'Stringy', ex-editor of the Ipswich punk fanzine 'Terminal Boredom', now Visiting Professor in the Department of Cultural & Social Anthropology at Stanford University CA, writes: -
I was at the 'last' gig at Firedance and the reunion at the Caribbean, having dashed back early from a mate's wedding in Kent (I think I had the soup and then had to go, cost a bloody fortune day return early on a Friday but worth every penny). Must have seen you lot about 15 times by the end, couldn't get off school for the Yorkshire gigs and missed the Manor gig because I stupidly opted to go and see Conflict in Cambridge. They never turned up, in fact they knew nothing about it. A dodgy promoter charged us 2 quid to see support bands (knocked off 50p as Conflict didn't make it...).
The first gig was fucking awesome (as was the Murrayside one and a whole host
in-between), too young and out-of town to be part of the Adicts/Manor/Tracey's
crew, and I got to hold hands with some gothic fox at the Albion Mills the whole
way through the gig under some random pretence of making sure we didn't fall
over. Anyway it was a huge influence - enough the do the whole Terminal Boredom
thing; you were the band of my youth as much as I loved the Adicts, with you lot
I was there from start to finish and just as you ended so my life changed and
off I went to college.
It was fucking ace, the whole thing gave my life something that no-one else at
my school had (aside from Ricky), through the zine I travelled all over Europe
staying with random punk rockers I had interviewed or were my readers. Also it
meant that I missed out on that whole tedious late teen discovering the pub on
the Friday night routine, saved my pennies for Murrayside and buying the latest
disc from Parrot; all my school contemporaries were too busy dressing badly
(well a corporate construct of bad, as opposed to my version), copping off with
each other and trying to out-do each other with A-level mock results and
university offers. Laugh's on them.
Of course post-PIB and I guess in the grander scheme of things, namely the
defeat of the miners, then everything just kinda died. I finally discovered beer
on a Friday night and eventually girls, and then one day back home,
post-college, someone managed to convince me to go with them to see the Town
play Utd. in the Cup, to return to where my dad had taken me as a nipper to see
all the Euro games and the like (St. Etienne et al), except this time I stood in the North Stand. We lost 2-1 after Humes (Humes!) scored
the equaliser just before half time. I went back the next week hoping for the
same mad packed sweaty punk rock atmosphere, but it was gone, a half empty
stadium, a not very good team, a dreadful manager and I can't even remember the
score.
But I carried on going back, then one day it all came full circle, as Mr. Warren
(fresh from a trip to Japan) walked back on to the Buttermarket excavation and
soon a little gaggle of us would be meeting in the Greyhound on a Saturday...
Fanzines, North Stand, beer, girls - the new punk rock? Maybe sometimes, but it
filled the hole nonetheless and gave me back that mad identity that you only
otherwise had through the music scene. Hitchhike to South Wales to see Crass;
sleep on the edge of the M4 after seeing Flux; see Panorama three times in 9
days; fly to Milan to see the Town. Plus ça change.
Stringy.