BRMB: 45 years ago today, a station came out to play

Sedate? Pah. I was expecting big fun, tidal waves of emotion and mawkish sentiment. Why? Well some of us old originals at BRMB Radio threw a bash last Friday for staff members, to mark the 45^th anniversary of the launch date, February 19^th 1974. That's today. And the day after Friday's bash...I felt distinctly fragile. 

I'm one of the BRMB originals. They'd hired me the previous November, along with the great John Howard; we were the first jocks on board. John left, quite early, to make his way to Radio 4. I stuck around for twenty years, ten on them on air as, mainly, a rock jock.

BRMB stories: the night Judas Priest blew up Barbarellas

Priests's last ever gig at Barbarellas: literally a blinder. 

I'm in the mood for stories, ahead of our BRMB night on May 24th. Scroll down for info on that, if you like.

This is a 70s tale of the early years of Judas Priest, and my days as rock jock on the old BRMB Radio.

In 1974, the first album by Judas Priest was released, shortly after BRMB went on air. I flat-out refused to give it airtime. Dug in my heels, very much got on my high horse. Nope, nada. My stance caused some tension with the record company. There were repercussions; I'll come to those in a bit.

Looking back, you have to ask why a rock jock worth his salt would snub a local band that became Heavy Metal standard bearers? Ridiculous, right?

Well, no, not quite. I had my reasons...

A dig around in my scrapbook.

 

Stuff to be proud of! And deeply embarrassed about too...

 

In a couple of weeks, on Thursday 24^th May, I'll be perched on a stool, trying to get a word in edgeways in between the Ross brothers, Les and Tom. We'll be at the Kitchen Garden Cafe, Jenny Wilkes and John Slater too. 

We're doing a benefit gig: a shamelessly nostalgic BRMB night honouring our colleague Ed Doolan. It's a tiny venue; you'll be able see the whites of our eyes. So if you want to go, get your skates on. There's really not that many tickets left. Full details are at the bottom of the post; here's the link for tickets... 

However, do read on: I have some corking stuff to tell you about.

Disposable? Sure. Remembered? Oh, yes.

We don't always realise what we're doing when we're in the thick of it. 

Next February, it will be 45 years since the old BRMB went on air from Radio House in Aston. Of course, a get-together is planned with as many of the old crew as we can summon up. It's not just to celebrate; we had a knees-up for the 40th birthday, after all. But, increasingly, we're losing some of our old colleagues. So we're not going to risk leaving it to the 50th anniversary in 2024.

Now, while everyone can still actually walk, these old work bashes are brilliant fun. But they're for us. There's quite another dimension: the audience. The listeners, the people who listened to and engaged with the old station.

WOLD? Not quite. And if you don't know what that means, this isn't for you.

I'm not claiming that pop radio of the 70s 80s and 90s was the be-all and end-all of broadcast milestones, far from it. We were disposable, like everything else. But it's easy to ignore the relationship the old BRMB built with its audience. If you dig back on Facebook's frankly lovely Old Pics of Brum pages, you'll find, somewhere around mid-March, a shot of a young Les Ross at the BBC Birmingham studios, where he had registered a solid impact (amazingly, considering the early restrictions imposed on BBC Local Radio), before eventually making the jump to BRMB. You'll note well over a hundred comments on that Facebook page, all brimming with warmth and nostalgia, mostly for what Les cooked up back in the day once he moved to Aston Cross.   

Radio House at night, back then. Photo Andy Wint

  

I read all the comments. The affection that Les's work still commands is touching. It's just as touching for me when I get letters to this blog from people who used to listen to me playing rock music and local bands as they revised for their A levels, back in the day.

It's amazing when you think about it. But a lot of those 70s and 80s stations had a curiously effective impact, emerging as they did in a pretty restricted radio field. You only see that when you look back; it's often the way. But there is a powerful sense of nostalgia among a certain age group: boomers.  And nobody's stumbled on it, in my town at least, until now. 

Most pop radio reflects the time it is part of; then it's gone, instant ephemeral fun. But that entirely disposable entertainment plays a part in our lives. Sadly, the people who take it too seriously are often the jocks themselves. That's a mistake in my view, considering how the role of Radio DJ – a bringer of music, bathing in that music's reflected glory – was tenuous at best, and has now been massively undercut by the arrival of web services. 

I really think that that Radio DJ role belongs in the past century, when it still mattered. And there is a deep well of affection and nostalgia among many people for what the old BRMB managed to achieve, in its bumbling and well-meaning way, from the 70s onwards, in its 40 years. So memories spark, here and there. Maybe it's time to see if there's something more tangible.     

Come say hello...

Valk, Wilkes, Ross (T) in back, Ross (L) & Slater upfront

May 24th sees a gathering of old BRMB presenters at the tiny Kitchen Garden Cafe in King's Heath in South Brum. I'll be there, along with John Slater, who inherited the rock shows from me when I became a backroom boy. That alone, in terms of Brum rock history, is an interesting combination; it's well-suited to the venue too. But that's by no means all. Les Ross will be there. Jenny Wilkes, who still presents a Northern Soul show at BBC WM is coming. And the most passionate sports commentator I've ever met, Tom Ross, will be there as well.

... and raise a bit of money.

We're not making anything from the event. The night will raise funds for both Dementia research and the Ed Doolan Memorial fund, honouring our old colleague. That's very important to all of us; it was a joint decision.

So this is new: a first public night of BRMB memories and tales with some of us who were there at the time. A first face to face Q and A with old Birmingham radio hands. Tom never ceases to remind me that he was the longest-serving BRMB employee; I can respond by reminding him that I was the very first DJ the old station hired. We've all got stories to tell.  

This is an experiment, and it is slightly skewed towards the rockist end of BRMB's listenership, what with me and Slater, gassing away at the Kitchen Garden Cafe. I expect Les, Tom and Jenny to redress that. It's going to be a lot of fun. There will, I hope, be a bunch of other old hands in attendance, but what really tickles me is the prospect of talking to listeners.

But think beyond that, to the other events that were sparked by BRMB: events like the Walkathon. Think of some of the other presenters that you might remember with affection. Think of events like the creation of XTRA-AM, hands down the most successful Gold station this country has ever seen. Think back to Trevor Francis being merrily lambasted by Tony Butler when he became the country's first million pound footballer. Or the Villa fans walking past BRMB studios of a Saturday afternoon, raining down fruity abuse on Butler's head. I could go on.

This implies that we might see more events like this; I hope so. It all depends on how this one goes. 40 years of radio action doesn't, can't, completely fade away... until the people who listened fade away too. 

Links

The BRMB gathering is at the Kitchen Garden Cafe, York Street, King's Heath, Birmingham B14, on May 24th. Advance tickets are £10 from We Got Tickets; more on the door.

The gig is organised by Music Majors who run monthly music Q and A sessions at the Kitchen Garden Cafe.

Ed Doolan - an appreciation on this blog; other associated posts here.
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It was fifty years ago today! The merchandise is here to stay!

Tell me about the good old days, son...

This is an excerpt - the whole flyer is below

One of Birmingham's finer music DJs, Dylan Gibbons, son of Steve, has dug out a lovely flyer and put it up on Facebook. It lists acts playing the long-gone Barbarellas in Spring 1974, 43 years ago. I was at the (also long-gone) BRMB Radio then. I interviewed some of those acts on air before they headed to the gig. My show ran from 7-10 at night; the timing worked. The complete flyer, with amazing spelling errors, is available to enjoy a bit down this post: you can see Queen, at the start of their run, and Cockney Rebel too. 

But check the March acts, in the detail above. From March 28 to 30, Bill Haley and the Comets played. Then, Hayley was at the tail end of his career, aged 49 or so; he died at 55. At his peak, he played the Birmingham Odeon, in 1957. Haley it was who had the very first rock and roll hits, in 1953 and 54. Then Elvis came along and blew him out of the water.

Nostalgia kept Haley in business. And look! The very next day, a few years into his career, there's Steve Gibbons. Steve, of course, is still gigging now. How brilliant is that? The entire historic timespan of rock music, from 1953 to now, captured quite by accident on a playbill from two generations back.

The Nostalgia business. Ker-ching.

Floyd Cans! £379! Bargain!

It's lovely to look back at those days. Nostalgia's great fun. I do, however, get ticked off at the nostalgia industry. The Victoria and Albert museum in London makes a bundle putting on artsy nostalgia shows, generally about acts they wouldn't have given the time of day to when those artists were at their peak. In 2013, the show was David Bowie, and the merch page is still up on site, with goodies at eye-watering prices - £125 get you an album cover print; Bowie vinyls are £25 a pop. 

This year, it's Pink Floyd. Step right up, £20 gets you in the door, so you can be told all about it. Exit through the gift shop – where pink Pink Floyd headphones go for a mere £379, and a Dark Side Of The Moon cycling jersey is a snip at £85. Bargain! Have a cigar! That's some considerable distance from one of the albums of my student days, Ummagumma, half of which was recorded in front of maybe 200 souls at Mothers in Erdington.

Brace yourselves, though: Sergeant Pepper is now fifty years old. So there's shows on TV with learned and earnest experts. Just out: a 6-CD reissue package. While the Beatles had, by 1967, long since moved out to country estates in the south, Liverpool, logically, is putting on a summer series of events. Most of them are free, which is fair enough.

Thing is, I remember the day the album came out. We lapped it up, of course – the Beatles were ours – but it was part of our lives, not some pumped up deal, it wasn't a marketable experience. We were kids, it was our music, end of. The Beatles weren't gods; they were just good guys, our good guys. The marketing-driven reverence now being afforded the band, and which shoots though the poshed up Bowie and Floyd museum offers like a lucrative golden vein, simply wasn't there.

That deification of things past is there for commercial purposes. It's only another way to squeeze yet more money out of the original product, after cassettes, CD reissues, repackaging, remastering and more. With this reverence come the priests of pop culture: the writers, the experts, the pundits, the curators, generally quite a lot younger than the audience this music was first made for. Of course, that's nothing new – as long as I can remember, we've had fresh-faced jazz pundits explaining Miles Davis or Thelonious Monk, Wagner experts, Sinatraphiles, ready to explain it all.

Who knew? Well, we did, actually. 

Only now, I'm taking it personally. I'm being lectured about the music of my youth, the stuff I grew up with, by people who weren't born when it came out. And I'm sorry, that does piss me off. The music? It was and is brilliant, and it lives on. 

But its longevity and charm provides platforms for more revenue generation and pundit career development. The people who paid for that music in the first place are no longer part of the equation. 

I'm not saying pundits 25 years younger than me can't have valid or interesting takes on the music, mind - of course they can. There's always room for a fresh perspective. But that room only exists because of the nostalgia industry.

Meantime, looking at that frayed old 1974 flyer for those bands at Barbs, I'm thinking of the bands of the day, and exactly how great that classic Gibbons line-up was (the current one's pretty damn good, too). But there's no money to be made, or careers to build, out of that scene. The V and A won't come calling; fresh faced music scribes won't prance down Broad Street expounding to camera on how great it was.

But I bet they're working on those Police and Dire Straits shows right now, for some time next decade. Peter Gabriel and Genesis? That's an obvious one. What price a Coldplay retrospective for 2030? 

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I still do radio stuff on Brum Radio, a volunteer-run internet station. Listen online here; download the Brum Radio app here. My Brum Radio page is here; scroll down for all the shows. 

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We've still got that Fuzzbox somewhere...

Back in the day, big hair and big fun. Fuzzbox soundtracked the second half of the 80s. And now? 

30 years ago, We've Got A Fuzzbox And We're Going To Use It were big. They got profile quickly, shooting fast from a bright idea to pop reality. At the height of their punk notoriety, Vix and crew used to sashay round radio and TV stations with ridiculously huge hair – pink, orange, red - bags of attitude, and an Elvis sneer. They kicked off with a silly name and punched out a few punk songs. Then, after three years of punk thrash, bingo! Fuzzbox hit the jackpot with pure late 80s pop.

And now it's 2015. I'm sitting in Yorks coffee bar with survivors Vix and Maggie. Vix is an old pal by now – I've seen most of her post-Fuzzbox incarnations. Then? A snotty kid with a great line in throwing shapes. Now? An accomplished trooper, comfortable on stage, with one very distinct new thing going for her and the band: Radio 2, the biggest station in Europe is paying attention.

Fuzzbox are having another go. 

A Birmingham Broadcast trail

Not quite a trail of tears, but close....

Before even more threats line up for the last remnants of local broadcasting - through a toxic combination of cost-cutting, indifference, incompetence and government hostility - you might like to take this walk. 

You wouldn't think it today, but Birmingham bristles with unlikely old radio and TV studio locations. Some are completely untraceable; some hold strong memories. You can still spot traces of some of them dotted across the city. 

So here's a guide. You really can walk this if you want to, although it's a bit of trek to get out to Edgbaston and back, just to see a building site...

I used to go to Barbarellas

People and bands and music and sticky carpet make places 

I've been working up a few posts for Time Out Brum of late. Some of them are on local music history, including this one on lost venues. It's had a big reaction, and I'm now looking at more stories that have come my way. Thank you! And keep them coming. 

We've lost a lot of venues over the years. It's sad to seem them go, of course; hardest on the people who made a particular place what it was. There was a great book published last year about JBs in Dudley. There's memories aplenty scattered around on websites. But there really isn't enough about one place I spent lots of time either DJing or sticking to the carpet: the primo 70s and 80s Rock venue in Birmingham... Barbarellas.

Horace Panter. Special.

He still loves it, all of it. 

Horace Panter is great company: courteous and affable. He is hugely knowledgeable about music and musicians, both local and further afield. He plays in three and a bit bands: blues band Blues 2 Go, and straight-up ska outfit Uptown Ska Collective. And he's also working with Champion Doug Veitch, collaborating with Martin Bell, once of The Wonder Stuff. 

But the big band is, of course, The Specials, who started in 1977, reformed in 2008, and are now bigger than ever. 

The JB's book. Dudley cool.

People make places. 

It's only when you look back that you realise. You sail along with your crew, deep in the moment. You deal with hassles, fix problems, file away a bit of quiet satisfaction when it goes well, and savour the moments when things really click. But you don't get the perspective until later. 

Say you were in a band, and you check back on those recordings of a 25 years back, when you were young and smoking hot... Or you played in a particularly sharp football team. Or you sang, you really sang. 

Hold on to those band snaps! In 50 years you could be sitting on a gold mine.

Don't you point that thing at me, pal... Number 6: Jim Simpson

You can cover an awful lot of ground in the music biz if you stick at it. Now probably best known for running Birmingham International Jazz Festival, as a young sixties groover Jim Simpson was eking out a living as a semi-pro trumpet player, a band manager (Locomotive, Black Sabbath, and others)... and, significantly, as a part time snapper, selling photos wherever he could.

All this was long before the advent of digital. Jim worked with a lovely professional twin-lens reflex camera, very similar to the one here. I had a very cheap version of Jim's pro kit back in the day, and I absolutely loved it. Twin lens machines used conventional film, in the now very rare format: 120. This usually means square negatives, 56 millimetres along each edge: vastly larger that the smaller and faster 35 millimetre format. 

The downside? A larger, heavier, much more unwieldy camera, into which you normally squinted downwards, rather than at the subject, to compose and focus. More often that not, you had to work with a degree of formality. These weren't machines that let you grab images on the fly. And as we've already seen with Pogus Caesar, you could only fire off 12 shots before you had to change the film.So you took more care over your precious limited set of images. The upside was super image quality, which then meant terrific enlargements.

Jim shot a lot of stuff, half a century back. Some of his best images are now on show at Havill and Travis, a new gallery in Harborne, South Birmingham. The gallery is a joint venture between Gerv Havill of Moseley Folk fame, and Dave Travis, also a photographer and onetime promoter. 

At the preview, Jim was happily running though old memories.

I had no idea until I knew of the exhibition that you ware also a pro photographer. 

Yes it kept me alive. I went seriously into it at a rather stupid point when I should have been paying more attention to Black Sabbath, who I was managing then. 

You mean you didn't take any shots of the band in their extreme youth? 

Only about six shots in all the years I was with them. A bit of an omission. 

Here's the Move in 1965... fresh-faced boys.

Trevor Burton, Roy Wood, Bev Bevan, Carl Wayne and Ace Kefford. In a field. In the cold. 

I thought Roy Wood's fringe was a hat, actually. A hat made of hair. That was the first publicity session they had. It was very early in the morning, and it was very cold. They're all wearing college scarves. I don't think they went anywhere near a college. Bev (Bevan)used to drive past a college on his way to work. 

Let's move on to the Moodies...

Ah. That was at the Carlton Club in Erdington. It eventually became Mother's, of course. 

Named after the brewery, weren't they? The Mitchells and Butler 5, or the M&B 5, I understand.

Yes. 

This really was the band that became the Moody Blues. This really was the club that became Mothers. 

I was in London then, and the first thing I heard from them was their cover single of Bessie Banks' Go Now...

Well, they were an R&B outfit. This line-up, they all came from major bands in Brum at the time, except for the drummer, who managed them. The guys who owned the Carlton Club got behind them, so they could be put before the Friday night crowds there. They were a major local draw, very early on. The sad thing is that the bass player in the picture, Clint Warwick – that was a stage name – after a couple of years, he thought 'I don't Like This', and he left the band, went back home to Aston and became a carpenter.

So here's a piece of history... the young Spencer Davis Group looking very chipper and cheerful, on the central divider of Smallbrook Queensway.

And the magazine they're holding, Midlands Beat. I used to take photographs for it. And write a news column, for twelve pounds a month. Look at the cars – very vintage. And look how few of them there are in the picture. 

Steve and Muff Winwood, Pete York and Spencer Davis. Just down the road from their Golden Eagle residency

You sat them in the middle of Smallbrook Queensway for a photoshoot?

We weren't exactly taking a risk, were we? Look at the traffic - it was a bit different. Steve (Winwood) was sixteen, I think.

So that's the local boys. Of the rest – shots of Mick Jagger, Nina Simone, Little Richard – what are you proudest of?

Howling Wolf. 

He was a very interesting man. On stage, he could rock a room into bad health without any effort, At the same time, he scared audiences. He was a terrifying presence. Six foot four, 350 pounds. But talk to him, and he was so gentle and mild. He told me a lot about himself and his life. He told me he couldn't read and write until his forties. The he went back to school and college. He was also very proud to tell me that when he first went to Chicago, he was recording – I think – for Sam Phillips in Memphis. Chess called him and he went up, but as he said, all the old blues guys went up to Chicago with the insides of their pockets hanging out. He went up in his own car, with 4000 bucks. In those days, a massive sum. 

Jim, these shots from your twin lens reflex have come up beautifully. Have you had to do any kind of retouching work?

Very little. We tried in most cases to print from the negative. There's a couple we've had to adjust slightly. No much burning in or dodging. I'm digitised now, and I don't really like it. I love the flexibility - 20 or 25 shots without even thinking about it. In those days, with 12 shots a roll, and the fuss of changing the rolls over, you made sure each negative counted. 

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Terry and Gerry! The reunion! The tour! It's only been 27 years.....

They're back. Just don't gob on them this time round, if you wouldn't mind.

Skiffle Punk? This one might have passed you by, especially if you're not of a certain age. When word trickled out that a much loved band might just be reforming, there was a muted but marked explosion of joy in certain quarters. 

Who are the band? Terry and Gerry, that's who. The guys who did skiffle punk. Who would show up on gigs with Hank Wangford. Or the Nightingales. The guys who scored Peel sessions, to the joy of many (but remember, Peel fans: we did them first at BRMB, and there's a feature length Terry and Gerry video at the bottom of this post, with lots of BRMB studio and 80s Brum footage). 

Picture the scene; it'll come back to you. You're at a punk gig in the mid 80s; elaborate mohicans, inventive mascara and piercings are in evidence; not that many tatts, though. Heavy heavy reggae bass vibes pump through the sound system, and indeed through your guts. You could cut the air: it's full of exotic smoke, and the odd whiff of stale sweat. And then - these baby faced wholesome guys walk out on stage, in tuxedos and string ties. Stand-up bass, acoustic guitars, washboard. 

You'd expect them to get slaughtered, right? Pah. Not a chance. 

Terry and Gerry's secret weapon is unstoppable, mountain-moving, ferocious, beaming enthusiasm. Breakneck, super-tight song delivery that makes the Ramones look like blissed-out progrockers. 

Terry and Gerry 2014: Su, Terry, Gerry and Mick      Photo Brian Homer

And now they've re-formed. Pretty much all the original players in one place: Terry and Gerry of course, Su Sonic and Destroyer Mick Howson. Probably no hurdy-gurdy in the set, though. 

So why the reunion? Is this for tax reasons?

Terry: Ha! We're trying to raise some VAT to try and help the Tory Government!

Gerry: To pay for our NHS bills!

There's been a spate of 80s bands, mainly pop,who – suddenly – reappear on tour after years away. I guess the royalties must have dried up.

Terry: Ours dried up a long time ago!

So, back in the day, there you were, doing benefits for the miners, doing Peel sessions. You were a very very big name, out of Birmingham, for a brief period. But all that was more than a generation ago. So why the reunion?

Terry: It's ten years since John Peel died. Obviously yourself, Mike (Davies) and John (Slater) did a lot for us locally. But John Peel got us established nationally. He had that connection. There's an October concert commemorating John Peel in Stockton on Tees, with the Nightingales and a lot of other bands of that ilk. Gerry got in touch; we were all still alive and in the same country – and all playing music.

Gerry: But we thought it was pointless getting together for one concert. So I put some feelers out. People, thankfully, weren't as rude as the promoters. We tried to find some of the original promoters – Dave Travis, in Birmingham – so now we've strung together a John Peel commemorative tour. With an EP, with new songs. It's going to be a good thing. 

So we got together to see it it still works. And it was the most amazing, magical, energetic thing that brought back everything that was good about 80s Brum, and Terry and Gerry! 

Terry: It was amazing.

Gerry: After the first rehearsal, I went home feeling 20 years younger. 

When you're doing something special, you never know at the time, do you? Because you're in the middle of it. And you guys did put your finger on something. But you never know if you can recapture those golden days...

Terry: I'm confident about the music. Whether anyone else will enjoy it as much as we do...

What about the audience? When Miles and Erica played the Hare and Hounds, there were chairs at the front for old crocks like me. When Steve Gibbons played, there were chairs all the way back...

Gerry: I don't know... we've got a few younger followers. We do get emails from younger bands who have been influenced by us – The United Stoats of America, who do some of our tracks. McCavity's Cat, a Canterbury rockabilly band. Because I've been playing in the folky world, I've heard lots of our songs as floor spots. Wait a minute? That's my song! 

That must feel great.

Gerry: Oh, it's brilliant! It's really nice. 

Of course, as is the way these days, everyone is in different bands as well – Terry is running Forro Social, and Gerry has the Gerry Colvin Band. 

Terry: I'm in three bands at the moment. And Mick Howson is in the Destroyers, who are fantastic. 

And here's an exclusive cut, live in the back room, recorded Monday 18th August

So at the gig, are we in for a Brum nostalgiafest? I get the feeling there will be a lot of faces there. 

Gerry: We are not resting on our laurels. There'll be an EP, with five new songs and a Yeah Yeah No song. And vintage T-shirts. But Su will play the same washboard we used twenty seven years ago. 

But it is a different climate for you guys now. That's why I kicked of with that gag about reforming for tax reasons. You won't make a lot of money off the record – although it won't cost as much to record. But you do stand a chance of making more money off the gig and merchandising.

Terry: For us, music was first. We wanted to live from our music. It was lovely to be a musician. 

I'm not for a minute saying that that's why you did it in the first place. But the other side of the coin is, as working musicians, the challenge is how you can make a living from your work. 

Gerry: It is. With records – I still call them records – somebody else is making money out of them. But live performances are different. And we never really managed to get the energy of the live performances on record.

There was a huge political impetus to the scene you were part of. I think it was largely driven by opposition to Margaret Thatcher. 

Terry. Yes. I do wonder what's happened to the kids today. What aren't they more angry?

Some of them are....

Links:

Terry and Gerry's facebook page
Terry and Gerry play the Hare and Hounds on Sunday 2 November. Tickets here

See also
The Stuff Of Wonder
Neon Hearts

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Don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you got till it's gone?

Two weeks ago, I walked out of Birmingham's New Street station on to Hill Street. I found a man in a Judas Priest t-shirt, completely lost; no idea where to go. He hadn't been to Birmingham for a while. I set him on his way, walking with him down Hill Street. As he headed off, he told me that he used to be able to navigate in Birmingham by the music venues. And, irony of ironies, we were outside the Crown on Hill Street. 

Late in the day, there's been a bit of noise about the Crown. Pretty much the last of our traditional city centre rock venues, it's been sold for redevelopment. The Crown shut its doors for the last time on Sunday 22nd June 2014. 

Pebble Mill 20 years ago

Twenty years ago,  I started working at BBC Pebble Mill. It was an extraordinary place. By no means perfect, it had something we don't have any more: a huge mix of talent.

 The old place. From Robin Vanag's flickr    

Landing at the BBC's then Birmingham base after twenty-plus years in commercial radio. I couldn't believe my eyes: unheard-of skills, facilities, staffing and space. 

Space? Oh yes, there was space. Pebble Mill had lush, extensive, landscaped gardens, perfect to lounge in on summer lunchtimes, and a canteen, a clubhouse and a bar. There were tennis courts beyond the clubhouse. The place boasted an on-site medical facility in case you went sick. You could enjoy subsidised aromatherapy and yoga sessions. There were dressing rooms for the TV people, and showers if you wanted to go for a run in nearby Cannon Hill Park. And hundreds of people of all shapes, sizes and skillsets worked there.

It could not have presented a bigger contrast to the world of commercial radio. 

Mellotrons: the men who (still) make them

Chains, tape loops, springs, lots of odd moving parts, and a lot of love. Two gentlemen boomers keep a key sound of Progrock alive.

If you're any age at all, you'll have heard the mellotron. The Moody Blues used it constantly. There it is at the start of the Beatles' Strawberry Fields Forever; it's all over the White Album. King Crimson fans? There it is at the Court of the Crimson King.

The mellotron sounds... weird. That's partly its appeal. Inside, it's a mishmash of bicycle chains, springs, recording tape and, depending on the age of the machine, more or less tech wizardry. It was built in Streetly, a suburb of North Birmingham which can't decide whether it's dead posh or dead rough. There's a blue plaque marking the original factory site in Aldridge Road. That was nearly fifty years ago. Now, the resurrected Streetly Electronics, creators of the first mellotron, have a thriving business. They make new mellotrons; they fix old ones; they even sell digital samples to add to your range of keyboard sounds.

The miracle is that it was invented in the first place; a second miracle is that mellotron use continues to thrive. 

The Redbeards From Texas started a joke. It very nearly got serious.

A tale of fake beards, real success, and pencil pushing bureaucrats.

A long time ago, a South Birmingham boozer, the Selly Park Tavern, was hosting a radio gathering: lots of people from West Midlands stations, many no longer in existence. 

Onstage: The Redbeards From Texas. A seriously fun band that, later, came this close to breaking though; a whim that almost, almost made it. We’ll get to that. But that night, in front of the assembled might of Midlands radio, they were playing for laughs. They pulled people up onstage to sing with them. 

That was fun... until they fingered me. Ooops. I didn’t know the words to Born In The USA, so I bawled the chorus a couple of times, and retreated in confusion. Oh, the humiliation, and all in front of a roomful of my peers. Bastards. 

If you google ‘Redbeards From Texas’ now, thirty years after their glory days, you’ll find a surprising amount of material – videos, a discography and reminiscences. This was a band that made a mark. Craig Fenney (aka Bud Weiser), has a ton of stories after the jump.

After 36 years, KK Downing split from Judas Priest. What happened next?

It took Judas Priest a decade to start getting a fair share of their money. KK Downing tells a cautionary tale.

Judas Priest are one of the most storied of Midlands hard rockers. Formed in 1973, with the odd strategic hiccup, they came to define quintessential British classic heavy metal. They were louder than anyone else. They had way more leather, studs, pyro... and Harleys... onstage than anyone else. It’s been said that without Priest, there wouldn't have been Kiss. 

Priest launched their first album just about when I first went on air as a rock jock at the old BRMB. It wasn’t a big success. In fact, it took Priest quite some time to hit their stride - Wikipedia makes oblique references to unfortunate management - but when they did, they scored big time. 

I’ve done gigs with them (smoked out at Barbarella’s), interviewed them lots, seen them grow to enormodome stadium status in the US, and even wound up programming some of their more crossover material daytime at radio back in the day. But all that was a generation ago. Time for a bit of catchup.

The Selecter at Reggae City in May: It's not the same old show

Pauline Black talks racism, sexism, 2-Tone, Ska and Reggae, re-forming your band, keeping it punchy, and not wallowing in black and white nostalgia.

I’m not absolutely sure, but I'm probably the first (legal) radio DJ to put The Selecter on air. We used to do sessions at the old BRMB Radio, recording up and coming West Midlands bands just as they came to the boil. This included UB40 and the Specials, pretty much all in quick succession, in 1979 . It worked a treat: the station scored great listening figures and got to look - very unusually for the old BRMB - hip and cutting edge. And the bands got exposure and MU scale cash. Everyone was happy. It worked. Just saying...

So, back in the day, Pauline Black came in for an interview to tie in with the session. Now, Pauline Black’s on the phone ahead of a string of midlands dates - you'll find them at the bottom of this post. 34 years on, The Selecter is touring again, and a stroll down 2-Tone lane it ain't. Two new albums, new members to go with founders Gaps Hendrickson and Black, a richer mix - and the same fierce attitude.