris. Armed with a shedload of new songs they recorded their most coherent album to date: In early 1978 Level Headed was promoted massively in the States where they were embarking on a massive tour with hopes of finally 'cracking America'. With the album's lead single Love is Like Oxygen picking up airplay it was all set fair. However, Connolly's love of the bottle scuppered the band yet again. By now bloated and out of shape (physically and vocally) he was turning up pissed at most of the shows and the tour soon descended into farce. The record company pulled the plug on the remaining dates and the band were flown home in disgrace. Connolly was kicked out of the band the following year. And with him went any last vestiges of future aspirations the band may have had. The remaining trio of Andy Scott, Steve Priest and Mick Tucker limped on with three wheels on their wagon till the Cherokees finally caught up with them in 1981. Game over.
...
When Andy Scott wrote Love is Like Oxygen it was no secret that he was a huge fan of Hall & Oates. Steve Priest alleges that Scott ripped off their 1975 track Grounds for Separation when writing his lyrics three years later. Scott will no doubt tell you different. The bridge Andy Scott may or may not have liberated comes in at 1:20. I'll let you decide.
Not all heroes wear capes. But mine do. (And I still have several scrapbooks* to prove it). Although we never met**, Steve Priest and I did, in the late 90s, exchange many emails: in 1997 we were both on the brand new AOL and, for reasons that escape me now, we would regularly have real time chitchats - me in the UK, Steve in California - where he'd been living since the 80s.
The Caped Crusader (second from the right)
Between 1972 and 1974 Steve and his three amigos*** were rarely off our TV screens; their tub-thumping glam anthems are the very touchstone of this blog (see the bar on the LHS of this blog if you don't believe me) and as such made the Sweet a household name; Thursday nights in the early 70s - when Top of the Pops was in its pomp - saw the majority of British teenagers glued to their sofas for the best part of 40 minutes whilst at the same time wishing their parents would just bugger off and let them soak up these glam(orous) sights and sounds alone.
Steve Priest (1948-2020)
And that's how I want to remember Steve who sadly passed away yesterday: the clutch of singles (and blistering B sides)& string of albums his band made in just a handful of years are the very building blocks the rest of my record collection was built on.
* I found half a dozen scrapbooks at my dad's just before lockdown - all full to the gunnels of Sweet photos and cuttings. After lockdown I'll try and post some extracts on here. ** Unlike Brian Connolly. Here is the link to my infamous Brian Connolly story.
It was the arse end of 1976. Disco was big. Arguably, funk was even bigger. The Sweet - best known then (and now, not a lot changes) for earlier glam anthems like Block Buster!, Ballroom Blitz and Hellraiser - were in the wilderness and looking for a new direction. Aren't we all.
Inevitably, the new direction was no more than a wrong turn down a dead end street. They soon did a u-ey, came back and stuck to what they were good at. But not before they recorded something of a cult classic. Shortly after its release it was being played in hip New York clubs. Not rock clubs; clubs with red velvet ropes, mirror balls and everything.
Fox On the Run came on the radio...I nearly came with it. Fucking brilliant when a song like that creeps up and surprises you
Tell you what, give me 150
words on why Fox On the
Run is so fucking brilliant
and I'll put it up on the blog.
John, this isn't quite what you asked for - but do as you wish with it.
An ordinary Thursday afternoon. Christmas themed background music dominated the airwaves. And then...the explosion. It's amazing that despite having 24 hour access to one's musical preferences, when one of them springs unexpectedly from a radio station, it's inexplicably different. It's a joyous three and a half minutes of nostalgia that no pre-planned station can bring. March 1975. Sweet. Fox On the Run. Yes, lyrically it's bitter, criticising as it does somebody whose glory of youth has deserted them. 'But the rest of you is out of place.' Hardly a compliment. Not being appropriately trained, I can't identify what its musical qualities are. To be honest, I don't care. But what an ensemble. Like so many great Sweet songs, it didn't quite make the top, being denied by the hysteria of Bye Bye Baby. This is a matter which has recently been ignored amid the apparently more significant Brexit issue, but is still one I intend raising with my MP on March 30th 2019. It's never too late to gain justice.
Today's Sunday Times magazine is marking the 50th Anniversary of a remarkable day in the life of the Fab Four. And, as you can see (below), they are really pushing the boat out with a quartet of collectable covers. Anyone familiar with the Beatles' Mad Day Out will know that, for a handful of hours on July 28th. 1968, John, Paul, George and Ringo took a day off recording songs for their White Album and instead, with a select bunch of toggies, slipped anchor and between them created some of the most iconic, and totally non-choreographed set of pictures ever taken of the group.
Their freewheeling adventure took them to some of the most, at the time, insalubrious parts of north and east London including St. Pancras Hospital, Wapping, Cable Street in Whitechapel, Tower Bridge, even Old Street roundabout.
Many of the photographs have probably appeared in this blog over the years, though this one is, I think, my personal favourite.
I love unsung heroes. Especially in the music biz. Those foot soldiers who are quite prepared to sit in the wings while others, more worthy or (often) not, receive the plaudits. One such hero is Phil Wainman.
Without Phil Wainman there would be no Sweet. He's like a poor man's George Martin: he believed in the band from the time they played at his wedding in 1969 - back when they were a struggling little bubblegum band traipsing up and down the country in a beat up Commer van.
He took them under his wing, introduced them to (the go-to songwriters of the seventies) Nicky Chinn and Mike Chapman, secured them a recording contract deal with RCA and ended up producing *all* of their Top Ten singles.
In the film below he talks about his charges very touchingly ('the boys') in a wide ranging interview that spans all aspects of his illustrious career - Wainman was also at the helm of all the Bay City Rollers' anthems, twiddled the knobs on Next by Alex Harvey and even produced Generation X's debut album.
But his tour-de-force has got to be The Ballroom Blitz (fast forward to 37:48). Not surprisingly, as a drummer, for him it was all about the tub-thumping pagan skins. It was a song built around Mick Tucker's relentless syncopation; I know that, and you know that.
However, the way Andy Scott (the Sweet's axe man) tells it, it's all about the guitar. Drums, what drums? The rest of the band appear to have been airbrushed out of the story altogether. Guitarists, eh?
Name checks abound - Sandy Nelson, Chuck Berry, The Beatles - but, interestingly, neither he nor Wainman reveal the true identity of the inspiration behind their 1973 monster smash (#2 in this country, #5 in the US where it was released a couple of years later).
So where did Ballroom Blitz really come from? Take a listen to this. A Saturday night record, if ever I heard one.
It's called 'Doing a Swede' - named after the young man who thought it would be a hoot to have your photograph taken holding the first album you ever bought with your own money; whilst at the same time doing a rudimentary version of the Dance of the Seven Veils.
Anyway, as you can see, Mr. Swede lost his cherry to Marc Bolan, I took the Sweet behind the bike sheds and Alyson, well...it would appear Alyson let Mr. Presley into her boudoir after lights out. Allegedly.
If you still have your first 33 and you don't mind sharing a Polaroid of yourself in the kitchen clutching said artefact (looking only mildly silly), then now's the time to say 'There's no time like the present' and ping the image over to Medd Towers.
I'd particularly like to hear (and see) regular (and irregular) readers' debut platters. So Mondo &Piley, C, Martin, Mark, Skirky, Rol and anyone else out there who can still locate that first piece of black plastic they bought in 19 Seventy/Eighty, come on down.
I've nicked the idea for today's post from the magnificent Swede. I won't even pretend that I put an ounce of original thought into today's 250 word offering. Icouldn't even be arsed to come up with a different way of holding the sleeve up for the photo shoot; it's basically an original high quality Swede garment with the designer label ripped out and my own (inferior) brand stitched poorly into the back of the neck - the kind that'll make you itch like a man on a fuzzy tree.
So, the Sweet. What can I say about them that I haven't bored you all to death with a million times before? Suffice it to say that The Sweet's Biggest Hits was the first album I bought with my own money. And in 1972 that was a whole hill of beans, well £2.18 anyway. And I played it ten times a day. Minimum. Why wouldn't I? Unlike singles which needed flipping over every three minutes (a bit like pancakes) RCA Victor SF 8316 (I still remember the catalogue number) would play for nearly twenty whole minutes before I had to drag myself off the bed and put the needle on the other side.
And I love the way it's called Biggest. It stops at Wig Wam Bam: less than four weeks after its release they would put out Blockbuster (#1), closely followed by Hell Raiser (#2) and Ballroom Blitz (#2). Now they were big: combined sales of those three singles alone was in excess of 1,000,000 copies (and that's just the UK): monster big. Anyway, I'll be keeping an eye on Swede Towers and see if I can't recycle some more of his ideas and cut and paste them over here. Keep 'em peeled.
It won't have escaped your notice that Britain goes to the ballot box tomorrow. For as long as I can remember I have adopted the following election day routine.
* Come home from work
* Walk to Polling Station
* Spoil ballot paper
* Retire to pub for well deserved post-vote pint
When I say spoil, I don't mean that I write an abusive rejoinder to any of the candidates laid out before me. I really #CBA and, anyway, I'm far too polite. No, my message is just a silly way of recording the fact that I have no faith in any of the nitwits on the list (without actually writing 'none of the above'), and it fits nicely at the bottom of the ballot paper: 'Do the first verse and track it Phil.' I told you it was silly.
The BBC think so too; this from their website:
These kind of deliberately spoiled ballots are part of the British political tradition, are termed "rejected votes" and are included in the overall turnout. However, those wishing to vote for one of the candidates should avoid writing comments. It may confuse the counters and lead to your vote being put in the rejected pile. And however wise or witty a comment, it's unlikely to make much impression on staff who will be frantically trying to count ballot papers.
Ah, well. I always walked out of the booth with a smile on my face.
However, this time is different. I had the audacity to move house during the hustings so, instead, applied for a postal vote. My tried and tested routine went out of the window. So how would I vote this time? Writing silly notes in the comfort of my own home and then sticking it in a pre-paid envelope just didn't feel right somehow. And with there being more at stake this time (a whole lot more) and some really serious issues out there, I decided it would be better to act like a proper grown up and man up.
I trusted to luck and put an 'X' in one of the boxes. For once, I'm hoping you all do the same.
What I know about drumming and tuppence probably wouldn't get your hair cut. But I'd like to think I know the difference between a good drummer and, shall we say, a not so good drummer. And, as a breed, they probably have the same set of chromosomes as goalkeepers: slightly unhinged but someone at the back you can depend on.
The Sweet could never have plied their trade in Glam's top flight if Mick Tucker (the man at the back) hadn't made the drum stool his own. Tight as a duck's bottom and never frightened to set-up the entire contents of the nearest percussion factory on stage and take up residence.
Added to which, Tucker was so good at the windmill trick with his sticks, you'd swear there was a motor hidden between his middle and forefinger.
Here's a bit of archive footage I found for the first time the other day on Youtube from a German TV show in late 1974. Brian Connolly has obviously gone to the bar, leaving our aforementioned drummer about to take to the stage with guitarist Andy Scott and bass player Steve Priest - both looking considerably more svelte than they do today.
Even if you don't fancy watching the whole thing (spoiler alert - contains drum solo), please just watch the opening frames while Tucker performs his windmill straight to camera before throwing his sticks in to the crowd. As a period piece this really is vintage Glam. And they're playing totally live.
So, sit back and enjoy the three-piece Sweet as they chuck the kitchen sink at Elmer Bernstein's 'The Man With the Golden Arm' - taken from their long player Desolation Boulevard released earlier that year.
Postscript - it transpires that women can even take their clothes off to this piece of music. Who knew?
Next month the esteemed writer and broadcaster David Hepworth publishes his new book 1971. According to David, ’71 was rock music's golden year. And as comprehensive and as well researched as I know the tome will be, I’m guessing there are a few things about 1971 you won't find between its covers.
1971 It was the first year I’d been on a package holiday: the Medds went loco in sunny Spain 1971 I was preparing to sit my 11-plus and say goodbye to St. Mary’s 1971 My dad took delivery of a brand new Hillman Minx: RTL 707 J 1971 I took out a subscription to Charles Buchan’s Football Monthly 1971 I heard Co-Co drifting from a barbers window and so began my love affair with The Sweet 1971 My mother said I was too young for Clackers, Oxford Bags and a feather-cut 1971 I think I fancied Clodagh Rodgers 1971 I was ten years old when my friend Adele was born in 1971
