"Live those dreams, scheme those schemes."
- Frankie Goes To Hollywood, Relax
The year was 1984. I was just about to start a new life at a school for the performing arts in Liverpool, which was exciting but also daunting (as a boy from sleepy North Wales, Liverpool seemed a mesmerising but also slightly terrifying prospect) and extremely long days were on the horizon as I would be commuting six days a week on the train, leaving at around 7.30 in the morning and not getting home until around 8 in the evening. But it was excitement that was the prime emotion in my young soul. North Wales had become boring beyond belief and I was sick & tired of dull as dishwater academic subjects (I adored English Literature and Art - but the rest seemed to me like a complete waste of time) and I was also fed up of the bullies and bell ends that surrounded me. But, the autumn before, in 1983, a band hit the charts and mainstream consciousness with a force I had never before witnessed and probably haven't since. Making every thing I'd heard about Beatlemania seem phony, they were literally a gift from the very god's themselves to the just about to become a teen, rebellious but sensitive young boy that was me. I did have a couple of good friends at this time, and one of them was a few years older and as he had more money he was able to buy more records. And I can still remember clearly the particular days he came round with two new singles. The first time, a few years earlier, was 'New Life' by Depeche Mode and the other, in a picture sleeve that I could barely understand at that age, was 'Relax' by Frankie Goes To Hollywood. When we first listened to 'New Life', it was crystal clear from the very first seconds that this was the future. The synth solo riff sounded like it had been made by someone in a space ship, and there was a slight dis-colouration on the record itself which made it look exotic as well as sound exotic as it span at 45rpm. It was an exhilarating moment. And fast forward three years (there were obviously many other occasions and records but these are the two that remain so firmly imprinted in the music box of my memory), and it was the turn of Relax to find its way to my own treasured music centre. The single was taken out of its strange and alluring sleeve and placed on the turn table. I can still recall the wonderful noise that greets the pin arriving onto the vinyl and the the slight crackle in that eternal couple of seconds that is the mesmerising anticipation as you wait for the music to begin. And, then, of course, it happened. The three minutes and 47 seconds that followed was one of the most incredible moments of my young life. The pulsing beat - which I seem to recall I thought actually echoed the rhythm of my own heart, although I know now that it was probably designed to be in rhythm with a very different kind of bodily experience! - drove the song like a powerful locomotive. There were explosions, harmonies, strange sound effects and although I probably wouldn't have been able to think of it in these words then, glorious, ecstatic and utterly orgasmic sounds coming from the speakers. When the record finished, we immediately played it again. And then again. We then played the B.Side, 'One September Morning', as that is what was done in those days, but I am sad to say I have no recollection of it from that particular day, although the song (if it can be called that!) is a wonderful insight into the personas of the band as they joke around in an interview over a very Frankie backing track. And, so, that was my first introduction to Frankie Goes To Hollywood (FGTH). I had, in a very real Frankie sense, been well and truly deflowered!
The next thing, of course, was catching them on the Holy Grail of my weekdays - Top of the Pops (TOTP). Thursday evenings were sacred and I would wait impatiently for TOTP to start. I can't recall the exact timeline of events as 'Relax' was banned from Radio 1, and I remember there being all manner of hysteria and outrage about the promo video, which I didn't get to see until a few years later. But I certainly do remember seeing them for the first time on TOTP. I remember being physically changed as the song played (and this would happen to me on an even greater scale with the following single, 'Two Tribes') as it all seemed so insistent and urgent. My life for the few years before this had been hugely troubling with what seemed a massive sense of loss and dislocation, and I had been diagnosed with cystic fibrosis at the age of seven which had enveloped my soul in a state of dread, tablets, medicines, hospitals, medical tests, operations, pain and fear. A friend of mine had also told me that his mum, who was a nurse, had told him that I would probably be dead before I finished school, so it was a lot for a young mind of twelve to try and deal with. But, somehow, and although I was too young to know exactly what 'Relax' was really about, the song's sense of urgency, fun, rebelliousness and wild energy struck a chord somewhere very deep within my soul. And seeing them in the flesh on TOTP only increased this feeling. Front man Holly Johnson prowled the stage like a panther, a strange mix of suaveness and aggression. "The Lads," as Ped, Mark & Nash of the band liked to be known, looked as if they couldn't believe their luck being on stage on TOTP. But it was the strange figure of Paul Rutherford who grabbed my attention most. He showed me what it was to dance. I had seen some great dancers on telly before, of course, but they either seemed like they came from a distant world or from the wealthiest dancing colleges that money could buy or from the Bronx in New York. I could never be like them, I thought, I'm just a young, skinny, ill white boy from a tiny Welsh village and most white men can't dance anyway. But there was something about Paul Rutherford that didn't give off that out of reach vibe. He did a few backing vocals, and I loved his husky baritone voice, which complemented Holly's light tenor wonderfully, but it basically looked as though he was in FGTH principally because he looked fucking great and knew how to get the party atmosphere going. I so desperately wanted to be able to dance like him. He was not technically great but I noticed how the music seemed to flow through him. He would throw his arms up in ecstasy or make a gesture as if he was a marionette puppet, the puppet master being the song. And as great music and art in general does at its very best, this Frankie concoction blew my rapidly emerging imagination into overdrive. And it became very clear, very quickly, that it wasn't only me. Because almost overnight, Frankie were everywhere. Everyone was talking about them. There were "Frankie Says..." and '"Relax" T Shirts wherever you went. It was bliss. It was just about okay to like them and not get a beating from the mods and the skinheads, unlike with Soft Cell, who if you admitted to liking put you in risk of losing your life. (I did have the courage to admit it, though quietly and with great trepidation!) But no wonder I still harbour such a deep seated hatred of mods and skinheads and their very own poster boys, Madness and Paul Weller. What a melting pot school musical politics was when I look back. And there was footy team rivalries (my team Everton, plus Liverpool and Man Utd) and Wales against England in all of this as well. Sometimes I wonder how I got through it all. But away from all of this, down at the school disco I would have been doing my utmost to move my limbs in as free a fashion as my new hero Paul Rutherford did. I am left in no doubt that I will probably have failed but in my mind's eye, when I think back, if he could have seen me, I reckon he would have been proud of my efforts. When it came to dancing - and I was still able to dance until my early twenties - I would in time discover another teacher, who, unbelievably, it seemed could dance with even more wild and ecstatic abandon than Paul Rutherford. His name, known to many who know Lydia and me, is of course Tim Booth, the front man of James, but his gargantuan role in my life will have to wait for another blog. This one, lest I digress too far away from the original subject, is about Frankie Goes To Hollywood, and I'm certainly not finished with them yet.
If you will kindly allow me to fast forward a few months to the summer of 1984, dear reader, I had left the dreadful school in north Wales in May, that scene of so many unpleasant days, and was enjoying the holiday before I started at my new school in Liverpool in September. And Frankie's second single, 'Two Tribes' had been released and had unbelievably gone straight in at number 1, whilst 'Relax' climbed back up to number 2. I had never seen anything like it.
The next thing, of course, was catching them on the Holy Grail of my weekdays - Top of the Pops (TOTP). Thursday evenings were sacred and I would wait impatiently for TOTP to start. I can't recall the exact timeline of events as 'Relax' was banned from Radio 1, and I remember there being all manner of hysteria and outrage about the promo video, which I didn't get to see until a few years later. But I certainly do remember seeing them for the first time on TOTP. I remember being physically changed as the song played (and this would happen to me on an even greater scale with the following single, 'Two Tribes') as it all seemed so insistent and urgent. My life for the few years before this had been hugely troubling with what seemed a massive sense of loss and dislocation, and I had been diagnosed with cystic fibrosis at the age of seven which had enveloped my soul in a state of dread, tablets, medicines, hospitals, medical tests, operations, pain and fear. A friend of mine had also told me that his mum, who was a nurse, had told him that I would probably be dead before I finished school, so it was a lot for a young mind of twelve to try and deal with. But, somehow, and although I was too young to know exactly what 'Relax' was really about, the song's sense of urgency, fun, rebelliousness and wild energy struck a chord somewhere very deep within my soul. And seeing them in the flesh on TOTP only increased this feeling. Front man Holly Johnson prowled the stage like a panther, a strange mix of suaveness and aggression. "The Lads," as Ped, Mark & Nash of the band liked to be known, looked as if they couldn't believe their luck being on stage on TOTP. But it was the strange figure of Paul Rutherford who grabbed my attention most. He showed me what it was to dance. I had seen some great dancers on telly before, of course, but they either seemed like they came from a distant world or from the wealthiest dancing colleges that money could buy or from the Bronx in New York. I could never be like them, I thought, I'm just a young, skinny, ill white boy from a tiny Welsh village and most white men can't dance anyway. But there was something about Paul Rutherford that didn't give off that out of reach vibe. He did a few backing vocals, and I loved his husky baritone voice, which complemented Holly's light tenor wonderfully, but it basically looked as though he was in FGTH principally because he looked fucking great and knew how to get the party atmosphere going. I so desperately wanted to be able to dance like him. He was not technically great but I noticed how the music seemed to flow through him. He would throw his arms up in ecstasy or make a gesture as if he was a marionette puppet, the puppet master being the song. And as great music and art in general does at its very best, this Frankie concoction blew my rapidly emerging imagination into overdrive. And it became very clear, very quickly, that it wasn't only me. Because almost overnight, Frankie were everywhere. Everyone was talking about them. There were "Frankie Says..." and '"Relax" T Shirts wherever you went. It was bliss. It was just about okay to like them and not get a beating from the mods and the skinheads, unlike with Soft Cell, who if you admitted to liking put you in risk of losing your life. (I did have the courage to admit it, though quietly and with great trepidation!) But no wonder I still harbour such a deep seated hatred of mods and skinheads and their very own poster boys, Madness and Paul Weller. What a melting pot school musical politics was when I look back. And there was footy team rivalries (my team Everton, plus Liverpool and Man Utd) and Wales against England in all of this as well. Sometimes I wonder how I got through it all. But away from all of this, down at the school disco I would have been doing my utmost to move my limbs in as free a fashion as my new hero Paul Rutherford did. I am left in no doubt that I will probably have failed but in my mind's eye, when I think back, if he could have seen me, I reckon he would have been proud of my efforts. When it came to dancing - and I was still able to dance until my early twenties - I would in time discover another teacher, who, unbelievably, it seemed could dance with even more wild and ecstatic abandon than Paul Rutherford. His name, known to many who know Lydia and me, is of course Tim Booth, the front man of James, but his gargantuan role in my life will have to wait for another blog. This one, lest I digress too far away from the original subject, is about Frankie Goes To Hollywood, and I'm certainly not finished with them yet.
If you will kindly allow me to fast forward a few months to the summer of 1984, dear reader, I had left the dreadful school in north Wales in May, that scene of so many unpleasant days, and was enjoying the holiday before I started at my new school in Liverpool in September. And Frankie's second single, 'Two Tribes' had been released and had unbelievably gone straight in at number 1, whilst 'Relax' climbed back up to number 2. I had never seen anything like it.
'Two Tribes' is still one of the greatest anti-war songs in my opinion, and the accompanying promo video is one of the finest ever made. Directed by Godley & Creme, it really is a masterpiece. But this was to become my last few months with the original incarnation of FGTH - as it was also nearly coming to an end for them. 'Two Tribes' made just as big an impression on me as 'Relax' had done. The threat of nuclear war was very much in the public consciousness at this time and I do remember worrying about it. My main concerns were for my Nain & Taid and my Mum, and, of course, for my beloved dog, Gelert. (All of them have now sadly gone) I simply could not comprehend any of them not being around and it became quite terrifying at times. I watched a very strange and sad film a year or so later called When The Wind Blows about an old couple who try to survive a nuclear war. It had music by David Bowie and it haunted me for years afterwards. But 'Two Tribes' had a different feel. It seemed to promote, as did 'Relax', the philosophy of singing and dancing as the bombs fall. Flowers, love and romance instead of bombs, hate and war. "Just think, war breaks out and nobody turns up," said the voice on the 12". The disco pulse, the energy, 'Two Tribes' is surely one of the best singles ever released in any era.
I loved the band's imagery at this time, too, which became militaristic and defiantly anti-American, and not too dissimilar from what my beloved Manics would wear in future years:
They were also like a gang, all so different as individuals yet most definitely all looking out for each other. Just as it should be in bands. The Us against the World mentality. Perhaps, in my imagination, there was a part of me that felt like I too was in their gang, as I certainly didn't feel that way in real life. No gang would have had me! Ha! But soon, my drama school days were to begin, and although I loved music as fervently as ever, Frankie fell of my radar somewhat. And if they had awoken something in me, which they certainly had, by the summer of 1985, another pop artist suddenly invaded my life and hooked their devastating claws into my young, budding young soul which had more recently begun to have increasingly sensual designs as well! Have any of you guessed who it is yet? Well, let me put you out of your misery. It was She of the groove and the silk white stockings, the corsets and the suspenders, and the sublime corrupter of many a young soul of similar age to myself. Someone who drove the boys wild and who made all the girls want to be her. Someone that so many of us were crazy for and desperately seeking. I am referring, of course, to Madonna.
Madonna, by Stephen Meisel.
I loved the band's imagery at this time, too, which became militaristic and defiantly anti-American, and not too dissimilar from what my beloved Manics would wear in future years:
They were also like a gang, all so different as individuals yet most definitely all looking out for each other. Just as it should be in bands. The Us against the World mentality. Perhaps, in my imagination, there was a part of me that felt like I too was in their gang, as I certainly didn't feel that way in real life. No gang would have had me! Ha! But soon, my drama school days were to begin, and although I loved music as fervently as ever, Frankie fell of my radar somewhat. And if they had awoken something in me, which they certainly had, by the summer of 1985, another pop artist suddenly invaded my life and hooked their devastating claws into my young, budding young soul which had more recently begun to have increasingly sensual designs as well! Have any of you guessed who it is yet? Well, let me put you out of your misery. It was She of the groove and the silk white stockings, the corsets and the suspenders, and the sublime corrupter of many a young soul of similar age to myself. Someone who drove the boys wild and who made all the girls want to be her. Someone that so many of us were crazy for and desperately seeking. I am referring, of course, to Madonna.
Madonna, by Stephen Meisel.
I still have one lovely memory of Frankie from their original time, however, and I think it may have been in the summer of 1986. They had released 'Rage Hard' (inspired by Dylan Thomas's poem 'Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night'), which I absolutely adored, even though it seemed like it was a more "grown up" type of music than 'Relax' and they were playing a concert called 'Rock Around the Dock' in Liverpool which was to be broadcast on Radio City. I can still clearly recall sitting in my room, looking out of the window as the sun went down that evening listening to them excitedly on the radio. It was also the first time I ever heard 'Sittin' on the Dock of the Bay' by Otis Redding, which the DJ played during the build up & which truly enchanted me. But FGTH were pretty much done as the chart blasting and moral majority's favourite people to hate by this time. I personally was now so busy singing and performing in Les Miserables, attending drama school on the other days and living an insane life that flitted between London, Liverpool and North Wales that there wasn't a great deal of time for much else. And as pop music moved so fast in those days, (as does age, darlings!), the artists I was listening to then didn't have the same kind of extraordinary power and force as Frankie had. Pop music had become, in the main, a bit safe and kind of dull. Thatcher's materialistic philosophy of greed and the "there is no such thing a society" tag line, the fear of AIDS, and Live Aid had changed most of mainstream pop music that was around. It didn't seem to reach for the stars as much any more. It was careerist and money grabbing rather than ecstatic. Formulaic rather than euphoric. Everyone was buttoned up, hem lines were down, neck lines were high, the shoulders were padded, masculine and wide, the men ditched their incredible New Romantic clothes and make-up in exchange for boring, grey business suits, and a new Victorianism threatened to completely envelop mainstream pop. At least there was Queen, Madonna and Transvision Vamp to offer some kind of valiant resistance to this insanity, though! And I did actually forget Frankie for a while. Everywhere it seemed there were bands such as Dire Straits, Chris Rea, Phil Collins and Whitney Houston (who I actually quite liked!!) In the main, though, it was mind numbing, dull, dad-oriented rock. And then, in 1987, I decided I wanted one of those things that every one was raving about: a Compact Disc player. Advertising "crystal clear sound" and "discs that can't be scratched so badly that they won't play", (ahem!) I was fascinated. So I bought my first ever hi-fi stack system, which was a Sony and had a CD player, record player, radio tuner, twin tape deck and graphic equaliser. But then, of course, I suddenly realised: I haven't got any CDs! Which one shall I buy so I can listen to it? And all at once, as if from a hidden part of my psyche, came a memory, a thought, an insistent drive informing me, like a voice from my inner psyche: it has to be Welcome To The Pleasuredome by Frankie Goes To Hollywood.
I hadn't listened to that album or any of Frankie's stuff that I had on vinyl for quite some time, but immediately my inquisitiveness now reached fever pitch. The title track will sound unbelievable on CD if what they're saying about the sound quality of CDs is true, I thought. Thankfully, Woolies (Woolworths) in Mold had it in stock, and about an hour later, I was basking in the golden experience of listening to Welcome to the Pleasuredome on CD, on my new stereo, for the very first time. And as I was now sixteen/seventeen, it all made sense on a different level to previously. The title track is a staggering piece of music that touches the stars. But soon, as I became re-acquainted with this wonderful album, it was the famous singles that I started to press the 'skip' button on the most, as I now got more engrossed in the album tracks. My favourites were the divinely decadent (darling!) 'Ballad of 32', 'Black Night, White Light' which meandered gently along, as did 'Happy Hi.' But it was 'Born To Run' which now well and truly stole my heart. Opening with a scouse laugh/howl of derision/rejection/disavowal of Thatcher's neoliberal values, 'Born To Run' exploded on my soul this time around like a call to arms. I would dance manically to it in my room, often collapsing on to my small black sofa in tears at the end of the song such was the longing that it inspired. Lines such as "I want to know if love is wild, I want to know if love is real," "Together we can live with the sadness, I'll love you with with all the madness in my soul," and as Holly's voice grew ever more yearning as the song reached its climax: "...And we'll walk in the sun, But till then, Tramps like us, Baby, we were born to run..." completely overwhelmed me. The song reaches a towering crescendo before virtually collapsing in an exhausted heap, exactly as I would do on to the sofa. It's another lyric that also seems, when I look back, to have had a sense of prophecy in its veins, as years later, I found in Lydia someone who answered all of those deep, extraordinary yearnings, and it is almost Suede like in its celebration of outsiders in love. And as a rather humorous side note, a couple of years later I heard Bruce Springsteen playing 'Born To Run', and immediately thought, Oh...he's doing a cover of Frankie's song. I thought it was absolute crap, dull as dish water and an abomination when compared to the excitement and thrill of Frankie's version. It was only then that I was informed/discovered that Frankie were actually covering Springsteen and that he was actually singing his own song. I still still stand by my belief that it's as drab as a door nail when compared to Frankie's version, though, no matter who wrote it!
And since then, Frankie Goes To Hollywood have never really left me. Their second album Liverpool is hugely underrated and 'Watching The Wildlife' and 'Warriors of the Wasteland' are two of my favourite Frankie songs. And as I've got older and more knowledgeable, I'm also able to appreciate what a towering achievement they really were. In amongst the songs were quotes from the likes of other artists and writers I was to grow to love and admire: Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Nietzsche, Picasso, and many others, some of whom I went out to discover because the artwork on their albums suggested to the "attentive fan" that they may find it a richly rewarding experience. This "attentive fan" that somehow missed the Springsteen song credit" on 'Born To Run', that is! Oh well, maybe I just wasn't that bothered about things like that at that stage. Well, whatever the cause, there is no denying that FGTH were truly a phenomenon. There is so much speculation now about whether the band could actually play or not, or whether it was all Paul Morley and producer Trevor Horn with studio musicians but do you know what? I really couldn't care less. I didn't then and I still don't now. The songs, the artwork, the videos, the TOTP performances, the modernist strategy of having a manifesto and using the media to gain attention, the winding up of the moral majority and the middle class hypocrites, it was all sheer magic and a work of absolute genius. And because whoever wrote the songs or played on the records, the whole is certainly greater than the sum of its parts. It was (and still is) exciting, sexy, literate, subversive, playful, profound, fast, slow, teasing, profane, individualistic, collective, political, Left wing, satirical, explosive, philosophical, romantic, dreamy, it had everything that pop music, at its very zenith, should have. Having a charismatic band member who basically did nothing but look amazing was also pretty new at the time. And Paul Rutherford's stylish, sexy camp scally persona pisses all over the stoned, scruffy, much-lauded Bez of The Happy Mondays. I certainly know who I would rather be in a band with and it certainly isn't the incoherent one with a Manc accent! It was also a joy to hear 'Relax' turn up on the recent T2: Trainspotting film, and the placing of it at the particular point that it is used could be explored as a PhD paper in its own right! Their influence on me has been different to the Manics, Suede or Bowie, they haven't made me want to make my own version of their hair cuts or their style of clothes, for example, but they have always been there, especially when I've needed something gloriously uplifting to listen to. Full of a pagan type joy of saying "Yes" to the finer things that life has to offer, 'Welcome to the Pleasuredome', 'Relax', and, indeed, the majority of Frankie's body of work, will no doubt strike a chord and be embraced by people for as long as people still have a pulse, a soul and a libido. And 'Rage Hard, becomes more poignant and important with each year that passes, and as the ravages of time do their treacherous thing on our bodies and souls, making the mantra that it explores ever more vital: "Rage Hard... Into the light! Rage Hard... Against the dark." In other words, Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night. Rage, Rage against the dying of the light."
And since then, Frankie Goes To Hollywood have never really left me. Their second album Liverpool is hugely underrated and 'Watching The Wildlife' and 'Warriors of the Wasteland' are two of my favourite Frankie songs. And as I've got older and more knowledgeable, I'm also able to appreciate what a towering achievement they really were. In amongst the songs were quotes from the likes of other artists and writers I was to grow to love and admire: Samuel Taylor Coleridge, Nietzsche, Picasso, and many others, some of whom I went out to discover because the artwork on their albums suggested to the "attentive fan" that they may find it a richly rewarding experience. This "attentive fan" that somehow missed the Springsteen song credit" on 'Born To Run', that is! Oh well, maybe I just wasn't that bothered about things like that at that stage. Well, whatever the cause, there is no denying that FGTH were truly a phenomenon. There is so much speculation now about whether the band could actually play or not, or whether it was all Paul Morley and producer Trevor Horn with studio musicians but do you know what? I really couldn't care less. I didn't then and I still don't now. The songs, the artwork, the videos, the TOTP performances, the modernist strategy of having a manifesto and using the media to gain attention, the winding up of the moral majority and the middle class hypocrites, it was all sheer magic and a work of absolute genius. And because whoever wrote the songs or played on the records, the whole is certainly greater than the sum of its parts. It was (and still is) exciting, sexy, literate, subversive, playful, profound, fast, slow, teasing, profane, individualistic, collective, political, Left wing, satirical, explosive, philosophical, romantic, dreamy, it had everything that pop music, at its very zenith, should have. Having a charismatic band member who basically did nothing but look amazing was also pretty new at the time. And Paul Rutherford's stylish, sexy camp scally persona pisses all over the stoned, scruffy, much-lauded Bez of The Happy Mondays. I certainly know who I would rather be in a band with and it certainly isn't the incoherent one with a Manc accent! It was also a joy to hear 'Relax' turn up on the recent T2: Trainspotting film, and the placing of it at the particular point that it is used could be explored as a PhD paper in its own right! Their influence on me has been different to the Manics, Suede or Bowie, they haven't made me want to make my own version of their hair cuts or their style of clothes, for example, but they have always been there, especially when I've needed something gloriously uplifting to listen to. Full of a pagan type joy of saying "Yes" to the finer things that life has to offer, 'Welcome to the Pleasuredome', 'Relax', and, indeed, the majority of Frankie's body of work, will no doubt strike a chord and be embraced by people for as long as people still have a pulse, a soul and a libido. And 'Rage Hard, becomes more poignant and important with each year that passes, and as the ravages of time do their treacherous thing on our bodies and souls, making the mantra that it explores ever more vital: "Rage Hard... Into the light! Rage Hard... Against the dark." In other words, Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night. Rage, Rage against the dying of the light."
Amen, to that.
And so, to finish, if I was asked, where would FGTH stand compared with some of the other famous bands that have hailed from the fine city of Liverpool?
The Beatles?
The best known, obviously. But too common and too obvious. Lennon had the politics but they also had too much Drug Drug Druggy stoner stuff going on and it's quite difficult to think fondly of a band that had George Harrison and Ringo Starr in its ranks. (Dons tin hat!)
Echo & The Bunnymen?
Certainly the coolest but not quite as grandiose as they once were. (And as I get older the whole notion of being "cool" strikes me as something increasingly limiting and unimportant in the grand scheme of things). But truly magnificent at times, Ocean Rain being just one example of their majesty, and another of my very favourite bands.
Frankie Goes to Hollywood?
Probably the most important thing, this side of the world! Oh yeah, Well 'ard!
"Shooting stars never stop, even when they reach the top."
All the Frankie Goes To Hollywood pictures that I've shared can be sourced here, a fantastic site for all things FGTH:
http://artofztt.com/
And so, to finish, if I was asked, where would FGTH stand compared with some of the other famous bands that have hailed from the fine city of Liverpool?
The Beatles?
The best known, obviously. But too common and too obvious. Lennon had the politics but they also had too much Drug Drug Druggy stoner stuff going on and it's quite difficult to think fondly of a band that had George Harrison and Ringo Starr in its ranks. (Dons tin hat!)
Echo & The Bunnymen?
Certainly the coolest but not quite as grandiose as they once were. (And as I get older the whole notion of being "cool" strikes me as something increasingly limiting and unimportant in the grand scheme of things). But truly magnificent at times, Ocean Rain being just one example of their majesty, and another of my very favourite bands.
Frankie Goes to Hollywood?
Probably the most important thing, this side of the world! Oh yeah, Well 'ard!
"Shooting stars never stop, even when they reach the top."
All the Frankie Goes To Hollywood pictures that I've shared can be sourced here, a fantastic site for all things FGTH:
http://artofztt.com/
