Sinister: Ricky Ross Versus The Smog Monster

[Peter Miller]

Ricky Ross used to be a teacher in Maryhill. And somehow that really
impressed me. Lloyd Cole, on the other hand, has never done a day's work in
his life. And it shows. Ricky Ross, for all his gleaming production, was in
the business to ENTERTAIN. Lloyd Cole only seemed to want to show off. My
mate's brother threw a shoe at Lloyd Cole for "being boring" in concert. I
was dead keen on "The Rattlesnakes" for a while, but eventually I started to
find it embarrassing. It's just a tuneful reading list. I know who did the
strings, it was Anne Dudley of The Art of Noise. She would have been better
off slapping on huge swathes of their trademark "Hey! Hey! La la la!"s
instead. Ditto for her later soundtrack to chick with dick flick "The Crying
Game". I once saw Stephen Pastel in Maryhill, in a kind of shopping centre
for unemployed people. It was quite early in the morning. I think he was
drinking a can of lager, but that might be the effect of those "YA CUNT!"
stories that we used to enjoy so much back in the old days. They're never
coming back, are they? They changed the dole office in Maryhill from an old
pre-war one to a swanky new one. It was like the difference between the
Twisted Wheel and the Blackpool Mecca. I'm thinking of organising a Maryhill
Dole Office Reunion All-Nighter. I'm getting on quite well with my Northern
Soul book. It certainly takes me back. It's high time someone put together a
study of the eighties anorak scene. It was nice to see Lawrence from Go-Kart
Mozart speaking so highly of Mad Dog Murdoch. Fancy him noticing those Felt
lyrics! Stuart is a one, isn't he? Thanks for sending it in. Ronnie Lane is
the Poacher, isn't he? Why's that then? I believe Mojo has something to do
with voodoo, so a Mojo Pin would be a voodoo pin, ergo hypodermic needle.
There's some American gentleman who answers questions like this in magazines
and then collects them in books. Stephen Gould? There was a good one about
gay men stuffing gerbils up their arses, which I rather enjoyed. Deacon Blue
were really terrible. "I saved my money". Yet they were less offensive than
the Wets. I suppose Deacon Blue were more intellectual. Lloyd Cole had a
manager to get a band together for him, they weren't mates or anything. It's
time that manager told the whole story in a no-holds barred blockbuster
book, called "Cole Scuttle". Much as I love the B&S strings, I would have
preferred them to be more Bunnymenish than Lloydish, more magnificent. Lloyd
Cole was from both Derbyshire and Sheffield at the same time. We need a
Lloydography and The Pinefox is the man to provide it. Lloyd used to walk
around (on his motorbike) with about a hundred quid in his pocket at the
time of that solo album's release. I can't imagine Ricky Ross telling us how
much money he had in his pocket. "That's between me and the ballot box!" he
would say.

It's Friday night, time to get ready for the Cleethorpes all-nighter in my
head.

Peter

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