Here is quite an obsure peice written in September 1977 by Ronnie Gurr when he accompanied the band to Holland and Germany on the European leg of the 'No More Heroes' tour. The text is difficult to read, so I have typed the article out below (therefore please excuse any typos!).
The gig in Hamburg sounded great fun!!!
This article appeared in issue 1 of the shortlived 'Tricks' fanzine in November 1977.
DAY ONE
It’s way past six, it’s cold and it’s starting to rain, and this is Amsterdam. I come to the conclusion that if I hang about much longer in this weather, I ain’t going to enjoy the gig. It’s just as I am leaving for the nearest pub that a Volkeswagen mini-bus draws up, and lo and behold, who should jump out but our very own Jean-Jacques Burnel, closely followed by Hugh Cornwell, Jet Black and Dave Greenfield. Friendly faces in a foreign land and suddenly it’s alright again.
Inside, out of the rain, after exchanging “hellos” for “watchers”, I take a stroll around the venue. The Paradiso is a large empty cube of a building. It comes as no great surprise to find out that it was once a church, and yet, those are stained glass windows that the Stranglers are currently attempting to blow out. It’s a potent noise that’s rattling the ornate glass patterns and I descend to find out it’s a brand new song called “Five Minutes”. Immediately something strikes you, it’s different, but I couldn’t fathom what had changed. Someone later points out that Dave has just acquired a synthesizer and sho’nuff that’s it. You now get some of the studio effects live and believe me it works. No excess – just a great depth. But enough of this, on to the gig itself.
The doors open at eight, and blow me if that isn’t a bevy of punks. A note for anthropologists at this point – Dutch punks are a strange breed. They have long, or longish hair, wear flares, torn t-shirts and splatter themselves with make up. Take it from me, you’ve never seen a real mutant till you’ve been to a punk gig in Holland. Two particularly interesting punters took great delight in cracking stink bombs over themselves. Maybe the Dutch have a “News of the People” too.
By the time the band come on, the air is thick with sulphur and other chemical substances but the audience is still particularly together. The Stranglers had been wary of this gig because, as anyone who’s been there will tell you, Amsterdam is an incredibly artsy city which is still stuck in the late sixties. Y’know peace and love, it’s the last bastion of hippiedom.
But, hey what’s this? These people are pogoing. They are not lying on the floor making peace signs, they’re pogoing for chrissakes! Is this really the Paradiso? Is this really Amsterdam?
The atmosphere is great until a dozen or so Hell’s Angels take to the stage. They’ve decided to police the gig, but hang about, their feet are tapping, now they’re clapping along, and as Hugh slashes into “Hanging Around”, they explode into a looney dance. This is too much, even the Stones couldn’t do this. Those bruisers are as happy as pigs in the proverbial and its all down to rock ‘n’ roll. It’s a wonderful thing to be sure.
After two encores, “Down in the Sewer” and the aforementioned “Five Minutes”, the audience meekly troop out and the Angels storm into the dressing room. It’s a friendly invasion, however, and we are all invited back to their club in the heart of the city. Jet is whisked off into the night on the back of a bike and Burnel and Cornwell follow on the formers bike. The less adventurous among us choose the mini-bus, and after a ten-minute drive, we arrive at the tiny clubin the centre of the red light area.
It’s now obvious that the Angels are great guys, the best in fact, and I feel a right nurd for prejudging them. After drinking our fill of the beer they had ripped off especially for us(a touching gesture) and playing pinball and table football to our hearts content, we returned to the hotel and crashed out. What can you sat? All I wrote in my diary for that day was – AMAZING.
DAY TWO
We all crashed out at about four in the morning and the band had to be at the airport at 9 AM for the flight to Frankfurt. After a hasty farewell I made for the station. My train arrived at 9.30 in the evening, but by the time I got to the hall (about 10.15) the gig was over. By all reports it was a bummer. Only 300 or so Germans turned up, proving perhaps that Burnel was right in saying that Germany is a “cultural voidin the middle of Europe”> Jethro Black, the thinking man’s Ringo Starr, offers a more pertinent explanation. In his opinion “all Germans are mad”. Dave Greenfield, who spent some time plying the clubs in Hamburg, says that Germans were always two or three years behind Britain. This must be true, “Rattus Norvegicus has sold only 6,000 copies in five months and Germany is the largest market in the world.
The only reason they go to Germany, Burnel assured me, was to drink the wine.
Unfortunately, a lady restaurant ownerhas no desire to sell these lovable lads any of her cheeky Moselle. For some reason she refuses to serve us, she threatens to ring the polizei but we refuse to move. Jean-Jacques begins his Uri Geller trick on the old girl’s best cutlery and this time she really does get on the blower. We wait until she’s put the phone back down and walk out leaving one embarrassed restaurant owner.
“All Germans are mad” shouts Jet. How true.
DAY THREE
Again it’s travelling time. I arrive at the band’s hotel in Hamburg about 9 o’clock and within the hour I’m sitting in the After Eight Club mentioned in “I Feel Like a Wog”. Hugh explained that the song was written in February after they had played a gig in Hamburg, attended by the grand total of 30 people. Another was cancelled because only six tickets were sold.
“This guy called Pimpo came up to us and asked if we were Procol Harum. So we said’Yeah sure’. He had these women he wanted to sell us but he wouldn’t give them to us because we had no money. We really kidded him and I tried to tell him jokes . to cheer him up but he just didn’t understand. He looked at me like I was really strange, like an alien, I felt like a wog.”
This conversation carried on back at the hotel where a cassette of the new albumwas played to me. Thy also played me a cassette of a weird and no doubt wonderful thing called “In the Shadows”, a tune which by now you will all no doubt know and love. Musically, this isn’t the greatest thing they have ever done but it doesn’t half break new ground. Rock ‘n’ roll should be developing all the time and this song is a development. The reason why critics slagged “Heroes” so heavily was probably because it wasn’t a radical change in style. Hardly surprising when you consider that much os the material was written and laid down at the same time as “Rattus”. In fact, songs like “Bitching” and “School Mam” have been around as long as, if not longer than some of the ditties on “Rattus”. The media men just don’t understand. I think they’ll be surprised by the next one though. Hugh told me that the band were interested in experimenting with acoustic piano and maybe even acoustic guitar. Can’t wait.
Anyway, another glass of wine, another track – “Bitching”. Like I said, an oldie but too good to leave out. It’s a song which has been misunderstood by more than a few of the music press. In one review I read that “Bitching” is a put down of anything and everything. Why don’t people listen? They are “Bitching ‘bout Bitching”.
“Dead Ringer” is about Joe Strummer and his ilk. I’m not saying nymore, just listen to the words. “Dagenham Dave” you’ll probably know that it’s all about a fan of theirs who couldn’t take life any longer. “Nubiles” is beautifully obscene, and yes dammit, sexist. Another sore point – sexism. I think it’s got to the point where the Stranglers are writing overtly “sexist” songs so that they can laugh at the critics making fools of themselves. All I can say is that while Jean-Jacques and I listened to “Nubiles” , “English Towns” and “School Mam” there was a contented smirk on his face, and when the juiciest lines cropped up he just let out what sounded like a little laugh. I mean, how can you take them seriously when they write a line like “stick my fingers right up your nose”?
“School Mam” is the ultimate in “Movie-Rock”. The dialogue is just so descriptive, I could actually see the setting and the action. “Or was it the wine?” I asked myself as I fell asleep to a tape of the band live at the Nashville.
DAY FOUR
Where was I? Oh yeah… live at the Nashville. It’s the worst thing I’ve heard by them. The end id so out of tune it’s tragic. So if your friendly bootleg salesman offers you it, avoid it at all costs. Tonight will be so much better. Iggy Pop is in town, although the publicity posters would have you believe it’s Bowie, and that could be the only threat to a packed house. We just have o wait and see. Nine o’clock and there were 600 pissed off Germans inside the Winter-Huderfahrhaus. Reason being the manager of the house has decided to double rthe admission on the door. The affluent German youth stump up and wander in mumbling the German equivalent of “this better be good”.
And it was. Unfortunately, the Germans are a greedy race. They got the usual one hour plus, half “Rattus”, half “Heroes”, set plus a couple of encores. This wasn’t enough, they wanted more, and when they saw the roadies dismantling the mikes they did what any pissed yobbo would do, lobbed their glasses. The sheep followed suit and there was a wall of flying glasses careering towards the stage. A roadie jumps in brandishing a stick. I finger the empty bottle beside me nervously. This is a heavy situation, and I make up my mind to use it if necessary. Two guys jump on the roadie with a stick, we pull him off and as we’re retreating a bottle cracks on my knee. I crawl away in pain, unable to do anything. The crowd are smashing up chairs now, roadies are smashing up punters and this is crazy. Is this really rock ‘n’ roll? Or is it war? The riot dies down suddenly, but not before a German has thrown beer over the mixer and a roadie has threatened to lacerate his throat with a broken bottle.
We all lost control but I’d personally like to thank the Germans who said sorry to me and walked out, heads bowed. I felt sorry for them. Germany is certainly no fun.
DAY FIVE
We all awoke swollen, bruised and cut. I stick around a few hours, watch a photo session Jean-Jacques baiting German waiters and generally dig the situation.
To wind upI’d just like to say thanks to the four most genuinely likable people I’ve ever met for four of the most eventful days in my life. They are big enough to ignore me and even my poxy fanzine but they treated me as a person and you can’t ask for anything more than that, can you? RONNIE GURR.
