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The Ultimate Madness Interview - by Chalky
This article appeared in the December 1980 edition of Record Mirror.
THE ULTIMATE MADNESS INTERVIEW!
All is revealed by the intrepid Chalky!?
RIGHT THEN ... I expect by now you're bored of the same old stuff each one of the band's churned out. What you really want is some news, scoops, scandals and shock horror reporting. Well, maybe that'll be on the next page. Meantime, make yourself a cup of cocoa, turn on radio four and read this....
I rose early. I had to interview each of the band separately. First on the list was vegetable soup. Oops! Sorry, wrong side. Aha! Chrissy Boy.
It was to be an eventful start. I was waiting in his front room with pen and paper while he made the tea. He walked in with the steaming cups, took off his apron and sat down.
"I like to think of myself", he began, "as domineering, strong, silent type who rules his house with an iron fist..."
"You can fink what you bleedin' like," screeched a voice from next door. "Just make sure them bleedin' dishes is done, do you 'ear me? And while you're about it you can clean them windows, and the carpet needs 'ooverin'. An' what do you fink you're doin' 'ere makin' the place look like a tip? Clear off!"
Both Chris and I bowed and scraped past her - him for the kitchen, me for the front door. Safely outside, I consulted my list ... One -- never use an electric flymo in the rain. Two -- don't buy a cheap violin -- it might be a fiddle. No, that's my list of useful tips. Here we go. Next Woody.
After ringing on the doorbell for half an hour, it flew open with the speed of a mandraxed snail.
"Er, come in," said Woody. I followed him into the kitchen. Well, time to start. What sort of person are you, Woody?
"I'm alert, keen, always on my guard," he said, washing his face with a saucepan full of cold porridge, "keeping a constant vigil. While others sleep I'm still awake." quoth he, tripping over the kitchen step and falling down a flight of stairs.
Time to go and move on to greener pastures. I left Woody mumbling something about eagle eyes and nerves like steel.
Next ... the paper appears to be blank. Aaah, it's the combined philosophical sayings of Tokins with the Kellogs book of free gifts! Try again.
Bedders! Round to Hornsey Road into Bedders' flat. Start with a safe question this time. What would you do if you weren't in the band?
"I think I'd produce records. You know, sit behind that desk with all them knobs, dials and switches, DXBs, graphic equalisers and whatnots." Mark tried to adjust the television, which was having trouble warming up. He picked up a cricket bat and whacked the box. It didn't improve.
"Let's listen to a record instead," I suggested. The record didn't seem to work either. Mark put the boot right into the cassette deck.
"Can't see what's wrong with it. I only bought it yesterday, Chalky. Chalky? Chalky? ... Where's he gone?"
I beat a hasty retreat, that's where I'd gone. Next on the list was -- hang on, this list goes on for ages. Sorry, it's the Digby list of excuses. A car pulling up with Mike Barson inside solved my problem. Good afternoon, Mike.
"Humph! What's so good about it?" Mike's car is so old it's got a dustpan and brush tied to his back to sweep up the pieces as you go along. Well, what sort of person are you Mike?
"Well, generous, good-hearted, always with a smile on my face, the joker of the band, quick with a quip and ready for a jest."
"Look out for that bloke, Mike!"
"Cheers, I almost missed him."
He dropped me off at Lee's and I watched as he bipped an old lady for walking across a zebra crossing too slowly. He disappeared in a cloud of rust.
Lee's door was answered by what appeared to be a row of tombstones. In fact, they were a walking pair of dentures which belong to Deb, the North London Gnasher. "Allo, come in like."
Lee was sitting in the armchair.
"Don't stand up Lee."
"I am."
"Oh sorry. Listen, what sort of person are you?"
"I'm the sort of person what is a pillar of society and a man what young children can look up to. They 'ave to be young, 'cos if they were older they'd look down on me ... know what I mean?"
Yes, sort of.
Deb walked in. "Like some dinner, Chalky?"
"No thanks, Deb, must rush." Now seemed the best time to leave. Lee had a worried look on his face as Deb put his plate on the table...and I'd had a lucky escape.
Round to Suggsy's. He was sitting in his armchair in front of a gas fire. "There's nothing I like better," he said, "than sitting at home all night with a good book, cup of Horlicks, and a blazing coal fire." Just then the clock struck half past five. Suggsy dropped the vodka bottle, threw the Beano annual to one side and shouted, "Come on, pub's open." We adjourned to the saloon bar, after saving the world from being destroyed by flying asteroids a couple of times.
Chas Smash walked in. "'Ello everybody!" he shouted at the top of his voice. Dragging him into a corner, I asked him a well worn question. What personality have you got, Chas?
"I'm a shy, retiring person who likes to take a back seat in things happening around me. Discreet sums me up in a nutshell."
He walked up to the bar in a snazzy tartan suit (yellow) and a haircut more shocking than 240 volts up the bum. "Oi! Barman, get over 'ere smartish!"
The evening grew to a close and I still had to find one more. Suggs, Chas and I wandered down to a drinking club called 'The Cornish Fisherman'. There in the corner, wearing a string vest and a slanted beret was Toks, my fellow roadie and last on the list.
"'Ello, Toks."
"Zer ain't nobody but us Anthony Quinns 'ere," he said, swigging back a large glass of Ouzo.
I can't take no more, I'll have to go home. Goodbye from the William Shakespeare of reporting, the Charles Dickens of interviews - well, that's what I think, anyway.
Your forever sober roadie signing off ... Chalky.
- Contributed by Lee 'Loobyloo' Buckley
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