Having just finished Paul Hanley’s excellent book “sixteen again“, I was lying in bed last night thinking about Buzzcocks and regrets.
When Buzzcocks recorded Spiral Scratch, I was nine; too young for it to be on my radar. Then, in 1978, they released “Ever Fallen In Love With…. ?” and I was a fan. The older brother of a friend had “Another Music In A Different Kitchen” and I remember gazing on it in wonder, then buying it, more singles, and “Love Bites”. I purchased “A Different Kind Of Tension” as soon as it was released; for me, there’s never been a more perfect album. Malcolm Garrett’s artwork is mesmerising (the typeface is “Antique Olive”, he told me via instagram) and I loved every song (whilst being, of course, shocked by Steve Diggle’s filth.) Side two is a unified masterpiece.
I didn’t see Buzzcocks live in that period – I was just too young, then they broke up in 1981 but not before releasing three singles, “Parts 1-3”, which I bought and loved.
OK – qu’est-ce que je regrette? Not seeing them live, obviously, but that couldn’t be helped. At the time, no regrets, but I was unwittingly creating them. Pete Shelley immediately commenced his solo career, and I immediately began ignoring him: it wasn’t Buzzcocks, was it? Howard Devoto, whom I’d become aware of via Spiral Scratch, had already created Magazine, but that wasn’t Buzzcocks either. So that was two fantastic bodies of music I’d started to ignore, and then there were others, less important to me, but equally worthy of attention, but not Buzzcocks, so they received a shoulder, lukewarm at best, from me. Besides, at about the same time, I developed new loves: Charles Mingus, Thelonious Monk, and “classical” music, about which I have no regrets but for the possibility that these treasures blinded me to more immediate sources of joy.
In about 1990 I started my career as a stand-up comedian and, in about 1993, got the gig, along with a friend, as a warm-up act for Yorkshire TV show “Something For The Weekend.” When we arrived at the recording, at The Warehouse in Leeds, Buzzcocks were on the bill. Despite the fact that I’d paid them no real attention since they’d reformed (well, I did see them in Leeds in either 1989 or 1990, but I’d not bought their albums) I was beside myself with excitement. It was great to meet Pete and Steve, and we hung out with them in their hotel after the show. I’ve not managed to find any photographic evidence, but I do have an image of Pete standing at the bar asking me what I wanted to drink, and asking for a G&T.
So, the 90s rolled into the 00s and Buzzcocks released one good album after another, and I continued to pay them no attention, missing dozens of opportunities to see them live. On top of that – and here’s my other major regret – at some time in the 90s, I took all my Buzzcocks vinyl, that I’d collected since childhood, to Oxfam.
Why?
What an utter, utter fool.
In around 2016 or ’17, for no particular reason, I decided to get hold of the first three albums on CD, and I started listening to them, thinking, “This’ll just be a nostalgic phase; over in six months.” But it persisted and I found my love for Buzzcocks deepening. No doubt I’d have gone to see them live. Then, in December 2018…
… I was alone in the house, probably faffing about on facebook, when I saw the announcement of Pete’s death. I put Radio 6 on; they’d cleared the schedules for a Pete Shelley tribute. What a fool I’d been. It was over. On top of that, four days later (though I didn’t find out for another ten days) I lost one of my closest friends.
I continued listening to Buzzcocks assiduously, then I bought all of Pete’s solo albums, berating myself bitterly for not following him in the 80s, which should have been my peak gig-going decade; I also bought, and fell in love with, Magazine’s early albums – another group I could have spent many evenings with in my foolish youth.
I’ve since bought the reissues of the first three albums, the UA singles box set (a thing of beauty), a couple of live recordings and a Peel Session, and a copy of the ’77 pressing of Spiral Scratch, as well as all the post-1989 albums. I love all of these things, of course, and I have them for their intrinsic, rather than monetary, value. Early pressings of the singles and albums are not especially expensive – but what I’d give to have my early Buzzcocks vinyl back.
Why does it matter? I’ve got the music – why should I need a load of old plastic?
It runs deep. We dismiss childhood fancies and obsessions, but we shouldn’t. There were other things I liked before 1978 but, in that year, I fell in love with something I definitely should have. I wish I could reconnect, in tangible form, with that 11-, 12- and 13-year old boy, as his love for music – which has taken many forms but has never waned – sprang into life, thanks to Buzzcocks and Pete Shelley. The regret of giving away that vinyl burns, but at least it has taught me something, which is not to dismiss that which we love and yearn for. And it’s nice to have a story.
