Panorama In Black - the first gig, 16th October 1982
The most legendary part of the night occurred not at the gig, but back at Clarkson Street afterwards, when almost the entire audience decamped back to the house and several zones were allocated, as follows: -
Zone 1 (The Basement) Large PA speakers play Psychedelic Furs, Siouxsie & the Banshees' Ju-Ju and Bauhaus. Drugs available - Morroccan Black and Red Leb,
Zone 2 (Tigga's Living Room) Wooden floor and Indian rugs provide the perfect setting for very, very heavy dub reggae and and the insidious reek of Skunk. Everyone in here is red-eyed and almost unbearably mellow.
Zone 3 (Tigga's Kitchen) Amphetamine Area. Orange speed is doled out to the ultimate group of manic 'always in the kitchen at parties' types, gibbering uncontrollably. A great room if you've spent too long in Zone 2 and need to wake up a bit.
Zone 4 (My Living Room) The acid room. Twenty people laughing, gibbering uncontrollably and unintelligibly, and staring at things (there was barely an inch of blank wall in my room, and posters of bands and squiggly designs could provide hours of entertainment with the right chemical help). David Bowie, Lou Reed and Iggy Pop dominated the stereo.
In all of the Zones there may have been a little bit of beer, but there was no shagging, no bad vibes and absolutely no aggression. At 4am we in the acid room decided the best thing to do was have a conga around the house, which was, I'm afraid to say, shared with two other people beside Tigga and myself, namely an Irish pensioner called Paddy (no really) and Ray, a most magnificent old ginger queen without an unpleasant bone in his body. As the conga progressed back up the basement stairs, following a brief visit to Zones 1 - 3, Ray's head popped over the upstairs balcony railings, pleading "I don't mean to intrude, but its is 4 'o' clock....erm....could you all go to bed now....erm....please?". Before I had a chance to say anything, the man who would soon be PIB guitarist no. 2, Guy Ebbs, had spun around, given a joyful two-fingered salute and reinforced the visuals with a happy "No! Fuck off!" before steering the conga back into Zone 4 for more madness. It's the only meaningful snapshot I have of the entire evening.
When 10am arrived and people started to come down from wherever it was they'd been and go to sleep, I can only imagine that our near neighbours were wondering what on earth had been going on over at no. 15. If it helps, I'm not sure either.
When the last of the revellers had gone at about 6pm the following evening, I realised that something new had started. It was difficult to put a name to it, but 'Acid Punk' seemed fitting. The satisfaction at being 'there' at the beginning of something made up for the fact that Ray didn't speak to me for about another 8 weeks, and his newspaper, previously left out in the hall for me to read first, began to vanish early in the morning before I got up.
And a teaser flyer for the same gig......
