Eddy Says

Eddy Says: Burn The Negative burned my negativity

By | Published on Monday 15 November 2010

Burn The Negative

Who were the first band you ever fell in love with? The one who cemented your love of music for all time and who, inevitably, you eventually fell out with spectacularly. This week Eddy explores his relationship with his first love.

On Friday’s show, during my twenty minute homage to Burn The Negative and their influences, I played ‘Ghosts’ by Japan and through this, and a deluge of tweets and Facebook posts on the subject, my youth came flooding back. Yes, I was a teenager once, a long long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away.

Japan were not the first band I ever heard (I’ve given myself a headache trying to recall who that was, but I can’t remember), nor the first record I bought (that was ‘Rattus Norvegicus’ by The Stranglers), but much more importantly, they were the first band I fell in love with.

Think back – for some of you this won’t be very far, but rewind your mind all the same – to the first band you were SO into, that you would have done anything for them. I’ve heard it said “a good song will make you late for work, but a great song will make you quit your job”. What a brilliant observation. That’s what I’m talking about here, the most powerful thing, FIRST LOVE.

It works the same way in music as it does in life. Your first love: you’d do anything for this person, or this band. Stupid things. You’d swim oceans, climb mountains, cross continents for them. You love them to the exclusion of all others. I remember how Japan literally took over my life. I had my hair cut like one of them, I got my ear pierced like one of them, I dressed in exactly the same clothes, I wore the same make-up, bought the same bangles for my wrists, boots for my feet, and became devoted; every bit as devoted, rabid and besotted as the numpty who happily fills a rucksack full of explosive and detonates it on a Tube train.

Playing ‘Ghosts’ conjured up a particularly strong and interesting memory for me. It’s a great track. So far ahead of the curve. It wouldn’t sound out of place now, some thirty years after its release. But back then, ‘Ghosts’ getting on ‘Top Of The Pops’ was a personal disaster for me. It marked something every bit as powerful and emotional as the beginning of your first love. It marked the end of my first love. I felt bitterness, betrayal, I felt jealousy and abandonment, because MY beloved band had now become everybody else’s love.

When a band I love become successful now, I am delighted, nothing but positivity and joy course through my every pore, but back then, my teenage insecurity, I guess, made me feel very differently. Japan were my best friends and my little secret, along with a select group of mates who were in on it too.

We’d followed them since their first album, when they were a glam rock band who were bottled off stage when supporting Blue Oyster Cult, a very mediocre rock band of the day. We marvelled at their inspired change of direction and held them responsible for the birth of that effeminate New-Romantic look. When ‘Quiet Life’ came out, our lives changed, our own lives were not ‘ours’ any more. Our existence revolved around when we could buy the next single, the next twelve-inch, what coloured vinyl would it be? Would it be Melody Maker, or Sounds, or The New Musical Express who would write about them next, or when we could see them on tour? I was at a boarding school, so this was hard. My mates and I had to sneak out, borrow my mum’s car, and drive to random places like Manchester or Derby to catch a glimpse of them and get back without anybody realising we’d gone.

I remember walking out of The Manchester Odeon, speechless, slack-jawed, that I had seen my heroes for the first time, with the same look somebody would have after their first kiss with their first love.

We stayed in their orbit through the next album, my favourite, ‘Gentlemen Take Polaroids’. I remember scouring every music paper and magazine looking for a mention, and the utter rapture of finding an interview.

I remember seeing Duran Duran’s ‘Planet Earth’ kick off and us all feeling they’d ripped off our beloved band, stolen their formula, that Nick Rhodes had bitten David Sylvian’s style, and that it was Japan who deserved success more. But, of course, our own shallowness hadn’t prepared us for it. Ironically, it was their success that would be our undoing.

Kaboom! Then ‘Ghosts’ happened. I remember watching ‘TOTP’, almost in tears, dismayed that everyone around me had suddenly become a Japan fan. Our best kept secret had got out. It wasn’t ours any more. We felt awful.

It’s hard to think I could have been so mean spirited, it’s almost difficult writing this because I sound like such an utter cock, but it is interesting how your age, or your own sense of yourself, can affect your judgement and perception so much. How could I begrudge success to something I loved so much? It must have been pure insecurity. Childishness. With age comes wisdom, and now it’s the opposite. I get upset when bands I love *aren’t* successful. I remember, and indeed have written about here, how angry I was when Xfm ignored Kasabian at the beginning, and the world ignored Snow Patrol for those first three albums.

It occurred to me that I have never played ‘Ghosts’ on my show, because, purely personally, and totally unfairly, that song always came with this baggage. It was tainted by this negativity. Listening to it in the context of my show, which comprises, let’s face it, four hours of extreme positivity, I had a bit of an epiphany. I listened to ‘Ghosts’ properly, perhaps for the first time, and loved it for what it is, a brilliant song, incredible production, beautiful sounds and a musical vision so far ahead of its time it should be looked back on as genius.

Now I think the only demon I have to face is David Sylvian, or Mick Karn – he’s the reason I became a bass player. You know how uncomfortable I can get around heroes. Remember what a mess I was before meeting Gary Numan? Or even James Lavelle? I recall feeling such AWE when Nick Luscombe, my former Xfm colleague, had Steve Janssen (David’s brother and Japan’s drummer) on his show. I shudder to think what would happen if Dave Sylvian came in to co-host The Remix. I’d look like a black-eyed, skull socketed, smack addict on a week long, sleepless bender by the time I got to shake his hand. But, thinking about this, maybe it’s what I HAVE to do, for this crazy life I’ve had to resolve, for the wheel to come full circle and for ‘the ghosts of my life’ to be exorcised.

Just thinking about it is making my chest feel tight and right now I’m finding it a little hard to breathe comfortably, but then I always did say that it’s the sign of a good human to be someone who gets excited about meeting a hero. So, what the hell. I’m going to have a go. I’ll try to find David Sylvian and invite him to come and co-host the show with me. He can only say “no”, and probably will, but I can’t spent the rest of my life saying “what if”?.

I don’t even know where to begin, I guess Nick Luscombe would be as good a start as any, but if you know him, or know someone that knows him, please get in touch with me, it would be a fascinating bit of radio, and something of a personal catharsis for me.

And until then let’s show love, lots of love, for the bands that are like Japan were before ‘Tin Drum’: Burn The Negative, Gypsy And The Cat, Monarchy etc. And if or when they get the success they deserve, we will all hopefully have the wisdom to smile.

Eddy x

 

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