Hello Massive - I'm new; please be kind.
Listening to Steve Lamacq on 6Music today whilst doing the obligatory Good Friday DIY (nails and wood, seemed fitting), I was struck by how rarely - no, strike that to how I never would actually put on a Fall record/CD/whatever, and yet when they're played on the radiogramme it's generally a matter of joy. As Theme From Sparta FC rattled away, I was whisked back to early 1990, when I was working on the Jonathan Ross Show. My task was to choose performers to do interesting cover versions accompanied by the Steve Nieve Quartet. Midway through the series, with ratings poor to middling, it was decided that we'd do a show on a train. Even at the ideas stage, its flagpole salute-ability was low, but so it came to pass that a train was chartered from Liverpool Street Station to Coventry, the outward journey time being ideal for putting a one hour show together. The Fall were with Phonogram Records at the time, and I booked Mark E Smith and Craig Scanlon to perform George Jones's White Lightning with the SNQ (who not only featured Steve, but also Pete Thomas, and Tim Fenwick, aka Quiver as in The Sutherland Brothers & Quiver, on guitar). Mark - referred to throughout the day as Marky by the Phonogram plugger - and Craig performed beautifully, though it soon became clear from the supermarket bag MES carried that for him, White Lightning wasn't just a song.
Half an hour into the journey and a drunken, delusional conversation starts up between myself, Smith, and some other performers on the show. I claim that I can tell whether an orange contains many pips simply by looking at its unpeeled form. Bob Mortimer says that he can tell how many people are on a bus just by listening with his eyes closed. Smith announces 'I can tell someone's religion just by looking at them.' 'Ah ha!' chirps up the channel's commissioning editor who's been invited along and plied with quality canapes. Remember those ratings: not good; he has to be kept onside. 'Tell me then,' he says,smiling at Smith. 'What am I?' The carriage falls silent. It's been a lovely day, no snags, no hitches; a corner has surely been turned, a new series has to be commissioned. All eyes are on Smith. 'You're a cunt, pal' he says.
Smith and Scanlon alight at Coventry, and are last seen trudging along a deserted platform. Everyone else returns to London. Mary Coughlan, the other musical guest, throws a drink at the commissioning editor.