Wear It On My 'Cock: Pete Shelley, RIP

I probably spent more time staring at Singles Going Steady than at any other album cover in my slim pre-college collection, combined.

It wasn't because the photo made the band look particularly cool; with the possible exception of bassist Steve Garvey, it didn't. Sure, they were all wearing black, but lead singer Pete Shelley wore an unflattering haircut, and he looked tired and somewhat annoyed at having to have his picture taken. And was lead guitarist Steve Diggle wearing (gasp) flares, or something perilously close to them?

No, the reason I was so fascinated by this cover image was that it allowed me to enter what was then a completely unfamiliar world. Back in the early 80s, when I first became enamored with the music of the Buzzcocks, the rock stars I worshipped all still seemed shrouded in mystery. They worked their magic on stage and in the studio, but the hard work that went into it was largely hidden (intentionally or otherwise) from view. Only just beginning to struggle with the guitar myself, and not having any friends who played in bands, I had no real understanding of rehearsals or recording sessions. I just figured that the gods of music transmitted songs directly to the artist, who then — by virtue of their sheer awesomeness — transmitted them directly to vinyl.

But the cover photo of Singles Going Steady completely disabused me of such naive notions. The serpentine tangle of guitar cables; the precariously angled microphone booms; the quartet of dour, exhausted gentlemen who were all quite possibly well overdue for a shower. This, it seemed to say, is how you do it. No wizardry, no divine intervention, no star trips. Just sweat, electricity and the mutual will to make it work.

This message might have resonated less with me if I hadn't loved the music so much. But I was completely enamored with everything about the songs of Singles Going Steady: the adrenaline-pumping roar of the twin guitars, the tempos that seemed ready to run off the rails at any moment, the instantaneously indelible melodies, and of course Pete Shelley's witty, sardonic and fiercely gender-nonspecific love songs. It might have been too much of a stretch to call Pete Shelley "The Oscar Wilde of Punk," but I could easily picture Wilde enjoying the hell out of the lyrics of "Orgasm Addict," "Every Fallen In Love (With Someone You Shouldn't've)" or "Everybody's Happy Nowadays".

Buzzcocks songs seemed like they would be relatively simple to play, but — as I would come to find out — they were actually rather difficult to pull off in a convincing fashion. My first college band, Voodoo Sex Party, was heavily influenced by their piquant melodies and candy-coated chord progressions, but only once did we ever attempt to cover an actual Buzzcocks song. It was "You Say You Don't Love Me," from 1979's A Different Kind of Tension, and to say we didn't do it justice would woefully understate the case. Of course, it would have helped if we'd had a second guitarist, and if I hadn't gotten angrily drunk on (yecch) Southern Comfort right before our set; but even sober and fully-guitared, it's no easy feat to pair that kind of blistering romantic angst with a brilliantly Kinks-y melody and harness it to a breathless punk rock roar, or to deliver it all in a manner that doesn't shortchange any of the elements. (Yes, I still have the recording of that show; no, you can't hear it.) 

But for all the brilliance of their songs and performances, the band remained as beautifully down-to-earth as they appeared on the cover of Singles Going Steady. Since Pete Shelley's unexpected passing last week, I've heard and read one testament after another as to how funny, charming, kind and unpretentious he was in real life. Not that this surprised me at all, since I once had the pleasure of experiencing this firsthand. It was in the summer of 1996, when the band was touring in support of their album All Set. I had been assigned to interview Pete for BAM magazine, and we did our Q&A in the dressing room of the Hollywood Palace before their show. (I only saw two Buzzcocks shows, that one and one at Chicago's Cabaret Metro in 1992; both were absolutely amazing, not to mention loud as fuck.)

I was still pretty new to interviewing at this point, and this would, sadly, not be one of my better interviews. Expecting to talk to Pete for half an hour, I was completely thrown when the tour manager sat us down together and announced, "Right, you have 15 minutes!" Rather than just letting the conversation flow, I nervously hurried through my list of questions, all of which Pete obligingly and amusingly answered. (Sample question: "What do you do to keep yourself sane on the road?" Pete: "As little as possible!") In fact, I burned through them so fast that I'd completely run out of questions by the ten-minute mark, and the remaining five minutes of our conversation was spent idly chatting about the recent Sex Pistols reunion as Pete signed the records I'd brought with me. Though our encounter surely wasn't the highlight of his day, he was much kinder and far more patient with this inexperienced interviewer than a legend of British punk could have been expected to be, and I have always been grateful to him for that. 

My favorite moment of the interview actually came as we were wrapping things up. The tour manager returned with an all-access pass for Pete, telling him, "You can wear this wherever you like." Pete's eyes lit up. "Oh," he grinned. "I'll wear it on my cock, then!"

Rest well, Pete. I'm profoundly glad you existed.

 

 

Comments

[Reed]

Lovely post, Dan. And the story of how he treated you as a "rookie." Surely that helped propel you forward in your career.

I'm eternally grateful that Dave urged me to join him for a Buzzcocks show at the Double Door around 13 years ago. I certainly knew of them at the time, but somehow had not yet gotten my hooks in. That set was a truly memorable one. A joyful, throwback to the good old days when moshing was gleeful for its own sake, and the band absolutely ripped through each son with energy, and no wasted time on filler or inane banter. I've een hooked ever since, and will be ever more.

There's only one Buzzcocks, and only one Pete. Thanks for writing this one.