1. hang 'em high


Stool Pigeon Interview In our first in-depth Q&A Ikara Colt talk it like they walk it


Funnies You can’t make a newspaper without them


Comment & Analysis on the industry in 2004

Obituary My personal thoughts on John Peel’s death


A miscellany of the articles from issue #1

/ cover story /

The Stool Pigeon visual aesthetic came from my research into newspapers from the 17th century up to the present day (not just Victorian ones you lazy journalists). A multi-columned grid was a must for the interior pages but not necessary for the front cover. I chose Old English Text as the masthead font and also used the favourite tabloid colour combination which had led to them being called the ‘red tops’. My digging in St. Brides library for fonts led me to the murder poster below, with a thick and thin font called 2-line primer Italian. A truly beautiful thing with its flipped serifs and swirling curves, like Bodoni on acid. I hand traced it in Adobe Illustrator using the examples I found and going freehand on the letters that I couldn’t find. Like the Bogey font Zipper, I only used it on headlines in the newspaper.
      For the main cover image, the gallows and crowd came from a Victorian broadsheet and the birds were starlings that I had photographed as they went to roost near the sea. The pictures of Eleanor and Matthew Friedberger were also given some Photoshop voodoo. 

/ distribution /

Crazy as a Coconut.

There were two main reasons for us choosing a newspaper format for this project, one was the cost and the other was its size. I had been pixel pushing text and imagery around on perfect-bound glossy A4-ish paper magazines for many years and a newspaper gave me the opportunity to try a format that was twice as big to experiment with. I had tried to source a printer in my homeland of East Anglia (mainly because of London pricing) and found an offset litho newspaper press in Colchester that could print us ten thousand newspapers for about four grand. The same number of glossy mags would cost us nearly forty thousand which was out of our price range.
      We put a dummy together and planned to approach companies for financial backing or sponsorship. The first company we contacted was Levis who were running a ‘Ones to Watch’ programme with gigs and press tied to their denim range. Fortunately for us the marketing department was run by a guy called Scott Morisson who loved the Kid Creole song ‘Stool Pigeon’ and when he heard the newspapers title, it was the only reason he agreed to talk to us. We met Scott at his office off Carnaby Street, showed him the dummy (which he loved) and discussed our plans for the title. It was perfect for Levis’ ‘One’s to Watch’ promotion and so he asked us straight out “how much do you want?”. It was a Dragon’s Den moment and me and Phil, not expecting to actually get an offer so quickly, asked for a moment to discuss it. We asked him for enough money to cover our printing expenses for a year, which would be four issues, and he agreed. All he wanted from us was to feature one of their new bands (the first being The Kaiser Chiefs) in each issue of the newspaper with a logo for the ‘Ones to Watch’ programme. Deal. The sponsorship money took weeks to arrive so I had to pay for the first issue out of my own pocket, which I was happy to do. Now we just had to figure out how to get rid of them.
       My experience in consumer magazines had taught me that distribution was a real Trojan horse in terms of money. Comag and the other distributors would take your copies to the outlets and vendors and then take a hefty cut (a third) of the cover price as payment. Fuck that. The decision had been made by us to make the newspaper free and then use the revenue from advertising to feed and house ourselves. Our idea was to hire a van to transport and deliver all the newspapers ourselves. The only outlay would be the van because we sure as hell couldn’t pay ourselves yet. We had 10,000 copies of the first issue printed and delivered to Phil’s house in Shoreditch and we then travelled 3000 miles around the country from Portsmouth in the south and north to Aberdeen. We continued this practise throughout the newspapers existence and by the last issue we were printing and distributing 60,000 copies nationwide and in Europe.

/ songbirds /

/ obituary /

Totally wired.



I had a three-inch square-ish transistor radio and my brother Mark had a light cyan blue single speaker tape player.
I would lie on my bedroom floor and very quietly record my favourite bands from the radio. John Peel was the DJ. I assumed he was roughly the same age as my dad and playing what he was told to play. It was only when I started listening to what he was saying in between those records that it dawned on me that he knew he had the best job on the fucking planet.
      I remember first hearing the Talking Heads song ‘Once In A Lifetime’ on the dancefloor of Lowestoft College of Further Education, where I was studying art, and Peel was hosting one of his regular Jumpabouts. It felt like God was definitely a DJ. Peel also gave me that first-time buzz with Captain Beefheart, acid house, drum and bass, and numerous other genres I’d never heard of.
      By the time Margaret Thatcher started peaking in the mid-eighties, The Cult were my new favourite band and I was wearing a badge that read, ‘Coal Not Dole’. I said ‘Fuck Art, Let’s Dance’, blew my grant on a drumkit and dropped out of college.
      A few months after buying the kit, I landed some session work recording an LP with a local band called Bob Hopes To Die, who sounded a lot like a cross between The Birthday Party and Gang of Four. That’s too polite a description.
      Nonetheless, we were really excited about having an LP in our hands that we had actually played on. The first thing we did after checking our names were spelt correctly on the sleeve was to find the address for Radio One and post a copy out to the John Peel Show.
      My reverence of the man was confirmed a week or so later when he actually played our version of ‘The Devil Went Down to Georgia’. He continued playing it for the next couple of weeks. I really thought we were going to be stars. It was a beautiful moment, but a moment was all it lasted.
     Twenty five years to the day after I saw the Undertones play in my first gig without my mum and dad, Peel suffered a heart attack and died. And here I am again lying on the floor of my bedroom writing this piece whilst listening to the radio.
      I don’t know where we’ll get such passion, innovation and stoicism from now that he’s gone. I only hope that there’s a turntable that he can play at the wrong speed wherever he is.

John Peel, disc jockey, born 30.08.1939, died 25.10.2004.

/ stool pigeon interview /

Words by john peddelty Imagery by Mickey G

They were a bit difficult to talk to, Ikara Colt. I’m a fan, which doesn’t always help, but they were guarded too – Paul especially (he, near as damn it, shut up half way through our conversation). When they first started out in 1999, Paul said that all bands should be taken out the back and shot after five years. Do the maths. It’s not something he, or any of them, wanted to speak about, not least because they’re always asked about it. The other favourite is the one about having two girls in the band. Paul thinks it’s a media preoccupation, but that’s unfair: everybody notices it – media and fans alike – and everybody likes the band because of it.
      Of the current Ikara Colt line-up, three – Paul (vocals), Claire (guitar and vocals), and Dominic (drums) – are original members. They got together at Guildhall Art College in London. Tracy (bass) joined the band for the recording of their second album, Modern Apprentice, which came out earlier this year. She was asked to play like Motörhead with her left hand and Joy Division with her right. That, Paul has said, is a better description of the band’s sound than most.
      Both Modern Apprentice and Chat and Business, their 2002 debut, were widely praised on their release but didn’t sell in particularly huge numbers. That’s led some people to describe them as some kind of ‘cult’ band, which is grossly unfair. Their music is intelligent and unique but it’s accessible too. They’re not suckers, though. At the root of the band is a healthy suspicion of the music industry and the trappings of fame. You could say, if you like, that there’s a bit of ‘fuck you’ about them and that probably holds them back from mainstream acceptance. Their wish is simply to play good music. How long they’ll stay in the game is their business. They’re all very alive and hold many interests outside of the band (check their website profiles). I suspect they’ll be around for a while doing something to kick people’s arses, even if they stay true to their order to keep rock ‘n’ roll young. Ikara Colt, they say, is not a career.

Tell me where you come from and what life was like growing up there.
Tracy: I’m from Burnley in Lancashire and basically it’s a dead-end northern mill town where there’s absolutely fuck all happening and people fight on Saturday nights. I left when I was 21. It was horrible but it made me who I am. I totally rebelled.
Paul: Suburbs of Leicester. The dull end.
Claire: Morden at the bottom of the Northern Line. Not very exciting.
Dominic: Born in Bristol, spent five years there and then moved to London where I’ve been ever since. North London. It’s alright.

Why did the three of you who are original members form the band?
Dominic:
Good music.
Claire: I like the idea of structuring songs and building them, layer by layer. The dynamics can really get to you.

So music is the priority? Above the other opportunities that being in a band can provide?
Dominic:
Yup, pure and simple as that.

But there’s more to Ikara Colt than just writing music. People can go to the shops and buy your records. Doesn’t something else become involved when that happens? For example, your lyrics, Paul, have the potential to influence people’s thoughts.
Paul:
It depends. There are many ways of saying something. Just making a big noise can mean a lot. Having said that, I don’t think you can get away without having something in the lyrics. It’s a tricky one. Good art always says something, even if it’s silent like a sculpture or whatever.

Do you think rock ‘n’ roll has a lot in common with other forms of art?
Paul:
It is an art form, a youthful art form.
Dominic: It’s about youth, rebellion, sexuality, those kinds of things.

You could argue, though, that rock ‘n’ roll has less resonance than the so-called fine art forms. It may be visceral and powerful, but it’s temporary and disposable.
Dominic: It is temporary, but there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s about the moment – dates and times. Even within the context of a band, people will talk about specific periods. That’s just what they do. And mostly everyone goes back to the beginning. Who would you rather see – a young Elvis or a fat, old one?
Tracy: But there’s permanence too. You can always go back to it. Music that’s been recorded exists now for the simple reason that it has been recorded.

Fair enough. What you were saying, Dominic, reminds me of that comment you once made, Paul, about the lifespan of a band. Perhaps you regret saying that. Your time is almost up.
Dominic: We’ve only got a few months left!

I thought that was an excellent comment. Maybe I even agree with you. What are you going to do when the anniversary arrives? Will you give up?
Dominic:
We’ll walk it like we talk it.

Really?
Dominic:
You never know.
Paul: We’ll flip a coin.
Tracy: It’s day by day.

Okay, let’s move on to something else you won’t want to talk about. Whether you like it or not, it’s very noticeable to people who go and see you play that there are two female members of Ikara Colt. Do you accept that it is noticeable and, if so, do you think that says anything interesting about rock ‘n’ roll music?
Paul:
It’s something that should be normal.
Tracy: Really ought to be.

But do you accept that people do go, “Ooh, look at that – they’ve got two girls?”
Claire:
Since Tracy joined, that seems to be the case. Sure.
Paul: I sometimes do one-to-one phone interviews for radio and things like that and people always ask me what it’s like being in a band with two girls. Would they ask me that if Tracy and Claire were two guys? That they’re girls is just the way it is.

I’m not making myself clear. Let me ask you, Tracy, if you’re more aware of a band if they have a female member or two?
Tracy:
Maybe, but that wouldn’t make me like them any better. Music, of course, is the main thing.
Claire: But it is exciting seeing girls involved in music – in bands or programming.

Let’s talk about touring. Enjoy it?
All:
Yes!

Do you enjoy the process of actually being on the road as well as playing?
Tracy: I do, but a lot of time you don’t get to see anything of the towns you’re in.
Dominic: I don’t. For me it’s only about playing. Ikara Colt are about performance.
Claire: If you’re doing six weeks in America playing every night it can really take its toll. Any band will tell you that it’s hard.
Dominic: Planning to get to America, getting in a van there, and driving down Route 66 or whatever is just the mythology of rock ‘n’ roll. That’s why people join bands. But isn’t it supposed to be all about the performance? If I wanted to see America properly, I’d go on holiday. At least then I’d understand something about the place. You don’t get to know anything about the cities you visit. It goes like this: Arrive, sound check, dressing room, stage, pack up, van, go, repeat.
Tracy: I enjoy it more than that. We all think slightly differently about it.
Dominic: I don’t feel like a member of Mötley Crüe. I’m not built for the road. They were, like Lemmy is.
Claire: But there are many things that are great about being on the road in places like America. It’s amazing when people in small towns come up to you and say, ‘I bought your record six months ago, I’m really into it and I’m glad you came here.’

Breaking British bands in America seems to be a huge preoccupation of the music industry here. Is that something Ikara Colt are particularly concerned with?
Claire:
We’ve never said, ‘Let’s go out and dominate the world.’ It really is about the music with us. It’d be nice, of course, to play to huge numbers people in America but that’s not the primary concern. There is no drawn-up plan. This is not a career.
Dominic: It goes back to your question about why we formed the band. It wasn’t to make ourselves rich. It was to be a day-to-day kind of thing.

There are some bands, nonetheless, that stay true to their original reasons for forming but can’t resist these ideas of world domination. I met a band last week that you went out on tour with a couple of years ago – Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster – and they look to the skies. They have very pure and honest aspirations to make it to the top and they think they’ve got the courage and music to do it. You’re not like that, though. You’re more, as you say, day-to-day?
Claire:
Yes.
Dominic: Whatever you choose to do, you have to walk it like you talk it. I think they’re a brilliant band and I can imagine them saying that and that’s alright. I love them. If they want to dominate the world, they’re gonna need to take the whole of America – not just New York and LA. The Eighties Matchbox have got the ability – they can do it, and that’s why touring is important to them. Getting your name out there. I go into venues in mainland America and look at the band stickers on the walls and I don’t know fucking any of them. And I think I’m up on what’s going on in music.

I guess America is so huge that each city will have its own thriving scene with fans that simply don’t need foreign bands to come in and save their lives.
Dominic:
True. How many bands are playing a night in a decent-sized city over there? Forty? A hundred? And British bands are supposed to compete? Going to places like New Orleans can be depressing. There’s so much music there, and people can really play. It makes you humble, even if you’re watching a covers band catering for tourists in the French Quarter. They play things immaculately.

Do you find the response to your music differs from city to city, country to country?
Paul:
Yes.

Does that affect the way you behave on stage?
Paul:
It shouldn’t.
Tracy: If you’ve got a good crowd, it brings the best out in you. Simple as that. If there are only one or two people in front of you, it’s far harder work.

I seen you play many times and you seem to encourage your audiences – not in obvious ways, but by making it look like the show is an inclusive experience.
Claire:
We do. Doesn’t always work but we try.

Last time I saw you, you were at the Barfly in Camden and you, Paul, had a right go at the venue for not booking you previously or something. What was all that about?
Paul:
Next question (laughter).

And then you noticed that you were playing in front of a corporation’s banner, so you tried to pull it down. Want to talk about that?
Dominic (after a long silence):
We always play for the people. If the crowd are up for it, so are we. That’s why we’re a good live band. We respond to what we’re given. If we’re confronted with lots of people weighing it up, we’ll weigh it up too and play matter-of-fact clean. If the crowd are giving us something, it gets more emotional. Then you get an emotionally clean performance and that’s the best. We play emotion-based music. We don’t play by numbers simply so we can take the money. It may sound a bit pretentious, but we try to make something more.

/ funnies /

In the first issue there were spaces within the columned pages that we hoped to sell advertising for but didn’t. In order to fill those spaces I put in fake ads like the ‘Stool Finance’, ‘Long John Silver School of Dance’ and ‘Bringer of Joy’ ones here. Just like every regular newspaper we also had a whole page for Funnies which expanded over time. The Dr. Dolittle cartoon was made by Dave the Chimp which became a regular feature, until he ran out of gags.

/ comment & analysis /

Once upon a time, and I really shouldn’t begin this like a “it was better in the old days” article, but I’m going to anyway.
      So, once upon a time a band called Franz Furryhands had a meteoric rise to stardom based upon one great track from a very dull and forgetful album. The key was that it was released in January, and that alone has been the key to their success. While most record company bosses were still detoxing on cabbage soup, these boys turned up with a great video and a fleet of lorries full of bill-board poasters. That gave us all a reason to spend our record vouchers on something other than Leo Sayer or some other greatest hits collection.
     Thing is, how many of you are still listening to it? All the way from start to finish? And can you name more than two of the tracks?
      I’m sick of the press acting like the two scoundrel tailors who decided to scam the Emperor. I just can’t see it. To me these people are stark bollock naked.
      In 1979, we watched Protect and Survive at school and were paranoid about getting an A-bomb on Wardour Street. Most bands manifestos consisted of trying to stem the rising tide of the National Front and capitalism rather than ‘not wearing pink shirts’.
      It wasn’t better – it was shit – but the discontentment bred anger, and that anger gave birth to music with bite that still has resonance 25 years later. Today’s youth have only to worry about keeping their weight down so they’ll look good on television in the next series of Flop Idol.
      Alan of The Rakes says that he “can’t stand listening to bands who sing about crap”. And this is from the man who wrote a song called ‘Strasbourg’ because it “sounds cool when you’re shouting it”. The only real difference between most of these fakers and Joy Division is a 10-foot length of rope, and I can recommend a damn fine chandlery on the East India Road if they really want to make the image complete.

/ classifieds /

A part of the diligent transposition of the sections of a traditional newspaper into The Stool Pigeon, I put together a ‘Classifieds section’ which gave young bands and musicians an A-Z of useful information and contacts from management to fireworks. Of course, not all of them were real though, some were another excuse just to have some fun. The advert for ‘Rizzo the Clown’ was in every single issue of the paper and after being ignored for 8 years somebody eventually rang the number, which was my own mobile. I put on my best Jerky Boyz accent but they didn’t make a booking. Times are hard and I’m still available.

/ a miscellany /

Herringfleet Mill

Back when I was a kid before I discovered punk rock, the family drove to this wonderful place a lot. I would chase grasshoppers and throw flea darts at my brother, dad birdwatched across the wetlands through his U-boat binoculars and mum would sit down and rest after carrying the picnic all the way from the car through the woods, over stiles and down to the riverside on her own. There was usually a whole roast chicken on a plate wrapped in tin foil and we all had our own plates and cutlery too.

HerringfleetWindmill

Snape Maltings

The fact that a world famous homosexual composer of opera came from my home town frequently gives me pleasure and optimism. Like The Borough’s Aldeburgh fisherman Peter Grimes, Benjamin Britten also sought solace from all the wagging tongues and pointed fingers.
In 1966 he found it just up the river Alde at Snape in a disused maltings complex that within a year he had expensively converted into a purpose-built concert hall in which he and his lover, singer Peter Peers, could hang out in privacy whilst rehearsing, developing and performing new works. The hugely popular Aldeburgh festival has been held here since its completion in 1967.

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