The Pink Flamingo: A Celebration of Soft Cell

Although the things that having Cystic Fibrosis causes me to miss at times breaks my heart, sometimes the pain can be lessened by a fortunate turn of events, and whoever made the decision to screen Soft Cell's last ever concert this Sunday in cinemas across the UK, has certainly come to my assistance on this occasion. That I can't actually be at the 02 Arena in London itself is a cause of great distress, but to be able to at least watch the concert on the big screen, 10 minutes away from home, is most definitely, in terms of consolation, as good as it can get. Soft Cell (and Marc Almond solo) have been a huge part of my life for as long as I can remember. I'll never forget my first real connection with them - which wasn't, as with most people, with 'Tainted Love' - but rather with the strange, haunting, and achingly poignant ballad, 'Say Hello Wave Goodbye.' I'll try and describe the scene. This would have been in 1982 so I would have been eleven at the time. The school I attended (this was before I went to drama school) had a Thursday evening Youth Club, and at 7.29 on the dot, everybody that was into music would pile into a little side room where the telly was housed. I watched so many Top Of The Pops episodes in that room, but the night that 'Say Hello Wave Goodbye' was on will stay with me forever. I already knew Soft Cell through 'Tainted Love', and although I loved it, it hadn't really entered my psyche. Perhaps, even then, I thought it was too popular? I'm not sure. Anyway, this time, it was very different. For when 'Say Hello Wave Goodbye' came on, it was as if I'd been pinned to my chair. Maybe I was feeling particularly wistful that day. My life was, in many ways, as sad as sad can be at that point. I'd been diagnosed with Cystic Fibrosis four years earlier, had been bullied in school and was going through a very tough time at home in what has emerged as being as bad as it can get for a young child. Maybe I would have loved it just as much without any of those things, who knows, but whatever the reason, within seconds of the song's opening, the world around me ceased to exist and all I could see or hear was the video and the song playing out on the TV screen. Marc's yearning, yet at times ever so slightly out of tune voice, the broken melody, the neon signs flashing, a young man looking sad and broken, and then the door of the Pink Flamingo bar opened, and the viewer (in this case me) was ushered into the world of the darkly glamorous & the bizarre, and there, sitting at the bar was the strangest creature of all, the utterly fascinating, almost gender-less, Marc Almond. As the song finished I came out of my haze to the usual type of remarks wherever Soft Cell were concerned: "Fuckin' weirdo...what a puff...etc, etc." This was from the boys who were into "proper music" such as Madness, The Jam & Bad Manners, and who I already well knew would kick my head in if I so much as breathed a word about how amazing I thought the song and video we had just witnessed was. And this hysterical (as in a form of hysteria, not "funny haha") reaction was something I noticed about Soft Cell, and Marc Almond in particular. In fact, when I was older, one of my friends around that time wouldn't even mention Marc's name if I was playing Marc Almond songs whilst he was around: "I see you're listening to Gay Almond, again," he would say with a tone of contempt. Yet how sad I feel for him and those people like him now. But back then, in my school days, this was a dangerous stance to take and I was already a target of the bullies because of my CF which made me different and weaker, and I knew that admitting to liking Soft Cell would put my beginning to blossom handsome looks in grave danger because of the assorted mods 'n' skinheads that prowled the school yard menacingly. But, despite all that, I'm proud to say that I decided to Walk Unafraid, and wore my love of Soft Cell on my sleeve, and what an impact they and that song had on my young soul at that time and 'Say Hello Wave Goodbye' is still not quite like any other song I've ever heard.

I actually loved all of Soft Cell's singles at the time they were released but because life and pop music in particular moves so fast, by the time I was getting a bit older and buying albums myself, Soft Cell had actually split. Frankie had taken the world by storm, as had Madonna, I was performing in Les Miserables and was therefore also being introduced to the wonderful world of musicals (Little Shop Of Horrors, Chess, etc) and every week it seemed as if the pop charts brought something new & exciting to listen to and watch. But I then had another quite monumental Soft Cell epiphany a few years later when I was around 19/20. There was a brilliant record shop in the indoor market in Chester that I used to frequent, and although the baggy scene was in full swing at that point, I spent a small fortune in there (not on the baggy stuff, darlings!!) as they had an incredible New Wave selection, which included pretty much every Soft Cell and Marc Almond 12" single or album that had ever been released. They also stocked CDs and I bought an import CD that had the extended version of 'Soul Inside' on it. I seriously fell in love with pretty much all of Soft Cell's 12" singles, which were so much more than just extended dance versions of the basic songs. 'Torch,' 'Insecure Me' 'Tainted Love/Where Did Our Love Go', and 'Bedsitter' were masterpieces in their own right, with masses of added lyrics and different melodies. They also introduced me to the character Cindy Ecstasy, who invaded my psyche and after which I've probably never quite been the same. And indeed, it was incredibly strange to me to be continually told that Soft Cell were just 'gay' by some of my friends and lots of other people I met who would only listen to jangly guitar bands who, for all their supposed hetero-macho posturing, couldn't have had a Cindy Ecstasy in their ranks or on their droning, sexless records even if their lives depended on it. You tell me, dear reader, is it possible to be an imaginative young man and hear Cindy Ecstasy, who's already been introduced by Marc on the extended version of 'Torch' as wearing a dress that "makes the young boys faint", recite the following lines and not be taken on a rather splendid and sensual journey of the imagination?:

"I may be soft but I made the top,

I like my cabaret non-stop.

It may be erotic, it may be ecstatic

down on your floor or in your attic...

You can take it low or shut your eyes, just let our love materialise.

And I don't mean love on a chocolate box, I mean the love that really rocks!

They all see me, the good time lady...so

Just look at me and it's easy to see why they call me Cindy Ecstasy!

'Cause I've got the eyes, the where's & why's

To make your love thing really Rise,

You don't need speed or a pair of wheels

Cause I'm the prize that will brighten your skies.

So look me up and I'll tell no lies,

Cause I'm the lady with the hot surprise,

If you don't believe me, just ask Soft Cell, 

Cause I shook them up and I gave them hell!

So call up Cindy Ecstasy if you're looking for a memory!

Just call up Cindy Ecstasy if you're looking for a memory!"

This was from the single 'Memorabilia,' which has now been recognised as a prototype Acid-house track. And on the extended version of 'Insecure Me', Cindy again entices the listener suggestively:

"Forget the lows, Just love the highs

And wipe that look out from your eyes

I forget the face that I despise

'Cause I know my mirror

Never lies.

I'll come up fighting

Like the best

But then I'm different

From the rest

And I wonder if my looks will last

Because my life is really fast.

Don't worry about the way I dress

And if my make-up looks a mess

I'm not about to get depressed,

'cause I'm the one that loves to lose

Just love me in my fuck me shoes!

Cause I've got the touch and I've got the feel

To make your good time Really real!

Just love to love,

Just love to live,

Just love to live,

Just love to love!

And, baby, are you so, so sure,

That you're the one that's insecure?"

And of course, in those far off days, before the internet made imagination increasingly irrelevant, it was the imagination that was the most important part of the individual if he or she wanted to respond to anything artistic. And Soft Cell's music fired my imagination like crazy. And as I had precious little knowledge about Cindy Ecstasy (I'd seen her on the 'Torch' Top of the Pops performance but that was about it) it gave my imagination completely free reign. And to me, this party-loving denizen of the night, who was the band's drug dealer in New York and who had introduced them to all of the most glamorous and shady night spots that the the city had to offer, had the force of myth and legend. But I'm digressing really. For what I really want to relate is another moment in my life that I will never forget, the epiphany that I earlier alluded to. A moment where, once again, it seemed as if the music I adored came to my rescue like a sonic goddess, and, in a sense, saved my life, and if not my life, then at least some semblance of my sanity.

Picture the scene if you will, dear reader. I was 19, and despite my CF, was still a professional singer and actor at that point as it didn't have as much of an impact on my life then as it was to come to have and does now. But I was also, "in-between jobs." That's right. That awful place for a performer, that dreaded limbo where you are not working at the thing you love and have to make do with temporary stuff to get you through. And during that period, I was working as a night time garage attendant. I've had to do worse jobs in my life so I'm not going to complain about that, and as my shift was from 11pm - 7am there was plenty of time for me to read books and magazines and listen to music during my time there. But I also had to work that New Year's Eve, and I was, I have to admit, royally pissed off. All my friends were out partying but I was to be stuck behind the til in the garage, only on time and a half wage, and also gritting my teeth at not doing the thing I treasured the most: singing and acting either on stage or on screen. And then, at midnight, all at once, the urge in me to say "fuck you!" to the world overwhelmed me. I turned out all the lights on the garage concourse and in the shop so it looked like it was closed, locked the eleckie doors, put the 12" extended version of Soft Cell's 'Soul Inside' on my stereo (ghetto blaster!), and danced and sang every word as if my very life depended on it, thus somehow getting all that frustration out of me and afterwards, feeling like I was, once again, a living, breathing, thinking member of the human race rather than a pissed off drone. And that particular song, with its shrieking, pleading and yearning, practically saved, if not my life then certainly my sanity that New Year's Eve. I still get a tingle whenever I hear it now, and Marc's opening salvo of "It's a wild celebration of feelings inside," is like a mantra and there is still a piece of me that is taken back to that night whenever I hear 'Soul Inside.' 



And so, as you can probably imagine, dear reader, that song and particularly Soft Cell have a rather sacred place in my heart. Which leads me onto their last ever concert on Sunday, which I will be watching at the cinema with a frantically beating heart and with tears in my eyes. For not only is it Soft Cell's last concert, but also, perhaps it is also about the end of an era regarding pop music in general, as the pop music scene is now unrecognisable from those halcyon days when the charts meant almost everything, (does anybody even care what's number one, any more?) and, also, in acknowledging the passing of time, the death of old selves, getting older and facing up to mortality. As I've already mentioned, I was eleven when I first heard 'Say Hello Wave Goodbye' on that tinny telly in my school Youth Club. When it's played on Sunday (and I think it's safe to say that it WILL be on the set list - and only a crazy person would bet against it being the last song of the night) it will be not that far off forty years ago. A whole ocean of time has passed between then and now. Youth Has Gone (and don't think I don't cry). My Mum, Nain and Taid, all are no longer here. My adopted dad, Bowie, who I genuinely thought would live forever as he was a spaceman, died in early 2016. Lydia's mum has been very ill and her dad is having health problems, too. And it's not only the older generation. One of Lydia's best friends from her school days has been diagnosed with cancer and probably won't recover. He's only just passed his mid-thirties. I'm also trying to keep CF at bay and have a whole barrage of drugs and treatments to do every day, whilst knowing that I'm already older than the average age life expectancy for someone with CF. Against this backdrop, life can sometimes seem overwhelming. So... hopefully, this Sunday is going to be something of a Wild Celebration of Feelings Inside, about finding those oh so sweet moments of ecstasy in this sometimes incomprehensible journey of life with its inescapable facts of loss and mortality. Because music and feelings is where I find so much of the meaning that I'm looking for. I don't believe in God, so religion can't help me. I don't believe in asceticism or the denial of the senses so a religion/philosophy like Buddhism is no use to me. In actual fact, I believe the senses to be a sacred gift that have been given to us to treasure for the short time we are here on earth so taking the ascetic approach is for me, actually a kind of sin against life itself, but that discussion will have to wait for another essay. But I do believe in Art and Connection. And that's what singing, music and art is principally about: connection. That desperate need not to feel invisible. To connect with people. To feel like your existence is important and that you actually matter. To not hide behind computer screens but to look into someone's eyes & see them as they see you in return. But not just see them. I mean REALLY see them. And for a singer such as Marc Almond, who bares his soul on stage and on recordings, that is everything. His influence on my love of singing is absolutely immense. He has a style that would be ridiculed on shows such as The X Factor and The Voice. It is not perfect by any means. But as Brett Anderson knows so well and has sung about with such sensitivity, it's actually the imperfections that make things so beautiful and unique. The deep respect and love of the lyrics is also paramount in Marc's singing. His voice will obviously sound different to how it did on those old Soft Cell records as they were recorded nearly forty years ago. Both he, and we as audience members, will have to suspend reality with some of the lyrics. But which singer of a certain age doesn't have to do this? We have to do it when Suede play 'So Young', as both Brett and we know that he is not quite "so young and so gone" as the lyric maintains any longer, but it doesn't prevent that song being poignant, alive and electrifying when they perform it. And it won't matter with Soft Cell, either. Because Marc's extraordinary skills as a performer will shine through and keep it firmly in the realm of great Art. His melodramatic style will carry the songs into Giddy Stratospheres. We will also know that some of the off-kilter sharp notes that he sings will be because his hearing was damaged in the motorcycle accident he was involved in fourteen years ago that almost took his life. And therefore each time it happens our souls will be reminded that he, like us, as another famous song says, has, up to now, survived. And as so many of the songs portray, and as the songs urge the listener to accept, these are the kind of struggles that have to be faced. And facing them, and hopefully winning them, and not being ashamed of the scars they leave on our bodies and souls is all part of the game of life that we have to play. And that, just because we may be a little older, doesn't mean the fun and glamour has to stop. In fact, if anything, the fun and glamour as we get older becomes even more important, and although the occasions to do so will become less frequent, it's perhaps about going out a bit earlier than previously, and having dinner and some wonderful gin and cocktails rather than suffering the dreadful music that they now play in night clubs and then staggering in with ringing ears at 4am. (Although it's been over a decade since we did this, anyway, but you get my drift). And because that's what Marc's songs acknowledge. That we may be a bit older and have a few battle scars to prove it, but remembering that now and then, taking a Walk On The Wild Side is still vitally important, as the real truth of the matter is that we are only as old as we feel. And this is what Marc's singing attempts to convey. In fact, very few British singers have the depth and knowledge of the art of singing as Marc. He and the greatly missed Billy Mackenzie of The Associates have been the greatest torch singers that the UK has produced, in my opinion. Marc's unique phrasing, his love of French chanson, Russian gypsy songs, cabaret and burlesque, make him one of a kind. And to hear him wrapping his gin and battle-soaked tenor croon around those Soft Cell songs for one last time, celebrating the lonely and the dispossessed, and encouraging us to make the most of every second and not forget that we are can all be Brilliant Creatures, too, will really be something quite extraordinary. I'm also expecting my fine lady (or "The Idol" as she was once described by a lady sitting next to us at one of Marc's solo concerts that we attended) to be up and dancing in the aisles during her favourite Soft Cell song, 'Sex Dwarf', which has the wonderful, naughty refrain, "Isn't it nice, sugar & spice, luring disco dollies to a life of vice." And so... there we have it, Soft Cell, in concert, For One Last Time. And then they will pack up their things & go. This unusual duo that started out in Leeds have quite an incredible story and one that has touched my soul greatly. And not only mine, for without Soft Cell, I doubt if Pulp, Suede, The Divine Comedy, and The Sohodolls would have been exactly the bands that they all became. And I guess there are many others, too. I'm also reminded of hearing how Marc Almond and Nick Cave were best friends for a while and would frequently go out on the town together, along with Lydia Lunch... what stories I bet they could tell about those times! If only walls could talk, eh?! I can hardly imagine what they must have got up to, it's enough to make your very own Nocturnal Butterfly go green with envy! But Sunday will be all about celebrating life, Soft Cell, and their neon-bright tales of Beautiful Losers, frustration, love, romance, glamour, trash, ecstasy, obsession & seediness. And who, dear reader, would want it any other way? For as that great philosopher of existence Oscar Wilde knew so well and was kind enough to share with us, we are all in the gutter, darlings, but some of us are looking at the stars.

Eyes Of Infinity

1

The young couple drove slowly up the long, winding drive-way. The natural beauty of the place put them in a state of awe. They had heard many wondrous things about where they were going but nothing could have prepared them for this, and they were left speechless for many minutes.

After booking into their room, the young lady, who was weary after a long day's travelling, retired to bed, whilst the young man gazed out longingly at the breath-taking scenery. He soon felt the strange energy of the place enter his soul &, as darkness fell, he began to have strange sensations & increasingly dark visions. The sounds that had met them at early evening began to change. The twittering of sparrows and the glorious song of the thrush had transformed into the haunted hooting of hunting owls. Instead of the yelps of domestic dogs, it was the cries & barks of prowling foxes that now echoed through the valley, as did the rhyme & slither of mating slugs, & every so often, all this was pierced by the bone-chilling scream of a rabbit or a vole that had been too slow to escape from its hungry captor. The moon cast its ancient glow over all the land, & the young man's attention was suddenly drawn to a rustle among the elm trees on his right. And then, before he was even aware of what was happening, a gleaming pair of eyes locked onto his. Instantly he was completely mesmerised, & it was only when those fiery eyes blinked that he felt himself released, & as he attempted to regain his awareness, he was sure he glimpsed a strange, white creature slink away into the wood. Entranced, but confused & utterly exhausted from the long journey, & believing he must have been dreaming, he climbed into bed & soon fell into a deep but restless sleep. His dreams that night were immensely strange, as animals & people, & stones & buildings, & trees & water changed shape & merged into one. On awakening he was haunted by the memory of a scintillating essence, of a creature that had teased him throughout & had seemed to be a highly sensual yet dangerous being.

The young couple spent the following day walking in the beautiful countryside, & each step seemed to bring new wonders to their eyes & senses. The perfume from the flowers & trees made their heads swim, & the dragonflies, mayflies & honey bees danced & flirted around them. The final part of their walk revealed a majestic waterfall, & it felt to them both, particularly in their current, enchanted state, that this mass of water & spray was the centre of all the energy that enabled such vibrancy, colour & scent to flourish. It was as if the waterfall was the divine giver of life & both its source & its end, as it began its long journey into the welcoming arms of the ocean far away.

Arriving back at the hotel, they prepared to meet the young man's father & both their families, at a celebratory dinner that was being held to celebrate his birthday, as well as their own impending engagement.

After the delicious meal the young man made a birthday toast to his father & to his new fiancee, before he wandered into the foyer of the small hotel, looking to replenish his drink. Imagine if you can his astonishment when two glittering, sparkling eyes, identical to those he thought he had seen in the garden the previous evening, met his! Stuttering, he just about managed to order his drink, & was then bade to follow the owner of those deep, beguiling eyes into the large garden. He followed the captivating being as if in a trance, & her sensuous feline grace made her look as if she was a new species of creature, but one as yet completely unknown to science.

Sitting down on the garden chairs, he was finally able to look at this adorable creature completely. And whilst her enchanting, pearl-like eyes devoured him also, he noticed her sumptuous white coat, which sparkled like glitter under the shining silver of the moon, & was more luxurious than the finest silk & softer than the snowy down on newly-hatched birds.

His gaze was, however, inexorably drawn towards her sparkling eyes, which were now blazing under the starlit sky. He felt his soul & will-power dissolving, & soon found himself revealing his deepest secrets to her. Within a short amount of time he felt his entire being crumble, & as soon as his willpower had completely deserted him, she led him with barely a sound, into the dark woods beyond.

Sometime later, his fiancee, increasingly concerned as to the whereabouts of her beloved, came out into the garden to look for him. She thought that she heard an unusual sound, a low murmuring which sounded like somebody in distress. Full of anxiety & strange presentiments, she walked slowly towards the sound that was was coming from the bottom of the garden, & was astonished to find, not her fiancee, but a beautiful young man crying on the grass. As she approached, he gazed up at her & she was immediately astonished at the mesmeric eyes that met & captivated hers, & almost as if she had lost control of herself, she sat down next to him on the luscious, abundant grass. Her heart raced furiously as she beheld the eyes that gripped her firmly, tighter than the trap of a barbaric hunter & her soul now as helpless as a fly that had unwittingly wandered into the clutches of a Venus fly-trap.

With herself now as emphatically entranced as her groom-to-be had been before her, she gazed at the figure at her side, desiring him intensely, yet greatly confused by his feminine grace, and almost feline, slender hands. But all at once, those ravishing eyes once again met hers & as her resistance drained away, an enchanting kiss was placed on her sweet lips, the most sensual she had ever known or had even dreamt existed, & which felt to her like the touch of the gods from long departed times & lands. Thoroughly lost & enraptured in this sea of ecstasy, the last thing she heard was a low, deathly, ground-shaking growl, & she departed from this world seeing her face reflected in the pools of the eyes of neither a woman nor a man, nor a woman dressed as a man, but a majestic, snow white leopard.

II.

A few weeks later, a young boy was crying in his small hotel bed, after having been sent there by his parents without him having eaten hardly any of his supper at the hotel's restaurant. They were furious at how obstinate he was being, & were greatly concerned about where his passion for making things up & telling ridiculous stories could lead to. And although they got to finish their supper following his dismissal, it could not be said that theirs was a happy meal.

The first time they had told their son that he must stop telling lies, they had merely scolded him. But when he then flatly refused to retract his statement on the second time of being asked to do so, his mother had warned him gravely that he would be sent immediately to his room, no matter how hungry he was. But when they had asked him a third time to admit that he had been making things up, their son had stamped his foot in annoyance & shouted back at them at the top of his voice, scaring the rest of the guests in the process, that he wouldn't admit to lying, as he was telling the complete truth. His furious father had then grabbed his arm & marched him back to his room & informed him that he would continue to go without supper until he learnt to stop telling tales.

The young boy, crying back in his room, was quite certain though. As he had said to his parents after they had just sat down to eat, he had seen a strange white leopard at the bottom of the garden from the car window as they were arriving at the hotel, & no matter how hungry he was, & no matter how many of his tears fell before he finally managed to get to sleep, he wasn't going to pretend otherwise.