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Madness In Print  Trouser Press - October 1981 - Suggsy, Chas and Co. Come In For Treatment by Suzan Crane
Getting the seven members of Madness in the same place at the same time is a task extraordinaire. Finding the seven members of Madness to get them to that destination is just as challenging - especially when a few of them have met their wives in New York following a long, world tour-induced separation.

A publicist, manager, photographer and writer congregate in a hotel room, the first two looking more than a bit frazzled. Waiting. Manager and publicist have only the vaguest notion of the band's whereabouts and we're already running over 20 minutes behind schedule, with a cable TV interview, soundcheck and gig lurking in the hours ahead. A search begins and 45 minutes later all seven Nutty Boys have been located and ushered up to the roof where the delayed photo session is held.

Sequestered far above the smoke shops and Orange Julius stands of Times Squares's Souvenir District we enter a world of Madness where a sooty rooftop is transformed into a makeshift playground (and a photographer must assume the disciplinary guise of camp counselor). Later that evening 20-year-old lead singer Suggs (Graham McPherson) will remark, "There's a certain sort of gang thing - like TV programs about young gangs of kids - we're a bit like that. When we're all together, sometimes it gets a bit hysterical."

Indeed. Up on the roof this youthful bunch (all between the ages of 20 and 24) resemble a class of school kids out on recess. They wrestle, pose, explore the foreign terrain of a Manhattan rooftop and turn a simulated tug of war into a true battle of endurance. Much as we all would have liked to stay and play, not even Madness can neglect video appointments. Manhattan Alley's "Yap Raps" report may not be the Tonight show, but considering Madness' status in America, every little bit helps.

For some unfathomable reason, we Yanks have steadfastly resisted the outright charm and zaniness of these lads from London's North End (Besides Suggs, Mike Barson, keyboards; Chris "Chrissy Boy" Foreman, guitar; Mark Bedford, bass; Lee "Kix" Thompson, saxophone/vocals; Dan "Woods" Woodgate, drums; and Chas Smash, vocals/trumpet/fancy footwork). This merry crew can do no wrong in the eyes of their fellow Brits, and just about everywhere else on the planet but here. It's too bad, not only for Madness but nearsighted Americans who can't recognize the good, clean fun of the Heavy Monster Sound when it leaps off the vinyl and onto their laps.

Both Madness albums (One Step Beyond and Absolutely) have gone platinum in England and are still charting in Europe. New Musical Express elected them Singles Artists of 1980, with 46 week on singles charts (six consecutive Top 10 hits). Maybe we're the ones who are one step beyond.

In the US Madness has been all but ignored by radio programmers. The band is apparently a victim of association of the Two-Tone blacklist. (Their first single appeared on the Specials' ska-happy label). Still, the members of Madness feel they could be sizzling tamales stateside if only their American record company put sweat and muscle into the cause.

That's the gripe which provoked and recently ended in divorce for Madness and Sire Records. It was not an amicable split, at least on the part of the plaintiff. When conversation touches the subject, bitter sarcasm distorts Barson and Foreman's normally jovial tones; they charge the accused with negligence and penny-pinching.

"I don't know why they signed us up in the first place," Barson, 23, snarls. "We didn't hear or see anything of them once we signed the deal." "Yeah," Foreman adds contemptuously. "Both times we came here they didn't want us to come. They said the time wasn't right. The thing was they had the Pretenders under their reins, and obviously they were just worried about them and the Ramones and Talking Heads.

"I don't particularly hate them," he continues, "but we signed with them because Seymour (Stein, head of Sire) used to come and see us a lot; he used to take quite an interest in us. Then when we signed, he suddenly didn't take an interest anymore."

Sire publicity spokesperson Audrey Stahl sees things differently. "Basically I think they didn't happen over here because they're not an American-sounding band. They're a lot of fun, but their music comes from English music hall tradition that has never been big here and never will be. Madness is fun dance music, but there are a lot of things about it that are just not geared to an AOR (album-oriented-radio) format."

Stahl further attributes Madness' dissatisfaction with Sire to their disappointment in not breaking here as big and fast as they had hoped. "The success that has eluded Madness [in the US] has also eluded the other ska bands. I think record companies may be a bit unsure how to position that kind of music in the marketplace, because America is into Styx and REO Speedwagon."

Madness was released from its Sire contract under a previous agreement allowing the band to leave if a second album didn't sell up to par. Barson says they all knew the record would die and early death in the States. Now in search of a new American label, they're not about to rush into anything. (During their New York stay, general publicity and promotion chores were handled by the domestic office of Stiff, Madness' label worldwide outside the US.)

After the shoot Madness ventures the five blocks from hotel to cable TV studio without incident. Even Suggs, the group's 6'4" blond Apollo who attracts swarms of young girls in Britain like flies to a no-pest strip, goes unrecognized. The band then has to wait 90 minutes due to "equipment trouble," but exhibits saintly patience. Bedford amuses himself by banging away at an old piano, an ever-present grin plastered on his face, while the others fiddle elsewhere in the studio.

Madness consists of a bunch of regular fellas from working-class backgrounds who somehow or other ended up in this poppy, perky, humor-ridden band which has achieved mind-boggling (theirs) success in most parts of the world.

"I suppose it was everybody's dream to get big and famous and have our music heard," Thompson, 23, says, "but me personally, I never thought it'd get to this." Along with Foreman and Barson, Thompson formed the group as the Invaders in 1976. "when we first started, Mike [who is classically trained] could play the keyboards alright, but I couldn't tell a sax from a French horn. I can't even play too well now."

This humility is somewhat disarming. "Sometimes I get really embarrassed when I'm on stage," Suggs admits. The band's lead singer had no musical experience prior to joining Madness, and sincerely believes he's a lousy vocalist. "In England they go mad before you even come onstage. You feel like they're not there to listen, really, they're just there to go mad. I feel like doing something horrible so they'll listen.

"Some days I'm totally overwrought by it all [success]. I never intended to be a musician or be in a band or anything, and I wouldn't make singing a career now if it wasn't for Madness."

Suggs almost didn't have to make that choice. He'd been canned from the band on a few occasions because he couldn't sing, and once for attending a football match instead of rehearsal. Madness often played musical chairs prior to signing with Stiff in 1979. This turbulent history is duly documented in the band's recently completed autobiographical film, Take It or Leave It, tracing Madness' evolution from pre-teen students up to recording a demo which became their first single. Jointly financed by the band and Stiff honcho Dave Robinson (who directed, as he has all the Madness videos), Take It or Leave It has proved a more creative endeavor for the band than appearing in Dance Craze, a feature consisting of performances by all the Two-Tone groups.

The members of Madness don't hang out together as much as they used to - everyone but Smash and Bedford is either married or engaged - but they remain unswervingly loyal to the band as a unit. It's the only group any of them have ever been in; Suggs claims everyone sticks together because they're frightened of not being in Madness.

Barson agrees: "I think it would create a bit of bad feeling if someone started going off on his own. If someone recorded a solo album, they might not say it but I'm sure everyone would feel a bit bad about it."

"Once you part, it just ain't there anymore," Thompson decides. Although he too badmouths solo projects, the sax player is the only Madman to have recorded outside the band; he plays on a single by Bette Bright (Suggs' girlfriend) and on the latest Specials LP. Thompson consulted his bandmates first.

Back at the hotel, with the rest of Madness off doing a soundcheck, Suggs expounds on a disturbing situation in England which had the ardently apolitical band unwittingly implicated in a political propaganda campaign. It began a year ago with a misconstrued interview which falsely portrayed Madness as supporters of the right-wing National Front - who then up their recruitment drive outside one of Madness' "under 16" shows. Shortly thereafter, a message to Madness appeared in the NF's newspaper thanking the band for allowing the movement to solicit at their gig.

"We got all the big London papers asking us about it, and we had to explain without giving [the National Front] too much publicity. I mean, the more people talk about the fascism to us, the more we talk about it to them, so they get publicity out of us getting publicity."

Should music and politics ever mix?

"Not for Madness. There are no guidelines about what music is and what form it should take. If you make music and people like it, that's a good enough reason for people to make it. But if the Clash want to make political statements, then obviously there must be a market for it.

"I'm pretty sure you make obvious statement just by the way you are. Ours is that everyone should be themselves and not feel embarrassed about doing things out of the ordinary - like dancing or going mad. We're a lot quieter now than we used to be. When we first started we'd play pubs - we had no musical talent or anything - and the only reason people would come to see us is because we'd go mad. And that was the idea: if we could do it, anyone could do it. I think that's some kind of political statement, but I don't know what."





- Contributed by Steve Bringe



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