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LCKMF, as we'll refer to it out of sheer convenience, was a new venture in two notable respects - it bore the tag 'Collins, Maconie & Quantick' for the first time, and it was purpose built for the stage. Crucially, it was also a retrospective work - a confessional - detailing their careers as rock journalists, written at a suitably safe distance from the period of time when the NME was their day job.
The image of rock 'n' roll journalists remains one of soaking their leather jackets with the dregs of Jack Daniels, pointing admiringly at something they hope to be heroin, carrying a clutch of Rolling Stones LPs (though, sadly, they tend to include 'Emotional Rescue' and 'Dirty Work') and using the word 'motherfucker' in the manner and with the frequency that others might say 'good evening'. Next to this, LCKMF is a consciously tamer, and consequently more enlightening take on the world of rock journalism - an affectionate sixty-minute compilation of anecdotes, sketches, one-liners and non-sequiteurs, culled from the collective memories of Collins, Maconie and Quantick.
Specifically, LCKMF centres on their four years (and in Quantick's case, a staggering twelve years) at the NME. It is not, it's fair to say, a document of rampant drug abuse, promiscuous sexual activity or the wanton vandalism of penthouse suites in Akron, Ohio. It is the story of critics missing a gig not by 'being out of it', but simply by getting the date wrong. It describes the horror of mistaking a support band for the headlining group. It details the events of an oafish old-school Reading Festival ("Dante's Thames Valley Inferno") from a writer's angle; able to stand it no longer, he experiences its finale via a Radio One simulcast in a homeward car. And it demonstrates, in a comprehensive eighteen-point plan, how not to interview the "extremely cool, but...incredibly rude" Lou Reed.
Of course, heaping abuse on to pop stars in the name of comedy is second nature in 2001, but it is usually less about the actual music than the sexual misadventures or undecided orientation of particular pop stars, their drug scandals, or, in the case of The Rolling Stones, Status Quo and Geri Halliwell, just being old. Any or all of these options is manna from heaven for any writer with a sitcom in development but who, for the time being, has to write quickies for Have I Got News For You or Never Mind The Buzzcocks. LCKMF does contain sideswipes at the expense of Sting, Mick Hucknall and Phil Collins, as well as Lou Reed, but the primary target of its humour is pop criticism and journalism itself.
From their small-scale beginnings writing reviews of yachting thrillers co-starring Meg Tilly ("very much the crap Tilly sister") or scribbling lengthy complaints to the letters page pointing out that "Bob Seger is not enough!", Collins, Maconie and Quantick both commemorate and lampoon their gradual rise through the ranks of the NME - a fascinating, mundane and sometimes plainly ridiculous journey, and at one point some kind of indie/dance Armed Forces alternative ("Join the navy and see the world, join the NME and see World Of Twist"). We are guided through an itinerary of compiling the hugely popular but "always wrong" gig guide, typing up a letters page crammed with missives from lonely hearts ("PS I have enclosed some little silver stars"), cheery Europeans ("Hello I am boy 14, also Swedish...I like very much Blur, Pulp, Stone Roses and Barclay James Harvest") and mad people ("I AM THE PERSPEX GOD OF VALHALLA..."), before graduating to the LP reviews section, for which the NME marking scheme is comprehensively revealed from nought all the way up to eleven ("Nine: It's R.E.M.").
At the heart of the experience gained by all three participants is an evocation of childlike and innocent ambition, a boys' club of unadulterated awe, whether it is addressing the subconscious thrill of writing their first review ("Wow, a free record, they sent me a free record!") or receiving the elusive golden ticket that is the Access All Areas pass. The very word "backstage" is delivered by Maconie in a whisper of wonder, only to be disappointed with the actual reality of "a plate that once contained some Doritos" and "a really pale girl with a poster". Along the way, the curious beliefs of the roadie are summarised ("Bending down makes you invisible") and the meaning of the euphemism "living life to the full" is finally unveiled ("i.e. on drugs"). It is the revelation that, far from being the oft-portrayed corrupt den of iniquity, the truth about the rock 'n' roll lifestyle from a hack's viewpoint is rather less glamorous, and even decidedly unpleasant ("...There are only two jobs where you're likely to get sent shit through the post. One is working in a Shit Analysis Laboratory..."). A sentence "I once spent four days in a van in the South Of France with Napalm Death", rather than being the opening of a debauched anecdote, turns out to be the anecdote, and funnier for it too.
The show concludes with a tribute to "the mavericks, the fools, the permanently thirsty", as the 'Collins Maconie & Quantick Hall Of Fame' welcomes the subjects from extraordinary rock 'n' roll moments which, appropriately, all have hilariously anti-climactic punchlines. In the initial London preview at least, these comprised: 'Ozzy Osbourne Visits The Alamo', 'Chuck Berry Prepares', 'Arthur Conley Gets Homesick', 'Led Zeppelin Visit Gracelands', 'Viv Stanshall And Keith Moon Go Shopping', 'Mark E. Smith And A Dictaphone', and the unexpectedly incomplete 'In A Wardrobe With Rod Stewart'.
As has been established, this was the first three-way vehicle for the team, although it could be argued strongly that the Hit Parade, particularly in its various special editions, edged towards a gang show. Take for example the epic three-hour 'Hogmanay' edition transmitted on the afternoon of 31st December 1995, with Quantick in the role of a grumpy butler who expresses severe disappointment at his exclusion from the Paul Weller discussion, and on meeting Stuart's supposed Scottish uncle 'Kenneth Maconie' - who prepares to lead uproarious Scottish interpretations of 'Common People', Supergrass's 'Alright' and 'Country House' - is heard to interject (possibly out of character) with the words "Who is this fool?"*. Invited to contribute observations at every turn, he is routinely admonished by the hosts for being the surliest employee they have ever encountered. Even within this novel format, or indeed their awards show presentations, such sparring between the three regulars was clearly the sign of a burgeoning comic team that, if not cemented, had at least switched the mixer on.
* The "fool" was actually Bill
Padley, long-time employee of Wise Buddah and a "musical
wizard" according to Collins. He not only composed the Hit Parade
theme tune, but also co-wrote Atomic Kitten's number
one single 'Whole Again'
(2001), with Andy McCluskey of Orchestral Manoeuvres In The
Dark. Four years later, in Lloyd Cole Knew My Father, the
formula for CMQ's on-stage relationship was more or less unchanged,
although elemental mutations within the show were widespread.
Originally envisaged as a lecture presentation, this idea was
abandoned the day before the London preview when a mutual friend,
James Puddephat, attended rehearsals and re-blocked the show pretty
much from scratch, abandoning stage props along the way. Andrew
Collins: "He simplified it, made us sit
down, transformed what was a slipshod mess into a tight, structured
show. We were originally going to stand behind lecterns/music
stands; James suggested sitting down, making it more of a fireside
chat with the audience." [Source: private correspondence, 30/10/01]
The above rundown of incidents in the preview show changed too, with many sections abridged, revised or abandoned entirely for Edinburgh. Not that there was anything especially wrong with that first night - it was amongst their finest work in fact - but the pressing matter of a sixty-minute limit became an issue when the preview clocked in at seventy. Also, settling into the new format was a further concern and during the four weeks leading up to their nine-day residency at the Pleasance Cavern (19/08/01 - 27/08/01), commitment to this time limit as well as close script analysis led to a number of interesting changes.
Promotion within the month-long period of Edinburgh preparation involved Collins & Quantick joining Peter Allen (himself sitting in for Nicky Campbell) for a lengthy slot on Radio Five (10/08/01), as well as a deathly appearance by the similarly one-man-short Maconie & Quantick on an edition of Loose Ends (Radio Four, 04/08/01). Collins was annoyed by his own absence, which caused the selected passage for performance ('The Guest List') to become a heavily re-assigned double act routine, working entirely against the dynamics of the script. With Back Row transmitted immediately before Loose Ends Collins was placed under lock and chain, due to the Radio Four commissioning editor's peculiar concern that it may work against him if his serious film programme was to air back-to-back with his comedy work. Whatever the dispute, the recording went ahead without him at 10am, for broadcast at 6.15pm.
SOTCAA was not at the recording, but on the basis of earlier outings to Loose Ends we're pretty confident that the place was effectively deserted bar random pensioners who were at best treading water with the references to Kingmaker and laminated guest passes. The atmosphere on the recording was thus non-existent - host Ned Sherrin mucks up the intro, not only mispronouncing David's surname as "Quantock" (despite several years' acquaintance) but also tickling up the item with all the subtlety of bowel cancer. None of which bodes well for an item that seems riddled with last-minute nerves, having to revise the balance between the original bantering duo and Quantick's fatigued interjections at the very last minute. In the original performance this passage finishes with the double pay-off to the mediaeval sketch, of Collins's "mind-fuck!" and Quantick's "Isn't it funny how I'm the only one with a Devonshire accent and I'm not in that sketch?" With both of these absent and Maconie actually having to signal to the audience that they have finished, in order to facilitate a hollow applause, little can be said in favour of this restructuring and it is truly unfortunate that such a calamity surfaced on national radio.
LCKMF, by this extension, fluctuates significantly from performance to performance. In some respects this is not in the least bit surprising - it's a live comedy show which accommodates audience responses and allows for the unique meanderings that can be a product of that, or the performers' own distractions. What figures most however from those first ten shows is the habit of rewriting parts of the script when they begin to bore the performer - ironically, like Lou Reed would do - resulting in a mixed bag on each occasion.
The first major wave of changes, naturally enough, occurred during the five-week period between the London preview and the Fringe debut (Pleasance Cavern, Sun, 19/08/01). A number of factors came into play here - the trio actively listened to the comments of the preview audience and adapted to many of them, whilst certain changes were deemed necessary to either achieve a more logical flow or to be more concise.
A good example of the latter is the shifting around of dialogue during the 'Roadies' section. After Quantick's observation that due to their sound check habits of '1-2-1-2', "Kraftwerk are often mistaken for their own roadies", Collins originally steered this observation towards road crew lingo with Stuart and David providing a quick succession of comic translations. In the opening night at Edinburgh, however, a sensible change had been made. Inserted between these two points was Andrew's transposed line "Roadies are like Germans in that they have their own language", which makes far more sense as a joke - and is clearly more fluid within the whole - than when it was placed immediately after Quantick's tales of on-the-road debauchery in Warrington. Such a script change is presumably deducted from close attention in rehearsals and is thus quite prosaic for edit analysis. The more intriguing changes are those influenced by questions of economy and audience advice.
Some allowances should first be made for that second performance. It was strangely unsteady on its feet following the remarkably assured London preview: Maconie lost the rhythm in many of his lines, the ending was badly mistimed and, most significantly, six pages of the script were skipped by mistake. These factors amassed into a false start that would be ironed out as the week progressed. Interviewed two hours afterwards, during Nicholas Parsons' Happy Hour (Pleasance Over The Road 1, 19/08/01), the host suggested it was a very slick show. Maconie: "SLICK? Well, you must have seen some jazzed shows in your time…"
As the interview progressed it became clear that Andrew was to blame and close attention to the recording confirms this. In reality, Quantick's Bob Seger anecdote should be immediately followed by Collins' career interview sketch, but in error a huge leap is made, dashing past said sketch, the setting up of Maconie with a mocking I Love The Eighties remark (which is very effective in breaking the ice), his Bluebells anecdote and Quantick's explanation of how they all met in the late-Eighties.
In fairness, this mistake is easy to understand. Quantick makes two references to Bob Seger which specifically bookend the omitted section. Despite rendering later portions of the show mildly confusing (ie. references to police and The Bluebells were intended as recurring 'plants') the performers never took it to heart and seemed to draw strength from this shaky opening.
Interestingly, the most significant omissions were two-fold. The first was a straightforward removal of all references to the recently defunct Melody Maker, partly because they didn't really serve much purpose in the original performance. Maconie had stressed in his introduction to the Soho preview that "I do apologise if there's anyone in who has ever worked for Melody Maker" - on the face of it a sweetly intended indication of what was to come. "We cut the MM references cos they were too nasty", explains Quantick. "We could have [left them in] if they hadn't gone belly-up, but it was rubbing salt in the wound, I suppose."* This revision relates only to a series of jokes during the section on writing features for the music press, courtesy of Andrew Collins: "I know old men with thrombosis who have better circulation than the Melody Maker!", provoking the others into cruel, childish laughter, with an air of "the old ones are the best" about it. However, the fact that the lecture within LCKMF was about music journalists in general deemed these feud-aping references somewhat unnecessary.
* [source: private correspondence, 23/10/01]
The other courteous omission related to the obscenities in the original performance, which are altogether more contestable. During their Happy Hour appearance the following transpired:
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The debate on profanities is a long and tediously overwritten one, but we would argue that in the case of LCKMF such toning down was almost entirely unwarranted. As Parsons argued, "there are some who can use language as great punctuation and you're not offended", and we would back this up by applying it directly to Collins, Maconie and Quantick. In fact, what Parsons failed to note in this otherwise light-hearted chat show appearance was that swear words can be enormously effective and inoffensive simply by appearing naturally within a sketch or monologue, regardless of the performer or context. Substituting it with an unnatural phrase, which is clearly there for that reason alone, only serves to work against it.
For the record, there are cases within LCKMF where it did seem needless in that first ever try-out. Obscenity serves no purpose whatsoever when Maconie remarks "No it's fucking not, it's just quite a funny story about Herman's Hermits, Dave", principally because there is no real reason for him to be annoyed and instead manufactures tension for the sake of it. But then again, it hardly juts out in the show as a whole.
The concern was never with milder words either - The Levellers' "unilateral shit", "so I look like a twat" or the "Fields Of Shite" album review - which if anything were more excessive at Edinburgh (except for "unilateral shit" which was dropped for economy). No, the actual editing is overplayed somewhat during Happy Hour, with only four notable cuts.
1) The Herman's Hermits 'fuck', as mentioned above.
2) During the demonstration of how journalists develop egos at gigs, Quantick approaches Collins who is scribbling notes onto a fag packet and squeaks in a tiny voice, "Excuse me, do you work for the NME?" The original reply is "No, fuck off!", but was changed in Edinburgh to "No, beat it, daddyo". Which is hardly authentic or funny.
3) During the tour bus demonstration, Andrew impersonates the driver who is constantly whinging about how hoary old rockers of yesteryear "are much better than this bunch of cunts". This happened twice in the preview show and was revised as "bunch of student tossers" for subsequent shows. The difference is academic, and "Kid A? Kid Arse more like" makes up for it, but this still strikes us as needlessly censorious, rather than the original version being needlessly rude.
4) The sketch about the photographer Derek Ridgers at the airport loses "fuck it, go on then" at the end, which we would argue is well glossed over by a fair amount of rewrites for this section anyway. Quantick's "You will live off the syndication rights the rest of your rich bastard life" effectively substitutes it.
For all the arguing against it during the Parsons show, the trio did not "take all the swear words out of our show", so this seemed like a strange point to stress. Collins' "mind fuck" (cut during the Loose Ends appearance for obvious reasons) remained and was still a great anachronistic joke, but it was pretty much in isolation aside from the prevalent 'shit's, as it were. This self-editing calls to mind the much referenced conversations that Johnny Speight had with his BBC superiors over the content of the various Alf Garnett series he wrote for the station, bargaining ten mild obscenities as compensation for the removal of one potential offender. All of which is very odd, but nonetheless their own decision.
The original concern with revising the show for Edinburgh was the overrun, which exceeded their allotted sixty-minute slot by ten minutes. The writers chose wisely, selecting some enjoyable but inessential passages for the chop and tweaking others.
Five short sequences were dropped outright.
The first of these was an endearing item about Iggy Pop, delivered
with increasing bewilderment. Immediately following on from the
Aerosmith sketch and false tales of Altamont, we are asked to
question how much effort a music journalist ought to put into his
work when some bands hardly bother.
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Next on the block was Andrew's Bangles write-up from 1990, introduced originally in order to demonstrate how album reviews can treat the artefact like it is the most important thing in the world. During the preview Quantick had a little difficulty finding the page quickly in a bastardised copy of the NME, but that is unlikely to have contributed to its removal, more the expendable over-qualifying of a basic point. Nonetheless it was a lovely sequence - full of bitching, ridiculous comparisons and, in its execution, an embarrassing and childish expose of Collins rather than a volunteered confession.
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A third significant loss was an illustration on the life of the tour manager, "who will die arguing over billing with Steeleye Span", itself a lovely image suggesting that the old folkies are immortal. This brief passage follows on directly from the guide to a tour bus video collection ("kiss Prudence"), segueing that and the Derek Ridgers sketch mentioned earlier. It's a brief but worthy exchange, painting a modernised image of Ian Faith sat at a laptop ("They had laptops before laptops were invented… but no-one knows what they are writing").
Other cuts were very minor. The Melody Maker dig ("They've never had an original feature in their lives!") is cut for reasons of pace as much as anything else, whilst the last notable absence is the "which list?" list (they love lists in this show) that appears during their guide to 'The Guest List' ("…shopping list, Schindler's list?"). The latter was actually retained for the Loose Ends appearance, suggesting that this heavily revised section was trimmed for Edinburgh at quite a late point.
What becomes obvious when watching several different performances of LCKMF is that the lists throughout the show are placed deliberately for flights of fancy should the individual performer want to grasp them. To this end, when monitoring script changes it is hard to decide whether an inconsistently delivered section is spur-of-the-moment or inherently flexible. It's at this point where the scripted nature of it as a performance piece (seemingly based only on keywords at certain points) can move into stand-up.
A prime example of the above is the 'How Not To Interview Lou Reed' segment, which lands squarely in the heavily rewritten final ten minutes. LCKMF's true showpiece has largely stayed the same throughout performances, but the sheer length of this particular list (running to "an 18-or-so point plan") and the immediate audience recognition of its subject led to a trouble-free reception night after night. (In fact it is arguable that you don't need to know all that much about contemporary music to appreciate LCKMF's humour in general.)
Without wanting to spoil a great deal of the sketch, or lose ticket sales for the ICA shows in December by telling the punchlines badly, it is fair to say that the humour rests entirely on the idea of inappropriate behaviour, rather than presenting cut-and-dried faux pas. As opposed to the skin-loosening tale of Paolo Hewitt wandering into Stevie Wonder's room at the Hilton, enjoying the scenery through the window and remarking that it's "a terrific view you've got here, Mr Wonder", LCKMF side-steps such re-enactments having covered journalistic suffering well enough at earlier points in the show. In fact, there is a certain glee on Quantick's face as he tells a wigged Collins (in the vaguest approximation of Lou Reed) that "you haven't had a hit for years". Having preceded this with his own song, 'Rock Lady' (a one-note strum of delicious rock triteness introduced by the third night of Edinburgh), only serves to make this jibe seem more concerted and, under the guise of a cautionary tale, slightly vengeful too.
In many ways the final ten minutes of the show are the most joyous. The structure breaks down to a certain extent and sketches roam a little wider than they might have done at an earlier stage, as the fully fleshed out 'Viv Stanshall and Keith Moon Go Shopping' anecdote demonstrates in post-Soho performances. In relation to script editing, this final section is the least pruned, albeit with many of the 'Hall Of Fame' anecdotes switched around or replaced, although this in itself demonstrates the flexibility of their self-imposed 'lists' approach.
Five years ago, Lloyd Cole Knew My Father would have been natural material for a Radio One series. Now, if the BBC bosses are to be believed, listeners to such a station would snooze through the nods to Mike Leigh, Rene Magritte, Dorothy Parker and Sir Peter Hall, so any pre-1995 rock 'n' roll references would surely produce a strong draught above their perpetually partying heads. But while the show has a built-in air of finality and retrospection, it would be truly thrilling if the reason for the self-censorship of the most profane material was the prospect of a transfer of the format to, say, Radio Two. Imagine a weekly, post-Jonathan Ross Saturday slot for the trio, maybe even a Hit Parade for the 21st century, complete with journalistic recountings and sketches inspired by the absurd world of pop. Mark Goodier has let slip that there have been frequent efforts to bring the team together on Radio Two but no format, not even a mooted transfer of Hit Parade in 1997, have made it to air.
To varying degrees, Collins, Maconie and Quantick's CVs can already boast work for Radio Two. Maconie is the most established, partly as a presenter of the sort of rock documentaries (Pet Shop Boys, Stevie Wonder, REM) that were once welcomed with open arms at pre-Parfitt Radio One, but also as host of the eclectic hour-long Saturday night music show The Critical List (14/04/01 - present; Sat, 9pm), and the well regarded Real Wild Child. His recent deputising for Richard Allinson lasted three weeks (17/09/01-04/10/01; Mon-Thu,10.30pm-midnight) and proved to be a half-way house between the Graveyard Shift of old and the far more staid house style of the second channel. It was fun, basically.
If Quantick's half-hour series on Thursday evenings, The Sweet Smell Of Excess (Wise Buddah/Radio Two, 04/10/01 - 8/11/01; 9pm), has seemed a little disappointing, it may be that his verbal flights of fancy have had to take second place to the interview footage of indulgent, hedonistic rock stars like Lemmy and Elton John, and Jethro Tull's Ian Anderson. Not that this has prevented him from delivering some typically droll self-penned linking material, like coining the phrase "lower-body chaphood" as a description for Jimi Hendrix's genitals, or overturning the lovable moptops' pioneering achievements with the weekly catchphrase "Like everything, it was The Beatles' fault".
While Collins has been less exposed on Radio Two so far, he (like the others) has ably demonstrated his appreciation of intelligent music-based debate for two runs of Mark Radcliffe's highly entertaining Radio Two series Hope I Die Before I Get Old (Smooth Operations, 1999-2000), in which the merits and gaffes of a deceased pop icon (Lennon, Hendrix, Jim Morrison) were light-heartedly but incisively dissected by music journalists and industry figures.
Most recently, Radcliffe's six-part series Heroes Or Zeroes (Smooth Operations/Radio Two, 04/10/01 - 08/11/01; Thu, 10pm) has expanded the format for figures who are very much alive: Prince, Bruce Springsteen, Eric Clapton, Madonna, David Bowie and Bob Dylan. Happily, all three Hit Parade / LCKMF alumni have featured heavily in the series, alongside TOTP2 producer Mark Hagen, biographer Harry Shapiro, the musician and academic C.P. Lee (formerly of post-punk collective Alberto Y Los Trios Paranoias), The Family Cat's Steve Jelbert, and the journalist and columnist Karen Krizanovich amongst others.
Although the programmes have purported to present both sides of an argument, they have mainly served to giggle at an artist's legacy, and combine the undeniable analysis and knowledge of participants with the glorious irreverence of the pub conversation. Radcliffe, supposedly a referee for proceedings, takes great delight in cutting the subjects down to size even before the debate has begun. And one of the programmes' biggest attractions, especially in the context of niche music press titles and broadcasting outlets where even constructive criticism of an artist is considered saying the unsayable, both series represent an arena which permits Maconie to describe the music of Eric Clapton as "basically B.B. King relocated to Balham", and Quantick to compare the bluster of Bruce Springsteen to "a great big frothy egg-nog".
As much as the sparring has suffered from recording the debaters separately rather than allowing them to improvise an argument directly across a table, both Hope I Die Before I Get Old and Heroes Or Zeroes showcase thoughtful and highly-skilled arguments while also accommodating the occasional gratuitous insult. What's more, the next time anyone shoves Maconie's name into an arbitrary list of clip-show wankers, it is well worth pondering on the likelihood of (say) Wayne Hemingway or Mel & Sue trying to argue the toss for whether guitarists like Robert Fripp or Johnny Marr are infinitely more creative than old 'Slowhand' himself. The fact that such a programme exists on Radio Two should be enough cause for celebration, and makes us hopeful that a hypothetical series based on Lloyd Cole Knew My Father could rescue a knowledge of rock and pop heritage from cheap clip-show hell, and be both authoritative and hilarious....
31st October 2001