Sunday 11 November 2012

Hawkwind are advertising cars on the telly. Again. This time the Ford B-Max is being dangled in front of your eyes to the strains of 'Master Of The Universe' from Hawkwind's second album, the seminal 'X In Search of Space' (1971). 

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. 'Silver Machine' (actually about Bob Calvert's racing bike) was used a couple of years ago for a Volkswagen commercial. But the choice the Ford advertising execs made this time struck me as a little, well, poignant.

'Masters of the Universe' is a Hawkwind standard: a choppy three chord riff that starts, stops, starts again and then builds up to a crescendo before.......well, stopping and starting up again. It's actually pretty easy to play: I could teach you the bass line in 5 minutes. But, like practically any Hawkwind song, its the version that makes all the difference.

You could have taken the Live '79 version, which is basically a heavy metal song with Dave Brock doing his "awright cockney geezah" vocal interpretation. You could have had the Space Ritual Live version from 1972:- operatic in scale, with Lemmy pounding away on bass, but a bit acoustically foggy as its a live album. And any one of a dozen other versions; bootleg, official, and everything in between.

But they chose the "...In Search of Space" version. That's my favourite Hawkwind album, that is. All the songs on it, like all Hawkwind songs, are about space travel, or travel to other dimensions, or taking LSD. Sometimes its hard to work out exactly which one of the three themes is being referenced in any given song. But don't worry, the Hawks themselves probably weren't too clear on the distinctions at the time either.

It's a lovely album. It came in a fold-out sleeve, gorgeously decorated inside and out with photos of the band and psychedelic artwork. Just right for pinning to your bedsit wall to cover the patch were the previous occupant, Mad Alkie Jimmy, had tried to headbutt his way through to next door. He also used to save his wee in milk bottles. Moving day was an eye-opener, I can tell you. There was a booklet included with the album, the Ship's Log of Spaceship Hawkwind; words by Calvert and Moorcock, and more artwork by Barney Bubbles. Musically the album is probably as close to Hawkwind's sound during their early free festival period as you're ever going to get. Turner's honking away on his sax through a wah-wah pedal, Dikmik and Detmar are proving the swooshes and bleeps on the audio generators, Brock weighs in with some lovely 12-string work and Hawkwind's best ever drummer, Terry Ollis, is pounding away like a loon. It's quirky, and as English as Punch and Judy.

Little known Hawkfact: "X in Search of Space" was the reason I didn't revise very hard for my O-Levels. Me, Paul and Andy were going to squat a house in Wootton, get a band together* and, basically, never have to get up before midday ever again. Good thing we didn't go down that road, isn't it, Hawkwind? Turns out all everybody wants in their twilight years is a nice gaff, a decent income stream, and plenty of leisure time; and I can't see that Ford would have now been playing any of OUR songs and thinking "Hey, we could really use this track to promote the new Ford X-Lax".

Edgar Broughton will be next, you mark my words. On his blog he's mithering about not being able to get a packet of decent dried shitake mushrooms. How the mighty are fallen, plaster saints, feet of clay, etc etc. Yes, I'm a big boy now, and I understand how the world works. All my own fault I'm not a heart surgeon/CEO of Microsoft/presenter on Strictly Ballroom, I know. But I really listened to people like the Hawks and the Broughtons. The whole anti-materialist thing, you know. All you need is a greatcoat, a bottle of patchouli, and an eighth of leb. A seductive message when you're a spotty 15 year old 'erbert from the brussels sprout fields of rural mid-Bedfordshire. But, as we've seen, a deeply flawed one as well. So, before he turns up on the telly advertising Cillit Bang or Vagisil, here's Edgar and his bro's while he still had balls.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FOKoYWDJpvc

* We didn't get the squat, but we did get a band together. We were actually pretty good: a blatant Hawkwind/Sex Pistols cross-over. We had two front men, a guy with a blue beard and blue hair who played the sax, and a bloke who used to sing from inside a child's inflatable space capsule, plus the usual bass/guitar/drums. At one point we even picked up a female dancer. Every gig ended with the front row of the audience being deluged in a variety of semi-liquid substances: pig's blood and rehydrated dried dog food, e.g.

Of course, that got a mixed reception in mid-1970's Bedfordshire. Some people loved us, some people (the straights, maaan!) would give us a good kicking. We even provoked the wrath of a Beds on Sunday columnist, Jim Raybould, who entitled one article "Bedfordshire's Most Hated Band!" The exclamation mark is Jim's, not mine. And not least, leaving each venue a quagmire of congealing unpleasantness meant that we ran out of pubs and clubs willing to host us, there not being very many to start with.

As these things do, the band broke up. But for a while there, and given a break, I reckon we might have made it to some degree, perhaps on the festival circuit or in Germany. But we didn't and we went our separate ways. The guy with the blue beard shaved it off and surprised everybody by joining the RAF and retiring as a sergeant. One of the guys who used to do a bit of guitar died of a methadone overdose. And the rest of us somewhere in between, I guess.

But I can still remember some of the lyrics and some of the chords from the songs we did. C-E minor-D-dah-dee-dah-dee-dah-dee-dah:- that's 'The Alien Song', that is. "I was king of this planet for all of you to see, till that bloody fat willy started picking on me, now my dreams are shattered and it makes me want to pee. I could rule this world if it wasn't for that thing called Dibdohhhhh................"  A lot of detail from that period in my life has faded: faces,places and names become monochrome and jumbled. I suppose a lot of the pubs have gone now, people moved on. But, by George, put a geetar in my hand this very second and I could still whack out 'Dibdo Lands on the Porridge Planet' ("....the Porridgeman thinks he is a prannet. His ray can kill Dibdo, or can it? Cos Dibdo's body is made of granite"). Probably best if I don't though, as Mrs W is having a nice nap on the sofa, so forgive me.

We were a genuine musical phenomenon though, albeit in a small way and for a brief while. The cops were called to shut down the Leighton Buzzard leisure centre gig.  I think that this is probably the first time that we've ever been mentioned on the net though, so ephemeral and fleeting is fame. Please allow me, with pride, to give our name here for the first time:- Dibdo Gibbs and the Prophets of Delirium.

3 comments:

  1. Top reporting meester! Though I do bridle at being described as "the usual guitar"!! We were indeed far more interesting than a lot of the cunting crap that was going around in the eighties.

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  2. We woz excellent ....the band is still going and has never really ceased writing as a trio under the name of LITTLE RED RIDING SLAB.

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  3. So funny to see this mentioned.Having attended the Swap gig with the flooding of the Horse and Groom with the over turned paddling pool,and practices in Aspley Guise.Or a advertising stunt in the college with a saxophone.

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