a Mod Mod World # 9 Quadrophenia

Calling All Mods!!! be in the show...

2005-11-02T17:20:00.000-08:00

There is going to be a MOD photo shoot for the Quadrophenia Tribute Show ( QUAD) on SATURDAY OCT. 29th at the M BAR in HOLLYWOOD at 11PM.

All sharp Dressed Mods are encouraged to come join in the photo shoot

There will be a couple of rounds provided for those in the photo shoot.

THESE PICTURES WILL BE USED ON THE PROJECTIONS FOR THE SHOW
AT THE GROVE OF ANAHEIM NEXT MONTH!!

If you are interested in being in this photo shoot please contact Iris on my myspace or at my email address. or hell just show up!!

sinatrasgalpal@aol.com

ALSO............I am going to need some 15-20 extras for the show for one scene....

This is for fun..there is no pay for this...i am gonna need guys and girls perferred good dancers, just remember being in the show most likely means you don't have to pay to get in if you catch my drift...

They are going to be doing a scene for THE KIDS ARE ALRIGHT

The look they are going for is a SHINDIG!! dance party scene where the band will be playing and everyone must be in black and white ONLY dancing on stage while Jimmy will be the only one in color.

I will need you on dress rehearsals and two nights for the show the 18th and 19th...if you are willing to take on this commitment also please contact me!

YOU ABSOLUTELY NEED TO CONTACT ME SO I CAN ARRANGE YOUR BACKSTAGE ACCESS!!

any questions????

http://www.quadtribute.com/

www.thewhoshow.com

Cheers! Iris

THE QUAD TRIBUTE:

2005-11-02T17:04:00.000-08:00

FIRST-EVER STAGED PRODUCTION
OF THE QUADROPHENIA ALBUM
SET FOR GROVE OF ANAHEIM
NOV. 18-19

Executive Producer Bill Schultz
Wrote Treatment as a Tribute to 1973 Double Album,
Will be Performed by The Who Show
with Stephen Shareaux with Co-Production by Bill Aucoin.

LOS ANGELES, October 12, 2005—Although he became successful in the orthopedics and sports medicine business, it has always been a dream of Bill Schultz to stage a production of this Who fanatic’s favorite album, Quadrophenia, which was released on Oct. 19, 1973 as the successor to Tommy and Who’s Next.

With the live premiere of The QUAD Tribute, a spectacular salute to the Quadrophenia album, at the Grove of Anaheim for two shows only on Nov. 18 and 19, at 8 p.m., a lifelong dream of Schultz’s is about to become a reality.

Quadrophenia contains some of the Who’s best-known songs, including “Love Reign O’er Me,” “Real Me,” “5:15,” “Drowned” and “Bell Boy,” all of which will be performed in The QUAD Tribute by a talented cast of actors and musicians, including Who tribute band The Who Show and singer Stephen Shareaux playing the lead role, Jimmy.

The show’s plot, featuring lead character Jimmy’s journey of self-destruction and self-discovery, is set against the backdrop of the ongoing Mod-Rocker wars on the shores of Brighton Beach told entirely through the album’s songs. Veteran director Peter Uribe will lead a cast of 23 talented actors and musicians, featuring singer Joey Grillo, guitarist Darren Lolk, bassist Mike Bisch and drummer France DiCarlo, with Shareaux as Jimmy. Musical direction and arrangement is by Brynn Arens.

“The story has universal meaning, and this is a show that will impress teenagers and middle-aged rockers alike. We will bring forth an experience that theater and concert goers will not forget as drama and rock will blend together on the stage,” says Schultz, a St. Paul, MN, native who originally came to Los Angeles to attend UCLA for theatre arts and playwriting, but ended up starting his own medical distribution company, and postponing those ambitions some 25 years before putting pen to paper for his treatment about a year ago. “When Quadrophenia first came out, I believe it was misunderstood and ahead of its time. But it moved me then, and it continues to, for its universal themes of teen angst, conformity and nonconformity, when the idealism of youth turns into the pragmatism of adult reality.”

Schultz is funding the quarter million dollar production with his partners, which include KISS founder and noted rock producer Bill Aucoin, who saw his musical interpretation and recognized its potential right away for a possible road show, Broadway opening or Las Vegas engagement.

For ticket information, go to
www.thegroveofanaheim.com
or www.ticketmaster.com.

Quadrophenia was previously made into a 1979 movie directed by Franc Roddam with Phil Daniels as Jimmy, though it is probably best known today for the film debut of one Sting, who played Ace, the chief Mod of them all. The band played the entire album in concert during their 1996 tour.

“Our production will be very much unlike the movie,” explains Schultz. “The main character, Jimmy, will come across as more sympathetic. Growing up I related to Jimmy’s dilemma and felt a kinship. Our show will journey into his head and present the contents on-stage, from the tenacious arguments with mom and dad, to the fights on the beach between Mods and Rockers, to a yearning for the beautiful girl he can’t have. It’s basically West Side Story crossed with Romeo & Juliet. This is my way of completing the circle from the first time I first heard Quadrophenia.”

For More information, please contact: Jonathan Wolfson (wolfsonpr@hotmail.com) or Aaron Meza (aaron@wolfson-pr.com) at Wolfson Public Relations p: 323-466-0499

Taken from: http://www.myspace.com/quadtribute

Quadrophenia - the Film 1

2005-11-02T16:49:00.000-08:00

Against the backdrop of riots in 60s Brighton, Quadrophenia perfectly captures the teenage need to belong, and identify, with your peers. In 1964 London, Jimmy Cooper (Phil Daniels) divides his time between hanging out with Mod friends and slaving in the post-room of an advertising firm. He doesn't work because he wants to or through a desire to further a career. No, all Jimmy wants is to have enough cash in his pocket to keep his scooter running and bespoke suits trim, leaving a little for "blues". There's nothing that Jimmy likes more than motoring with his pals Dave (Mark Wingett), Chalky (Philip Davis) and Spider (Gary Shail). What better way could there be to exasperate his parents (Michael Elphick and Kate Williams) and chat up birds like Steph (Leslie Ash) and Monkey (Toyah Wilcox)?

Come Saturday, Jimmy's down the sauna getting scrubbed-down for a weekend of mayhem. Unfortunately someone in the next cubicle is singing, off-key, the sort of tunes that really bug Jimmy. When he doesn't stop, in fact becoming louder, Jimmy sticks his head over the partition, looking for trouble, only to find Kevin (Ray Winstone), an old school-friend. Warmed with memories of some good times, Jimmy meets Kevin in a nearby cafe (for a sit-down breakfast). Unfortunately it's only then that Jimmy realises that Kevin is a Rocker, the sworn mortal enemies of Mods, forcing him to make an excuse and leave. The episode is soon forgotten though, for Jimmy is looking to have some success with women that evening. He's had his eye on the lithe Steph for a while, even though she's currently hitched up to Pete (Garry Cooper).

So, after procuring a few pills from their supplier Ferdy (Trevor Laird), the gang rolls around looking for a party to gate-crash. Out in the suburbs, the opportunity arises and soon everyone is swaying to the top sounds of the day. The problem for Jimmy is that Steph is all caught up, leaving him to the tender mercies of Monkey. She's a real man-eater, out for a good time, and Jimmy is unwillingly in the firing line. Unsurprisingly it all goes pear-shaped, especially when Jimmy finds that everyone apart from him has found a partner for a bout of sweaty, consensual sex. Luckily, the following weekend is a Bank Holiday and they're all of to Brighton for some fun. However, from the press clippings pinned to Jimmy's bedroom wall, it's clear that he's expecting something a little more exciting.

The central figure of Quadrophenia is Jimmy. Through his eyes we see his uncomprehending (though loving) parents, the London Mod scene and just how far he's prepared to go in the long-standing Mod vs Rocker conflict. To Jimmy, being a Mod is everything; a way of life, a community and a chance to be special (to everyone else it's just something they do at the weekend). As he explains to Kevin, he wants to be different, to stand apart from others. It's kind of ironic then that the way he achieves this is by joining the herd of Parka-wearing, Lambretta-riding Mods. The appeal for someone as vulnerable, impressionable and confused as Jimmy is obvious though, since it's all about getting to grips with life. As such, Quadrophenia lovingly recreates both the period detail and the sense of alienation that many teenagers suffer.

Somewhere around the mid-point of Quadrophenia, the beach-front of Brighton explodes into a pitched-battle between Mods and Rockers. From a small punch-up in a cafe, thousands of excited teenagers looking for an excuse clash in what quickly becomes a riot. However, while the action on the screen has dissolved into chaos, director Franc Roddam keeps a firm hand on the proceedings, orchestrating the violence beautifully. Hence, while the riot is both nasty and quite scary, the film never loses sight of the principal figures (Jimmy and Steph at this point). In tandem with this massed brawl, Roddam is also quite successful at extracting some good performances on an individual level. Daniels is absolutely excellent as a kid chasing dreams in a haze of tiny blue pills, rapidly succumbing to drug-fuelled paranoia. That it's all smoke and mirrors is something that rapidly becomes obvious. Perhaps the greatest triumph of Quadrophenia is that it captures the zeitgeist perfectly. Everything from the smart uniforms to the way in which the Who-influenced soundtrack complements Jimmy's actions and feelings adds to the authentic feel. The drawbacks of this are that elements such as plot and deep characterisation get lost in the noise, abandoned as unnecessary by a movie which celebrates the vibrancy of youth.

However, while this point of view is valid, the lack of background hinders the appreciation of what these teenagers are doing and where they've come from. This problem is high-lighted in the figure of "The Ace Face" (Sting), a sharp-looking fellow who captures Jimmy's imagination and loyalty, only to unwittingly shatter his world. While he works as a symbol, it would be rewarding to just know more about him (especially as he only gets a few, muffled lines). So, although Quadrophenia accurately invokes the Mod movement (and provides some modern-day fun in the picking out of now familiar faces), it fails to tell the whole story.

bloopers in Quadrophenia:

Continuity: In the final scene before Phil Daniels rides the scooter off the cliff you can see a shadow of the helicopter filming the scene.

Continuity: During the scene where Spider returns to the club and the Mods are off hunting, John Altman is seen leaving the club and riding on the back of a scooter. Second shot, he's dancing.

Continuity: During the end scooter sequence along the cliff tops, you can clearly make out wheel tracks stretching out ahead of Phil Daniels' bike, yet he hasn't been over that ground yet - these are presumably left-overs from a previous take?

Continuity: In the end of the film when Phil Daniels is about to run over a cliff with his scooter, in the first shot there is a windshield on the scooter. In the second the windshield is gone. In the third the windshield is back again.

Continuity: Leslie Ash's dark shoes change to white trainers halfway through the Riot Scene.

Continuity: Routemaster buses have the late 1970s white London Transport logo, not the gold lettering they should have for the mid 1960s when the film is set.

Continuity: The bikes are all wrong. Rockers at that time went in for the 'Cafe Racer' style with clip-on handle bars, rear set footrests, bum stops etc. The bikes in the shots en route to Brighton had high bars; five years too early.

Continuity: The police in the riot scenes have got hair hanging well over their collars - they are supposed to be POLICE in the mid 1960s whereas in fact they are a mob of scruffy layabout 1970s extras.

Continuity: There is a view from Phil Daniels window where a High Speed Train (first operated in about 1975) goes past - the film is set in mid 1960s.

Factual error: The police vans used in the riot scene are Austin-Morris J4 models, with B registrations, dating them to 1964. The Austin-Morris badge on the front of these vans was only fitted to vans made between 1971-1975. If it is a 1964 van the badge on the front should read Morris Commercial.

taken from: http://www.moviemistakes.com

Quadrophenia - the Film 2

2005-11-02T16:41:00.000-08:00

The focus of the story is significantly changed from the album. The four personalities are all but gone (one reference remains, the scene with Jimmy's father, but no other evidence can be seen), and the story itself is quite different in places. This Quadrophenia focuses on the Mod/Rocker conflicts and life during that period rather than the trauma of adolescence. In that respect, it's more of a British American Grafiti than a version of QUAD. It also seems to run on a up/down cycle. That is to say, something good happens to our hero immediately followed by something bad. I'll note this cycle by putting a notation (G or B). What this will mean exactly may not be something good/bad to us (the observers), but good/bad by Jimmy's standard of Mod.

It opens with Jimmy (Phil Daniels) walking away from the cliffs (from the end of the film), quickly cutting to Jim on his GS Scooter riding through the streets of London. There is a brief and mild encounter with some Rockers setting the stage for conflict to come. He arrives at a Mod club, where his first action is to buy some leapers. We're introduced here to Steph, who has no real definition in the album version (other than being referred to as ("The girl I love "), and some of Jimmy's friends. Jim goes home and we see the "wall of Mod;" pictures of Brighton riots and nude women and there is an excellent scene with Jimmy's head by a picture of a young Pete Townshend.

The next day we find Jimmy in a public bath, becoming offended by a fellow bather's rendition of Gene Vincent's Be Bop A Lula. Competing, he begins to howl The Kink's You Really Got Me. The conflict escalates, and when Jimmy jumps up to confront the other bather he turns out to be an old friend. They decide to meet in a cafﾈ afterward. And, as it turns out, Kevin is a Rocker. At first Jimmy is a bit put off, but he begins warming to Kevin until some Mods enter the diner and Jimmy rejects his friend to stay correctly Mod.

Than night, at a Mod party, Jimmy begins making out with a receptive girl. However, when he sees Steph in the room he decides to go completely "Mod" and takes off the dance-track and plays My Generation (to impress her, no doubt). This causes Steph to leave in disgust and Jim is left lonely and confused. As the others pair of for sex, Jimmy displays his berserker nature and tears up the garden with his scooter. From here he drives to a quiet place under a bridge, and (as the rain flows down) reflects on his life (as I'm One plays in the background). Seeing a couple engaging in love play, he blasts by them in a rage.

The next morning at work Jimmy is feeling the effect of late-night partying. There is a brilliant scene in the bathroom which has Jim in the toilet throwing up while his bosses talk of business matters. As Jimmy emerges, the mirrors catch his reflections. That night, as he tries to repair his scooter, Jim hears the roar of a Rocker motorcycle coming up the alley. He is ready to defend himself, but it's Kevin who helps him work on the bike. They talk, and Jimmy tries to justify his Mod dislike for the Rockers ("Well, that's it isn't it? They're third class tickets."), yet begins to see through the superficiality of Mod and Rocker titles. They're all human after all.

Once again there is a scene where Jimmy is reflected in the scooter's mirrors impressive direction there, as in the entire movie. A subtle reference to the four-personality theme that's otherwise ignored. The next day at work Jim is all smiles. There is an extremely funny scene when he's playing cards with his workmates ("Take it or leave it.") and as he is dispatched to take some photos across town he steals a picture of the model.

After work, Jimmy meets Steph and gives here a ride home. AHe finds out that he has a chance with her, which adds to his good feeling. Later, on the way to the club, his friend Spider's scooter breaks down. Left by the others, he is attacked by a band of Rockers. Upon hearing this, Jimmy leads a force of Mods to find the culprits. They come across two innocent Rockers, and the fight is on. One of these turns out to be Kevin, and Jimmy (unable to do anything about the fight) flees in panic really attempting to escape from himself. Things, so good only moments before, have begun to go wrong again. This is escalated by a confrontation with his Dad, who berates him about his behavior. Here we have the famous (and my favorite) line "Bloody Split Personality!" Jim, in despair and seeking the good feeling he had only moments before, takes out the picture of the model and masturbates himself to sleep. This is obviously a nod to the song Pictures of Lily. The next morning he blows off work to search for some Leapers for the upcoming event. In the end this leads him to dealing with a gangster, who rips him off. Jimmy and his friends trash the gangster's car ("Let's do his motor!) and escape.

Still lacking the needed pills, the Mods break into a chemist's. That gives us the funniest scene in the entire movie, that of (Daltery look-alike) Chalky with condom-covered fingers. They find the pills, and flee in stark terror of a ringing phone. Later Jimmy impresses Steph at the club with his stash of pills.

Another confrontation with his parents rotates around an episode of Ready Steady Go (featuring The Who, by coincidence). Jim is walking around with wet Levis on ("Ya gotta shrink 'em on ya.") and his parents think he's balmy. Rather than a reference to split personalities (as one might expect), this is merely a "generation gap" incident. Early the morning Jimmy is preparing to head out to Brighton beach for the weekend (with a Radio London blurb from SELL OUT playing in the background). On the road with his friends, Chalky gets out ahead of the group and gets run off the road by some Rockers. And is left on the side of the road by his uncaring friends.

The next scene is the Brighton promenade, where the Mods have come together. Here we are introduced to "the ultimate Mod" Ace-Face (brilliantly performed by Sting). Jimmy is in Mod heaven, and it shows in his conversation with Steph (who disappears at a timely moment). The Mods gather in a discotheque for dancing and co-mingling. Jim, frustrated by the attention given by Steph to Ace-Face, dances on the railing and then jumps into the crowd. He is thrown out, to spend a lovely night walking the beach and once again contemplating his life. In the meantime, Dave and the Chalky rind a place to sleep (unknowingly) among a group of Rockers. The next morning finds Jimmy less than happy ("Why are you on the ump? Why are you so grumpy?") after a night with no sleep, but upon finding out that Steph is now free for taking and joining the other Mods his mood changes for the better. Now he's where he wants to be, among those who think as he does, chanting "We are the Mods!" and scaring passer-bys. Spotting some Rockers in a cafﾈ, the entire horde descends upon their enemies. The fighting trashes the diner, and the Police are called. The Mods retreat to the beach to be confronted with the host of Rockers. And a beach fight ensues. Jimmy escapes with Steph in tow, and they head for the streets and down a convenient alley. Here, Jim fulfills his fantasy of shagging Steph, and thereby making this day perhaps the best of his life.

Back on the street, Jimmy is captured by the police and taken away. He finds a moment of hope when Ace-Face is confined with him, and goes to Court with him, but it's short-lived. When Jim returns to Shepherd's Bush, he finds that he's been kicked out of the house by his mother who has found his stash of Leapers. At work he's so disgusted with the boss's "dressing down" he quits ("Find one, then!"). On top of this, while he was in jail Steph and Dave have gotten together. Slowly but surely, Jimmy is losing everything he's gained since the beginning of the movie. And then the coldest cut of all his bike is hit by a Postal truck ("There it is! On the floor now!"). Jim has lost everything, and he feels he has nothing left to stay in London for. So he decides to leave Brighton, where everything was Mod and cool and perfect.

Drinking gin and taking more Leapers, he takes the train back to the seacoast. However, on the weekday it's rather deserted and no Mods are about. He revisits the place where things were best including the alley and finds no comfort.

Just then, a ray of hope shines on him. Jimmy spots Ace-Face's scooter. He's found another, a cooler Mod. Smiling, Jim walks over to the Hotel to find his friend only to discover that Ace-Face is only the Bell Boy, bowing and scarping; no longer swaggering and arrogant.That tears it for Jimmy. Screaming "Bell boy!" at his former idol, he steals the scooter and heads for the cliffs. He's struggling with the situation, and facing up to some uncomfortable truth. No longer can Mod be expected to sustain him. His friends are no help, and his parents abandoned him. So Jimmy takes the only solution that will help him exorcise the pain and sends the scooter over the cliff; the ultimate rejection of Mod and all it stands for.

Quadrophenia - The Film
An Introduction by Marc Leaman

Quadrophenia - the album

2005-11-02T16:32:00.000-08:00

Released November 1973. The ultimate Who album. The album where all that has gone before comes together into one perfect package. The definitive Rock album, although perhaps not the definitive Who album yet still the most "Who" of any Who album. QUAD was the only Pete Townshend production for his band, which may be the reason for this. Unlike TOMMY, which was a fantasy, QUAD is almost stark in its realism. Searching for what seems an impossible solution, Jimmy rides out on his GS scooter. He is still declaring his Modism striving to be a perfect Mod. Then Jimmy sees the girl he loves with his best friend, which seems to be the final straw, and is upset enough to crash the bike, and ending his life, the move leave the last question open...

Liner notes by Brian Cady John Entwistle Bass, Horns, Vocals Roger Daltrey Lead Vocals Keith Moon Percussion, vocals Pete Townshend Remainder [except where noted below]

Front cover photography and design by Graham Hughes from an idea by Roger Daltrey Inside and back cover photography, book photography and art direction by Ethan A. Russell. Conceived by Pete Townshend and Ethan A. Russell. Mod kid played by Chad [Terry Kennett]. Hair by Dallas Amos. All tracks written by Pete Townshend and published by Fabulous Music, Ltd. Produced by The Who [except where noted below] Pre-production (with Pete Townshend): Kit Lambert Engineer: Ron Nevison Mixing continuity and engineering assistance: Ron Fawcus Studio earphone mix: Bobby Pridden (Special effects recorded by Rod Houison, Ron Nevison and Pete Townshend)

Quadrophenia was originally released in the U.K. as Track 2657 013 on October 26, 1973. However, it appears that due to a vinyl shortage caused by the OPEC oil embargo, only a limited number of copies got to stores before production had to be halted. Most British Who fans failed to find a copy until after The Who's U.K. tour. In the U.K., Quadrophenia reached the #2 position being held out of the top spot by David Bowie's Pinups. In the U.S. Quadrophenia was MCA2 10004 released on November 3, 1973. It reached #2 in the Billboard charts being beaten out of first place by Elton John's Goodbye Yellow Brick Road. Quadrophenia began shortly after the May 1972 session to attempt to create a follow-up to Who's Next. Pete originally intended a mini-opera about the members of The Who called "Rock Is Dead - Long Live Rock." Ultimately his attention went more to a central character like Tommy, here called Jimmy, who would be a Who fan of the Mod era but would also embody The Who. Townshend had played with this idea before; at one point in Tommy's genesis, Pete planned to have parts of Tommy's personality represented by The Who. Another part of the form of Quadrophenia came from the failure to film Lifehouse. Instead of creating a filmscript that would probably never be made, Pete planned Quadrophenia as an album that would be the soundtrack to a never-made film with both music and sound effects and a photo album to supply the images.

Pete said that during the mix he had 16-track tapes piled up to the ceiling. Roger also estimated that Quadrophenia was reduced from 15 hours of recorded music. Pete said he wrote "about fifty songs for this and creamed off the best" and that Quadrophenia could have been a quadruple album. What those other songs were is unknown but a few of them turned up on the Quadrophenia Soundtrack. Pete Townshend: "The whole conception of Quadrophenia was geared to quadraphonic, but in a creative sort of way. I mean I wanted themes to sort of emerge from corners. So you start to get the sense of the fourness being literally speaker for speaker. And also in the rock parts the musical thing would sort of jell together up to the thunder clap, then everything would turn slowly from quad into mono and you'd have this solid sort of rock mono ... then a thunder clap and back out again. We spent months mixing it and then found out that MCA was using the CBS quad system and ... you might as well forget it. So our engineer remixed it in the same manner that it was mixed in stereo, the same sort of creative approach." How successful he was with that mix is still a matter of contention among Who fans. Is it a good mix, a bad mix or a technically flawed mix? In any case the rest of The Who hated the mix, particularly Roger, and their reaction was the first of several disappointments for Pete stemming from Quadrophenia. John remixed the album for the 1979 film but Roger thought it was worse than the original. Pete and Roger were both involved in the 1996 remix. Their pleasure at the results was one of the primary reasons for the 1996-97 Quadrophenia tour.

I Am The Sea (2'08) Pete Townshend: "Our story is set on a rock in the middle of a stormy sea..." And where did the cat come from? In live performance, this was presented totally on tape in quadraphonic sound coming from all sides of the arena.

The Real Me (3'22) Pete Townshend: "Gets everything going with a quick look in at the psychiatrists, at home and even a quick visit to the local vicar. Mental security is unfortunately not obtained." The demo version has the additional lines, "Rock & Roll's going do me in; do me an evil wrong. Funny how your best friends turn out; it was good for oh so long. I stop myself getting letters and then the people try to turn me back. Publisher wants my memoirs and the limousines are black. Can you see the real me, rock & roll?" Released as a single in the U.S. January 12, 1974 with b-side "I'm One." It peaked at #92 in Billboard and #82 in Cash Box. The ending was edited to cut back to an instrumental section prior to the final "Can you see the real mememememe" and faded out which gave it a running time of 3'26. It was also released as a single in France, Belgium and Japan.

Quadrophenia (6'15) Pete Townshend: "The four-personality concept grew out of a naive understanding of schizophrenia - a misunderstanding of schizophrenia. Jimmy is a kid who suffers from schizophrenia, and when he takes pills, his schizophrenia divides up and he suffers from quadrophenia." This was only played live during the British leg of the 1973 tour and was not revived until 1996.

Cut My Hair (3'46) News read by John Curle Pete Townshend: "A domestic interlude. The boy recalls a row with his folks that culminated in his leaving home. We also hear a news broadcast mentioning riots in Brighton between Mods and Rockers, events at which he was present the previous week." This song quotes from The High Numbers' single "Zoot Suit." "Cut My Hair" was only played live during the British leg of the 1973 tour and was not revived until 1996.

The Punk And The Godfather (5'10) Pete Townshend: "The hero goes to a rock concert. He queues up, pays his money and he decides he is going to see the stars backstage as they come out the stage door. And one of them comes up and says 'fuck off!' And he suddenly realizes that there's nothing really happening in rock & roll. It's just another cross on his list." This song quotes from The Who's "My Generation." On the U.S. album this was called "The Punk Meets The Godfather."

I'm One (2'39) Pete Townshend: "When I was a nipper I felt that the guitar was all I had. I wasn't tough enough to be in a gang, I wasn't good looking enough to be in with the birds, not clever enough to make it at school, not good enough on my feet to be good football player, I was a fucking loser. I think everyone feels that way at some point. And somehow being a Mod - even though I was too old to be a Mod really - I wrote this song with that in mind. Jimmy, the hero of the story, is kinda thinking he hasn't got much going for him but at least he's one."

The Dirty Jobs (4'30) Piano by Chris Stainton. Stainton, replacing the usual Who-keyboardists Nicky Hopkins or Al Kooper, was an ex-member of Joe Cocker's Grease Band. Pete Townshend: "Suitably disenchanted with his former religion Rock & Roll, he gets a job as a dustman. Unfortunately, his extremely left-wing views are not appreciated by his work mates and he passes on to greater things. No sound effects were available to get the stink across so we used a brass band. Incongruous enough?" Roger Daltrey: "He gets a job as a dustman like most kids have to do when they leave school at fifteen. There's nothing much else. He gets pissed off with that. Of course, when you do something that stinks there's always a lot of other stinky things around. And he gets mixed up with the stinkiest thing of all, politics!" Dropped from the live act after one performance on October 28, 1973 and not revived until 1996.

Helpless Dancer (Roger's Theme)(2'32) Pete Townshend: "We get a real look at where the aggression comes from. Jimmy has a conscience that bites fairly deeply. His frustration with the world only makes him more angry, even bitter." The version of this song on the 1973 tour featured live horn work by John. It was dropped for the last three shows of the 1973 North American tour and not revived until 1996.

Is It In My Head? (3'46) Pete Townshend: "The track that shows Jimmy, although an ordinary kid, has not only a conscience, but also self doubt. He worries about his own part, and feels maybe his outlook is clouded by pessimism." Produced by The Who and associate producer Glyn Johns. Recorded at Olympic Studios, London May 1972. Dropped from the live act after one performance on October 28, 1973 and not revived until 1996.
I've Had Enough (6'14) Pete Townshend: "A lot happens around this bit, much of it in the album cover story. Briefly, Jimmy 'snaps' when he sees a girl he particularly likes with a friend of his. In a desperately self-pitiful state, he smashes up his prize scooter and decides to go to Brighton where he had such a good time with his friends chasing Rockers and eating fish and chips." Dropped from the live act after one performance on October 28, 1973 and not revived until 1996.

5:15 (5'00) Piano by Chris Stainton. Recorded June 27, 1973. Pete Townshend: "His train journey down to Brighton, sandwiched between two city gents is notable for the rather absurd number of purple hearts he consumes in order to wile away the time. He goes through a not entirely pleasant series of ups and downs as he thinks about the gaudier side of life as a teenager that we see in newspapers like the News Of The World. '5:15' was written in Oxford Street and Carnaby Street while I was killing time between appointments. I must try it again sometime, it seems to work!" Unlike most everything else on the album, Pete did not make a demo of this. The music was written in the studio on the day of recording. On September 28, 1973 it was released as a single in the U.K. prior to the album's release. It went to #20. It was also released as a single throughout the world with the exception of the U.S. The Quadrophenia Soundtrack remix was issued as a single everywhere in September 1979. It did not chart in Britain but reached #45 in the U.S. Billboard charts and #53 in Cash Box. The b-side was the remixed version of "I'm One." Live versions can be found on Join Together, the 30 Years Of Maximum R&B video and The Blues To The Bush.

Sea And Sand (5'01) Pete Townshend: "Arriving at Brighton, Jimmy brightens up a bit...get the pun? He talks about rows at home and is a little sarcastic as he recalls the evening on the beach with his former girlfriend. This is 1965 and the Mod scene is already falling apart - and what does he do but go to Brighton just to remember. The crazy days when 300,000 Mod kids from London descended on that little beach town were only three weeks ago, but he's already living in the past." The ending quotes from The High Numbers' single "I'm The Face."

Drowned (5'28) Piano by Chris Stainton Pete Townshend: "This song, included in Quadrophenia, should actually stand alone. I think in a sense it does. When the tragic hero of Q sings it, it is desperate and nihilistic. In fact, it's a love song, God's love being the ocean and our 'selves' being the drops of water that make it up. Meher Baba said, 'I am the Ocean of Love.' I want to drown in that ocean, the 'drop' will then be an ocean itself. Anyway a tale - when recording this song it rained so hard in Battersea where our studio is that the walls were flowing with sheets of water. Chris Stainton played piano in a booth and when the take was finished he opened the door and about 500 gallons gushed out! Another glorious coincidence. The take on the album is the one." The most often performed song from Quadrophenia during The Who's live shows probably because it gave the band room to improvise. In the 1996-97 edition it was performed solo by Pete on acoustic guitar. Live versions can be found on the Who Rocks America video and the 30 Years Of Maximum R&B video.

Bell Boy (Keith's Theme)(4'56) Recorded June 1, 1973. Pete Townshend: "He meets an old Ace Face who's now a bellhop at the very hotel the Mods tore up. And he looks on Jimmy with a mixture of pity and contempt, really, and tells him, in effect, 'Look, my job is shit and my life is a tragedy. But you - look at you, you're dead!'" A live version with Keith can be found on the 30 Years Of Maximum R&B video.

Dr. Jimmy (including "Is It Me?" - John's Theme) (8'42) Pete Townshend: "'Dr. Jimmy' was meant to be a song which somehow gets across the explosive, abandoned wildness side of his character. Like a bull run amok in a china shop. He's damaging himself so badly that he can get to the point where he's so desperate that he'll take a closer look at himself. The part where he says, 'What is it, I'll take it. Who is she, I'll rape it.' That's really the way I see Keith Moon in his most bravado sort of states of mind." A live version can be found on Who's Last.

The Rock (6'37) Pete Townshend: "It's getting in a boat, going out to sea and sitting on a rock waiting for the waves to knock him off that makes him review himself. He ends up with the sum total of frustrated toughness, romanticism, religion, daredevil - desperation, but a starting point for anybody." This was only played live during the British leg of the 1973 tour and was not revived until 1996.

Love Reign O'er Me (Pete's Theme) (5'48) Produced by The Who and associate producer Glyn Johns. Recorded May 1972 at Olympic Studios, London with additional tracks recorded at The Kitchen June 8, 1973. Pete Townshend: "'Love Reign O'er Me' is similar to 'Drowned' in meaning. This refers to Meher Baba's one time comment that rain was a blessing from God; that thunder was God's Voice. It's another plea to drown, only this time in the rain. Jimmy goes through a suicide crisis. He surrenders to the inevitable, and you know, you know, when it's over and he goes back to town he'll be going through the same shit, being in the same terrible family situation and so on, but he's moved up a level. He's weak still, but there's a strength in that weakness. He's in danger of maturing." It was released as a single in the U.S. October 27, 1973 where it peaked at #76 in the Billboard charts and #54 in Cash Box. It was edited down to 3'11 with a different ending. The b-side was "Water." It was also released as a single in Belgium and the Netherlands where the b-side was "Is It In My Head." Live versions can be found on Who's Last, the Who Rocks America video, Join Together, The Who/Live featuring the rock opera Tommy video and the 30 Years Of Maximum R&B video.

Quadrophenia - Where The Clothes Came From

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Contemporary Wardrobe is a clothes-hire firm that covers fashions over the last 30 years. It is run by two ex-mods, Roger Burton and Jack English, and one assignment of theirs was to do some of the costumes for the Quadrophenia film.

Jack English said, "Getting the costumes together was pure joy because we were part of the Mod era and our hearts are still there. We were at the actual Brighton riot portrayed in the film. Those were the days when a guy spent an hour getting the knot in his tie just right, afraid to sit down on the bus in case his suit got creased. There were only about 300 guys in the whole of London who could then afford authentic Mod suits, and for the film we located a wonderful genuine silk John Michael exclusive. The kid we hired it for jumped in the sea wearing it during the filming of the Brighton riot scene and it was a complete write-off. That beach fight sequence annihilated a lot of irreplaceable clothing. It made my heart bleed. Kids today can't comprehend what a silk suit symbolized to someone in 1964."

Roger opens a battered box and out spills 30 years of brassiere push-up and under-wired. He examines a satin number with conical cups. "For Quadrophenia we had to research the right shape. Mod girls were moving away from padding and preferred push-up breasts with blunted-looking ends." Authentic underwear is essential to capture the rhythms of an epoch, and Roger objects to females in Quadrophenia wearing tights. "They should be in stockings because women wearing suspenders walked, sat and danced quite differently." And Jack has one final comment about the film: "When we needed parkas for the scooter boys in 'Quadrophenia' people asked why we simply didn't get them from C&A." He lifts a parka resembling a heap of old rag from the floor: "Feel the genuine army surplus article with fishtail back and fur hood. There's only about twenty of these left in the country, double zips, clips, wool-blanket lining. The modern synthetic versions look stiff and hang all wrong."

From Who Magazine No. 3, December 1979
Transcribed by Brian Cady

the Quadropheniawalk

2005-11-02T16:19:00.000-08:00

Take a walk on the wild side...

"Riotous fun following Jimmy's footsteps to all the Brighton locations in the Who's famous film, with expert guide film fan. Full commentary at each stop, illustrated, music. Mods and Rockers mayhem, it's Brighton 1964!" The Who's 1973 album was made into a brilliant film starring Phil Daniels, Leslie Ash, Sting, Toyah Willcox Mark Wingett and Ray Winstone in 1979. This real cult classic is as popular today as when it was released and is available on video and DVD (In which director Franc Roddam mentions the tour).

Tour guide Glenda is an expert on it, having spoken to Franc, cast members and so many people involved in different aspects of the filming in order to get behind the scenes stories. She has also researched the real life events on which it is based, having spoken to original mods and rockers and those in Brighton May '64 so makes full use of newspaper cuttings, photos, film stills, and of course the music too. The tour follows the story as events unfold, by going to each location. Want to know more? read on...

Where does the tour go exactly? To all the locations as seen in the film, where the Mods arrive, the exterior of the dancehall where Jimmy is thrown out, the arches where Dave and Chalky kip, the cafe where they meet for breakfast and which Jimmy later returns to, the seafront as seen in the film, the part of the beach used for the fight scenes, the shopping street where the police herd them, the alleyway where Jimmy and Steph go (of course, thank goodness still unchanged!), the hotel where Ace is the Bellboy. Also the two cinemas where the film had its premieres in '79 and '97. We follow the story as it unfolds.

taken from: http://www.brightonwalks.com/tour_quad.html

Quadrophenia The Prologue By Alan Fletcher, Compiled and transcribed by Brian Cady

2005-11-02T15:58:00.000-08:00

Prologue In the dark room, as narrow as a railway carriage, sudden spotlights illuminated the stage. Amplifiers, a web of wires to carry the live currents, the silver edges of the drums gleaming bright, hi-hat and snare. They're almost here, he thought, almost here. Feverish, feeling the amphetamine racing in his blood. High and free, more pills in his pocket, thick smoke in the light, the hum and drone of the amplifiers. Nearly here. People wedged him in, packing closer, tighter, not restless but waiting, anticipating, willing the first harsh chord and the violence of the moment, cut out of time. The moment in the rose garden. Waiting, keenly watching, almost nervously, their faces tensed. Pills going down, feeding them up, and the first shouts, louder now, speeding them towards release. The waxing voices. Hemmed in and pushed closer, edging towards the empty stage, his head screaming now, now, now, now, his eyes dazzled, blinded by the brilliant lights. Nearly here. Back there now, somewhere out of sight, dressed and ready, fingering strings. Any moment he thought. Any time. They're nearly here. Across the room, head and shoulders above the rest, blonde hair swept back, he saw the Face, patiently waiting, not seeking his audience now but part of it, part of the sea of faces and sharing the vision, unselfconsciously eager. The crowd shuffled forward, gaining inches, someone leaping, breaking clear for a second, dropping back out of sight, like the failing salmon at the waterfall. He felt the dampness under his arms, sweat on his face, rivulets coursing down his hot cheeks and dripping, dripping from his chin. His arms were pinned and he couldn't free them to wipe away the wet smears, but the discomfort quickly passed. It didn't matter. His lips formed the words, rehearsing the moment:

"I can go anyway ... way I choose"

Daltrey leaning back, rocking back, arm raised, the microphone lead snaking through his fingers. Crashing forward I can live anyhow win or lose Dancing.

"I can go anywhere ... for something new ANYWAY, ANYHOW ANYWHERE I CHOOSE"

Cajoling, threatening, teasing, knowing

"WHY DON'T YOU ALL F-F-F-FA-FA-FA-FADF, A-A-A-AWAY"

Moments of vision. Almost here. Townshend, Daltrey, Entwistle, Moon. The shape of ascending, spiraling sound, the windmilling, descending arms, the wild, free relentless drumming. Drunk with the music. Waiting, waiting, now, now, now, now. NOW. And then, at its climax, the guitar smashed and pulped and splintered against the boards, the electric scream of its dying, breaking open the amplifier, the loudest wound. The crush and chaos and then the screech and whistle of feed back, bleeding through the system endlessly.

"ANYWAY, ANYHOW ANYWHERE"
Yes
"NOTHING GETS IN MY WAY"
Yes, now
"NOT EVEN LOCKED DOORS"
Listen
"ANYWAY, ANYHOW ANYWHERE I CHOOSE"

The high harsh whistle of noise. Moon ripping, tearing, hacking, puncturing the tight skins. Tearing down the defences, letting in the sea. Anyway and anyhow. Nothing matters. Nothing beyond this room. Nothing out there in the night. Nothing, nothing, nothing. He felt the tightness in his throat. His limbs ached. They pushed him closer and nearer to the dream. It was time. They were here. Look at us, he thought. Look at us. We're out in the light.

" P-people t-try to p-p-p-put us d-own Talking bout my generation J-ju-just b-because we g-g-get around Talking bout my generation Things they do I-look a-awawf-ful o-c-cold Talking bout my generation H-hope hope I d-die before I g-ge-get old" "This is m-my-my generationMy generation baby" "Why don't you all f-f-f-f-fade away Talking bout my generation Don't t-try and d-d-dd-dig what we all s-ss-say Talking bout my generation Not t-t-try-ying to c-c-ca-cause a big sensa-shun Talking bout my generation" "J-j-just t-t-talk-in bout m-my gene-ra-ra-shun" "My generation" "This is my generation"

OUT IN THE LIGHT

"but I know sometimes I must get out in the light better leave her behind where the kids are alright The Kids Are Alright"

AUGUST 1964 Jimmy Cooper lived in Shepherd's Bush, West London, barely a mile from the Goldhawk Social Club. He had left school and worked in the post room in an Advertising Agency in the West End. Like most of his contemporaries he earned decent money for his age - seventeen - and spent this, according to a strict hierarchy of necessity and choice, on a variety of things. His mother took board from him at two pounds a week. Then the rest of his £15 wages went on clothes, dancing, records, magazines and pills. Not aspirins or Victory Vs but pep pills: leapers, french blues, purple hearts and black bombers. Amphetamine, or Benzedrine, the stuff that dreams are made of. He also paid religiously the regular weekly installments on a hire purchase account. It was for a motor scooter, a Vespa, Gran Sportique. A G.S. The scooter had five spotlights, four mirrors, front and back racks, trimmed with fur, and chrome side panels. It had cost him half-a-crown a square inch to have them done but, looking at the burnished metal and the beauty of it, the expense seemed worthwhile. So did the money he'd lavished on appropriate clothing, like an authentic US Army Parka with fur-trimmed hood. The two went together and made him visible to the street. It was impossible not to notice what they meant and signified. Jimmy Cooper was a mod. In 1964 the mods were an important, and very visible social force in English, and not just London life. Subsequently, for the most part, ignored or dismissed by cultural historians (perhaps because they lacked an explicit political programme, perhaps because, like most self-confessed movements in the sixties they enjoyed only a relatively brief life), they were nevertheless of extraordinary significance in their own right, and as catalysts of further change. The movement, with its dedication to fashion, music and pills, was the first massive, manifestation of youth culture, and formed the advance guard of the first truly post-war generation in England. Originating at street level, and always retaining their roots in the predominantly working-class environment, the mods displayed more than a taste for sharp clothes and American music, even though it was their appearance (and numbers) which seemed most directly to threaten existing social ideas and values. Their real importance lay in the phenomenal success with which they created and communicated an alternative, and in many ways subversive, culture in the midst of an increasingly affluent society. Despite the fact that they lacked a political programme, the mods revolutionized a generation by making it conscious of itself. For all that, the mods were never an 'underground' movement, a secret society. They deliberately and very successfully advertised their presence on the streets. This visibility stemmed directly from their wide-ranging and essential commitment to style - styles of cool, elegant clothing, styles of talking and dancing, styles of music. Their musical tastes, increasingly esoteric, ranged from black soul music, old blues numbers adopted and adapted by emerging British groups like the Rolling Stones, the Who (earlier the High Numbers) and the Small Faces, rhythm-and-blues, and the kind of rock 'n' roll that showed itself open to such influences. Emotive and expressive, developing, mutating, (but very definitely the shape of things to come), with its deepest roots in an alien American culture, the music embodied new attitudes and alternatives. Moreover, in its language and mood, it seemed closer to the street, to actual and everyday experience, rejecting the romanticism and escapism of the fifties, and the notion that music simply existed as a form of entertainment. Like fashion, music composed a crucial and defining element of the mod experience. The music of the Who and other British groups like the Small Faces, the real mod groups, reflected that experience, both lyrically (with songs like 'Can't Explain' and 'My Generation') and in performance, where improvisation, fashion and violence consorted on stage. The Who's celebrated habit of breaking their instruments on stage, a practice which originated by accident, was also an appropriate mod gesture since it registered the sense of frustration, outrage and anger (a frustration at the inadequacies of street vocabulary, or even of language itself, in 'Can't Explain'), and turned it into action, violence and performance, reflecting again what was happening outside. Clothes of course were central to mod culture, in the same way as pills, scooters and music. An early commentator on the movement, John Kreidl, defined mod as: 'a style of clothes - flash and plastic - a little hard, not soft, not natural. Mod comes from the English word Modernist. It means someone who has taken the uniform from technology and the elegance from the uniform and reacted to modern times this way. It is a cool aesthetic; a sun-glass aesthetic.' The mods were enormously self-conscious about what they wore and how they wore it, about the length of jacket-vents and acceptable materials, about colour (white was a favourite) and shape. Jackets were worn with only the top button fastened and hands (except for the thumbs) thrust into the pockets. The thumbs stayed outside the flaps, pointing down towards the catch. Wide lapels had button-holes, slim lapels didn't, and the material might be either eighteen-ounce striped worsted or eleven-ounce Mohair, Perhaps with coloured linings treated for anti-static. A mod could tell whether a suit was bespoke or Burtons by feeling under the lapels. If he felt the sewn up ridge of a full collar it was bespoke and koshe. Above all, the clothes had to be neat and well-tailored, just as hairstyles had to be short and well-cut. Even so, there was never a single style. The 'look' changed, often within weeks, and often at the instigation of a 'Face', a self-appointed leader who deliberately re-fashioned the image, hatching new ideas from the material to hand. Commercial interests rarely dictated the fashions, though the Saturday squares and the back pages of the music papers often reflected the changes from bell-bottoms to parallels, training shoes to cuban heels. A number of magazines emerged directly catering for the mod market. The media at last couldn't afford to ignore what was happening in the streets. But the mods claimed its attention in other, more dramatic and sensational ways. The rivalry between the mods and the rockers - an English version of the American Hell's Angels - frequently expressed itself in confrontation and violence, the two sides coming together as if by agreement particularly around the south-east resorts. The violence displayed an element of ritual as important as the symbolic clothing, the scooters and the motor bikes, beyond the comprehension of the newspapers. The reports from Margate and Hastings, the scenes of many pitched battles between large gangs of mods and rockers, were typical of the incomprehension, unease and moral indignation felt by the establishment. It's worth quoting a selection (from The Times) in order to remember how it was, in the summer of 1964: RESTAURANT MANAGERESS HURT IN FIGHT MARGATE, MAY 18 There was further trouble here today. Gangs of youths and girls catcalled and threatened each other on the beach after a stabbing incident in the afternoon, and one group later roamed through the town attacking and threatening those thought to belong to rival gangs, and in some cases passers-by. Young people poured into the town throughout the day by motor cycle, scooter and train. The local police reinforced from other Kent forces, moved groups of young people along and attempted to prevent a clash. To a great extent they succeeded. The first incident occurred early in the morning at Margate railway station. Margate police said windows in the buffet were broken by young people and a fight followed. Mrs. Stott, manageress of the buffet, and Mrs. E. Green a cleaner who went to her assistance, were slightly injured. Mrs. Stott said: 'The boy who started it was so good looking and nicely dressed; you wouldn't have thought he was a nasty type.' MARCH TO COURT Around midday magistrates were dealing with charges arising from yesterday's disturbances. A crowd of 200 'Mods' marched to the Town Hall, where the court was sitting, chanting 'Come out you "Rockers"'. A police inspector and three other officers met them and the inspector called: 'Break them up'. As the police advanced, the 'Mods' scattered. Early this afternoon two youths, John Stewart, aged 17, and Michael Fenton, aged 18, were treated at Margate General Hospital after a stabbing incident. Both were discharged. An hour later there was a fight halving several youths on the beach. One of them emerged with four wounds on his back and leg, apparently inflicted by a razor or small knife. He described his opponents as 'Mody'. Ten police officers immediately attempted to clear young people from the surrounding beach. Before they could do so a group of about 50 'Rockers', nearly all wearing black leather jackets, moved from the promenade to the sands. The police prevented a clash and the group moved off along the beach and regained the promenade. The 'Rockers' were followed by a crowd of several hundred young people who taunted them with shouts of 'coward' and clapped rhythmically. Police formed a barrier along the promenade as the 'Rockers' recrossed it, to prevent the crowd following. The 'Rockers' then wandered through the town for several hours: one of them struck a passing car driver, and they forced a scooter rider off his machine in a car park next to the 'Dreamland' amusement park, where incidents occurred yesterday. The scooter rider received cuts and bruises from his fall. The 'Rockers' also ransacked a stationary scooter without injuring the owner. In another incident in the car park a youth punched another scooter owner who had appealed successfully for the return of his crash helmet. The blow was delivered from behind on the back of the neck. Four people were arrested by police during the disturbances. Two of them will appear in court tomorrow. The others, being under 17, will come before a juvenile court later. In conversation, the 'Rockers', many of whom said they lived in Margate, claimed they were defending the town against an alien invasion of 'Mods'. The 'Mods', who came largely from London and towns in Kent, said they had come to enjoy themselves at the seaside. SPECIAL SQUAD ENDS FIGHTING BOURNEMOUTH, MAY 18 Between 40 and 50 youths were taken to police headquarters here today after a fight on the town's West Undercliff. Three went to hospital, but none was seriously hurt. All were local youths. No weapons were used. A preliminary police statement said: 'It is anticipated that charges will be preferred against some of the youths. Identification parades are being held.' The fight was ended by a special squad of 30 police who had been held in reserve in case of trouble. BENCH SITS TWICE Brighton Magistrates held two special sittings yesterday to deal with charges arising from incidents in the town over Whitsun. During the first sitting of the Bench yesterday morning the police were so busy controlling gangs in the resort that they had to ask for several remands. At Margate Dr. George Simpson, chairman of the magistrates referred to 'long-haired, mentally unstable petty little Sawdust Caesars' when about 50 youths and young men appeared before the Court. ARRESTS REACH 70 AFTER HASTINGS CLASHESPOLICE MARCH GANGS OUT TO TOWN BOUNDARIES After disturbances yesterday, police made a further 53 arrests at Hastings, bringing the total for the weekend to 70. Fifteen more arrests were made at Great Yarmouth. HASTINGS, August 3 Police here went on the offensive this evening to clear the town and seafront of the hordes of youths who had spent the weekend fighting and terrorizing holidaymakers. Using completely new tactics, they herded the Mods, Rockers and their followers into groups of 75 to 500 and marched them three miles to the borough boundaries. Most of the groups departed readily, as they have become so used to marching sheepishly behind their leaders that few realized what was happening until they were well on the way to Rye. Youths attempting to get back into town by public transport were taken off the buses and were allowed back in small groups and on foot. The seafront was clear tonight for the first time for 72 hours, for most of those 'accompanied' out of town by the police chose not to return. Local residents, delighted at this new development, brought glasses of lemonade to the police escorting the groups. Mr. Donald Brown, the Chief Constable tonight said that this was 'an inspired piece of policemanship'. 'OPEN MIND' ON DEATH Police here were still trying late tonight to identify the body of a youth aged between 15 and 17 which was washed up early today on the seafront. The body was found by a group of young people spending the night on the beach a few hours after some of the most unpleasant incidents of the weekend when screaming mobs attacked police, knocking one constable unconscious. The Chief Constable said he had an open mind about the death. There way no evidence to suggest foul play. Investigations were continuing. Tonight the 270 police from five forces, including 69 from the Metropolitan division flown from Northolt airport, had the situation well in hand. For the first time for 72 hours the Mods, Rockers and their followers were no longer threatening to cause new disturbances. A further 53 arrests today brought the weekend total to 70, including two girls. GROUPS BROKEN UP Outbreaks of hooliganism had been quickly broken up. The gangs were kept continuously on the move or were restricted to about 100 yards of beach at the far end of the town. The police plan, worked out weeks earlier at a conference of chief constables of the south-east district and senior officers from the Metropolitan force, was to have sufficient men on the ground from the start to break up groups while they were still small and not to make too many arrests in the early stages. The chief constables thought that without this plan the town might have been badly broken up. Nevertheless, behind them at Hastings the gangs have left broken windows, broken cars, one of their number drowned, four policemen injured, a child and several other young girls hurt by flying stones or bottles, and many arrested. ORDINARY YOUTHS The first lesson to be learnt from this weekend is that the popular explanation of Mods and Rockers as the only troublemakers should be ended. The fact is that over three-quarters of the youngsters from 15-22 who descended on this town over the weekend, clearly admittedly knowing that there would be trouble, were to outward appearances at least perfectly ordinary. They did not come by scooter or motor cycle, they did not wear fancy clothes, nor did they have long hair. Of the 3000 to 5000 youths here over the holiday, fewer than 300 could be classed as Mods or Rockers. Whatever enlightened opinion in the rest of England may think, there is probably not an adult here but would welcome a return to the days when a good thrashing would have discouraged the young people's sheeplike hysteria and a massive display of childishness. In the hotels, cafes, public houses and shops along the seafront, there is complete agreement that this is the solution. For three days press, police and aimless hordes of youngsters have been marching slowly up and down the seafront. After breaking off at one o'clock this morning to catch a few hours sleep, the youngsters began the big walk again soon after breakfast with an occasional scuffle or outbreak of rock-throwing. The extraordinary thing is that none of them seems to know why they are doing this. They walk in gloomy silence or sit fully-clothed on the beach waiting for something to happen. Boredom is the likeliest explanation. None of them thinks of home as anything but a place to eat and sleep. 'We just go with the gang, two young lads said. 'No, we don't do much else cock. 'They couldn't want us home on a Bank holiday, would they? So we go wherever the gang is going'. Most of the scooter-riding youths are from clubs around London. All seemed to know that Hastings would be the centre of the August Bank holiday clashes. Most of them had arrived in groups of up to 30 and there way considerable mixing between the groups, so they all knew the general plan of campaign. The weekend pattern was simple. Early morning scuffles and minor incidents. By one o'clock with the public houses open and crowded with youths and girls, the incidents became suddenly more serious. A few drinks too many and someone would start Rocker-hunting or alternatively Mod-hunting. The pack would follow, growing in a few minutes to many hundreds. 'HERE FOR THE KICKS' Parents are apparently not considered when it comes to holidays. Only a few of the youngsters were worried that their families might find that they were at Hastings or sleeping on the beach. They placed the blame on anyone but themselves. One youth spoken to as he lay with a crowd on the beach said: 'It's you bloody lot that are doing this.' Almost as he spoke he picked up a rock and hurled it over the heads of holidaymakers at a rival mob. 'We're here for the kicks, said a lad of 17 from Walthamstow. 'There's nothing to do at home, we go out looking for it.' Another said. 'We don't do nothing much, see; just dance halls, birds, that sort of thing.' 'No, I'm not enjoying myself, mate, replied another lad. 'You'll tell me something better to do then. I'm just waiting.' 'My old man doesn't mind what I do as long as I don't get put inside', said a long-haired youth. 'These bloody coppers are too rough - it was better at Margate', said the leader of another group. 'That one here's just clobbered my mate and he wasn't doing anything, and my bird here was pushed off the railings - she could have been hurt'. Asked why the pockets of his jeans were full of rocks this youth said: 'Just in case mate. You don't ever know, do you?' WEEKENDS OF UPROAR Serious disturbances by Mods and Rockers at the seaside have occurred at each of the three Bank holidays the year. They were:

EASTER (March 27-30) - At Clacton.100 arrests, and 56 charged, or bailed pending enquiries. WHITSUNTIDE (May 16-18) - At Brighton.1000 involved, 7.5 arrested, 48 variously dealt with in court; at Margate, 400 involved, 65 arrested, 47 punished by the court; at Bournemouth, 54 dealt with in court. This Weekend (Saturday to Monday), At Hastings, 70 arrests, and at Great Yarmouth, 31. 1964 the year of the mods I was remembering Margate as I left home for the Goldhawk. Some jerk magistrate had called us 'long-haired, mentally unstable', which just showed how much he knew about it all. Long hair was a thing of the past and groups who still had it were relics, like the beats. You wouldn't have caught me in a fucking jazz club. Perhaps they couldn't afford a barber, lazy, unemployed bastards. I even preferred the grease to the beatniks; at least they cared about their transport. The beats weren't our kind. There was going to be a crowd at the Goldhawk. The line of scooters parked on the pavement outside proved it. There were plenty of mods around on the streets, too, some of them still sitting on their bikes, leaning against the finely-polished, tubular steel, fur-covered backrests, talking the language of machines and music, watching the new arrivals to check out their territories and admire the fashions.

Pete, Dave and Chalkie were there, looking cool and elegant, and so was Monkey, her short blonde hair drawing attention, dancing around, already pilled-up. Pete was wearing a full-length suede coat which was also being noticed and admired. Shit, he knew how to dress well. Shit. He could afford to. I parked the G.S. and joined them. I wasn't going to make a big impression, not tonight, but my clothes were alright. Monkey would notice them, but then she noticed anything in trousers. Anyone could have Monkey's undivided attention without earning it. I was rather hoping to have a taste of the girl in the striped blazer and white T shirt who was feeling the creases in Pete's parallels, but it wasn't likely. One of Pete's assets was a magnetic personality. I preferred to think of it like the bit of jam in the glass jar left out, to catch wasps, but then I was simply jealous. I never had many wasps around me, except when I had pills to share out. 'Hi.' 'Hello, Jimmy.' 'Hello, Monkey.' Monkey grinned and put her arm through mine. She didn't really need an introduction. She was flying, you could see it in her eyes. I wanted to talk to Pete, tell him about the newspapers, the magistrate and that phrase about 'long-haired, mentally unstable petty little Sawdust Caesars'. It had become rather a favourite with my Dad, who didn't understand anything at the best of times, and probably hadn't a clue what the words meant. They served his purpose though. Life at home was piss-awful and getting worse. There were times when I wanted to leave, and times when I felt like reducing the place to a ruin, smashing and breaking everything in sight, doing what, the Who did at the end of every act. That was the most magical thing. A single identity. One and complete. Mods. Pete had turned away, typically. Monkey was still around, but Ray Davies had finished and I could hear the group inside beginning to warm up. It had started to rain too, softly, the water splashing on the chrome and lacquer of the scooters, brilliant under the streetlights. At least my G.S. was being admired. It was definitely one of the best machines in the whole fucking row. I wiped the moisture from the seat and went inside the club with Monkey. You never know, perhaps she had some blues, working in a chemist. I'd need some for Brighton; a whole shop full. I needed some now.

BELL BOYS AND RAIN He was glad he'd gone back, even to wander aimlessly through the streets and around the town, joining the last few holidaymakers along the promenade. The season was drawing towards its close. On the beach, a single deck chair looked like a curious relic of something that had happened once, but was over now, standing by itself in acres of shingle. The shingle stretched away to meet the sea in the blue distance. In the town there was no longer any evidence of the damage that had been done over the holiday. Repairs were complete and the restocked flower beds provided the finishing touches to the cosmetic. It was one and whole again, hiding the junk beneath, but a clean fresh place to be, at the land's end and in the salt air. Jimmy revisited all the places made memorable by the Bank holiday: the cafes, the amusements, the Aquarium - even the Courtroom. He found, after searching around, the basement where he'd taken Steph, and went down and stood for a moment in its darkness, touching the wall with his hands. His life was spread all over Brighton; it looked back at him, wherever he went. That night, by choice, he slept in the open air on the beach, shivering with cold but close to the sea. It lapped near him in the night and he woke, listening to its constant movements, its soothing hiss over the shingles. He went to sleep again, knowing he was safe from its tides. He thought of nothing. The morning was hazy and the town quiet when he woke, his ears singing with the cries of the gulls. He walked up to the promenade and, for an hour, just gazed at the expanse of incoming water, watching the changing colours and churning foam. Seagulls swept across his vision and the air began to warm. He found a 'Seafare' cafe open early and sat in the window drinking coffee, watching people emerge on to the promenade. He was here, he thought, holding the edge of the table and comforted by its solidity. He was here. He was free. After breakfast he sat down on a bench. He didn't know what to do, but he could always walk around again and revisit the places he'd seen yesterday. He fished in his pockets for a couple of pills and washed them down with a mouthful of the gin he'd bought on arriving. Feeling chilled, he started walking towards the West pier, wondering whether he was bored, his Parka damp from the night on the beach. He decided against walking on the pier. It didn't seem worth it. He went back down to the beach, his feet crunching over the gravely shingle, his head slightly dizzy from the blues and gin. He threw stones into the deep water, and then went back up the steps to the promenade, wishing the scooter was there. The wind-swept promenade was almost deserted and it felt cold there, the wind bitter. After a while, uncertain what to do, he stopped outside the Grand Hotel, its glass doors repaired, like everything else. He leaned against the railings and threw pieces of shingle at a lamppost, hearing the chink of flint on metal occasionally. He was bored and cold, so cold he was shaking. He looked back along the promenade and even Brighton looked dull and grey, a place like any other. Why? he thought. Why? He took another pull at the bottle and thought about the home he didn't have to go to, the friends he'd lost, the crushed scooter. There was nothing left, and now Brighton disappointed him. No bikes were going to come around the corner in convoy, nothing was going to happen. There were no concerts to go to, and in the cafes nobody played the Juke boxes or broke the chairs, or talked. Brighton was, after all, in the same world, just a little further along the tracks. He was tired, and there was nowhere to go. He'd reached the land's end. The whole beach was grey. Wet and grey. It was strange how even old dears with piss-all to do would come and spend their Sunday's here, sitting in bloody shingle and watching the sea. Weird how the sea meant something to everyone. I left the railings and wandered along the concrete promenade again, checking the loose five bob in my Parka pocket, and feeling the cold wind. I still had some gin left, thank god, 'cos I was going to need it. The Parka felt like it was sticking to my back it was so wet. Even so, I couldn't understand why I felt so fucking miserable, except I was tired and I didn't know what to do or where to go. In fact there was nothing to feel happy about except the sea. And you can't live in the sea. Music was coming out of one of the record shops in the town: 'Heat Wave' by the Vandelles. I stopped outside and listened. Then 'Mickey's Monkey' by the Miracles. Mod music, but it didn't mean the same now, I felt a bit cheated with it all, now I was outside it. I was tired of moving with the fashions, trying to keep up, like struggling under water. I just felt tired somewhere inside, as if my guts had turned to slime. Perhaps it was the gin and the pills .. . but it wasn't really. It was another feeling, like waiting to be solid again and firm where the slime was inside, where the junk was. I couldn't seem to hold on to myself now, even when things were bad outside. I'd got my freedom. I didn't belong to anyone now, not my parents or Fulford, or even Steph. But now I was free, I didn't even seem to belong in the world any more. Soon I'd be like the tramp, a bit of junk on waste ground. I was frightened by that. I walked back towards the promenade and crossed the road again by the Grand Hotel. Then I saw the scooter and my heart started to pound.

Oh let me go back to the oceanOh let me go back to the sea

A wave crashed on to the beach with remarkable force. A fine mist of spray reached the promenade and the sound of stones clattering evenly down with the receding surf made a sound like sheet metal. it distracted him for a second, the silver-glinting sea, touched in pastel pinks and blues, but his gaze returned to the scooter with reverence and awe. Not a detail out of place, brilliantly gleaming and fully decorated, it stood against the old-fashioned wrought iron railings of the Grand Hotel, machine and symbol, in grace. His eyes shone as he walked towards it, wanting to touch and know it, to understand its power. And as he walked he realized too that it belonged to the one he revered above all others: the Ace, Gerry Stanley. Its burnished chrome reflected his glory, and he remembered. He ran his fingers gently over the fly screen, over the lamps and mirrors pointing out from the front rack and grasped the controls tightly in his hand. The movement, the feel of the steel-cold ironmongery of the bike, seemed to jolt his arm, like a mild electric shock; he couldn't release it. The noise of a taxi puffing up at the kerb with its tyres crunching on the grit in the gutter made him look up, as a man in grey uniform moved swiftly down the Hotel steps towards it. The Bell Boy collected the bags and suitcases from the taxi's boot and began to walk back up the stairs, preceded by the customer in his dark, city suit. Jimmy watched the performance, the whole pantomime of subservience, with disgust, glad again that he no longer served or carried. The Bell Boy glanced back with an ingratiating smile and Jimmy recognized him, feeling the nausea swell inside. The Bell Boy and the Hero, they were one and the same. The Ace and the Bell Boy. His body buckling slightly, stooping, under the weight of the bags he was carrying, smiling to please. There were no more heroes, they were lost in uniform. walking, climbing towards the glass doors, the ones he'd smashed and broken, the glass like confetti over the pavement. Jimmy saw, in the back of his minds the gun butt rap upon the door. He watched them enter the foyer, angry, ashamed and betrayed. Ashamed for the Bell Boy, the pity of it hurting his throat, emptying him again. He ran up to the doors, the sunlight glancing off the glass panels as they revolved slowly, reflecting him in each. He stared through into the high room, saw the sweep of the staircase and the marble floor, the greenery of palm plants, and the Bell Boy drop a suitcase in front of the doorman. The glass magnified the blue figure, ridiculously dressed, and the image filled the screen. 'Bell Boy! Bell Boy! Bell Boy! Bell Boy!'

"Bell Boy Bell Boy Bell Boy BellBoy Bell Boy Bell Boy Bell BoyBell Boy"

The sharp words screamed out and echoed somewhere, distantly. Savage and mocking and ashamed and desperate. The lonely voice, crying out pain and misunderstanding; what he couldn't explain, what he couldn't understand

"Bellllllll booooooooyyyyyyyyBellllllllllllllllBooooooooooyyyyyyy"

Echoing somewhere. He ran down the steps and past the railings, stopping by the scooter, no longer the same. He dug frantically into the pocket of his Parka to find his key ring, trying each key in the lock, watching the swing doors behind him. The key slipped home. He switched the petrol on and kicked the silver scooter into life, revving it viciously, exhaust smoke belching and pluming out behind him. The cable tightened as he yanked the throttle back, opening up the carb. Petrol and air flooded in, mixed, exploded and drove the scooter off its stand, the stand slapping under the boards. He drove it towards Rottingdean, the sea stretching away on one side of him, heathland on the other. The narrow strip of grey tarmac ran between them like a boundary, the cutting-edge. He held the throttle wide-open, the hot tyres biting into the road, the bike purring beneath him and the wind rushing by. The adrenaline raced like pills inside him on the open road, and felt good. The sea glistened in the bright sunlight, white crests to the waves in the miles of deep water and its faint roar, as it broke around the cliffs, meeting him. He banked the scooter to the right, leaned into the turn and was on to the grass, verging the road and running to the edge of the chalk cliff, dropping away steeply. He weaved the bike, maintaining his speed, the throttle still open, pushing it towards the edge and then pulling away, throttling back, hearing the front suspension bottoming as he banked and turned, banked and turned. He stopped, letting the bike roll over on to the grass, faintly giddy and suddenly tired. He looked out at the sea, swelling beneath him and stretching away into the distance, and saw a rock jutting out from the headland, black and jagged and beautiful, alone in the sea. The sight of it affected him, he didn't know why, except that it seemed precious somehow, something to hold to ('the stone's in the midst of all'). He lay down on the grass and watched it, noticing gulls flying towards it, settling like specks on its black surface, then leaving again and circling, arcing down in steep flight. He remembered the Bell Boy, climbing the stairs and serving, and the thought sickened him. The memory seemed to break the last thin cord between him and the past, what he had been and what he had come back to Brighton to find. The final betrayal and the end of the promise. Even the heroes had fallen away and been lost, fitting themselves to the mould and no longer, like the rock, on the outside and the edge of everything, differently apart. Just for a handful of silver he left us, Just for a riband to stick in his coat - Found the one gift of which fortune bereft us, Lost all the others she let us devote; They, with the gold to give, doled. out silver, So much was theirs who so little allowed: How all our copper had gone, for his service! Rags - were they purple, his heart had been proud! We that had loved him so, followed him, honoured him, Lived in his mild and magnificent eye, Learned his great language, caught his clear accents, Made him our pattern to live and to die!

He alone breaks from the van and the freemen,- He alone sinks to the rear and the slaves! The last hero, Bell BoyBell BoyBell BoyBell Boy Bellllllll booooooyyyyyyyyBellllllllllllllll boooooooooooooooooyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy Into the fresh wind, gathering clouds. Got a new job and I'm newly born, You should see me dressed up in my uniform I work in a hotel all gilt and flash Remember the gaff where the doors we smashed? BELL BOY !!! I got to keep running now, Bell boy! Keep my lip buttoned down Bell boy! Carry the bloody baggage out, Bell boy! Always running at someone's heel You know how I feel? Always running at someone's heel

Rain started to fall, but very gently. Gently raining. It didn't trouble him. He laid his head in his arms, weary and hungry and lost and afraid and lonely, and began to weep. Behind him, out of sight, a rainbow arched over the heathland, the colours running together. He tried to stand, and collapsed back. He took the bottle of gin from his pocket, unscrewed the lid, and emptied it, throwing it over the cliff in a wide arc. He tried to hear it breaking below him. I sort of followed the bottle over. I threw it high and wide like a cricket ball from the boundary. It sailed in the wind like a kite and I got to my feet and felt the ground fall away. At first it was just the release of pressure beneath my feet, my tired weary feet, then it was the actual weight of my legs hanging from my waist somehow. I moved to the edge and the ribbon of white chalk close to the edge suddenly widened and I went over. I was slow, falling slowly, dropping down the side of the chalk cliff, nearer to the sea and its sound. It changed colour as I fell. There was no noise. No sound at all, anywhere. But I knew it was real. I was falling in the thin rain, moving towards the sea. It felt warm. Comforting deep, folding me in, dosing over me. I sank in its greenness, and then rose, slowly still, breaking the surface and back in the light and the gentle rain. I saw something glinting and strange in the distance, through the mist, and I was swimming towards it. The scooter. It floated on the water, on its side, one chrome breast washed by the waves. I touched it, feeling along the lines, rubbing the chrome with my fingers. Then the tide swelled and took it away, into the mist. I lost sight of it. When he opened his eyes the rain had thickened. It streamed on to his hair, down his face, drenching him. He looked up and saw a grey sky, the clouds gathering in and bunching. He waited until the rain had stopped. He lay down above the steep white, chalk-white cliff, and let the rain wash over him. It was getting dark, but the rain had stopped. I didn't mind. I was drenched and the wind was cold and the grass wet, but none of it mattered any more. It was better this way, better that it happened when everything seemed worst, when it was cold and raining and dark and lonely; better that it happened at the edge of the land, with only the sea in front in the darkness. It was better like this because I knew it couldn't have happened anywhere else, couldn't have happened if I was somewhere warm, or with someone else. It couldn't have even happened if l had things to look forward to and somewhere to go. There was nothing here, and there was nothing behind. I was shivering and nervous; really nervous. And it wasn't the gin, or anything like that. It was out of my system. No, it was because I'd realized something at last. I realized what I wanted, what I'd looked for in the music and in heroes, what I gave and expected to receive from my mates, from the mods, what I even wanted from my mum and dad. It was really corny but I didn't give a fucking shit . . . it was love I wanted. I looked at the scooter lying there on the grass and thought of all the hours I'd spent lavishing love on my own, smashed up in a heap by the side of the road and probably stripped clean by now, like a carcass. I thought about Steph. I thought about the stupid cunt I was not just to say it, say 'Steph, I love you.' It didn't matter that she'd have laughed. It wouldn't have made any difference but at least it would have been the truth. It didn't make any difference that Steph didn't know what love was, that she wouldn't believe you loved her even if you brought her roses in the bog. It didn't matter. It was love I needed. Without it, everything was junk. I knew it. Everything was junk without love.

"ONLY LOVE CAN MAKE IT RAIN THE WAY THE BEACH IS KISSED BY THE SEA ONLY LOVE CAN MAKE IT RAIN LIKE THE SWEAT OF LOVERS LAYING IN THE FIELDS LOVE, REIGN O'ER ME"

And, again, it began to rain, gently and persistently. He put his face up and felt it drum over the skin, running into his collar, over his hands. He climbed to his feet, overcoming the tiredness that almost paralysed his limbs, stiff from the cold. The scooter came off the floor after he'd heaved at it for several minutes, straining and sweating. It started and he revved it up, twisting the throttle. There was music in his head again, but not as it had been, harsh and discordant and violent. It was gentle as rain and soft, soft and swelling chords. He brought the G.S. up to forty and the engine whined at a steady pitch. The wheels slithered on the wet grass, but he leaned and righted it and weaved away, the speed mounting and the engine beginning to scream. He took it towards the edge, racing it down, the music increasing. Even through the blur and the rain he saw the green of the cliff top meet the band of white chalk along the boundary between earth, sky and sea, the land's end. He ran along it for a while, almost on the lip, then turned back, racing up the incline. At the road, he turned again. On the rocky beach below a crab scuttled under a rock. Seaweed lay draped across the rocks that were clear of the water waiting for the tide to claim it, as did the shellfish and molluscs scattered throughout the quiet world of the microscopic ten square feet of space where the scooter came to rest. As it hit the rocks the polished metal crumpled, great slabs of lacquer fell away, lamps shattered, the flyscreen buckled and cracked and the whole statuesque shape, the symbol of the mods splattered like a broken toy. An hour later it was under water.

"I'M RECALLING DISTANT MEMORIES RECALLING OTHER NAMES FLOWING THROUGH THE CANYON BOILING IN THE TRAIN" "LET ME FLOW INTO THE OCEAN LET ME GET BACK TO THE SEA LET ME BE CALM LET THE TIDE IN AND SET ME FREE"

"People try to put us down Talking bout my generation Just because we get around Talking bout my generation Things they do look awful cold Talking bout my generation Hope I die before I get old This is my generation My generation Why don't you all fade away Talking bout my generation Don't try and dig what we all say Talking bout my generation Not trying to cause a big sensation Talking bout my generation Just talking bout my generation My generation This is my generation"

brighton beach holidays-pix

2005-11-02T15:47:00.000-08:00