Simon Masterson, avid Ipswich 80s music scene vampire, later member of 'Tiny Clocks', now decamped to Sheffield, writes:-
greatness
Kurt Cobain, during a lapse in originality, sang: "Just because you're paranoid, don't mean they're not after you!" I mention this weathered cliché not because James Partridge is or was paranoid (as far as I know), nor because they were after him (as far as I know) but because it encapsulates an important principle. In accordance with that principle: "Just because you have delusions of greatness, don't mean you're not occasionally great!" James Partridge had, and was. Whether he and I would agree on his great moments is questionable.
I would contend that some of those great moments are there to be heard on Bane's first three DIY cassette collections; Take Me To A Doctor, Stop Acting Like An Adult & Digging. Now, when I first heard these solo efforts by the guy who sold me my indie singles down at Parrot, I was smoking a lot of dope. These recordings complemented my 'elevated state' in the way that, nowadays, a hot cross bun suits a mug of Yorkshire Tea. Perfectly. I gather James, too, partook of a few stimulants during this period, though I never saw him do so. Listen to the sound and content of these Bane recordings. It's not Yorkshire Tea that's stoking him up like that - good as it is. The tracks are not all good. A few are very poor. But the best ones feature the sound and feel of a pent-up punk beast unleashed! Wild! As I used to describe music like this in those days.
psyche-ripping
James was, I think, engaged in a little pro-active link-selling when he first suggested I fork out for a Bane tape. It was the same day that I was buying a Severed Heads album, I recall. I suppose he figured that if I could sit through that, I could easily endure his own psyche-ripping home-recorded debut. When I bought the second, James was as nonchalant as ever, but I know he was quietly delighted that a virtual stranger had connected to his music. I played Bane to a dope-fiend friend who also bought the tapes. By the third or fourth, we were credited on the insert.
So these recordings, I would contend, were the first great moments (that I was around to witness) in James Partridge's career. Subsequent great moments were mostly during live performances.
diabolical
An exception to this would be the recording that James offered to the VICRUB compilation cassette under the pseudonym, Watchmen; Your Eyes. This was a dark, listless, fraying diabolical sludge of a song that probably sounded the same backwards as forwards. It was the kind of mogadon rocker exemplified on Jesus & Mary Chain b-sides at the time; the kind I loved. I think James just did it to prove that he could do it. I don't imagine he even liked it. But it was another moment of greatness!
Bane became a band. The recordings this three piece made lacked the spark of the earlier solo tapes. However... the live debut of Bane the band was something to behold. This took place in the legendary cellar of the Albion Mills public house on Woodbridge Road in Ipswich. There must be many Ipswichians, like me, who could claim to have spent some of the best nights of their young lives in that shabby pub and its cramped cellar. In 1991, I played my live debut there, and that was one such night
tonguing
And speaking
of first times... the first time I went to the Albion
Mills was to conduct a very exciting extra-marital affair against the
backdrop of Attila the Stockbroker. I
enjoyed his poems, and he liked my Fall shirt.
Support to Attila that night was top Ipswich punk group Panorama In Black. We couldn't see them through the mass of sweaty
punk rockers, but their amphetamine sound was an appropriate accompaniment to
our fevered tonguing!
Those who, like me, could regale visitors to this site with unending memories of the Albion Mills, would also, like me, deeply mourn the fact that no trace now exists of Ipswich's answer to CBGBs. You can't buy a beer there any more - only a shitty car.
closed
eyes
Bane,
then, had its debut as a band in this notorious venue, supported by the
diffident and drippy Beethoven On
Saturday. The glorious sense of release evident in the early solo Bane
recordings was markedly present for the opening few minutes of Bane's
first set (I think there were two). Opener, The Pantomime, achieved an
intensity rarely since repeated by any of James' bands. Tears rolled from James'
mostly closed eyes. Those with ears knew how he felt.
This cathartic performance was the Bane debut as a band, but the real Bane debut occurred in November 1984 in Norwich, at a small scuzzy club called Santana's. James somehow wangled himself a support slot to a hero of his called Robyn Hitchcock, who was touring with his Egyptians. I was one of the devoted few who rode the mini-bus along the A140 from Ipswich to Norwich, primarily to see James as Bane for the first time. I had never heard of Robyn Hitchcock
rhubarb
James sang and played his pink paisley telecaster alongside cassette tape recorder that represented the rest of the band. The set comprised material from the first couple of tapes and covers of songs by Ipswich bands The Fringe and (diffident, drippy) Beethoven On Saturday. Intermittently, James appeared to have left too little for himself to do, having to bop to the backing tape until his cue came along. His performance was, let's say, inconsistent. Between song banter was characterised by embarrassed giggling, James struggling to be heard above the general crowd rhubarb-rhubarb.
A recording was made, via the sound desk, and turned into a live Bane tape. A very limited edition, I imagine. The sound quality was pretty bad. But on listening to it very recently, (coincidentally, on the 18th anniversary of the gig) I discovered that James' singing, about which he had some reservations at the time, was frequently blood-curdlingly fierce. Shouty and heart-felt. Outstanding. If you have a recording of this gig, listen to it again. Not a great moment, though. Then of course I discovered Robyn Hitchcock and the Egyptians, who were wonderful. And I thank James for that.
Bane became a band. Lost a lot of fire. Became an ex-band.
I could probably write a small book about As Is and the way the band punctuated my life during the second half of the 80s. Much as I suspect James would like me to do that, I'm not gonna. I did write a lengthy piece along the same lines for inclusion in a tour programme compiled for the 'Interesting Sandpaper Tour' of 'Europe', by As Is Mk 2, as James is denoting them - As Isn't, as I always think of them. (James must have been the first to form his own tribute band. Wellllll.... the Danes'll never notice!) Anyway, the article was called A Dependable Clapper, and should be reproduced on this site, I think, James.
missing
for years
As Is had some moments of greatness. There was a period when it looked as though As Is might happen. They'd been enthusiastically reviewed in the NME, by Steve Lamacq, I think. They'd won the Suffolk Rock & Pop Competition (candy from a baby). Guitarist Paul Taylor fitted in so beautifully that it felt as though he'd been missing for years. Success bred success. The confidence within the group sparked some terrific performances. During this elevated period the band played a support spot in a club in outer London [what was it called, James?]. A proper coach load of fans and well-wishers from Ipswich witnessed one of the band's finest performances.
The As Is collective ego was, shall we say, in rude health. The band would wank it by doing things like arranging a gig at The Old Times and agreeing that the 'inner circle' could only tell one person about the otherwise unpublicised gig. In a way, it would have been enjoyable to have seen only 10 or 12 people there on the night. Serve 'em right. This was never going to be the case, though. Particularly as the person I elected to tell was Phil Archer; advocate of the band, great bloke, and an island of credibility at the local radio station who still chose his own playlist. I told him while he was doing his evening radio show on Radio Orwell. Phil seized upon the 'exclusive', transmitting the news to all corners of the county (and the bits in the middle). The Old Times was rammed on the night. Partridge ego and Ippo grapevine both re-affirmed.
scud
As Is's last great moment was, unsurprisingly, their final gig at the ironically named Grand Hotel in Felixstowe in March 1989. A last chance to elevate. Another proper coach carried the faithful from Ipswich down to the sea. The band's Grand (Hotel) Finale did justice to the history, mythology and extended family of As Is. The audience was impressive in size and make up (though not all of them wore it!). If a stray scud had hit the Grand that night, life in Ipswich would not have been worth living. (Come to think of it.....) James, Steve, Paul and Paul sealed the legend that night. Partridge should have let it lie.
For all his Mike Oldfield / Roy Castle-esque versatility; for all his being the 'one-stop-pop-shop' (and, nowadays, a born-again beerist); the Castrol GTX in the engine of the Ipswich Music Scene; the foppish hair and wrinkled white shirts; it is as a Great Guitarist that I regard James Partridge. Let Blood Across Guitar Strings be his emblem.
The best recorded Partridge. Ten tracks in non-hierarchical, alphabetical order:
Digging
I Feel Alone I'm Not Depressed
Making Hell Maybe
Pantomime
Symmetry What Do You Want
Your Eyes 291283
Other things this living obituary ought to include:
· All the other musicians and part-time popstars that James either helped over a stile on their ramble into obscurity, or provided with a leg-up out of the rut of the ever-diminishing local circuit of pubs and youth clubs. How many bands has James played in? How many more has he recorded? How many has he championed (remember 'Garageland' on Radio Orwell?)?
· Recollections from years of selling records to the music lovers of Ipswich and beyond. Nick Hornby realised the potential of these anecdotes from list-making anoraks. Anybody who's worked for a while in a record store will have their own trove of treasured tales.
· Some credits for my photographs.